VOL 3-2

[chapter] II

 The Intervention, Which Was Too Late

MAY 25, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL ARMY SUPREME HIGH COMMAND LIAISON CONFERENCE MEETING ROOM
That day, the change in the war situation accompanying the dramatic shift in the lines was enough to slightly frighten the people in the Imperial Army Supreme High Command meeting. To anyone who saw how the pale-faced government officials were silently staring down the General Staff officers, it was readily apparent that the discussion would be stormy.
The reason for the gathering was the situation in the Low Lands resulting from the Imperial Army’s surprisingly large-scale retreat.
Thus, when Major General von Zettour from the Service Corps entered the room, he gathered a lot of attention. Everyone expected him to have a good explanation and was eager to hear it.
“Very well, I’ll explain our strategy. Currently, our army has succeeded in performing a major reorganization of the front lines by fighting a retreat to a designated defensive position.”
But they were disappointed to find their expectations betrayed as Zettour matter-of-factly explained that the operation was going according to plan.
This is the general said to be most knowledgeable about logistics and organization in the rear in the whole army, but this is the best he can do? The civil servants and politicians glared at him accusingly. So you succeeded in retreating. And?
But Zettour himself was unfazed. He leisurely wet his palate by savoring his coffee to the last drop, with a smile that seemed to say, What fine beans.
Not only that, but he reached for the cigar case and began examining the selection one by one to make his choice.
“Yes,” he grudgingly continued before putting a cigar in his mouth. “The General Staff feels we are in a position to say that the only forces that pose a threat to the Empire are the Republicans. As such, I would like to report on various developments regarding our maritime strength.”
Despite the dissatisfied glares that said, Isn’t there something else you should tell us? Zettour nonchalantly closed the topic of the land war. Then, with everyone else looking on speechlessly, he abruptly launched into a calm report on their sea strategy from a diplomatic perspective.
“There have been no major changes to the strength of our fleet. According to the latest reports, the Entente Alliance fleet is being detained by the Commonwealth, but they’re actually being protected. We have no reports that any of the personnel on board have actually been captured.”
This was all known information that had been previously discussed in this setting. Zettour continued, paying no mind to the incredulity in all the eyes on him.
“In any case, at least the serious seaborne threats are limited to the navies of the Commonwealth and Republic.”
He continued his seemingly endless speech with a “Therefore…”
That, combined with his unbelievable composure in the face of the crisis, made them more and more impatient.
His composure in this crisis was acceptable. That could be explained if they accepted that he was a soldier with nerves of steel. But it was shocking to hear an officer of the Service Corps speaking as if he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
Had the army, the General Staff, failed to notice the crisis under their noses due to their purely military perspective? The attendees of the meeting had to wonder. They had no idea what the General Staff’s understanding of the situation was. Zettour’s attitude was incredibly concerning.
“May I say a word from the Ministry of Finance?”
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you. As we have been warning for some time, and you are no doubt aware, we’re already almost entirely reliant on domestic bonds for war funds. I must caution you that prolonging the war could invite economic problems—financial issues—on a scale that would be difficult to ignore.”
When Zettour nodded benevolently, yielding to the finance ministry official, the man maintained formal manners, but everyone gasped at the directness of his statement.
That’s an awfully serious warning for the finance ministry to give! Or rather, Is the situation so bad as all that?
“General von Zettour, does the General Staff have anything to say on this point?”
“In response to your comment, allow me to say that I’m aware of the hard work and sacrifice taking place on the home front to maintain the front lines. We are tremendously grateful to the home front for its support, and we are fully engaged in our most pressing objective, the obliteration of the Republican Army.”
But the response they received from the General Staff’s representative was so easygoing and unsubstantial that it was hard to see it as anything but equivocation.
The look on his face spoke volumes.
Zettour pronounced each word carefully in a low voice and made clear that his response was at an end. Afterward, he took his seat and returned to perusing the cigar selection with undisguised confusion on his face at everyone’s expectant stares.
We don’t doubt your understanding of the home front’s situation, but the structured stiffness of your reply makes us wonder if you grasp the severity of it. Though they knew it was rude, the frowning attendees were nonetheless compelled to ask what the hell was going on.
“I don’t want to mince words. The Ministry of the Interior points out that not only have we just lost the Low Lands industrial region but the enemy has the western industrial region within range of its heavy artillery. If the army can’t resolve this crisis, our industrial production power will be obliterated. What does the army think about that?”
No, this is intolerable.
The official from the Ministry of the Interior projected that sentiment with his entire body. After calming down with a couple deep breaths, he delivered his words slowly, as if tasting each one, and all the civil servants present nodded in heartfelt agreement. The Low Lands industrial region—well, the western industrial region—was truly the Empire’s manufacturing base and, hence, its key to continuing the war.




“The Foreign Office understands that we need to consult with the army regarding what steps to take. As for our understanding that we may have to take some unfortunate political measures, we’d like you to indicate what is appropriate.”
“The Ministry of Finance hesitates to say it flatly, but…”
I can’t believe you would brazenly do something as foolish as to reorganize the lines and open up the Low Lands industrial region to crisis. His whispered voice hesitated to say it, but the mood of the meeting veered distinctly toward the negative. Yet the man at the middle of the maelstrom, Zettour, didn’t seem the least bit ruffled. In fact, he seemed completely relaxed, sipping his coffee over the cigar case, completely absorbed in making his selection. “Should I go with this Double Corona? No, I should think a bit more.”
After all the exhortations and frank opinions, he finally requested permission to respond, in a tone that said he found it tiresome. It served to stoke everyone’s anger.
“I’ve heard the same concerns at court. I wish to apologize here on behalf of the army for worrying His Imperial Majesty. But I have every confidence we will achieve a breakthrough soon.”
The result, however, was that he made a move that was either bold or out of touch and launched into an extended apology to the imperial court.
Everyone was thoroughly irritated at losing so much time to this unproductive exchange, but someone whispered that they had to hand it to him, in a way, for his impressively thick skin. He had even ordered a second cup of coffee.
Then Zettour suddenly seemed to be conscious of the time and took an easygoing look at his pocket watch, which brought the entire room’s patience to its limit.
“…Must be almost time.”
When he mentioned this in an untroubled tone, everyone stared as if to see whether he would start preparing his things to leave.
“Time?”
The participants of the meeting glared at him with eyes that said, Don’t expect to get off easy if we don’t like your answer, but Zettour ignored them and looked toward the door.
As though someone had appealed to the heavens, the door to the huge conference room came under attack from a violent knocking, causing a stir among all the participants besides one.
“Very sorry to interrupt your conference!”
But when the curious gazes of everyone in the meeting landed on the newly arrived soldier, he, unlike Zettour, backed up several steps and looked to one of the men in the room for help.
“Oh, you have the code?”
That’s all that was said.
But one sentence, one question, from the man who had been making endless ordinary conversation was enough to jolt the fellow back into reality, and he unfolded a sheet of paper he retrieved from his pocket, ready to announce its contents to the conference room.
“Sir, telegram received! ‘We are the Reich, crown of the world!’ I repeat, ‘We are the Reich, crown of the world!’”
“Very good… Now then, everyone, I’ll explain. As of this moment, the first phase of Operation Rot-Gelb, Operation Shock and Awe, is complete, and we’ve simultaneously launched the next phase, Operation Lock Pick.”
What the officer had read, in a ringing baritone voice, was a verse from the national anthem.
Everyone in the meeting was so bewildered to hear the lyrics in this setting that when Zettour nimbly jumped up, doing a one-eighty from his previously sluggish demeanor, and not even requesting permission to speak from the chairman like he had before, they just stared at him in disbelief as if they had been tricked.
“We’re currently still confirming, but according to the code from the unit who sent the telegram, we’ve succeeded in destroying the Republican Rhine Army Group headquarters and rendering them completely helpless.”
“What did he just say?”
Someone’s whisper said it all.
“The Republican Rhine Army Group HQ is destroyed?”
When someone repeated the report in a daze, they finally began to understand what a huge thing that was.
We blew away the enemy…the enemy army’s…their general headquarters?
“The main objective of Operation Lock Pick is to obliterate the Republican Rhine Army Group units ahead of our defensive line. The General Staff believes the units deployed in that area are the Republic’s main forces, so we’re effectively working toward the complete destruction of the Republican field army.”
And in response to their doubt, Zettour promptly chimed in as if his previous languor had been a ruse.
“Our army has already destroyed the enemy’s chain of command as phase one. Please look forward to future reports.”

THE SAME DAY, THE GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, OPERATIONS DIVISION
“Open sesame.”
That day at the General Staff Office, members of every section were on edge yet unable to suppress their excitement. Still, they bustled about doing their duty to prepare for what would come next.
The entire General Staff was enveloped in the atmosphere of exhilaration and nerves that preceded a major operation, but Operations had erupted into back-patting upon hearing news of Operation Shock and Awe’s success.
The unexpected plan to blow up the Republican Rhine Army Group headquarters, the results that caused everyone to marvel at how perfectly it had been pulled off—it was all thanks to the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion’s skillful performance.
So to Major General von Rudersdorf, who read the success telegram with a grin, things were off to a great start. Pessimists had said, “Well, at the very least we’ll throw their headquarters into confusion…,” but here was the pleasant outcome of expecting what he knew he could from that rascal.
Zettour, you rascal. What a pet you’ve pulled out of your pocket for us. Even Rudersdorf was so delighted that for a brief moment, he wanted to forget about appearances, hit the beer hall, and roar, Cheers!
Thanks to the Service Corps’ efficient procurement of the necessary equipment and personnel for Operation Shock and Awe, Operation Lock Pick was proceeding almost completely according to plan.
Which was why Rudersdorf wondered what was making his brother-in-arms so worried when he was called out of a meeting for an emergency or some such.
“Just received an important message from the Foreign Office. We got an official notice from the Commonwealth via the embassy.”
“An ultimatum?”
“No, more like the opposite. Apparently, they’ve taken the bizarre position that ‘the time for international cooperation to restore peace has come!’”
He gave an “ohh” of understanding. Rudersdorf could understand the awkwardness of receiving an offer for peace talks right as they were preparing for a major offensive.
“They want to facilitate peace? So things have gotten delicate…?”
“Exactly. And their request is extremely problematic. Supposedly they want us to respond to their peace offering, but the condition they’ve given is restitutio in integrum.2 And apparently, they’re demanding an answer within a week.”
But the condition Major General von Zettour mentioned was so unexpected, even Rudersdorf was surprised. Restore the situation to the way it was prewar?
“Restitutio in integrum? I don’t want to say this, but that means all our hard work will have been for nothing. They’ve got to be kidding! Peace under those terms is out of the question. If we were going to agree to that, why would we have not once but twice eradicated threats in our region? I never want to see the borders established by the Treaty of Londinium ever again.”
Rudersdorf was a bit puzzled by the strange timing of this notice from the Commonwealth, but the terms erased his confusion, and he gave his answer roughly.
So they’re telling us to reset our national security environment to the way it was before the conflict started?
He understood that their request was based on the balance of power theory. In other words, the proposal was only what the Commonwealth wanted for itself.
Of course, Rudersdorf understood the reason of it, as a diplomatic motion in the name of the country’s own interest. But even bias has its limits. His look said, There’s no possibility that they wrote this as a joke?
But the other man wore an equally perplexed expression.
Which was when Rudersdorf finally realized, Ahh, that’s why he had such a strange look on his face. After all, they were being offered a tone-deaf diplomatic proposal written in an absurdly self-serving tone. It was no wonder he was confused.
“Yes, but if we ignore them, we risk an intervention. It seems that part of the Commonwealth’s fleet has already begun maneuvers. I’m currently inquiring with the High Seas Fleet as to their movements…”
But behind his puzzled expression was a struggle to understand the motive behind the Commonwealth’s message.
He had no idea what the Commonwealth authorities were thinking. The notice was dripping with egotism that made it seem like the writers were going out of their way to display what a self-serving nation they represented. But the Empire didn’t know what kind of thinking went into the draft.
For the Empire, it would be hard to swallow a request to return everything to the way it was before the war. The only possible reply was a no; in short, if the proposal was made with the expectation of refusal, it meant the Commonwealth wanted an excuse to attack the Empire.
But then…why not just send an ultimatum?
Or rather, would those miserly fellows really come stick their necks into a continental war where there was nothing in it for them? No one was sure about that point. That plus the intel that part of their fleet was on the move despite their strange posture made the Commonwealth’s goals more or less impossible to fathom.
Those inconsistencies gave Zettour pause, and he couldn’t find a way to explain the situation well, even to himself.
“At least for now, we haven’t confirmed the mobilization of any land troops. So maybe it’s just diplomatic posturing? There hasn’t been an ultimatum, right?”
“No, we haven’t received anything like that. No sign of mobilization, either. What is the Commonwealth after, making a proposal like this?”
“Could the root lie in their domestic situation? If you think of it as a way to get around parliament and evade the demands of their internal politics, it starts to make sense.”
“That seemed to be the consensus in the meeting of the Supreme High Command, too. Anyhow, nothing good will come of worrying about it. We just need to do our duty… So the die is cast, huh? No, I suppose we crossed the Rubicon the moment we made the Low Lands bait.”
