by Carlo Zen
When you’re accelerating away, sniping most moving targets is impossible.
But a huge target like this ship is a different story.
They were sticking close to the RMS Queen of Anjou, but now that you mention it… To the escorts, this ship is precious. So we should give them the chance to protect what is precious to them. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.
“…Good idea! Long-range explosion formulas minus the crushing effect!”
We were ordered only to stop the ship. She’s the princess. Even these obnoxious pirate knights can’t very well abandon their princess.
“Put all your mana into the flames! Prepare to manifest! Fire in unison! They must be cold serving in the Northern Sea; let’s warm them up!”
“Understood! Leave it to us!”
Just as she’s about to shout, Here we go! Tanya senses an enemy rushing her headlong. She just won’t give up!
“W-wait!”
“I’m touched that you miss me, but…?”
I need to hurry. I can’t get caught up with this obstinate pseudo-stalker and lose my chance to withdraw.
“I don’t have a pacifier, so suck on this!”
The trick I conjure up is one of the Imperial Army’s lovingly crafted potato mashers.
Normally, they only explode an area ten meters across, but this one has a formula bullet embedded in its head.
With the formula absorbed and unbelievably condensed, Tanya casually tosses the grenade.
Yes, the object she lobbed her pursuer’s way looks like a normal hand grenade.
“How—”
—futile! The moment the idiot overestimates her protective film…
…the formula bullet activates at close quarters. On top of the explosion formula, the head of the grenade scatters.
“Agh…… Gah…!”
“Ha! That’s what you get!”
“One down! Brilliant!”
Just as Tanya is about to nod a yeah, she notices something. The mage had started to fall, but now she awkwardly stabilizes. Could that mean…
…she recovered?
“Mm, nope, one unconfirmed.”
“It looked like you got her.”
“She seemed to recover at the last second. If you’re unsure about an achievement, it’s best not to count it. It’s better to be happy with a lower score than be laughed at for padding.”
It’s hard to say for sure that I got her. And if she lands on the water, there’s a pile of enemy mages flying around, so rescue is likely.
Even if she fell into the frigid sea, the possibility of her survival is not low.
“Man, she was stubborn as a cockroach! And how is she so sure I killed her father? Does she just hate imperial soldiers so much that we all look the same?”
“Ha-ha-ha. It’s because—you know. Remember your appearance, Colonel.”
“But they say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
I wish they wouldn’t stare at me like that, looking like they want to say something. I understand reality just fine.
“Yeah, I know, but that’s not what this is about.”
Besides, isn’t looking like a little girl my distinguishing characteristic?
The famous line about not judging a book by its cover only means that you shouldn’t speculate about what’s inside. Appearance is very useful data when it comes to identification.
I don’t like sticking out on the battlefield just for being small.
“I was sent away from the officers’ club for being too young to smoke and drink—I get it.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, Colonel, but that was hilarious.”
“It really was. While we were waiting for you to show up, I was seriously worried that Major Weiss was going to go bankrupt playing cards!”
Maybe they’re trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere? My vice commander clowns, and my adjutant laughs and laughs. I guess I have to go along with it.
“It makes me want to hurry up and grow—even though smoking and drinking are bad for you. I at least want to take back the freedom to ruin my health as I please.”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! That’s a wonderful liberty, Colonel. As the deputy commander of this battalion, I guarantee that we have no shortage of maniacs who would risk their lives to rebel if that particular freedom was going to be taken away. I hope you’ll keep that in mind.”
The moment she’s convinced they’ve gotten enough distance for bullshit like this, it hits her.
…We’ve taken pretty heavy losses.
A mage unit is far from a big family.
A company is twelve. A battalion is thirty-six. And even the augmented 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is only forty-eight.
You can tell just by looking how many are missing.
“I know, Major. Even I wouldn’t try to keep off-duty soldiers in check… I’m sure the ones off duty in Valhalla must be drinking like fishes.”
“…I bet they are.”
For better or worse, it’s a small world. To put it in extreme terms, we’re the size of a class at school or a little bigger.
“Tch…I guess more of us went down than I expected.”
That’s why before they even get back to base and she has them line up, she can see that familiar faces are missing.
“Yes, ma’am. Four dead, three unable to fly, three seriously injured.”
“What a horrible loss.”
OCTOBER 5, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, AFTERNOON, IMPERIAL ARMY BASE
“Colonel, the battalion’s return is complete. We’ve also sent the injured to the rear and made arrangements for the articles of the deceased.”
People who were fine this morning are gone by dinner.
Major Weiss makes his report in an even voice, and Tanya responds calmly, “…It really is a horrible loss.”
A full complement is forty-eight. We lost ten people. And not just ten people. They’re the kind you would never treat as disposable, because they’re difficult to replace—they’re elites. They were elites.
