by Carlo Zen
The words coming out of Mikel's mouth were unmistakably Drake's native language.
Moreover, it was the orthodox Queen's dialect. When did this man have the chance to hear Londinium's upper-class accent in a far-flung place like this?
The world is just full of surprises.
"You can say to my face that my Queen's dialect is rusty---that's fine. It's been too long---my tongue is having a hard time getting around the words."
"You usually have an interpreter, though."
"A leash. No one can converse freely while standing under a guillotine."
His comment was a bit too explicit to claim he was hinting at something. He wasn't pulling any punches with those metaphors.
That said, Drake understood how Mikel felt.
"...Things political officers shouldn't hear, huh?"
"You mean things I don't want them to hear?"
"Ha-ha-ha." Drake laughed as he nodded.
A world where a mage corps major had to take such steps to protect himself simply to have a friendly chat with an ally was unthinkable to Drake.
Mikel, smiling wryly, was---for better or worse---the epitome of an honest soldier. Why would a career military man be doubted by the motherland he swore loyalty to?
What a cold, heartless era we live in.
In these wintry modern times, the chilling truth threatened to freeze not only Drake's bones but his very soul.
"It must be hard for you, Colonel. If you'll forgive me for asking, will it be necessary for a stray bullet to tragically strike that political officer?"
"No, no, not at all. You needn't trouble yourself about that."
"Oh? That's a surprise. You think so highly of that Liliya Ivanova Tanechka woman?"
Drake didn't have a very good impression of her. Frankly, she was disagreeable.
More precisely, he personally didn't like her.
Regardless of who she was as an individual, a professional soldier such as Drake couldn't accept a political officer as a friend. Consequently, he didn't think of her as a fellow human being but as a political officer.
Names are things people inherit from their ancestors. The tool known as a political officer should simply be addressed as "political officer," right? I'm not sure a specific name is necessary.
"Honestly, it's hard to treat a dog sniffing around your friends like a person. I thought I could cull a stray for you."
"I suppose I should show you the proper respect and answer truthfully... That one's better than most. No, I'd go as far as to say that she's much more decent than the rest."
Drake was sure he was gaping like an idiot.
If Mikel didn't speak so fluently in the Queen's dialect, Drake would have wanted to ask whether he might have misunderstood the meanings of better and decent.
"I do beg your pardon, but do you actually mean what you said? That political officer is one of the better ones? That one's 'better'?! Did the definition of the word change dramatically while I wasn't paying attention?"
Drake thought of Liliya Ivanova Tanechka only as a strange member of the Communist Party.
And really, that was simply because that was the label he gave to political officers. It was hard to associate any of them with better or decent.
"Colonel Drake, I speak only the truth." Bathed in Drake's you've-got-to-be-kidding look, Mikel's tired expression didn't budge. "Considering the possibility that we could have been sent someone awful, I think it would be productive to get along with who we have."
"Terrible. That's the only word for it." Drake spat and looked to the heavens. Was the pale sky a symbol of this merciless world? He longed for the overcast gloom of his homeland.
Could a battlefield really be this absurd? he wondered.
"...This chill really sinks into your bones, huh?" Drake commented, shrugging. If he didn't, he wouldn't have been able to remain sane. "So? May I ask why you invited me to this secret meeting?"
"To thank you. And, well...to apologize."
"Hoh-hoh."
"I heard from Comrade Ivanova that Lieutenant Colonel Drake from the Commonwealth Navy was kind enough to put in a good word for me."
What's that supposed to mean? Drake shrugged again. "Suddenly you seem strangely distant. What's the matter?"
"I doubt Communists and liberals can get along."
"Oh? It may be presumptuous, but I think they can."
"I may not look it, but I'm a soldier who came here to fight in defense of freedom. I'm not sure I can get along with Communists who came to support the Communist Party."
"You've gotta be joking." So this is what it means to burst out laughing. What a twist.
It was unavoidable that laughter erupted over the chilly Federation snowfield.
After a good laugh, Drake had to admit defeat. "You got me. I surrender. That said," he continued, "as long as the Communist is a brother-in-arms, it's no problem, is it? You can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends. If I've chosen a Communist for a friend, I've got to put up with his eccentricities. Plus..." He chuckled and continued, "We've been underestimated."
"What?"
"We didn't come up on land just to chase after the Federation Army's ass."
Since crossing the ocean as direct support for the RMS Queen of Anjou, he had been fighting as a soldier. He wasn't here to be protected.
"We're here to fight a war---shoulder to shoulder with our brothers-in-arms."
Even if friendship between countries wasn't eternal...
Brothers-in-arms were forever.
"The Federation may not like it, but what does that matter? If my allies are fighting, I'll fight alongside them. If my allies die, then I'll die with them. That's what it means to be a soldier."
"Ha-ha-ha, well said, Colonel Drake."
"Oh? You won't call me comrade?"
"I'd like to call you a brother."
I must be smiling ear to ear.
To call it the sympathy between two people who had fought on the same battlefield would be tactless. This was respect paid between friends.