But in the end, even if they were confused, both Zettour and Rudersdorf knew the Empire didn’t have many options left at that point. In which case, their job was to simply choose the best one for the current situation.
They understood the folly of getting distracted by external noise and losing sight of their duty. They were soldiers and officers of the Imperial Army General Staff. Their job was to push ahead, so there was nothing else they needed to do.
“That’s right. Hesitation would be the Reich’s downfall. We can only press on.”
In order to catch the Republican Army in their revolving door,3 they had carried out a reorganization of the lines despite significant opposition. The bait was something the enemy couldn’t resist. Hence why they flourished the red cape of the western industrial region in front of the enraged bull of the Republic to lure it to the killing grounds.
If they didn’t slay the bull with one strike, they would be the ones to get gored to death.
“Even if the Commonwealth joins the war, how many divisions does it have in the first place? Probably less than ten it can deploy, right?”
According to Rudersdorf’s thinking, it couldn’t have much effect on the Rhine front even if it did come to intervene, so he didn’t see anything to worry about.
“All we have is estimates, but seven or eight divisions, plus a division or two of cavalry. Plus a few brigades. Oh, and they also have some degree of air force capable of striking land targets.”
“If that’s all, frankly, they aren’t much of a threat. If they attack, all we have to do is call a police officer and have them arrested on suspicion of violating immigration law.”
Honestly, in numerical terms, the Principality of Dacia’s army posed a bigger threat. The Commonwealth was an island nation. It was hard for the Empire to get to them, but the opposite was also true.
If such a country wanted to interfere, it would have to transport troops by sea. Suppose those troops did come that long way on the water—the scale of the Commonwealth’s standing army was simply not big enough to be a serious threat.
Even a generous estimate of their available troops gave them ten divisions. The Commonwealth’s infantry units could operate as a threat only on the tactical level. On the Rhine front, where well over a hundred divisions were clashing, ten wasn’t nothing, but…it was still only ten.
That wasn’t enough to be a threat on the operational level, much less the strategic level.
“Certainly, in the case of the land army, that’s true, but the power gap between our navies is indisputable. It would be a headache if they put a blockade on us.”
“Whoa, whoa, are you serious, Zettour? If they could just keep a blockade going, that would be a surprise. I don’t know how long you want to keep fighting this war, but I want to end it. I’m sick of getting complaints about ersatz coffee.”
In truth, the Commonwealth was still a troublesome power. There was no way to attack them without getting past the Royal Navy they were so proud of. Of course, the Imperial Navy was ashamed of it, but although it could fight as well as or better than the Republican Navy, the outcome of a battle against the Commonwealth’s navy would be a toss-up at best, even if it brought all its warships to bear on the Commonwealth’s navy—even just the home fleet. If the Commonwealth pulled ships from its channel fleet or the forces it had dispatched to other locations, that would be enough to make the Imperial Navy inferior.
On the other hand…
That was it.
Without a finishing move, they could stare each other down as much as they wanted, but they would arrive at nothing but an endless stalemate.
“Let’s get it over with.”
“Yes, I’d certainly like to end the war sooner rather than later. So…you want to go through with that plan?”
“Exactly. Which is why I need to ask you about the logistics… Zettour, can’t you do something to make that advance possible?”
Rudersdorf, the one who had mustered all of his know-how to draft the plan for the operation, was confident that glory and victory were within the Imperial Army’s grasp. To him, the war against the Republic was like a footrace, and all that was left was to run unhindered through the tape at the finish line.
The question was whether they could keep their strength up long enough to make it.
“General von Rudersdorf, I had some of my staff make an estimate. East of the Rhine lines I can promise whatever you need, but if we’re going as far as Parisii, we’ll have to overcome the significant obstacle of distance. I can’t guarantee you more than eight shells a day.”
“That’s awfully stingy.”
“Furthermore, that number includes only shells under 155 mm, and we can just barely maintain that amount for a short period of time under optimal conditions. Our supply lines are nearing their limits.”
“No heavy artillery and only eight shells per gun? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The number Zettour gave was so outrageous that Rudersdorf glared at him, paying no heed to the staffers in the area looking their way in shock.
There’s no way to fight a war with that allotment of shells.
The words were on the tip of his tongue.
“If we can’t use enemy railroads, then we’re forced to rely on horses and trucks. I explained the circumstances already. We’ve requisitioned everything we can from our regional army groups and the two occupied territories, but it’s nowhere near enough.”
“I understand how hard the Service Corps is working, but getting hit with numerical reality is harsh. Under these circumstances…we could be done for if it turns into an artillery battle. If we can’t get at least forty-four shells per gun per day…”
“There aren’t enough horses. We’re also hopelessly low on hay. Even if we wanted to get it on the ground, it’s not the right season. Neither is there enough time to have field engineers lay narrow-gauge rail in no-man’s-land. We’ll be running our horses into the ground to get even those eight shells and food to the front lines.”
Rudersdorf abruptly swallowed his next words. Zettour was the one telling him this, and that fact left him no choice but silence—because he knew that if Zettour was saying it couldn’t be done, the depths of human ingenuity had already been plumbed.
If the job was left up to anyone else, they probably wouldn’t be able to deliver even half of what Zettour had promised.
“My friend, I’ll be frank. I agree with your plan for the operation as such. I don’t intend to withhold any support I can give. I did my very best, and my very best is that number. Please understand that this is the limit of what we are capable of.”
“All right. Then how long can we operate under those terms?”
Thus, accepting the extreme unpleasantness of their harsh reality, Rudersdorf asked where the line was. If that slim amount of supplies could be provided for a short amount of time, then how long, exactly?
“Two weeks. If we don’t get too worn down, then maybe another two weeks from there, but after that everyone should pray to God in whatever way they believe in.”
Rudersdorf thought the time limit was harsh, but he did manage to find one ray of hopeful light in it.
If they could succeed in taking out the enemy’s main forces…
If they ripped up the enemy’s ability to fight back by the roots, they would be having the ceremony to occupy Parisii’s palace before the next month was out.
“In other words, I need you to understand that if we get bogged down in trench warfare, our supply lines will become paralyzed. Our army is specialized for mobility along interior lines.” Zettour’s grievances clearly indicated areas the Imperial Army needed to improve. “Providing logistical support for operations that go beyond our organizational plan—such as sending troops onto foreign soil—is a nightmare. If you could manage to pull horse fodder and railways out of thin air, we might be able to do the impossible. As it is, though, we’re just barely managing to make penguins fly, so please understand.”
“Fine. We’ll make an unstoppable advance. You sure talk like a textbook, though. But when push comes to shove, you can provide the minimum supplies for the advancing troops, right?”
The only direction to go was forward.
And he believed that the Service Corps, that Zettour, could get them the minimum—the bare minimum—of what they needed to do so.
“Only to Parisii. I’m not an alchemist. Don’t go assuming I can create an endless supply of gold. Also, the hard truth is that the route is too slim to deliver shells. If you can’t lure in and annihilate the Republican Army’s main forces, you’ll have to give up on Parisii. Please keep that in mind as an officer of the General Staff.”
“Of course. Still…isn’t there anything you can do about heavy artillery?”
Rudersdorf found himself asking the favor even though he knew it was taking advantage of their friendship. Even just a little bit, please.
“Don’t be ridiculous! You were the one who said to assume enemy railroads would be basically destroyed! How are we supposed to transport heavy artillery shells and guns with no trains? I’m repeating myself, but the horses are already worked to the bone. If we work them any harder, the rate of attrition will be insupportable. The army doesn’t have any logistical leeway; in fact, the eight shells I can get you, I can only get because we’re commandeering farm horses and fodder stockpiles from civilians. And furthermore,” Zettour glared at Rudersdorf, annoyed, as he went on in a low voice, “practically all our heavy artillery is camouflaged in place in the Low Lands! So no more crying for the moon!”
Having personally requested the concentrated placement of those guns, Rudersdorf couldn’t very well ask his friend to somehow come up with more.
“I know, I know. Ahh, I guess there’s nothing we can do. We’ll have to work on improving artillery mobility.”
“You mean the mechanized artillery idea? Yeah, with the trench war we’ve had to be focused on existing guns. This’ll be a good opportunity. Let’s talk to Kluku Weapons.”
Rudersdorf and Zettour agreed that the mobility issues with not only the heavy artillery, but artillery in general, had become worrisome when considering an advance.
In trench warfare, guns with limited mobility could withstand a degree of counterbattery fire by holing up inside their positions and bunkers. But in a field battle, it was extremely difficult to rapidly change their positions. The current reality was that their firepower was often late to critical engagements.
If the guns couldn’t advance after the army broke through the trenches, the infantry had to fight without artillery support. Even if they provided mage or air force support, they couldn’t expect the same level of firepower as from the big guns.
Still, Zettour repeated, “But don’t forget. This is all only if the revolving door goes around like it’s supposed to.”
So Rudersdorf nodded confidently. “Leave it to me. Open sesame!”
Those were magic words.
Rudersdorf was secretly very pleased with his very appropriate key phrase for Operation Lock Pick. They would literally blow up the trenches where they had been piling up corpses in vain, as neither side could break through. They would pry open the Republic’s stubborn defenses.
“…I see you still have devastatingly bad taste in catchphrases.”
“It’s way better than getting all pedantic, isn’t it? Above all, it’s easy to understand.” Rudersdorf did worry about the fact that those outside Operations didn’t seem to care for it much. Still, he thumped his chest with his fist to say, You can count on me. “Well, ‘renaissance’ isn’t bad, either. This is ancient wisdom.”
Tunneling had been used to break castle walls in the ages before there were cannons. Now was the time to employ that knowledge once again. Let’s teach those arrogant Republicans not to scoff at ancient ideas. Just the thought of it made Rudersdorf happy.
“…What’s most important is the principle of the revolving door. Now, which side will history put the weight on?”
“Both—it’ll be a historically huge encirclement. Now then, gentlemen, let’s end this war.”
The Low Lands had become a vacuum when they let the Imperial Army withdraw. While the left wing of the Republic’s Eastern Army Group advanced to push their front lines up, the units of the right wing were still facing off against the left wing of the Imperial Army, and they were all sick of the deadlock.
As far as they could tell, all the radio and official reports covered was the pursuit of the enemy on the Low Lands front. Meanwhile, their daily lives were filled with the monotony of quiet lines.
In the forward-most trench, they were anxious about little scuffles in no-man’s-land and snipers. In the reserve trench a ways back, soldiers sulked about the unchanging menu, engaging in futile arguments with the logistics man. And even their frontline HQ was envious of the fortune of the Low Land troops; its officers, beset by irritation and embarrassing impatience, sat around in meetings with nothing to say. No one was having a very good time of it.
To make matters worse, it was being whispered that the Commonwealth was intervening, mediating, or possibly even joining the war as an ally, and they heard that the battle to annihilate the Empire was nearly at hand. It didn’t feel very good to be so far from the action at a time like that.
In such an atmosphere, it wasn’t rare to see a certain mid-ranking officer wearing a particularly grouchy frown, standing firmly with a cigarette gripped so tightly between his teeth it seemed like he would chomp it to pieces.
The officer, Lieutenant Colonel Vianto, gave off an aura of fury he couldn’t hide, projecting the fight of a bulldog from every part of his body. He wasn’t allowed an outlet for that energy, for some incomprehensible reason, and it had him seething with anger.
He fiercely protested the assignment of the few mages who narrowly escaped from Arene to the colonies for “reorganization,” but he was blocked by red tape, which made him furious just thinking about it, and the higher-ups, who evaded taking indirect responsibility for the tragedy in Arene.
I swear these assholes have no goddamn clue!
Vianto was so mad the bitterness of the cigarette he had crushed in his mouth didn’t even register to him. Seized by violent emotion, he drove his fist into the wall. His fist was charged with a formula he had cast unconsciously, leaving distinct cracks in the wall, but he was still fuming.
That was how much he resented his current situation.
…The operation in Arene to damage the Empire’s rear had threatened the Imperial Army’s logistics. That was true. So he could understand why the brass talked about the Imperial Army’s retreat as an outcome of that.
But…
They were supposed to pursue the enemy once they retreated. If they had gone after the Empire’s forces, surely they could have achieved something, perhaps even something as fanciful as an imperial surrender.
But instead, the enemy got away, and Republican troops moved in to take the land left behind like beggars accepting pity, which the brass then proclaimed as a victory. On top of that, when Vianto realized the significance of his mages being transferred, he had the urge to punch out higher-ups by the dozens.
Those sons of bitches! he screamed in his head. They were silencing anyone who had been involved in the uprising at Arene or doing everything in their power to transfer them away from the front lines—all to cover up the fact that their prediction had been too optimistic. Pathetic!
Service in the rear or a post at some colony is probably in my near future, too, he thought with an exhausted sigh.
He had written a mountain of petitions in protest. This is what I get for fulfilling my mission? It’s absurd! I can’t go on like this.
Sadly, the only people he could complain to were the generals at the frontline HQ he belonged to. In other words, they would just let him vent until he ran out of steam.
Eat shit.
It was so stupid, he couldn’t stand it.
“Fuck!”
