by Carlo Zen
"Let me share a report from the front lines. 'If the soldiers are fighting for the motherland, no one hesitates to raise their weapons and protect what all soldiers should.'"
There was no need to micromanage their every move.
They loved their motherland, their country, or their hometown---whichever it was, the emotion at the heart of that was powerful. Because it was an emotion, it didn't accept logic. It couldn't be reasoned with; whether they could sympathize or not was everything.
On that point, unfortunately, the Communist Party was incredibly lacking.
What it had managed to do was present an ideal. It was an appealing ideal and wasn't bad for promotional material. It was especially effective against fools who mistakenly thought themselves clever.
But that served only as surface-level motivation.
"...In other words, the Federation troops freed from the lageri are fighting for the country, not the party?"
"That's exactly right." Loria gave an instantaneous reply to the party official's question.
It was undeniable reality.
As far as Loria knew, the number of people who fought out of love for the Communist Party was greater than zero. The party had improved people's lives in certain ways, without a doubt.
At the same time, there were probably a similar or even greater number of people who wholeheartedly despised the party.
The number of the party's victims hadn't been erased from official records, but that was because they couldn't very well erase all their relatives, too.
"Hmm, so that's good news."
"Yes, Comrade General Secretary."
"This is terribly disrespectful to bring up to you two, but...these are people with no party loyalty! How is that good news?"
"No, no," Loria interrupted with a smile. "Comrade, think about it in a different way."
Loyalty was a multilayered concept.
It wasn't a contradiction for people disloyal to the party to love the Federation, their motherland. Anyone who agreed that the Empire was their common enemy and wouldn't rebel against party instructions could be viewed as a reliable human resource.
Even elements that were normally sources of unrest would surely fight to protect their nation from the Empire.
"We'll have our enemy and our latent enemy crush each other. Don't you think it's more effective to have them fight on the battlefield for the sake of glory and mythology than to work them in the lageri?"
It was elementary logic.
A cold, hard principle.
But it was also an eternal truth.
"Our role is crystal clear. All we have to do is act as the guardians of nationalism. To that end, we simply need to make the party and the nation one and the same."
Wasn't that what it said in a cynic's dictionary?
Patriots were the prey of conquerors and politicians.
Patriotism was the first resort of villains.
CHRISTMAS DAY, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, FEDERATION TERRITORY, THE MULTINATIONAL FORCES GARRISON
The toast was the same every time.
"Merry Christmas!"
When anyone shouted it, other voices answered.
The rugged soldiers looked so innocent celebrating Christmas by drowning themselves in spiked eggnog and singing carols.
The Commonwealth and Federation mages who had completed their recon-in-force operation were taking a breather.
Of course, everyone had their own way of relaxing.
Some reaffirmed their historic friendship with sugar. Others stuck to the more fundamental pleasure of a good meal. Among them, Lieutenant Colonel Drake, who fancied himself a man of principle and not one to cheat on his one true love, drank as much eggnog as duty required and then focused on his year-round relationship with his old companion scotch.
Only on a day like this could even the commanders unwind.
Celebrating Christmas far from home on foreign soil made the troops miss their hometowns even more. Sailors and marine mages were no strangers to homesickness.
And that was why to soldiers, Christmas was sacred and inviolable.
When considering the secular celebrations that took place under the umbrella of Christmas, even the Communists who declared that religion was an opiate must have felt it was a day that shouldn't be intruded upon.
"...Colonel, there's a problem."
"What?"
There was nothing worse than getting bad news while buzzed on Christmas. For a moment, Drake thought he would simply furrow his brow, but an instant later, he was dumbfounded by the news.
"The prisoners who surrendered to us were transferred to the Federation Army...?" The moment his brain comprehended what his subordinate was saying, he abandoned his Christmas scotch in irritation and raced off in a ferocious huff.
It was a miracle he hadn't shouted, You must be joking! in the middle of the party.
Drake had never even imagined, as a soldier, that something so absurd would happen. He ran straight over to the headquarters where a few duty officers were posted.
He was well aware that the smell of alcohol was still hot on his breath. Normally, he would have had the self-control to hold off on marching into HQ until he had sobered up.
But this time, he didn't have the leisure of waiting. Diving right in to think about how to get the prisoners back, Drake realized he would have to cooperate in an unspoken partnership with Colonel Mikel.
It would be incredibly difficult to make sure both sides saved face while avoiding any political missteps. Why do I have to worry about this on Christmas?
"...This is idiocy. Absolute idiocy. Shit."
But in the name of humanity, it had to be done.
Pushing past the on-duty guards, who seemed surprised to see him like this, Drake strode into the room where the duty officers were and dragged one outside the headquarters inn.
He had never agreed to the prisoners changing custody. There was no way he would ever agree to such a thing. Drake had to get them back. Whether through a farce or a scam, it didn't matter---it just had to be done.
