Youjo Senki - Volume 13 - Chapter 3.2

FEDERATION, OFFICIAL NAME: FORWARD OBSERVATION BASE / AIRBASE COMMAND

Keeping Operation Rising Dawn secret was taken very seriously as a matter of course. The Federation’s intentions needed to remain thoroughly hidden. With the exception of commanders, not even soldiers on the front line had been informed of the plan.

But keeping intentions hidden was not the same as keeping every sundry detail hidden. What mattered was the when. In other words, obfuscating when the attack would commence. There were many other points that were also best kept secret, but what mattered most was timing.

After all, even the biggest moron in the Empire could understand the problem was not if, but when the Federation would strike. Federation authorities had already been tolling the virtues of a “great counterstrike,” hadn’t they? And they had taken an offensive posture. Repeated, sudden drills. Unannounced readiness maneuvers. All sorts of other clever schemes to make it appear as if a massive offensive was on the horizon.

They weren’t hiding their intention to launch an offensive, only the crucial timing of it.

Spring? Summer? Such whispers were common in both armies alike.

But these rumors were wrong. The offensive was not so far away. It was nearly upon them.

At the very least, the commandant and the political commissar at the front knew the truth. Stationed on a wide, sweeping plain, this posting was officially a forward observation base. A variety of equipment had been brought in, under the pretense for surveillance.

The site was even referred to as an observation base in documents shared with friendly forces. The truth, however, was that it was an air base. The equipment, which base personnel thought was for surveillance, were items that could also be used for air control, in fact. Planes were taking off from the recently opened runway.

At the start of the offensive, they would send air assets to hit the Empire hard. They were constantly on standby for that fateful day. In contrast to the troops, who were enveloped in a celebratory holiday mood, those who knew what was coming had begun to gird their loins in anticipation.

Hence why the presence of a couple of snooping Imperial aerial mages was currently so unwelcome.

The Federation soldiers, who were placidly unaware of the real situation, thought that the only reason they were hiding was to avoid catching the attention of an apparently strong enemy, but the commandant, who knew the base’s true purpose, prayed that the two mages would not come this way.

“There is a pair of Imperial mages steadily approaching,” the officer on observation duty reported. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the commandant’s humble request was not going to be granted.

As part of the ruse, the site was full of observation equipment. There was no chance the signal had just been misread. The commandant shrugged lightly, but he would have preferred to have shouted, Go away! Go home! at the shockingly aggressive flight path of the two mages.

“Such pushy guests, and so early in the year.”

“Yes, Comrade Commandant. They are flying quite high as well… Perhaps it’s command reconnaissance.”

“This could be strategic recon, then.”

The commandant felt his stomach drop. He could not show such worry in front of his men. Despite vague assurances that “sprawling or not, there’s nothing much to see here,” in the back of his mind, he was painfully aware of the fact that two very dangerous guests had just shown up on the front porch of the area he was responsible for, right as the Federation was on the verge of launching a critical strategic offensive.

As the party mandated atheism, the commandant knew it was wrong to believe, but in his heart, he couldn’t stop himself from praying to every god he could think of. With a sigh, however, he was forced to admit that his day-to-day public disavowals had most likely left his spiritual balance in the negative. It seemed no blessings would be coming his way.

“Observer! Can you verify the mana signature?”

The observer stared at his equipment for a moment before shaking his head sadly.

“The library data is corrupted. I’m unable to get a match.”

Hmph. The commandant released a sigh. They may have had plenty of observation equipment on hand, but the delay in new parts had grown severe. Parts for the various pieces of lend-leased observation equipment, in particular, were in dangerously short supply.

They were not completely tapped out, strictly speaking. There was still some in stock. But as soon as it became apparent that there was a chance the supply from overseas might get cut off, all departments began fearing the worst and suddenly became extremely reluctant to lend out what parts they had. As a result, the number of parts reaching those in the field had taken a serious dip.

“I’m sorry. Equipment has been in bad shape for some time…,” the observation officer apologized, shrinking slightly.

Obviously, no officer would be eager to report that precious equipment under their care had fallen into disorder. There was always a risk they could be personally accused of sabotage, after all.

However, for better or worse, on the harsh battlefield, the Federation followed a philosophy of realism. As the commander displayed his displeasure, the political commissar lost no opportunity to intercede with a friendly smile and place a hand on the observer’s shoulder.

“Of course, our domestic parts still aren’t very reliable. You have my respect for doing the best you can under these difficult circumstances. Thank you, comrade.”

“Comrade Commissar?”

As the observer stared blankly, the political officer returned a warm, unguarded smile.

“Issues of mechanical reliability can be reported to higher-ups. Just as I, too, can carry out my own work. To be clear, I am not saying they must be; I am saying they can,” the political officer affirmed, tapping the equipment lightly as he spoke. “It is not your fault, comrade. This is an issue with the equipment that you were provided. In which case, it falls on me to inform the higher-ups.”

Managers needed to respect the experts on the ground, keep their work environments in good order, and protect them when necessary. To ensure the Federation was seen as an open organization, it was crucial that political officers fostered a sense of psychological safety through their bearing.

“Hiding problems and pretending they don’t exist is the much bigger issue. The party does not need simpering, flattery-wielding patricians but good, hardworking, honest proletariats.”

Internally, the political officer added what he could not say out loud. Federation Army aside, the leaders of the party detested mages. This fact was so well-known that people on the ground were loath to offer up negative reports. What people didn’t know, however…was that, lately, the real anger on high was at the lack of accurate reports in relation to issues dealing with mages.

Once it was evident that the truth was being embellished, the Commissariat for Internal Affairs was immediately dispatched. Although accurate reporting might leave the mules at High Command somewhat unhappy, such reports would hardly be squashed. In fact, when appropriate, they might even contribute to evaluations when the time came.

The commissariat was so hungry for detailed information on enemy mages that they were even asking for separate, direct reports from political officers. They were desperate for every scrap of truth they could get their hands on. Hiding information because it was inconvenient would only lead to death. There was no shooting the messenger. On this topic, at least.

Still. The political officer and the commandant made eye contact.

“The Krauts are certainly aggressive. What do you think, comrade?”

“Yes, they seem very insistent in their patrol, Comrade Commandant. Perhaps they are poking around looking for our whereabouts.”

The two were in tacit agreement. They only had one choice: to reveal their camouflage for the suspicious enemy to see.

With the exception of a few forward observation bases, the bulk of their army was in the rear, and they had taken careful steps to make it appear as if they were hunkering down for the winter.

A few of these units had already begun mobilizing, but both internally and externally, this was being treated as a typical supply and training mission. Fearing there might be spies, they had even been carrying out preparations for a casual New Year’s celebration, as a way to disguise their intentions from even their allies. To be doubly sure, they had asked inspectors from friendly forces, who knew nothing of what was going on, to report any suspicious movement, just to give themselves a bead on what enemy eyes might be seeing.

The risk of having their cover blown was low. More dangerous was the risk of revealing themselves by doing something stupid.

