by Carlo Zen
"It's urgent. Please, it'll only take a moment."
"Surely you can walk and talk at the same time."
"It's important. Please, sir."
"Argh." Drake sighed. "Something about the prisoners?"
"Yes, that's right, sir."
"It's not as if I wanted to have that argument with Colonel Mikel. In fact, I really didn't."
The whole reason he had needed to trouble Mikel and put on that farce in order to regain custody of the prisoners...was this girl.
He really loathed the idea of openly fighting in front of a crowd.
But he had been forced to because he listened to the voice of humanity and conscience inside himself. He had guaranteed those prisoners they were in Commonwealth hands, so it would have been an exceedingly cruel betrayal to give them to the Communist Party.
"...Lieutenant Sue, that was such a thoughtless thing to do! Why did you transfer them?!"
For a time, there was silence.
Sue hesitated and then spoke. "Because, well, the Federation has abolished capital punishment."
Are you kidding me? Drake thought while implying with his eyes that she should continue.
"Considering that in our country, the highest punishment for irregular combatants when they don't qualify as belligerents is death by firing squad..."
"Did you really give them away because of that?!" He had to shout despite his headache.
This was approaching the level of being a picky eater.
An officer employing the logic of a child---this absurdity---should have been unimaginable given the education frontline officers went through. Yet this is a first lieutenant?!
Of the glorious Commonwealth Army?!
"I-it's Christmas. And I'm sure they had their reasons for doing what they did..."
Drake was a seasoned soldier, but this caught him completely off guard. It was so silly, he felt himself sinking into a stupor.
I got told---during the Christmas party---that our prisoners had been given to the Federation!
Santa would never do anything so heartless!
"I don't want to hear it."
The fact that First Lieutenant Mary Sue seemed to have no idea what a cruel thing she had done made Drake's headache rapidly worsen.
"You're a soldier of the Commonwealth!"
Even if only for political convenience.
Or maybe that was why. If she was going to make light of the bare minimum that had to be upheld as a Commonwealth soldier, he wouldn't stand for it.
He didn't want to have this conversation on Christmas.
"But, I mean, there's no reason we have to tie them up and send them all the way back to the Commonwealth... Imprisoning them closer to their homes would be..."
"More humane...?" The reason he didn't let I can't believe this slip was probably more out of shock than restraint. "Yes, what a wonderfully humane idea that is, Lieutenant." Drake made a pledge to himself: The next time I talk to this giant moron, I'm taking painkillers first. "Are you serious?"
"...What about you, Colonel? Why are you so focused on achievements? You're dragging around those poor people as if they were trophies..."
As far as Drake knew, humanity was extinct in the Federation.
Technically speaking, the people themselves still had warmth and emotions. But anyone who was surrendering themselves to the mercy of the profoundly kind Communist Party would be better off flying into the freezing winter sky.
"I just wanted to give them some good news on Christmas. That said, it's possible that they would still be punished. Liliya, er, I mean, the Federation does punish people, so..."
"That's enough! Shut your mouth! Listen," Drake said, choosing his words carefully to emphasize policy in order to break off the conversation while avoiding any diplomatic or confidentiality problems. "What you're saying makes no sense at all! We are a military unit deployed here on a joint mission with the Federation Army, and we must carry out our duty in accordance with military laws and regulations!"
It was precisely because they had a legal argument that they didn't have to transfer the poor souls to the Federation Communist Party's justice system, which people often compared to a meat grinder.
Anyone could scoff at policy, bureaucracy, and what have you as the evils of vertical administration if they wanted, but anything can do good depending on how it's used.
"Naturally, managing prisoners is one of our duties! We don't have the authority to approve their transfer! We can't set a bad precedent!"
"If we could set a good precedent, then those poor people..."
"You're not making sense!"
A good precedent?! Swallowing that shout mentally exhausted Drake to an unimaginable degree.
How infuriating it was to be stuck having a discussion with an officer who was this dense when it came to discerning people's true intentions in a hotel room that was almost certainly bugged.
He suddenly had an idea that even he found excessive. I wonder if it would be possible to throw her in a Federation prison for a night...
Instead of a Christmas present, he found himself wanting to give her the concentration camp experience.
Anyone given the choice between POW facilities in the Commonwealth, where the highest punishment was death by firing squad, and the Federation camps, where the death penalty had supposedly been abolished, would choose the former.
It wasn't even a matter of this extreme either-or.
Why did he have to endanger the position of his esteemed brother-in-arms, Colonel Mikel, making him walk such a tightrope on Christmas, because of this little girl who couldn't even grasp that simple fact?
"Why in the world are you so obsessed with prisoners, Commander?!"
"We need a souvenir for Londinium! And more importantly, it's not something we should be poking our noses into! It's high-level politics!"
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole story, either.
As far as Drake knew, people in government in Londinium hadn't set their eyes on prisoners but refugees, because they would speak to the harsh rule of the Federation.
Political landscapes were constantly shifting, though, so he couldn't say for sure.
