by Carlo Zen
“Indeed. Well, this is a good opportunity. Let’s send them a message inviting them to the party.”
That’s what we’ll do. It’s not so bad to bond with our kind allies who weakened our prey for us before we arrived. More than anything, I want to clear up the misunderstanding that must have arisen due to that repugnant confession of faith.
I’m normal.
I have to prevent weird rumors from damaging my reputation.
NOVEMBER 29, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, HOME PORT OF THE NORTHERN SEA FLEET, FLAGSHIP COMMAND
Along the strait, it’s nearly time for the decisive battle. A high-strung excitement runs through the air at the Imperial Army base. Usually the atmosphere feels almost heavy, but for the moment, it’s so lively it keeps the cold at bay. The officers and men running here and there are visibly tense—no one is relaxed.
It’s the excitement that occurs immediately before a large-scale operation. Humans are a pain in the neck; though wise enough to fear fighting, they are also easily intoxicated by the romance of the military. This has to be the concentrated effect of everyone’s wish to taste sweet victory.
Those who can’t share in this festive atmosphere appear to be in the minority. Resigning herself to the fact, Tanya goes to the designated flagship command meeting room. As far as she can tell from a glance at the soldiers coming and going in the halls on her way, the entire Northern Sea Fleet crew seems full of fighting spirit. Even the vessels that would be left behind seem to be longing to sortie enough to rush out of there at any moment.
And the operational factors necessary for taking advantage of that spirit appear to have been given the necessary consideration. A large number of transport ships are anchored in the bay, and among them are some that could qualify as landing crafts after being outfitted for the amphibious assault. They probably have landing crafts requisitioned as high-speed transports ready to go as well. As far as she can see, traffic in the bay is orderly, and ships are in a position to begin operations at any time, thanks to the controlling performed with the Empire’s usual efficiency.
Tanya is conscious again of the weight of her responsibility; a lot is expected of her unit as the vanguard. It’s better for people to expect greatness of you than not, but it comes with a lot of annoyances.
That said, she conceals any determination to live up to those expectations and calmly takes her assigned seat in the meeting room. She ignores the attention she is getting by nonchalantly looking over the pre-meeting handouts once again. Of course, in part, she wants to reread them to circumvent any avoidable problems during the operation.
Just as she’s already read many times, it seems like her unit’s role is fairly large. Having their performance determine whether the operation would work or not is a big responsibility. Drop in, capture the coastal guns. It’ll be glorious but a challenge. If we fail, the whole army will be stuck in the fjords.
“It’s time, so I’d like to begin.”
Even while she is lost in thought, the hands on the clock keep ticking. Then, when they reach the appointed hour, an Imperial Navy staff member announces the beginning of the meeting in a solemn voice, and everyone turns toward the commander of the operation, the fleet commander, in unison.
“All right, I’ll explain the situation.”
Tanya listens to the commander as he briefs everyone, unaware of her feelings on the topic and with a sober expression, but the gripes in her head threaten to overflow. Internally, she complains up a storm, whining over and over that it sure would have been nice if the drop team had been given a few more men.
“We’ll be performing a mission in support of the Northern Army Group’s operation.”
…In support of the Northern Army Group? Tanya starts to think, but then it makes sense to her. Yes, the Central Army is nominally giving credit for the operation to the Northern Army Group. I guess it’s a show of the General Staff’s intentions or kindness, you could say. After the awkwardness between them over the Great Army mobilization issues, this’ll be a heartwarming reconciliation.
In other words, this is a lousy plan, a military operation loaded with the higher-ups’ motives. But you could also say that they’d managed it in a nominal way that wouldn’t come back to bite the troops on the ground; instead of a political compromise, they had pulled off a splendid handshake.
After all, the Northern Army Group is going on the offensive, and as a bonus they get the honor of leading the operation. Even if they fail, no one in the Northern Army Group will be harmed if the General Staff take responsibility for implementing the action plan. Then again, if it goes well, the war situation improves, so it’s worth it for the General Staff.
Major General von Rudersdorf came out to make an inspection—it’s probably his evil scheming. On the one hand, I’m impressed with the move, but on the other, I want to lament just a little bit that when you belong directly to Central, this is how you get used as a tool.
“As you all know, we currently have both the Northern Sea Fleet and the High Seas Fleet deployed on a northern support mission.”
Then there’s the situation being described. The main force of the Northern Sea Fleet is a support unit that acts as a sort of check on the Entente Alliance. Their mission is to prevent the Entente Alliance’s warships from escaping to Republic waters while simultaneously supporting the army maneuvers on land.
So ignoring those ships to perform the amphibious operation is almost a strategic sneak attack. It isn’t about sealed orders or intercepting the fleet—the plan from the first is to ignore the Entente Alliance fleet.
The Northern Sea Fleet is going beyond the parameters of its original mission and sortieing for the sole purpose of receiving a huge number of reinforcements in the High Seas Fleet and performing the landing operation. The Entente Alliance ships that will surely come to stop them will be kept at bay by the High Seas Fleet. If the Northern Sea Fleet can complete their operation during that time, the war situation will see a literal reversal.