“Continue to watch them closely. Once they come a little closer, see if Command can identify them with their library. After then…”

Just as he was preparing his resolve, however, the situation suddenly took a turn. Warning alarms began to bray from the equipment.

“…! We’ve got a large-scale signature response! It looks like a spatial explosion formula…!” the observer shouted, barely managing to get the warning out as the blood drained from his face and he went pale. The commandant immediately rushed to the desk and picked up the receiver.

“Warning! Two enemy command recon units conducting reconnaissance in force! Intercept! Case C!”

Regardless of their power, large-scale spatial explosion–type magical formulas have long since been seen as one of the most impractical battlefield formulas in the Great War. The height of recklessness. More reckless than heavy artillery conducting direct fire instead of indirect fire.

Artillery usually do their best to keep their presence hidden until their first shot. Mage formulas, however, are like a salvo to the world at large and are even known as “interference formulas.”

Meaning when one uses such a formula, they stick out like sore thumb.

And if the formula involves blasting an entire area with significant force, the scale of interference will only grow that much heavier in scale, making it easy to detect the source even from long distances. As a result, time is needed to prepare such formulas.

Even when forced with top-spec computation orbs like the Empire’s Type 95s or dual-core type 97s, these formulas still involve standing exposed for an extended period time and thus demand time to safely work the formula.

On the one hand, they are useful as a grand and flashy statement. On the other, however, their practical uses are limited, as they cause the user to stand out in a way that could easily backfire. After all, the ability to be detected from extreme distances makes you a sitting duck for long-range optical formulas. In other words, attempting a spatial explosion draws widespread attention and can force any nearby enemies to respond.

If one spins the formula carefully, diligently, and deliberately…that is.

“There doesn’t seem to be any jamming.”

With a nod, Tanya activates the formula. She tries to release it far into the distance, but…

“I should have guessed winging it wouldn’t cut it.” She sighs.

In the end, it is indeed a big flashy show. A massive explosion, yes, but essentially, all I’ve done is cause a large fireball to appear in a deserted field of snow. The Type 97 is a good computation orb, but it is highly lacking when it comes to power. Not that it completely lacks it, but tossing some snow into the air is hardly fair compensation for getting stuck in position and having all your movements restricted for several minutes.

“First Lieutenant Serebryakov. I don’t expect much, but…what’s the BDA?”

“Just a moment. At such a long-range and after such a large explosion, visual confirmation is…”

“Yes, I know… Hmm?”

I’m the first to notice. A faint response, coming from a distance.

“A signature response, maybe?”

“A signature? No, wait…”

First Lieutenant Serebryakov seems to pick up on it a moment later, but the signal seems different. It does appear to be a mana signature, but something about it—it is difficult to say—is unfamiliar. However, the composition reminds me of one thing in particular.

Of course…the dummy signal cooked up by Major Weiss! I think I see what the enemy is after.

“We did something similar at the Ildoan front.”

“The sudden ground-to-air strike against enemy mage troops, right?”

Exactly.

“Well, well, at last. Looks like the enemy’s real move is coming from below?”

A classic decoy. Drawing a combat maneuver, I brace myself for a cunning ambush. Distract with a dummy mana signal while the main attack comes from another direction. Despite having pulled this trick off myself before, it’s still possible to fall for the same trap when the shoe is on the other foot. At least, it is when you get caught by surprise on the battlefield.

A mental blind spot is all you need. I laugh as I roll up my sleeves. Too bad I already know the trick.

“Lieutenant Serebryakov, keep your eyes peeled.”

“Affirmative.”

As the first lieutenant deftly covers our backs while scanning the ground, I focus on the approaching signal. The faint mana signature seems to still be gaining altitude. Either the decoy advanced enough to rise to some degree on its own, or it has already been equipped in an aircraft. No… Scratch that. While it’s difficult to detect perfectly due to the residual noise of the spatial explosion, the signature suggests a vertical takeoff and landing.

Could it be an aerial mage? I can’t get a read on the orb’s characteristics, however.

As far as I can tell, the Federation’s computation orbs, while durable and possessing excellent firepower, are generally below average in terms of mobility. As they focus on accessibility, however, they are comparatively easy to use. They are also not bad in terms of survivability.

“But in turn, they’re supposed to be poor at stealth and concealment…”

With a defensive shell, protective film, and flight formula active all at once, any Imperial mage in engagement distance should be able to detect these mages immediately.

Real-world conditions don’t always match theories on paper, but if an enemy took off at a distance close enough to detect, I should be picking up a clearer signature… Time to consider another possibility.

“Does this resemble the signature from a Type 105? Or maybe someone not used to their orb… A person with just barely enough affinity?”

It could be an issue with either the quality of the orb or the user. My suspicion grows. This is smelling more and more like a trap. What First Lieutenant Serebryakov says next, however, boggles my mind.

“No sign of enemies on the ground. It doesn’t seem like they’ve got visuals on us, either.”

“Wait? You mean it’s not a diversion? They’re not trying to hit us with a surprise attack while we’re distracted?”

I already convinced myself this was the same trick we pulled against the Unified States mages. The shock of hearing there is no sign of enemies on the ground is immense.

“I was certain the enemy’s main attack would come from the ground below us.”

“I thought so as well, Colonel. But I’ve checked, and…I can’t find anyone. At the very least, if there are any enemies hiding out down there, there aren’t enough to even call them a unit.”

“A lone attack from a Named, then? No, but… Let’s get some altitude just in case. Climb to ten thousand. And let’s shelve the possibility of a surprise attack for now.”

“Roger!”

The two increase their altitude.

Even if a strike does come from the ground, the potential energy they have from gaining altitude—the difference in kinetic energy—will still ensure Tanya and Visha’s advantage. Taking the high ground is always a good thing.

High equals energy. On top of that, more altitude gives a better view.

“The signature still seems a bit far. The distance is unclear.”

First Lieutenant Serebryakov quickly picks up on the signature coming from ahead. Likewise, I begin to rescrutinize what I’m detecting.

Their conclusion is that the signal does not warrant caution.

“It’s a good thing we got a look at the 105s in advance. It seems like the enemy is pushing something similar as well… The speed of that climb is slow as molasses, though. Do you think they’re loaded with bombs?”

I’m pretty sure there are no bomb-equipped fighter planes in this world, either, though. And besides, when it comes to interceptors, climbing rate tends to be vital. As attached as they are to firepower, even the Federation is still bound by the laws of physics. Their requirements for an intercept squad can’t possibly be very different from our own.

The two experienced Imperial mages agree. The signal doesn’t make sense.

“Is it…a platoon? No. There’s more coming up after them. Based on the signature, it seems like a company of enemy mages. But the way they’re assembling…” Serebryakov trails off.

“It’s atrocious, isn’t it? And maybe I’m just imagining things, but they seem to be packed in pretty tight, don’t they? That would be a dangerous way to fly.”

“Maneuvering in pairs in anticipation of close combat is standard practice, but flying so close that you are practically holding hands just makes you a good target. Usually, mages try to strike a good balance…”

“This makes no sense,” I mutter. “As far as I can tell from tracing their signatures, their movements are sluggish… Maybe they just don’t want to fight. But then why head toward us?”

