VOL 3-1

Table of Contents
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter I: Open Sesame
Chapter II: The Intervention, Which Was Too Late
Chapter III: Operation Ark
Chapter IV: How to Use Victory
Chapter V: Internal Affairs
Chapter VI: The Southern Campaign
Appendixes: Mapped Outline of History
Afterword
Yen Newsletter



















Copyright
The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Vol. 3
Carlo Zen
Translation by Emily Balistrieri Cover art by Shinobu Shinotsuki
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
YOJO SENKI Vol. 3 The Finest Hour ©Carlo Zen 2014
First published in Japan in 2014 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.
English translation © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First Yen On Edition: July 2018
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Zen, Carlo, author. | Shinotsuki, Shinobu, illustrator. | Balistrieri, Emily, translator. | Steinbach, Kevin, translator.
Title: Saga of Tanya the evil / Carlo Zen ; illustration by Shinobu Shinotsuki ; translation by Emily Balistrieri, Kevin Steinbach Other titles: Yōjo Senki. English Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen ON, 2017– Identifiers: LCCN 2017044721 | ISBN 9780316512442 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316512466 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316512480 (v. 3 : pbk.) Classification: LCC PL878.E6 Y6513 2017 | DDC 895.63/6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017044721
ISBNs: 978-0-31651248-0 (paperback) 978-0-316-56057-3 (ebook)
E3-20180627-JV-PC




[chapter] I 

Open Sesame

MAY 24, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, ARKANSAS, UNIFIED STATES
In the gently streaming Arkansas sunlight, she raced over to her beloved grandma and presented a bag of bright red apples.
“Hey, Grandma, where should I put these apples the neighbors gave us?”
“Dear me, Mary, more apples? Carlos’s wife must like you.”
Smiling serenely, the old woman slowly began to rise from her easy chair. Her granddaughter was kind enough to offer a hand. Noticing her natural consideration, the elderly woman thanked God the girl had been raised to be kind and thoughtful.
The neighbors were proud of their harvest, and her granddaughter beamed like the sun after receiving a bag. Though the girl was staying with family, this was still a foreign country to her. Despite leaving her father behind to come live in a new and unknown place, she had won over even the most difficult people with that sunny smile.
She was a strong child, old enough that she wasn’t oblivious to the events happening around her. She did everything she could to cheer up the whole household. The old woman was proud of her for that but, by the same token, found her circumstances so sad.
Thus, it was with mixed feelings that the grandmother eagerly stood and endeavored to keep the mood light by suggesting they bake an apple pie together. Her inability to do anything but worry about the miserable state of the conflict only fueled her frustration.
If only this cruel war would just end… The old woman sighed discreetly so Mary wouldn’t notice and slowly headed for the kitchen. Catching a glimpse of her grieving daughter glued to the radio and newspaper in the sitting room, Mary’s grandmother wiped tears from her eyes.
Ever since they had received notice about the death of her son-in-law Anson, the Entente Alliance soldier who had come to ask for her daughter’s hand in marriage, Mary’s mother had seemed listless, like her mind was elsewhere.
Anson had been a stubborn man, and the two of them had come to blows more than once, but for some reason in the end, they got along just fine. Now, the photograph of the happy couple merely served as a reminder that Anson was gone. The old woman could only lament her thoughtlessness in neglecting to put it away.
She knew that due to the physical distance between the Unified States and the Entente Alliance, as well as the immense confusion at the scene of the fighting, news wouldn’t arrive very quickly. But at some point, she must have let her guard down. She was anxious for news of the war, but she never imagined that Anson would be killed.
And that was why she still kept recalling the day the death notice arrived and how stunned she had been.
A notice? For us?
It came on a tranquil, sunny day exactly like this one.
The old woman’s daughter had finally started to smile again, seeming to have relaxed after returning to her hometown, while her granddaughter rushed around the foreign land giddy with curiosity. The old woman watched over them with a smile.
The bad news struck right as she was inviting the girls in for three o’clock tea.
Suddenly, a car flying the Entente Alliance flag pulled up, and an official from the embassy climbed out. When her daughter went to greet the man in her place, to spare her bad back, the old woman regretted that she didn’t speak up and say, “Let me go. I’d like to talk with a visitor now and then, too.”
If she had, she could have even taken the envelope he offered with a strained expression, his hands shaking, and hidden it away somewhere.
“Oh God! No!”
But instead, when she and Mary heard the screams and paused their tea preparations to rush for the doorway, they saw her daughter crumpled on the ground in tears and men in black whose faces said they couldn’t bear to stand there any longer.
In retrospect, the old woman felt like a fool for blithely making tea at that moment.
Solemnly silent visitors in black? They were basically dressed for mourning, weren’t they?
The reason for their visit should have been obvious.
DEATH NOTICE.
She hadn’t even considered the possibility when she pulled the paper from her daughter’s trembling hands, but the moment she read the single line printed on the front, time froze.
Her daughter still hadn’t recovered from the shock.
Not only that, time is probably still frozen for her at exactly that moment.
After that, her daughter began listening obsessively to news broadcasts about the war, answering both Mary’s encouragements and the old woman’s consolations with the same hollow smile.
Tidying up the utensils in the kitchen, the old woman would think to herself.
How the war would surely end at some point. Apparently, from what she heard in the news, the Empire was retreating. She wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but…everyone whispered that the war seemed like it would end soon, so that’s what she wished for. All she could do was hope. If it’s going to end, then I hope it ends soon.
Perhaps the reason her daughter was tuning in to the broadcasts with a nearly religious devotion was that she hoped God would bring righteous judgment down on the Empire for taking her husband away.
Of course, revenge would only be empty and sad. At her age, the old woman knew that sorrows of the past could eventually be overcome. But for her daughter and granddaughter, the shock was still too great, so until the pain became dull and faded, she would endure it with them.
“All right, Mary, let’s make this apple pie.”
“Okay!”

MAY, UNIFIED YEAR 1925
Operations should be launched with a clear purpose and objective.
On that point, the General Staff praised Operation Schrecken und Ehrfurcht (“Shock and Awe”) as a plan that embodied these ideals. Two major generals, Zettour and Rudersdorf, had drafted it.
The intentions of their proposal were plain and unambiguous.
By conducting radical but straightforward attacks that directly targeted enemy headquarters, it would be possible to knock out the opposing forces’ chain of command, ultimately leading to the collapse of the enemy’s lines.
That was it. One unit would be dispatched to complete one objective; it possessed the simple logic of two plus two equals four.
The reasoning behind it was obvious. A decapitated army cannot wage war.
Even a student at the academy would be able to grasp the intent immediately. After all, the strategy amounted to slicing off the enemy’s head—neutralizing the command capabilities that were critical for a modern army.
However, the nature of the plan caused various staffers to raise serious doubts from the very beginning.
Naturally, the headquarters were considered incredibly important. Any army would establish their field command in friendly territory far beyond the reach of their enemies.
Common sense dictated that the Republic’s headquarters on the Rhine front would be heavily defended. This foregone conclusion was confirmed with a reconnaissance in force at the cost of a great many lives.
Unless they could find a way past the enemy’s dense interception screen and deal with any forces scrambled for defense, there was little hope of success. The majority of the General Staff had taken that into account and judged that if they were wholly prepared to dispassionately sustain losses in order to achieve a breakthrough, they would lose an entire brigade of aerial mages in the process.
So when the aim and execution of Operation Schrecken und Ehrfurcht were revealed, many staffers thought that anyone who would give such orders had to be crazy. There were even those who openly opposed the operation, claiming it was a joke that would accomplish nothing but recklessly send soldiers to their deaths.
Of course, none of the realists on staff objected to the operation’s intended purpose. If it was possible to destroy the enemy chain of command by penetrating their lines and storming their headquarters, it didn’t matter what sacrifices needed to be made. Assuming a reasonable chance of success, any number of casualties was acceptable.
Despite the appeal of undertaking bold ventures with no regard for the price, the staffers rejected the proposal due to the slim chances involved. Wagering their valuable troops on an operation with such a small probability of success was an unthinkable outrage under ordinary circumstances.
If chances were good, then sure, some losses could be ignored. Did it matter how high the returns would be if the likelihood of victory was impossibly low? Was this the operation they were pinning the success of the breakthrough on? If that was truly the case, every officer would have been forced to bitterly admit that they were done for.
Deep down, most officers on the General Staff privately believed that if it were possible to strike at the enemy headquarters directly, the Rhine front wouldn’t have become a stalemate in the first place.
Such a meritless plan would normally be tossed in the waste bin and forgotten…but this particular proposal was drafted and jointly signed by none other than the generals Zettour and Rudersdorf.
At first, the staff were puzzled when they realized the two authorities on large-scale maneuver warfare seemed to be proposing the operation as a practical move. They reluctantly reviewed the document, and only upon an intensive reading did it dawn on them that the absurd plan was worthy of serious consideration.
In the end, loath as the other staffers were to admit it…they begrudgingly acknowledged that the operation might be possible. It all depended on committing the veteran 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion led by Major Tanya von Degurechaff, whose alias was in the process of shifting from the elegant “White Silver” to the more awe-striking and fearsome “Rusted Silver.” They would also require supplemental acceleration devices that allowed the user to climb to altitudes where interception was impossible and gave them the speed to outrun any pursuers.
On paper, at least, the specs of the supplemental acceleration device, combined with the unit’s accumulated achievements, made the proposal attractive enough to warrant discussion.
But even with all those cards assembled, the planners still hesitated—Zettour and Rudersdorf were suggesting, of all things, to dovetail Schrecken und Ehrfurcht (“Shock and Awe”) with their next major plan, Operation Lock Pick. Claiming that there was no hope of pulling off Operation Lock Pick without the success of Operation Schrecken und Ehrfurcht invited particularly intense debate.
It was no small dispute. After all, having made their wager on Operation Lock Pick, the General Staff had already crossed the dangerous bridge of withdrawing troops from the Rhine front, a move that would normally be unthinkable. They were long past the Rubicon. It wasn’t easy for them to maintain composure while listening to claims that their initial wager was now at the mercy of this gamble of an operation.
A fountain of objections erupted internally, and the debates that raged both in and out of conference rooms split the General Staff right in half. Calling the plan controversial didn’t do it justice.