...That said, all he needed to do was what he could.
"I have my position to worry about, too. I can't say any more than this, but I just need you to understand."
But his true feelings didn't get through. In Sue's steady gaze was condensed disappointment.
It was easy for him to guess at her feelings of dissatisfaction and discontentment as he watched her take her leave.
If she wanted to talk about confidential matters, all she had to do was invite him outside---somewhere they weren't at risk of being spied on. The one who truly wanted to lament the state of affairs was Drake.
No one with a normal conscience would be able to tolerate releasing people under protection in the name of the Commonwealth to the Federation Communist Party's kind hands.
"Shit, this is the worst Christmas ever."
His celebratory mood had gone straight out the window.
"I mean, what a mess."
He had been worrying ever since the collapse of the Rhine front.
Do I actually have kind of lousy luck?
"I'm sure I'll be bragging about my bad luck in the end. Although I never lose at cards, and I'm not bad at gambling, either."
Lady Luck is a rotten dame. Instead of not having any hair in the back, she's wearing a wig that comes right off. He wanted to curse.
Drake didn't know where his question would disappear off to.
Still, he had to ask.
"Oh God, why in the world do things have to be this way?"
[chapter] III Lull in the Wind
MID-JANUARY, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE KINGDOM OF ILDOA, ARMY GENERAL HQ
The Imperial Army's successful counter to the Federation Army's offensive had modest yet significant effects on all fronts. Though the New Year had only just begun, the concerned parties were all busy run
ning around coping with the results.
Arguably the first of the noteworthy actors was the Council for Self-Government. The group had been viewed as a puppet but turned out to be doing more than anyone had expected. In the context of Federation politics, it meant the separatists had formed strong bonds with the invading Imperial Army.
To Federation authorities, that was a bolt from the blue. Their propaganda broadcasts were conspicuously silent on the topic, which showed the whole world how shocking the news had been. It had been enough to render them speechless.
Meanwhile, the cooperation between the Council for Self-Government and the Imperial Army...had no small impact on other countries, as well. But was the Empire in such a tight spot that it was forced to compromise? Or was it, while focusing less on territorial ambitions and more on dividing and conquering, still in the mood for war? Interpretations varied.
People who could stay positive despite having no basis for it were happy.
Unfortunately, the principal belligerents, guessing it was the latter case, were quite worried.
This war had already been dragging on, and now it was turning into an unavoidable quagmire. The burden was incalculably enormous. You could try to look forward to the rewards of victory, but in a war that went this far, probably the only things remaining after the violent attrition would be the earth scattered with rubble.
A world war, to the principal belligerent countries, was a zero-sum game played out of pocket. And victory wasn't even guaranteed! Rarely did something worry people so much as an unclear outcome.
When under those circumstances, the Empire was fanning the separatist flames, you didn't have to be a utilitarian to bemoan the costs of the war.
We've hit our limit.
It was stranger to not hear anyone saying that.
Clearly, a limit had to be placed on the mounting losses at some point, and thinking rationally, this was a chance to bargain. Thus, one man came forward as a good, sincere peace broker.
His name was General Igor Gassman.
As long as balance was maintained, he was a good friend to the Empire as well as an intermediary for other countries; in other words, he was an ardent lover of peace as well as a philanthropist.
"General, the embassies of both the Commonwealth and the Unified States have accepted our proposal."
"Oh? Even with those terms?"
The moment he got the report from his affably smiling subordinate, Colonel Calandro, Gassman furrowed his brow in disgust and reached for a cigar.
If selling peace to the world went too smoothly, that could also cause issues for the middleman.
"...Sheesh, our ally is putting up a more valiant fight than I expected."
Even as a tentative proposal, the terms had been exorbitant. The best anyone could say was that they might become a first step toward negotiations.
Gassman didn't intend to spare any pains in mediation... But his true desire was to do everything possible to ensure that Ildoa's contributions couldn't be brushed off.
The Imperial Army overturned Gassman's prewar estimates of the power gap by offering a ferocious fight, blowing his careful calculations of interests to bits.
Let's be honest.
Though the Imperial Army was a beloved ally, the Kingdom of Ildoa would have appreciated it more if it would fight only as much as necessary.
"At this rate, we won't be able to gain much from mediating."
His calculations swirled in the air along with his cigar smoke.
By simply being the ones to open up negotiations before the reconciliation summit, the Kingdom of Ildoa had been able to obtain tons of new aircrafts, computation orbs, and even loans with no interest or collateral.
"Well, peace would be best, of course," Gassman murmured and set aside ambitions for further profit. It wouldn't do to be too greedy. The key to negotiations was to stay modest and ensure an appropriate amount of gains.
"I'm glad to know that they're so interested in peace that they'll lend us an ear even if the terms we present are that outrageous. And? We were waiting on a final response from those hyenas in the Federation. What did they have to say?"
"I confirmed through our attaché, who said they have no problem."
Calandro's voice was brimming with the self-confidence of a member of their elite intelligence agency.
