by Carlo Zen
But we noticed something odd. Some of those who had been on the front lines had a strange reaction to the name we picked. They claimed it was the worst joke they’d ever heard.
Perhaps there was more than one meaning behind eleven x’s, and they were all getting jumbled together? We took a tip from statistics and tried using context and location clues to deduce the most logical “xxxxxxxxxxx.”
xxxxxxxxxxx came up most frequently in the Rhine Air Battle (sometimes considered the war’s deciding battle). It was feared as the most intense combat zone—“30 percent sky and 70 percent blood”—where mages patrolled the airspace.
As luck would have it, my colleague Craig and I had been dispatched there by WTN, so we witnessed the scene. It had many names: “Rhine where the devils live,” “the graveyard of the Named,” “the battlefield where even silver rusts.” They all sound absurdly exaggerated and unrealistic during peacetime, but they’re true. I can say from personal experience that there was an honest to God devil on that battlefield.
For example, say I meet a friendly mage in a bar and we get along famously. Just six hours later, he’s been turned into few scraps of meat and I’m attending his funeral. This wasn’t uncommon. It happened to me three times.
An aerial mage officer I’d grown close to once said, “Humans cease to be human over there”—just before he was killed in battle. I can still remember it so vividly. That battlefield was a collection of every sort of human madness.
The various reports about the battles on the Rhine Front remained behind a heavy veil of classifieds. That must have been related to the rumors about what happened in that abnormal, blood-soaked world.
In any event, the Eleventh Goddess was a supreme presence in the Rhine Air Battle. We became fixated on her. Despite knowing it is hopeless, we interviewed a number of people who were with the Imperial Army at the time, and as expected, all our investigation revealed was that the wall of need to know was far thicker than we imagined. One former member of the General Staff gave us a single word.
He said he wanted us to make it public when we could no longer communicate with him. I wanted to ask what he meant, but when I tried contacting him about it, I never heard back. Let the record state that I haven’t been able to reach him to this day.
Out of respect for the promise I made, I’m writing here the word that he told me on the condition of anonymity.
V600.
We’re going to get to the bottom of this mystery. We want to know what happened during that mad time.
(Text by: Andrew, WTN special correspondent)
KLÜGEL STRASSE, THIRD DISTRICT, ZOLKA CAFÉ
Really, time spent on education at the war college is a luxury. For that reason, many subjects get covered only in a cursory way during a war, but by the same token, the curriculum becomes more practical. Some people even feel that’s an improvement. A track that normally takes two years to complete has been shaved down to less than one, but it’s more intense. As someone currently enrolled myself, I also find it an improvement.
I would like to think my talents are in no way inferior to those of my classmates, but sitting side by side with so many future heroes makes me realize what a vast place the world is. Still, I feel lucky.
My parents didn’t force me to be a soldier, but when I graduated from the military academy, they were as proud as if they’d done it themselves. I count meeting my wife, who I’m hardly worthy of, as my greatest happiness.
My daughter, who was just born the other day, is utterly precious.
Perhaps it was being a new father that made me to want to ask about something I’d never paid much attention to before.
I was in a quiet café near Saint Gregorius Church. Just as I was told, a little girl has casually dropped her rifle and computation orb on the table and is ordering lunch. A member of the military police I know clued me in that she eats here every Sunday.
His theory was that it was because there were no other cafés that happened to be next to churches you could enter with a weapon.
“Captain Uger, what a surprise to see you here.”
Suddenly, I find that First Lieutenant Degurechaff has followed the waiter’s gaze to me. She greets me with a perfect salute. I return it and approach her seat, ordering something or other from the waiter and pressing a tip into his hand to buy us a little time alone. This won’t be an easy conversation to have with so many people around.
“Oh, er, I just heard you always eat here. Do you have a moment?”
“Certainly. Please join me.”
As she offers a chair, I notice how well she wears her uniform, not even a hint of affectation. Frankly, it suits her so well that if I saw her in civilian clothes, I wouldn’t recognize her. It makes more sense to call her a first lieutenant than an eleven-year-old.
She doesn’t appear to have any personal belongings that weren’t given to her by the government. Perhaps we can include the newspaper spread across the table and the Londinium Times and WTN special issue filled with notes. Ah, yes. The war college did encourage us to learn the languages of surrounding countries. The Londinium Times and the WTN magazine from neutral zones are among the best materials that are easy to obtain. But maybe it’s a stretch to call them personal belongings.
“Do you come here often, Captain?”
She stops writing in the newspaper and looks at me. Though I doubt she intended it, a shiver runs down my spine. This small girl is one of the most distinguished of the Imperial Army’s mages, an Ace of Aces. Yet as a father with a daughter, there is something I have to know.
“Miss Degurechaff, pardon a rude question, but why did you enlist?”
“Huh?”
I mulled over what to ask her but decided there was no point in dressing it up. That blunt question was the result, but now it sounds too simplistic, and she doesn’t understand what I was trying to ask.