With officers grabbing one another by the lapels in fierce disagreement and cursing their peers as stubborn fools, the state of affairs was wild enough that it was more like a wrestling match than anything. It was plain to see how chaotic the internal strife had grown after multiple officers were officially reported to have “taken a tumble.”
But in the end, the General Staff decided that the fundamental aim of attacking the enemy headquarters directly had a lot of promise. After all, even if they didn’t manage to take it out completely, the attempt alone would still cause a great deal of confusion.
It might be a quixotic one-way charge, but the Republican Army would need to seriously take into account the threat of a capable aerial mage unit conducting a raid ever after, and that was huge.
They could expect this result even if the attack failed. In other words, if the Imperial Army carried out just a single decapitation strike, the Republicans would have to be constantly on guard against another. They would have to station more of their precious few forces in the rear to guard the critical Rhine front headquarters.
It was a reasonable interpretation of the situation. Even in the sense of “trying is better than not,” making a real effort didn’t seem like a poor idea, either. At the very least, they would tie up additional enemy troops in the rear.
Some of the officers even added another thought in the back of their minds: Major von Degurechaff might actually be able to wring out even better results.
That said, no one could deny it was a risky operation. At worst, they would be sending their elite troops on a futile mission and could lose every single one. Of course, even if the attack force was wiped out, the threat would remain. It was a steep price to pay for a threat, though.
On top of that, the unit they planned to send in was the irreplaceable pet project that the General Staff kept close at hand—a quick response unit with a wealth of combat experience.
The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion had been initially formed as an experiment, but it was currently serving as the General Staff’s proverbial workhorse, consistently surpassing expectations on every battlefield. Its less flashy but nevertheless vital contributions in the field of testing new tactics and assessing new weapons couldn’t be ignored, either.
This wasn’t the sort of unit that could be duplicated overnight, and yet it was precisely thanks to their elite capabilities that anyone expected them to succeed. After struggling with that contradiction, the General Staff eventually settled on dispatching a company. That took into account both the amount of troops they were comfortable deploying and the number of troops necessary for success.
Once the size of the force was locked down, the Empire’s intricate war machine became fully operational.
Twelve members of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion were promptly selected and transported to a launch base in the rear as the strike force that would utilize the supplemental acceleration device (code name V-1) to carry out the attack behind enemy lines.
The participants received technical briefings from the engineers as well as intelligence on enemy territory. All preparations for their combat mission were completed without delay.
However, the test run Major von Degurechaff petitioned for was denied due to secrecy concerns. It was an unavoidable decision, since the whole point of the operation was a sneak attack; from a counterespionage viewpoint, the General Staff couldn’t allow it.
Of course, making an attempt with no practice was risky. The General Staff Office received many misgivings and doubts over this decision. Since the chances of success depended entirely on whether or not their unit could use the element of surprise, the mission’s clandestine nature was emphasized to the point of suppressing any dissent. Ultimately, even Major von Degurechaff had to acknowledge the need for counterintelligence, though she did so reluctantly.
The team carried out piloting exercises in the hangar, but there were no actual launches with any equipment. In exchange, maintenance on the supplemental acceleration devices was performed with extra care at Major von Degurechaff’s request.
The operation’s itinerary was itemized in rigid detail, eventually settling into a plan to at least deal a blow to the enemy chain of command and temporarily take their communications down. Immediately following the raid on enemy headquarters, the strike force would head north where a friendly submarine or ship would retrieve them.
The General Staff debate ended with all participants more or less in agreement. The V-1 unit was given notice, and X-Day arrived on May 25.
“You can still see the shocking results today.” (from the Commonwealth Army’s War History Compilation Division’s History of the Rhine Front Volume 3)

MAY 25, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL ARMY SECRET V-1 LAUNCH BASE
Major Tanya von Degurechaff stands resolutely on the runway at the airfield, watching the sun rise over the horizon with a gaze so unwholesome it could send even dead fish scattering as she utters a stunned Guten Morgen in her head.
The orders she received have instructed her to lead a select company in a direct attack on enemy headquarters to cut off the head of their army. In other words, decapitating their forces with a surgical strike.
As if the outrageous order itself isn’t depressing enough, the method she needs to use is even worse.
Penetrating the enemy’s defense by conventional means can’t be done. Apparently, the brass understands that much. So for one reason or another, they’ve decided their only option is to adopt a radical approach, and what they came up with is a guided missile. The problem is that the guidance system is done on board and by hand.
To put it plainly, they’re telling her to become a human rocket and charge in. If Tanya didn’t have a reputation to worry about, she would be cradling her head right about now and shouting, How did this happen?!
Logically, Tanya understands that the operation she’s about to carry out is not just a reckless gamble. There’s no doubt that a reasonable chance of success exists. Once the plan was laid out in detail, the strategic practicality became clear.
The law of progress demands revolutionary advances fostered through vigilant skepticism of common sense as a potential for bias and consistent challenges to the paradigm. Given that, Tanya understands that from a military perspective, her moodiness could be considered irrational.
But from another rational viewpoint, waging war in the first place is a tremendous waste. Of course, there’s no denying that the virtually meaningless exhaustion of every resource should be kept to a minimum. In a conflict, cutting costs wherever possible is necessary, logical.
All the data indicates that preservation measures must be taken. The numbers also suggest that it’s necessary to secure an alternative source of supply to make up for inevitable losses. Unless the Empire seizes the Republic’s assets in the terms for peace or something, Tanya’s nation will collapse under the weight of its ever-increasing war expenditures. It’s plain to see that the brass intends to wring reparations from the Republic.
In a debate, it’s reasonable to employ statistical data to back up common sense or outwit it. Tanya can’t deny that on moral or emotional grounds.
Of course, statistics lie. But they’re the best kind of lies.
Statistically, no one expects someone with a savings account and life insurance to be a suicide bomber. If anything, a banker would actually like to maintain a long relationship with such a customer. Which is precisely why a practical, cunning terrorist could potentially duck surveillance by opening a savings account and purchasing life insurance.
In other words, anything can be good depending on how you use it.
Given all this, Tanya is fully aware how foolish it is to moodily declare, That’s impossible or It can’t be done. She is more than willing to undergo a healthy dose of introspection about her personal conclusions before disagreeing with others.
Nevertheless, she finds herself repeating the same unsolvable question to herself as she gazes with the eyes of a dead fish at the gigantic object in front of her: How did this happen?
What mad scientist had the ability to convince the army to approve of such an insane idea?
“A company will be launched via human-guided missiles, code name V-1.” You’d have to be possessed to rationalize a plan like this to the point where Zettour and Rudersdorf would approve… It must have been him. Most Imperial Army engineers are constantly off in their own worlds, but Schugel is something else entirely.
Go to hell, Schugel, you piece of shit! Tanya feels like screaming when she recalls the man.
I should have killed him during those activation tests with a stray formula or a computation orb “accident.” Even if he is a psychologically contaminated, pitiful puppet of Being X—or rather, because of that—someone should have killed him sooner, back when he still retained some human dignity.
The reason why I—or rather, why Tanya—gets carried away by her emotions and won’t rest until she’s shot Schugel to death any number of times in her mind is simple.
She’s the commander of a battalion on the verge of falling apart due to the numerous casualties sustained in the course of rearguard duty, but the moment the unit finally made it back to a friendly base in the rear, they received a new operation along with newly developed equipment for it. She was so excited to see what kind of hospitality would be offered to them upon their return, but instead, events went in the exact opposite direction that she was hoping for, and worst of all, now they’re being sent to a dangerous battlefield inside a sketchy weapon.
Major Tanya von Degurechaff knows herself well enough to realize she isn’t the type to enjoy blasting off in a giant rocket.
Frankly, she’s sick and tired of dangerous missions. And that’s only natural, after being forced to carry out operation after ludicrous operation to help offset the risks simply because the plans are “theoretically possible.”
As Heinrich’s principles state, any accident that is liable to happen, will. There’s no telling when one of these dangerous missions will end in a horrific mishap, and I don’t want to keep going till I find out. No, I wouldn’t mind being praised for my outstanding achievements and upgrading from my Silver Wings Assault Badge to a Silver Wings Assault Badge with Oak Leaves. Actually, I have been recommended for the Platinum Cross with Golden Swords, although informally, so at the very least, I can’t deny that the risks are properly recognized.
Therein lies Tanya’s agonizing internal conflict. A person of the modern world cannot forsake their duties without cause when they are held in such high esteem and receive medals for their contributions.
To do so would be a betrayal of contract and trust—the very things that make me who I am. Betraying your own dignity is essentially a form of suicide.
In a situation where an emergency evacuation is out of the question, Tanya’s only practical choice is to loyally follow orders.
“I have to do it. If I have to do it, then I have to succeed.” Standing on the runway glaring in the direction of the Republic, Tanya repeats those words like it’s her duty.
She is so wrapped up in her own world that she doesn’t notice someone has walked up next to her until they start speaking.
Unaware of the intense stare coming from nearby, she repeats herself, mustering her will and fighting spirit. “I have to do it. I just have to do it. I can’t mess up this mission.”
I’m going to live and hammer the righteousness of the market economy into that piece of trash Being X. Then I’ll laugh as I shatter every last idol I can get my hands on. No matter what happens, I can’t die before that.
“…Major von Degurechaff, sorry to interrupt you, but do you have a moment?”
Her conditioned reflexes clear all other thoughts from Tanya’s head when she notices the voice.
“Ah, excuse me. Of course, Colonel von Lergen. What is it?”
Suddenly realizing she hasn’t greeted him properly, Tanya takes a step back and extends her hand to the brim of her cap in a picture-perfect salute. As she thinks about ways to smooth over the situation, the gears of her brain go into overdrive, trying to remember if she has let something slip that she shouldn’t have.
She only murmured two things on the runway. It’s probably too much to ask for any eavesdroppers to think Tanya’s feeling very motivated, but there shouldn’t be much problem with talking to herself about needing to carry out her mission.
But that only means her muttering won’t be taken badly on its own… It dawns on her in the next instant that, depending on the context, what she said could have grave consequences.
“No, you—ahh, er, rather, for you…”
“Huh?”
At the moment, Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen seems a bit bizarrely lost for words. This seems like the worst-case scenario. No matter how tightly the man clings to optimism, he’s no fool.
