It’s so simple to say to “make toasts to victory.”
But…when Tanya’s eyes open in the bed in the house where she’s rooming, she grins wryly as she gets up.
Minors are prohibited from drinking and smoking. There aren’t any exceptions for that, even in the military. About all you can do is suck on some candy.
More importantly, this immature body cannot resist the sleepiness and stay up at night. Of course, this meant that Tanya went to bed at a healthy hour last night as per usual.
But there was another reason she left early. When their superior is hanging around, the troops probably feel like they can’t let their hair down. There’s no reason to keep up that tense boss-and-subordinate relationship even off duty.
Tanya was considerate enough to allow them to partake in their post-combat drinks in peace. As a result, she has woken up fairly early, but it’s a refreshing wakefulness.
That said, everyone else was probably up late drinking. Having slowly slipped out of bed so as not to wake her adjutant and orderly, Tanya reaches for the water jug herself.
No, she half reaches for it.
The moment her hand touches the ceramic…she suddenly notices an unusual chill.
“Hmm?”
Wondering if she has a cold, she puts on her cold-weather high-altitude flying coat, immediately feeling better.
Perhaps the temperature has simply dropped. Even for early morning, this cold is awfully intense. It’s cold even for fall. Almost as chilly as when I’m flying.
Am I coming down with something after all?
Should I have the kitchen in HQ prepare me something warm to drink just in case?
With that in mind, Tanya steps outside the house to go see the officers on duty. That’s when she realizes.
It’s strange. Tanya stops in her tracks, assailed by an intense feeling that something is wrong. Something has changed. Something has appeared that shouldn’t be here.
It’s…the color.
The color…the color of the world is wrong.
Everything is different from yesterday. With a sigh, she looks up at the sky, which is completely overcast and irritatingly white.
White. She freezes in spite of herself at the brutal color.
She recoils, but as her leg tries to take a step back, she forces it to stay still through her willpower. In front of her dance pale, delicate sparkles.
They’re fantastically beautiful. Perhaps if things were different, she could have written a poem about them.
But now all they are to her is a mass of fear.
She glares as if she can melt them with the heat of her gaze, but alas, she is forced to realize she cannot win.
Her clenched fist speaks for her.
If she could scream, she would.
She would abandon herself to her emotions and release the You’re kidding me stuck in her throat.
She’s been keeping a close watch on the weather forecasts.
Yes, even though the weather team guaranteed them two more weeks, she’s been requesting the meteorologic maps and going over them every day without fail.
But despite that, despite all that, it’s snowing?
It’s such a splendidly malicious present. It means the magnificent and most dreadful eastern winter is upon us. Everything will be covered in snow, which will turn to slush and eventually transform the terrain into muddy swampland.
It’s the worst season. When armies are forced to give up on the whole concept of movement and can only writhe in place.
Tanya glares up at the sky and murmurs, “But if the heavens stand in our way, then we’ll win against the heavens. We must.”
How many more nights will the Imperial Army officers be able to sleep without shivering?
It’s easy to deceive herself. This snow is unseasonably early.
She can also cling to the fair weather forecast. Tomorrow it will clear up.
But it’s meaningless.
If she can’t accept reality and face the terrible situation, all that road leads to is a dead end. She would scatter her bones on this rotten land after becoming a frozen corpse.
That’s an exceedingly unpleasant conclusion.
Anything—anything but that awful fate.
“…I have to survive. I have to survive and go home. I do and my men do, too. I don’t have any surplus personnel to hand over to that fucker General Winter or whoever.”
So Tanya sets off once more for HQ. She’s in such a hurry, she begins to jog and then eventually run. She calls out to the duty officers.
I suppose this is the usual.
“How are we doing on winter prep?!”
When Tanya comes flying through the door, her question is impatient.
“As far as cold-weather gear, we have high-altitude operation uniforms for the mage battalion, but… Colonel, I’m sorry to say that we don’t have enough for the entire Kampfgruppe…”
“I…really don’t think we have enough gear for the entire Kampfgruppe.”
Despite the party last night, Major Weiss and First Lieutenant Serebryakov, who are on duty, give clear answers.