He hurled his cigarette to the ground, then used a booted foot to grind the butt out with the rage of someone avenging his mother, before requesting permission to fly from airspace control.
He couldn’t just stand there smoldering.
If I don’t somehow stay on the front lines until we defeat the Empire and knock those assholes out of the sky, I can’t say a proper good-bye to my dead men and the people we failed to protect.
He could hardly bear the boiling pressure inside him as the two sides stared one another down.
Worst of all, due to the various difficulties that add friction to any advance, they didn’t have a clear picture of the advancing units’ situation, which was unsettling. He knew from experience that the communication lines of an advancing army faced an unending parade of obstacles.
Once you got a ways away from the railroads, communication grew more difficult. Then the phone lines the field engineers finally managed to roll out would end up severed in every possible way—whether on purpose or not—from getting blown up by enemy shells to run over by friendly cavalry or trucks.
The enemy, being the enemy, would emit jamming signals at full power, so allies would increase their output as well, but that only created all manner of confusion. For instance, it became more difficult to pick up other units’ signals.
So Vianto thought he would go see for himself what was going on.
Luckily, perhaps, his excuse that he was special ops going to get a handle on enemy movements worked—they needed the intel and flight permission was surprisingly easy to get.
Since he was going anyhow, and they didn’t have regular contact with the front lines, he was asked to perform unofficial officer reconnaissance and messenger duties. On top of that—surely out of genuine good will, but still—he got saddled with a trunk filled with all sorts of alcohol and tobacco scraped together by everyone from the staff officers to the NCOs with a “Please give this to the officers suffering on the front lines.”
At this rate, thought Vianto, laden with a mountain of notes, I’m no different from a messenger pigeon or a cigarette dog, but he knew the significance of the things he’d been trusted with.
There was emotion behind the requests, and knowledge that these items were needed on the forward-most lines.
This way of spending his time was a zillion times more meaningful than wasting it on the bureaucrats and their stupid regulations.
More than anything, Vianto personally knew how comforting it would be for the officers struggling on the front to receive tidings and luxury items from the rear. Thus, even though he knew flying with a heavy load meant a whole new level of exhaustion was in his future, he didn’t turn down a single request.
“This is Vianto. Call sign Whiskey Dog. Requesting permission to take off from CP.”
When he was granted permission to fly, they asked for his call sign, so like those before him, he jokingly referred to himself as a delivery dog that was planning to shuttle cigarettes and whiskey to the front lines.
“Whiskey Dog, this is CP. All Rhine airspace controllers have been notified. Multiple signaling stations have replied, and all state that they’re hoping you arrive as soon as possible. We’ve also received enthusiastic welcomes from each unit in the Low Lands…”
“Ha-ha-ha! Then I’d better not worry them by being late. Okay, I’m off!”
Though his exchange with CP included laughter, each word told him how hard it was for the soldiers out there. Vianto knew from experience how easily logistics for an advancing army could get screwed up. All the more reason he just had to get his delivery through. With a wry grin, he told himself he couldn’t be late.
“CP, roger! Have a good trip!”
“Whiskey Dog, roger! I know you told me to get there on time!”
“Got it. I’m betting on you, Colonel! If I lose, you owe me a drink!”
“Okay, you can count on me.”
With that solemn assurance, Vianto took off. Although he ascended a bit more cautiously than usual, with so many bottles of alcohol, the process was the same one he had repeated a number of times. Focusing on the point he wanted to manipulate via the computation orb, he deployed a formula that would only interfere as much as necessary. After that, he gave in to the floating sensation and let the propulsion carry him upward.
Which was why, when he managed to get safely into the air, there was nothing particularly special about it to him. It was a normal takeoff.
Until the following moment.
Without warning, he was struck by a flash and the thundering roar of an explosion. Sent spinning like a leaf tossed on white rapids, he lost all sense of direction and couldn’t even tell if he was upright or not.
Between the enormous shock waves and the blast resonating in his stomach, it was all Vianto’s disoriented brain could do to keep him in the air.
But the shock only lasted a moment.
A few seconds later, when his senses had calmed down enough to function, he was glad to find them telling him there was nothing wrong with his body.
Relieved, he sighed.
It was then that his brain finally wondered what in the world that explosion had been.
He started. Once his cognitive faculties were recovered enough for him to look around, the sight of thick black smoke in the direction of the front lines and above him froze his brain.
He had been in the process of taking off, but he was still up in the air.
Yet, here was smoke he had to look up to see? Multiple plumes? Hanging over the front lines?
Noise, shock, and smoke.
The first possibility that occurred to him was that the ammunition dump had suffered a hit and exploded. It would have to be a huge amount of powder going at once or something similar…
“…More than one?”
But as he voiced that fact, he was forced to admit that his guess was decidedly off.
There were multiple sources of black smoke.
And as far as he could tell, they were at even intervals.
Once he understood the significance of the fact that they were man-made explosions, he realized what had happened.
Man-made explosions?
On the Rhine front, man-made explosions could only mean combat action. So did the ammo dumps get caught up in it?
But then he realized his understanding was flawed. Even if all the ammunition dumps on the front blew at once, there’s no way they would make such neatly spaced plumes of smoke.
When he realized that, it dawned on him through not logic but his gut, via experience, that the situation was far worse than he imagined.
This was an imperial attack. Then that means… He quickly tried to see what the scene beneath the smoke looked like. What he saw via the observation formula he initiated made him gasp.
There were supposed to be trenches on this side of no-man’s-land. Defensive positions three trenches deep with artillery installations and multiple pillboxes to provide protected firing positions. They should have been right there.
But what he saw was a big lonely wasteland covered in rubble and a cloud of dirt.
All their defensive positions had been wiped off the map.
They had all literally vanished.
“CP to Whiskey Dog, what’s going on? What was that explosion?”
“…Gone.”
Vianto spoke almost without realizing it.
“Huh? Colonel? Sorry, please say it again.”
It’s all gone.
He shouted, his voice shaking, “It’s blasted to bits! The entire front was blown up! The lines are gone!”
“Gone? Colonel, you’ll have to excuse me, but that’s not…”
The CP still hadn’t grasped the situation. Annoyed by the radio operator’s laidback attitude, Vianto focused via his observation formula on a moving group, and in the next moment, he was practically straining his vocal cords screaming a warning to all units.
“Ngh! Enemy spotted! A composite group of armored units and mechanized infantry! The scale is… They’re everywhere…”
“What?!”
For a moment, CP was speechless.
“W-warn the front lines!” the radio operator added as if he’d finally remembered.
At that moment, the normal instructions, the need to warn the lines, made Vianto feel strangely off somehow.
Why do I feel weird? he asked himself. Ohh. A wry grin spread across his exhausted face.
I don’t need to send a warning anymore. There’s no one left to warn.
“Whiskey Dog to CP. I question the necessity of that.”
“Sir?” The tone of voice said, What are you talking about?
Ahh, he still doesn’t get it, thought Vianto as he said, “No, right now, I’m on the forward-most line. The front lines have been wiped out.”
“…Colonel?”
“I saw it. The frontline trenches—our front lines—were all blown sky high. Everything. They’re a huge crater now!”
This is the forward-most line. Our army’s defensive lines are being pried open at this very moment, on an unprecedented scale. And Vianto had experienced Arene. There was no escaping the chill that ran down his spine.
“I’m coming down! Call HQ! Hurry! There’s no time to lose!”
Once the imperial military machine is up and running, it’s not an easy feat to stop it. He learned that in Arene.
Those guys don’t miss a thing. They’re borderline psychotic perfectionists. Their devotion to their war machine must transcend even the fabled raison d’état.
“Urgent to Rhine Army Group HQ! If you don’t send every last mobile and strategic reserve unit here, we won’t be able to plug this hole! Hurry!”
He conveyed the crisis in a panic over the wireless as he landed. When he rushed into the command area, distress was written all over the face of the officer waiting for him.
“Lieutenant General Michalis, 10th Division. Colonel, go to the army group headquarters immediately! You’ve got to warn the others!”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but why?!” Why go to the trouble of sending a messenger? But the division commander interrupted.
“Colonel, we’ve lost all methods of communication, wired or otherwise! Nothing connects!”
No communications…? That means…
“…What?!”
That means no one received my warning!
As he processed the news in a daze, he had hardly any choice but to despair… With even the reserve trench obliterated, did frontline command have even a single division to work with? Whatever they had, they would have to use it to defend a front an entire army had been protecting.
They needed reinforcements as soon as possible.
“Colonel, the enemy is headed this way, right?”
What the hell? thought Vianto as he nodded despondently and continued his report.
HQ doesn’t know what’s going on. So they haven’t sent reinforcements. They probably haven’t even realized the enemy is about to break through.
“The explanation is simple. In order to take us out, those imperial bastards are not only jamming but they went so far as to cut our wires in the rear. That’s borderline paranoid, but it sure was effective as hell.”
“Ngh. Understood. I’ll fly to the army group headquarters immediately!”
They were detestably familiar with how thorough the Empire was, and yet here they were. But there was no time to wallow in frustration. Someone had to sound the alarm. And the fastest in this situation would be a magic officer messenger.
“It’s scribbles, but I wrote you a note. I’m counting on you—please alert HQ! At this rate, the front will… Even Horatius4 couldn’t defend the bridge on his own. Reinforcements—we need reinforcements now!”
The moment Vianto understood everything, he cast away the backpack full of bottles and notes he was still carrying. Feeling much lighter, he took the envelope from the commander, wrapped it in cloth, put it away in his breast pocket. Then he shook the commander’s hand and made a vow.
“I will deliver this message.”
There was nothing else he needed to say.
As he rushed out of frontline command and deployed a flight formula, his chest was bursting with violent emotion. He couldn’t bear leaving fellow soldiers like that, essentially running away, but his sense of duty told him: Alert the others to this crisis!
The members of the 10th Division…were prepared to die. Just like Horatius, they would protect the fatherland as gatekeepers. That’s why, no matter what it takes, I have to call reinforcements while they buy time. If he was too late, the service of those heroes would be all for naught. I’ve got to fly.
Thus, though he was still bewildered, Vianto shouted warnings and orders to intercept as he wove his way through the jumble of soldiers, and as soon as he was up, he flew desperately toward the rear headquarters with all the speed he had.
But before he could get enough altitude, he had to take erratic evasive maneuvers.
The optical sniping formulas raining down on him couldn’t have come from more than a company’s worth of mages. But the scale of the attack was nothing compared to the reality that imperial mages had penetrated this far into their territory—a curse escaped him.
Or should he have been amazed at their skill? They’re so good at war it makes me sick.
“Ngh! Shit, you rotten potato bastards!” he spat as he deployed a series of optical deception formulas not to repulse the enemy but to help him get away.
At the same time, he needed to avoid pursuit, so though his consciousness was threatening to fade, he willed it to stay bound to this world and whipped his agonized lungs, ascending to 8,500.
Immediately after that, the enemies who seemed like they would follow him fired several explosion-type formulas, undisciplined, perhaps as a diversion, and then turned around, abandoning him.
There was some distance between them now, but surely wiping out everyone at the HQ facilities was a higher priority for enemy command than taking Vianto out. The inhuman rationalism of their disgustingly clear sense of purpose sent a chill up his spine.
What it meant was that…the friendly HQ that had just sent him out would come under fire.
The relief of escaping pursuit clashed with the shame of sacrificing his fellow soldiers to escape—his current circumstances were infuriating; there was nothing he could do.
“I’m sorry… Shit! Why…why did this happen?”
His clenched fists trembled with anger as he choked out his fury at an oxygen-poor altitude. Really, this was the situation his kind were meant to prevent, and that realization gave birth to outrage toward the enemy mage unit freely attacking their frontline command post. So why am I leaving the ground troops as lures and running away?
It was so pathetic and humiliating.
A tsunami of indescribable emotions was welling up inside him, but he repressed even that and focused completely on flying with all his might toward the rear—because it was his mission, in order to avert the collapse of the front, even if he had to sacrifice everything to complete it.
“…HQ, come in. HQ? Ahh, shit, it won’t connect. What are the air defense controllers doing right when I need them?”
Which was why, spurred by impatience, he furiously continued calling the Rhine Army Group headquarters even though they weren’t answering. Of course, he knew what the situation was. He realized it must have been utter chaos.
But Vianto couldn’t help but feel some contempt. How could they have let imperial mages penetrate so far into our territory without so much as warning us? Are the air defense controllers taking a nap or what?
The only emotion he could summon was disgust. Especially because once initial interception was delayed, enemy contact would be disorganized.
“…Calling Rhine Army Group Headquarters. Rhine Army Group Headquarters, come in! I say again, Rhine Army Group Headquarters. Rhine Army Group Headquarters, please respond!”
Are the waves just not reaching them because I’m still a ways away? Irritated at the thought, he continued calling via his computation orb, but the lack of response was getting frustrating.
Why does this have to happen now? All he could do was fly on, burning up with impatience.
“Agh, damn it! Did the radio operator fall asleep? It’s kind of a bad time!”
So he continued unleashing his rage at HQ as he flew near the limit of combat speed. Then he saw it.
“…What is this?”
Cratered land. The headquarters facilities smoking, in flames.
