by Carlo Zen
If my score breaks fifty, I’ll earn a special break—specifically, two weeks off, plus a bonus and a raise on top of that. I would be given flextime and authorization for limited discretionary action. Five downed makes an ace; fifty downed makes an Ace of Aces.
Unfortunately, testing Type 95 muddied my memory, and I’m also sniping from artillery bombardment range. That meant that inevitably many of my scores have been unconfirmed. Still, at least some had been acknowledged, so I’m currently at forty.
The best thing is that with these clean results, I won’t be put on trial for war crimes. Even after the war, it won’t be a problem—how about that! In other words, killing one person is a crime, but killing a pile of them gets you a medal. Most people would find that inconsistent, but economic theory makes it acceptable.
“Once I get it, I’m going to take it easy and splurge on gourmet food. Sorry, guys. I want to go have a leisurely beer hall lunch.”
“I can’t even tell you how jealous I am,” Sergeant Schones jokes with a nod. Corporal Serebryakov and the other team member smile, somewhat at a loss.
That’s how it’s meant to be, though. After working to accomplish something, she should be allowed to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Winners on vacation even get to eat tasty food in the rear. There are opportunities to dine with corporate managers. In short, she would be in the best environment to build social capital. Just wonderful.
“I feel bad since you’re accompanying us as a favor, Sergeant Schones, but…well…first come, first served.”
Schwarkopf, concerned for their lack of manpower, dug into his hurting personnel pocket and lent them this squad. Maybe it’s only two people, but in mages, that’s more than a little muscle. It also means that the Empire still has the resources to make a considerate gesture.
In other words, I still have time to fall back to the rear. If I don’t take my chance to go back now and get stuck here till I’m worn down, all that would be left of me is happy times in a psychiatric ward. I definitely don’t want that, so I have to make winning the war my objective and be ready for anything.
…Can we win?
True, the Empire is a war machine of unparalleled precision. Just like the Germany I knew, if they fight against a single country they’ll surely win. Fighting on two fronts is not impossible. But though those facts speak to their military strength, they don’t guarantee victory.
After all, this is one nation against the world. It’s less like a world war than me versus the rest of the world. Can such a war be won? Honestly, it’ll be difficult.
“War is only fun when you’re winning,” Tanya says.
“Oh? And here I thought you would enjoy the despair of the defensive line.”
…I could consider it if it would advance my career.
But frankly speaking, I can’t rapid-fire miracles. Type 95 is the crystallization of a curse. Even if I use this thing—and I don’t want to—it doesn’t mean I’ll win for sure.
“I’m a soldier. I go where I’m ordered.” Company staff fulfills directives. Similarly, if military officers don’t swear loyalty to their country, at least as a formality, they’re in violation of their contract. Tanya was forced to fight this war. Who would take such a gamble with their own free will? Her answer is short and to the point—
“Sorry to butt in, Lieutenant, but you don’t like the war, either?”
—but perhaps unexpected, because Corporal Serebryakov takes the rare step of joining their conversation, looking puzzled.
“Of course, Corporal. Even I prefer a quiet life. What about you, Sergeant Schones?”
“I’m with you, Lieutenant!”
Maybe it’s part of his plan, but Schones jokingly gives a smart-looking salute. Mainly he does it to ease the other pair’s bizarrely tense mood. Nicely accomplished. No wonder they say an outstanding NCO is invaluable.
“Well, that goes without saying. All right, time to plan the welcome party.”
After wrapping up their conversation, Tanya rapidly ascends to combat altitude. Her wish for tranquility and her hatred for the ones who disrupted it are making a storm in her heart. Who actually wants to carry a rifle and fight? Her fury is intense.
Let this cursed world go to ruin. Well, let everything except me go to ruin. If that’s not possible, may I at least avoid ruin, she mutters in her head as she races across the sky.
“What’s your plan, Lieutenant?”
“Let’s give them a grand reception. We’ll treat them to lead and mana glow.”
Lead is a government expense, and wasting the budget will lower her evaluation, but investing resources via sales effort is part of business. The costs of entertaining clients can be expensed because they are a necessity. So if something is a necessity, they can use as much as they want as long as they get results. If mages can mass-produce enemy corpses, no one would complain about how many bullets they use.
I do worry about the stomachs of the finance officers. I feel genuinely bad when thinking of their stress. I really do, so I hope the people in charge of mental health will help them out.
My job is to spend money to defeat the enemy; the finance officer’s job is to come up with the money. And our mental care is the task of professional support personnel. In an ideal world, everyone contributes in their own way. We should praise order and applaud economics for foreseeing this evolution of the division of labor.
“Should we check if they have passports and visas?”
“Yes, let’s.”
That’s right, the law of war shouldn’t invalidate border control laws. If someone crosses the line the Empire has determined to be its border, it goes without saying that the newcomer will have to go through immigration. How careless of me, needing a reminder from my subordinate.
“Okay, that’s our signal to begin. How about we make it a contest?”
“Hmm, then let’s say whoever downs the most enemies wins. If you can beat me, I’ll steal the commander’s secret wine stash.”