“Based on the signal, I don’t think they’re putting out much speed. But what does it mean? None of this fits…”

“I’m having trouble figuring it out myself. Maybe…it’s not a problem with the orbs or their aptitude.”

“This signal is too weak, either way. Unless they’ve got cloaking devices, it almost looks as if they’ve only got their protective films up.”

Despite her confusion, I smile uncomfortably at my adjutant’s suggestion.

“This is the Federation we’re talking about. Tough defensive shells are what their orbs do best.”

“I mean… I doubt they’ve had any sudden leaps in orb-deployable signal-blocking or concealment technology.”

“Yes, that would seem like a leap, wouldn’t it? But to enter battle with just a film and no shell? That would be like an open-topped self-propelled artillery gun charging a tank head-on.”

Aerial mages adapt to their environments by deploying protective films, and then they clad themselves in defensive shells, as armor, underneath. Theoretically, film alone might be enough for flying, and if one is particularly skilled, they might be even able to make their film as hard as a shell… But for the average mage to do something as crazy as entering battle without their armor—their shell? It’s beyond comprehension.

“Still, the majority of those with magical aptitude don’t necessarily match those in our battalion. If the Federation is suffering from the same level of attrition as we are…”

“They might promote simplicity instead? It sounds crazy to us… Still, though, without shells?”

That would be like making an MBT without armor. Maybe if they’re using mages like self-propelled guns, but throwing them on the front lines like that? Anybody who knows anything about mages could see the problem with that…

“Anybody who knows anything about mages…”

Hmph. I consider my own words. For better or worse, the Empire is a mage sweatshop, aware of the risks it can get away with before needing to worry about how easily their mages will crack. The Federation, however, is new to this exploitation game. Maybe they are such amateurs that they don’t even know when and how to exploit mages in the first place? Never mind labor standards.

“First Lieutenant Serebryakov, this may actually be an unprecedented chance for us to learn more about the enemy’s magical combat capabilities. Let’s hit them.”

“Roger!”

If it were possible to see the future, that hastily conscripted compulsory magic unit may have very well bemoaned getting the short end of the stick.

Their commander had just returned from the gulag. The political officer attached to the unit was an ideologue. And the troops were all rookies with computation orbs newly thrust into their hands who didn’t know the first thing about magical tactics.

On top of that, the majority of them didn’t have any magical aptitude beyond what could barely be described as present.

Human attrition was slowly causing the Empire to drop its own pretenses, but even the Empire, regardless of how far they lowered standards, still included the ability to deploy a defensive shell as part of the minimum requirements for mages.

This was because the Empire expected mages to be able to fundamentally withstand aerial clashes with other mages. The Federation’s military leadership’s understanding of mages, however, went no further than seeing them as troops with magical aptitude. Beyond that, it was simply a matter of effort, indoctrination, and training.

Firm, clear decisions always derived from organizational logic. Free from assumptions, they represented a kind of possibility. In reality, however, such decisions could not escape distortion.

Leaders at all levels could not help but think of quotas. So when one layer of the machine scraped together whomever they could with magical aptitude to meet their quota, and then the bureaucratic machine took these personnel who’d been scraped together and formed a great number of magical units—again, to meet quota—and handed them over to operations. On paper, at least, the task had been accomplished. The mass deployment of newly formed magical units!

When putting these new troops together, there were naturally some in the Federation, experienced mages and others in similar situations, who naturally wondered if this was the best approach. There were even those in the field who had their misgivings.

But things had kicked off with such great fanfare from the top that halting trials, when serious results had yet to be achieved, was difficult—at least in an organization with such a rigid hierarchy. This was how they had reached a point where rookies were essentially being sent into the battlefield on their own.

For most of these troops, deploying a protective film and getting airborne was almost more than they could manage. For them, taking on a pair of Named Imperial mages—two thoroughly accomplished mage hunters—was just as impossible as it would have been for them to take on a whole company.

Those poor, unlucky bastards who flew up into the sky to intercept those two Imperial mages. The word flight was almost too kind of a description for what they were doing.

After all, these motley forces barely had time to even learn flight. They floated haphazardly like balloons, wafting about and managing only by hook or by crook to ready their weapons and point them in the enemy’s general direction.

On top of all this, due to a malfunction caused by electromagnetic interference from the earlier spatial blast, the commander who was supposed to be giving them direction had gotten stuck in military observer mode. Despite being in their own friendly territory, they were essentially isolated and alone.

The outcome was pathetic. A complete massacre.

“They were completely wiped out,” the political officer muttered, quietly stating the obvious, his tone of voice half-resigned. As mundane and unoriginal as this statement was, it had an effect akin to lobbing a stone into a sheet of ice.

The commandant nodded, somehow managing to force out his own equally uninspired statement on the matter.

“They didn’t stand a chance, did they?”

This company of mages, equipped with the latest orbs, had been placed in their hands—in the experienced commandant’s and the faithful political officer’s care. Well then, why not send them to intercept?

The result: The company had been annihilated by a single attack.

When engaging head-on, Imperials mages tended to open with explosion formulas in order to contain the enemy. This had been pointed out so many times, in so many reports, that they had almost grown tired of reading it.

“Which is why orbs capable of producing tough defensive shells had been provided as a countermeasure… That’s what it says on paper, at least.”

“Maybe the two mages were just very skilled.”

True. Between their smooth maneuvering, coordination, and the fact that they appeared to be engaged in command reconnaissance, they had likely been among the best of the best.

But that was why they had played it so careful, sending a whole company to intercept and overwhelm the enemy with numbers.

“This is more than just an issue of training. You saw, didn’t you? Even the enemy probably expected that explosion formula to only serve as suppressive fire at best. Our company was flying in such close formation, though, that they were immediately destroyed.”

Maybe it only seemed that way while observing from the ground, but the Federation political officer felt certain that anyone, friend or foe, would have been shocked by the sight. Even the enemy seemed to hesitate after seeing how a single explosion formula was enough to mop up.

The enemy’s probable intention was to toss out formulas to restrict their movements and close in for an advantageous dogfight. Immediately after firing off the explosion, the pair picked up speed, apparently accelerating for imminent combat, but once the company was eliminated, their maneuvers seemed to stall, as if they were in shock. For a moment, they continued to fly in a simple straight line.

From the Federation’s vantage point on the ground, the reaction was obvious to the point of being comical.

“There are so many issues we need to correct before we can even think about using our mages to fight the enemy. From an observer’s point of view, I’m not entirely sure our men even raised their shells. Who was responsible for putting that unit together? At this rate, these new orbs may as well be baubles…”

You’re not wrong there, the commandant thought, agreeing internally with the political officer’s assessment, but the conversation was starting to cross into dangerous ground. He casually turned the topic back toward the enemy’s movements.

“It looks like the enemy has finally turned back, at least. What do you think, comrade?”