One wrong move here and a report could be sent to the General Staff Office claiming her ability to carry out the operation is in doubt, revealing her motivation is lacking even if it doesn’t go as far as to say she’s disobeying orders. Lergen is undoubtedly someone who could submit such a report.
What will happen if Colonel von Lergen reports that he’s skeptical about my will to fight?
All the discretion and freedom Tanya currently enjoys is granted on General von Zettour’s say-so. If it comes to light that someone feels lukewarm—never mind outright critical—about a plan he and General von Rudersdorf put so much effort into, who knows what might happen.
“It’s just rare to see you seeming so reluctant.” Choosing his words with a bit of a wince on his face, he trains his gaze on Tanya and continues grumbling. “It’s you we’re talking about, so there must be some reason for your hesitation.”
A vampire who’s just been stabbed through the heart with a stake would probably feel like this.
“Ahh, I see… No, I was just wondering something.”
“Wondering something?”
Tanya steels herself as she prepares to conduct damage control in hopes of minimizing the fallout. This is an obstacle that must be overcome no matter what. Furthermore, to cover up her lack of fighting spirit, she promptly decides to state how unfortunate it is that she can’t lead an even bigger offensive.
Having come to both conclusions in the blink of an eye, Tanya von Degurechaff unhesitatingly furrows her brow to express regret. “Isn’t it strange? All this gear and prep work…so much effort to maintain secrecy. The army is putting an astonishing amount of work into every area of this operation. That’s why I wonder…” Appealing to Lergen for an answer with a glance, she asks, “Are we really carrying out this elaborately planned sneak attack for the sole purpose of causing confusion at the enemy headquarters?”
Rails have been laid on the runway to launch the supplemental acceleration devices. And resting on top of those tracks are the constructs themselves, hooked up to a mind-numbing number of boosters while workers fill the fuel tanks with an unbelievable amount of highly volatile liquid propellant.
Considering how much impact all this activity has on secrecy, Tanya can’t be the only one who sensed a firm intention to go through with the operation by the time the rails were laid out and the rockets began fueling.
Which is precisely why she points a finger and asserts that it seems like a disproportionate amount of effort, even for hitting the enemy headquarters.
“I don’t believe it’s a mistake to assume that striking at the enemy headquarters will require a great deal of advance preparation.”
Colonel von Lergen’s gruff response is what she expected. Tanya doesn’t object to the necessity of extensive preparations.
“You’re correct, Colonel. But it almost feels as though…it should at least serve as the opening salvo of a greater battle.”
Tanya suggests that they could pursue wider objectives while implying serious doubts regarding the cost-effectiveness of the current plan. Of course, she understands the technical reasons why it’s difficult to cancel a launch once the rockets are filled with their highly volatile fuel. Nevertheless, she makes her point in earnest.
“Hmm, so you mean the plan as it is now won’t accomplish much?”
“More that we’re missing out on a chance to do something bigger. I’m not saying that attacking enemy headquarters will have no effect, but…”
Tanya casually evades the trap Colonel von Lergen set for her. Skepticism on this point could be seen as an attempt to shirk her duties by calling the effectiveness into question.
Yes, he must be testing her to see if she’s using a plausible excuse to cover up the fact that she lacks the will to fight.
In response, Tanya boldly plays the unabashed patriot, highlighting that it would be a waste of an opportunity. She suggests that the mission should be paired with some other endeavor.
This strike is fundamentally different from hunting down a one-shot lighter carrying a certain admiral on an innocent inspection tour. As long as the target is immobile, we should be choosing the most advantageous timing.
“From my perspective, sir, it’s like doing all this careful prep just to shoot off a couple fireworks. The cost performance is rather…”
But having said that much, Tanya gets a strange feeling and trails off. Yes, this is very weird.
“Major?”
Momentarily pushing Colonel von Lergen’s questioning look out of her thoughts, she ruminates on the word that flitted across her mind and confirms the strange feeling.
The cost-effectiveness is suspiciously bad. Would they really invest so much to achieve this single objective?
Is this the sort of operation General von Zettour would propose with his coolheaded thoughts on attrition warfare? On top of that, the participation of General von Rudersdorf is also odd. This is an unorthodox operation that relies on cunning, so why is the bigwig maneuver warfare specialist from the General Staff involved?
“Ah, but…causing chaos at enemy headquarters…leading to a larger battle? No, they’d be put out of commission…”
That instant, multiple questions in Tanya’s mind connect and lead her to the answer. Destroying the enemy headquarters would throw them into chaos. At that point, even a modern army devolves into little more than a mob. That is the General Staff’s true objective. If General von Rudersdorf capitalizes on the confusion to make a move…he’ll be able to break from the current trench warfare back into maneuver warfare.
A modern army, even when nestled in trenches, only exists thanks to its brain, the headquarters. If you look at how weakened the Red Army was after that idiot Stalin’s purge, you can see there’s no room for debate about what happens to an army that has lost its command structure.
And one more thing.
I don’t know what it’s like for a leader like that jerk Stalin, who seemed to think soldiers grew on trees, but in a normal nation under regular circumstances, probably the only country that could continue fighting after losing its regular army on the front is the American empire.
“…So it’s all to encircle and annihilate them. In other words, we’re trying to lure the Republican Army in.”
Dare to allow the enemy to take a strategic location, then force a battle. It’s the same art of war Bonaparte performed like a con man at Austerlitz. The Low Lands certainly are a key location. They’re basically the Pratzen Heights.
It’s impossible to ignore something so tempting dangling right before your eyes.
…Was the entire reorganization of the defensive lines done with the intention of baiting the enemy?
If that’s the case…then this will be a mobile battle, but not just a mere breakthrough. It’s a revolving door!
I’ve been wondering why they abandoned only the critical Low Land position and didn’t continue reorganizing the rest of the line. Now it all makes sense.
“So…we’re the switch for the revolving door?”
Those words trigger something.
“Major! Where did you hear that?!”
His face changes color as he snaps at Tanya. The fierceness in his eyes makes her smile in satisfaction as she thinks, Aha, I see.
“Oh, I just thought of it myself, but…from your reaction, I take it my hypothesis isn’t far off?”
“…You really didn’t hear it from General von Zettour?”
“No, but I’ve had an odd feeling this whole time, almost like a small bone was stuck in my throat.”
Tanya knew something was off the moment she heard that the large-scale reorganization of the front was related to the situation with imperial supply lines, but then her unit was ordered to serve as the rear guard. It’s not her fault she didn’t have time to think more about it back then.
When the retreat went all according to plan, she felt incredibly relieved, so it took a little while to realize what was really happening.
After puzzling over the retreat for a few days, the Republican Army quickly proceeded to advance. Tanya heard from reconnaissance that the Republicans were marching along in high spirits, ready to destroy the Empire, but they were moving so slow that she was certain there would be plenty of time to reorganize the lines.
Assembling everything she knew about the situation, she was sure that she was missing something, though she couldn’t articulate why it felt so strange.
Before, she wondered if it was really necessary to fall back so far just to reorganize. But now everything is clear. It was all preparation to swing the revolving door around.
In that case, I see why the mission has been kept so thoroughly classified and why a million arrangements have been made just for this one sortie. It’s like we’re the fireworks at the revolving door announcement ceremony.
“…All right, Major von Degurechaff. You must understand how much the General Staff is counting on this operation.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel. I am fully aware.”
We’re serving as the vanguard of the General Staff’s grand mobile operation that’ll lay the groundwork for a massive encirclement. Of course, if we fail, the army will pretend nothing is wrong and reorganize the defensive lines accordingly. But seeing how far imperial lines have been pulled back, it’s clear the higher-ups were extremely aware of how high the risks were when they decided to make this move. I can tell we have to succeed, no matter the cost.
“There is no greater honor for my battalion than to carry the hopes of the entire armed forces on our shoulders. Please leave everything to the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion’s select company. We will fulfill the General Staff’s fervent wish with our martial prowess.” Tanya makes her declaration while standing perfectly at attention with her head held high, the impeccable posture a product of her training. “I swear we will annihilate them. As for the General Staff, I humbly ask that they wait for our good news.”
“You haven’t changed one bit, Major von Degurechaff. All right, I wish you success. May God protect you.”
Although Colonel von Lergen’s expression indicates he’s perplexed by the somewhat philosophical vow, he manages to smile awkwardly and extend his hand.
“May God protect the fatherland. Then again, as long as us soldiers are around, maybe we can handle it ourselves instead.”
Tanya grasps the man’s hand and smiles fearlessly. Humans can handle God’s work instead. Though Lergen said it in a spur of the moment, it felt wonderful for her. She’s practically falling in love with the turn of phrase.
We’ll take God’s place.
“May God protect the fatherland. Then again, as long as us soldiers are around, maybe we can handle it ourselves instead.”
What a great way to put it!
The only problem with it is…I’ll need to get rid of that damned Being X somehow. But even so, the wise and proper first step, atheism, will be taken.
I will save the fatherland in God’s place. The enthusiasm that wells up inside her from the boast feels amazing. They’re magic words that fill her with optimism and the willpower to be so accomplished that the very existence of God becomes unnecessary.
In theory, storming the enemy headquarters is a logical choice.
No, I would even venture to call it thoroughly rational. After all, committing significant forces to defend an important base in the rear while allotting troops to the front lines is an exceptional workload.
This goes without saying, but the fact that the Republican forces will have to implement countermeasures for the future, even if we literally deal no damage at all to their headquarters, means we can already expect the attack to have considerable effect.
Any soldier who hears their headquarters has come under attack would anticipate the coming trouble and bury their head in their hands. Nor has it been rare in wars of any place or era for heavy bombers to harass the bunker where the enemy commanders are holed up.
In this world, mages represent a unique branch of the military. They can serve as infantry or airborne troops that possess mobility on par with helicopters. Depending on how they’re deployed, they can be quite handy for penetrating deep into enemy territory.
When we write a new page of history by displaying the quintessence of magic fighting power, if it’s possible to put in a part about saving the fatherland in God’s place, that would be the best publicity.
Tanya thinks to herself, I’m just taking these lemons and making lemonade, as she tries to turn a crisis into an opportunity, foreseeing the great promotional opportunity.