They were the cream of the aerial mage crop. Setting aside their coaching ability and basing it on their skills alone, my subordinates could be employed tomorrow as aggressors in the instructor unit, they’re so capable.
Objectively speaking, my subordinates have the most impressive combat experience in the Empire.
“We essentially lost a company. That’s enough to say we were partially destroyed.”
They may have escaped death, but the severely injured still had to be counted as out of commission. That means a company’s worth of our invaluable personnel has dropped out—a company’s worth of truly matchless elites.
Just the thought of reorganizing and replenishing our numbers has me at wit’s end.
Replace nearly a quarter of my highly trained unit with newbies?
It’s going to be hard to cooperate for a while, even if we try.
Julius Caesar hated replenishing units with new recruits and made whole new armies instead; he was right. No, I’m sure the nugget of historical knowledge that crossed my mind just now…was escapism.
“…Maybe I was arrogant. Maybe I thought…that if it was my—the battalion I trained, that if it was the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, that amid any enemies…”
“It’s not your fault, Colonel. We…took them too lightly, too. We thought if anyone could take them, we could…”
“No, Major Weiss.”
The one in charge exists to take responsibility. Of course, if it’s not my fault, then…I need to find the offending son of a bitch and make them pay.
But who believed the numbskulls in Intelligence? Pretty sure that was me.
Believing those freeloaders, in other words, was my mistake. It’s undeniable that I was provided faulty intel. But that’s only something to take into consideration. It’s not a reason to exempt me.
These putzes who flee responsibility are utterly contemptuous of the fundamental modern principle of trust…
I took action according to my o
wn judgment. So ultimately, it’s my responsibility. I’d rather be deemed inept than a despicable degenerate.
“Laugh at me. Scoff. It was my mistake.”
“It was the army’s orders… It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was a mistake to try a hit-and-run with a unit that was worn out from a long-distance flight. We had been in the air for hours, and then in that exhausted state, we plunged into combat—numerically disadvantaged, at that. I’m sure any manual would tell us to avoid all that.”
I know I’ll be ridiculed as a classic fool.
“It’s not as if we accomplished nothing.”
“Major Weiss, it’s as good as nothing.”
“But we carried out the minimum requirements of the mission. We slowed them down! In the photos we took before we left, you can definitely see that we hit the engine.”
I’m grateful to have someone with common sense like Weiss being kind to me.
But though I appreciate how considerate he is…we need to look at things objectively not subjectively.
Did I hang in there? Did I try hard? Did I do my best? So what?
The actions themselves have no meaning.
Intentions don’t matter.
Good faith, ill will—you can save your subjective truths for the judge in court.
It’s the results.
Results: Without them…it’s all for nothing.
This is an issue between my good sense and how I should be. As a modern, rational, free individual, for me, it’s an issue of conscience, goodwill, and ego.
This is garbage. Steeping in self-satisfaction and then licking your wounds is proof of ineptitude.
“…And the report that our submarines did a marvelous job stopping the ship?”
The response to my query is silence.
In reply to my vice commander’s sorrowful speechlessness, I slowly ask the same question again. What I want to know is the result.
“Well, Major Weiss?”
“So…” He frowns, having difficulty answering. At this point, that’s plenty. I can imagine the results with unbearable ease.
Even interpreting them through wishful thinking, it’s going to be bad.
“Fine. Then Lieutenant Serebryakov, Lieutenant Grantz, I’ll ask you. Did you hear that we sank the ship?”
I ask just to be sure, but I’m met with their blunt silence.
They politely feign hearing issues and look away to escape the answer. There’s no way it’s good news.
“So that’s that, then. Our actions didn’t produce results.”
A half-baked attempt at consolation isn’t going to do anything. It’s so bad Tanya wishes she could be anywhere but here.
The truth is the truth. I have to accept it.
“I don’t want to…admit that it was all for nothing, but…” She speaks dispassionately—as dispassionately as she can. “Our unit has suffered serious casualties. And after all that, the results didn’t follow. The submarines didn’t sink the ship.”
These words are necessary in order to accept the truth.
I lost veterans of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. It wasn’t my preference to choose war nuts. But they were essential talent for executing my duty—for waging war. They were battle-crazed golden eggs who, after passing a thorough screening, experienced all of the Empire’s main lines and were forged in combat.
“I put so much into them, and now my brothers-in-arms are gone. They’re gone.”
They were veterans, the rarest breed during wartime.
And they, of all people…
After wearing themselves out on a lengthy flight, they were forced into combat with an enemy whose numbers far surpassed ours, and I lost nearly a company.
“I feel adrift. I keep thinking, If there’s anyone to do it with, it’s them, so…or If they’re on the job, then…”
This is a reliable group who knows their jobs inside and out, has been well trained, and above all, understands my intentions immediately. With part of that group ripped away from me, I can’t possibly stay composed.
