Plus Ultra

by Carlo Zen

  Plus, Tanya adds in her head, even the aircraft carriers the Americans used near the end of World War II that supposedly had great anti-aircraft fire couldn’t completely stop a certain all-in approach taken on the assumption of not returning.

  “Basel has some of the most powerful anti–air cannons out of all our existing capital ships.”

  To someone who doesn’t know yet, charging a ship with a mountain of autocannons seems like suicide.

  The navy officer who brought it up, looking confused, seems to have done so because he thought the ship had enough firepower.

  And it’s not such an outlandish thing to believe.

  It’s a practical truth that human beings, while intending to take in things objectively, only accept what they themselves can understand subjectively. In a surprise twist, Lippmann’s “stereotype” paradoxically describes how far the human intellect can expand.

  A warship with a pile of autocannons is a floating fortress. Among them, Basel boasts outstanding defensive firepower, so the question arises: Isn’t that enough? To the officers in attendance, it’s a natural question. Or at least to them, it’s not a strange one.

  “From the point of view of the attacker, it’s not much of a threat.” But Tanya puts an end to it easily. “To be honest, it really wasn’t even an obstacle.” That matter-of-fact murmur is significant. She has hinted that anti–air fire is not actually an efficient defense against attacks from the sky. All the Northern Sea Fleet Command, previously lacking in anti-mage combat and exercise experience, can do is register anew what a threat mages are.

  Still, that’s just the opinion of one major, and they would like to hear from a third party who participated in the assault. The head referee gathers that and discreetly eyes the referee in charge of the attacking side.

  The referee takes the hint and begins giving his general opinion. “I agree with Major von Degurechaff. I accompanied her on the charge and was surprised to find the firing line not so imposing.” But contrary to most of the officers’ hopes, he essentially repeats what Tanya said. “Overall, I’m forced to say that our current anti–air fire is about as useful as a bunch of firecrackers.”

  “…Our defensive firepower is that weak?” The claim is that they have been overestimating their defense, and in response the officers ask a question that shows their consternation: Is it really, honestly that weak?

  “Yes, we’re lacking even more than I expected. In order to halt approaches, we need to increase the number of guns until the ships are like porcupines.”

  The reply from the second referee is simple and leaves no room for misunderstanding.

  “I agree. And we should be adding not just 20 mm autocannons but 40 mm as well.”

  Tanya concurs more strongly than anyone. She believes the American military provided the best example of ideal anti–air fire.

  In this world, it’s completely unheard of, but it’s already been proven in combat. She indirectly proposes the innovation as her own contribution, albeit dispassionately.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is just my opinion, but 20 mm are for short-range defense; in order to create a multilayered interception shield, I strongly recommend adding midrange guns,” Tanya answers. From what she can tell, the 20 mm guns have the advantage when it comes to handling and speed, but in terms of range and power, they’re weaker. It’s logical to add 40 mm autocannons for intercepting at midrange.

  Most importantly, mage defensive shells and aircraft have no chance of withstanding a 40 mm shell.

  From the attacking point of view, capturing a warship with multibarrel gun emplacements all over like a porcupine would be a difficult task.

  “If possible, I’d like to focus on numbers. We probably need ten times the current amount.”

  “Captain Grän, what do you think?”

  “…It’s an interesting suggestion, but we can’t change the number of cannons without doing major overhauls, such as removing the secondary guns on the flanks.”

  “To go a step further, I would say that secondary guns are worse than useless. We need to increase the priority of air defense.” Tanya knows it’s disrespectful, but she sees a chance for the navy to take a decisive step forward and chimes in. After all, she knows the era of aerial warfare better than anyone here. She’s sure the time will come when warships will be assigned to aircraft carriers as direct support.

  Really, she would like to urge them to change the doctrine from obsessing about big ships with big guns to focusing on their air forces as their main power. Incidentally, she’s also a believer in fire action and values warship cannons for their supporting fire.

  That said, even one-shot lighters were able to send the then state-of-the-art Prince of Wales and the Repulse, which had been reconstructed for the modern era, to join the seaweed. Of course, we should concentrate on removing the secondary guns already and increasing the amount of high-angle guns and other autocannon emplacements.

  She also knows that until a comparable incident occurs, it will be difficult to convince the ship warfare–oriented navy to accept an air force–centric doctrine.

  At the time, the fleet’s original mission was set as counter-ship combat, and the use of mages was not yet so widespread. I’ve heard that requests for vessels to be upgraded for anti-mage and anti–air combat began pouring in this year as a countermeasure. Honestly, everyone still thinks mages fight on land.

  Computation orb functionality and aircraft specs are both improving. As a result, the idea that maybe orbs and planes might be threats is only just starting to spread.

  Only someone who understands the history of how aviation advanced by leaps and bounds during the Second World War can understand. Until then, no one had dreamed war would drive scientific and technological advances like it does.

  “Hmm. It’s not that we’re taking air defense lightly, but…”

  “We’ll have to think about it if issues arise fighting off other ships.”