Never in a million years did I think I would ever see Lieutenant Degurechaff look perplexed. She’s said to wear an iron mask, but apparently she does have expressions. Not many of them, perhaps, but although it’s disrespectful to say so, I am relieved to find something human about her.
“Er, please don’t think of it as a question from a captain. Just a curious fellow student.” I don’t want her to say what she thinks a superior officer wants to hear. I’m interested in how she truly feels. “With your talent, you must have any number of options. Why the military?”
If she were nothing more than a talented mage, her choices would have been more limited. The army is hungry for capable mages and snaps up anyone with aptitude without much concern for age, so it wouldn’t have been terribly surprising if she had been conscripted despite her youth. If that were all, she would have been used as just another weapon.
Still, there should have been time before they pulled her in. It’s worth noting that she got into the war college on merit alone. At a mere eleven years of age, she became a member of the honorable Twelve Knights of the war college, albeit the lowest-ranked one. If she had only magic affinity, she would have only been a weapon, but with her talent, she could have been a researcher or an engineer—anything at all. The Imperial University allows early entrance, and not only do they comp tuition for exceptional students, they even give stipends. Every path should have been open to her.
“…My father was in the military.”
“Was? So he’s… I’m sorry.”
The word was sticks out to me, and I quickly realize the implication. It’s a common story. Death is never far from members of the Imperial Army. Anyone can die at any time.
And each dead soldier has a household, the family they leave behind.
“Please don’t let it trouble you. I’m hardly unique these days.”
Lieutenant Degurechaff smiles, showing no sign of distress, as if to say she has already adjusted, but I can’t help thinking that having to understand so much at that age is tragic. Did she join the army for revenge?
“There was no other way for
an orphan like me. We have little choice in the world.”
But her answer is one I never even imagined.
“But you made it into the military academy. Surely that means you could have chosen a normal high school.”
She has overcome so many hurdles, and at her age. I know some who would have been thrilled to support a wunderkind like her. Why did she say she had no choice?
“Captain, if you’ll forgive my saying so, I think your family must have been quite well-off.”
“Not really. Happy, yes, but ordinary.”
My father was a mid-level bureaucrat, and my mother from an average household. We had no ties to any higher status. My grandfather on my father’s side was in the navy, so they were happy when I expressed interest in the armed services, but that was about it.
What Lieutenant Degurechaff says next shocks me beyond words.
“Ahh, I really envy you. An orphan simply has no options. All I could do was scrape by day to day.”
In her mind, she seems to be going back to the times she went hungry. Though she doesn’t say anything, her whole body exudes an aura that tells how terrible her circumstances were. The atmosphere becomes heavy, and before I know it, my back has hit the back of my chair. I realize I’m being overwhelmed—by an eleven-year-old girl.
“But if your father was in the military…surely, there must be a pension.”
“Captain, I’m a bastard child who can’t even remember her mother’s face. If it weren’t for the orphanage, I would be dead in the streets right now.”
One of the church orphanages. That explains a lot. Though she had a rough start, she was saved by the church. Is that why she’s so passionate about attending? Perhaps that’s why she prays so fervently.
But even if that is true…
“But—you know. How do I put this? You’re still a child. You should quit the military.”
Even if there is no way she can leave in the middle of a war, she shouldn’t abandon other potential future paths. These creatures called soldiers are fundamentally idlers by necessity. And yet when the time comes, they have to be prepared to die.
For a child to choose such a vocation is a tragedy.
“…Captain Uger, do you doubt my ability?” she asks me with a pale face, telling me I’ve gone too far. I made the mistake, if unintentionally, of showing a soldier what amounts to pity. She may be young, but she has her pride and honor.
“Absolutely not! I just can’t help feeling it’s wrong that a child like you should go to war.”
It sounds like I’m trying to defend myself, but I mean it. Her eyes challenge me, but she is still a child, a little girl who should be protected. Who would want to send their daughter off to war?
Just the thought of sending my newborn child to the battlefield nearly drives me mad. Surely Lieutenant Degurechaff’s father, who risked his life for the Empire, wouldn’t want this, either. As a father myself, I just know.
“It’s my duty. So long as I’m a soldier, I can’t avoid it.”
Her response is calm, an unfaltering declaration. She seems to embody what it means to be a soldier. This is no mere facade; it’s as if, with no other way to go, she has built her self-awareness around being a member of the military.
Where is her true self?
“Do you really mean that?”
That is how I end up asking such a meaningless question. But she looks at me, and her gaze is so serious that I know she didn’t miss my intention. She could never have said what she did as a joke or a lie.
What’s more, she has plenty of combat experience. Her statement wasn’t the empty rhetoric of someone who has never seen battle. It was an unshakable conviction coated in lead and gunsmoke.
“Captain, is something wrong?”
She must have suspected something from my worries. She probes, careful to remain polite. I find it almost unbearable.