“They probably don’t plan to advance any farther… Their recon mission must be complete. Although, the cavalier way they turned back is a little infuriating in its own right.”

“If only they had come in just a little farther.”

Internally, the commandant rued the fact that the two mages hadn’t advanced far enough for command and control to identify them. He tried to speculate on who the fearsome enemies might have been.

“They must be Named. Command reconnaissance or not, there can’t be that many mages of that caliber. Can there?”

The threat posed by the Empire’s mages was nigh legendary. In particular, the Named were considered especially lethal.

“Maybe it’s just what I want to believe, but I’d hate to think that’s what their ordinary, run-of-the-mill mages are like.”

The commandant sighed, allowing a moment of weakness. It was over now. He smacked himself on the face to clear his head. They still needed to get ready for Rising Dawn.

“We are less than amateurs, while they are adepts. The situation is far from ideal. But as long as we commit to compensating through operations, there is much that we can do.”

In other words, why play to the enemy’s strengths when they could seize the initiative and proceed according to their own rules, on their own terms, in the manner that was most advantageous for them? They had no obligation to approach the enemy head-on and fight fair and square.

“In the end, problems are best solved through steel.”

Our plan had been for recon-in-force. I knew the enemy might be rookies. I thought I accounted for their underwhelming aptitudes and even the possibility that they might not even have defensive shells up.

For once, my habit of preparing for the worst has turned out poorly.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

“And how… A single shot. Who would’ve thought?”

We manifested three explosion formulas simultaneously in order to check the enemy’s movements. Instead, the explosions wiped them out completely.

From Visha’s and my point of view, the outcome was so bizarre that we couldn’t stop ourselves from turning and staring at each other midmaneuver.

After all, the heavy armor of mages in the east is usually extreme. As a dual-core orb, the Type 97 can put up defensive shells that are fairly tough in their own right. The Federation, though, threw balance to the wind, practically adopting defensive shell strength as their mantra. Such technical advances mean that explosive formulas, which were once considered one of the most effective anti-mage tactics available, are now strikingly underpowered. Or at least, so they thought.

Explosive formulas could possibly serve like anti-materiel rifles, but they are basically an AT gun that is too underpowered to be of any actual use against tanks. That’s the limit of their effectiveness. It’s why veterans tend to use them for suppressive fire.

While we were opening up, I thought there was no way they actually had only protective films up. Will wonders never cease?

“That didn’t even qualify as a test…”

It was like plinking away at an enemy MBT, hoping just to piss them off, and watching an entire company of armor explode instead. I’m gobsmacked!

“Well, Visha, I guess you were right.”

“I know what I said, but I still can’t believe they didn’t have shells. That’s…just so…”

Poor, pathetic bastards. Enemy mages or not, even I feel sorry for them. They got thrown into the lion’s den, under the pretext of OTJ, without even minimum training. Disposable.

The labor board would have a field day.

“Colonel… Do you think the enemy might be running out of mages?”

“I don’t know. But if that’s the state of their intercept units, I can understand why no one thinks they’re ready to make a move.”

Both the Empire and the Federation continue to blatantly squander their human resources. They’re scattering the earth with what were once good citizens, severing the possibilities that these talented figures ought to have carved into the future, and forever losing the chance to collect payout on their long-term investment into well-disciplined and trained human capital. The impact is colossal.

“The enemy is beginning to wither as well. Maybe not at the roots, but at least at the ends.”

If this is a sign of deteriorating quality for the enemy, then the Empire, which still has veterans in its rank, is in slightly better condition. However, I understand that reality is not that simple.

“Their fighting spirit remains just as ferocious as before…”

To be honest, this is more troublesome than anything else. If I was in the enemy’s position, I would never want to be inserted into battle with that level of equipment and training. Even if the Commies stopped me from running and conscripted me against my will, would I be willing to go into battle with my life on the line with such spirit and determination? Obviously not. But the Federation soldiers—they have strange tastes. And I recognize the threat.

“An age of warmongers.”

The enemy’s inscrutable will to fight is vaguely alarming. After all, the members of our unit are fairly aggressive as well, but their confidence is backed up by actual ability.

But the enemy is who the enemy is. With a slight shiver, I’m once again reminded of the mess we’ve found ourselves in. But we’ve gathered enough information. It’s time.

“First Lieutenant Serebryakov, let’s start heading back soon.”

“Really? We could still go a little farther,” First Lieutenant Serebryakov says, indicating her willingness to continue their recon.

Very admirable, but I smile uncomfortably. I’m not interested in doing unpaid overtime.

“Your go-getter spirit is commendable in a unit such as ours that is always ready for battle, but the human body has its limits. Relax when you can and save the enthusiasm for when it is most needed.”

Resting at every opportunity is an important part of producing results. Just as using the talents of one’s subordinates appropriately is a vital part of management. If I don’t keep the environment up to snuff, how can I expect my little meat shields to do their job?

“Resting is a part of work, Lieutenant.”

“I got plenty of rest in the capital, so I’m raring to go!” my adjutant says.

She’s just full of vim and vigor, it seems.

“So you’re saying that while all the other officers were busy working, you were busy resting?”

“Of course not, Colonel. You know what a workhorse I am.”

“I didn’t mean that as an insult. You take your work very seriously, get it done quickly, and enjoy the bare minimum of labor like a true person of culture. Just as it should be.”

“To be honest, I wish we could have spent more time in the capital. I was genuinely shocked when they deployed us back here so quickly.”

“The decision came from above.”

The higher-ups have their own ideas about how things should be done. I know this too well.

“The brass probably wanted to deploy strategic reserves to the eastern front, even if only on paper. That’s what we get for being so good at what we do, First Lieutenant.”

Strategic reserves are a type of insurance, a necessary part of any plan B. You would have to be mad to do anything so foolish as to go into war without contingencies. Or maybe you would just have to be mad to go into war in the first place. But that’s a question for another time.

“Are you sure our Kampfgruppe is really being deployed as conventional reserves? If they are expecting us to deliver principal mobility and striking power in the event of a counterattack, at our current strength, I’m not sure that would work out too great.”

The Salamander Kampfgruppe’s fighting capabilities are presently rough around the edges. As rough as they have ever been. The mages were thoroughly exploited back in Ildoa. Infantry and artillery, of course, advanced together with the mages, so ammunition stores are on the verge of running out. Although, having any on hand at all puts them in a better position than some units. Regardless, even Captain Ahrens’s armor is on deferred maintenance.

As First Lieutenant Serebryakov fears, if we get the order to move to the front lines now, the men might have no option but to die valiantly. In short…it would be extremely difficult to describe us as being at full strength at the moment.

I’m painfully aware of all this. The shortage of artillery shells practically has Tanya tying her hair in knots. The higher-ups, though, have put their stamp of approval on the situation, deciding that, for the moment, this is not that pressing of an issue.

“We probably don’t need to worry too much yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“General Zettour is of the opinion that there will be a lull on the front for at least a little while, and—well, this all depends on General Laudon—but…the brass will likely do what they can for us.”

“That may be too optimistic.”