Granted, I’d be even happier to participate if this operation didn’t entail being tied to a clump of explosives.
It’s important to spell this out… I’ve been selected to be a part of the strike team that will insert into the field strapped to a V-1.
Even so, that was a day Major von Degurechaff felt exuberant after successfully finding a clear purpose to work toward.
Everyone who was present that day would pass down a wondrous story—a tale about how the Devil of the Rhine, Rusted Silver rushed toward the enemy headquarters in the highest of spirits.
Her quick, concise pre-sortie speech would be gossiped about in whispers long afterward. “Gentlemen, may the gods protect the fatherland, but only if we soldiers are on paid vacation in Valhalla!” Then, in front of her subordinates who howled with laughter, witnesses said she boasted, “We will save the fatherland in God’s place! Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s! Men, it is time for a war waged by humans. We go to win!”
But history tends to pass down only one side of a story: Immediately after barking those words, she turned her back to everyone to climb nimbly up the ladder to board her V-1. On her face was a disappointed look that screamed, Why me?
Current altitude: 8,800 feet; speed: 991 knots.
The company made up of elites of the elite, selected from the 203rd, formally known as the 203rd Aerial Interception Mage Battalion, smashes through the sound barrier on their attack mission in three Schwärme.
For better or worse, the operation is smoothly under way with no mechanical trouble.
It’s “under way,” but really we’re just being transported, grumbles Tanya in her head. Though there are a few things they can adjust, the V-1s Tanya and her company are riding are essentially rockets, not aircraft. There actually is a way to change direction, but even that’s limited to a few millimeters, meaning it’s only useful for slight course adjustments.
This makes piloting a V-1 extremely simple. After flipping the switch to turn on the engine, all that’s left is to make minor corrections with the control stick.
There’s almost nothing the mages on board can do once they launch. In fact, the only thing we have to do is maintain our protective films and defensive shells. The stick is good for adjusting the angle of our approach and that’s about it. If we need to perform emergency evasion for some reason, the only option available is a special function that provides more acceleration.




Ultimately, we’re just being transported to the airspace above our destination with fuel tanks. In a way, we’re like the early astronauts. A couple of people who’re merely along for the ride.
Well, unlike the early astronauts, we can’t expect an enthusiastic reception from bouquet-bearing colleagues upon a successful landing.
After all, we won’t be arriving back on Earth where a support team is anxiously awaiting our return at the planned touchdown point but in a nest of dear escargots overflowing with hostility.
If we smile and cheerfully greet the startled Françoisians with a Guten Tag, we’re bound to get lead bullets in return.
Which is why Tanya’s unit visiting from the Empire will politely knock on the door first.
The plan is to detach from the V-1s, full of hydrazine and boron additives, then use them as door knockers to land the first blow.
Rocket shells traveling faster than sound will crash into their respective targets. It goes without saying that they carry quite a lot of energy with them. Our scientists have guaranteed that these are the best door knockers in all of human history; they’ll jolt you awake no matter how deep your subterranean bunker is.
I’m sure our visit will be very surprising, what with us knocking so hard, but this is a gentlemanly two-part operation where our mage detachment will carry out our attack afterward.
In other words, whoever thought up this plan is awfully wicked. That’s the best praise anyone can give an officer on the General Staff.
But as one of the people strapped to a rocket filled with doom, I want to cry. We don’t even need to take fire like a one-shot lighter—an external explosion would be enough to do us in.
Well, this is the tragedy of war. We probably should cry. The fate awaiting both those of us forced to attack and the people we’re hunting is to spill blood from our mouths in a fight to the death. By now, everyone on the battlefield is a victim—another tear-inducing tragedy of war. Despite being a soldier forced to fight, Tanya von Degurechaff declares that peace is sacred.
It’s much better for soldiers to putter around idly in a peaceful world. If soldiers are sweating and bleeding in earnest, it means the nation forgot to either wear its diaper or keep a guard dog.
Though this situation is spinning out of control, Major Tanya von Degurechaff sadly swallows her sighs and complaints as she reminds herself that she must push forward with her duty. I’m currently a soldier, which means I must fulfill my military obligations. And in these modern times, a well-disciplined unit is not allowed to be late.
To console herself, Tanya muses, At least if history makes a note of this, it should also mention atheism on the battlefield. This is a great chance for me to carve my beliefs into the history books.
If there’s a chance to leave behind words that disparage God, then Tanya has no choice but to perform some outrageous promotional stunts today.
After all, there’s no such thing as bad PR. Well, I guess the difference here is that instead of message boards lighting up in a flame war, it’ll be organic matter going up in literal flames. Even if the varieties of flames are different, they achieve the same effect, so maybe I don’t have to worry about it too much.
Time for work. Tanya checks the time and reviews her plans.
No, there’s no time left to waste grumbling.
According to the schedule, it’s almost time to prep for the strike, so Tanya switches gears and quickly confirms the steps she needs to take. Midcourse speed is normal. The afterburner settings for the terminal phase of the flight are also fine.
The empty fuel tank she was anxious might explode separates as it’s supposed to.
With an eye on her navigation chart, Tanya gets a fairly accurate reading of her current position—which is quite critical—using her instruments. She’s been concerned about miscalculations or being blown off course by the wind, but her approximate position is almost exactly as planned. Everything is within acceptable tolerances.
“01 to all units. We’re now entering the final leg. Report in.”
Receiving responses that there are no problems from her company via directional waves, Tanya suppresses a range of emotions and nods for the moment. There’s a lot she wants to say, but at least the mechanics in charge of V-1 maintenance did their jobs right. She’ll have to thank them for the way the machines didn’t malfunction and suddenly come apart midflight.
Fearing the worst, she had secured enough tear-resistant, fireproof, automatic parachutes designed for extreme conditions that she had used back during her Elinium Arms days and outfitted the whole team. Fortune must be smiling on us since we didn’t have to use them during the flight.
…No, destiny is something we humans grasp with our hands. It’s decidedly not bestowed upon us by someone else’s grace. Luck isn’t really the right way to say it. This is a favorable outcome humans created themselves through careful maintenance and thorough confirmation.
“01 to all units. It’s time. Measure your distance and calculate your angle of approach on the double.”
A world in which success blossoms by the hands and efforts of humans… That is the ideal world. No matter how unproductive it is, praising humans for being so wonderful requires no pretense.
“05 to 01. Target located.”
“09 to 01. Same. Target located.”
“Splendid. All units, confirm that strike preparations are complete.”
It’s rare for war—or anything, really—to go according to plan, but it’s far from impossible. If precautions are carefully taken ahead of time, the environment is forgiving, and inefficiency and recklessness are abhorred, then it can happen.
Isn’t that spectacular? Hooray for efficiency! That’s what I’m talking about.
“01 to all units. Transition into phase seven. I say again, transition into phase seven.” Upon receiving confirmation from her men that preparations are complete, Tanya shifts to the next stage.
Phase seven, the strike order.
The moment she gives the signal, the members of the company separate from their V-1s and eject.
Due to the nature of the V-1’s propulsion originating from the engine in the rear rather than a propeller out front, the mages are ejected forward before beginning their free fall.
Simultaneously, almost like a fun bonus, the empty fuel tanks and passenger-shielding elements begin to purge from the rocket; they’ll function as camouflage.
Tanya and the other mages mingle with these jettisoned parts on their descent. Performing the first HALO drop1 in recorded history is fairly risky business.
For additional stealth, we’re challenging the limitations of HALO. Normally you would open the parachutes around 980 feet, but we’re mages. We’ll fall at the same speed as the rocket parts and decelerate right before two hundred fifty. By hiding this way, we dramatically reduce our chances of being discovered.
Still, that only means the probability of discovery is very low. The plan doesn’t take our safety into account at all. It’s a choice based purely on tactical necessity.
I won’t be satisfied until I get back and force the person who thought this up to try it themselves.
“Men, may God protect you.”
She meant to wish her troops luck but ended up saying something she didn’t like one bit. Well, damn it.
If I’m praying for the protection of that infuriating deity, I must be really messed up in the head. Tanya’s forced to lament this as another aspect of the tragedy and brutality of war. These conflicts spell nothing good for sound psyches.
And I wish so, so dearly for the creator of the Elinium Type 95, a particular mad scientist, to go straight to hell. It was a mistake to forgive him simply because he wasn’t in his right mind. Tanya’s so eager to see him go that she wouldn’t mind doing it herself.
With all these thoughts in her mind, she adds another comment.
“Okay, gentlemen, let’s put God out of a job!”
Really, my ambition is to become my own salvation, Tanya thinks to herself as she follows procedure to the letter and deploys her parachute at the prescribed altitude.
For a brief instant, the deceleration g’s are absolutely unbearable. After that, I feel only gratitude for having such a small body until I encounter the shock of making landfall, which I just barely manage to distribute using the PLF technique. I complete the landing thanks to a mage’s unique sturdiness and my protective film.
The day where I employ the emergency landing technique drilled into me during our computation orb aerial maneuvering course has finally come. What the hell. Tanya sighs, blowing off steam by mentally punching the guy who came up with this drop technique as she cuts herself free from her parachute.
Still, it seems that everyone in the unit has touched down without issue.
It makes me glad that we learned the five-point parachute landing fall properly.
I did wonder what was wrong with instructors who would willingly shove a child like me—even if only in appearance—out of a plane. But now I have to thank them from the bottom of my heart. I should send a note when I get back.
Having thought that far, Tanya winces. The mission. I have to get through this first. She reboots her mind.
Figuring it would be difficult to meet up upon landing, she instructed everyone to operate in Rotten with whoever was close by. So who landed around here? When Tanya scans the area, she sees Second Lieutenant Serebryakov running toward her. Apparently, my adjutant has landed safely. Of course, that’s what Tanya expected from her tough buddy; they’ve been together since their time on the Rhine.
“09 to 01. Landing complete. No losses.”
“01, roger. Report on the results of the supplemental acceleration device impacts.”
This is a good sign. Tanya smiles. Happily, the unit seems to have maintained good order. First Lieutenant Weiss, who landed some distance away, promptly reports in that he has made contact with the rest of the company. Though the whole unit dropped separately, reorganization is going as smoothly as it possibly could—something that only a highly trained group can pull off.