“Hmph. Lieutenant!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Question the prisoners. Find someone who worked in acquiring clothing. Preferably someone from near this area. I want to ask them about winter and get their opinion.”
“Are you sure?”
It makes sense for Serebryakov to be concerned and ask that question. It’s definitely a possibility that such questions could reveal to the prisoners that we’re hurrying to prepare for winter.
But Tanya is able to make her declaration with confidence. “It’s more important to get through the winter than worry about giving the prisoners information they don’t need to know.”
The difference between a field army having countermeasures for the cold or not is a fatal one.
“The air fleet owes us a favor. Let’s have them deliver some warm clothes to us from home.”
“I’ll authorize that. Major Weiss, if necessary, use funds from the Kampfgruppe treasury. You can also use General Staff classified funds.”
“…Are you sure?”
“Of course.” Tanya doubles down. “What do you think those classified funds are for? Should I have used them to buy a ticket to my class reunion?”
“Ha-ha-ha! Like to buy your dress.”
“For real. We can have a ball on this pure-white dance floor.”
It’s as good as if General Winter had invited me to a ball—shells with a chance of plasma splatter as we whirl through the sky above this snow-white field.
How wonderful it would be to scream, Eat shit! and leave.
“Excuse the question, Colonel, but do you know how to dance?”
In response to Serebryakov’s tangential question, Tanya smiles. “I’m an amateur, and I can’t hide it unless I’m dressed up. So I don’t mind if I leave the dancing to the people who know what they’re doing. But no one knows how, probably,” Tanya adds in annoyance.
For better or worse, the Imperial Army is specialized for interior lines strategy with the assumption of national defense.
The winter envisioned by the army mainly deployed around the Empire is not extremely cold, with the exception of Norden.
“Anyhow, wake up the officers. I don’t care if they’re hung over from their toasts.”
“Freezing snow will be just the thing to wake them up from their dreams of victory.”
“I think it might be too effective…”
“While you’re at it, have the other officers discuss cold-weather countermeasures in their units. Tell them to maintain at least minimum field operation capability.”
And so, standing before the gathered officers, Tanya swallows her sighs and broaches the topic with her usual frankness.
“Now then, officers of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. Let’s hear your views on winter battles—if you have experience, that is.”
“That’s a good point… We do have a problem when it comes to winter battles.”
Tanya nods at Weiss’s remarks. Sadly, there isn’t a winter expert among even the seasoned vets present here.
“That’s true. Setting aside our old hands, even the ones from the Eastern Army Group have hardly any winter battle experience.”
“I beg your pardon, but since the Eastern Army Group had the Federation as a potential enemy for ages, you should have an idea, shouldn’t you, Major Weiss?” Apparently, Lieutenant Grantz is a smart-ass.
Well, when you’re young and inexperienced, that’s how it goes, I suppose. The horrifying thing is that the person saying this is one of the relatively experienced members of our Kampfgruppe.
Tanya and Weiss, who both sigh, must be worried about the same thing. This is the pain of the commander. Or of management jobs, you could say.
“I’m sorry to say, Lieutenant, that the winter I know is the Reich’s.”
Tanya nods that that’s correct.
“In other words, our defense plan mostly involved guarding our borders. It doesn’t take real snowfall into consideration. Even if it did, it would have depended on your location.”
“Oh, really?”
“Hey, Grantz, how much did you learn about winter camping in the academy?”
Weiss goes back and forth with Grantz to convince him. That said, Tanya smiles wryly. It’s no wonder he wouldn’t know how much Grantz knew about winter.
The accelerated course had long been the norm at the Imperial Army academy.
If it’s not something a soldier is likely to use immediately, the academy leaves off at encouraging self-study. The know-how for winter battles is surely one of the most undervalued subjects. For better or worse, the Empire was focused on protecting its own land… Expeditions were hardly worth the mental space.
“If we hadn’t spent a winter in Norden, then we wouldn’t have any experience at all.”
“Norden?”
Grantz’s blank face reminds Tanya—although he has the presence of an old hand, Grantz joined them midway.
He went through the academy after her and must have been on the wartime early graduation schedule.