  In truth, even officers who are far from inept have deeply rooted views. Ships are equipped to counter ships because the navy can’t escape the instinct to keep their original counter-ship combat mission in mind.

  And thinking in terms of counter-ship doctrine, they’d like to keep their secondary guns. Though the importance of being equipped for close-quarters fighting has lessened, the need to fight off torpedo boats and destroyers, which do press in to attack, is a factor that can’t be ignored to them.

  “We’ll have to discuss it with Technology. Please let navy command and the Technology Department handle this issue.”

  In the end, the conclusion is not to reject the idea but take it under advisement, which essentially means to shelve it. Well, in a way, by saying her piece Tanya has done her duty. After all, it’s no skin off her back if the anti–air fire isn’t strengthened.

  As long as it’s not a ship I’m on, where it sinks has nothing to do with me. Besides, the Empire is a continental state, not a maritime state.

  Without breathing a word of any of that, she camouflages herself with a sober attitude, but she is in utter earnest. The best thing for ensuring my own survival is training my troops.

  Of course, she is passionate about identifying issues in this postmortem. Well, she has to be. She believes that preventing mistakes is best.

  “All right. Are there any other remarks from the attacking side?”

  “I would say there are cooperation problems.”

  “Of what sort?”

  “The marines and sailors don’t seem to be very well coordinated. I felt like the disorder of the sailors was tripping up the marines.”

  She had noticed it on her approach—the deck was a real mess. Her impression was that the two different corps had trouble working together.

  If they had been units stationed there today, below-par coordination would be understandable, but for units that are shipmates, it’s a bit problematic. From what I could tell, it seemed like the marines felt their job consisted
of ground and landing battles.

  Of course, I can’t deny that those are their primary duties, but we don’t want them to suck at fighting on board a ship. And the confusion and failure to cooperate with sailors is completely unacceptable. In an organization where sales and systems engineering become estranged, they have to compensate with a death march. In the military, the death in death march is literal.

  Considering that I could end up a casualty of poor cooperation between our own troops, it’s absolutely critical to suggest an improvement. Having reached this quite reasonable conclusion, albeit via a selfish argument, Tanya speaks eloquently on the necessity of increased coordination. Her idea at its root is self-preservation, but at the same time, she’s altruistic; it can’t be said that she isn’t acting with the aim to benefit the majority.

  And that attitude, for the good of the majority, leads to a proposal that is acceptable by the whole.

  Probably everyone was vaguely aware of the poor cooperation. The head referee questions the concerned party. Naturally, he does it in a way that is sensitive to their sense of honor. “I see. What do the marines think about this?”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit that we haven’t trained much with fighting on ships in mind. I acknowledge the need for retraining.”

  In response to the comment from the marines, Tanya declares her unit’s need for more training as well. “After having actually fought inside a ship, I think my unit is lacking experience, too.”

  She’s half using inadequate training as an excuse; though the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is elite, the group is made up entirely of mages, and their lack of knowledge of other fields is a real problem.

  That’s why Tanya hopes to do joint training with the marines, who have the most experience on this front.

  You can’t hesitate to borrow wisdom from experts if you want to stay alive. The plan for what happens next can come after you survive.

  If this meeting runs long enough, the navy will feed us dinner—that is, the good food that navy officers get. It’s no problem at all if the exercise schedule takes more time than planned.

  In this way, Tanya continues her hard work, cultivating a heartening friendship with the navy while keeping an eye on her next battlefield—though it runs against her own thinking—and thus she takes one step after another toward victory.

  [chapter] V The Devil of the Rhine

  PRESENT DAY, AS WELL AS SOMEWHERE IN MARCH OF UNIFIED YEAR 1925

  It’s a familiar dream for the old man who lived through the Rhine.

  He would have the same dream again tonight. As one of the soldiers who served in the Great War, it’s all burned into his mind.

  Back then, back there—in a way, it was where the rest of their lives were forged.

  Even now, unceasing gunfire echoes in his head like a broken record.

  Before he knows it, his thoughts return to that battlefield full of memories. Even after the war, the sights and sounds are too raw in their minds to fade. It’s the past, but they can remember that world so clearly. The fucking battlefield. The most horrible thing the human race ever created. That battlefield where mud and flies reigned.

  Ahh. He groans at the recollection. The Rhine was the very gates of hell.

  The old man has that dream over and over and is reminded again and again. I’ll probably never forget it.

  I remember the events of that day in detail. As shells crisscrossed just over our heads, me and the rest of Company G were steadily advancing under orders to move to a new attack position. Of the five regiments composing the front line, Company E was seeing the most intense fighting, and our mission was to support their flank.

  I was in a machine-gun squad. Our job was simply to set up the guns at the trench dug by the vanguard unit and create a firing position. The Imperial Army was supposed to have the Republican Army pretty well suppressed in that area, but the lines themselves were complicated as always. They were almost fluid. In other words, the battlefield was a bloody, chaotic jumble of us and them.