“The door knockers hit almost all bull’s-eyes. The only target we apparently missed is the ammunition dump.”
But things can only go so smoothly.
To Tanya, a miss is a miss, but the warhead that was supposed to cause security at the enemy headquarters to descend into chaos after detonating their ammunition dump hasn’t done its job. That’s why Tanya doesn’t reprove all the people who she can hear sucking their teeth over the radio. She only sighs, thinking to herself, I told them to do at least one test run.
Sadly, there’s nothing else she can do. Or rather, she should probably be glad that they were transported via a barely tested clump of explosives and achieved most of the planned objectives so far without losing anyone.
That’s why she hesitates for a brief moment, trying to think of the best way to proceed. The safe arrival of her eleven subordinates has been confirmed via a secure channel.
That’s certainly good news, but since we failed to blow up the huge storehouse suspected to be an ammunition dump, the enemy probably isn’t too confused. Still, the defenders probably haven’t realized we’re preparing to attack.
…In conclusion, we can still recover from this. Destroying that ammunition dump is still plenty possible.
“We have no choice, then. I’ll work on taking out the ammunition dump. You guys, blow away any defenders. We don’t have much time. Keep your eye on the schedule!”
“09, roger! Can I take two platoons?”
“01, sure. 07, 12, come with me.”
“04 to 09. Form up in Schwarm.”
“02 to 01. We’re in Schwarm, too.”
Satisfied with the swift assembly of the platoons, yet irritated at the poor V-1 impact results, Tanya finds herself a bit frustrated.
Her unit is in fine shape. They infiltrated enemy territory with no casualties and no organizational mishaps. It must be true that efficiency improves people’s mood. Seeing a group that can capably carry out orders is a joy. The problem is the high likelihood that we haven’t caused the chaos that this attack was predicated on.
My company may be in good form, but we aren’t supposed to be going up against an enemy command post with its secure defenses intact.
“Be ready for the assault. I’ll go after the ammo dump, but do everything else according to the plan.”
“How should we divide up the objectives?”
“09, you take B and C. I’ll do A.”
Resigned to the high potential of taking terrible losses, Tanya chooses to carry out the raids, as if she has any other choice.
According to the data they received beforehand, there are three possible locations for the main Republican Army headquarters facilities. They were counting on the chaos for a chance to identify their target properly—a V-1 was supposed to have blown up the Republican Rhine Army Group’s ammunition dump.
…Maybe I asked for too much.
Because the people who equipped us are engineers through and through, they gave us flying objects that use leftover boron additive to light afterburners and actually accelerate into the ground instead of coasting. Would there ever be any manufacturing line problems if every industrial product functioned exactly according to the manual?
Anyone who believes machines work completely according to design either has no idea what it’s like in the field or is a designer in a lab who turns a blind eye.
Certainly, according to its specs, the V-1 has a speed of one thousand knots during its terminal phase. And in reality, Tanya can guarantee they were going at least that fast. It was no lie when the engineers assured her that a direct hit with that much kinetic energy would smash even a pillbox to smithereens.
But the engineers and designers forgot one critical thing. Yes, it’s physically possible for a V-1 to obliterate anything that isn’t an underground shelter fortified to paranoia levels in case of nuclear war. And given those things don’t exist in this world yet, that means V-1s can destroy practically any hardened position.
But Tanya thinks of another important condition. These results are only possible if the V-1 lands a direct hit. Put another way, if it doesn’t score that hit, it’s just throwing away energy.
…Wasting so much of that extreme destructive potential is so pointless it’s distressing.
This issue must be due to the engineering crew’s disregard for cost-effectiveness. Something that scatters like a cluster bomb would have worked better. If I get to return to base, I’ll berate those asses in the Imperial Army Technical Arsenal.
“No sign of enemy mana signals.”
“Not detecting any here, either.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Still, for now it’s time to focus on the operation. Our first move means everything.
Success depends on us attacking before the enemy can respond. From the lack of enemy signals, it seems they’re concentrating entirely on dealing with the aftermath of the rockets.
…Well, that just makes sense.
Tanya almost feels for the enemy on that point. No one’s going to be thinking about a direct assault. A sane person wouldn’t expect humans to be hitching a ride on long-range shells or rockets.
In other words, in a sense, their first move will be somewhat easy. Sure, there are probably guards around the headquarters. But if the numbers are even, well, her subordinates are war crazy and have earned the title of veterans even from an objective standpoint. They’ll be able to eliminate them.
“01 to all units. Watch the clock. Ten minutes in is the most we can hope to get before Republican reinforcements show up.”
From the sounds we can catch and what else we can make of the situation, the Republicans don’t seem to understand what’s going on at all. At least, instead of scrambling, they’re prioritizing damage control. Well, they’re trying to figure out how to handle their first time being attacked by long-range rockets. They’re so busy puzzling over the impacts, they haven’t realized that attackers have snuck in.
Otherwise, there’s no explanation for the lack of mana signals.
“03 to 01. I’ve succeeded in intercepting a signal. It’s uncoded.”
Tanya is sure of it when she hears the report from her man making observations and tuning into the waves. The Republican Army really has no idea we’re here.
“That’s a good sign. Push in with your mana signals suppressed. After the attack on the headquarters, withdraw at full speed. We’ll shoot two rendezvous beacons ten minutes after we leave.”
“Roger.”
Suppressing a sigh, she clutches her weapon and flies toward the enemy headquarters with the others. If only her buddy Lieutenant Serebryakov had messed up landing, Tanya could have loudly claimed she couldn’t abandon someone who’d been under her since the Rhine Battle and pretend to search for her while sending in the rest of the unit.
No, I should use my legitimate sabotage card (as a laborer) for later.
Now, the correct thing to do is be happy that my partner has been improving so tangibly since the Rhine Battle or thereabouts. I should appreciate any increase in human capital.
“All right, we’re going in.”
The second lieutenant following behind her looks so dependable when she nods that Tanya’s conviction deepens that humans are great beings capable of growth and development. Meanwhile, she suppresses her mana signal as much as possible and charges.
Her subordinates follow behind her.
And what Tanya finds when she arrives is enemy soldiers caught utterly off guard, gaping at them.
Maybe the problem is that it’s a rear base. The officers here clearly have no idea how to get a handle on this kind of confusion. Not that I can blame them.
Tanya smiles as she sweeps them with the submachine gun she “found,” thinking how user-friendly it is as she cleans up the Republican soldiers while continuing her advance.
I feel slightly uneasy about the fact that many of them aren’t carrying weapons, but in the end, assuming people at the base are combatants and shooting them won’t be an international legal issue.
So I just have to calmly eliminate the enemy. The word enemy is so convenient in that it requires no discussion, Tanya thinks as she looks over at her subordinates, and her face inadvertently relaxes into a smile.
Promptly shooting in response to the four words It’s the enemy! Fire! is the apex of military discipline. Operant conditioning is truly great for improving effectiveness in combat.
“Lieutenant, how’s it look over there?”
“Clear! No problems.”
Upon receiving exactly the answer she wanted from Lieutenant Serebryakov, who was keeping an eye on their back, Tanya grins with pleasure. Wonderful.
For a unit charging forward, finding no sign whatsoever of any of those fearsome enemies who pursue from behind is unexpected good news. I’m surprised, but it appears that the General Staff’s prediction that the Republican Army headquarters would be heavily defended was way off.
“A failure of rationalists. They couldn’t believe the enemy would be that stupid. Well, I should be careful myself.”
The rationalists who work on the General Staff consider the headquarters as the cornerstone of the command structure and something that should be guarded with one’s life no matter the cost. According to the Imperial Army’s common sense, the Republican Rhine Army Group headquarters should be defended like a fortress. Hence, why the generals Rudersdorf and Zettour embarked on this sneak-attack plan that entails bending over backward to launch aerial mages in V-1s.
And…Tanya had barged in here nervous about what might be waiting for them, but now that she takes a look, it seems like an awfully slack rear base.
In other words, the Republicans assumed that this place wouldn’t become a battlefield. From the looks of it…there aren’t very many experienced NCOs around, either.
So we can be a bit bolder.
A civilian financial institution has better security than this. Managing badges for entry and IC tags is actually quite effective, and the guards are more prepared.
“What can I say…? I guess once in a while it’s not bad to be foolhardy.”
This is the kind of thing that makes me want to slump forward and grumble. The eat-or-be-eaten determination found in civilian financial institution guards is a natural result of necessity. In a way, everything works according to the market principle.
In that sense, this is pretty much what happens with a conscript army. You can’t very well expect guards to take their duties seriously when they’re clinging to the wishful thought that enemies won’t appear in the rear.
“Major, look.”
“…Is it a trap? I don’t see how. Are we in the wrong place? Four seems like awfully few to be guarding an ammo dump.”
When you encounter the unexpected, you inherently can’t predict what will happen. My intention was to blow up the enemy ammunition dump to cause chaos, but…there are only four guys in front of the warehouse that appears to be the target. Not only that, but they look like MPs, and they’re smoking and chatting without a care in the world.
What military policeman would smoke right in front of an ammunition dump? It’s hard to imagine those sticklers for regulation breaking rules in the disciplinarian heaven of the rear. In other words, circumstantial evidence indicates that none of these buildings are anything remotely like an ammunition dump. For Tanya’s platoon, it means they’ve been approaching the wrong target. All pain, no gain.
“Remember, they could be using optical camouflage. Any irregularities in the refraction ratio?”
“No. No suspicious signals, either… Those guys are probably it, Major.”
“…Intelligence sure did a bang-up job this time. Well, we have no choice, Lieutenant. Let’s blow this thing to pieces and head back to make Weiss’s life easier.”
“Understood, Major.” Lieutenant Serebryakov nods.
Tanya whispers that they’ll take it out in a single attack as she loads several formula rounds into her submachine gun.
To be extra safe, I double-check before attacking, but the number of enemy guards really is so low that it’s equal to our forces. And they’re regular old infantry. The only notable thing is that there are awfully few of them.
I see, so it’s not the ammunition dump. This is just some storage facility. In that sense, it’s easy to understand why no one’s coming after us. From the way those four are equipped, they’re MPs. In other words, they’re standing guard there purely as a formality.
“Is this really the Republican Rhine Army Group headquarters? It’s hard to believe given how lax the security is.”