The success of a strategic sneak attack is tantalizing. You could say a winnable battle is just dangling in front of us. It’s a comparably safe opportunity to achieve things and get promoted. I’m not the only one—there’s nothing strange about a soldier wanting to join a winning battle.
Actually, the ones left behind with no prospect of sortieing get depressed or look for an excuse to go. Anyone is happy to be told they’re going on the attack.
If there’s one problem, it’s the weather. History tells us units sent into harsh winter conditions always end up getting stuck in some lousy situation. And we’ll be performing an airborne operation. If we fall into the ocean, we’ll freeze to death like Titanic victims.
Even the bright red Soviet Army met with all kinds of disaster in winter wars. The Imperial Army isn’t used to such conditions, so if we fall into the winter ocean, we’ll be turned into frozen meat packs.
“This means almost all our main force is going, but that’s just how big the objective is…” The fleet commander leaves it as implied for just a moment, then solemnly states our target. “…the Osfjord. We’re going for a direct strike on their rear communication lines.”
The Osfjord… When everyone grasps the significance of what they’ve been told, a momentary silence descends.
Fjords are bad news for naval ships. The detestable narrow bodies of water with terrible cliffs on either side enable the enemy to shoot at them from any direction. Even without counting the threat of mines, if there are guns on both sides, any ship that makes a run for it can only lament its fate to be pummeled to death. The gunners will surely shower the marks with shells as they struggle to maneuver in the narrow waters.
And although their navy may only have a few destroyers left, if that, the cramped space forces us to worry about torpedoes.
What’s more, given the geographical importance of Os, the Osfjord will be more heavily guarded than the average fjord.
“Under these circumstances, we need to go in ahead of the
fleet’s advance and capture the enemy guns.”
From the time General von Rudersdorf gave her secret orders to prepare for an airborne operation, Tanya has pretty much been expecting this. Neutralize coastal guns in an aerial mage sneak attack is practically the same thing as support the fleet as they make a run down the fjord. For what other reason would the army pit their elites against a rear echelon coastal stronghold?
She finds herself balling up her fists inside her sleeves. Capturing enemy guns ahead of the operation to take the mouth of the bay… In other words, our drop operation is a gamble that could decide everything. And we won’t be walking leisurely down a gangway in this cold weather but parachuting out of the sky with our computation orbs and rifles in hand. If we fail, it will be a huge disaster.
“Our aim is to disable enemy guns in a short amount of time to allow the fleet’s entry.”
It’s easy to order someone to get in there, but it sounds pretty outrageous to the one told to go.
The purpose of the airborne operation is fine. I can grasp the military need for it. At least, I understand that it has to be done. But what’s this about us securing the guns? The operation is in support of the navy, so it would make more sense to have the marine mages do it, since they train closely with the fleet. If instead we seize the guns and sweep the area, it’ll be basically like rolling out a carpet for the fleet to waltz down.
“Our troops are having difficulties, so in order to support them and deliver a decisive blow, I want us to do this right.”
…That’s easy to say, but can we? Can we really capture enemy guns on bad, snowy footing in the fjord? If we were told to suppress enemy forces in that region, well, that just would have to be done, but the responsibility of seizing all the enemy guns is enormous.
Talk about mission impossible.
That said, there’s a limit to how much mages can do as direct support for the fleet, and if guns remain, it’s entirely possible that the ships won’t be able to enter. So someone has to get saddled with this unlucky operation. Annoyingly enough, that someone is the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion.
“And the vanguard will be… We’re expecting great things from you, Major von Degurechaff.”
“May I say something?”
“What is it, Major?”
“My unit is an augmented battalion. Setting aside the issue of firepower, I may not have enough men to take all the guns and cover the enemy reinforcements who are bound to attack.”
I hate resisting superior officers. There is nothing I want to do less. But that’s why I have to be bold at times like these.
Anyone can smash you if you oppose them with a subservient attitude. But if, on the contrary, you make your case so confidently that it must be logical, it sounds more persuasive. And if people think you’re giving a constructive suggestion with the aim of accomplishing your mission, then even an excuse transforms into the genuine truth. So I have to be the donkey borrowing the lion’s skin. I just want to probe slightly. Even if I fail, this isn’t rebellious enough to cause me trouble.
“Don’t worry. We were fearing that as well, so we’re arranging for two regiments of marines to reinforce you thirty minutes after your drop.”
“Understood. So in a worst-case scenario, do I have the right to suggest aborting the operation?”
Her attitude says she doesn’t feel at all bad as she masks her request. Any sign of hesitation can be interpreted as cowardice, but if a request is stated with conviction, it will most likely have a measure of persuasive power.
It’s not about who’s right or wrong; it’s about who makes their claims in a loud voice with confidence.
“…What do you mean?”
“Simply that if my unit fails, the fleet may be exposed to needless danger.”
What if, hypothetically, we fail?
That we would have to withdraw is self-evident. Put another way, we’d be able to avoid unfeasible orders to “just do something” so the fleet could get in. Once we decide to fall back, all the mages have to do is fly away.
