Plus Ultra

by Carlo Zen

  Which explained the rare peaceful night.

  Naturally, there wasn’t zero concern about pulling the front back. But their commander had made a confident declaration. “Tomorrow, we’ll be the tip of the spear that will end this war.” It could have only meant the unit was gearing up for a serious attack.

  Still, though, the thought that they could end the war made things easier. If our commander has so much faith in the plan, then even if we don’t completely destroy the Republican Army, it should still be enough to ensure the Empire’s safety.

  And after that, we can focus on rebuilding the territories ravaged by the war.

  …As Grantz reflected fighting so fierce that thoughts of the future were impossible, he received some concerned looks from his comrades-in-arms.

  Once he thought about it more closely, it felt like he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings in quite some time. Not that it had actually been that long, but still. He couldn’t believe he had so much quiet time; it was more than enough to reflect on the harsher fighting he’d been through.

  To calm his nerves, he picked up his cup of now slightly tepid coffee. Up until that moment, he’d just been drinking it without paying attention, but the beans were actually pretty good. He’d been told it was ration, but the presence of beans at all was rare. Considering the scarcity of boiled water on the battlefield, coffee was quite a luxury.

  Since he was on duty, alcohol was obviously prohibited. He was thankful that they had a good supply of the coffee their commander liked.

  It seemed they had requisitioned a ton of it. It was great that when he wanted to have a good think over a cup, he could do it without resorting to ersatz coffee. Yes, now that he considered them, Grantz noticed even the smallest details.

  I must really be calm, he mused behind a wry smile… The battalion had been reorganized due to the wear and tear from repeated battles. Though their losses were low, it was impossible to get away without a few at least, so even the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion had taken on replacements and absorbed part of another unit. And in fact, Grantz and others like him were originally incorporated as provisional replacements.

  They’d basically been added upon completion of their training. Surely that was better than being transferred from the familiar unit they’d trained with to struggle in a new one. Anyhow, the unit based on the 203rd was now known as the Imperial Army’s 203rd Provisional Composite Battalion on paper.

  Their call sign was Fairy. Pixies, fairies, not much difference really. Basically, this was just a formality. Eventually, the personnel would be transferred on paper to the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion and the “provisional” part of the name would go away.

  Thinking along those lines, Grantz could work out the implications of a temporary reorganization for himself. The higher-ups would do the real transformation after the upcoming operation.

  Mulling over all this, he quietly sipped his coffee. It was an unbelievably calm night for a battlefield. The view from the trench showed him the same sky he gazed at every night, but for some reason during these quiet moments, it looked surprisingly starry.

  For someone used to the battlefield, the distinct lack of machine guns and nighttime harassing fire was actually so out of place that it was nerve-racking.

  “…Relax, Lieutenant. You’re acting strange.”

  But he if he got too worked up, others were bound to notice. Agh. I was just thinking how I can finally get some sleep even on the Rhine lines with its storms of steel. I still have a ways to go. Do I seem like a chick with eggshell on its head to everyone else?

  “Sorry, Lieutenant Weiss.”

  It was First Lieutenant Weiss, who had been hit and injured in Arene. The whole battalion was glad to hear news of his smooth recovery and finally welcomed him back the other day. Lieutenant Weiss was the sort of guy who looked out for the whole unit in one way or another—everyone felt more shored up when he was around.

  And even though Grantz was the only officer who really needed to be on duty, Weiss was helping out in an effort to regain his combat instincts after some time away. It helped relieve a lot of the tension.

  The main enemies of a sentry are boredom and nerves. Grantz couldn’t have been more grateful that a senior officer kept them at bay.

  “Well, it’s not like I don’t understand how you feel. I can’t calm down, either.”

  The first lieutenant shrugged. From the casual gesture, Grantz gathered that his wound was no longer causing him any problems.

  The other day, to celebrate his release from the hospital and hone his rusty skills, Lieutenant Weiss had a mock battle with the commander. Even if that’s all he can do right now…I’m relieved he recovered.

  Then Grantz suddenly seized upon one thing Weiss had said. He can’t relax, either?

  “…So you feel like something is off, too?”

  “Of course. This battalion has been on the front lines ever since we mustered.” Weiss smiled bitterly and drained his coffee.

  He had been through hard fighting, but the smile on his face was one of amusement.

  Why, though?

  That question came into his mind for the first time in a while. Compared with everyone else, Grantz’s time on the battlefield had been so short, but it already felt like he’d been living like this for half his life. Honestly, when he thought about it, the days had been jam-packed.

  “Oh, you don’t know, huh?”

  Upon seeing Grantz’s questioning look, Weiss suddenly seemed to remember. He’d been thinking that the youngster knew what he was talking about, but it hit him that he and the other new recruits had only recently reported for duty. He wasn’t one of the grognards from the early days of the battalion.

  New arrivals learned the stories of the unit from the senior members. These guys had been incorporated so hastily that no one had been able to take the time for these basics. After their baptism in combat and surviving calamitous artillery fire, the members of the battalion finally had some time to talk to one another.