I remember when I peeked into his tent one time, I saw wine so fine it looked totally out of place. He must have won it in a card game, but it shouldn’t be too hard to convince him to give it to someone for a job well done. If he refuses, I’ll just abandon civil tactics. Sure, I may not be old enough to drink, but I still know a good bottle when I see one.
“Well then… All right, if Lieutenant Degurechaff snags the win on her own, we’ll all give you our allowances for today.”
“Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all. You’re on!”
THE RHINE FRONT
My head felt heavy, and my consciousness was hazy. My unit? My subordinates? I no longer had the wherewithal to worry about them.
It was all I could do to stay conscious through to the next second. Though I’d quickly deployed a refracting optical decoy, I was still performing more evasive maneuvers than was deemed safe.
Though I just barely managed to maintain control, the company, proud to be one of the Republic’s finest, was at the mercy of a single enemy. Everything had happened so fast.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!”
First was the distress call notifying us of enemy contact. I’d never heard the forward controller scream like that.
“Break! Break!”
The commander instructed us to scatter. Nothing would be stupider than all getting shot at once from a distance. Even though we obeyed immediately and had trained to pull it off, it wasn’t enough. I’d cocked my head, unable to spot the enemy, and my buddy got his upper body blown off.
“Sean?!”
“Bandit! Angel 12!”
“Angel 12?!”
I scanned the sky for the source of the attack, and when I found the bastard, I was speechless. Twelve thousand feet, an altitude that made the practical limit of six thousand for mages look like nothing.
Not only was it a harsh environment where oxygen concentration was roughly 60 percent of ground level, but the bigger problem was that you would run out of mana. The aerial mage limit for practical maneu
vering was six thousand for good reason.
“Impossible! It’s not a fighter plane?!”
“Fucking hell, it’s definitely a mage.”
We wondered if it was maybe a plane, but no, there was no doubt about it. We detected mana particles and glow. It was definitely an aerial mage.
The air up there was thin. The temperature was low. Running out of mana was fatal. Acclimating to the altitude was also a hurdle. While it was hard to believe, the enemy mage had overcome all those things and was managing to fight a war. I couldn’t stop thinking that the leisurely soaring figure was an incarnation of imperial military might.
“Climb! We’re climbing! We’ll engage at eight thousand feet!”
My unit was completely exhausted. Eliminating an enemy observer squad had worn down their concentration, and they were also worn down from being in the air so long. If two forces of equal numbers and strength fight, the odds are in favor of the side that is better rested—that’s simple logic.
The Empire’s aerial mages were known for being elite, whereas our side had a tendency to make up for inferior quality with quantity. And this enemy was something else. Even if we were to attack at peak performance, we’d probably still be in for a tough fight. For starters, approaching an enemy at twelve thousand feet was impossible.
“Captain, that’s—!”
“There’s no other way!”
In theory, aerial mages had a slight edge over aircraft.
But that was at altitudes below six thousand feet. Aerial mages were able to use magic, but they were still just flesh-and-blood humans. In combat at high altitudes, they were nothing but targets.
“…No wonder the AWACS is going crazy.”
“Right. That guy’s…insane.”
I see. The enemy mage is far from normal. I could understand why the airborne early warning and control system (AWACS) was going nuts. I mean, according to the standard aerial mage rules of engagement, it wasn’t possible to ascend beyond 6,800 feet. No, it actually is impossible. Six thousand feet was the limit for a proper fight to the death with computation orbs and rifles. I’d heard that in the rare cases of aerial mages from highland regiments, fighting above seven thousand was possible, but this was on another level.
This was twelve thousand. At that altitude, even fighter pilots would need oxygen or they’d black out. The air was simply too thin. The only reason you would ever climb that high was an extreme emergency evasive action.
Even if we managed to shoot down the enemy mage, getting back would be hopeless. But this time, we had to go.
“If we can’t suppress that imperial, our ground forces won’t be able to get home.”
“You’re right… We have to do this.”
It was true for more than just aerial mage battles: Letting the enemy get you from above was fatal.
So all we could do was climb. If we couldn’t at least get him in range, we would be stuck as prey. Whether we would eventually run or fight, we first had to climb. But running wasn’t an option. We had to buy enough time for the ground troops to retreat, otherwise it was possible we would all be wiped out. We were left with no choice from the start.
“This is all-out war. Don’t even worry about getting home.”
I would fight until my mana was depleted. Most importantly, I had to avenge Sean. I couldn’t let this enemy get home alive.
“Crush that mage! Don’t stop until that bastard crushes you!”
Was it an order or a scream? Either way, our commander was determined.
We would either take out the enemy or be taken out. Those were the only two choices.
“Bravo, engage!”
The Bravo team joined the fight. We would probably all be destroyed, and I wanted to curse God in spite of myself. I felt like a real sorry wretch thinking this pain in the ass could have backup.
“…Oh my God!”
But my long-distance observation formula showed me something even worse. I searched for our target’s mana signature in the library. The hit I got was far more horrible than reinforcements.
