The Saga of Tanya The Evil, Vol. 8: In Omnia Paratus

by Carlo Zen

  That’s just what she is.

  If that’s what she is, then that’s what you use her for.

  “This makes things so much easier than holing up in the rear, dealing with people who can’t understand even when you explain every little thing. It’s so much more pleasant to work with someone who simply gets it.”

  Ultimately, even an officer is just a cog in the machine.

  If you look at them as merely a part, then all that matters is reliability and performance. In other words, their ability. In a war, anything that isn’t ability is nothing but trivial sentimentality.

  “A rare breed of officer, an excellent commander—basically, a vicious staffer. I guess we have to watch out for the younger generation.”

  We must be shouting the same things right about now.

  Amused—no, delighted from the bottom of his heart—Zettour raised his voice. Was there anything an officer wished to do more than this?

  “This offensive is a go! We advance. Let’s get moving.”

  [chapter V] Pocket

  JUNE 18, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE EASTERN LINES, RESCUE UNIT, FORWARD-MOST VANGUARD

  On the endless expanse of land, the visible man-made objects were tiny dots. Little grains scattered here and there. From a bird’s-eye view, they were probably easy to overlook as inconsequential blips.

  But those who approached would surely gasp at their majesty. They were the very definition of massive—the best armor modern technology had to offer: This was the Imperial Army’s armored division on the attack.

  Leaving ruts in the ground, nothing blocking their path, the group was headed straight for Soldim 528. In the lead was the commander’s tank equipped with a large wireless set to keep everyone together, and behind that were several vehicles also fully loaded with communication devices.

  That was fairly unusual, but it was a move that manifested the commander’s mentality. On the eastern front, where armored warfare frequently took place on a large scale, it had become normal for the unit commander to be there on the front lines in order to make snap decisions; there was nothing rare about that.

  But the curious glances from the tanks and infantry trucks traveling around them—from the no small number of seasoned armored division veterans maintaining their formations perfectly—said that something about the commander’s cluster was peculiar.

  If you lent an ear to the radio, the answer would be clear immediately.

  “We’ve made contact with the enemy. It’s a Federation Army defensive unit!”

  Ah, but the troops are familiar with that warning voice. The word enemy probably made them nervous, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary, so…it wouldn’t have caused the curious looks.

  Nevertheless, for some reason today, everyone was watching for the combat vehicles’ reaction with both bewilderment and anticipation.

  The reason was the person sticking their head out of one of the tanks. After casting a look at the enemy camp, so focused that it was liable to burn it down, he turned around, shook his head, and shouted. “Notice to everyone in the division; I say again, notice to everyone in the division. This is an order from your commander. Ignore them! Go around! Do not engage!”

  He was neither a company, battalion, nor even a regiment commander. He was the commander of the whole division.

  Commander Cramm’s roar from the front was conveyed via the large wireless set to the other vehicles behind him.

  “Don’t even think about it—just press onward!”

  As he waved an arm fiercely to say, Follow me! the figure he cut as he encouraged his troops brimmed with determination. Judging by appearance only, his subordinates probably would have exchanged glances that said, My old man does the same!

  Cramm had the commander-out-front spirit, and he led the resolute charge after climbing aboard one of the vehicles and saying, “I’m going with you!”

  All of this was the fruit of seeds sown by Zettour, who now sat in the rear seat of a military vehicle smiling in amusement.

  “Boy, Lieutenant Grantz, Commander Cramm really has us beat. We might as well be spectators.”

  “General, with all due respect…”

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “I’m sure from Commander Cramm’s point of view…” It was your desire to go to the front line that brought about this situation, don’t you think, sir? That was the look in the eyes, like he wanted to say something, of the first lieutenant escorting Lieutenant General von Zettour; apparently, he didn’t hesitate to express his opinion on the battlefield.

  That Colonel von Degurechaff—how in the world does she train her young officers so a mere lieutenant is mentally capable of speaking with no fear, and so unreservedly, to a general? If she wasn’t so adept in the field, I’d throw her straight into an education job in the rear… It’s actually quite frustrating.

  Cracking a smile about what an amusing dilemma that was, he clapped Grantz on the back. “I see what you’re trying to say, Lieutenant. But observing on the front lines is one of my duties in this position—as inspector, that is. So where’s the front line? Here, right?”

  “Though it may be impertinent of me to say so, do take care, General.”

  “Of course, I’ll be careful once this is over.”

  Realizing there was no way to get him to change his decision, Grantz flashed a vague smile and kept silent. Disappointed that his joke hadn’t gone over better, Zettour turned to look at Cramm’s tank.

  The way he leaned out of the hatch, paying no heed to his own physical safety, was the very picture of a hero.

  “Well! He really is daring,” Zettour murmured, swallowing his complaint that all division commanders should be that way.

  The group of vehicles driving across the vastness of the eastern front lands probably proclaimed universal order and discipline. But how many people would know that it was actually rare?

  The Imperial Army, which had overexpanded due to the massive mobilization, rapidly swelled with new posts, but—not that anything could be done about it—the undereducated officers couldn’t replace the personnel lost since the start of the war.