“True,” I say, nodding at First Lieutenant Serebryakov’s statement. I don’t disagree, but I thought it was worth putting the possibility out there.

“Well, we have confirmed one thing with our attack. Fortunately, perhaps, it doesn’t seem like the enemy is in great shape. Based on this, we can surmise we still have time to recover.”

The Imperial Army is in a shabby state at the moment. But the Federation Army, which put us in this state, seems to be suffering as well. That much seems clear. At the very least, the Federation Army is currently in no condition to take aggressive action.

Maybe that conclusion is obvious, but it was enough for General Zettour to take a gamble and uproot their strategic reserves, sending them into Ildoa. And the result of that gamble? As we know, the general made big bets and won big while there, likely earning the Empire a decent amount of strategic leeway. At least, that is my assessment.

“The state of Alliance logistics in Ildoa is as miserable as can be. On top of that, the current situation should give us strategic depth in northern Ildoa. We can likely expect Alliance reinforcements and material support to the Federation to dwindle for the foreseeable future.”

Meaning even if it is a battle against time—we are still all right for the moment. At the very least, there is no need to panic yet. This seems like a reasonable judgment to make in my mind.

“Considering everything, the brass’s assessment that the enemy will also need time to regroup does not require any significant leaps of logic.”

“But with the Unified States joining the fight, the situation must be serious, right? The Ildoan front will obviously get steady reinforcements by sea, but won’t the Unified States be able to do the same for the Federation as well?”

“That’s always a possibility… But at the moment, we seem to have them by the short hairs. We should be able to contain them for a while, at least.”

“Lack of freight ships?”

“Exactly,” I say, smiling in an almost devilish fashion. “They may be giants across the sea, but even giants need to come by sea before they can tour the old world. It goes without saying, but the bottleneck will be ships and harbor facilities.”

And as for the state of goods in southern Ildoa…now is the time for Tanya to boast of her own past accomplishments.

“And it’s sorry for them, but between myself and the Alliance, the ports in southern Ildoa have been thoroughly demolished.”

True, First Lieutenant Serebryakov indicates with a nod, but her face is still taut.

“So you see, Lieutenant? You can rest easy. The south is safe and secure for the time being.”

Yes, the time being. The unpleasant reality is painful clear. Safe, but only for now. This lull is temporary. And after that? The enemy’s near-inevitable superiority is systemic. And an enemy with such an advantage is almost certain to launch a counterattack.

Like anyone in the Empire with half a brain, Visha and I understand the self-evident future that awaits us.

“As for me, I think we should be retraining our units while we’ve got time to spare. Hopefully, the eastern defensive line gets strengthened in the meanwhile with reinforcements.”

“And while that’s happening, what should we do…?”

“I’m glad you asked,” I say, flashing First Lieutenant Serebryakov a winning smile. “The only thing we can do: dote on our soldiers and stockpile ammo and fuel as much as possible. If necessary, we shouldn’t hesitate to engage in training missions for friendly forces, either.”

“You mean we should train friendly troops?”

“It will be a hassle, and immediate results will be difficult to see, but last-ditch effort or not, there is no other way. Sometimes, you’ve just got to bite the bullet.”

If markets were functioning, we could have resorted to headhunting to get useful personnel. In war, with the exception of culling from the retired, all we can hope for is entry-level hires. And training is OTJ, as new recruits are expected to hit the ground running.

Any effect from Salamander Kampfgruppe attempting to improve training would likely be supremely localized, but if we could put new recruits coming to the eastern front through a serious enough wringer, it might at least create opportunities. And if those recruits happen to be hard-nosed, then we can push those noses to the grindstone. Maybe we’ll even teach the sweatshops a lesson or two.

However, it’s important to remember that people are stone walls. People are stone walls, people are castles, people are moats. The words of Shingen Takeda, which encapsulate how best to use people in an age of total war. It’s times like these that remind me of how important the classics are.

Speaking of which, it is crucial to delegate, after all. I turn to my subordinate and ask a leading question.

“How about it, Lieutenant? Care to discover the joy of teaching?”

“I go where you go, Colonel!”

“In that case, I expect you to watch my back. I’ll be counting on you to keep your eyes peeled in case anyone tries to knock me down from behind.”

“Knock you down? I doubt there is any hero out there who’s brave enough to dare!”

“You’d be surprised,” I mutter softly. Even in a world as supposedly peaceful and sensible as her previous one, those people exist. Those who do not understand social norms, rules, and contracts, those who will not hesitate to carry out even the most outrageous acts.

It is important to learn from mistakes. I now consider back insurance a necessary expense.

“Complacency is the greatest threat. I always want somebody watching my back. It’s simple, Visha. The enemy is coming eventually. This is what it means to be ready.”

“But putting aside whether they are actually coming…when, exactly, is ‘eventually’?”

“There’s no way to know the answer to that. Based on Air Fleet reconnaissance and the predictions of Eastern Command, the Federation Army is probably banking on summer or later. From our latest impressions, that estimate doesn’t seem too far off.”

My adjutant sighs in relief.

“In that case, even in the worst-case scenario, we’ll still have a two- to three-month reprieve during the mud season. Maybe even as much as half a year.”

“It’s difficult to say for sure…”

I shake my head. According to estimates from the higher-ups, we have at least two months. At most six. We can probably cram the basics into the first two months, then spend any remaining time on supplementary training. That could expand the scope of possibility in all sorts of ways.

It might not be the best approach to learning, but if we can focus solely on applied skills, breaking them down, and making sure that recruits learn the basics through repetition and cramming, we can expect a little.

If we do have a full half year, we might be able to greet the summer with a well-fortified defensive line. Even four months would be something.

“It all comes down to a race against time, but there’s still much that we can do… So long as the east gets those reinforcements, we can whip them into shape.”

Faint hope, and numerous worries.

With these thoughts whirling in the back of our heads, Visha and I make a U-turn and head back toward base. They use a designated air route and quickly arrive in their target air space.

Customarily, the location of the Salamander Kampfgruppe’s encampments in the east are generally chosen with considerations that differ markedly from those of purely military rationale. For instance, General Zettour might plop us down into a piece of impossible terrain and order us to “defend it with our lives” so that he can draw out the Federation Army. Crazy strategic deployments like this, based on the military logic of higher-ups, may be sensible from an army’s point of view.

This time, however, we are camped directly next to Eastern Command. Stationing a unit immediately next to Command that is neither command reserves nor under their direct control must be a nuisance. From Command’s point of view, all they can do is urge us not to get out of line.

Unfortunately, this whole arrangement stinks of a bureaucratic pissing contest. In fact, our position forces us to take a strange route back from the front, because we need to ask permission from Control to approach the area near Command.

“Ost Control, this is Fairy 01. Requesting identification.”

“This is Ost Control; you are verified. Permission granted to enter Command Air Defense Space. Any route changes?”

I answer the controller briefly.

“This is Fairy 01, no change.”

“This is Ost Control, copy that. Signing off.”

The transmission cuts off shortly. I glance at my radio and smirk.