“Oh, right, you were part of the group that came in on the Rhine. So you didn’t see any action in Norden, huh?”
“Nope.” Grantz shakes his head. For him, the Rhine was the location of his first training in the field. Though he’s flown over the Northern Sea, it’s undeniable that his experience is unbalanced.
“Then I guess we should have the people who were in Norden around the start of the war handle the prep work.”
“That makes sense. We should leave it to the people with experience.”
I guess this is all we can do, thinks Tanya as she decides to leave it up to Weiss. “Major Weiss, sorry, but I want you to get the cold-weather gear even if you have to use up all the confidential funding. I’ll give you Lieutenants Grantz and Wüstemann as support.”
And she can educate some subordinates at the same time—two birds with one stone.
“Yes, ma’am! I’ll try ordering as if they’re for the aerial mage units.”
“However you prefer. Oh, I want all of you to check if any of your subordinates have experience with winter battles or areas known for their extreme temperatures. If anyone knows some tricks, I want to make use of them. Make sure the other units do the same.” Then she adds, “Also, Lieutenant Serebryakov, I ordered you to survey the prisoners…but I’m not sure how well that will go. Their resources and experience are fundamentally different from ours. We’ll just have to be creative and do our best with what we can.”
“Understood. I’ll go get started on the survey right away.”
OCTOBER 20, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, IMPERIAL CAPITAL BERUN, GENERAL STAFF OFFICE WAR ROOM
When he glanced outside, it looked like fall.
Though it was late autumn, the scenery was still colorful. Not a bad season for puffing on a cigar and gently exhaling—poof.
“…Wish I could take Berun’s weather over to the front lines,” Zettour murmured unconsciously.
A clear autumn sky.
Alas. He turned his gaze back to inside the room where Operations staff, having gone pale in their faces, were shouting in a panic.
The cause was a single word.
Snow.
Snow was white and merciless.
On that day at the General Staff Office, the officers were so upset with the whiteness of their bread that they dunked it into their coffee.
White plains.
Oh, how fantastic, how lovely! As long as it’s not where our army has to be deployed!
Which was why Zettour and his friend beside him were forced to listen to the screams of the mid-career officers.
“Snow?! It’s snowing?!”
“Call the weather team!”
Furious, the staffers clutched briefcases; agitated, they shouted out changes to the timetables and marching plans.
The collapse of the weather estimates had a huge impact on the ground forces.
The General Staff had planned for a safety margin and anticipated winter that was earlier than anything they had set in previous years, so having an even more unusually early arrival of winter really pulled the rug out from under them.
“I thought we would have trouble avoiding a winter battle, but…Rudersdorf, we didn’t anticipate this, did we?”
“It came out of nowhere.”
Rudersdorf—his friend, his accomplice, or simply the man in charge of this room—sounded irritated.
That spoke to the mental state of the Imperial Army General Staff, which was in an uproar like a kicked hornet’s nest over the single word snow.
“They don’t even have the necessary equipment. Can you expedite shipments of winter supplies?”
“We’re rushing to make the arrangements. Supplies should begin getting to the frontline troops within the next few days…but only to troops within reach of the rails.”
Shoving his cigar into the ashtray, Zettour looked up at the ceiling with a tired face; he knew how important it was to prepare for winter. Which was why he had prepared for the worst and arranged for the manufacture of winter gear. He had the production lines working at full tilt. But he didn’t think he would have to deliver the items to the front lines this instant.
At this critical instant…
What they could send to the front were fuel and shells—essentials for the offensive. That and the horses and fodder Zettour and everyone in the Service Corps had arranged in a frenzy of preparation.
The schedule for the domestic railroad network was already timed down to the week, defying their limited transport capabilities in order to just barely serve up enough of everything necessary for a major offensive.
Now that had to be revised to get winter gear to the front lines while also preserving the supply of essential consumables like shells and food?
Frankly, the gravity of the situation was clear as the point officers of the Railroad Department under Zettour in the Service Corps hurled every curse they could think of at the heavens and then clung to the timetable.
But the Railroad Department actually had things relatively easy.