It could be said that the interpreters standing by had bad luck, but he needed one of them to come along. Thus, after collecting a proper audience, Drake laid into Federation forces superior Colonel Mikel as his duty required.
His tongue was sharp as a knife.
"I want them back."
It wasn't phrased as a suggestion.
He loomed over Mikel, close enough to grab his lapels, and raised his voice. His demand was simple and clear. He wanted the prisoners they had captured during the recon-in-force mission.
If they weren't brothers-in-arms, Mikel probably would have Drake about to hurl curses at him. Not that he was planning on holding back if a bit of swearing became necessary.
"Those prisoners were taken by my army."
The distance between the two men was so meager that the boozy white breath accompanying his roar practically blew into Mikel's face. This was the epitome of rudeness.
To anyone watching on, Drake was clearly furious. The only ones who knew it was a cheap act were the star himself and Mikel.
"Return them!"
"I can't do that." The moment the interpreter finished conveying Drake's stubborn shout, Mikel answered in a solemn tone. His attitude was every bit as unyielding as Drake's. "They're prisoners who hail from my country." In that stern tone of voice, he made a declaration for the world to see. "That means they're under my country's jurisdiction."
Putting their different takes on prisoner custody at the forefront, neither Drake nor Mikel seemed like they were going to back down, and the air between them bristled.
That said, it was all an act.
That much was clear from how they chose to go through an interpreter despite the fact that Mikel had an impressive command of the Queen's dialect. In other words, the stars were Drake and Mikel, the audience was composed of the observing political officers and the interpreter, and this entire interaction was a play that neither was really exc
ited to put on.
Only the partners in crime knew the truth.
"This is no joke! It's in flagrant violation of the treaty! Those are prisoners who I captured in the name of the Commonwealth!"
The content of the argument was plain---a futile-seeming exchange of Give them to me! and I can't!
Setting aside the fact that there were official interpreters for the two armies between them as they repeated themselves, this disagreement basically amounted to a schoolyard quarrel.
"These prisoners surrendered to the Commonwealth's flag!"
"...Your subordinate agreed to turn them over."
"That's just because she's personal friends with that political officer! I'm in charge here. Her opinion is still clearly an outlier, and she didn't make an official request to me!"
I'm in supreme command of my army!
Drake was saying this for the benefit of the political officers, who wouldn't have listened if he said it straight to them. You couldn't get anywhere without gathering a crowd and deceiving them. He couldn't say it was pleasant, but that was simply how Federation society worked.
Normally this ridiculous sort of formulaic exchange would be pointless, but in the Federation, it was essential.
...What an outrageous era we live in.
"Are you claiming one of your nation's political commissars can back channel a commander of the Commonwealth Army? That's not funny. It's a serious violation of an allied country's sovereignty!"
And there lay the main point. Surely even the political officers who had been silently watching could appreciate this.
Mikel had plastered on an incredibly put-out face and was probably gauging the right moment to act.
"Comrade Lieutenant Tanechka?"
"...As Colonel Drake said, I did ask Lieutenant Sue as a personal favor."
The Federation interpreter remained silent, skipping that part.
But Drake had thought ahead. He had brought a Commonwealth interpreter in case that happened.
God smiles on those who make careful preparations. He chuckled to himself.
"Is that an admission of guilt?!" This is where we can break through! Drake thought as he attacked. When it came to determination, making decisions, and proposing offensives, Drake was exceedingly decisive.
Mikel looked at the political officer and walked over, stared her down, and then snapped, "You didn't mention that earlier! I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't muddle up the chain of command!"
"My authority extends as far as any political..."
It was excruciatingly slow to hear the exchange through the interpreter. Incidentally, Drake was aware that Liliya could speak his native tongue just like Mikel did.
Usually, she would butt in where her input wasn't asked for, but now she was escaping with her own native language?
It was basically an expression of guilt.
"You be quiet! I'm a Commonwealth soldier!"
"As a political officer of the party..."
Drake barely restrained himself from shouting, Shut up, you bitch!
These Communists didn't seem to understand reason, but he had to hold back the storm of curses he'd like to unleash on them. Anger was only a waste of the energy required for a breakthrough.
To gather himself, Drake took in a deep breath under a frigid sky.
With the cold air filling his lungs, he was able to control his seething emotions.
"Allow me to explain our honor as soldiers devoted to His Majesty the king who are giving our all to guard our homeland under the banner of the Commonwealth Army."
Drake was well aware that he had chosen words the Communists would find annoying.
And the political officer, Liliya, nearly said something.
If you can understand me, then why not speak in the Queen's dialect from the get-go? he wanted to say, but he couldn't.
That said, if he was going to have such little faith and sincerity for his allies, he would have to quit being a soldier and become a con man or something.