“You hear that, Visha? Our allies appear to be as uptight as the Federation is laid-back.”

We had an easier time entering enemy air space than we did coming home!

“Well, we are resting our heads right next to Command… It’s probably normal for there to be a little hassle.”

“Yes. A little.”

A reserve force, on standby, near Command.

To an outsider, this might seem like the embodiment of pure military rationale, but contests over jurisdiction are no laughing matter. Besides, the root problem is that our assignment differs from Command. The Salamander Kampfgruppe is one of the General Staff’s pawns. The eastern forces are only borrowing us.

“It’s just affiliation. It might not seem like much, until it is.”

Any company man would understand. The Salamander Kampfgruppe is under the direct control of the General Staff. In other words, not only are we outside the eastern chain of command, but our deployment is also no more than a provisional measure. Which is why we are being subjected to IFF protocols even though our mana signals identify us as an Imperial unit.

“It’s still ridiculous, though,” I mutter, unable to contain my anger. “If the libraries were down, that would be one thing, but do they really need to interrogate us every time when it could be done automatically? What, do they prefer the risk of us getting intercepted?”

“If they’re willing to go this far, we should have just been stationed farther back.”

“Absolutely,” I say, agreeing with that assessment. As a middle manager, however, I can appreciate the concern of the higher-ups. I smile uncomfortably. “They’re probably scared to place us in the rear…and I suppose it would be a waste as well.”

What are the Eastern Command staff officers thinking? By and large, they probably want to keep us in their pocket in case push comes to shove. At the same time, they know that if they misuse us, it could lead to trouble, and so they’re trying to avoid that as much as possible.

“I guess the Salamander Kampfgruppe is like a soup bone at the moment.”

“A soup bone…?”

“Not enough meat to eat, but still a waste to throw away. In other words, until they feel like making broth, we’re just in the way.”

Obviously, we are a powerful combat force. A stellar unit that can produce huge results when sent into the field. But if they send us into hot zones too readily and we get bogged down or, worse, suffer heavy losses, the responsibility of whoever gave the order might be called into question.

“Any transfer sent in by higher-ups is bound to find their welcome a little…unpleasant.”

“Does the fact that we belong to the General Staff really matter that much?”

I laugh.

“As adjutant, I would think you should know. I’ve been granted an unusual amount of authority for a field officer…a mere field officer in direct communication with General Staff. When exceptional circumstances demand, I can even exercise leadership on par with chief strategists—that’s a level of authority that even allows me to interfere with Command.”

“That’s because you are trusted.”

“And that’s precisely why senior officers out in the field are so on edge. They’re worried I could cause trouble.”

“Are they? If General Laudon and General Zettour are in agreement, I don’t see why there should be any trouble adjusting.”

“Yes, that is an entirely correct opinion for a company officer to hold.”

It is also correct on a tactical level. I nod in agreement with First Lieutenant Serebryakov.

For field commanders, bleary-eyed and trapped on the battlefield with only two choices before them—destroy the enemy in front your nose, or watch yourselves get wiped out—a commander with a clear-cut approach is probably the strongest. One who considers consequences something to worry about after you’ve lived to see tomorrow.

“However, even if the people up top agree, the people on the ground have their own concerns. Or instead of concerns, maybe I should say turf. Face to save. Bureaucratism is the chronic disease of organizations. We can expect things to improve sooner or later, though.”

“Sooner or later?”

“It’s not hard to imagine why General Zettour appointed Laudon.”

I smile and continue. I heard this at the General Staff Office, but…

“Rumor is that the reason that General Zettour interfered in Eastern Command’s staffing and placed someone as important as General Laudon there, so early in the year, is that he is expecting big cuts.”

“As rumors go…that sounds pretty open-ended.”

“My source is two colonels in the Service Corps and Operations. We were having tea in the capital.”

“But…the information still isn’t certain.”

General Laudon’s record is impressive enough on paper, but more importantly, he was once General Zettour’s commanding officer and mentor, meaning Zettour can ask him for personal requests.

The Imperial Army is a relatively open, merit-based organization, but it is still an organization. Connections pay, after all.

Besides, there are plenty of exit strategies open to those who work in Command. There are enough of them who are ready to abandon responsibility to more than justify soldiers grumbling about command staff who have no intention of dying with their men. But with the bold and experienced mentor of General Zettour among them, perhaps staffers can be expected to shape up after all.

“The important and powerful must have their own concerns.”

“General Zettour is terrifically easy to understand, after all, isn’t he?”

“Visha… I don’t think there is anybody in the world as hard to understand as that man. What exactly is it about him that you think is so easy to understand?”

“Huh?” my adjutant says, answering with a broad, magnanimous tone as if she doesn’t understand.

“But he’s the same as you, Colonel.”

“The same?”

“You’re willing to do anything if necessary, aren’t you?”

“I’m…not sure how to answer that. Should I be flattered? Or are you suggesting that I’m simple?”

Seeing my subordinate hem and haw as she flounders for words is charming. Even shooting the shit in the middle of the eastern sky like this, however, we are still two mages at a time of war and are always prepared for battle.

First Lieutenant Serebryakov’s expression suddenly changes, as if noticing something. Her face goes from warm and friendly to the hardened expression of a seasoned soldier.

“Colonel, I’m picking up a mana signature. Directly over Command. Coming from one o’clock.”

Yes, I nod, having picked up on it earlier. But it’s good to see First Lieutenant Serebryakov was still scanning our surroundings while we talked.

“I’m aware. It looks like they’re hard at work as well… This is rough, though. For a combat air patrol directly over Command, their flying is awfully stiff. I’d be worried about their proficiency level.”

A platoon of friendly mages, giving off a clear mana signature, was currently patrolling in formation.

“At least they’re not as bad as the Federation guys we saw earlier…”

“As bad? Maybe not. But what are we comparing? These mages are right on top of Command. Those Federation mages were at a forward outpost.”

I’m not sure whether to bemoan the fact that Command’s security is only a platoon, or if I should criticize them for tethering such precious personnel to Command in the first place, given the dire situation on the eastern front.

Poverty ruins everything! I cry internally. This is the epitome of what people mean when they say a light purse makes a heavy heart.

“And we’re supposed to act as strategic reserves in conditions like this?”

The Salamander Kampfgruppe’s current formal designation is strategic reserves. Meaning we are the ones who will be called upon to put out fires when worse comes to worst. The eastern army may be trying to save face by not putting us out on the front lines immediately, but they’re still keeping us close so that we can be deployed immediately in an emergency.

Tanya is supposed to understand such niceties.

At the same time, I have my own ideas about how things should be done as an aerial mage who is capable of lording over the skies.

“There are far too many cheap tricks at play. Consideration is fine and all, but did those powdered wigs in Command forget that we’re in the middle of a war?”

As the name suggests, strategic reserves are a matter of strategy. If their idea of effective operations is sticking difficult-to-use units on the shelf as reserve units, are they really even doing their job…?

“In a pinch, will they even be able to make the decision to use us? If they’re going to hesitate, I’d much rather they place us in the rear to build up forces.”