Those in charge of Operations had, up until yesterday, been given “a few weeks,” but that time had dropped to zero with no warning.
The Operations officers’ debate grew only more hostile.
“The central observatory kept telling us it was going to be a mild autumn…”
“It’s not a mistake or a fluke?!”
The reply to that wishful thinking was undeniable proof that reality was always heartless.
“The guys at the observatory have thrown in the towel. We have to just assume the coming of winter is an established fact at this point.”
There were grumbles, sighs, and a few moments of silence during which cigarettes were plunged into ashtrays. Everyone was gnashing their teeth in frustration and obvious impatience. A suffocatingly grave stillness filled the room.
“…Shit. We’re out of time. Have the troops evacuate.”
That one comment caused the room to explode like so much lighter fluid.
“The lines are already under as much strain as they can take due to our offensive! We must reorganize now!”
“Don’t be stupid! Are you seriously saying we should pull out?”
“We need to secure depth. We could compromise with a partial offensive and a partial reorganization…”
All those speaking were staff officers, the backbone of the Empire.
These men were military specialists, thoroughly trained with intelligence optimized to carry out their duties. And the Reich’s staffers, without a doubt, had no equals. Those men in pursuit of a single clear conclusion were forced to disagree.
Of course, it went without saying that matters of operations and strategy should be debated among people with diverse viewpoints.
“This is no joke! Are you serious? Are you planning on telling the frontline troops to just play in the slush?”
“Then are you saying they should stand by shivering until the snow falls? Why don’t you think of how we can best use the short time we have left?!”
And since both the argument to attack and the argument to protect had their theoretical grounds, the debate grew ever more emotional and the tone more distressed.
“Are you saying we should gamble our vulnerable supply lines on something as unreliable as the weather?”
“It’s a reasonable calculation!”
“How?!”
The logistics supporting the troops deployed on the vast eastern front were shockingly fragile. It wasn’t only the Service Corps who were forced to understand that but everyone in Operations as well, even if they didn’t want to.
The sporadic raids on the supply lines…
The attrition of personnel, the burden of transporting shells and other goods—it was like a hemorrhage that wouldn’t stop. Expanding the lines any farther would be a serious burden on their already overworked supply network.
That alone could be fatal…so with the added issue of unpredictable weather, the decision to stay put was utterly sound.
“If we act now, we can still advance! If we put an end to this before the transportation conditions worsen, there will be no obstacle to wintering sooner.”
But at the same time…it was still possible to advance if they acted now.
“Are you saying we should advance?! You’re saying to go forward without proper winter gear when we’re not even sure we can guarantee supply lines will stay open?! How do you expect our army to survive?!”
“If we don’t attack fully here, time won’t be on our side! Remember what happened with the Commonwealth and the Unified States! Strike while the iron is hot! What other choice do we have?”
The faction advocating action had a point. Time was not on the side of the Empire, their Reich.
Their national power was dwindling, and their working population was suffering serious losses. The last-ditch measure of having women work in the factories was now normal. There was also a serious commodity shortage. Even with a rationing system in place, the Empire was critically low on resources.
“So your plan is to run the whole army into the ground over this hopeless gamble?! If we don’t retreat, our army will disintegrate!”
“We can’t pull out now! Do you have any idea how close we are?!”
“If we act now—if we act now, we can advance! How do you know we’ll be able to break through the reinforced enemy next year?! We can’t miss this chance!”
The nation was weakening, as if it were being slowly tortured. Though the Imperial Army still boasted strength, it was impossible to say the prolonged conflict wasn’t taking its toll.
So a few officers had to point out that harsh reality in particular.
“The army is already disintegrating in the east!”
“We run the risk of wearing the troops down completely! Don’t underestimate the cost of delaying our move!”
“You’re saying to destroy our troops on a suicidal charge because some cowards are prisoners of fear? That is out of the question!”
Next to the table where the debate between mainly mid-career officers was heating up, at the desk positioned in the back of the room, the two generals letting their tobacco silently smolder exhaled their smoke along with a sigh.
Even the way they silently stubbed out their cigars resembled each other. Lieutenant General von Zettour and Lieutenant General von Rudersdorf.
