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

by Carlo Zen

  He was leaving out the absolutely critical concern of the skill gap between imperial and Federation mages.

  The problem was simple. Though the imperial side was numerically inferior, at least they had been able to boast superior quality; now, that was clearly in jeopardy. To be “even” spoke volumes about what the future held. The Empire’s personnel and infrastructural capacities couldn’t ignore a kill ratio4 of one to one. At that rate, even after the Empire had completely dissolved, the Federation would still have units left—and an even bigger advantage.

  “Thanks for your comments, Lieutenant. I learned a lot.”

  Suppressing his expression and emotions, he extended polite yet empty gratitude as he peered through his binoculars. The aerial mage unit ground attack unfolding before them seemed a usage of mages far more polished than anything that had been imagined prewar, but an officer with experience fighting in the east called it “accelerated.”

  So I’m an old man now. It’s extremely questionable whether I’m even managing to keep up with our progress. He harshly mocked himself in his head.

  “At any rate, oh? It seems they’ve mopped them up.” He made a point of speaking matter-of-factly. “An anti-tank position, aerial mage tactics, and the concentrated commitment of both armored groups. So we can open up a hole even if it is small.”

  The moment he had figured that they would be able to break through and retry the encirclement maneuver, those calculations collapsed.

  “General von Zettour! It’s Commander Cramm calling!”

  “Give it here.”

  “General von Zettour, bad news from the aerial fleet. The Federation Army units are reacting to our presence and changing position.”

  “Ooh, we have guests?”

  “General!”

  What a mess. He winced.

  Maybe after all that chair polishing at the General Staff Office, he was a little too giddy to be back in the field. The front lines were complex yet simple. He much preferred the atmosphere here to meetings with Supreme Command.

  “Commander Cramm, you say there’s a crisis, but conversely…couldn’t it be considered a chance? I don’t mean to be impetuous, but I can’t deny that I’m excited.”

  “A chance?”

  “The enemy soldiers who have been holed up in their positions are coming right out. On the Rhine lines, we booted them all the way to the sea.”

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha, but that was an awfully risky advance. And this time is even riskier.”

  “That depends on how you’re interpreting the situation. Certainly, our flank is at risk, but it’d be a different story if the Lergen Kampfgruppe synced up with our offensive for a pincer attack.”

  “You’re saying the envelopment worked?”

  “Not yet.” Zettour continued, injecting some slight irritation, “We’ve only just attained the possibility of it happening. As time passes, that possibility will slip from our grasp… That’s why we need to get creative.”

  “G-get creative?”

  “What’s wrong, Lieutenant Grantz?”

  “No, errr, beg your pardon.”

  “Getting creative in this scenario could…really only mean one thing, right? It’s probably what you’re afraid of, but at the rate we’re going, I fear the Lergen Kampfgruppe’s persevering struggle will only end up a tactical waste.”

  “What are you planning? I’d appreciate if you would tell me.”

  It was less a question than a confirmation request. It was clear from Cramm’s stiffened expression that he had steeled his resolve.

  So, respectfully, he told him.

  “We need bait, Commander Cramm.”

  “Understood, but please allow me to say one thing.”

  “Which is?” Zettour wasn’t arrogant or insolent enough to refuse to hear the opinion of someone in distress.

  “If you met with Colonel von Lergen to discuss a pincer operation, you would normally let us know ahead of time.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “““Huh?”””

  Suddenly the object of everyone’s questioning stares, Zettour gave them an awkward grin. “Is that strange? I didn’t make any specific plan with the Lergen Kampfgruppe beforehand.”

  “B-but a pincer…”

  “I didn’t order a pincer. The General Staff’s job is to protect the fatherland in the place of God, but who would be able to foresee this situation and give appropriate orders ahead of time? Luckily, it’s a staffer in charge over there. I just trust that even in the worst-case scenario, we’ll at least get the minimal response necessary.”

  “What makes you so sure, sir?” the commander asked back, and Zettour smiled at him brightly. That’s obvious.

  “I’m repeating myself, but I’ll say it again: There’s a staff officer commanding the unit.”

  They had the same paradigm pounded into them. Plus, she was one of the Twelve Knights at war college.

  “So, well, it’s a sure thing.”

  “Wh-what about the message from before?”

  “It was psychological pretense, pressure, and an alert. Well, it’s pretty easy to toy with both the enemy and our own if all it takes is a single message.”

  An officer who doesn’t require excessive explanation makes a decision immediately, responds instantaneously, and doesn’t hesitate to take the necessary action. Sure, Degurechaff may have been broken, but not as an officer.

  For the Heimat, that was a competence to be celebrated.

  “All right, troops. This is my request. Lure in the enemy—in as flashy a way as you can manage.”

  It’s a tall order, but let’s trust that if we lure them in here, the pincer will take shape. This was all a bit too irrational to be called tactics, but since a frontal attack was out of the question, they had no choice.

  He was going to push it through with the full awareness that it was reckless.

  “Very well, General. Allow me to give you my official reply to your request: ‘We will counterattack. I say again, we will counterattack.’ That is all.”

  The concise report of the situation was everything a clear report should be.