  Divisional HR? They were already concerned about regimental HR. Given the mental exhaustion of the B Group staffers, they should have been long since swapped out. The fact that they couldn’t even find the personnel to do that spoke volumes to how much the Imperial Army was scraping the bottom of the barrel.

  That’s why seeing with his own eyes that a critical unit like an armored division was maintaining high standards of both quality and motivation was a rare silver lining.

  “It’s a bit of a rough situation.”

  As long as they had to defend such a huge front like the one in the east with limited forces, outstanding, aggressive officers were essential for carrying out missions with the highest degree of efficiency.

  “But we don’t have enough… We don’t have anywhere near enough officers.”

  After standing on the forward-most line on the eastern front, that was a reality anyone could feel whether they wanted to or not.

  The fact that field officers like Degurechaff and armored division commanders like Cramm were meeting the standards required by the front lines made them…extreme exceptions in the current Imperial Army.

  There was no choice but to prepare more people like them. But personnel like that couldn’t be whipped up overnight. Cultivating officers who could be truly useful always took time. Even if they wanted to pull from the noncommissioned ranks, the pool of noncoms wasn’t exempt from the same attrition and understaffing that everyone else was suffering. Under these circumstances, producing an officer corps that could withstand live combat would probably take a generation.

  Zettour wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or depressed; the Empire only realized the value of trained, disciplined, well-educated officers on the front lines after they lost them.

  Perhaps most of the country was still living in a fantasy. Maybe they were convinced the Imperial Army was
just as powerful of an organization as it was before the war started.

  The homeland’s wish was for them to push on through the mud of the eastern front. Which is why the army was almost carelessly throwing troops onto the barren earth as fertilizer.

  From his rear seat in the military vehicle, if Zettour looked around, he could see the grandeur of nature. If this were a sightseeing trip, it would have been nice to enjoy the great views of interweaving scenery. Though he was no major proponent of a return to nature, this wasn’t half-bad.

  But on the other hand, it was merely evidence of undeveloped space. To the Empire, this was far from Heimat.

  His beloved home was distant, and this place couldn’t even be considered a borderland.

  “…This is the epitome of a barren battle line.”

  The words in his mind slipped out in a murmur.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Something Zettour couldn’t manage to put into words had been bothering him.

  The Imperial Army’s current operation objective was to secure a resource area to support the war economy. That was understandable. A resource area was an alluring trophy. If Operation Andromeda succeeded, he had no doubt that the Empire’s resource situation would improve. If they succeeded, their victory would be easy to comprehend.

  It would probably also have a positive effect on the rear’s dwindling will to fight. Of course, that was only if you were looking at the situation from the rear.

  To those out in the field, victory in an offensive and expanding their occupied territory was a veritable nightmare. On the forward-most line, anyone who didn’t realize what a pointless endeavor this was had to have some screws loose.

  It didn’t even require an intellectual exercise to identify the problem. It was clear at a glance.

  This vast expanse of mud was, yes, marvelously rich black soil. But if it wasn’t going to produce any fruit, it really was pointless.

  “If we could raise the Council for Self-Government’s agricultural yields, we could expect some improvement, surely… Is the bottleneck fertilizer? But we can’t stop gunpowder production. There aren’t enough resources to go around…”

  It would be tricky… Zettour winced as he caught himself considering the balance of things.

  That’s not my job right now.

  For better or worse, I’ve been uprooted and have no choice but to make my living here on the front lines.

  “Hmm?”

  Suddenly, the car shook, and tense voices shouted over the radio.

  “Enemies spotted! They’re at one o’clock…enemy tanks!”

  Contact. And armored forces that would be difficult to evade. Enemies with speed always irritated Zettour to his core.

  He had been prepared for an encounter battle but had hoped they would be able to avoid it. From another perspective, they could clash with the most problematic enemy in their least weakened state—but the best would have been if they could do it after getting through to Soldim 528.

  “Prepare to engage! Watch out for anti-tank guns, and shoot ’em dead!” It was Cramm’s rousing encouragement ringing over the radio. Zettour returned to his senses and stared out at the enemy. It was a group of tanks.

  When he looked over at Cramm’s vehicle to see what he would do…it appeared he wasn’t planning on pulling back.

  But of course not. The commander’s tank must be in the lead. As soon as the platoon jumped out front, the tank regiment began tracing complicated, coordinated maneuvers in order to return the enemy fire.

  Cramm’s tank had entered firing range, and its main gun began to roar. Now then, how will they…? Eager to observe firsthand, Zettour took up his binoculars and opened his notebook, but just then, an unexpected transmission came through.

  “General, please fall back.”

  He couldn’t help but be confused by the division commander’s voice flowing from the receiver. To put his finger on it, the words were so boorish. He couldn’t understand at all.

  “Commander Cramm? Sorry, but I don’t understand.”

  “What?!”

  “Why are you leaving me out? Your vehicle is staying, right?”

  The radio immediately barked. “General! I’m in a tank! It has armor!”