  Actually, this is more or less what we were told during the recruitment process, Weiss realized and cracked a smile in spite of himself.

  “This is a good opportunity. Let’s talk about the old days.”

  We have the time. It’s a perfect chance for us to get to know how the other thinks.

  Weiss had an orderly bring them more coffee and sat on the desk, looking up as if he were reminiscing. I didn’t realize the first lieutenant could make expressions like that, Grantz thought suddenly, looking at his senior from the side.

  …The Weiss I know is always wearing his first lieutenant mask.

  It hit him again that although he had grown used to life in the battalion, his time there hadn’t been very long at all.

  “Did you know I was originally in the eastern army?”

  “No, I never heard that before.”

  Grantz and the other recruits had come straight out of their accelerated schooling. In fact, they graduated early and were hurled onto the front lines that very minute. He remembered again how little time there had been.

  Under normal circumstances, he would have heard stories about the service of his seniors as part of getting to know the unit, but this was his first time. Up until this moment, they’d been gripping their guns so tightly that neither Grantz nor any of the old guard had noticed.

  “Oh right.” Weiss nodded and began to recite something with a smile. “We guide him always, abandon him never, go where there is no path, never yielding, forever on the battlefield. Everything we do, we do for victory. We seek mages for the worst battlefields, the smallest rewards; days darkened by a forest of swords and hails of bullets, and constant danger with no guarantee of survival. To those who return go the glory and the honor.”

  Sound familiar? Weiss asked with his eyes. But he could tell without an answer that Grantz didn’t understand.

  I don’t even need to ask, Weiss thought and continued his story. “That’s what we were told when we volunte
ered for the 203rd. ‘Don’t expect to come back alive!’” His wry smile contained a multitude of emotions. There was regret, a little self-mockery. A flood of nostalgia. Sentiments that probably all the senior members of the battalion shared.

  “I was younger. I overestimated my ability and stupidly thought I could be a hero. Mages always overestimate themselves.”

  “No, Lieutenant. I don’t think you—”

  “Nah, it’s fine. I’m just telling the truth. That’s when the major knocked me flat. Our training was really like being born again.”

  Kicked around on a snowy mountain where complaints were futile, targeted by artillery, and as if to finish them off, forced to fly so high they could barely breathe.

  “I really can’t believe I made it through that,” he murmured, shuddering at the horrors of his past.

  If the commander called something that nearly gave him two heart attacks “training,” then training it was. If she called a drill with the artillery that included some live rounds “practice,” all they could do was resign themselves to the truth. Their schooling was so rigorous that it may very well have been more terrifying than actual combat.

  In his position as second-in-command, Weiss was more painfully aware than he wanted to be that training cost money. Their battalion had already gone through a scraggly regiment’s worth of annual exercise budget. The amount generously spent on exercises—a rare exception under Major von Degurechaff’s command given her hatred of waste—was considerable.

  He had never once wondered what sort of battle she was anticipating. Still, after his mistake in Dacia and redeeming himself in Norden—all the different combat experiences he’d had—he finally understood to some extent. What Major von Degurechaff’s vice commander had learned was a simple principle.

  By thoroughly training them and then accumulating further instruction in the form of combat experience, Major von Degurechaff was hardening her battalion into a battle-worthy unit step-by-step, attempting to educate them while carrying out missions and racking up achievements.

  In a way, you could say she was trying to whip her hastily formed battalion into elite shape.

  That’s why he’d heard her (and wondered at the time if he’d heard wrong) rail against the idea of allowing a lower standard of discipline due to the addition of new recruits.

  In fact, he probably should have been surprised she even took on the assignment of rearing Grantz and the other newbies. As a result, however, it was fair to say that there was a reason the commander’s philosophy changed from handpicking elites to forcing cultivation.

  Or you could say she had her own form of trust in her superior officer’s nose. Something had invited a change.

  Some reason that she needed mages “even just for head count.”

  That was why Weiss had been looking out for the group newcomers. To his happy surprise, he got the impression Lieutenant Grantz would make a fine officer.

  That was why, even if Major von Degurechaff wasn’t grumbling, he wanted to tell the new recruits how things really were. That was his way of showing kindness.

  MAY 21, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL ARMY GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, DINING ROOM 1 (ARMY)

  Major General von Rudersdorf had heard that General Staff Office meals were prepared with the same budget and ingredients as on the front lines, for the extremely persuasive reason that it wouldn’t do for soldiers back from the battlefield to be jealous of the food in the rear.

  That’s what he’d heard, but he wondered, as he washed down a bite of bone-dry K-Brot with some water, whether frontline food was perhaps better than what he had been served. I doubt the food committee that came up with this even tried any for themselves was his calm impression, dripping with the brand of cynicism particular to those with plenty of combat experience.

  Knowing them, they came at it purely from a nutritional point of view, debated at length, considered all the details of securing production costs and ingredients. During all that time, I’m sure not a single person paid any attention to the crucial element of flavor. That has to be it. He aired his complaint as a sigh, cleansing the lingering crumbs and awful flavor from his mouth with another drink. Who would think to mass-produce this stuff?

