by Carlo Zen
“They’re…performing maintenance?”
Even from the photos, the damage to the ship’s deck and more is visible. But there’s something drawing Tanya’s attention even more: the large number of tools and workers.
“Does this mean our attack to slow them down got some results?” Weiss remarks, sounding somewhat ashamed.
Well, of course he sounds ashamed, if this is all we achieved… But then Tanya rethinks it.
Does the fact that it’s not docked…mean the damage is only slight?
Really?
Now she has doubts. Could it be? she thinks. Or maybe…, she hopes. Either way, when she looks over the photos again…the answer is clear.
Just as I thought, I suppose?
“Nah, Major Weiss. Just because it isn’t docked doesn’t mean we have to be self-deprecating about our results. I mean, what dock can accommodate that huge ship anyhow?”
“…That’s true.”
Weiss stares speechlessly at the photos and starts thinking about something, but Tanya has already moved on to the next issue.
Only one thing is important.
“Lieutenant Serebryakov, the air fleet brought this to you, yes?”
She’s confirming that it wasn’t intel she pressed them for. If her adjutant has gone above and beyond to ask them…
…it would mean that we went to pick up requested information from them.
“That’s right. I did tease them, but they brought it to me without going through HQ.”
“Just to confirm, the air fleet offered this, right? They weren’t responding to a request from you?”
“They called me and I picked it up.” She declares it with conviction and doesn’t seem to be hiding anything. So perhaps they really are just being friendly.
Of course, it’s also possible that the air fleet is trying to show off their skills or make up in some way for their deficient performance in the attack on the ship. It’s hard to tell exactly what their intention was.
But it’s not as if we asked them for it. In other words, they volunteered it. Good. Tanya continues to dwell on this point.
Aerial reconnaissance and these photos… Unlike with a reconnaissance satellite, this photography required a manned aircraft to fly over enemy territory. Though it was taken from a high altitude, there was still a lot of risk involved.
If neither Tanya nor Serebryakov requested recon and this report showed up…
…Is it encouragement or reassurance, then?
This was sent by people who know about our mission related to the RMS Queen of Anjou. There must be some kind folks in our org somewhere.
“Lieutenant, choose whatever alcohol seems appropriate later. If we don’t have enough, you can dip into the battalion treasury. Send it to them on my behalf. They did a good job, so I’d like those brave pilots to drink their fill.”
“Yes, ma’am. Leave it to me, Colonel.”
A good job deserves respect. I’ll give the air fleet a heartfelt thanks for their fine work.
If this were a corporation, I’d be on my way to accounting to see about a special bonus.
Unlike the stuff we get from the inept joint intelligence agency of the Army and Navy Commands, this is fresh intel guaranteed by the air fleet.
And most importantly, it’s highly reliable.
“I should simplify things,” Tanya murmurs.
When you need to make assumptions about unclear facts, it’s best to simplify them as much as possible.
There’s no need to speculate about the intentions of the air fleet. They’re friendly forces, at least, so it’s safe to rule out the possibility that they’d feed us false intelligence. In which case, it’s much more likely that this data is as it seems.
Ships move, but ports don’t. So the conclusion is exceedingly elementary. It’s not hard to take out an opponent that can’t run.
“Let’s go!”
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
These officers are from the same unit, but I suppose the difference in their replies is a reflection of how long they have been with me?
Weiss looks puzzled and asks a question; Serebryakov acknowledges her understanding.
My adjutant picks up on my intentions immediately. She assists me like a wife of many years and is now comprehension incarnate.
“The air fleet has set the stage for us, so let’s go along with it. Tell the submarines. Lieutenant Serebryakov, round up the troops.”
“Understood.” My adjutant gets right down to business without interjecting any questions; she’s one of those rare great aids.
She jogs straight to the submarine unit HQ without a single complaint. Even though I’ve been having her do a brutal amount of paperwork since we’ve been back on base, her passion hasn’t flagged at all.
She has a model work ethic, no two ways about it.
I’ve been lucky to have such a talented subordinate with me ever since the Rhine front.
Meanwhile, thinks Tanya as she accepts the questioning look on sensible Major Weiss’s face.
“It’ll be a long-range operation, so it’ll extend beyond the bounds of our current operation area. If we apply to cross the border, will we make it in time?” His implied fear is that the enemy might escape during that time.
As my vice commander, Weiss fills the important role of devil’s advocate. When we’re about to go through with something, he voices quite rational hesitations. He gives great advice, even going so far as directly urging superior officers to exercise caution.
“That’s a good point, Major Weiss. If we’re going to perform a raid, we need to hit them during this short period before they can move.”
It’s true. Tanya nods. She also wants to nail the ship before it moves. No, they must nail the ship before it’s able to move, or this will all be pointless.
It would be no joke if we went over there all ready for a raid and found an empty nest.