“My wife had a baby. I hear it’s a girl.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
She offers her congratulations, but out of politeness; she even seems somewhat sad. She speaks dispassionately, less out of love for a child and more because congratulations is what an auspicious event demands. It’s as if that world has nothing to do with her.
“When I look at you, I can’t help but wonder if my daughter will go to war.”
She has already opened up quite a bit. I even think she has shared her genuine feelings. But to my disappointment, I’m still running up against an impassable barrier of contradiction and uneasiness. “There’s something wrong with a society that sends cute little kids to battle, don’t you think?” I hardly know what I’m trying to say. I’m just giving voice to the emotions welling up inside me.
I can see that she’s examining me. Honestly, I didn’t expect to lose myself to such an extent. But once the words are out, there’s no taking them back. After she observes me at length, Lieutenant Degurechaff replies deliberately, like a shrine maiden delivering a divine message.
“Captain, you’re a sensible man. I suggest you resign.”
It is as if our positions have been reversed.
“I never know what you’re going to say next. How can you tell me to leave when it’s vitally important for us to put an end to this war so it doesn’t continue on into the next generation?”
“You’re a man of sound judgment who knows the realities of the battlefield. Your resignation could in fact be an asset.”
Think about it, she seems to say, clenching her little fist on the table to emphasize her point. You should leave.
“I’m a soldier, too. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“No, Captain. You have a rational mind. Let me give you some advice as a fellow student: At least get to the rear before the real insanity breaks loose.”
“They would never allow it.”
This is war. The easy days of doing work behind a desk are over. And how can I shamefully withdraw on my own, leaving my friends, classmates, and brothers-in-arms? We vowed to fight together. I could never abandon them.
“Captain, living is a battle in itself. You can fight to keep your daughter out of the fray.”
“…I’ll think about it.”
I have no counterargument. I oppose the idea, but I have no further way to express that. This eleven-year-old child has completely dumbfounded me. There are no words.
“There isn’t much time. You should decide soon.”
“You sound like a member of the General Staff.”
“It’s the only education I’ve had.”
I must not have been thinking straight. Telling a fellow student at the war college that they sound like a General Staff officer is meaningless. That’s precisely the type of role we’re being groomed for.
If anything, what I said is a compliment—I have used that sentence in the most incorrect way possible. It makes me realize how profoundly shaken I am.
“…I see. You’re right, of course.”
You’re right. That’s all I can muster. I’m taken aback at how lost for words I am.
“Oh, our food is here. Let’s eat together.”
“…Yes, let’s.”
When I meet Captain Uger at lunch, he seems agitated by the birth of his daughter. Well, I certainly agree with the notion that becoming a parent leads to major psychological changes.
In any case, now Captain Uger will be dropping out of the promotion track at the war college. Whichever fascist advocated making your case when your opponent was emotionally vulnerable was a devilish genius. Captain Uger had enough tact not to protest the hit his reputation took when he requested a rear-line posting. With him out of the way, I can just barely make it into the top twelve of the college’s hundred students. Thanks to that I’ll be able to add von19 to my name, even if for only a generation, and become a member of the General Staff.
I’ll be able to take advantage of my experience at the war college to get a career. There will be trouble later if I rise too high, but if my rank is too l
ow, I won’t be able to act freely. In that sense, getting “superior” ratings and earning the honorable appellation of Knight of the War College seems about right. It’s just a question of studying and getting along with instructors.
Considering my fighting spirit has come into question, my current status seems appropriate. I’ll have to be a little more assertive. Luck won’t always be on my side, so I need to be careful.
At least today I caught a break. I have Captain Uger wrapped around my little finger. And I’ve been invited to dinner at the General Staff Office tonight, so I’m sure something is up. The food in their cafeteria isn’t quite as good as the navy’s, but I’ve heard it’s all right. I’ll be looking forward to it.
GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, DINING ROOM 1 (ARMY)
While a couple of classmates from the war college were discussing their careers at a restaurant somewhere in town, a similar conversation was taking place over a meal at the General Staff Office’s dining room 1—granted, the latter was constrained by etiquette and tradition.
At one point, the Imperial Army had constructed an extravagant dining room at the General Staff Office. No one much cared for it; soldiers considered it an absolute waste, and officers complained that it was inconvenient. But one word from the navy changed everybody’s tune. Someone commented, “The army sure knows how to waste resources—even in their dining halls.”
The navy had a laugh, but the army responded by suggesting that there should be less excess in the construction of warships, saying they couldn’t understand people who went to war in “floating hotels.”
Now the army was so united on the issue that any criticism of the banquet room was practically considered traitorous. Mealtime meetings would be held there just to prove that the army was using the place. Word that the opulent venue would be the site of another lunch meeting reached Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen just as he was setting his briefcase on his desk in Operations, back from his inspection tour of the northern and western fronts. He was accustomed to such conferences—it was the topic of discussion that troubled him.