It was the cluster of facilities that had been known as Rhine Army Group HQ.
The soldiers running to and fro on the ground performing rescues and fighting fires were clad in Republican uniforms.
So this was where the Rhine Army Group headquarters was.
This was the place.
This place giving off black smoke, plunged into a crucible of unsalvageable confusion, this place was…?
“This is HQ? Of all the…”

MAY 26, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, AT SEA: IMPERIAL SUBMARINE CONNING STATION
The interior of a submarine is, albeit by necessity, terribly cramped. For that reason, most inexperienced passengers end up grumbling about how they keep bonking this or that part of their body against something.
That’s what normally happens.
“Excuse me, Captain Treizel, you called?”
The one who passed nimbly through the hatch without even ducking was the aerial mage battalion commander Major Tanya von Degurechaff.
She was the only one the crew wouldn’t get to tease about bumping down the passages in confusion, at least not for a while.
Why? Because she had an exceptional body, in a way. Even sailors of the shortest stature would need to stoop to move around inside the sub, but her height clearly presented no issue.
…And even if someone wanted to go out of their way to comment on it, anyone with a lick of sense would think twice upon seeing the many service ribbons she wore as proof of her brilliant achievements.
“How’s the ride, Major?”
“It’s been quite tranquil, sir, thank you. And the food is so delicious that I can’t hold back tears of gratitude.”
As they exchanged leisurely greetings, Major von Degurechaff saluted in the naval style with a precisely bent elbow.
The captain suddenly wondered if he should be impressed or repulsed, but he responded with an army-style return salute.
It was his boat, but he could still show a passenger respect.
In fact, he wanted to show respect to her—after all, the little lady getting a lift was an old hand, casually sporting service ribbons for every sort of medal given to those serving in the field, not the least of which was the Silver Wings Assault Badge.
“I thought mages were treated as magic army members and given high-calorie diets?”
“I don’t mean to be contrary, Captain Treizel, but most of what we’re given is blocks of nutritional supplements. Even things like canned fruit and white sausage are rare…”
And she handled the flattery between combat unit commanders in different fields with aplomb. Even just the commanding officers having a cordial relationship could make it easier to avoid quarrels in a small community, so the exchange was compelled by necessity.
Still, he was happy to hear Degurechaff grumble about how great the food was on the submarine.
Having a chef who could make use of the tiny onboard kitchen and limited utensils, but who also did their best to be creative, was something for a submarine crew to be proud of, even more than other naval units.
“It’s a perk you only get on a sub, where it’s very hard to find anything else to enjoy.”
“Even so, isn’t it awfully elaborate?”
“You can tell? Ah, maybe your young tongue is more sensitive to the difference. All right, I’ll let you in on it… We actually poached an outstanding cook from Fleet Command! Still, more than anything, I’m glad the taste is to your liking. There really isn’t much else to look forward to. It may be cramped in here, but I hope you’ll enjoy mealtimes.”
Long patrols, endless routine. Yes, to a submarine crew, patrol duty essentially meant each day would be no different from the last. Until an enemy ship was spotted, they could only earnestly endure the idle hours. And the result of that, the captain grumbled in his head, is that when the torpedoes we were recently issued were discovered to have defects, the submarine captains took their anger out on the Technology Department instead of enemy ships.
Hence, for some time, Treizel and the other submarine captains had been getting particularly good treatment when it came to food in an attempt to mollify them. The outstanding cook was one instance.
“When the state is so understanding, it usually means there’s something else going on.”
“I’m not sure that suspicion is warranted. Come now, Major!”
The two of them grinned. Commanders knew that if high command happened to show some consideration, it meant they had their reasons.
“Oh, please extend my thanks to the sub that pulled that feint for us off the coast of Norden.”
“Hmm? You were up in those waters?”
“Yes, the submarine provided a splendid distraction. I was touched by the Technology Department’s minute thoughtfulness in issuing ‘diversionary blast torpedoes.’”
“Ha-ha-ha! We were so thankful to the developers that we invited them to a party on board in appreciation of their work.”
“What a beautiful friendship. I’m envious.” Though Degurechaff was joking around more than usual, her tone contained some slight resignation.
The captain replied with the smile of someone in on a secret and added one other thing. “Yes, it’s just as you say. Oh dear, oh dear, I almost forgot.”
“Sir?”
“We received a message just a bit ago… Operation Lock Pick is under way.”
“Excuse me while I take a look.”
The smirky vibe of their conversation up to that point was gone. Degurechaff took the telegram and ran her eyes intently over it, nodded once, reread it, and then smiled in satisfaction.
“Wonderful. Now the revolving door will work.”
It must have been subconscious, but with her eyes alight like those of a predator cornering its prey, she looked insane.
Ahh, so that’s why. That’s why this young girl was given an alias—White Silver.
“Cut off the rear and encircle them for a perfect annihilation. This will be the ideal mobile encirclement battle—one that ends in obliteration. What truly, truly wonderful news. With this, the fate of the Rhine front is decided.” She exhaled. “This is just great.”
It was the sigh of a beast that had its prey right where it wanted it. But if she didn’t have that mentality, there was no way she would have been given an elite aerial mage battalion at such a young age.
“Yes, I’m a bit jealous. The General Staff told us to keep patrolling, but they ordered you to go immediately to participate in the decisive battle in the Low Lands.”
“Huh?”
“We’re currently heading east, quite a ways off the patrol line. We’ll surface before dawn fully prepared for you to take off.”
Chosen specifically by the General Staff to return, sent on a special operation ahead of Operation Lock Pick—it seemed she and her unit were “exceptional” in all sorts of ways.
“Thank you, Captain. Allow me to wish you everlasting luck in battle.”
“We’ve all been very honored to assist you. I wish you luck as well.”
Thus, as an imperial soldier, Treizel was proud that his boat had been able to lend a hand to such a unit. Everyone did the job they were meant to do.
As such, Degurechaff was a fellow soldier he could be proud of, which was why he extended his hand in utmost seriousness to wish her well.
Even if her hand was as small as his daughter’s, this was a handshake with a fellow soldier.
Upon leaving Captain Treizel, Tanya is relating the good news to her subordinates, who are clustered in the space the crew managed to find for them next to the forward torpedo tubes.
“Attention, Company! Our battalion commander has instructions for us!”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. All right, gentlemen. You can listen as you are. We’re mooching a lift on this sub, so we should be more worried about causing trouble for the crew… Anyhow, I just heard from Captain Treizel that Operation Lock Pick is under way!”
Her subordinates are hearing this for the first time, and from the tone of her voice, they gather it’s something quite important, so they brace themselves to learn what it could mean.
Their eyes ask, What’s Operation Lock Pick?
“It’s one of the main offensives planned for the Rhine front. And, gentlemen, it’s going well. According to the report, the leading group blasted through the enemy trench line. The main forces of the Republican Army are completely cut off in the Low Lands.”
Cheers go up.
To veterans of the Rhine, a major operation, along with the expected changes in the state of the war it would entail, mean the victory they’ve been dreaming of.
So many imperial soldiers sank into the muck to put them on a road to victory, and breaking the trench lines and tying down the enemy is what will take them there.
“Troops, it’s a complete encirclement. The main enemy forces are like a rat in a trap.”
“Complete encirclement” sounds to everyone like their long-cherished wish for victory. After all, a surrounded, isolated army can no longer be called an army.
Unable to hide their excitement, her men whisper among themselves. They’re so bubbly that normally Tanya would be confused—Are these really the select elites of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion?
But today, she will generously affirm their behavior.
Victory. It’s such a spellbinding fruit.
“This ship will participate in a mission to blockade the coast. We, on the other hand, will sortie before dawn tomorrow. We’ll participate in the annihilation battle in the Low Lands and then return to base. The field trip lasts until we make it home. My brothers-in-arms, I won’t forgive you if you race off to Valhalla without joining the victory banquet!”
That’s why, though she’s giving them a warning, her tone is spirited. In order to taste the sweet nectar of victory, it’s important to tighten the helmet straps even after a win.
“All right, gentlemen, before we go to war, let’s fill our stomachs. Captain Treizel and the crew have kindly furnished us with what little provisions they can. Drink as you like up until the twelve-hours preflight regulation cutoff. That is all!”
Then she clinks glasses in hasty cheers with her nearest men. She celebrates imperial victory with canned food and instant coffee, and once the troops pull in some off-duty sailors and start drinking, she rises. “It’s probably hard for you guys to let loose with me around,” she says to Lieutenant Weiss, then withdraws.
In this way, Tanya escapes the drinking party as a considerate superior officer and retires to the only captain’s quarters on board, which Captain Treizel was extraordinarily kind enough to yield to her. Now she can think at her leisure.
The topic is the upcoming war situation and how she should comport herself.
The initial phase of Operation Lock Pick is a total success. As a result, the scales are tilted heavily in the Empire’s direction. Under these circumstances, the Republic is almost certain to drop out of the fight. What’s more, as long as we don’t get Dunkirked,5 we should be able to end the war.
In other words, de facto victory is right in front of us. Supremacy in battle—yes, victory. So Tanya understands that the end of the war, peace, and promotion—that wonderful future—hangs on the outcome of these operations.
That truth gives her renewed hope. After all, humans are capable of working awfully hard when presented with a purpose. Right purpose, right method, fair compensation. It’s actually quite a lovely labor cycle; I’m inspired.
And there’s next to no worry of being Dunkirked.
After all, submarines, among other units, will be blockading the seaboard. And perhaps most importantly, the Imperial Army thoroughly demolished the proper Low Lands sea access point when they withdrew. On top of that, the underwater mines originally deployed to protect the port facilities are thick.
Escaping by sea this way is impossible. So the Republican Army is literally a rat in a trap.
Ahh, splendid!
That satisfaction uproots her nagging hunch that they were in for a sorrowful defeat and tosses it out the window. It’s more than enough to compensate for her pent-up anxiety and exhaustion. And with the strings of tension loosened, Tanya, who also has a cozy bed for the first time in long while, gives herself readily over to sleep and is able to get a good rest.
In this way, while her partied-out subordinates struggle to wedge their long bodies into the cramped crew beds in the torpedo tube room, Tanya enjoys her peaceful nap.
Then, having relished every last wink of her unbelievably comfortable sleep, she stretches her back in anticipation of a great morning, inquires as to the boat’s whereabouts from the duty officer on the bridge, and nods in satisfaction.
“Ahh, Major, you’re awake?”
“Oh, morning, Lieutenant Weiss. Were there any idiots trying to pull pranks on Lieutenant Serebryakov while she slept?”
“Rest easy, ma’am. The boat hasn’t sunk, so I think perhaps not.”
“Ha-ha-ha!”
Chatting with Lieutenant Weiss and the duty officer, who apparently had been discussing the weather, Tanya is even able to experience the joy of a quiet morning aboard the submarine for a moment.
“She’s on a perpetual battlefield like you, Major. If any numbskulls had attacked her while she was sleeping, I’m sure the hull would have been breached.”
“I’ll agree to disagree. We can’t start the morning off with a pointless debate. What’s our situation?”
The ability to have trivial conversations can’t be underestimated. Especially in extreme circumstances, soldiers who can’t crack a smile will be useless before long. On that point, Tanya is impressed by the sense that life goes on even in the belly of this submarine, proof of humanity’s greatness, but she remembers their important duties and obligations and cuts the frivolous conversation short.
“I woke everyone up. They must be sober by now. I’m sure they’re in better shape than during our endurance training.”
“Very good. If anyone collapses due to a hangover, we’ll have to throw them into the sea to ice their head.”
As she is getting the unit’s status from Lieutenant Weiss and thanking him for saving her time, a naval officer addresses her.
“Excuse me, Major von Degurechaff. I have a message from Captain Treizel. We’re almost at the appointed coordinates.”
“Thanks. I hate to make you run back and forth, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him I’ll have my unit up on deck right away. Also, do you think I could get a weather report and a sea chart?”
It’s time to wish a fond farewell to comfortably cruising the ocean, great food, and bottomless coffee. But what is there to be upset about? If we just finish this war, we can reclaim daily life in a flash.
We’re going to end the war. In that case, there’s another benefit to one final push. Meaningful work means happiness.
So Tanya merrily lines up her subordinates on the narrow deck of the submarine. Though a company’s worth of personnel is a tight fit, it feels positively spacious compared to the sub’s interior. Surely it’s human nature to feel relieved.
Upon giving the orders to perform a quick equipment check, Tanya notices Captain Treizel, who must have come out of his way to see them off, in the bridge lookout position.
“You’re off, then?” he says, descending with a hand extended.
The two commanders shake hands as the etiquette goes, and Tanya expresses her gratitude.
“Yes. Thanks for everything, Captain Treizel.”
“Thank you. It was an honor to assist such brave soldiers as yourselves. It’s cliché to say, but I hope you stay safe out there.”
“Thank you! On behalf of my unit, I hope that you and your men will be victorious.”
With that, they salute each other. Tanya nods at her troops, and they take off.
“Wave your caps! Caps!”
Hearing Captain Treizel’s order at their backs and receiving a modest yet heartfelt send-off from the crew, the company is on their way.