“Ahh, Major, umm, well…”
“If you have something to say, Lieutenant Serebryakov, go ahead and say it. I’m not so narrow-minded that I would refuse to listen to a subordinate’s valid advice.”
“Yes, Major. Perhaps…the enemy soldiers are only concentrated at the more critical facilities…?”
Lieutenant Serebryakov meekly offers her suggestion. But it’s a point Tanya can agree with. If the Republicans aren’t the least bit concerned if this place gets approached, then surely they can’t understand why anyone would target it. If I myself consider how many troops to station at an unimportant position versus a critical one, the outcome is self-evident.
“That’s very possible, but what a pain.”
Tanya sighs as the weight of her near future presses down on her.
If there aren’t any enemy soldiers around here not because they’re incompetent but because this area just isn’t very important…? It means that Weiss’s unit could be up against far more resistance than expected.
In that case, we might be unable to achieve our objectives, endure endless counterattacks, and miss our rendezvous with the submarine.
None of that is good.
“Okay, Lieutenant. All the more reason to hurry.”
It’s the worst possible future.
No, it’s a horrible outcome that we must do everything in our power to avoid. I’m not interested in getting shot down over the sea or roaming around forever.
“We’ll eliminate them. Let’s go. We clean these guys up right quick and then get back to help the others.”
So Major Tanya von Degurechaff makes up her mind.
As long as we’re here, we have to do what we came for.
What’s done is done, as they say. I meant to leave the dangerous act of storming in for my subordinates and act as their support, but considering the possibility of someone catching up to us from behind, maybe charging into the tiger’s den isn’t so bad.
That said, I can’t ignore the objective right in front of me: This is the designated point. Tanya’s only choice is to take rapid action.
Don’t laugh at my bureaucratic mind-set. Even if I blow this worthless facility up, it’s not going to count as any sort of achievement. For that, I’d like to unleash a treasury’s worth of curses on Intelligence for apparently seizing on and passing along false information. At the moment, though, those gripes will do me no good.
So there’s no point in talking about it now.
Since I have orders to destroy this place, it’ll be insubordination if I don’t. Tanya would like nothing better than to scream, Eat shit! However, as a disciplined cog of a modern nation, the notion of a right to refuse doesn’t exist for her.
When it comes down to it, as long as Tanya has orders, it doesn’t matter what else happens. She has to blast that nondescript concrete building to bits.
And if she has to eliminate these four measly guards to do it, she doesn’t feel so much as a shred of guilt.
In the end, she may be the one shooting the gun, but what makes her open fire is the state’s will. It’s the country’s power that wields the war machine. Guns don’t shoot people. People shoot guns—and it’s the army, on the state’s orders, that gives them those orders.
So pulling the trigger launches lead bullets from the barrel as it always does, which leads to the utterly natural result of four fallen lumps of protein that used to be alive.
“Clear!”
Nodding in response, Tanya follows the rest of the platoon to back them up as they kick through the gate the MPs had been guarding, beginning their raid. Her subordinates advance with superb skill. They go in vigilantly despite the worthlessness of the target, which is reassuring.
Tanya covers their charge with her own. She’s prepared for a gunfight, and it should be easy to maneuver with her submachine gun indoors.
She’s already attached to the gun she swiped from that Entente Alliance officer, which she didn’t expect at all. It suits her body size better than her rifle, although she’s not as keen to admit to that benefit.
Anyhow, Tanya and her crew should have been triumphant once they stormed the place, but instead they’re struck by disappointment. Still confused, and with nothing else to do, they shift their attention inside the building to search for a target.
As expected, in a way, the building is vacant with almost no signs of use.
Or really just empty.
It seems like it’s being kept clean, but there’s next to nothing in it. When Tanya sighs and says they should at least look through the records, she steps into the area that seems to have been used as an office. All the memos stuck to the wall and the calendar are relics from almost a year ago.
On top of that, the cabinets and safes that should be securely locked have been left wide open. Tanya and her troops ransack the place, but everything they find indicates that this location was abandoned. Apparently, the area was closed off long ago because it was too far from the main base.
I suppose this is just a total failure on Intelligence’s part.
No, it’s not like I personally wanted the winning ticket, so I’m not sad there aren’t any enemies here. I just thought that if we could blow up the ammunition dump…we could wreak some havoc, so I’m a little bit disappointed.
“‘Better luck next time,’ then, huh? Oh, well. It’s a waste, but our orders are to blow this place up. Let’s blast it.”
“Understood. Then just in case, I’ll stand guard.”
“Okay, Lieutenant Serebryakov. Let Lieutenant Weiss know that this one was a dud, so it won’t do anything to help him. We’re getting this over with and heading to the next objective.”
“Roger.”
“All right, I’ll secure our retreat… Hold up, a mana signal?!”
At that moment, Tanya’s guard could be described as out of focus—a rare occurrence. The situation was entirely different from the harsh battle of fierce resistance she had been expecting. Contrary to Tanya’s fears that the enemy was using every available second to prepare themselves, taking care of the guards was such a leisurely endeavor that it threw off her instincts. That was why despite being keenly farseeing, she missed what was right under her nose.
At that moment, Tanya is caught off guard.
But conversely, that’s all that happens.
Suddenly the wall opens, someone leaps out, and once her brain processes this information, she makes her call right there. It’s not “someone.” This is enemy territory, so she doesn’t need any other information to judge the situation.
The moment she identifies the person as an enemy, she internalizes the information that an assailant has appeared. Then, the instant the enemy casts a hostile look her way, she responds with nearly mechanical precision.
She slams interference formulas into her bullets and fires immediately. Her submachine gun bangs out the results in a battle to subdue the room.
Luckily, the enemy mage who popped out, anticipating an advantage with the element of surprise, is only putting up a weak protective film. That’s why Tanya’s able to get past it with just 9 mm rounds and penetration formulas, sinking multiple shots into the defenseless human’s flesh and easily rendering her target helpless.
“Engage! Clear the room!”
The other three promptly take up their guns against the enemy mage who has lurched forward and collapsed from the shock of the gunshots.
I’m a mage, too, so I know how they work. Mages are tougher than they look, and it’s too optimistic to think you can down one with just a handful of bullets.
A live mage is like a hand grenade with the safety pin removed. Until they’ve stopped breathing, you can’t relax. If they have even the tiniest chance, they’re liable to blow themselves up as a last resort.
Sometimes mages die too late, but they can never die too early. And because Tanya pounded that lesson into her subordinates, they swiftly deprive the enemy mage of the chance to counterattack.
After finishing the sudden encounter battle, Tanya and her troops immediately turn their barrels on the hidden door the mage appeared from and set about inspecting it.
For a moment, the worry that more soldiers might pop out grates on her nerves. But the space is so quiet all they can hear is their own slight movements and the accompanying rustling of their gear, much less any footsteps. No sign of any changes.
“…I didn’t expect it to be this deep!” Having kicked aside the corpse of the enemy mage, her subordinate inspecting the door delivers the report with a click of his tongue.
The door was concealed in an awfully clever way. It appears to lead underground. And it seems like it goes quite far down.
“How deep is it?”
“Take a look, ma’am.”
“Let me see.”
Even Tanya gasps when she looks into the endless-seeming tunnel. A muzzle light can’t even reach the bottom.
The stairway goes unusually deep. Even if this building suffered a direct hit in a bombing or shelling, this basement would probably go unscathed. It might even be able to withstand 280 mm railway gun shells. And from the way the entrance is hidden, it seems like they really took a lot of care when constructing it.
If that mage hadn’t burst through, we would never have known there was anything here. Considering how elaborate the setup is, I can’t help but sense the maniacal preparation unique to Intelligence agents. Perhaps Intelligence was right, and my feeling that there was nothing here was wrong? Tanya revises her mental evaluation of the team.
Of course, I still have no idea how they managed to mistake it as an ammunition dump, so I still count it as their error overall. I don’t mean to say Intelligence is completely incompetent, but they make enough mistakes that you can’t count on their intel when you need to.
That said, the enemy has screwed up, but we have not.
This gives us a major advantage. It goes without saying that whether you get to make the first move or not will affect the outcome in a big way. In any competition—in the struggle for survival as well, not only war—the one who messes up should get screwed. Surely that’s a law of nature.
“Maybe we’re onto something after all, Lieutenant.”
“But it doesn’t really seem like…” Lieutenant Serebryakov swallows what was probably the words an ammunition dump, but she’s right.
Of course, Tanya has zero intention of declaring this place an ammunition dump, herself, so she nods. “Yes, but it is something. Otherwise, why would they have gone to the trouble of concealing it so well? Hey, how’s the directional mic? Can you hear anything?”
“Sounds from multiple sources. Probably voices.”
Bingo! Tanya wants to shout with glee at how the enemy chalks up another error for us, but she looks at her adjutant with a satisfied smirk that says, Do you know what this means?
No matter who is down there, if they’re hidden like that, they must be making secret plans. This is a juicy target.
She doesn’t have to say anything more for Lieutenant Serebryakov and the others to understand.
“Can you make out the conversation?”
“It’s rather difficult. They’re pretty far away…and from the sound of the echoes, it’s a bit of a labyrinth.”
Everyone is enthusiastically listening in, but unfortunately the sounds we’re working so hard to pick up through the echoes contain too much noise to be a clue.
…We can’t make out the words, but we can hear them.
And using the sounds in place of a sonar signal, we can tell they are quite far down. Tanya quickly weighs the risks and decides it’s too dangerous to rush in. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, but there is no reason to bend over backward at the moment for this particular gain.
Even if expecting a trap is overthinking it, on the off chance their enemies get desperate and self-destruct, there’ll be nowhere to run. Tanya is sure it would be a mistake to think the guys holed up in this basement are going to act according to common sense.
I have to be prepared for the worst-case scenario: a group of mages resigned to their deaths, unleashing huge formulas and wiping out my teammates and me as well. Diving into a subterranean nest of enemy mages for a fight in an enclosed space is a total nightmare.
But—there Tanya has a strange feeling—it can’t be. But when she triple-checks, sure enough, she detects almost no mana signal. Of course, it’s possible they’re just too far down to pick up, but…
“Lieutenant, I’m not getting any mana signals. Are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
She even has Lieutenant Serebryakov check, but the result is the same.