Contrary to his nice-guy exterior, he was an absolute realist, so the significance of his guarantee was enormous.
"No problem? Does that mean they have the evidence?"
"...The orders must have been given. The cells who had been reported to be causing trouble have ceased activities."
"Ohhh?" Gassman emitted an interested exclamation unconsciously.
That meant the Federation had worked very quickly to fulfill his simple request: The Kingdom of Ildoa will volunteer to mediate, so silence the Ildoan radical left wing.
"Those whipped dogs."
"Better whipped than rioting."
"That's for sure. Not that we're any better with politicians running the army."
How prudent of Calandro to select a tactful silence. The natural way he shifted his eyes to the clock on the wall was perfectly attuned to his position.
Now, how should I interpret that, since he hasn't agreed or disagreed?
No. Having thought that far, he switched gears.
"...So, Colonel, shall we do what we need to do?"
"It's quite a risk, I think. To be honest, the General Staff is warning that the Empire may react violently."
Calandro's anxiety wasn't unfounded.
What they were about to do was, well, it was likely to provoke a reaction along the lines of Now you've gone and done it. It was a dangerous gamble, and if they lost, furious imperials could very well be storming over their border soon.
Gassman couldn't write off that possibility, even if it had only a one-in-a-million chance of happening.
Yet, he spoke with confidence. "There's no problem, right, Colonel?"
"But..."
"I'm sure the Imperial Army General Staff will respond immediately to such a sneak attack. They're talented enough that it should be easy for them. Most importantly, they have plenty of combat experience."
He had no doubt about that.
It was dangerous to assume that ideas proven in battle were superior, but discounting them entirely was equally foolish.
The Imperial Army and its exacting General Staff operated on a fearsomely exacting standard.
Even Gassman, who prided himself on being more like a politician than a soldier, was in awe of his fellow military men in the Imperial Army---he had to respect them.
"But, Colonel Calandro, our safety is guaranteed by the excellence of the Imperial Army. Did you see how the Council for Self-Government was established on the Federation lines? The Imperial Army General Staff is a perfect mass of raison d'état. They're not reckless enough to go looking for another front in this war."
An outstanding military would naturally act to avoid ending up in a crude explosion. With its famous iron discipline, the Imperial Army could be trusted to behave accordingly.
"We should be able to avoid any accidents. That makes this a done deal. The Imperial Army clearly prefers to stay home, as evidenced by its interior lines strategy." To Gassman, it was inevitable. "They may actually be open to hearing our mediation plan."
Acting not on emotions but reason.
Even if the Empire came to the table reluctantly, he expected them to come. Then the Kingdom of Ildoa would be able to host their dear friends as an intermediary.
"Rather than shedding blood in war, we should all sweat together in peace talks."
"...That in itself makes sense, sir, but..." Calandro's perplexed eyes asked the unstated question, Will it really work?
Gassman waved him off with a faint smile. "Don't worry! These days you can't reasonably hope to expand your territory relying on political marriage anymore."
Bloody armed conflict came at a cost.
&nbs
p; For the Kingdom of Ildoa, which had been carefully observing the total war from the sidelines, that was out of the question. Neutral countries were in the unique position of being forced to witness the madness of uncommonly costly battles.
Anyone with normal sensibilities would be on the lookout for an exit. That much was self-evident.
"The best thing a lucky country can do is accept its allotment of peace. What unfortunate reason could there be to go sticking your neck into such a foolish pursuit as war?"
The Imperial Army seemed impossibly huge from the perspective of the Ildoan ground forces.
And haven't we even started recruiting some women in addition to the men, so we can mobilize more troops?
To someone like Gassman, who had been fighting the government about the budget, it was clear at a glance.
World war meant only outrageous expenditures and madness.
Just a few years of it reduced a nation to tatters. The reconstruction would take an unfathomably long time. Would it even be finished after infants of today grew into adults decades later?
"Excessive pride is unreasonable! If everyone wants something so badly, then we should sell it, even if it is profiteering! Let's give them some common ground."
"General, do the warring countries even want peace?"
"Who would want to keep fighting such a wasteful war?! I think it's only logical that even if it's a bit of a---no, a fairly hard sell, that peace will indeed sell."
He gave the natural answer in a natural way.
To Gassman, it was as self-evident as the fact that one plus one is two. He would even call it axiomatic.
"So does that make us the messengers of peace?"
"Quite right! Let's wedge the imperials' mouths open with some piping hot pizza and pasta and hear what they have to say!"
"Don't they say it's important to have manners between friends?" Calandro made a sour expression as he offered this frank advice. It was stereotypical of him, as an intelligence officer, to so prudently envision the worst case, but how far would his caution extend?
"Oh, we can just call it the manners of warriors." Gassman broke into a liberal-minded smile and shrugged at the worrywart colonel. "Colonel Calandro, your anxiety is all for nothing. Those guys in the Empire, politics runs so deep in their veins that they'd keep smiling even if they're furious on the inside."