by Carlo Zen
Upon hearing the news that the city of Os had fallen, coupled with the Imperial Army’s advance on the interior, everyone of that generation understood that this was the end for the Entente Alliance leadership. Some lifted a glass to toast the Imperial Army’s victory. Others downed bitter drinks in anticipation of that victory. Everyone saw it as the end of the Entente Alliance.
But they cried out to encourage the ones directly involved, who were beginning to break in the face of their fatherland’s looming fate; it wasn’t over yet. The Empire’s victory was not certain. Only the government had given up.
The civilians, the people, were not defeated.
“…So are we ready to sow our seed?”
“The Republic agreed and…the Commonwealth also agreed to take someone as a diplomat.”
Resistance could continue outside the fatherland.
Yes, the war against the Empire would carry on beyond their borders.
“Well then, shall we jointly sign over our authority?”
“In that case, I think the recipient should be Foreign Affairs Councilor Abensoll.”
“No, I think we should send the youngest, Culture Councilor Korsor, as our ambassador.”
“I disagree. You’re the better man for the job, Councilor Abensoll.”
Someone had to survive and continue the fight, to declare, We’re still here.
And it was the soldiers who would act based on the councilors’ intentions. The reality was obvious, but the army did what the government demanded. Everyone would do all they could for their country, which was how it should be in a unified nation. If there was one thing that was often forgotten in the big picture, it’s that those soldiers who are asked to give their all and sacrificed by the politicians in the name of the fatherland have families and happy households. And so that day before deploying, the Entente Alliance mages had only a short time to say their farewells.
“Good luck.”
“…I’m sorry,” Colonel Sue quietly apologized as he embraced his tearful wife. She would evacuate to another country to avoid the fighting. The fact that they were a family who could choose that option was Sue’s only consolation as head of the household. He should probably have been happy he could have his family go to the Unified States.
Still, the way things had turned out meant he had no choice but to send them away. Probably the only thing I—no, every Entente Alliance soldier—can do is hug their family and exchange hopes of safety. Our fatherland is no longer safe.
“Dad?”
“Mary, look after your mother. And take care of yourself.”
“…You can’t come with us?”
“I’m sorry. I have work again.”
He forced himself to remember that he was still lucky. He had the connections to at least get his family to safety. Given the congested maritime traffic and issues with controlling the sea routes, it wasn’t an option open to many people. He did feel a bit guilty, but if he could protect his family, he had no regrets.
Of course, it wasn’t what Sue wanted. He would have preferred to spend peaceful days in the warmth of his family. If he had known this was going to happen, he would have gone home more often. Why didn’t I appreciate what a blessing that was to have my home so close at hand?
I should have spoken to my daughter more. There are so many things I still want to tell my wife. So many regrets. It was stupid of me to believe our lives would go on unchanged forever.
It was a feeling even he couldn’t explain, but when he loosened the arms he had unconsciously wrapped around his wife, as if sweeping away some awkwardness, he managed to put on a smile as he crouched down to his daughter’s eye level.
“Anson…”
“I may not have been a very good parent, but I hope someday you’ll think of me as a father you can be proud of.”
“It’s okay. You’re my dad! Oh, but you should shave.”
She was such a sweet girl. He had hugged her in spite of himself; he wanted to grin at her ticklishness.
“You’re right. I really should be good and shave.”
“Get it together, Dad!”
“Yeah, you’re right. I gotta get it together.”
The most Sue could do as a father was laugh like that with a wry smile. The moment where his daughter scolded him for not shaving often enough—that was normal life. The essence of his precious everyday world.
“Well, this is no good… I can’t have you worrying about me. I’d rather remember you with a smile.”
“Please stay safe.”
The fact that his wife bravely wished him well, even after she had broken into tears, pained his heart. He wanted to board the ship with them, to live out their lives together. But he was a soldier bound by duty.
Duty. Aghh, annoying, noble duty. O Fatherland, I give myself to thee. So, God, please bless my home, the country my family loves.
“Dad, it’s a little early, but…Merry Christmas!”
As Sue steeped in sentiment, his daughter pointed at a large case before she boarded the ship with her mother, telling him to take good care of it.
Momentary relief filled his heart as he watched them go, as well as the sadness at their parting that could very well be final. But if there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was regret the moment. There was nothing unluckier than tears in a send-off. He forced himself to smile and then suddenly realized the case was gone. He was confused until he noticed an old acquaintance holding it out to him with an easygoing look on his face.
“Sue, a Christmas present from your daughter. Take it with you.”
The bizarre remark came from Councilor Cazor, who was present to see the evacuees off. Wondering why the councilor would know about his daughter’s present, Sue grabbed the case only to be puzzled by its unexpected weight.
There weren’t cookies or a wool sweater inside. It was something much heavier.
“Councilor Cazor, what is this?”
“Go ahead and open it. That’s an SMG from A.S. Weapons in the Waldstätte Confederacy. Durable with a body like an LMG.”