…Does this mean that they aren’t prepped for a rapid response? Or could it be the place is packed with non-magic personnel only? Either way, it seems fine to conclude that there aren’t any mages with defensive shells and protective films up.
Which means…we can take it exceedingly easy. There’s even a move that is usually ineffective on mages that would work great in this situation.
It’s something she learned in Norden. While it may be possible to neutralize poison gas with one’s protective film, mages are still living things. Their talents still don’t enable them to shield themselves against poison before realizing it’s there.
So.
“…I’d like to take prisoners, but we don’t have time. We have no choice. Eliminate them.”
“We’re going to charge?”
“Oh, right, you weren’t in Norden. There’s a bit of a technique we can use. It’s pretty handy to know, so I’ll teach you,” Tanya says in a low voice, giving her promising subordinate a bit of advice with a smile, like a good boss. “Listen, Lieutenant. Carbon monoxide is quite effective in closed spaces like this. Or, if you’re prioritizing speed, make hydrogen and throw a match into it.”
“…But is just a simple explosion enough to…? Oh, the oxygen?”
“Exactly. Oxygen reacts more readily than you would think. You really need to be careful not to asphyxiate in an enclosed, underground environment like this.”
Being underground means all the oxygen in the space burns up in a single explosion. People have a surprising tendency to forget about asphyxiation, but it’s treacherous.
Actually, in an enclosed space, the blast alone is threat enough.
Even if you have multiple escape routes, the explosion and bad air balance will get you before you can use them. If we create hydrogen first and then launch a combustion-type explosive vaporization formula, it will rob them of all their oxygen—perfect. I wasn’t expecting much out of this storehouse, but we should actually be able to get some halfway decent results.
“We’re going to burn up the oxygen. Ready formulas. On my count.”
We repress the formulas’ manifestation as much as we can while we’re constructing them. We don’t want to let the enemy notice us. Initiating the formulas as potentials to the extent possible and casting them at the last second makes them particularly effective sneak attacks and entails very few drawbacks.
Of course, I can’t deny it’s a total pain to cast like that, and for that reason, it’s not a technique used very often in actual combat. Initiating formulas the usual way is much preferred, considering the time and effort required to repress them.
But the technique is stealthy and thus optimal for sneak attacks. It’s a shame it doesn’t get used much during encounter battles or high-maneuver warfare due to the effort involved; even mages find it extremely difficult to protect against formulas that manifest only just prior to taking effect.
In any case, mages at a location in the rear like this probably only have textbook-level coping skills. I can’t imagine they’re proficient in countering the sly attack methods found in trench and unconventional war.
“Three, two, one, now!”
She casts and projects her formula in time with her shout.
Venting a strong mana signal, she prepares her next formula as heat rages down to the farthest reaches of the basement.
As veterans trained for high-maneuver warfare, rapid firing and quick casting are the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion’s specialties. They aim to maximize the effect by skillfully casting a swift series of napalm-type combustion formulas.
The enemies on the receiving end have only two choices: Get blown away or get burned. They aren’t terribly different, and the outcomes are practically identical.
And once the job is done, the correct thing to do is skedaddle. They say only foolish birds foul the nest when they leave, but we’ll be burning it. Tanya unleashes one last napalm formula just in case as she leads her subordinates out of there.
Because, as noted more than once, she has no time.
The time limit rings in the back of her head like an alarm. The schedule is so crazy because the General Staff overestimated the enemy’s response.
We have a mere ten minutes, down to the second. That makes the schedule to attack the headquarters extremely tight.
And the ten-minute limit was set based on an estimate of how much time we would have. If we take any longer, locally deployed enemy troops will show up to handle things. At that point, our prospects of securing a retreat become dismal.
No matter how lax security is at the headquarters, I don’t want to cling to the optimistic fantasy that nearby combat troops are the same way, and then end up surrounded.
That’s why we have no time to lose. We fire everything we’ve got as a parting gift and then zoom out of the building. Surely the Republican Army has figured out that we’re attacking by now.
They cover one another in Rotten as a precaution against pursuit while moving inside the facilities, but Tanya finds it irritating to lose time even for that.
“Major, Lieutenant Weiss says location C wasn’t it, either.”
“Got it. Shit. We can’t expect counter efforts to be terribly disrupted. Tell him to take care of B at all costs, and we’ll figure out a way to tackle A.”
“Understood.”
And then, though it’s a bit late, the enemy begins their counterattack. If only they could have behaved for a few more minutes!
Fortunately, unlike on the front lines with the trenches and no-man’s-land, these rear facilities have no lack of flammables. Tanya takes note of how the enemy soldiers are using buildings for cover, not dirt, and makes up her mind. Let’s believe in our defensive shells and protective films and burn this place to the ground!
“Attention! I want three rounds of explosive vaporization formulas! Your target is 360 degrees around us!”
“We’ll be roasted alive!”
Lieutenant Serebryakov’s comment, and the look of utter shock on her face, is half-correct. Casting an explosive vaporization formula while surrounded by buildings like this is a bit like setting yourself on fire.
“But the enemy soldiers will be roasted first! Do it!” Tanya screams back at her with a defiant grin.
It must have been those words that finally reminded them of their situation. Lieutenant Serebryakov begins constructing a formula right after me with no overthinking.
It’s a simple truth that mages are less flammable than infantry. Hooray for being flame retardant.
The formulas, indiscriminately scattered in every direction on Tanya’s order, scorch the entire area.
The fire is spreading a bit quickly, but the panicking Republican soldiers are fortunately too busy to pay attention to us, so I’d call this good work.
Since it would be stupid to roast in her own fire, Tanya takes advantage of the lack of resistance to continue advancing.
Flying out of the flames that have already begun lapping at the surrounding buildings, she races away with her troops in tow.
At a glance, it probably looks like we’re fleeing the fire. For the Republican soldiers, this is home; there probably aren’t many people with the balls to shoot someone escaping a fire on sight.
Of course, we are actually half fleeing, so our acting approaches reality, thinks Tanya, wincing.
In any case, as far as she can tell from how disordered it is, the Republican Army wasn’t expecting their attack in the slightest.
Really, we’d been expecting enemies ready for organized combat, but when we got in, it was a total crapshoot with the occasional brave guy putting up a valiant resistance at his own discretion. Frankly, they’re only taking up the fight in a haphazard—and extremely disorganized—way.
If this were the Rhine lines, the artillery would be raining shells down on wherever the enemy thought we were lurking. But I guess that’s not how they roll at this rear base? Maybe it’s a cultural difference.
“01 to all units. Objective A is destroyed. Time’s up. Report in with your status.”
“The attack on objective B was successful. That was the spot.”
Hmm, so apparently B was the headquarters. C must have been some kind of storage facility. Anyhow, if we managed to smash their headquarters, we can expect some confusion. Luckily, even if neighboring troops are scrambled, they won’t be able to tell which way we went.
“Understood. We withdraw. Leave at full speed. Head north. Beacons up after ten.”
I guess we don’t need to worry about playing it safe; we can just move out and have the submarine pick us up. Anyhow, I’ll need to report our achievements to the General Staff once we’re out of here.
Sheesh, I’m clearly doing work way beyond my pay grade. They’d better have a nice juicy bonus ready for me next round. Agh, and I have to recommend my subordinates for decorations, too.

MAY 25, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE COMMONWEALTH, WHITEHALL
The birth of an unopposed superpower on the continent could absolutely not be allowed. Having to face such a continent was the Commonwealth’s geopolitical nightmare.
That was the foundation of the Commonwealth’s foreign policy.
Which was why ever since the Empire had appeared as the latest blooming power, it had become a headache for these men. Outwardly, they were understanding when it came to the self-determination of nations, but inwardly, countries that were too powerful made them anxious.
And in fact, this man was taking it quite seriously. No, he was probably the one taking it the most seriously in all the Commonwealth—as a challenge to the destiny of the glorious Commonwealth as God’s chosen nation.
So when the massive Empire began snapping at the other powers to break through their loose encirclement, he imagined the worst possible scenario, which made him quake with anger.
They were too dangerous. And when military personnel in the Commonwealth saw that the Empire was deftly fending off even the Republic’s assault (practically a sneak attack at that), they came to him in shock to have a frank discussion about what to do.
Up to that point was fine.
But are you daft? he roared in his head as he plunged his cigar angrily into the ashtray. He exhaled smoke, mentally berating the numbskull gentlemen and their ridiculous burgeoning euphoria with every curse he could think of. He could only despair at the way every face he could see was relaxing into a cheerful smile.
The other day, the Imperial Army had retreated, abandoning the Low Lands to reorganize its lines. And now even his friends were commenting, as if they were certain the outcome of the war was self-evident. There were even idiots concerned about fashionable society, saying that if the war would just hurry up and end, they could rekindle relationships with old friends in the Empire.
To him, it was simply unbelievable. Even the sharpest critics and skeptics were questioning the Empire’s ability to continue fighting in the newspapers, claiming its armed forces were quite vulnerable.
Thus, he deplored everyone else’s relieved sighs.
And it wasn’t uncommon for the key figures in the Commonwealth to be the target of his lamentations and contempt. Meanwhile, their sighs echoed off the walls of Whitehall, expressing relief that the balance of power would be restored.
The noble gentlemen sitting around playing cards, talking about how the war must surely be nearing its end, were evidence of how relaxed the Commonwealth had gotten. Was it a reaction against the dreadful prospect of a dominant Empire taking over the continent? A smooth advance for the Empire meant the collapse of their plan to balance power. The idea of the maritime nation facing the continental power alone had recalled the nobles’ worst nightmares.
But yes—“had.” Now that was all spoken of in past tense. Despite endeavoring to control themselves, everyone was grinning and chatting. The resonant laughter was erupting from their delighted anticipation of a bright future free of national security nightmares.
Thus, men like him, who made noise about the continued threat the Empire posed, were kept, albeit indirectly, at arm’s length. “Oh, come now, you’re not really interested in debating a problem that’s already solved, are you?” came the gentle, roundabout reproofs. It was clear to see that the rampant euphoria and accompanying optimism had reached even the politicians, who should have been Machiavellist. What a bunch of happy fools!
Hence, impatient and seething with irritation, he was forced to attend another cabinet meeting.
“Well, gentlemen, it seems our friend the Republic will get this done for us.”