When the house is burning, waiting to call the fire department is a recipe for disaster. Calling for a fire truck is the first thing a person should do…or so you would think. Unfortunately, the nature of human perception is that people can act in strange ways when under constrained, high-stress environments. Ways they would have never considered under normal circumstances.

No one would argue against the notion that, during a hail of bullets, running out from the safety of cover and into the open would be an inexplicably irrational thing to do. It would constitute purposely running from safety and into danger. But when exposed to such pressure, a few soldiers are bound to reach their limit and freak out.

“Reserving a dedicated force for counterattacks is fine and all, but…”

There’s no guarantee that omission bias won’t come into play. In the end, issues of jurisdiction are huge. What would happen when the time came? When decisiveness is required? Would Command have the grit?

Not everyone can be General Zettour.

“That would be frightening enough in its own right, though.”

“Colonel?”

“I was just thinking what it would be like if everyone in the eastern army was General Zettour. A whole army of Zettours! How terrifying.”

“If each of us were a Zettour? The unimaginable would happen, probably.”

“There would be tough times, I assume, but I’m sure it would all have a purpose.”

I sigh and smirk.

“I do seem to be complaining a lot lately. But I doubt I would feel so comfortable complaining to anyone else. Keep this kind of conversation between us, okay?”

“It would be my honor.”

I apologize and bow my head, while Visha shakes her own head lightly. This is no time to indulge themselves, however. A grimace appears on my face.

“Either way, we’ll need to work out details with General Laudon eventually, but for now, let’s just do what we can on our own…”

“The situation is quite tense. It’s enough to make you feel sick.”

“You’ve got that right.”

Flying close to Command affords us a glimpse of their facilities. We spot the gaggle of buildings, which appear warm and well constructed, and slow down for a tick. Our own encampment where we will be landing, however, is just an ordinary village, cold and drafty. I feel my bile rising at the sight of it.

“The cold is dangerous…”

Preparing for the cold is one of the most pressing requirements for enduring the eastern front winters. Our one saving grace is that this village was originally a Federation settlement, and while it seems to have been completely abandoned, the homes themselves were originally built with a fair amount of insulation… Though, they were abandoned, so the condition is far from perfect.

A tattered unit, in a tattered village. From the moment our unit arrived, we have been running ourselves ragged making preparations to winter here.

“And we’re supposed to be getting special treatment as General Staff’s precious strategic reserves,” I mutter absently.

She descends slowly with Serebryakov, landing in the very middle of the settlement. It’s not even a proper landing zone, just a clearing. Even now that we are on the ground, the area looks like a regular village. After all, we are still trying to get individual foxholes dug. First Lieutenant Tospan is in charge of that.

This incredibly run-of-the-mill village is almost depressing when viewed from the air. It is so underwhelming that I almost wonder if we should just abandon it altogether so that it will be harder for the enemy to spot us. Behold, the base from which we are meant to reconstitute our forces!

We might wind up becoming decent survivalists by the time this is all over, but whether that would be an appropriate use of our time is a different question.

“Should we take care to prevent the enemy from realizing a unit has reached this village? Or should we fall back and try to regroup, knowing it will cause issues with Eastern Command? This is our chance to really consider what to do.”

I lightly kick the packed snow where I’ve landed, my heart full of bothersome concerns.

Rolling my shoulders, I decide to get down to business. Even the command center…or whatever you want to call it…the simple command post, let’s say, is just another crumbling village home. Far from luxurious, even when considering that it’s only been twenty hours since their deployment.

In a positive light, at least it is camouflaged well. If I gave an order to attack this place, I wouldn’t immediately know where to strike. However, that’s quite a lot of mental gymnastics to find one minor advantage. Whether or not that is worth complaining about, though, is up to the individual, I suppose.

The real problem is the state the place is in.

“Hopefully, it doesn’t come down on our heads while we’re asleep.”

One of the terrors of trench warfare is the risk of being buried alive. But I never thought I’d have to worry about that while sleeping above ground… I pry the ragged door open with a heave. Inside, Major Weiss, who had been left to look after things while they were gone, greets her with a look of worry.

“Colonel, how did recon go?”

“It was quiet. There was no sign of enemies on the ground. They did launch an intercept, but…”

“There weren’t that many of them?”

“No, it was almost a full company. But they may as well have been lead balloons.”

“I see,” my second-in-command says with a nod, his expression relaxing slightly. “You mean the enemy’s skills are severely underdeveloped?”

“Not just underdeveloped—I’d be surprised if they had more than a hundred hours of flight time. Also, I think we should write a report on this matter, but…they only had protective films.”

As I share that detail, Major Weiss blinks. “Mages without defensive shells?!” he exclaims in surprise, the shock so great that the thought tumbled right out of his head. I know exactly how he feels, but it’s the truth. I turn the conversation back to our recon flight.

“Honestly, returning was the hard part.”

“You ran into trouble on the way back?”

“Pushy interrogation in the air defense identification zone,” First Lieutenant Serebryakov answers, looking annoyed. “Strictly speaking, we aren’t assigned to eastern forces, after all.”

“But up until now…”

We never had to deal with that. These were old friends in the east. Previously, they had been less interested in nitpicking the fact that we were a neighboring unit, and they were more interested in the fact that they were short on hands and in need of help.

Now, though…? I cross my arms. Perhaps this is because General Zettour lost his patience and sent in his mentor to shake things up.

“On the bright side, they’re just following rules. On the other hand, it’s a revival of bureaucratism. When General Zettour is in the east, it may be different, but for now…” I trail off, and Visha, who was subjected to the same interrogation, nods in agreement, seemingly exasperated.

“It’s an extra hassle. I know grunts aren’t allowed to think for themselves, but if they are going to be sticklers for the rules while not taking responsibility, there is going to be trouble before we even get to fighting the war.”

“It’s ridiculous,” someone interjects. “I mean, they’ve got to know the harm it could do.”

As a commander with combat experience, Major Weiss believes it’s a bridge too far. This is a man who’s been in the trenches. He emits a heavy sigh of exasperation in the cramped confines of the command post and suggests that Eastern Command should face reality.

“How can they be so stubborn? Who cares about a rule like that at a time like this? If they could just pry their noses out of their manuals…” Major Weiss trails off suddenly and makes a sour face. He starts speaking quickly. “Please don’t throw the past in my face right now.”

Previously, during the battle in Dacia, Weiss blundered, earning Tanya’s rage for doing things too by the book himself. But there is no reason to scold him about that again at this point. Seeing as it still bothers him so much, I decide to throw him a bone.

“Major, that’s ancient history.”

Major Weiss sighs, scratching his head and stepping back, while Tanya begins summarizing what they witnessed during recon.

“In any case, there were no signs of the enemy being on the move. Everything was quiet.”

“I was expecting a little more in terms of combat flight patrols or intercepts, but maybe this is it.”

“At the very least, it doesn’t seem as if Eastern Command’s assertion that things are peaceful and quiet was completely unfounded.”