Even if the right to call for withdrawal isn’t granted, the record of me asking for it would make it possible for me to argue that I made every effort to avoid risks.
“You mean, we should prioritize the safety of the fleet in the event you can’t neutralize the guns?”
That’s level one cleared. If I haven’t been flat-out refused, it shows he’s willing to listen.
A good officer would give serious consideration to the risks the fleet would face if we failed to take the guns and they were in working order. An officer concerned with self-preservation would be worried about being blamed for the results of a forced charge under such circumstances.
Either way, he has to carefully analyze what I’ve said, weigh the pros and cons, and see what he thinks.
“If we don’t take preserving the fleet seriously enough, we may let the Republican or Commonwealth fleet slip in. That would render the blockade meaningless and create a very dangerous situation.”
So I give him a little push. The concern of weakened patrol in our waters. I just prod his instincts as an officer of the navy by asking whether we should really conduct a landing mission at the risk of our command of the sea. It’s really too reasonable. Whether he’s out for self-preservation or not, he can’t ignore this. Of course, I can’t push too hard. Balance in this, too, is paramount. That said, if I don’t mess up the pressure level, I can persuade him without upsetting him too much.
“…That’s a reasonable concern, but we can’t leave our course of action up to a single advance unit. Major, if you fail, fall back to join your reinforcements and try again.”
“Understood, sir. But due to a quirk of the command structure, I can neither command nor be commanded by marine mages…” Having gotten this far, I just need to give him an excuse. He must know how things work. The navy’s original job is only providing escorts to the mouth of the bay and maybe firing their cannons. I’m sure he doesn’t want to exacerbate mage command structure issues. “In light of that, I’d like permission to advise aborting if the marine regiment commanders agree.”
It’s an adjusted step to save everyone’s faces and avoid any bothersome disputes.
It doesn’t take any time at all for him to agree.
“…All right. You have it.”
A few days later, the operation is to be carried out as scheduled, and Tanya and the brave members of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion are in a transport plane being taken to the drop zone as the vanguard.
The plan is to jump at the crack of dawn and capitalize on the enemy’s confusion in order to seize the guns. As the ones performing the operation, it seems risky, but coastal fortifications are extremely vulnerable to attacks from behind, so it has its logic.
“I guess we might be able to do this…?” Tanya murmurs, inwardly seeking comfort in reason.
Coastal fortifications are put in place to prepare for attacks by enemy ships and units. When she tells herself there is no reason for the backside to be protected because all that’s there are the communication lines to the rear echelon, it feels like they have a chance of succeeding. Even if the enemy is on guard against a sneak attack, their units are likely to be only lightly outfitted.
The coastal fortifications would say that the army should protect the rear and that their purpose was to prevent attacks by sea. And a century ago, they wouldn’t have been wrong.
“I’ve cut the engines! We’re gliding!”
The announcement from the cockpit alerts them that they have entered the final prep stage.
Loath to betray even the sound of the engine, we make our careful gliding approach. Naturally, our drop will be performed with airborne gear and not rely on magic. If we can’t descend undetected, Tanya’s fate is sealed.
“All right. All hands, prepare to jump.”
She can only hope the troops she has trained will put all their talents on display. Her only tasks now are to increase the probability of succes
s and eliminate obstacles.
And a commander can’t wear an anxious expression moments before an operation. That’s why she orders them to prepare with the carefree tone of someone announcing picnic plans.
It’s a bit surreal to see mages in full gear jostling around in the cramped plane, but they’re getting ready, anyhow, so that’s good.
“You’ve heard this before, but our targets are the guns and mines guarding the fjord. Capturing them is optimal, but if that proves difficult, disabling or damaging them to inhibit effective functioning is fine.” She doesn’t insist that she believes in them but reconfirms their objectives matter-of-factly. “I think you know this, but if we fail, the landing unit will get stuck in the fjord.”
Guns are not fortresses, which means they aren’t impossible to capture. Most importantly, their muzzles are pointed at the sea. They aren’t set up to fight mages dropping in on them from behind, but they still have the power to trap the fleet. That’s why this operation hinges on us.
“There isn’t much wiggle room in the schedule. Thirty minutes after we drop, marine mages will arrive ahead of the fleet to back us up, but the plan is for them to deal with enemy reinforcements on the ground. Basically, we have to do this ourselves.”
If things get bad, I can make a joint suggestion with the commanders of the troops coming later to abort the operation, but the consequences would be the sacrifice of my career and worse. I’d be ruined. I have no interest in going to ruin by myself, but to avoid ruin entirely, if possible, is surely the modest wish at the root of all human emotions.
“Destroy all the positions as best you can in thirty minutes. I expect you to all be putting the true power of aerial mages on display out there.”
So Tanya is expecting a lot out of her subordinates. No, not even expecting—all she can do is hope. Don’t fuck this up. Please show me you have more than it takes.
“Lieutenant, head up the capture of the Albert battery. I’ll take the Narva battery as planned.”
“Understood. What time are we lifting radio silence?” Vice Commander Weiss confirms for the third time.