Registered Mages, also known as Named… The aerial mage world was small. A company was only twelve members. Even a battalion was only thirty-six.
That was the kind of world it was. If you shot down five enemy mages, you were called an ace, and when your score hit fifty, you’d be recognized as an Ace of Aces. Units with six or more aces and individuals with over thirty kills crossed a threshold. Crossing that threshold meant being registered by foreign armies and perceived as a formidable adversary.
Named dominated the battlefield. The only viable ways to counter one were to employ overwhelming resources or an equally strong or stronger Named. To the men on the battlefield, nothing was more reassuring than having friendly Named mages in the sky. For those reasons, enemy Named were given individual names and caution was urged.
To the Republic, “Registered Mage: Name—‘Devil of the Rhine’” meant sheer calamity. A registered enemy aerial mage had been recognized as a strategic threat. Among them, the Devil of the Rhine was the one everyone was most eager to avoid. It had been a mere two months since he had been spotted on the front, yet he had already accumulated over sixty points.
Especially horrifying were his skills with heavy mana spatial detonation and precision optical sniping formulas. Units would lose half of their soldiers just from falling for the “fish bait” strategy snipers commonly use. The nastiest thing was that many of the mages had suffered wounds that nearly kept them from returning to base at all.
We didn’t want to lose such precious resources, so aerial mages received intensive care, but almost all of them died. Not only did that consume vast amounts of medicine, but also it tied up the medics, which led to a shortage of care for ground force soldiers.
On top of that, losing so many mages was becoming an issue from a tactical point of view. A single actor was taking on an entire military and their strategy. What could you call him besides a devil? He had to be taken out by any means necessary.
Naturally, it would be reckless to engage at twelve thousand feet, but at eight thousand, we had a shot. We may not have been at 100 percent, but we did have the numerical advantage. Plus, the guy was flying at twelve thousand feet—no matter how extraordinary you were, that was impossible to do without pushing yourself too hard.
Degurechaff definitely didn’t expect the enemy unit to come charging at her.
They had looked so exhausted and scattered. She couldn’t imagine them having any energy left, so she thought she would pop them one by one from a distance, but apparently she counted her chickens before they hatched. Charging under these circumstances was utterly reckless, but it was also terribly effective.
“Devil of the Rhine! Today, today we take you down!”
“…I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Tanya is bewildered, but for some reason, the enemy’s will to fight is centering on her.
Genuinely puzzled, I proceed with my tactical considerations. My opponents’ maneuvers are nimble and unpredictable. Precision sniping will no longer work.
It would be best to switch to either explosion types capable of targeting an entire area or spatially targeted guided formulas. Target locked. Adjusted for relative velocity. She unconsciously chooses the optimal attack using the Elinium Type 95. Rebuild neural linkage network, ion concentrations normal, meta-motor cortex parameters updated. All systems green.
“Nicht!”
Multiple faint early targeting mana signals detected. Formula types include invisible guided shots and spatially casting blasts. The enemy is close enough to engage, but I was distracted by pointless chatter and didn’t realize!
Signal alarms scream in my head. I immediately start up casting processes in parallel using the Elinium Type 95 cores. Even though I know it will cause a system imbalance, I pour energy in as fast as I can. Meanwhile, she begins erratic evasive maneuvers automatically. Just as she gets out of the way, her previous position erupts with mana glow.
Some of the formulas seem to have been explosion type, and the shock waves create wild turbulence.
“Mmkay. What’s all this now?”
I think maybe it’s a highland unit, but can they climb straight to eight thousand feet without acclimating? Despite the vertical distance between them, they have me in range. Worse, I’m outnumbered. If they’re going to charge, then it seems the enemy is tougher than I thought. Convinced of my opponents’ skills to some extent, I immediately create an optical decoy.
While casting that, I initiate evasive maneuvers in order to prevent them from predicting my flight path. But even after a number of illusions, a magic shot comes flying at my actual body. How is their disciplined fire so accurate so fast?!
“That shot missed? What a monster!”
These guys are obnoxious, shouting like that on the open channel. Wait, they must be doing it on purpose. They’re capitalizing on their numerical advantage. They want to distract me with radio chatter, but I won’t fall for that again.
Shooting magic in volleys is a combat style that imperial mages avoid, since they rely more on individual skill.
The Empire boasts superior quality, but the Republic has always made the most of their numerical superiority—for example, the perfectly ordered formation before her eyes. These have to be some of the Named we’re always warned about.
I check the mana signatures against the library. My irritating guess was right on the mark. These guys are such a pain that the combat instructors warned everyone about their fire discipline. I am clearly going above and beyond my pay grade.
“CP, this is urgent. The enemy company is Named. I say again, the enemy company is Named.”
“CP, roger. I’ve got reinforcements heading your way. Don’t work too hard.”
Well, that’s good news.
I should probably be happy they didn’t tell me to go die. In military creature society, courage and a loud voice are the things that get you praised. When you’re in an insane group that respects the foolhardy over the cautious, it’s rough to be the sane one. But this is all for my advancement. I have no choice.