At the councilor’s suggestion, Sue moved to the shade and opened the case. What greeted him was a brand-new submachine gun—a fairly costly model that would work well in conjunction with his orb. Clips, magic bullets, a set of maintenance tools—it came with everything.
“How did she get ahold of something like this…?” He admired the solid yet light build as his examination continued. It accepted the same caliber as his rifle and had a shorter range, but it was easier to handle in a close-quarters fight. It was a good choice for facing anyone who snuck up on him. Additionally, the limited range meant a comparatively lower risk of accidentally shooting an ally, so that was a big plus.
That’s why he had to wonder.
How in the world did my daughter get this?
“It’s a personal gift from a lousy Commonwealth fellow. For a country with such horrible food, they sent us a good man, wouldn’t you say?”
“Sorry?”
“Apparently, he saw your daughter crying in the park. He put your initials on it.”
“Oh, the A.S. is for my name?”
He was sure the engraved letters were the factory’s logo; the level of effort made him smile.
I don’t know if my daughter is sinful or if heaven simply loves her, but she sure wooed that intelligence agent… Now and again, those Albion chaps actually can do something nice.
“Surely it’s the initials for Arnold & Smith Weapons.”
“No, apparently, that’s stamped on the underside.” Councilor Cazor looked somehow amused as he explained.
“That vexing Commonwealth gent was probably moved by your daughter’s tears and gave her a discount. Apparently, she paid the special price of a hundred pounts. That’s surprisingly cheap, Colonel.”
Thanks for giving your dad such a great present, sweetie. He wanted to give her a kiss if he could.
…So this is what the strength of a hundred men feels like.
; “I’m proud to have such a happy family.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel. I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask too much of you.”
“You arranged the ship for me. For my part, I’m prepared to protect my family’s home with my own two hands.”
“We’re counting on you.”
One man bowed, and the other smiled in receipt of the gesture. They didn’t need to say anything more.
DECEMBER 11, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, EMPIRE, RHEINE HOTEL DINING ROOM
For Tanya, it’s a wonderful autumn lunch. The appetizer had been a delightful pâté of seasonal fish. The skillfully prepared dish used fish so fresh it seemed almost a waste to make them into a paste. No praise would be enough. It was simply sublime.
The potato soup was legendary. She was used to eating potatoes, so it felt strange to enjoy them so much. That said, it wasn’t a bad thing. Battlefield rations could hardly compare when it came to the level of care devoted to their creation, and as such, the dish was an embodiment of humanity’s delightful creativity.
She has heard the main course, which hasn’t yet arrived, is whitefish. The waiter explained the dish so proudly she has high expectations. If the hotel’s waiter says it’s that good, not only should the quality of the ingredients be high, but she’s certain it will demonstrate the chef’s skills, too.
And the fact that her dining mates are also happily expectant makes the meal even more fun. With her are members of the reservists association and notable figures from the region. To think that she gets to network with them. She can only marvel at her luck.
As they have an understanding of soldierly habits, the gift from the troops up north, Koskenkorva,10 is going over well. I can see why this stuff is notorious for increasing your chances of becoming an alcoholic.
Though they’re old soldiers, they’re mainly just men well-known around town who are getting on in years. They’re probably just surprised by the curious flavor. And if they’re happy to have an interesting story of receiving such a gift from a child of my age, even better. With her scheme going to plan, conversation flows naturally, and Tanya is able to enjoy herself quite a bit.
Even if she can’t drink with them, it was worth the trouble of confiscating a case of the stuff for private use at parties. She’s most satisfied.
As she’s thinking how happy she is about the results of her labor, she’s looking forward to enjoying the sautéed whitefish when the waiter brings not the highly anticipated main dish but the receiver of an ominous-looking black telephone.
“Miss von Degurechaff?” He deliberately asks her if she will accept the call. She’s on her way back to Central, having lunch with these local reservists and celebrities as an excuse to pass through a resort town. Who gets a wartime phone call in that setting?
My best day off has turned into my worst in an instant.
I’m also now dubious that I’ll really get to spend Christmas on leave like I was promised.
She takes the respectfully proffered receiver with reluctance. If it weren’t her duty, she would want to run away. This has to be just how Churchill felt getting woken up by the news that his capital ships had been sunk.
Would someone make me a hellish cup of black coffee?
“This is Major General von Rudersdorf of the General Staff. Major Tanya von Degurechaff?”
“Yes, sir, this is she.”
She knew before he even spoke. It was obviously a call from a military person. No statement of purpose or seasonal greeting. Not to mention, General von Rudersdorf is still at this moment on the forward-most line fighting the Entente Alliance. The implications are the opposite of this gorgeous luncheon—the telephone call will be an invitation back to the wretched front lines.
I want to go home right now. How could I have been so dense to come to this meeting where everyone would know exactly where I am?
“A notice from the General Staff Office. ‘Assemble Major von Degurechaff and her unit at once. Report in as soon as this is done.’”
“Understood, sir. We’ll proceed to the nearest garrison at once, and I’ll report in as soon as we’re all gathered.”
…It’s an impressively impossible-to-misunderstand order to mobilize.