  The bombardment had blown away all but one tree in this mire—the sort of place where resources were wasted, blood ran in rivers, and when you would peek out of the trench to see what you could see, it would be all artillery smoke.

  Still, the blasted enemy artillerymen made nothing of the awful visibility and shelled us constantly at a varying pace. Our company’s trench mortar squad returned fire, but they barely made a dent. Despite the smoke obscuring the battlefield, we could see a number of muzzle flashes from the Republican Army positions.

  I remember how much we struggled with the mortars. They didn’t have a stable place to shoot from because the duckboards were sinking into the mud. Conditions were so bad that for the machine guns, too, even the highly trained gunners couldn’t control their lines of fire.

  I remember that as far as the eye could see, it was soldiers covered in mud, doing everything within human power to secure their attack positions.

  I remember that day very well.

  The field guns set up in the trench were trying out some observed fire, and the designated riflemen were digging foxholes with all their might. Looking back on it now, these were superhuman actions from the few who stepped up in one corner of the harsh battlefield. Not allowing themselves to be discouraged by the maggots, the muck, or the shells raining down, enveloped in the stenches of rot and death, with no decent cover, those men advanced through the mud. They had trench foot. Their display of bravery is burned into my eyelids, and it even appeared divine; I respect those men to this day from the bottom of my heart.

  It was a shocking picture from a world you can’t understand unless you’ve experienced it; you can only understand by being there.

  “I can’t believe this. Those toads. They must really like the mud!”

  “Yeah. The gunners want to turn this land into a swamp and jump right in.”

  “But the ones getting shot at are Company H. I feel for them.”

  The team’s banter eased our nerves somewhat, but the chatter from the guys in a nearby foxhole reminded us of reality. The ones under fire were Company H, who had gone ahead of us. Frustratingly, the brass at the time seemed convinced we could break through the enemy’s defense with human bullets.

  How many lives do they think this muddy tract of land is worth?!

  “Air support still isn’t here?! Shut up the enemy guns already!”

  Someone let out a groan that echoed the sentiments of the whole company. We were supposed to push the lines up in places under local air superiority. That’s how the operation was supposed to work.

  Those despicable bigwigs said we would have complete air support, but we wanted to scream that they must have meant a complete lack of air support.

  “I told ya, didn’t I? You can bet your Easter turkey that was an empty promise.”

  High explosives crisscrossed over the battlefield. A near hit from one of those was enough to blow a human body to bits. In a situation like that, close, full support was a pipe dream. So I don’t think we were expecting much in the first place. Regardless of how the new recruits rushed through training felt, the old hands knew that there was no promise less reliable than one made by the brass.

  Everyone ended up like that. The soldiers exposed to the squall of heavy shelling, faced with the inescapable pain and mental strain of long hours under fire, couldn’t help their eternal skepticism.

  If they didn’t, gruesome reality would slay the beautiful propaganda in a single blow, and the soldiers would go insane. In order to survive the horrific war, you couldn’t rely too much on hope.

  “Ngh! I’m hit! Damn it!”

  “Medic! Medic!”

  I remember being able to hear, for some reason, the sounds of someone in a neighboring dugout crumpling to the ground and their friends panicking, even over the roar of the battlefield. I suddenly realized that one unlucky bastard had been done in by a stray shot or a sniper. Since the entire trench wasn’t blown away and there were no foll
ow-up shots, it had to be a sniper.

  We quickly ducked lower and sprayed harassing fire anywhere it seemed like he could have been lurking. We don’t wanna die.

  “Send out a stretcher! Cover them!”

  Then…

  I’ll never forget those four stretcher-bearers racing out under diligent cover to try to get their injured brother to the rear. Emblems of courage and integrity. The medics are the only ones those of us headed away from the battlefield can rely on. Because the medics, called Sanis, were with us, we were guaranteed some humanity in that hellish world.

  Unlike people working easier jobs in the rear, if there was a fellow soldier who needed them, they would always charge into hails of bullets even we would balk at. Even when they were blown away with a painful impact, more of them were ready to go out after their fallen teammates. It was proof of their courage.

  They were the only ones I really, deeply respected. They were the only ones we could trust no matter what. I still feel that way.

  “Lay down a smoke screen!”

  “Hand grenades! Throw everything you got!”

  The mortar squad shot smoke shells, the designated riflemen threw grenades, and we just put up a curtain of fire. The stretcher was a sight for sore eyes when it safely appeared. Our trustworthy friends with their magnificent bravery. Sanis had to be protected if no one else; they were the only ones who would save us.

  And at the same time, I guess you could say, due to our covering fire, the Republicans spread out across from us seemed to remember the target they were supposed to prioritize. They were determined to crush not the swiftly receding stretcher but the smart-aleck machine-gun nets. Thanks to that, we were showered in concentrated fire, and I lowered my head without thinking, unable to take all the blasts of dust filling the air from near hits. Facedown in our trench with our ears alert, we smiled weakly at the thought of how many Republican artillerymen must be treating us to shells.