But one of them was scoffing, fed up with their subordinates’ shameful behavior, while the other was so disinterested he wasn’t even listening.
Well, it was the natural outcome. Both generals had braced themselves the moment they heard the word snow.
As the deputy chief of the Service Corps, General von Zettour had already given his answer. Thus, urging his subordinates to debate was simply a form of harsh brain training.
The same went for General von Rudersdorf. As the one in charge of Operations, he knew they needed to switch gears to consider realistic measures.
It was because they understood the factor of time that they both gave their conclusions immediately.
Faced with the results of then tossing their conclusions to the mid-ranking officers, knowing it would do no good, Zettour had to admit he regretted it.
“We’ve got a hundred schools of thought here.”
After much debate, their arguments had devolved into mere opinions. And what made his head hurt was that the ones involved didn’t even seem to notice.
“When do you suppose they’ll realize that even if our answer isn’t the right one, it’s a waste of time to debate?”
“Hmph, it’s because Personnel is always picking these guys who think they are clever enough to be staff officers. We’ve reached a stalemate. Evacuating the troops is our only choice. Anyone unsure about such a crucial point is a second-rate officer.”
“Isn’t that just the irritating truth.”
Sheesh. This was what it means to want to lament. They’re a select group, and yet the Imperial Army General Staff is full of these guys who think they’re so smart. Unbelievable… Both generals disapproved.
But…, it had to be added.
To be fair, both General von Zettour and General von Rudersdorf were notorious for having the highest minimal expectations in the General Staff.
The two ravens of the Imperial Army boasting the greatest intellects…
Hardly taking any notice of the average staff officers, the two had already comprehended what the arrival of winter meant and begun their grieving.
“Winter came too early. Since we couldn’t predict it, we’ll have to put up with the accusations of incompetence and cope with the situation.”
“Yes,” Zettour agreed and then asked about something that worried him. “But after reorganizing the lines, are we going to mount another offensive?”
There was only one problem.
What they needed to discuss now was what to do after winter. On that point, Zettour and Rudersdorf didn’t agree completely.
“…What other means does the Empire have? We need a way to end this war. With the front so hotly contested, the chances of settling things via leisurely negotiation are slim.”
“If necessary, we could put together a plan to wait it out.”
Zettour said that was what total war theory was for. The attritional containment theory he and his division had been proposing assumed that major losses were inevitable but was otherwise quite solid.
A powerful munitions manufacturing network and self-sufficient economic behavior had emerged in the Empire.
So Zettour was sure of it. “We still have the freedom to act. There’s no need for us to limit our own choices. We don’t have to discard the option of a long war of attrition.”
“Logically, that’s valid. So I can’t deny it, Zettour.” There was something sorrowful about General von Rudersdorf’s expression as he let his cigar smolder. “I understand, but…,” he continued. “I know you do, too. The Empire is just barely keeping itself afloat. And that’s only possible because of the discipline of our total war doctrine.”
“Allow me to correct your misunderstanding, General von Rudersdorf. There are no obstacles to maintaining the minimum. At least not at present.”
“That only holds true for military supplies, right?”
“I can’t deny that. We’ve nearly reached the limit of what we can do to prop up declining food production. We’ve seen a rapid increase in shell production, but…the poor quality makes me despair.” Zettour nodded and acknowledged the truth his counterpart raised.
The main workforce producing the Empire’s agricultural yield was missing a huge chunk of its manpower, and the other critical issue was that the army had requisitioned all the horses they normally used for plowing.
It was none other than the Service Corps that had rounded up the horses they were using to transport supplies, so Zettour was painfully aware of the heavy blow they had dealt to domestic agriculture.
To be frank, the effects were worse than he had expected. In a way, it was their own mistake that they were stuck eating turnip after turnip.
“Expecting a long war is different from hoping for a long war. We think we should leverage our strengths to attempt a breakthrough on the operational level.”
“And I’m not denying that, Rudersdorf. But you understand, too, don’t you? It’s too big of a gamble.”
“Curse my incompetence. I hate that I have to gamble for the outcome of this major event in the Empire’s history,” he muttered.