  And the marvelous way the single line was composed to retain the ambiguity in the chain of command: Taking Zettour’s standing and position into account gave it an even more artful essence.

  So he’s prepared for the worst, too.

  “Good, very good. I wish you luck. That is all.”

  “Yes, sir! All right, General. Then by your leave, I’m prepared to storm Valhalla with you as marshal and general.”

  “I don’t know which of us will be the first to go, but sure, I’ll tag along.”

  Zettour realized the corners of his mouth had relaxed into a smile as he watched them dash off. It wasn’t as if he was letting his guard down; perhaps the spirited exchange had simply lightened his mood.

  “…I didn’t think it would happen, but I’ve grown sentimental as I’ve aged.”

  There was a mountain of things to deal with.

  But he had managed to break it down.

  Turning it to rubble wasn’t just a dream.

  Where are you, my means of escape?

  “Okay, I can’t let them show me up. There’s one more job I need to do.”

  Just as Zettour, gun in hand, was about to mingle with the other infantry and join the defensive battle, a first lieutenant with a panicked look blocked his path.

  “General, please fall back! Any more is—”

  “Too dangerous? I know that without you telling me, Lieutenant Grantz. Well, this is a do-or-die moment. We’re prepared for an infantry battle, and even I can shoot a gun.”

  “Please stop, General!”

  Grantz, standing in his way, trying to bar him from the battlefield, was a good escort. Zettour was grateful that the lieutenant put up with him and, without a single complaint, continued to worry about him.

  But withdrawing now was something he couldn’t do.

  With the enemy approaching right in front of the
m, how could he be the only one to fall back?

  “Lieutenant, this is a critical juncture.”

  “We’ll handle it! Please fall back, General. I have strict orders from Colonel von Degurechaff to protect you!”

  “…Is the rest of the division still on their way? Go and tell them to advance as well.”

  “General!”

  “How could I fall back without even getting shot?”

  Grantz was trying to argue when he shouted something at the receiver in his ear in spite of himself.

  “Commander Cramm has been gravely injured and is being sent to the rear! Brigadier General Schulz is taking over. General, you can’t—”

  “You heard them! Commander Cramm is the one who should be sent to the rear.”

  Not allowing any further debate, Zettour gripped his gun and positioned himself on the forward-most line. Sadly, the sound of light machine guns was sparse.

  Bearing in mind the lessons learned on the Rhine, the Imperial Army had a love for artillery and machine guns bordering on favoritism…but the prospects for maintaining the necessary supply network on the eastern front weren’t promising. While the artillery shells were still being manufactured, they weren’t reaching the front line in sufficient quantities. And when it came to light machine guns, chronic ammo and barrel shortages were rampant.

  The Empire’s faltering infrastructure had been weighing on the east for a long time. But not receiving supplies is all it takes for an army to start writhing in agony. The Imperial Army’s ideal of crushing the enemy position via large-scale artillery action became infeasible, and the decreasing density of infantry fire deteriorated the imperial infantry units’ numerically inferior combat strength in the extreme.

  As a result, all the high-ranking imperial officers were forced to either choose the direct approach of targeting enemy communication lines or make circumvention the goal and bet on a maneuver battle.

  That was the fundamental reason Andromeda, Lieutenant General von Rudersdorf’s operation targeting the resource fields to the south, hinged on winning a maneuver battle. There was no longer any hope of performing a general offensive according to schedule. As Lieutenant Colonel Uger had nearly spat with a grimace, the Empire didn’t have any margin for error left.

  Laying the conflict bare was B Group’s ammunition shortage. Even working the expert timetable masters to the bone, the army could hardly scrape together enough bullets. That was how grave the situation was for the Empire.

  Those who experienced the outcome on the front lines understood whether they wanted to or not.

  “Deputy Commander Schulz has been hit! General!”

  “No complaints. Have them keep playing it by ear. What officer could complain in front of his men? All we can do at this point is hold!”

  “But so many regimental commanders have already been—We can’t go on like this! General, please order a retreat!”

  “Lieutenant Grantz, quit your whining. The operation is already under way. Just try and retreat now—the entire army would collapse. This isn’t the Rhine front.”

  A plan decided in advance, a stockpile, an adequate railway timetable, and plenty of forces in reserve…were all things the eastern front didn’t have.

  Now that the maneuver was under way, if they stopped, it could mean the downfall of the Imperial Army. Despite the hardship, they had to carry on.

  Even if all they had was a tightrope, they needed to make the crossing—if they couldn’t, the only thing awaiting them was death.

  …We’re at war. If our fate is unavoidable, all we can do is laugh.

  “High-ranking officers will die. That’s a good thing. Maybe it’ll be a wake-up call for those in the rear.”

  Relying on the creativity of the lower- and mid-ranking officers, plus the skills of the noncoms, the generals were putting their bodies on the line to get the job done.

  You couldn’t call it a tactic.

  A few years ago, he would have laughed it off as a mess, a battle of attrition spawned by a dearth of intelligence. There wasn’t enough firepower left to defeat the enemy. If you didn’t have enough supplies, then you made up for it with the right attitude. If your attitude was flagging, then you had no choice but to fill in the gaps with blood and resignation.