Their destination is the good old Low Lands. The flight goes extremely smoothly, and they arrive at the designated airspace. Then Tanya calls Rhine Control as she is accustomed to doing.
“This is Fairy 01 to Rhine Control. I say again, this is Fairy 01 to Rhine Control. Please respond.”
And the controller answers as usual. “Fairy 01, this is Rhine Control, call sign Hotel 09. You’re loud and clear. Go ahead.”
“Hotel 09, this is Fairy 01. You’re also clear. I can hear fine.”
“Hotel 09, roger. You guys have done a bang-up job. There’s a whole army of people who want to treat you—I guarantee you’ll be drinking for free for the rest of your lives.”
“Fairy 01, roger. The only problem is that I’m with Team Coffee.”
The fact that they can joke around like this means that Rhine Control must be feeling pretty relaxed; that’s a good sign.
Admiring this improvement in the situation makes Tanya sigh with a slight smile. Usually they would be controlling interceptions, giving instructions until their voices turn hoarse as they handle all kinds of issues; the state of the war must be truly favorable if they have the mental freedom to conduct such a sociable, human conversation.
“Oh, that’s no good. The officer planning your welcome back function is with Team Tea. I’ll try talking to him later.”
“Fairy 01, roger. Thanks. So? What’s our mission?”
“The short version is it’s search and intercept, but only to the extent that you’re authorized to attack if you happen to see anybody on your way back. Everyone is waiting for you heroes to return. Get here safe!”
Truthfully, Tanya nearly bursts out laughing at how considerate the controller is being. To think the day would come when these guys who are always asking us to do the impossible would be this nice! What kind of miracle is this? I guess favorable prospects really boost people’s humanity.
“Understood. But the troops on the ground are working hard. We can’t be the only ones taking it easy. I think we’ll go ahead and take some of the load off for them.”
“That’s great. Conditions in the airspace consist of clear skies and little to no wind. Good visibility. Watch out for fire from the surface.”
As a human, I find the wherewithal to help one another truly beautiful. As Tanya, too, with her altruistic mentality, a natural desire to do something charitable wells up within me.
“Fairy 01, roger. Any data on enemy mage units?”
“The details are as previously stated. We do, however, also have an unconfirmed report of fighting with a Commonwealth unit. It may be erroneous, but if it’s true, their doctrine may differ from the Republic’s, so be careful.” The controller adds a warning. For that moment only, his voice was serious.
So Tanya asks right back, “The John Bulls are intervening?”
“Hotel 09 to Fairy 01. Sorry, but as a mere controller, I couldn’t quite say.”
Well, yeah, that makes sense, she mentally grumbles, simultaneously turning her attention to confirming the rules of engagement, which is higher priority. “Fairy 01, roger. Are we authorized to attack them?” Are we supposed to intercept or withdraw? You can’t wage modern war very easily without knowing that much.
“There is currently no third country with legal authorization to enter the battle’s airspace. You can eliminate any nonfriendly mages as enemies.”
“Fairy 01, roger. Good to hear.”
All her worries were for nothing. If it’s the enemy, shoot them down. If it’s not the enemy, support them. To an aerial mage that rule is very simple and therefore easy to follow.
And so, Tanya leads the select company from the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion into the designated airspace over the Low Lands.
Unfolding below them is a massive encirclement battle the likes of which strategists have been dreaming of ever since Cannae.6 It’s a double encirclement on an unprecedented scale unlikely to ever be seen again, swallowing up not just a corps of the Republican Army but all its main forces.
When the Imperial Army has trapped this many troops, brilliantly surrounding them, it made an indelible mark on history.
After she thinks this, she recalls her life so far in the military with a start, and tears come to her eyes.
Come to think of it, we soldiers, steeped in war, have a tendency to lose sight of common sense. Yes, I want to cherish the reason and wisdom of a citizen versed in the norms of the modern age. If peace would just return, then all this will be replaced.
Imperial soldiers like me who had no choice but to volunteer are all combatants, but I should have remembered that we’re citizens, first and foremost. Especially in this modern era, we must cultivate civil norms.
So it’s just a little longer. Just a little more patience.
In just one more attack, we’ll turn the Republican Army into fertilizer that was once human and be able to end this war.
I will not let any Dunkirking happen. It’s my duty, for peace and my own future.
“This is a general message for the entire army. Execute Attack Plan 177. I say again, execute Attack Plan 177. All units, follow the prescribed procedures and initiate combat.”
“Fairy 01, the signal’s good. Roger executing 177. We’ll begin as of this moment! May the Empire be victorious!”
Having received the order waiting in the airspace from HQ to launch the operation, Tanya assents in a voice hoarse with determination. This is the usual Rhine front. The battle is being fought as usual. And crisscrossing around us are the various “fires” born of humanity’s wisdom.
But today is just a little different. If you listen closely, you can hear the signs.
“Gale 01, the signal’s good. We’re prepped for phase two and standing by to sortie.”
“Schwarz 01, normal signal here. Expect magic jamming. Roger executing 177. We’re taking our prescribed actions now.”
The wireless is perfectly clear. Although the typical noise of any battlefield interferes, each unit’s reports come in as clear as during an exercise, proof that the enemy is lacking either the headquarters facilities or electricity to attempt jamming. Most importantly, the organized intercepting party that should be in the air to meet them is basically coming after the fact.
And to top it off, the Imperial Army has an enormous advantage in firepower, able to freely fire all types of shells, not the least of which is the 255 mm. The Republican Army doesn’t even have enough 78 mm shells for infantry use. So much iron was invested in the firefight that the maps will need to be redrawn, and now it has turned into a one-sided massacre carried out by the Imperial Army.
And the Republican Army’s response is…lacking in cohesion, you could say. The troops are in utter confusion, and with no unity, it’s hard to even call what they’re doing a military action. One unit is striking out with their small force to try to break the encirclement. Elsewhere, another unit has started digging a trench to prepare a defense, and yet another unit is looking to the sea for an escape route and advancing on the port facilities. They’ve thought of every possible solution, and since the structure of their army has disintegrated, they’re trying them all at once.
The chaos of the decapitated Republican Army is hard to watch—it’s just so pitiful. Meanwhile, the actions of the structurally sound Imperial Army can be praised as a triumph of organization.
First, the imperial troops have already cut off the Republican Army’s supply lines to the main forces and have them under control, for the most part. No matter how much they brought with them, these units have been on the Rhine lines for some time now, so they surely need more.
Estimating from what a foot soldier can carry, it has to be three days’ worth max. And shells for the heavy artillery must all come from the rear. Not only are these guys currently lacking hot food, but they’re running out of shells as well.
Second, in order to prevent the localized inferiority unique to complete encirclement scenarios, they have a screen of aerial mages on a search and intercept mission.
“…Well, things are going pretty smoothly.”
My initial order was to prepare mages for resistance as we cut through their supply lines. There was also a nonzero chance that the Republican Army forces would come together and try to break through the encirclement.
But the General Staff’s worries were misplaced. Just as the Imperial Army was ready for a counterattack, the Republican Army units were all following their individual commanders, doing different things.
And that’s how they lost the slim chance they had.
Now is the time for Tanya to knock the weakened Republicans senseless and snag a promotion.
Her troops may have been partying on the submarine the night before, but they’re vets who performed to their full ability even over forty-eight straight hours of recon in enemy territory. It doesn’t seem necessary to micromanage them.
“Fairy to CP. There’s no interception. I say again, there’s no interception. We’re headed for the designated sector.”
The enemy is practically done for if this is all the resistance they can muster. Normally, there’d be a hail of anti–air fire flying at us, but now they’re only shooting a handful of shells. Even though visibility is good, the rate of fire is so sad it can’t even be called “sporadic.” Apparently, they’re really that low on ammunition.
It was so simple. I can’t believe how easy it was to enter this airspace.
It’s an awfully meager welcome. I almost want to ask if this is the same Republican Army we were fighting not so long ago.
There should be mages or fighter planes to intercept us, but there’s nothing. Thanks to that, our anti-surface strikes are as successful as they are during exercises. It’s a simple attack mission, just pummeling stationary targets with interference formulas from the sky.
It’s an easier mission than attending evening work functions.
…Well, back then I was a rank-and-file member, not a commander, so I guess in that sense it was less pressure.
Anyhow, I’m not interested in lowering my effectiveness by clinging to the past, but since we do need to learn from it, looking back can be meaningful.
“Viper 01 to CP. There’s just a little bit of anti–air fire. Damage is negligible. No obstacle to movement.”
“CP to all units. Multiple mana signals detected in Sector Forty-Two. Watch out for long-range observation sniping formulas.”
As you might expect, war is easier if you use your head. Sometimes it’s not only my unit that is blessed with luck but the entire Imperial Army is in a superior position.
Communication lines to the Viper Battalion in the airspace next door are clear. Astoundingly, CP actually has a grasp of the broader district and is doing a brilliant job of finding enemies and analyzing data like they’re supposed to. Thanks to that, if we’re in trouble we can actually get help from our neighbors, and the artillery is providing appropriate supporting fire.
These are such basic things. But when the basics actually get done, it makes war so much easier. Or maybe it’s the reverse? Maybe whether or not you can get the basics done determines whether you win or lose.
“Fairy 01 to the artillery—it’s urgent. Target: Sector Forty-Two. Requesting anti-mage suppressive fire.”
A ton of work must go into making these basic things happen, which is why the willing response to Tanya’s request makes her smile.
Usually, supporting fire is provided only reluctantly, or denied completely with a bunch of excuses, but today the artillery is already installed since we lured the enemy over here. Plus, because of the way the sectors are divided, we’re operating under ideal circumstances where you can get support the moment you request it. How reassuring it is to have the big guns.
“Artillery, roger. Firing now, please observe impacts.”
“Frontline Control to all batteries, impact confirmed. Looks to be effective. No calibration necessary. I say again, no calibration necessary.”
Seriously, I’m in love with this level of mastery.
“Fire for effect. I say again, fire for effect.”
The observed area is doused in saturation fire at a large caliber that mages have a hard time defending against.
If the positions were heavily defended or they had a fortress, they might have been able to withstand it, but the burden was too big for the individually constructed defenses to bear.
A saturation bombardment of shells from 120 to 255 mm. And it’s disciplined fire by artillery with observers.
“Sector Forty-Two confirmed silent!”
If you hit them when they can’t move, even mages will succumb to shells. And that’s why even though I don’t want to, I fight up in the sky. Compared to the surface, there’s much less chance of getting shot.
But today, I don’t even have to lament such a passive choice because every last thing is going smoothly, and we can advance in safety.
Thus, Tanya’s cheeks relax ever further into her smile. Man, efficiency is wonderful. If we can unilaterally problem solve like this, war starts to feel like a passable extension of diplomacy.
Granted, I fully agree that war is a waste of resources, so it goes without saying that we should get it over with quickly.
Sheesh, if the Republic would just surrender already, they could get out of this without squandering the nation’s human resources. What point is there in slowly depleting your workforce?
It would be a real waste if they wiped themselves out without even considering economic rationality. Should I assume that our opponent can calculate their economic gains and losses and counsel them to surrender? Resisting an enemy you can’t possibly beat—to the point of annihilation—is above and beyond a soldier’s duty.
The state is basically telling these cornered troops to die. Shouldn’t there be some limit to the suppression of human rights? I’m sure states have their logic, but there’s no reason individuals should have to sacrifice themselves to it.
At this point, the state is expecting way more of individuals with rights than it should be able to. A soldier’s duty is to fight. I have no objections to serving for national defense. But it shouldn’t be anyone’s duty to get obliterated.
“All first echelons, begin your operations!”
But this isn’t the sort of situation where you can calmly think things through.
The friendly wireless signal in my ear tells me the operation has entered its next phase.
Apparently, we don’t have much time to just fly around up here.
We don’t panic, but we do up the pace on our anti-surface attacks. All we’re doing is busting up defensive firing positions with explosion formulas, but that will probably be more than enough to frustrate the last holdout of organized resistance.
Looking down, I see the muddled Republican Army and the advancing Imperial Army maintaining discipline. It’s already such a trampling that imperial rangers are getting into strike formations.
Usually, charges into defensive positions come with heavy casualties. But when your side is superior, it’s a different story. The sole cause for concern would be machine guns, but we mages already smashed them; it’s truly a one-sided game now.
Maybe the reason the Republican Army isn’t surrendering is that the Republicans want to fight about terms, but do they understand the situation they’re in? It doesn’t seem very rational to trade a bit damage to the Empire for annihilation.
So then are they that fanatically anti-Empire? Or are they simply war crazy beyond all hope for recovery?
Or maybe they’re poor little lambs who have no idea what’s going on?
If the latter, they can still be reasoned with, but if the former, that’s the worst. I’m sure we have no interest in getting anywhere near maniacs like that.
“Airspace warning! Confirmed sighting of multiple fighters scrambling!”
“Not detecting any mana signals. All units, be alert for ambushes!”
…So apparently, they aren’t going to completely fail to respond.
Well, they can send fighters up now, but it’s still too late. But odds are good that I’m safer in counter–air battle than fighting those potentially dangerous lunatics.