“So we have to follow the ancient saying that soldiers value foolish haste.” She looks into his blue eyes to make him understand. You get it, right? “Applying to cross the border? That’s out of the question. We can’t waste time with roundabout administrative procedures. Considering the risk of a leak, acting on our own discretion seems like the right answer in this case.”
“A-acting on our own discretion? We may report directly to the General Staff, but if we leave the operation area without permission…they may say it’s purely arbitrary.”
That’s true. Tanya nods internally.
Still, she’s compelled to point out something else.
“For commanders, or probably all officers, really, acting on their own authority is their duty.”
“That brings back memories, Colonel.”
Everyone, including Serebryakov, who had jogged off, had had that line beaten into them at the academy. Even if proper communication is an absolute requirement in society or any organization, on the battlefield, things are frequently different than orders or previously received intelligence indicated.
For that reason, to accomplish their missions, officers must take actions that conflict with their orders when necessary.
“We need to consider the objective of the orders we were given, right?”
“Do you think the General Staff and the Army and Navy Commands meant for us to sink it?”
“I do, indeed. Major Weiss, I don’t want us to be the kind of inepts who adhere to the formality of the orders we were given under these circumstances. Even if we were sent here to stop the ship, we must infer that we are meant to work with the submarines to sink it!”
Grouchy2 would say, It’s Napoleon’s orders, and continue on an absurd advance. But look at Davout3 or Desaix.4 They ignored the great authority of Napoleon’s orders—because it was essential to achieving the objective behind the order.
You have to understand the objective of the orders and, if necessary, change the method of fulfilling them according to your own judgment. That’s what a
cting on your own authority means, and it’s an officer’s duty.
Only fools who can’t think for themselves follow orders, carry them out faithfully, and then writhe about when they fail. That’s a truly inept worker. They should probably be shot.
“So, in faithfulness to our orders…let’s go. I’m sure the submarines aren’t such chickens that they would hole up and refuse to come out when their gambling buddy Lieutenant Serebryakov is the one pressing them.”
“But, Colonel. Remember what we’re talking about. We may have been given some degree of discretion, but I think leaving the ‘formality’ of the district is a bit of a larger issue. Isn’t it dangerous to take it lightly?”
“Certainly, the issue will be the district. But conversely, if that’s the only obstacle…then it would probably be more useful to figure out some way to deal with it.”
Which is precisely why I’ve found a way.
“To cut to the chase, we already have our answer. Read the orders from the General Staff. They ordered us to, ‘Above all else, stop that enemy transport ship.’”
“…‘Above all else’?”
It was just one phrase in the document. Exegetics may be dry to most readers, but it all depends on how you use it. If you read between the lines, the amount of freedom with which you can act rapidly increases.
Though it’s one step away from broad interpretation, if you can provide your reasoning, then everything’s peachy.
“It’s an order that says to achieve the objective, above all else. It’s obvious that the objective is to send that ocean liner to the bottom of the sea, and the location of our target is clear. Now, under those circumstances, is there really any meaning in holding back out of consideration for the district?”
“No.” The distinct light of understanding shines in his eyes as he nods.
We have orders that say to do it, above all else. It’s…impossible to think that we should have to worry about the operation area. After all, it’s the brass who gave the orders. Even if they complain after the fact, it unquestionably won’t be a problem.
I mean, Tanya declares confidently in her head. Weiss the sensible man agreed. The reason I listen to my subordinates’ opinions is that I want a third party’s point of view. Then I make a careful decision based on that information.
If there aren’t any issues, then this is a juncture that demands bold action.
“Good, then we’ll move out like faithful dogs. Let’s accomplish that mission the General Staff gave us.”
Being a member of society, being part of an organization—work—is like that. But there are good people supporting me. It’s probably rare to get to devote yourself to work with such proud, professional colleagues.
The functional beauty of an organization that unites to fulfill an objective… It’s not an expression I like, but I suppose if we’re paying our respects to the classics, “The invisible hand of God is a pretty apt description. Now then, Major Weiss, go find Lieutenant Grantz. As soon as Lieutenant Serebryakov gets back, we’ll draw up our plan.”
THE EVENING OF OCTOBER 7, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, FEDERATION TERRITORY, NOVO KHOLMO BASE
The man known as Colonel Mikel slowly moved the cigarette in his mouth closer to the lighter. It wasn’t as if he was smoking a particularly good brand.
It was the same old ration of “grunt tobacco.” Still, tobacco was tobacco, and he was free to smoke it… As long as Mikel was afforded that, he had no complaints. The modest freedom to fill his lungs with cheap cigarette smoke was heaven compared to the gulag.
As he exhaled the purple fumes, Mikel was thinking about the strangeness of fate.
It had been a few months since he had been released from the concentration camp and his supposedly deleted military registration had been reinstated. The war with the Empire was changing Mikel’s fate in ways he never expected.
They had taken his orb away, but then the army gave him a new model. He never thought he would fly again, but the sky returned to him.