"Time for work, then."
"Yes, let's get to it."
They nodded and bumped fists.
...Most of what he wanted to say didn't need to be put into words.
""I wish you luck.""
It was the fist of his brother-in-arms.
Drake was speaking with him through it.
Nothing else needed to be said.
[chapter] II Paradox
A FEW DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, FEDERATION TERRITORY, IN THE VICINITY OF THE MULTINATIONAL FORCES HEADQUARTERS
Contrary to what most assume, secret discussions are more conspicuous when trying to avoid watchful eyes. People who sneak around intending to do something they feel guilty about naturally attract attention.
"What's the objective of this operation?"
"I've heard it's to hasten the Empire's attrition with a limited offensive."
Upon openly leaving the joint forces headquarters, Lieutenant Colonel Drake and Colonel Mikel had headed to their designated lodgings together while carrying on a sparse exchange regarding the military operation coming up in a few days that had been hastily wedged into the schedule.
"Under this snowy sky?" Drake emitted a sigh and sipped his cold tea.
The Federation's General Winter didn't discriminate. He might have done great against the Empire, but the fact that he couldn't tell friend from foe was problematic.
Scratch that, murmured Drake in his head. It wasn't as if General Winter was a Federation patriot. Someone who treated everyone equally wasn't an ally to anyone.
Neutral parties were often an arrogant bunch.
"The best thing to do while General Winter is on a rampage is batten down the hatches. Even social events have their season."
"There's no doubt about that. I don't quite understand it myself. But..." Mikel smiled tiredly. "...We've received military orders---strict orders---from high up in Moskva. We don't have a say. T
here's nothing we can do about it," he spat.
Drake understood immediately what a difficult position Mikel was in.
To put it plainly, he was stuck balancing a cruel scale. Faced with the duty to produce results no matter what, he would probably have to use his men, who were practically family, as if they were disposable goods.
Anyone who didn't feel conflicted in that situation had to be lacking something fundamentally human. Sadly, this was a dilemma all commanders were forced to face during wartime.
"If you've heard any opinions about this from the Commonwealth side, I hope you'll tell me, just between us."
"I'm sorry, Colonel Mikel. I know nothing about it."
"What?"
"I mean, Colonel. The only orders we've received are to 'cooperate with the Federation Army.' Even if we're informed of something new, we never hear the details behind the matter." He clicked his heels and made a formal report. Maybe he couldn't handle delivering such ludicrous news without becoming ridiculously serious.
"...I guess we're both having a hard time."
Drake shrugged and reached to take a mini bottle of scotch off a shelf anchored to the wall. Jam went well with tea, but the best thing for venting was an old friend.
He poured generously into his teacup and took a gulp.
"Would you like some? To add flavor?"
"My word, an offer of a drink from an allied soldier? Out of consideration for the relations between our two countries, the etiquette of diplomacy makes it difficult to refuse. I accept."
"...Yes, I insist."
With a laugh, Mikel sipped from his teacup, which was filled mostly with scotch plus just enough tea to add flavor. He wasn't about to say anything so insensitive as It's practically all alcohol! There was too much absurdity going on in the world to face it sober.
"What are we going to do, Lieutenant Colonel Drake?" Mikel's abrupt murmur was strangely somber.
Well, I don't blame him. Drake figured the polite thing to do was remain silent and take a sip.
This didn't require a lot of talk.
For a little while, they abandoned themselves to their drinks, but then Mikel suddenly broached the main topic of their meeting. "Officially, this limited offensive is supposed to secure a foothold. The idea is to lay the groundwork for the major spring counteroffensive, but it's my personal opinion that we're already doing everything we can." His words, spoken as he gazed out the window far into the distance, were heavy. "I won't call it reckless, but even as a staunch patriot, I can say with confidence that it's risky."
"But you're already in good shape, aren't you?"
"On paper..."
Do you mean that...? Drake asked with his eyes and Mikel shrugged.
"In short, all we have are raw recruits. In the worst cases, there are probably some conscripts who are being registered as we speak."
When Drake got the exceedingly grave hint, his blood ran cold.
"That's shocking enough to drive off even the pleasure of a warm drink. Is it true?"
If this news was true, they were in a terribly precarious situation. And Drake had the feeling that what he heard was all too real. It was a well-known fact among Commonwealth officers stationed here that the official information coming from the Federation side was far removed from reality.
The fact that this didn't surprise anyone was evidence of just how "warm" the alliance between the Commonwealth and the Federation was.
"That's a huge leak..."
"So you didn't know, right?"
"We were told there were elite units waiting in the eaves."
Unless Commonwealth Intelligence was purposely misinforming Drake, the conclusion was straightforward: Even if the intelligence being given to the Commonwealth wasn't a total fabrication, it was far from complete.
"They must be trying to look good for their ally. Or maybe it has something to do with safeguarding operational security, but...the party's instinct is to conceal its weaknesses."
"Geez. So what are things really like? Do you think a major spring counteroffensive is possible?"