Business is all about how efficiently you can use the number of personnel at your disposal. Any action that decreases your number of optimized, most useful people is…the worst. Whether it was deliberate or an error, it mustn’t be overlooked.
“I’m going to make those bastards in Intelligence and those bastards in our enemy countries pay for this.” At this moment, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff is furious. With her little fists clenched and her eyes burning with rage, she quietly voices her determination. “…My men died!”
She looks at the battlefield cross erected in the ruins and grieves.
Even though she ordered the battalion to leave them, no one could forsake the fallen, and they carried them back. She’ll have to send their personal effects and letters to the bereaved families.
“I have to write those letters…!”
She puts out her hand. And what she reaches for is the helmet set on top of the gun to form the battlefield cross. It’s warped, dented, and has a hole in it. There was no repairing a bullet wound to the head.
“Sorry, troops, I guess I’ve been going around in circles a bit. We need to get back to our mission.”
“Colonel?”
“May their souls be with us. My fellow soldiers, let us wish for the divine protection of the fatherland—but only after we’re gone.” She quietly hints at her grudge.
Tanya von Degurechaff doesn’t believe in gods.
As long as that multifarious monster Being X is allowed to go free, a holy being can’t possibly exist in this world.
To Tanya, that’s practically axiomatic.
Therefore, thinking logically, trust should be placed in people. Believe in the power of people, and if everything falls apart, then you can try throwing the problem at God or whomever.
If you get saved, great. If not, you would be right, so that’s better than the alternative. Either way, you lose nothing.
“Asking God for help just isn’t our style!”
“Exactly, Weiss.”
“So shall we sing an old song?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Tanya smiles. “‘We Had a Comrade,’ troops. Your thick, tone-deaf voices will do, so let’s sing it for them.”
In hoarse, trembling voices, the soldiers sing a sorrowful song.
When she feels it’s time, Tanya wails along. “You went through a forest of swords and hails of bullets, comrades. Rest in peace. Forgive us, for we cannot hold your hands. You remain in our memories. Glory to you, comrades.”
Pistols drawn. Blanks fired into the sky. A three-volley salute. Then Tanya loads a single live bullet and aims it at the White Wings Grand Iron Cross.
Stupid sectionalism, everyone holding one another back.
What a damn pain it is to work with Intelligence!
[chapter] IV Long-Range Assault Operation
OCTOBER 7, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, IMPERIAL ARMY BASE
The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion has suffered heavy losses in Norden. Teeth-grindingly heavy losses. It was an unbelievable waste of human resources and capital.
If you’re like Being X, a piece of trash who can view humans only as numbers, then you would probably say, It was only ten people.
But to the modern, free individual, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff, it goes without saying that the loss of ten elite soldiers is a huge loss for society.
So many resources and so much time were invested in their training.
“We’re an army. I realize that casualties are a given, but…”
Logically, there are no irreplaceable gears in an army.
And the units with losses will be allocated replacement personnel. But textbooks and the real world don’t always get along.
In actuality, there are tons of valuable gears on the market whose supply is monopolized by a single company.
And if that precious source is struggling under too much demand, even if you request a replacement gear, you
have no way of knowing when it will arrive.
As soon as she leaves the companies to their commanders—First Lieutenant Serebryakov, Major Weiss, and First Lieutenant Grantz—she thinks, Even so, and follows standard procedure, getting through the paperwork to apply for the replacement personnel. For her new gears.
It’s a solitary battle.
Pen, paper, ink, and me.
What is effective in a culture battle is the deceptive power of words.
In the real world, though, it’s as if there’s a fearsome wall of bureaucracy in the way. Even the Imperial Army, a precision military machine, can’t escape red tape. How irritating!
“…What we should really be afraid of is bureaucracy…”
The process, complicated to the point of futility, makes me suspect that the higher-ups are determined to reject applications for replacements. But desk work requires perseverance.
“Hmph, government forms are always complicated. Well, I’ll just read these administrative texts with the care of an exegete.”
Having returned to their lodgings with that determined murmur, Tanya has now been chained to her desk for over twenty-four hours finishing paperwork. She processes the documents, gulping down the coffee from Lieutenant Colonel Uger, which she has requested brewed so thick it tastes like awful muddy water.
Even the Anglo-Saxon spirit during the Victorian era, famous for its perseverance, is child’s play compared to the discipline of a modern corporate employee like me.
If the documents don’t get approved, that’s fine.
I’ll just keep filing them until they do.
Thus, about two days after shifting the battlefield to her desk…
Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff achieves a modest victory.
On October 6 at exactly midnight, she has her adjutant Serebryakov send the paperwork and burrows into her bed to get as much sleep as she possibly can.
Then, when her eyes pop open, it’s morning.
As she munches the breakfast with coffee that her adjutant prepared for her, she finally has the wherewithal to begin thinking about what comes next.
“Still, man…”
A little sigh slips out.
She can think and think, but thinking will get her only so far.