  Cramm must have been shouting himself red in the face, but…so what? His observation that it was too dangerous to be in an unarmored car was, yes, valid.

  It was valid, but that didn’t mean anything.

  “I appreciate the warning, Commander Cramm. But you needn’t worry.”

  “Huh?”

  “I told you I was borrowing mages to escort me, right? They’ll handle it. Don’t worry about me; go on and wage war.”

  With that, Zettour took the receiver away from his ear, and Grantz, fairly frothing at the mouth, shouted at him in disbelief. “General!”

  “According to Colonel von Degurechaff’s report, there’s a precedent for using mages as armor in a tank desant—and you were the one who pulled it off.”

  “But that was on a tank! It had armor!”

  Cramm, Grantz—are they both only capable of repeating themselves? Zettour furrowed his brow.

  Perhaps people these days were too particular about armor, but…it also made him worry about the current paradigm.

  “Lieutenant Grantz, armor is important, but it’s technology. Ultimately, technology is a tool, not something we can allow to control us.”

  “One stray shot to this open-top car, and you’ll be telling a different story! Armor isn’t just for decoration!”

  Ah. Zettour gave a small nod. Grantz’s opinion was extremely appropriate for someone in his position.

  It made sense that escorting a multipurpose vehicle was much more difficult than supporting a tank. Unfortunately, Zettour could absolutely not go along with his advice.

  “So? You’re telling me if the enemy shoots at us, I should find some armor to hide behind? What am I supposed to do with that suggestion, Lieutenant?”

  As the young lieutenant’s face stiffened in disbelief, some contempt even for his recklessness probably crossed his mind.

  And he was being imprudent.

  Attending a tank fight in a mere car essentially made him an easy target. He apologized mentally for making everyone deal with the trouble he was putting them through. But it was necessary.

  In military affairs, that one word—necessary—was enough to justify anything.

  “Lieutenant, I bulldozed the rescue of the Lergen Kampfgruppe through. If the one who proposed the operation retreats, it might make success look impossible and red light the whole thing. If I make an excuse like that, the rescue may not happen.”

  “With all due respect, General, this is an official military action!”

  “That’s a dutiful answer.”

  If he believes it, that is.

  Zettour didn’t think Grantz personally had all the answers, but he knew he had been trained under Degurechaff. He was experienced enough to be treated as an officer who knew the ropes, and guys like that were well aware of the way the official account diverged from reality.

  “Are you saying you don’t know what will happen if the one who proposed it flees? Obviously, our response will falter. Without a forceful attack, I doubt we can break the encirclement.”

  “But… Take cover! Take cover!” Grantz had been about to nod in agreement when his expression abruptly changed, and he shouted. At the same time, the driver’s face warped, and he began turning. Zettour noticed a moment later that something was wrong.

  “Growing old is such a hassle. Your eyes just can’t keep up.”

  No matter how determined you are to fight whenever you see an enemy, it doesn’t mean much if your all-important eyesight starts to go. As he mocked himself, he turned to follow Grantz’s gaze…and saw what looked like the silhouettes of enemy tanks with their guns pointed this way.

  Debating in the face of the enemy? Apparently, I’ve been in the rear for too long—I’ve lost my edge.


  “Mages, defend against the bombardment! If you use your shells, the vehicles will be blown away! Don’t take the hits head-on—use your protective films to deflect them!”

  When Grantz shouted, the mages accompanying him clutched their orbs. Almost simultaneously, a booming sound cut through the air. It was the enemy guns opening up.

  “…Ngh?!”

  Should it be said that it was the combination of contemporary science and magic that caused a miracle? Or was it always just these moments that God chose to bless him? An enemy shell had been headed right toward him, but its path must have deviated, because it whistled past and flew away harmlessly.

  The mages’ skill at evading point-blank fire at this range was incredible.

  …Degurechaff really gave me some good people. So this is why she was loath to see them go. She might hold a grudge against me for taking them…

  “Well done, Lieutenant!”

  “It’s an honor to hear you say so, sir, but please get to the rear! The enemy tanks are—!”

  “I know there are enemies around. But what do I care about that, Lieutenant Grantz? Besides, you’re going to do something about them, aren’t you?”

  “But those are the new model!”

  “That’s precisely why I need to see them. I need to complete my inspection! An eye for an eye and a tank for a tank…” Zettour’s comment trailed off, and the notebook he had taken out dropped from his hand as his eyes widened in shock at the scene unfolding before him.

  Though they were in motion, the imperial tanks ferociously attacked the enemy vehicles. The skill of the tankmen, firing their main guns and brilliantly scoring direct hits while on the move, was magnificent.

  But there was just one problem.

  “…They deflected the shots? I can’t believe it.”

  The imperial tank guns were well within effective range, but the fire wasn’t effective. Enduring hit after hit, the enemy tanks were unharmed.

  If they managed to destroy the tanks’ treads, they could wear them down with focus fire. No matter how proud the enemy was of their armor, once they were disabled, they could be bombarded with concentrated attacks till they burst into flames. Still, that was a result that could only be attained with a massing of firepower against immobile enemies.