by Carlo Zen
But even so, things had apparently gone worse than expected.
If Drake was hearing this much about it despite the gag order and the secrecy classification, things must have been bad.
It would have been some consolation if they had cleaned up in places besides the west, but the stress test results showed that the imperial units in the former Entente Alliance were also tough.
"We have to admit that they were sturdier than we anticipated. The Imperial Army must be prioritizing severing the support route to the Federation. Their air power was surprisingly robust." As Drake continued, he lowered his eyes to the reports in irritation.
In his hands was the report about what they assumed would be a relatively weak counterattack in the former Entente Alliance territory. Despite a warning from Drake and others, they had apparently underestimated the Empire's forces.
One glance was enough to tell things had gone horribly. Powerful imperial units, including an air fleet they had never seen before, came out to meet them, and the carrier task force got pummeled.
Apparently, they had heard that imperial ground troops stationed in defense were second-rate reservists and then failed to take the entire defense force seriously enough.
Partisan reports specified that there were "no powerful ground units," but someone must have misread it as "no powerful units." That sort of error was infrequent but did happen.
It was bad news if their air forces were top tier. It proved that the imperial armada in former Entente Alliance territory had been reinforced far more than estimated.
If people were only now paying attention to the report from Drake and his troops, who had escorted the RMS Queen of Anjou one way, it was too late.
"It's a nightmare trying to move a convoy through waters under enemy air superiority. What are they thinking over on the mainland?" Drake sounded the alarm quietly but with a sense of crisis.
Ignorance is bliss? Is that it? Though they weren't unhappy to have pulled strong units from places that weren't the main lines, there was a strong air fleet moving into position to occupy the Federation support route.
Considering how important that route was, it wasn't just the navy who would be losing sleep over this.
We knew this would happen, though. Instead of grumbling, Drake just sighed in a white puff. Mikel looked unwell as he gave his reply.
"As far as I can tell, the higher-ups were just interpreting things as they saw fit. Apparently, they thought the imperial air forces would be concentrated on the front line."
"That's awfully optimistic. And who do they think is going to get bit by it in the end? Certainly, the Empire is known for stationing troops thickly along the front lines, as opposed to how the Federation prioritizes strategic reserves...but I hardly think that would mean they let defense in the rear slip."
The Federation Army had a tendency to see the Imperial Army as specialized in attacking...but in Drake's experience, it was more defensive. The imperial doctrine focusing on mobility was often understood as an embodiment of maneuver warfare, but in fact, its foundation was interior lines strategy.
In other words, they had a reputation for using the cards in their hands to protect and survive.
"...Not sure what to do about that, I guess. So? It's not nice to keep your brother-in-arms in suspense... Do you have some secret plan or script for us this time?"
"It's not quite a secret plan, but..." Drake smiled. "Basically, we'll be a distraction."
"Right. We'll get the Imperial Army focused on a location that isn't the east. Ultimately, your idea must be to divide their forces."
"Exactly," Drake continued with an evil grin. "Do you get it? We'll be going through the back door, so we don't even need air superiority or a landing with enemy resistance. It's fine to be flashy like a proper distraction, but...we don't need to get too serious." Drake grumbled, flicking away his cigarette. It wasn't only the Federation Army who had that problem; soldiers who valued procedure were often overly obsessed with textbook stipulations. "We're going on a sneak attack! If we can't visit our beloved Juliet through the front gate, we'll just have to be Romeo and go through the back."
"Are we lovesick?"
"Yes, it's similar. For a submarine assault, that's the ideal form. The Imperial Army has ripped my heart out."
"Whoa there, that's an indecent affair."
"Let's just say I've fallen for its modus operandi."
Sneak attacks, feints, decapitation tactics...
The Imperial Army's shrewd use of aerial mages was terribly effective. They were doing things in naval strategy that he had never considered before. The elegant generals talking around a table might not approve of that sort of assertiveness, but it would certainly rouse the adventurous spirits of the officers in the gun room. Drake felt they could learn something from that resolve.
"...They really got you. I take my hat off---is that the right phrase?"
"I guess I'm an Orientalist."
"Ah, let's leave it at that." Mikel ducked his head slightly and scanned the area in silence. From his body language, it was clear what his comment meant.
Something like, If a political officer hears this conversation, it'll be a pain.
Even joking around like this could cause trouble?
"Then it seems like I should be the one to draw up the operation plans?"
"...Sorry to make you do all the work, but I appreciate it."
"Oh, it's just a Commonwealth soldier forcing a plan on a Federation soldier. Get ready for some arrogance."
Let's cut to the chase.
Lieutenant Colonel Drake and Colonel Mikel's invasion to take pressure off the east was planned through the proper channels, and although there were some complications, the main framework ended up getting the approval of both the Commonwealth and Federation Armies.