She has already responded to a pile of unreasonable General von Rudersdorf orders, but it seems he’s going to work her some more. If this was going to happen, she should have blocked the radios and taken her time going back under the pretense of training.
Well, there’s no use crying over whatever. She replaces the receiver and slips the waiter a generous tip.
It’s not his fault the news is awful. She doesn’t like it, but services must be compensated.
“Oh. Good news, Major von Degurechaff?”
But apparently, people give big tips when news is favorable. I can’t help but think of that as emotional, illogical behavior, so I don’t do that…but it seems the amount I gave was a signal to these local names, who hadn’t heard, that the message was something fortunate.
I’m probably supposed to smile at these gentlemen and politely reply, but I’m not sure I can manage it.
In the end, her face wears an unrefined frown as she shakes her head. “No, sir. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be very good news.”
“Oh! That’s…”
The man with the expression of utter compassion on his face is truly a good person. Well, they have the goodwill of men who don’t have to go to war.
To someone being sent on the assault, it’s complicated, but it is what it is.
Polite manners are one of the most basic tools for keeping mistakes to a minimum. As such, it’s only a matter of course that I follow the rules. At their core, human beings are political animals, but at the same time, they are social ones.
“Apologies, but I have orders. I’ll have to leave early.”
“…I wish you well, Major.”
Can I say for sure that none of them are feeling lucky it’s not them? Tanya decides it’s a groundless suspicion and puts on a polite smile as she swallows her bitter thoughts and stands.
“Thank you. I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness. Excuse me.”
With those parting words and a bow, she takes her overcoat from the waiter and pays her bill. She’s dressed formally—in uniform. Her overcoat, having been designed for practical use, is quite substantial. Somehow it bothers me, but the army can be irrational in the strangest ways.
Of course, I also have to wonder about people who wear trench coats as fashion…
While she was picking up her coat, a military vehicle had been sent over. A thoughtful waiter must have alerted the orderly in the waiting room. A car with her subordinate at the wheel is already standing by. The efficient arrangements make her feel a little better. Humans have to live with a positive outlook.
And so she finds the situation genuinely wonderful. She was right not to be stingy with the tips for the waiters.
It’s also nice that they open the door so courteously. She quickly gets into the car, and it pulls out.
“Corporal, back to the barracks. Sorry, but if you can step on it…”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The corporal takes off, and amid the slight jolts along the way, she decides to share her misfortune. I don’t enjoy suffering alone. However, I don’t mind making others suffer alone. Without even giving herself time to sink back into her seat, she boots up her computation orb. She connects to the garrison and calls the Officer of the Week. The fact that he answers on the second alert means he passes.
“What can I do for you, Major?”
Well, it’s bad news. Rather than beat around the bush, I should just get to the point.
“Leave’s been cut short! Issue mobilization orders immediately! All hands should assemble as of right now.”
“…Yes, ma’am, mobilization orders, understood. I’ll call everyone back from their half-day leave.”
Well, my rest in this resort town is certainly over sooner than planned. Then Tanya has a vexing tho
ught: the possibility that even before she applied for leave, General von Rudersdorf had been “kind” enough to hold her unit up near a naval base for a few days as nominal time off. It’s totally possible. If, during a large-scale operation on the northern lines, they were transferring a unit that could keep itself safe from espionage, the General Staff certainly might have the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion withdraw.
It’s actually quite practical.
“Hurry. It’s orders from the General Staff.”
“Understood.”
The fact that they single her out to give the orders makes her think the General Staff wants to hide something. Yes, upon closer consideration, there is something very unnatural about all this. Why now, of all times, is General von Rudersdorf from Operations personally in Norden on the pretext of an inspection?
TEMPORARY CAMP OF THE IMPERIAL ARMY’S 203RD BATTALION
“Telegram from the Imperial Navy Northern Sea Fleet Command!”
“…Read it.”
From the fleet? That’s the doubt in my mind. Tanya shares the question behind the puzzled looks of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion officers. Why did the fleet’s command go to the trouble of sending us a telegram?
The fact that they aren’t going through the regional army must mean this is what the General Staff wants? Or are they intervening directly? Either way, I have a bad feeling about this. As Tanya interprets the situation, she presses the radio operator to read the telegram.
As the officers listen with question marks on their faces, he responds to her request and reads the mission orders. “These are search and destroy combat orders for the 203rd Battalion. All previous maneuvers are to be halted immediately. You are requested to proceed directly to the waters indicated, locate the enemy, and block off the area. That is all!”
Geez. They say “search and destroy” like it’s nothing. Plus, nobody uses search and destroy these days! And mages don’t have any way to navigate over the water, so how are we supposed to find enemies and block off an area? Talk about mission impossible.
As Lieutenant Serebryakov brings the document over, Tanya stares crankily at a navigation chart of Norden’s coast spread out on her desk. She doesn’t even usually look at these things. Realizing this, she can’t help an inward sigh. It confronts her with the reality that she’ll have to fly in airspace with no sense of place, and it makes her awfully depressed.