I have the battalion cease anti-surface attacks. We get into combat box formation and contact control while ascending to combat altitude. Sounds like there are twenty fighter planes coming our way.
The imperial aerial flotilla will be up momentarily to intercept, but we’re supposed to keep the enemy busy in the meantime. That’s fine. I’m sure it’ll be nothing more than a play fight. After all, mages and fighter planes generally don’t handle each other very well.
Although mages are more flexible, they have a hard time when it comes to speed and altitude. Meanwhile, the planes excel at hit-and-run tactics but can’t do as much damage. Apparently, they’re a better deal cost-wise, though.
Still, since they get shot down more often than we do, the cost-effectiveness evens out.
“Enemy artillery is firing!”
“Hit confirmed. All trenches, report your damage.”
“Theater report. Light damage.”
“Counterbattery fire! Crush ’em in one go!”
On the ground, a so-called “battle”—an unopposed attack, really—is unfolding. Man, if we’re in good enough shape to obliterate an enemy position in retaliation for a single shot fired, maybe I should have stayed helping with the anti-surface attacks.
That said, avoiding risk is logical and therefore a must. Now I need to focus on getting air superiority or air supremacy, as the case may be.
…Still, at this rate, we might be able to win this war.
It was a faint hope.
But the moment the leisurely thought enters her head, it’s dispelled by a strange feeling, just a ripple but nonetheless strange, from the direction of the ocean.
“This is Rhine Control with a general notice. To the mage unit in the airspace that is not broadcasting identification! Make your affiliation clear now!”
A bit of commotion and a challenge.
“This is Rhine Control. I say again, to the mage unit in the airspace that is not broadcasting identification! To the unit passing through the maritime identification zone! Make radio contact or send identification immediately!”
Friendly warning signals echo across the theater like screams. Even over the radio I can tell from the desperate repeated challenges to the silent unknown that the controller has fallen into a kind of panic.
Bad feelings are always right.
An enemy from the sea…? That means…yeah, it must be the unpleasant relatives of the pleasant John Bulls.
“Fairy 01 to Rhine Control. I presume the unknown is an enemy. Requesting permission to turn around and intercept.”
Tanya waves Lieutenant Weiss over as she contacts HQ via long-range wireless. It’s much better to turn and attack than to be chased from behind.
“Rhine Control, roger. But an early warning unit is currently attempting to make contact. Limit your fire.”
But although she gets permission to go back, she’s handed limitations based on the rules of engagement. The whole principle of air combat is to be the first to find the enemy and the first to attack. On top of that, just a little while ago, control said it was okay to shoot. Getting slapped with limitations that flatly contradict that makes it pretty hard to fight a war.
The brass is always expecting the impossible from the troops in the field. In the end, a mage company is just one unit. Still, I’m not interested in dancing to their tune and then falling like autumn leaves.
So Tanya is about to press her case but suddenly realizes she’s kind of losing her cool.
She pauses to divert her inner irritation with a deep breath. Then she puts serious effort into making sure her discontent doesn’t come through and states her objection in an even tone.
“Fairy 01 to Rhine Control. I can’t accept that. If we can’t strike preemptively…”
But her efforts are all in vain.
“Warning! Unknown mages—a battalion—approaching fast!” A friendly warning comes over the wireless.
“No response to a friend or foe request!”
The radio waves are getting tense, and the exchange, muddled. When friendly troops who seem to have visual confirmation of the unit give a warning, Tanya makes up her mind—and she does it quickly.
Ever since Operation Lock Pick began, only one unit has flown from the sea toward the Low Lands, and that is the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion’s select company.
So she uses a megaphone to shout instructions to Lieutenant Weiss, who is now next to her.
“Lieutenant Weiss, we’re going back. Let everyone know!”
“We’re going back?!”
Suppressing the urge to chew him out for being so dense, she shouts, “Yes! I’ve concluded the unknown is an enemy! I want radio silence, and smother your mana signals! Let’s get the jump on them!”
“It’s too dangerous to judge them an enemy! We can’t rule out the possibility that they’re friendly marine mages from the High Seas Fleet!”
“If they were from the High Seas Fleet, they would at least give us the password! They’re the enemy! Consider them the enemy and handle them!”
He finally seems to get it and nods his assent. Before he flies off to alert the rest of the company, she adds, “Before you go silent, give a theater warning about a bogey! A new one, from the sea!”
At the same time, the commanders of the opposing units became aware of their enemy’s abilities and loudly clicked their tongues in frustration.
Lieutenant Colonel Drake, a Commonwealth commander being intercepted, was particularly vexed.
“…An enemy who doesn’t hesitate is the worst, ’ey, Jeffrey?”
As he watched the imperial mages briskly prepare to intercept, the high level of discipline suggested by their movements made him feel completely out of his depth.
Changing the bigwigs’ diapers was not his hobby. And anyone would complain if they were hurriedly dispatched for such a mission because the politicians failed to read the Empire’s moves.
“Truly. You can think about it any way you like, but this situation is clear.”
These men were told something unusual was happening on the lines between the Empire and the Republic and were sent posthaste to ascertain what.
But unable to establish contact with a Republican controller, and seeing that the only ones patrolling the skies were imperial air force units and mages, no one could misjudge the situation. As First Lieutenant Jeffrey, Drake’s vice commander, grumbled, it was proof that the Imperial Army was overwhelming the Republicans.
“Commander Drake, should we pull out? We were instructed to avoid combat if possible…”
“We can’t.”
Hence, Drake’s instinctually rejected his vice commander’s suggestion of withdrawing. When the subordinate man asked why, he flashed an invincible smile and said, “If we let this chance go by, this encirclement will grow to become a thick wall… Right now, there’s still a nonzero chance of breaking through. It’s got to be worth doing some recon-in-force.”
Drake’s reading was that escape was still a possibility if they acted fast.
Of course, the supremely brisk movements of the imperial mage unit before his eyes astounded him, and they were forming up without even emitting any detectable signals, so he wasn’t sure if recon was possible.
“Are you seeing these guys? They seem like an awful lot of trouble.”
“I don’t deny that. But can we really just leave the situation as it is?”
Drake could understand how Jeffrey felt—if it were an option, he would have wanted to pull out, too. But failing to understand how long the Republican main forces could hold out under these circumstances would prove disastrous for the Commonwealth, as well.
So Drake was determined to fight, even if it meant sacrificing his men. If we can break through, then let’s break through. If not, then let’s at least tell the others what fearsome adversaries these guys are.
“Besides, Lieutenant Jeffrey, have you forgotten what kind of person you are?”
“Ahh, right, you’ll have to excuse me, Colonel… Now that you mention it, we’re citizens.”
“Correct, Lieutenant, we’re citizens, not subjects. At least remember what kind of state you belong to. Too many long nights at the pub?”
So as Drake chatted with his troops, they prepared to resist the approaching imperial mage unit and awaited the beginning of the battle.
“Apparently, in the Republic, they call pubs ‘bars.’”
“Hmm, sounds like a pronunciation problem.”
“You think?”
And though he was joking around to keep his unit relaxed, Drake hadn’t dropped his guard.
“Warning! Bogey up above! You’re being targeted!”
Which is why he was able to respond immediately when the lookout’s warning rang out.
Trained to break as a conditional reflex, the troops just barely managed to act. They dodged the rain of formulas so narrowly that they couldn’t help but be shocked.
“Ngh, eight thousand? Is this that unit from those reports?”
There had been reports of an imperial unit who could operate at an altitude of eight thousand—higher than the commonsense limit, but until actually facing it, Drake had believed it to be a battlefield legend.
After all, he knew from personal experience how harsh the environment over six thousand was. A unit flying at the absurd altitude of eight thousand was mind-blowing.
“Intercept! They aren’t that many! Shoot them all down!” Still, seeing that they were only a company, Drake put his troops’ numerical advantage to work and roared orders to stop them. “Keep your fire disciplined! Suppressive fire! Close the altitude gap as much as you can!”
He chose to meet the enemy with disciplined fire because he was confident in his unit’s numbers, their level of training, and their sharp shooting.
“Wh—? They dodged?!”
Hence his initial disbelief. This might have happened against a solo enemy, but how could an entire battalion’s worth of disciplined fire miss every single target?
Drake returned to himself amid the shocked moans of his men—Of all the—and thundered out orders to prepare for a counterattack…but he was just a smidge late.
“Lieutenant Hawkins is hit! Shit, someone cover him!”
He hated hearing the reports of who was shot and the agonized groans coming over the radio. The only thing he could be happy about in this situation was that no one was down.
“They’re even tougher than the rumors say! Don’t take them lightly—they aren’t some kind of tall tale! Ahh, geez, I can’t believe that crazy story was true—goddamnit!”
It wasn’t just some phantom the Entente Alliance and Republic cowards conjured up!
All those stories about the Devil of the Rhine, about an imperial unit running amok at eight thousand—what about that was just a legend? It’s not nonsense at all; they’re actually an elite, terrible enemy unit that we’ve been underestimating!
What were the intelligence analysts doing, those freeloaders?!
“Ngh! We’re getting out of here! Slowing them down and collecting intel isn’t worth any further risk!”

MAY 28, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, COMMONWEALTH HUMANITARIAN AID GROUP PEACE WORLD’S HOSPITAL ADJACENT TO THE REPUBLICAN RHINE ARMY GROUP HEADQUARTERS
“…Ngh. I don’t know this ceiling…”
Forcing his muddled consciousness to function, Captain Cagire Caine from the Republican Rhine Army Group headquarters took stock of his situation.
Okay, here he is, thought John as he casually pushed the nurse call button. He was being considerate because Caine had to be totally fatigued.
He must be on a potent drug, some kind of long-acting sedative.
Well, that’s probably the kindest thing to do for a man who was half-dead from horrible burns and carbon monoxide poisoning, rather than letting him thrash around.
Anyhow, as long as I can talk to him, that’s fine. I should just ask what I need to ask. That’s what he decided to do, but…if he was being honest, he felt that someone returned from the brink of death had the right to a little peace.
His vision must be okay. If he can make out the ceiling, he can see colors. That said, since he can’t move his body at all, his field of vision is limited. But his ears and mouth are working normally. It’d be nice if he’d realize I’m here.
Anyhow, he’s alive. Given that, an Intelligence agent would be trained to wonder where he is.
Then John thought he should respond to Cagire’s confusion. If this pain-in-the-ass Intelligence guy mistakes me for an enemy, it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth.
“So you’re awake?” John addressed him calmly in a voice the captain should have been able to recognize.
“…Who are you? I beg your pardon, but please give me your name and rank.”
John didn’t expect to be asked that, but he couldn’t fault the fellow for following procedure.
Although he would remember if he weren’t utterly incapacitated.
“Sure. You’re Captain Cagire Caine, and you can call me Mr. John. I’m from the Commonwealth. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Oh, Mr. John.”
He pretended to understand. Well, even I have to admit it sounds pretty fishy, but a soldier doesn’t ask questions when they’ve been told not to go poking their nose around. Anyhow, they knew each other’s faces.
As far as the previous intel went, at least, they weren’t enemies. They were on friendly enough terms to cooperate and exchange intel. Hence, “Mr. John” was enough to be understood.
“So, Mr. John, why am I tied down?”
No wonder he was so confused, questioning why he was bound to the bed.
“Ahh, you’re not really tied down. Your meds are mostly pain-killers.”
“Huh? So I lost almost all feeling in my body from pain-killers?”
From the file the nurses brought when he pushed the button, it didn’t seem like he should be fully numb, though. Maybe some of his nerves are shot.
…And so young, poor chap. May the Lord have mercy…amen.
“If writhing in pain is a masochistic quirk of Republicans, then I suppose we’ve committed a cultural faux pas.”
Geez, at this rate, it doesn’t seem like I’m going to find out where the imperial mole is hiding.
And apparently, his pessimism wasn’t misplaced.
Caine suffered from memory loss due to carbon monoxide poisoning.
Frustratingly, he wasn’t in any position to provide useful information.
“Get well soon.”
With that, John left the room and heaved a sigh. Then he picked up the hospital telephone.
He had to notify the Republican Army that he’d just barely managed to save one of their officers’ lives. But he had to say what he couldn’t say earlier—that the way the man was, he was closer to a corpse.
The only thing he learned was that Caine didn’t know what had happened immediately before he was injured. Sadly, his condition rapidly deteriorated after their conversation.
The top drily responded that he should be promptly turned over rather than probed for no good reason, so there was John giving the notice.
…Given the Republic’s changing circumstances, this is my only choice. A calculating thought came to mind. It was true that if the fellow didn’t last long, they would no longer need to have a “charity organization” based in a “hazardous region.”
Also, John mentally added, considering how furious General Habergram is going to be, the Republic should bear some of the blame.
And it’s regrettable that my flight back was set up so efficiently. Just the thought of how grouchy Habergram must have gotten made him want a smoke. This is one of those times I just want to unwind with a few cigars and not think about anything.
True to his desire, he took out a cigar, put it in his mouth, cut it, lit up, and puffed.
Thus exhaling smoke in lieu of sighing, John, with his somewhat aloof John Bull spirit,7 cursed the heavens. Of course, he was proud of his ability to keep calm and collected in any situation, but even for him this one was a challenge.