Compared to the usual vigor in his voice, he sounded so weak. If you were going to give me such a trembling reply, you should have just consulted with me from the start…
“…Hmm. Well, come and talk to me if need be. But we have to start by preparing for General Winter.”
“Agh, that pain-in-the-neck General Winter.”
The timing was completely off.
They couldn’t hope for an offensive according to the army’s plan. So for the time being, the eastern front would enter what could kindly be called a lull. To put it unkindly…they would be giving the Federation time to reorganize. It was immensely frustrating, but there wasn’t anything they could do to combat forces of nature.
Not being able to make any predictions about the operation after the winter was exasperating. And on top of that, there was no telling what kind of attrition they would suffer during the winter.
Having to formulate a strategy under such opaque circumstances was…completely unheard of. How could they plan for the future when they didn’t even know what they would have on hand?
Still… There General von Zettour revised one of his opinions. There are infinite variables. But if we can define even one of them, it’s not a bad idea to nail it down.
“At this point, I’m going to get that proposal in front of Supreme High Command no matter what it takes.”
He was talking about the “autonomy” plan he had hit upon due to a suggestion from Colonel von Degurechaff.
He’d worked Colonel von Lergen to the point of exhaustion, but after the political maneuvering using Lergen’s contacts, combined with accepting the huge risk and fortune involved, he was beginning to see results.
It was tangible—Zettour could sense that there was something to it.
“The autonomy plan? I agree that it seems efficient, but—”
“Climax rhetoric, Rudersdorf! Listen…” He made his point as simply as if he was explaining a universal truth. “Rather than having an enemy country next door, it’s better to have a country that is not friendly with our enemy next door.”
“That’s for sure.”
“And a neutral country would be even better.”
“Of course. That makes sense.”
“In that case,” Zettour finishes as if he’s proposing an evil scheme, “the best for the Reich would be a friendly country that has interests aligned with ours.”
“Are you planning on becoming a midwife or something? That’s terribly commendable…” His friend smiled, and Zettour smiled back.
He wasn’t looking in a mirror, but he was sure of it…
My— Our faces must look so wicked. That thought suddenly flitted across his mind. But so what?
“If necessary, I’m not opposed. I’ve even prepared a place for the blessed event to occur. I’ll probably choose the godparents. Plans for the baptism are already set. Then if the government only recognizes it, our burden should lighten a little.”
“You mean the newborn baby will work for our side like a full-grown adult?” Rudersdorf scoffed as if he found the prospect ridiculous, but Zettour handily knocked him down a peg.
“Listen, friend. Even a little girl has been useful in this war. I’m sure infants and toddlers have their uses. At the very least, they can shield us from bullets.”
“That’s the worst argument I’ve ever heard.”
“Without a doubt. It’s absolutely despicable, and I’m aware of that. That being said,” Zettour continued, “I’m a fairly evil member of this organization despite my virtuous nature, and as such, I’ll carry out my duty as I must. All I’m permitted—no, all we as General Staff officers are permitted is devotion to our duties.”
They had pledged their swords to the fatherland, the Reich. On that day, the day they were commissioned, they swore to protect it from anyone who would do the country or the imperial family harm.
So if the fatherland deems it necessary…
Why don’t we, as General Staff officers, become as evil as it takes?
General von Zettour had even begun radiating an air of grim determination, so for a moment, he was taken aback by his sworn friend’s hearty laughter.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, in theory, you’re quite right. But you seem to have one amusing misunderstanding, so I couldn’t help myself.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“What are our dear General Staff’s staff officers famous for?”
The cheery smile on his friend’s face was also a dry one. But rarely had he heard something that made so much sense.
“Well, it’s definitely not their great personalities.”
“Let’s be frank. Shouldn’t we make ourselves known far and wide as eccentric, formidable, and cunning?”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Yes, you’re right, of course.” Oh, we’re already here? “Every one of us looks sensible, but we must all be unreasonable. All we have to do is use brute force to do what must be done.”
The lid was open from the beginning.
So hell will beget hell by our hands?
Shit.
It’s all too easy to accept this future he’s painted.
No comments:
Post a Comment