"We are free people, a noble people who won't be ruled by anyone else. In order to defend that dignity, we took to the sea and traveled far across the waves. Therefore"---Drake raised his voice as if this was what an announcement should be like---"I have no intention of saying anything about your authority over the Federation Army, but if you're interfering in my army via unofficial channels, that's a violation of the treaty!"
The political officer giving him a blank look probably didn't understand.
...Which was why Drake sympathized so deeply with Mikel, who had this watchdog constantly around him like a leash. To think these fellows who knew nothing about military affairs could interfere with smug looks on their faces---and even be placed in supervisory positions!
Ah, holy hell.
I never thought the day would come I'd be asked to act like a stooge!
He glanced at the political officer and then spat, "Colonel Mikel, it's a simple demand." He purposely tried to sound tougher and wear a furious grimace. It was a line calculated to mix some condescension for Communists into his gaze to keep his performance from seeming too fake. "My troops captured that game, and I want you to return it this very instant!"
The rules of hunting stated that the game went to the one who caught it.
It was a bit of an aristocratic argument, but it was the simplest metaphor for the matter.
And it was also handy, since it was easy for someone on the Federation side to grasp that the Commonwealth soldier with his highborn hobbies was obsessed with having his game.
"Give me the prisoners this political officer brought over! Now, this instant! Unconditionally!"
"My answer doesn't change. I can't do that."
Drake exploded in response to the expected reply as if he couldn't even wait for the interpreter to finish. "Don't be ridiculous! It's not your catch!"
He and Mikel clashed, hiding their true purpose.
For an impromptu collaboration, they were really nailing it. It was a lot more realistic than some lousy play.
In reality, Mikel knew full well that his position didn't grant him enough authority to turn over the prisoners. Sadly, an officer with a leash on didn't have even that much freedom.
Which was why Drake had to be angry, if only as a formality, and race over so fast to protest that he had practically kicked over his chair... The key was to keep things going until the commissar came up with a "political solution."
They couldn't let things fall apart, nor could they raise suspicion.
"I need you to please understand the authority a political officer has, Lieutenant Colonel Drake. I have no intention of interfering in your army's chain of command, but this is Federation territory. I have to abide by its laws. How can I turn over citizens of my own country to you?"
This scene, where the commanders of the two armies were supposedly confronting each other head-on, was rough only on the interpreters.
But Drake wanted them to think of it as good experience.
"We don't even know for sure if they're citizens of your country or not. Furthermore, I'm fairly certain the Federation and the Commonwealth haven't even signed a prisoner transfer treaty!" Drake screamed as stubbornly as possible. "Turn those piece-of-shit bastards who shot my men over to us now!"
To cut to the chase, after this extended face-off, the first to relent was the Federation. If it was going to become an issue of delicate legal factors and saving face...then the matter could be settled with a compromise in the field before it came to that.
When Drake and Mikel as coconspirators attempted to make it the political officer's fault, the issue naturally resolved itself.
"I propose not leaving any official record."
"...You mean that you don't want there to be a record that you were interfering with my army, Colonel Mikel?"
"There seems to be a grave misunderstanding between our two armies. This wasn't a transfer of prisoners. We're simply helping transport them temporarily. I hope you understand."
>
Though they would've liked to smile in satisfaction, Drake and Mikel reached an understanding with dead-serious expressions. They had managed to make things happen according to their plan.
"...I just hope this doesn't cause any ill feelings between our forces."
"That's fine, Colonel. Here's to our trusted ally."
"To the deepening relationship between our two nations."
With pleasantries delivered via the interpreters, the pair deliberately shook hands instead of saluting before their audience. With that, the matter was formally settled. The heated exchange that had demolished the Christmas mood was now at an end.
Of course, things were difficult to repair once broken. Regardless of the truth behind what had transpired between Drake and Mikel, for everyone else, it seemed as if they'd been having a shouting match.
After wrapping things up, Drake trudged miserably back to the inn.
If that doesn't explain it well enough, then maybe this would be clearer: The wasted effort weighed heavy on his shoulders, but of course it did. This must be just what God's trials are like.
Drake was a warrior. He had never had any problems being unrefined. And yet now, he could understand the feelings of the poets who had lamented their fates with tears on their pillows. He understood so well that he felt sick.
He even sympathized with them.
"I need a drink."
Thinking how much he'd like a bottle of scotch, Drake returned to his room...but God didn't smile on him.
"Colonel Drake!"
"...Lieutenant Sue. What is it?"
...It was the idiot who nearly handed over the prisoners to the Federation on her own discretion. Or really, the root of the issue was her close relationship with that political officer. In other words, half of the problem was appearing before him now, brimming with enthusiasm. Frankly, Drake sensed God's malice.
Oh Lord, I'm going to remember this...
"About the prisoners..."
"What about them? I want to take a walk. Is it something you need to discuss here?" There's nothing to discuss. Let's at least go somewhere else. Despite an attitude implying those things, Sue persisted.