  That said, across from him, Zettour had resigned himself to accepting the bread and ate it with a straight face. Perhaps resignation is the best spice for this, thought Rudersdorf as he decided to set aside his myriad grievances with the bread.

  Their plan was proceeding almost exactly according to schedule. They were perfectly prepared for their escape forward.

  Operation Schrecken und Ehrfurcht (“Shock and Awe”) was mere seconds away from launch.

  Ever onward. We have no choice but to advance.

  “Are we going to eat in silence? I must be more nervous than I thought.”

  “Aha, hmm. I can’t believe you said that. Nervous? I always thought you, at least, were a stranger to nerves, Zettour.”

  “I could say the same. I’m surprised you’re nervous.”

  The pair bantered as they had since their college days.

  But…Rudersdorf wasn’t averse to admitting he was anxious.

  The fate of their fatherland hung on this operation. If the revolving door didn’t work as planned, if they failed to cut off the enemy’s head…they would be forced back to square one.

  Still, he thought.

  The only way out of this for the Empire is to keep moving ahead.

  We must advance.

  The only thing they could do was escape forward.

  Onward. Onward still.

  We’ll blaze a trail for the fatherland. We’ll smash everything that stands in its way. Oh, we swear to forge the future of our fatherland.

  ““Comrades, lead the Empire to victory!””

  THE SAME DAY, THE RHINE LINES

  “Major von Degurechaff to all hands. It is now 1700 hours.”

  At the appointed time of their sealed orders, having synced watches with her adjutant, Tanya solemnly reports the hour.

  “I agree, First Lieutenant Weiss,” Tanya’s second-in-command attests.

  After making sure all the officers present are prepared to log the contents with no room for misunderstanding, Tanya nods and draws the knife at her hip.

  “All right. Let’s open it.”

  She casually slices into the secure package with the dagger and pulls out a sheaf of documents. Judging from the texture, it’s probably the extra-flammable oil paper with the General Staff’s watermark. I can tell from the blurring of the letters that they were thoughtful enough to use water-based ink. It’s fairly exciting.

  After flipping through the documents with a practiced eye, I’ve gotten the gist of it.

  …Ultimately, the only move we have is to pierce straight through the front. In this situation, if we can’t force a path to open up, the only alternative is to gather even more strength and find a way to break through.

  Which must have been why the Imperial Army General Staff Service Corps and Operations Division arrived at such a rather unusual solution.

  Even I think escaping forward is our only way out of this.

  So…

  If there is nothing to do but advance, we have to press forward like crazy with no thought to stopping.

  “Lieutenant Serebryakov, gather the troops. Lieutenant Weiss, give this a look.”

  Routine exchanges. Tanya sends her adjutant to assemble the battalion, fills her vice commander in, and prepares for the attack.

  Afterward, the brief comment she has for her officers is the same as always.

  “Attention, officers. There is only the unflinching advance. Go forward, then press on.”

  No, stopping won’t be allowed.

  “This will be an indomitable advance. Anyone who falters won’t be permitted to live.”

  It’s our first and last chance. That’s why we must get through.

  Only onward.

  Onward still.

  (The Saga of Tanya the Evil,
Volume 2: Plus Ultra, Fin)

  Side Story: A Borrowed Cat

  It was a cold, cloudy day.

  Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff felt more alone than ever. She’d been putting up a hopeless solo resistance for seventy-two hours with no end in sight.

  In a corner of the imperial capital, Berun, where the core of the Imperial Army gathered, she was alone and friendless.

  The wave attack was conducted by terrifyingly unyielding opponents who had never learned how to hold back. Her mental processing was saturated almost immediately, and the situation rapidly deteriorated into one she couldn’t manage.

  She was supposed to be the outstanding field officer who returned from Norden, received the Silver Wings Assault Badge despite being alive, and was so graceful she was given the alias “White Silver.” But in this extreme circumstance, Lieutenant Degurechaff could only defend herself in a daze like she was newly commissioned and didn’t know how to fight.

  This is indeed the shame of being trampled after a lone battle, your resistance proving futile. The helplessness assailing her brain gave way to an empty feeling, like her mind was being ground down to nothing.

  But even then, she couldn’t run away.

  Running away would be a major breach of trust as an imperial soldier; as a soldier, period; and, when it came down to it, as a modern civilized person with contractual obligations. As much as she might like to take emergency evacuation measures, fleeing before the enemy meant death by firing squad.

  Continuing was hell, but fleeing meant ruin.

  In that case… Tanya roused her timid heart, reviving her determination to resist until the very end.

  In Norden when I faced an entire company, wasn’t I prepared to die?

  Didn’t that mad scientist force me to go along with all sorts of dangerous experiments?

  But here I am, still alive. Yes, alive. I didn’t break.

  Unyielding spirit. Free will and an even obstinate devotion to her dignity.

  Using all those things, she—Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff—took a firm stance with indomitable resolve, bracing herself.