  …That’s an impressive level of foolishness.

  “Lure them in! Show them I’m here! Raise the battle standards!”

  “The enemy will target you!”

  “That’s the point! I don’t care—just do it!”

  But having come this far, the most he could do was act as bait.

  Zettour hoped he would be able to lure in the enemy and make the operation a success… Surely, it was terribly childish as a gamble. You would be hard-pressed to call this operation-level intelligence.

  Still…even if he died, it wouldn’t be in vain. It would shock the nation awake.

  If he could inform the rear of the alarming state of the eastern front…

  “…It’s the best use I can think of for my body. The corpses of soldiers must be employed as efficiently as possible. Heh, have we reached the outer limits of war?”

  But that was why all he could do now was fight with all his might.

  “Quit jabbing and get busy! Fire back!”

  THE SAME DAY, SOLDIM 528

  Military orders, aka the impossible asked of you by your superiors.

  Either way, once Tanya infers their fellow troops on the eastern front have begun maneuvers to relieve Soldim 528, she gives up on her leisurely sleep rotation. Overtime is legal during a crunch period if there’s a labor-management agreement. And anyhow, imperial soldiers are “public servants,” so they’re not allowed to grumble.

  Being able to peremptorily shift all units into rapid response preparedness is the ideal for a mid-level labor manager. If only there wasn’t a war on, things would be perfect; well, no helping that.

  First Lieutenant Tospan and First Lieutenant Wüstemann have strict orders to keep watch on the front line; Captain Meybert and Captain Ahrens are on standby at HQ for command and control purposes. Having arranged conditions intently so she can make free use of the subordinates she has trained from the start, Tanya privately gives careful thought to the joint breakout to be undertaken with the mages of the siege-breaking squad. It’s fortunate that the rescue Lieutenant General von Zettour guaranteed her is in the works, but it’s self-evident to Tanya that the deployment of friendly units doesn’t necessarily equal her successful escape.

  Frankly, looking back through history, there are plenty of rescue operations that failed.

  That’s why she listens carefully, making every effort not to miss a thing. She has no intention of getting the unit wiped out because she missed their chance.

  “There’s been a change in the Federation Army’s communications!”

  Tanya looks up—This is what we’ve been waiting for!—in response to the communications personnel’s raised voice. It’s the announcement HQ has been expecting.

  Tanya takes hold of the receiver and listens for herself. Aha, not only has the frequency exploded, but there’s a ton going out un-encoded. It appears less as though they aren’t being careful enough with their encoding and more that there simply isn’t time.

  But she can’t understand the critical message.

  “Lieutenant Serebryakov, explain it to me. I’m learning Federation language, of course, but…I’m nowhere near native. It’s too hard to make out their accents over the radio.”

  From the way so many un-encoded messages are getting through, she can assume that some kind of major situational change or combat is happening.

  But she can’t understand the content, which is crucial. Well, how would she be able to?

  They’re intercepting panicked signals. Not only Tanya but any non-native speaker of Federation language would find it impossible to read the situation on a split-second basis and follow along with the unstable intercepted messages.

  Even her adjutant, cling
ing to the receiver and listening as hard as she can, has sweat beading on her forehead. That’s how hard it is to understand.

  “Important target? …Command function? Sorry, between the chaos over there and the quality of the interception, I can’t get anything clear…”

  According to her disappointed adjutant, their grasp of the intercepted info stops at the fragmentary level. But it isn’t as if they have proper monitoring equipment; they’re doing their best with the communications gear they have.

  “But it’s possible that the friendly HQ’s location has been exposed.”

  “Exposed…? It’s not as if we’re the Dacian Army. Did General von Zettour leak it on purpose? There’s a very good chance it’s fake info. Or maybe a decoy unit has lured them in?”

  “I can’t deny the possibility, but the word is occurring with high frequency.”

  What? Tanya peers into her adjutant’s face. When she asks if there’s no mistake, the timid answer is solidly in the affirmative.

  “Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Tanya bursts out laughing.

  It was a fantastic moment, when she was sure of it. Do you—do you really think Zettour would screw up and tell the Commies his position?!

  “‘Exposed’ is a wonderfully original interpretation!”

  I can declare from experience that a specialist in desk work in the rear like a Service Corps man is well versed in not only preservation of intelligence but the art of intentionally “leaking” information. There are all sorts of creative ways to spill intelligence.

  “That’s the silly talk of someone who doesn’t know the general. Ah, but it’s such a clear invitation; it’s how all lovers should whisper in the three thousand realms… This is the first in a while I’ve found something so hilarious on the battlefield. It may be imprudent, but it’s just so funny!”

  Whoever said a person’s character is the greatest decision-making material knew what they were talking about!

  Honestly, the quality of this laughter is downright bizarre. As far as Tanya knows, staff officers are by and large very cautious. In the field especially, the nastier their personality, the more devious they become.

  “C-Colonel?”

  “Visha, remember this.” She figures she should point out her puzzled adjutant’s training bias. “Times like these,” she says, smiling ear to ear, “you don’t say the HQ’s location has ‘been exposed’ but that we ‘exposed it.’”