I can handle the homeland’s “cuisine,” but spare me Habergram’s angry screams. More than a few from Intelligence grumbled in that vein.
Reluctantly—well and truly reluctantly—John disembarked in the Commonwealth.
Besides tea, there was nothing that could soothe his heart.
Ahh, he lamented, but he would do his best. He just had to think of the cancellation of his vacation and sudden business trip to the Republic as earning money for his family.
Good grief. With that mental murmur, he plunged into the storm of making his report.
He got a sense of the situation from the looks on the faces of the people passing by, but he still had to go. Granted, he wasn’t sure if his meager salary covered observing a man who was like a dragon when he flew into a rage.
Grumbling internally, he didn’t let it show on his face as he entered the room.
He gave the waiting major general an oral report that covered the main points.
Maybe you could say “luckily,” or maybe you would just say he was used to it, but he had enough time to plug his ears as he finished speaking.
Naturally, he made use of it immediately.
“……………DON’T FUCK WITH ME!”
Forged by salty tides, the natural voice of a seaman who had been with the navy since the days of sailing ships was loud enough to thunder over even a stormy ocean. And this angry general’s screams were even louder.
Major General Habergram of the Foreign Strategy Division.
The fist he pounded down was bloodied, but it broke the desk nonetheless—the desk made of oak, known for its durability. What magnificent power. John watched with a somewhat faraway gaze and endeavored to understand his boss’s eccentric behavior in an objective way.
He could probably even make a living as a baritsu instructor.
“Ah. That said, you know, the sole survivor was apparently burned before he knew it.”
“Mr. John” feigned a sigh, all but saying he had plugged his ears because he knew he would be screamed at.
John had known Habergram for a long time. As a result, he also knew what might calm the man down a little.
“The survivor is in an extremely precarious condition. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’ll be able to hold out much longer. He only finally spoke just a little while ago.” John explained why they couldn’t question the survivor before being asked. “We have no choice, so I think we should send him to a facility in the Republic for urgent care to save his life and consider what we have, all the new information we were able to get. I don’t think we can expect a follow-up report.”
He knew, however, that these words would have very little tranquilizing effect on Habergram, who was practically exploding with rage.
“Thanks to the fires, there are no documents left. Everything’s vanished.”
To put it plainly, the results of their investigation were not good. All the classified documents they had collected had burned up. The loss of veteran agents who might have discovered something was also huge. The only thing they had managed to learn from the Republican survivor was that they had been burned up before they even realized what was going on.
Anyhow, in exchange for that meager piece of intelligence, they were now stuck writing letters explaining that all the personnel they had dispatched “died in an accident during training.” And at this rate, they would have to blame someone for this huge accident and somehow fake it in a believable way.
The human loss was too major to brush off. On top of that, the questioning of the survivors was not going well.
“…How? How is it that a station so secret you can’t even tell me about it gets targeted and attacked by imperial mages?!”
Agh, if there was ever a headache worth griping to the heavens for, this is it.
Now even John was being suspected. He had to sigh.
Is that any way to talk to an old man who’s ground his bones down with hard work? Has the boss finally succumbed to paranoid delusions? John had to wonder for a moment as he retaliated with a hard stare.
But faced with Habergram’s impatient return stare that confidently asked, Got a problem with that? John was the first to back down. Well, with such serious suspicion that we have a mole, everyone will be under scrutiny.
Not many people knew, but the Commonwealth’s intelligence agency had been suffering a streak of failure. There were just too many “unfortunate coincidences.”
It may have been an unfortunate tragedy that the section dispatched to the Entente Alliance got shelled into oblivion along with their observation post. When the imperial mages unexpectedly encountered the Entente Alliance fleet, it was possible that their stray shots just happened to concentrate on one spot—even if, in a turn of bad luck, someone the Commonwealth was doing its utmost to protect happened to be in that location. Probability theory showed that it wasn’t impossible.
And the subsequent discovery of their submarine was also theoretically possible. Given the nature of boats, the chances were nonzero.
In other words, even if they could declare the chances were too low for mages to have possibly encountered ships at sea, it was not unheard of. Thus, the current silencing of any discussion regarding the cargo due to confidentiality concerns might have been the result of the product of an unfortunate coincidence.
So yes, one could argue those cases were bad luck, despite the astronomical odds. Then this happened.
When people voiced suspicions that perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence, that it could have been a leak, an investigation was only a matter of course. Naturally, in order to conduct such an investigation, it was necessary to keep secrets. So the Commonwealth’s intelligence cooperated in utmost secret with the Republic’s intelligence agency. The secret facility where they worked together was extremely well protected.
Of all the things that could happen in the great big world, perhaps imperial mages just happening to also attack that facility during an assault on headquarters was just one more possibility.
Well, coincidences are just horrible—horrible enough that it wouldn’t be strange to discover a mole in the Commonwealth… There John stopped thinking.
Frankly, what they needed was a realistic plan of action, not idle speculation.
It may have been an unbelievable story, but if it was a coincidence, he had to prove it as such or the specter of suspicion would torment him forever. If it wasn’t a coincidence, there had to be an awfully big mole scrabbling around. If that was the truth, he had to shine a light on it and drag it out.
“Well, all we can do is make an inquiry.”
“…But we’ve done that several times.”
Hmm. Maybe moles can burrow unexpectedly deep. Should we look even if we have to dig? John adjusted his appraisal of the spy. “I’ll see what I can find.”
It’s a bother, but maybe I should shake down the Home Office, too.
He revised his plans in his head. If he was looking for a mole, he had to consider the possibility of leaks from other departments, too. Sadly, he didn’t have much time.
The collapse of the Rhine front was coming. All military specialists agreed. Incidentally, “Mr. John” didn’t have any issue with that judgment, either. It was more about whether he had time for a leisurely mole hunt or not.
John was the type who knew his limits. In other words, when something was impossible, he thought, Mm, yeah, this is probably impossible.

JUNE 18, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, OVER THE OUTSKIRTS OF PARISII
If I must confess my emotions at this moment, honestly, I’m feeling absolutely refreshed.
Good morning. Or perhaps “hello”? “Good night”? I’m not sure which greeting is appropriate, but I’m not averse to wishing everyone good day with a smile.
On the contrary, I’ll smile and send a greeting to not only the people of our beloved Empire but everyone in the whole world—straight from the imperial Rhine lines where we continue mopping up enemy.
Yes, thinks Tanya, relaxing her lips into a gracious smile and recalling the moment they crossed the wasteland below. That is what used to be the Rhine front. The abundant greenery, the brooks that used to be resting places, all shelled into nothing. Nothing but the desolate remnants of trenches remain.
I was here with my fellow soldiers, and some of them are here still, their bleached skeletons buried beneath the earth. After crossing that bony soil, luring in the main forces of the Republican Army, and then encircling and annihilating them, there is nothing to stop us on the road to Parisii.
Yes, we’re advancing on the escargots’ Parisii. Now that ending the war with our own hands is more than just a dream, the scenery is so wonderful it makes me want to praise the Reich, crown of the world.
Was this as expected? Or was it strange that there was no resistance? The mage vanguard only makes contact with Republican forces on the outskirts of the city. But what luck—they manage to acquire the railroads intact, so they even have heavy artillery.
That makes the advance a bit sluggish, but all the officers of the Imperial Army, including Tanya, believe that the attack will continue unhindered and that the capture of the city is only a matter of time.
That scene, in a way, is something not just Imperial Army officers but officers from any army have dreamed of. The attack is so glorious that a competition even begins to see who can be the first to storm into the enemy nation’s capital.
And then the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, part of that vanguard who reached the outskirts of Parisii, finally finds some Republican soldiers prepared to defend their capital to the death.
From above, it looks like it must be mainly units that were garrisoned in Parisii. What she can see seems like about two divisions—infantry divisions bearing no similarity to the armored or mechanized varieties. From the dearth of young people, she infers that these units must be mainly an emergency mobilization of reserves.
Though the army is currently building trenches in the suburbs, behind them, the city streets and their pristine rows of buildings seem to remain entirely untouched by field engineers—at least, as far as she can tell from the positions being constructed below her.
…They should have at least dismantled some structures, to give themselves a clear line for their defensive fire, and blown up bridge pillars, but they didn’t.
Too bad for the guys who were emergency mobilized, but apparently they were being made to defend the city from the outskirts because the government was hesitant to wage urban warfare in the capital.
“…Those poor guys. They really lost the boss lottery. I—or rather, the Imperial Army in general—we’re extremely blessed in comparison.”
…Or maybe if they had been trained appropriately and holed up in sturdy, entrenched defensive positions with heavy artillery backup they would have managed to be a threat.
As it is… Tanya chuckles to herself.
A mere two divisions won’t be enough to stop the tide of an Imperial Army fresh off its victory on the Rhine lines. The Republicans actually are pitiful for having a superior officer who would order something so ridiculous. On that point, Tanya is glad to be blessed with mostly good human relations, beginning with General von Zettour, but really from the bottom on all the way up.
“Fairy 01 to CP. It’s just as we heard. Infantry two divisions strong are constructing defensive positions.”
“Roger. Support the armored division until they arrive.”
Lately, we’re getting lots of easy jobs—it’s great.
Just as she was thinking that, Intelligence had hit them with some enemy intel that could actually prove to be a threat: The Republican Army was building defensive lines around the periphery of Parisii. On top of that, multiple other divisions seemed to be gathering to defend the city. That has been the big news for a little while now.
Thanks to that, our plans to stand by got changed to a mission of recon and anti-surface attacks. It was news that suddenly made me wonder if I should I be happy about the additional pay or bemoan the reduction in vacation.
But, Tanya mentally murmured, looking at my current situation, I should celebrate receiving such an easy task with odds in my favor. I might even earn a bonus.
“Fairy 03 to 01. Data input complete. I’ve sent the observations to the artillery.”
“Fairy 01, roger. Now focus on observing.”
Normally, observers face the most enemy interference, but with none of that, the sky is calm. Considering that over Norden the Entente Alliance mages managed to give us hell, it’s surprisingly calm.
That’s how truly peaceful it is out here. Aside from the occasional explosion on the surface sending up smoke, the sky is blue—it’s a fine sunny day.
And as such, it was pitiful how wimpy the normally terrifying anti–air fire was. Anti–air cannons generally stick out on the surface, but Tanya and the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion didn’t spot a single one.
Those Republican numbskulls probably thought installing cannons in their city would tarnish its beauty. Or maybe they didn’t want to alarm the citizenry by intimating that the battlefield would come so close. In any case, as far as Tanya and her unit can tell, the enemy is extremely weak in anti–air fire.
Even flying through, all they spot are a few 40 mm machine guns. There are none of the terrible 127 mm cannons.
On top of that, there’s no sign of what would usually be the mages’ first targets, heavy artillery. Actually, the greatest firepower they see on the battlefield is an outdated field gun. The trickiest to deal with will be the mortars issued to the infantry. Long story short, the battlefield has relatively little enemy artillery.
In close-quarter combat, heavy artillery would have too high a chance of accidental friendly fire; given that the most firepower a foot soldier can use under those circumstances is the mortars, then that’s what they need to be careful of… To put it another way, though, that means there’s nothing else to worry about.
After all, to a mage, that’s not enough firepower to constitute a threat. As long as they’re in the air, it can’t do much of anything to them.
“Fairy 03 to all units. Be aware of the artillery’s firing lines.”
Actually, grumbles Tanya in her mind, the worst thing that can happen to us now is being mistaken as the enemy by our own guns. As it stands, the only thing to do is roll our eyes and trample them.
I don’t want to be blown away by friendly 180 mms. Tanya should be in the safe zone, but she decides to fly higher just in case.
Her altitude adjustment isn’t enough to cause her to lose sight of movements on the ground. Luckily, visibility is great; there are hardly any clouds. I’ll just enjoy my view of the imperial mages forged on the Rhine lines firing away at the Republicans and their 80 mm field guns.
The range of a 180 mm is very different from an 80 mm, so I’m sure things will develop in a one-sided way. We have them literally outranged. That should make this quite easy.
Since we’re on an anti-surface strike mission, not a bombing mission, we’re heavily armored, which weighs us down a bit, but this is just one of those times you have to bear it.
To be safe, we assumed the dregs of the Republican Army’s mages would intercept, so if spotting artillery fire was too dangerous, the plan was to throw a ton of grenades on the ground troops’ heads and move in for a hand-to-hand fight.
So we loaded up on potato mashers, but now the artillery is going to handle the ground forces, so we have no use for them. That said, I can’t cast off ammunitions bought with the nation’s money just because they’re heavy—although maybe I could make the excuse that I needed to be lighter in case of hand-to-hand combat with enemy mages.
Ultimately, since no enemy mages appear, there’s nothing to do but observe for the artillery carrying all this heavy stuff.
…So did General von Rudersdorf misread the situation?
“Fairy 01 to HQ. We’ve acquired the designated airspace. No resistance. No enemy mages in sight.”
Yes, the Imperial Army has been advancing smoothly, but if we can really march right into Parisii with no resistance, something is off.
Well, but there is some resistance. But it’s difficult to understand why they aren’t gathering all their remaining troops for a mass effort.