Maybe it was more correct to say they were extremely welcoming rather than simply approving. That's how enthusiastic the upper echelons were.
The operation the pair jointly submitted was a plan to use a number of large submarines to invade former Entente Alliance territory via the sea. If their landing operation was interpreted as a commando mission in essence, that made it the largest one to date.
The idea of a major counterattack probably sounded good to some of the higher-ups who were anxious to mount one.
The ultimate goal was to aid the flank of the eastern front.
The method was to make a show of the coordination between local partisans and the Federation-Commonwealth allied army to lure imperial troops to Norden and pin them there.
It was a relatively straightforward plan, but the difficulty stemmed from its simplicity.
The issues anticipated due to siloing between branches were handled easily. The Federation subs had been reluctant to have Commonwealth soldiers aboard despite the fact that they were allies, but they finally accepted the plan with an order from Moskva.
Since they were emphasizing political achievement over military gains, it wasn't too hard to get support from the continuing resistance.
You could say a cooperative spirit coursed through every stage of the operation.
The time to get an affirmative response for each step was astoundingly short. For anyone who knew even a little about how slow bureaucracy could go, it was unbelievable.
The history books would probably praise it as a smooth, well-organized endeavor.
A solid cooperative structure.
A concrete strategic objective.
Thorough understanding from the upper echelons.
A determined commander.
Appropriate intelligence analysis and integration with related organizations.
All the factors that distinguished success from a failure were present.
But even after lining up all the comments about how smoothly things were going in the field for Drake and his crew, it was difficult to say it was as nice as the comments made it out to be.
After all, things were always a shit show in the field.<
br />
And that went for Drake and his troops in a Federation sub as well.
Their passage had been remarkably uneventful, but the prep had been incredibly rushed.
All that meant was that amid mechanical trouble, the sound of a screw propeller of what must have been a patrol boat that they encountered along the way and general disorder caused by the cramped space, he would write, No trouble worth noting, in the official report.
Considering all those factors, as they drew near to their destination in former Entente Alliance waters...respect for their transporters began to well up inside Drake.
"It's so handy to have submarines facilitate like this. No one thought to use them like this before the war started?" Having been at loose ends, Drake struck up a chat with the duty officer next to him to express some of his respect.
The navy man not only understood Drake's Queen's dialect but responded as well. Not that he really should have found it terribly surprising.
It was standard on the seas.
"'Handy' sounds nice, but you could also say it's making things harder for us... Once you go above and beyond, what used to be above and beyond becomes the default next time."
The way he could say something so dangerous in the conning station where other people could hear proved that submariners were similar the world over. Hearty seamen.
Being on a submarine together meant sharing fates; the crew was basically a family that lived and died together. Apparently, that meant they could gossip without hesitation.
"I understand. That's rough. As an apology, I offer this. It's a bottle of gin I brought over, probably not too shabby."
"Are you paying us off? I may even start believing the party's propaganda about how horrible capitalists are." Though his expression said he was joking, his attitude as he didn't even attempt to refuse was rare for a Federation officer.
"Ha-ha-ha. Yes, it's an evil capitalist conspiracy. We want to win you over by warming you up with toasty alcohol in this cold ship." As Drake laughed in response, it sunk in for him once again how submarines had their own culture. If he had to find fault with it, he would complain like a dandy that there was a limit to the airs he could put on. It was a bit too cramped for him to laugh nihilistically with the Federation soldiers. But the freedom to breathe seemed a fair trade.
Instead of naval mines, they had loaded up on people...but honestly, it was still too cramped. If they forced the issue, it was certainly possible to cram everyone in, but it wasn't something he wanted to do over and over.
Three vessels, three mage battalions.
Marine mages, including Drake, often had to embark on small military ships once formed up. That meant he was relatively used to it. The mages with lots of missions on land probably have more to worry about than we do. Poor sods.
Ahhh. Drake smiled wryly at that point. It wasn't like him to think so much. They had arrived at their go point safely, and apparently, the long wait time after a modest tea toast made one thoughtful.
If there wasn't anyone supervising them, he could have busted out the rum and gotten a little rowdier with the friendly crew...but it was more crowded than the Londinium subway.
"Phew." He sighed and was staring silently at the clock to stay out of the crew's way when he noticed something strange. What the---? This was made in the Empire!
To think the day would come that I'd be inside a Federation submarine watching a clock of imperial make and waiting to commence a landing operation! The Imperial Army guys must have been looking at this same sort of clock just before they landed in the Osfjord. Is this what people mean when they say "curious fate"?
Having thought that far, he realized what a weird combination it was.
I'm in a submarine with a liberal atmosphere watching an imperial clock and speaking freely with Federation soldiers!
Was this the three steps of observation, discovery, and interpretation? The world was a strange place indeed.
But after a little while, Drake's moment of rumination was at its end.
"Operation Romeo---it's go time."