He had ground down, had endured the cruelest of treatment, but the fatherland still needed him. It had to be a blessing from God.
To say he didn’t have any beef with the Communist Party would have been a lie.
His friends collapsed on the ground in the bitter cold… Their frozen bodies that didn’t make it to another dawn, their suffering faces… You couldn’t tell him to forget them.
But more importantly…he was a Federation soldier. He had sworn loyalty to his motherland, so if he could fight for her, it wouldn’t do to mix up his priorities.
Thus, he wholeheartedly welcomed the Communists’ decision to re-form the mage units—as long as his friends would be given positions.
For that, he would suppress his antipathy toward the party members, even if they were more like the devil than the devil from the Bible himself.
But… He calmly observed his situation, nearly scoffing. They must have summoned us because they’re losing. Defeat makes states act without regard for appearances. The status of the mages who were loyal to the previous regime was so low, they risked eradication if it wasn’t for this very situation.
Which was why despite getting his enlistment reinstated…he never expected the circumstances behind his orders to be explained in detail. The orders the dear party gave him were part of a scheme that was much more well-thought-out than any “mere soldier” could ever imagine.
He couldn’t possibly ask for an explanation of every little thing.
As long as they had their reasons and things had to stay confidential, everyone agreed that all they had to do was carry out the missions given to them. They didn’t want to go back to the gulag.
Well, let’s rephrase that.
They hesitated to voice their complaints openly. That foolish move would put not only themselves in danger but their friends and families as well.
There were good things and bad things about savoring his freedom with a cigarette. The officers next to him seemed rather relaxed as they smoked.
“Colonel, are you sure there’s no mistake about the orders we were given?”
“Use ‘Comrade.’ You never know who might be listening.”
“S-sorry, Comrade Colonel.”
He nodded at his careless subordinate and wordlessly put a hand on his shoulder. He could understand their impatience.
Even an order to stand by could make people who had spent time in a concentration camp antsy because it meant their future was unclear.
What meaningless cruelty must those sadistic camp guards have inflicted for the sake of bullying them?! Those who had been in the gulag were rendered extremely sensitive to the feelings created by an uncertain future.
Though they had been released, reenlisted, and formed as one of the rare mage units on active duty in the Federation Army, they couldn’t relax for a moment.
The battalion was, in the eyes of the Communists, a battalion-size gang of potential traitors.
As before, they were under surveillance, and it wouldn’t be strange for them to be purged on a whim at any time.
But more recently, that had started to change.
The improvement in their treatment had them wondering what happened; in his unit, they speculated that it had to do with the worsening war situation on the main lines. Then they weren’t even sent to the main lines but to the north. And after that, they were ordered to stand by.
Mikel himself had done an awful lot of investigating, but he had no idea what was going on. In other words, it must have been the will of someone so high up that underlings like him would never be involved. But he just didn’t know why.
The fatherland was in crisis, so it was strange that they hadn’t been allocated to the main lines.
At first, he wondered if they weren’t trusted. But in that case, the political officer attached to them was bizarre. The one keeping an eye on them was a very different breed from the ones they’d had before—from the Central group.
Was it possible that he’d b
een sent not as added surveillance but to send them off somewhere else? That was the sort of rumor Battalion Commander Mikel had to shut down day after day.
Everyone thought this day would be like the others.
“…If we can just show them what we’re good for… Ah, I guess I’m going in circles…”
The idea that war was a way out, would lead to the future, was the worst. Using your fatherland’s struggles as a way to achieve personal success was deplorable.
But when he thought of the families still in the camp…he felt like he had to perform at least well enough that they would be freed. He wanted to give his men’s children and their families a normal life.
I want to preserve the future. As far as Mikel was concerned, that was the duty of an adult. That was logic that even war couldn’t undermine.
Which was why he did believe this: We need them to think highly of us.
When one of the officers beneath him rushed into the smoking room to inform him that the esteemed commissar from Central had asked for him, it was no wonder he hoped it was a chance.
The commissar met him as soon as he set foot in the command facilities, as if he had been waiting for him, and his face was unusually tense.
The mere sight of him without his shady smile was enough to elicit some very natural astonishment from him.
“Comrade soldier, I’ve been waiting for you. Oh…” Before getting into details, he offered him a chair.
As in, Please take a seat.
Mikel had thought the political commissar was practically of another race of people who couldn’t be upset by anything. But now, looking visibly nervous, he was obsequiously offering Mikel a chair?
A member of the Commissariat for Internal Affairs? Acting this way toward a man who was his enemy in the class struggle?
“Would you like some tea, Comrade Colonel?”
His mind was blank.
Tea……tea, tea?
“Oh, right. You don’t have to be tense; there’s just something I’d like you to hear. True, I’m a party official and you’re a career soldier with many years of experience, but aren’t we comrades fighting together against our fatherland’s enemy now? Comrade Colonel, I should think we could have tea together…”