Like, we’re circling above the enemy capital with good visibility! This isn’t just unexpected; it’s unbelievable. It’s so empty here it would feel more realistic to suspect we’re getting lured into some kind of trap.
Nothing about this is what you would expect.
Usually, this airspace would be tightly secured. It’s easy for mages to conceal themselves for an ambush. That’s why we performed recon-in-force on the Rhine lines, to drag them out of their lair.
Our goal this time in Parisii was to draw the defensive units out by running attack missions on them, but…strangely, there’s no sign of them anywhere. Even if there aren’t any conspicuous measures like anti–air cannons, there have to at least be some mages. That’s what we’re all thinking, and I can hear people warning about the possibility of an ambush.
If the Republican Army tried to fly over the imperial capital, there would be a hell of an interception.
We were sure this whole area would be ready to saturate the sky with anti-mage fire that could penetrate defensive shells and protective films.
The troops accepted that forecast with next to no objections. They’d learned on the Rhine lines how stubborn the Republican troops are, so it was only natural. But here we are with not a single shell coming at us. Unless a majority of the enemy are believers in passive resistance, they must just not be here.
In that case, it starts to feel like we really took out the Republic, but at the same time, a total lack of anti–air fire is kind of eerie. Are there a bunch of characters loyal to their duty holed up somewhere, waiting to blow themselves up to take us with them?
No, this is their capital. They aren’t so politically blasé that they would blow it up themselves.
“HQ, roger. Keep observing impacts and stay on your toes.”
But though that may be bothering me, I have to focus on other things right now. The army wants to avoid urban warfare; they’d rather obliterate the city before the enemy can hole up in it. I have no objections to that. You could say they have the right intentions.
Rather than fighting a tricky urban battle and sweeping through each area in turn to wipe out the enemy, it’s much easier to surround and annihilate them. Above all, it’s effective.
But if we take the time to blast the city with our artillery, we risk letting them escape. Or it’s possible that units will drop out of the fight and begin withdrawing. In that case, someone will have to cut off their retreat in the rear.
Naturally, if there are no other airborne units, the mages will be put in that role. If we’re unlucky, my unit might be sent on a mission to drop in and attack them.
Of course, this is much better than being in the trenches.
That said, getting jumped in a city in the middle of enemy territory doesn’t sound like much fun. It’s obvious that the best would be to not have to do it.
All we can do is pray the artillery gets the enemy movements and terrain down and does their thing. Well, and I guess we should consider if anti-surface supporting fire would discourage a retreat.
“Fairy, roger. We’ll be on guard.”
We made it this far without getting Dunkirked. Once we win the war, I should be able to enjoy the rest of my life. Tanya is extra vigilant precisely because they are fighting a winning battle.
If you don’t survive until the end, you don’t get to partake in the victory. I don’t want to get injured during my final missions.

JUNE 19, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE REPUBLIC, DEPARTMENT OF FINISTÈRE, BREST NAVAL BASE
The Imperial Army had breached the defensive lines outside the capital and entered the urban area, and the report stating as such reached the naval base at Brest promptly. Vice Minister of both Defense and the Armed Forces, Major General de Lugo had complicated feelings about the awful news.
Though he had been expecting the notice, to actually get it was incredibly irritating.
He was the one who had drafted the plan for just this sort of scenario, but he had only done so shamefully, weeping inside.
A plan to withdraw from the continent…
No other job in his life was so humiliating as drawing up this plan. Major General de Lugo had walked the path of light during his time as a proud Republican soldier, and now he felt utterly disgraced. Even more than that, however, he was filled with anger.
So many soldiers, his brothers, had died believing in the glory of the Republic. It was because of their voluntary efforts that they had been able to draw the Imperial Army’s attention to the capital.
He knew that the time they were giving their all to buy would do more than anything else to keep the pulse of the Republic beating, so he couldn’t waste a moment of it.
But as a Republican soldier, he couldn’t help but feel disheartened. Shouldn’t I be there lined up with my brothers-in-arms? The conflict plagued him.
As a commander, though, he knew he had to lock those feelings up deep inside. Everyone was carrying the same burden.
Which was precisely why he couldn’t undermine the importance of fighting through. He had managed to gather all the ships he could at the Brest naval base in the department of Finistère without the Empire noticing.
To make the most of the opportunity, they were departing packed full of heavy armaments and resources, from the common to the scarce, in addition to many soldiers. The land and people they were meant to protect they left behind.
The collapse of the Republican Rhine Army Group was more than the fall of a mere army group. It meant the Republic’s home army had been virtually annihilated. That is to say, the Rhine Army Group included the majority of the home army units, and most of them had been lost. All that was left in the Republic’s home country was a vast, empty military organization and the stunned bureaucrats at the top. Most of the combat units critical for the fatherland’s protection had been lost in no time. That meant there was no longer an army standing in the Empire’s way.
When the issue of how to reorganize the lines in the battle with the Empire to patch the gigantic hole came up, it seemed like collapse would be impossible to avoid. The Republican government and military leaders were prepared to mobilize every last unit along with Commonwealth assistance, though, frankly, some knew that it was only delaying the inevitable.
One of them was Vice Minister of Defense, Major General de Lugo, and though he was executing the plan to abandon their home territory, he certainly had more than the standard reservations about it.
Logically, if they had built trenches and put artillery and soldiers in them, the lines could have been protected.
He knew that was a reasonable thing to order.
But the hole ripped in the front was so gigantic that units that could have held the line had been erased from their formation forever, not to mention the loss of munitions and the heavy artillery. Having lost the majority of their war production and other heavy industry capabilities, they wouldn’t be able to sustain the same level of consumption as before.
But still.
If we could have gotten a hand from our allies. If the Commonwealth had only hurried up and intervened two weeks ago. Or even ten days ago. If only their forces could have made land by the time the Republican Army’s central forces were getting surrounded and annihilated…
If the expeditionary force had arrived and fought a delaying battle, maybe there would have been enough time to prop up a new front line. Even if they couldn’t save the entire army, maybe they could have gotten some units out of the encirclement.
Having thought that far, de Lugo had no choice but to recognize that nothing good would come of going any further.
It was too late now. Anything else would be of as little use as crying over spilled milk.
The glorious main forces of the Republic were forever lost to the possibility of reorganization. Their home territory would be trampled beneath the loathsome Imperial Army’s boots. That damnable prediction was now an inescapable future.
“…How’s progress?”
He switched gears to dismiss the thoughts of missed chances.
The Imperial Army had wiped out their trained and outfitted elites. Forged in the endless combat on the foremost Rhine line, they were literally the best the Republican Army had. It was an utter shame to lose them. Sadly, the Republic would probably never, not during this war or any other, be able to muster a group of such elite soldiers ever again.
But the Republic still had a fair amount of men left, if it brought them all together. In their vast colonial holdings, they had troops and a wealth of natural resources. Of course, scattered as they were, they were only targets for slaughter or surrender and disarmament.
However—however… This also meant that if the Republic could band them together, could harness those human and natural resources, it could safeguard a bright future for itself. And if they looked at it as a means to control the weakened influences in the colonies, if they could get the remaining troops out organizationally intact—if, in other words, they could preserve the cluster of troops they had, they could build an immensely powerful anti-Empire army.
If they bided their time, it wouldn’t be impossible to deal the Empire a painful blow.
“Armored Division 3 has finished boarding. A provisional brigade from Strategic Mobile Army Seven is boarding now.”
That’s precisely why I have to protect these heavy troops no matter what, thought de Lugo with a pained expression as he watched over the loading process below, practically praying. Armored Division Three was a precious asset, a tank division. And Strategic Mobile Army Seven was equipped with the latest computation, hot off the presses, as well as the newest capital tank model.
The combination of these forces was the blessing in this tragedy. That these two units had been in the rear training with their new equipment was surely unlucky for the front lines.
If they had been there, perhaps they could have saved the day. But if they’re here now, the Republic can still fight. The Republic had managed to preserve units that could combat even the remarkably improved imperial mages, troops who could fight on a level battlefield with the enemy in this new mobile style of warfare.
Most of the mages were already gathered, thanks to their mobility. Meanwhile, given how doubtful it was that Strategic Mobile Army Seven would even be able to meet up with them, the way they rushed over showed their fighting spirit and indomitable will—both rock-solid.
You didn’t even have to be de Lugo to be sure—the Republic could still fight. Yes, the Republic, as a nation, had not—by any means—lost yet.
It still had cards in its hand.
True, many of the Republican Army troops had been stationed on the Rhine front, and the shock of losing them all was enormous, but it wasn’t as if the Republic had lost everything.
In a way, maybe he was putting up a brave front. But Major General de Lugo still had fight and drive left, so he scolded his discouraged heart.
What kind of soldier leaves the fate of his country dependent on the goodwill of another nation?
A soldier who can’t save his own country is better off dead. They must stay on the lines of battle, fighting for the fatherland, their country, until the very end.
He wanted to scream that even if their opponent won the first round, the Republic would be the one left standing in the end.
So de Lugo wanted to gather all remaining forces in anticipation of a counteroffensive. He wanted every soldier he could get his hands on.
But due to the nature of the operation, he was up against every commander’s eternal scourge: time.
On the one hand, the longer it took, the greater the possibility the plan would leak. If that happened, the would-be core of his resistance army could get attacked.
On the other, considering the psychological effects of abandoning allies who were racing to be with them, he couldn’t leave so easily.
Naturally, the decision was pressing.
“…What about the special-ops team? When will they be here?”
It was under those tight circumstances that de Lugo was expecting the elite special ops team.
They were a group of mages created to carry out special missions. General de Lugo expected the strength and experience of Lieutenant Colonel Vianto and the others who survived Arene to be a huge help.
The General Staff knew, too, that if those mages managed to join up with the others, the number of options they had would increase dramatically. But it was true that waiting posed a risk.
“Their estimated arrival is in about ten hours. Since they’re coming from Parisii, however, it’s possible they’re being pursued…”
…If they’re being followed, worst-case, imperial troops realize we’re here.
If they do, all our work so far will be for nothing.
That was a fearsome possibility. Under their current circumstances, that would be unacceptable. Should we abandon them? Some of the staff, especially officers of the fleet, were of that opinion.
“…We’ll leave in ten hours. Mages should be able to catch up to us over the water, right? For now, load as much as we can in that time.”
“Understood.”
But de Lugo decided to wait right up to the last second.
He was making a gamble, pushing both cargo space and time to their limits. Yes, it was high-risk. But those mages were a valuable asset. If they could manage to accommodate them, it would absolutely boost the resistance’s firepower later on.
“More importantly, what about the route?”
“The latest check-in from Escort Fleet Two says it’s all green.”
And most crucial of all…
Luckily, the sea was still free of imperial influence. The Imperial Navy was confident they had suppressed the Republican Navy, but that was just barely true, under a limited set of circumstances.
They still had enough muscle left to show the Empire that attacking head-on wasn’t the only way a navy could do battle.
Furthermore, the Imperial Navy, with their objective of putting a check on the Commonwealth and Republican navies, tended to fall into the “fleet in being” pattern of thinking. It was hard to imagine them coming out for a decisive battle.
After all, with the Commonwealth’s Navy on his side, it was de Lugo and allies who would prevail. The imperial military didn’t seem to have much strategic flexibility.
“Telegram from Independent Submarine Squad Fourteen. No contact. The route is clear.”
They were lucky that the Imperial Army hadn’t caught on. There was no way ships full of supplies would be allowed to escape if they were detected. For now, at least, there was no sign of interference.
Given the way the imperial troops did things, it could very well be a while before they realized. Of course, once the escape operation was under way, they would figure it out. He was sure their pursuit would be fierce.
So they only had one chance. He was betting the future of the fatherland on this one venture.
The moment the cease-fire was called—that was their chance. The success of the operation depended on whether or not the Empire found the movements suspicious. Or whether they could distract the Empire somehow.
“Report from the embassy in the Commonwealth. The main enemy forces are busy monitoring the Commonwealth Navy’s ‘exercises.’”
Were they idiots? Or was it just business as usual?
The Commonwealth’s home fleet was performing emergency exercises as “surprise training” right on the edge of their territorial waters, completely distracting the imperial forces. Their fleet, air force, and mages were all paying attention to the exercises, which gave de Lugo a free hand.
Given that there were apparently no complications that would damage the gathered ships, the Empire must not have realized what was going on. Neither were there any reports of imperial scouts or suspicious characters in the vicinity of the naval base.
He didn’t want to jinx it, but the situation didn’t seem so desperate.
“…Good of them to assist.”
“Let’s get through this and retaliate.”
“Even if I have to eat that stinking Commonwealth food, I’ll fight through. Can’t wait for the counteroffensive from the south.”
His subordinates’ spirits were unflagging. The troops could still fight, at least. Even if they had to give up the fatherland to the Empire temporarily, in the end they would take back the land that raised them.
“Well, it all starts here.”
His resolve was firm.
Though he was suppressing his emotions, his voice brimmed with the spirit to fight the Empire to the last.
Major General de Lugo was a patriot.
He loved his country. He loved his fatherland. He was a firm believer in his country’s glory.
If the Republic was no longer great, it was no longer the Republic.