The call echoed out in the Federation language.
He didn't wait for it to be translated. Everyone perked up, understanding it was time; of course they turned toward the captain.
"Maintain periscope depth! Checking the area... All right!"
"Cease submarine cruising! Surface!"
"Blow the main tank!"
The crew's crisp, staccato exchange echoed throughout the iron casket.
Even in a language they didn't understand, any navy personnel could grasp what was happening. The words may have been different, but operating a ship was the same.
The pressurized air was forced into the water, and the buoyant force had the ship up on the wide-open ocean in no time.
"Gear, check!"
"Open the hatch!"
"Lookouts, to your posts!"
The sailors jumped briskly out of the hatch. With a vulnerable submarine on the surface, they couldn't afford to have their guard down for a second.
But that was the crew's job.
As someone just hitching a lift, Drake had his heart stolen by the influx of fresh air. It was rich in oxygen, and he could breathe without worrying about the carbon dioxide concentration.
"...Sheesh, I didn't realize how delicious the sea air is."
"Ha-ha-ha. I bet not. You don't understand how sweet a smell it is unless you become a submariner." The Federation naval officer who appeared next to him spoke the truth.
His tone was filled with camaraderie due to the respect between the fellow navy officers for each other's seamanship. Drake ducked his head slightly and said, "You're right about that."
Marine mages, like the older marine units, most often served on capital ships. Drake's military career was by no means short, but this was his first time serving on a submarine.
Right. He recalled at that point that there were good and bad things about new experiences, like anything else.
When he realized what the glances he was getting from the Federation personnel in the area were for, he couldn't say it felt good.
There could be only one reason he had to recompose himself and plaster on a hollow expression like he didn't know these guys and conceal the relaxed atmosphere.
It was the approach through the narrow corridor of a woman officer. He didn't think it very tactful to curse in this sweet, pure sea air, but neither did he enjoy holding in his frustration.
It was hard to live authentically in the world.
"Colonel Drake, on behalf of the people, I wish you luck."
The political officer bobbed her head politely.
It was sad that he was used to seeing the exhausted face of the officer ordered to interpret, but...Drake had plenty of experience suppressing his dislike of political officers.
Then again, being used to dealing with them didn't make it any less of a pain.
"Thanks, Lieutenant Tanechka. You really helped us out in a lot of ways."
"No, I'm glad I was able to accompany you all, since we share the same aim."
"It's an honor to hear you say that... We may be allies, but I'm sure we've put you through some stress."
Did the fact that he could smile and have a hollow conversation with her indicate growth? Or a fall from grace? Considering the higher-ups described this relationship as shaking hands with the devil, probably the latter.
Honestly, he railed beneath his smile, how the Federation soldiers put up with such an incomprehensible system is human history's greatest mystery.
"Well, I'm sorry you had to come along even though you're not with the navy."
"Oh, I'm just glad if I can be of some service."
She wasn't navy personnel, and she wasn't participating in the operation.
She was just idly taking up limited space and oxygen. But perhaps he was biased.
There was no guarantee that he wasn't reacting in an overly negative way to the appearance of the foreign element---this political
officer---because he was familiar with the coordination and family-like bonds in the navy. He didn't feel it to the same extent Mikel did, but still, although she was a pain in the neck as a political officer, it wasn't as if she was unreasonable as an individual.
But he had to sympathize with the Federation Navy for their troubles nevertheless.
Even a submarine had its own political officer. Then this one had to cram aboard with them---it probably couldn't get more crowded than this.
"We're always causing trouble for everyone in the Federation. I just hope getting a ride like this isn't too much. My apologies." Drake bowed his head to the Federation naval officer.
They were two men of the sea. They didn't require an excess of words. He simply wanted to deliver a good-mannered apology. Which is why, perhaps it should be said, he ended up dumbfounded in the next moment.
"Cultural differences occur between any countries. As long as we're fighting for the same cause, they're nothing more than obstacles to be overcome."
This political officer, Liliya Ivanova Tanechka, is a terror. She just shamelessly barged into a conversation between two officers like it was her own!
To be honest, Drake didn't foresee this at all. It was implied his comments were for the naval officer, not the political officer. And yet she so kindly took the liberty of responding!
"It's as Comrade Tanechka says. Don't worry about it, Colonel Drake."
"...Sorry...er, I guess I should say thank you."
"Either or neither." The naval officer shrugged. He must have been used to this. To Drake, it was shocking and surreal.
They say that too many captains will send a ship up a mountain, but here we have someone who isn't even in the navy chain of command acting like she's in charge when the minimal requirement for success on a submarine is unity of the crew!
"Sheesh, I'm no match for you. Let's compete in military achievements. That said, if you give me a huge quota, I won't be able to do it anyhow, so don't expect too much."
He must have had a little self-restraint left if he could go without snapping, I can't take this.