Mikel furrowed his brow and finally squeezed out, "Honestly, I think it is."
"You think the Federation will recover enough combat strength for that?"
"We're rebuilding to some extent, but more importantly...the leadership is going to unreasonable lengths to make it happen. I heard that only babes and the elderly are left on any border regions not facing the Empire."
"Which means that you should be building strength over the winter..."
But then was there any need or point in launching even a "limited" attack?
The lessons learned in battle had made it clear that unnecessary offensives not only tended to incur excessive casualties but also caused unexpected counterattacks.
"I don't know. It might be out of political necessity..."
"...Hrrrm, that response is a bit problematic."
"What?"
Drake felt bad for Mikel, who seemed confused, but he had a duty... This was something he had to say. "We don't want to incur losses. And we have no obligation to go along with the Federation Army's recklessness."
"Oh, I see. I have just gained a much better understanding of your position, Lieutenant Colonel Drake."
Drake's homeland had given him wide-ranging authority. Naturally, he was allowed to refuse the Federation's requests if necessary.
He hesitated to go along with the ridiculous Federation Army and their stubbornness. As a soldier with people reporting to him, he had obligations---the sacred and inviolable duty of a commander.
"...I can't force you to come with us. Certainly, many questions remain, chief among them what the mission's purpose is."
"What about you guys?"
"If the party orders it, we have no way to object." Mikel's face as he laughed at himself for not having the right to refuse was valiant.
"No way to object?"
"Not for us. We never had a choice to begin with."
The words of this man whose family was still in the lageri were clear. It was probably due to a resolve so fierce that Drake could only imagine.
...But they chose to fight.
That meant that his brother-in-arms was going to battle.
"I understand that you and your unit won't join proactively. Although if I can ask you to assist in the most minimal way, I could prepare a mission for you to guard in the rear."
Which was why Mikel's remark was exceedingly unexpected.
With a heavy sigh, Drake tipped the mini bottle of his old friend scotch and drained the amber liquid.
What absurd restraint.
"...Colonel Mikel, don't be a stranger. Just a word and it'll be no problem."
Mikel looked hard into his eyes.
He seemed to be lost for words, as if he didn't understand.
"We're soldiers. We should keep our words simple. It's headquarters and the political officers' jobs to quibble."
In short, Lieutenant Colonel Drake was a mage corps officer.
His mage unit consisted of a bunch of navy men who would rather fly into an enemy bullet than live as cowards. Anyone who would abandon their friends in a storm could go sink to the ocean floor.
"I've got an umbrella for rainy days. Just say the word."
"Sorry, but please lend us a hand."
Drake's answer was a given.
He didn't care what the higher-ups would say. Any soldier would understand. He would head to battle for his friends.
There was no need for a complicated discussion.
"Gladly."
CHRISTMAS EVE, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, IMPERIAL ARMY'S FRONTLINE AREA IN THE EAST, SALAMANDER KAMPFGRUPPE'S GARRISON
"Salamander CP, this is Cherubim 01. Alert!"
"Cherubim 01, this is Salamander 01. What's the alert? Give me a sitrep."
"We've confirmed a Federation unit pushing into your area. Strength around two or three battalions. Additionally, we're picking up multiple signals that seem to be mage units. They're
heading for the village in grid zone eighteen."
Tanya unconsciously furrows her brow at the report from the friendly mage reconnaissance unit as she stands up. If the map she pounded into her brain is correct, they've come quite far past the front warning line.
Is some terrible Santa invading? Damn Being X and his ilk!
"Salamander 01, roger. There's no mistake?"
"Copy. All normal."
"Shit. They're too close. What are those bastards in the frontline patrol command doing?"
"Please hold. They're...ski commandos. That's been confirmed."
The Cherubim unit is doing great work keeping watch while reporting.
Are they an exceptionally skilled unit? If I can expect some fight out of them... Harboring a faint wish, she says, "Thanks for the intel. What's your current mission?"
"We're on our way back from long-range reconnaissance."
Tch. Tanya suppresses the urge to suck her teeth.
If they're returning from recon, then getting their intel back to base is top priority. And if they ventured so far out, it must have been because headquarters specifically requested it. If she got in the way of that, it would do more than make a bad impression.
Unfortunately, we have to handle this on our own.
"Cherubim 01, the Salamander Kampfgruppe will sortie immediately. Relay the details to high command. And if there are any follow-ups, I'd appreciate it if you'd let us know as well."
"Roger, Salamander 01. Good luck out there."
When the line goes quiet with a bzzp, Tanya thinks for a moment. In any case, the recon unit will probably report to high command. Theoretically, we can wait for the higher-ups to decide what to do...but if it's our area that's being hit, Tanya probably needs to attack and repel the enemy.
What a sigh-worthy moment.
"They're advancing in this weather? These Federation guys sure are an eccentric bunch."
Now, then... Tanya considers what arrangements need to be made, but...it's simple.
Luckily, she's just sent Major Weiss on one of the odd missions they've been conducting so often lately. That means there's already a fully armed company up in the air ready for a combat mission.