Until just a few days ago, the prime minister had been clad in bespoke misery tailored from his anguish and suffering. But today he was leaning back in his chair puffing a cigar.
Even if he wasn’t hiding his contentment, he did show self-restraint in his expression. Still, it was clear to all the cabinet members with one glance at his cheerfully relaxed face and unusually crisp suit that he was in a good mood. They could all tell from his calm visage and the lack of dark circles under his eyes that he had slept well.
That thoroughly aggravated this man’s already touchy feelings. He was forced to bemoan that, regardless of how this prime minister dealt with domestic problems, his political ability vis-à-vis foreign affairs couldn’t be relied on.
It was up to this man to protect the country God had chosen.
No matter what. He looked gloomily around at the complacent faces of the cabinet members in disbelief.
“Well, it’s still a ways off, but…soon we’ll be able to spend our weekends reuniting with old acquaintances at cafés in the Republic. I may love my country, but I miss wine.”
“Indeed. It’s been hard to go without the subtle flavor of those galettes.”
Most of the cabinet ministers nodded at the murmured comment from the elderly minister sitting opposite the PM, showing that they all felt the return to normalcy was near. Only one man found their optimism difficult to fathom.
To the others, however, it was a foregone conclusion: The bothersome war would soon end. When that happened, the ferries would resume running between the Commonwealth and the Republic, which was why they could have these easygoing conversations about sipping wine over galettes on the Republican coast.
To put it in extreme terms, all these cabinet ministers were tasting the sweet happiness of freedom from anxiety. Hence the wherewithal to smile wryly at their country’s poor food culture.
Of course, no one went so far as to say the war was actually over. As relaxed as everyone looked, besides this one man, they hadn’t forgotten that the Imperial Army still existed. It hadn’t been wiped out yet.
But once it lost the industrial base necessary to continue fighting the war, its fate was as good as sealed. “No matter how strong its soldiers are, they won’t be able to change the outcome,” the ministers commented as if they knew.
“In light of that, gentlemen, and focusing on what happens postwar, our plan should be to intervene. Restoring the balance of power will come with a pile of challenges.”
The prime minister and everyone else indicated that since they knew the outcome of the war, they could turn to the next issue. To them, the problem was the shape world order would take once the Empire fell.
“Our friends have borne nearly all the burden. We can’t very well just enjoy the fruits of their labor. We should help them out a little.”
“We still have the problem of the Federation as well as the loan from the Unified States. Couldn’t we just take our improved national security situation as an opportunity to limit military expenditures?”
Some even preemptively celebrated victory, saying it was time to clarify the Commonwealth’s position and that now was a chance to make an easy profit.
“It’s still a bit too soon for that. Shouldn’t we use our uninvolved position to arrange the peace talks?”
“I agree. We should order each agency to conduct a preliminary survey about a peace treaty. We should also have the fleet suggest to the Empire via a demonstration that unless they reach a swift peace, they’ll make an enemy of us.”
Even the people with fairly grounded opinions talked as if the war would end soon.
“If we hit them with the Royal Navy? Yes, indeed. Surely even the Empire would abandon their reckless resistance if it came down to picking a fight with the world’s strongest maritime force and the world’s most distinguished land army.”
“Yes, they’re a sickening bunch of rationalists, they are. If they were able to understand what our intervention would mean, perhaps they would sign a peace treaty before we even had to join the fight.”
That is laughably optimistic.
At that point, the man finally had no choice but to chime in, and the urge drove him to his feet.
“Lord Marlborough? Did you have something?”
“Excuse the interruption, Prime Minister, but shouldn’t we try to get our feet on the ground? I never thought the day would come that I would have to say, Lauso la mare e tente’n terro (‘Praise the sea, but keep your feet firmly planted on the ground’) to you gentlemen.”
“Lord Marlborough, it’s a bit strange to ask you this, considering the navy is your jurisdiction, but our navy possesses not medieval galleys but capital ships up to super dreadnought–class, does it not?”
He understood the sarcastic fellow was reaching for a contextual meaning different from what he intended. So the man, Marlborough, brought his cigar back to his mouth, took a drag, and argued confidently back. “Chancellor Loluyd, I beg your pardon, but if you would kindly take the simple meaning and not get distracted by the context. We can only strike a decisive blow against the Empire with our land army. They’re a land nation, so threatening their sea lanes will not cause critical damage.”
“Lord Marlborough, I admit that what you’re saying is correct. But even so, the Empire is in the process of losing their western industrial region. How will they fight a war once that occurs?”
Sadly, his ideas were only capable of attracting agreement from a purely military viewpoint. As Loluyd sarcastically pointed out, in the event that the Empire lost the western industrial region, which contained the nation’s largest manufacturing base, it would lose much of its footing for continuing the war.
Once that happens, surely the Empire will lay down its sword. Even if it wasn’t stated explicitly, Marlborough could hear it.
“If you’ll allow me to speak in my capacity as Chancellor of the Exchequer, both the Empire and the Republic have virtually obliterated their finances. Just imagine them spending at the same levels for a few more months. They’ll end up in the red following the end of hostilities and be stuck paying back loans for forty years.”
He spoke of what should perhaps be called the biggest illusion of all: financial limitations. No matter what happens, the Empire and all the rest of the countries participating in the war will go broke. Reaching for his tea with a “Nonsense!” Loluyd must have felt, with a little bit of Commonwealth austerity, that it would be stupid to join a war in which everyone was running their finances into the red.
“Well, but we’re going to end up joining anyhow, so it would be annoying to do so too late. For now, get ready to send the fleet out. Let’s also order the army to prepare for an expedition.”
Marlborough couldn’t understand everyone’s leisurely attitude; they didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation or how great the glory was that awaited. Permission for “preparations,” as if that were the prudent move? From his point of view, it would be too late.
“Excuse me—if it’s an order, I’ll instruct the fleet to be ready, but do you really think the Empire will shamefully retreat and swallow a peace treaty? Don’t tell me you gentlemen all seriously believe that!”
And that’s why, as his bulldoggish face flushed with anger, Marlborough shouted at the top of his lungs. He wanted to scream at them, Quit joking around! At the same time, he knew that his worst-case prediction wouldn’t be funny at all.
The cold looks he was getting proved that they were sharing the same thought. Prepare to deploy? You must be kidding.
“If anything, what comes after that will be the hardest part. Shouldn’t we be talking about postwar reconstruction? Where is the money to rebuild the Entente Alliance and Dacia going to come from? I’d like you to think of our gold reserve balance. No matter how City we may be, I’m not sure we can pay all those reconstruction fees.”
“On the other hand, we don’t want to get overrun by the anarchist Reds. This is such a headache. We need to take into account what the Federation is up to.”
From the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the home secretary’s exchange, it sounded like everything was decided; they all but said no further debate was necessary.
Of course, they had their points. They gave much more weight to the issue of how to deal with the postwar situation because they had sincere concerns how obliterated finances and economic confusion in a country would give tremendous leeway to the communists for their schemes.
“…Lord Marlborough, did you have something else?” The prime minister’s somewhat irritated tone of voice made his thoughts clear: This issue is closed, so why are you still prattling on about it?
“Of course, consulting one another about postwar matters is all well and good, but I’d like you to remember that all of that will only come after we finish up what you gentlemen seem to think is a small matter. Now I hope we can begin drawing up a plan for dispatching troops?”
“If we’re dispatching troops, we should keep the Imperial Navy in mind. In other words, the navy should send escorts alongside the land units. To put it another way, the plan is up to you, Lord Marlborough. You may draw it up as you like.”
The prime minister, sounding fed up with the whole conversation, readily gave the permission, telling the First Lord he could do as he wished with his authority. His mind was otherwise occupied with intentions to solve domestic issues, especially the serious one to the north, so he felt conflicted about having his time taken up with foreign affairs.
To be frank, the predominant mood of the room was one of annoyance at the First Lord, who seemed so eager to stick their nose into war and root around for glory.
“That said, Lord Marlborough, I realize it’s not your jurisdiction, but do you know how many infantry units we have available to send overseas? Seven divisions, plus a division of cavalry. We can’t deploy Local Defense Volunteers overseas. What are you even planning to do with that few troops anyway?”
“They can die with the Republicans, can’t they?”
The prime minister made that remark with exasperation befitting the leader of a nation with its hands tied, and he was momentarily shocked by the Duke of Marlborough’s resolute reply.
Die with the Republicans…? You’re saying that’s a reason to send young people to the battlefield?
About the same time, however, the cabinet meeting understood the political implications. If Commonwealth soldiers formed ranks with Republican soldiers, and if at the end of their march, boots in step, they fell—if even one man from the Commonwealth fell—in an imperial attack, the Commonwealth wouldn’t be able to back down.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but why must we bleed for the Republic? Why not let the Republican peasants till the stability of the continent and then respectfully reap their harvest?”
“It’s not as if I necessarily agree with the home secretary, but I’m not going to jump into a fire I am capable of putting out.”
And so the cabinet members furrow their brows in thought, pondering why anyone would doubt that staying out of such absurdity would best serve the Commonwealth’s interests.
“So the biggest illusion is right after all? The war is already so huge that it’s not worth the cost. It would be a waste of money. Did you look at the financials of the warring countries that the Chancellor of the Exchequer put together?”
Ridiculous! They can’t keep up these irrational expenditures forever. Why should we have to waste money like that? They had doubts backed up by numbers; in a way, they were right.
“Chancellor, are you certain there’s no mistake?”
“Yes. The warring countries are already relying on domestic bonds and foreign loans. The Unified States, in particular, is underwriting the war in great part; their influence is rapidly expanding. The Empire and the Republic are no exception—they don’t have enough even after coming up with provisional measures that throw most of their national budget into the military.”
“Well. So between reparations and whatnot, the Empire will be put out of commission. Perhaps we should be more worried about political stability in the Republic?”
The opinion indicated that they were convinced the warring countries were already facing those troubles. In other words, the war would naturally end soon. No nation had enough energy to maintain such excessive consumption forever.
And so, as God’s chosen country refused to act, Marlborough, with no outlet for his frustration, was compelled to construct a deployment plan “just in case.”
But…
Marlborough’s plans would change when a furious man from the admiralty flew into his office and told him that all the assumptions the Commonwealth had made were crumbling at their very foundations.