However…as soon as I mention this optimistic assumption, my face sours.

“Something feels off. It’s a little too quiet.”

“You think the enemy might be up to something?” Major Weiss asks.

I nod.

“We can’t get careless. If the enemy were fools, we wouldn’t have struggled against them so much and for this long.”

If they were foolish, weak pushovers, then the Empire could have afforded contempt. But better to look in the mirror before throwing stones. That’s assuming you’re sentient enough to take a proper look, that is.

“We can hit the enemy, but they are fast learners. Never forget that. If we’re not careful, they may turn out to be even greater pragmatists than ourselves.”

An organization that can learn from defeat is more powerful than one that cannot afford to fail. Experience is the best teacher, but its fees are exorbitant. Although poor in iron and blood, the state never hesitates to pay those lesson fees when war demands it.

That’s why I remain skeptical of such a convenient situation.

“Is the enemy force actually stationary? The question merits careful investigation. Do we have any information from Command?”

“We do,” my second-in-command says with a nod, handing me several envelopes from a holding desk that had been placed in the middle of the wide space that was probably once this house’s living room.

“This is the latest intelligence from the Air Fleet. Even the newest reports agree with your assessment, Colonel. There are no signs of enemies massing. There are occasional signs of the enemy, but they seem to be hunkering down for the winter. As expected, there are no signs of them mobilizing.”

“Hmm? We have reports already? That was faster than expected.”

“Yes. Things seem to be functioning much more smoothly compared with last year.”

“I see.” With a smile and a nod, I reach for the envelopes. Tearing open the seal and peeking inside, an exclamation of wonder escapes me.

“Now this is a surprise. General Laudon, indeed! Look, Lieutenant Serebryakov! Aerial recon, with photos. Recent ones, too!”

Whether or not command staff are giving us the cold shoulder, this must be the doing of the newly arrived General Laudon. Working closely with Operations clearly has its advantages.

At the end of the day, for better or worse, work is work. It’s good that things are so cut and dry.

“Hopefully, everything is going this well, but I’m guessing that’s not the case.”

“True,” Major Weiss says, continuing his report with a sour look on his face.

“Regarding the suspension problems Captain Ahrens’s tank unit has been facing, news from the maintenance crew is worse than expected.”

“I was prepared for that, but how bad is it?”

“It’s not ideal. They were overexerted in Ildoa, and orders for redeployment came so suddenly. When we arrived, several units were already out of service, and well…”

Upon hearing the number, I can’t help but go stiff. Three! Only three of the tanks in the Kampfgruppe are currently ready for combat!

“That’s not even enough for a platoon. We may as well have been wiped out. If they could have just spent time overhauling the tanks back in the capital…”

If it was just a matter of Eastern Command being assholes and preventing us from doing repairs, we would be able to do something about it. Appeal to authority, appeal to connections, appeal to the greater good. Political strong-arming, basically. We could even lean on General Laudon’s sympathies via General Zettour. Or use Colonel Uger’s authority to force the issue. But when it comes down to a simple lack of function and facilities, there’s no point in playing such games. All we would manage to accomplish is cause problems for honest workers.

I sigh and stare at the worn and musty wall.

“Besides, even our sleeping arrangements are in a sorry state.”

The buildings might be old, but at least they’re insulated.

The risk of carbon monoxide poisoning is frightening, but we are mages. Always keeping orbs equipped and protective films up is a little straining, but configuring them to sound an alarm when carbon monoxide levels become dangerous is surprisingly simple.

Besides, manpower has already been stretched thin opening up the road between our camp and command. As real-estate properties on the eastern front go, we could do worse. Even if it is drafty!

In war and real estate alike, location is king.

“We are so obviously short on everything we need to fight a war that it hurts. Just thinking about it makes my head spin. And the more I think about it, the worse it gets.”

With a sigh, I turn toward Major Weiss and First Lieutenant Serebryakov. “We have our work cut out for us,” I say with a vague smile. “I suppose we have no choice. We’ll send Captain Ahrens to the rear to do what repairs he can. We’ll simply have to make do in the meanwhile. Lieutenant Serebryakov, I know we’ve just gotten back, but bring me a coffee. It’s times like this that I truly appreciate your skills. Major Weiss, would you like a cup as well?”

“If you don’t mind!”

“By all means,” I say, smiling faintly. “Two coffees, please. Three, if you would like a cup yourself, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Colonel!”

As my adjutant cheerfully goes to prepare the coffee, I turn my eyes back toward Major Weiss and begins speaking.

“Now then, I’d like to finish discussing work before the coffee arrives. You seem to have organized things well, but how are the troops?” I ask casually. The answer, however, comes surprisingly quickly.

“According to Lieutenant Tospan, a portion are ready for immediate action.”

“A portion?”

“Those are the units that didn’t receive replacements. As for units that did back in the capital, well…”

I understand what it is Major Weiss is hesitant to say.

“Understood. Please say no more.”

“Colonel?”

“Even a veteran unit won’t be any use when they have fresh recruits in its ranks that have had less than a month to acclimate. They might as well be a boot camp at that point, and that’s putting it lightly. Lieutenant Tospan is dependable, but I wouldn’t call him clever.”

He’s hardly the type of man who knows how to put new recruits to good use. As an officer, he’s very good at doing what he’s been told, exactly as he was told. Anything more is expecting too much from him.

Although, these days, successfully doing what you’re told is no small feat.

“My head hurts,” I say with a sigh, furrowing my brow. “We’re lacking infantry capable of conducting maneuver warfare. Not a good place to be in.”

We could make up for this to a degree with mages, but that’s assuming the mages have the time. Truthfully, the fact that we don’t have any other cards to play besides throwing mages in the mix is a serious problem.

“Our armor is out of commission. We don’t have any real options other than pouring infantry into the trenches. At this rate, if they attack as soon as the mud hardens in spring, we’ll almost certainly be swept away in a Federation flood.”

But once winter passes, we might be able to do something about this.

After wintering here, even raw recruits will become more accustomed to the eastern cold. That is part of what it means to gain experience. But there is so much training that needs to be done, and time keeps ticking away.

“On that note, Lieutenant Tospan and Lieutenant Grantz have submitted a joint training plan.”

“Let me see it.”

“Here you go,” Weiss says, handing over the paperwork. It seems acceptable at a glance. The opportunity cost and use of supplies are slightly painful, but our skills need to be honed as quickly as possible, so this can be forgiven.

When it comes to ammunition, frontline commanders are forever on tenterhooks. Drills that use large amounts of ammo will always seem a bit lavish. Also, having infantry conducting maneuvers in the snow is less than ideal. Just thinking about the fuel that will be required to dry everyone off invites new headaches.

Wait…is it my job to think about emergency provision of socks and gloves? I’m never sure. But frostbite can be a serious issue. I’ll need to do something.

“It’ll be a bit of a hassle for me, personally, but overall, it’s solid. Not a bad plan. Getting the necessary supplies is going to be tough, but I’ll speak with the eastern army and the General Staff.”

I know I’m asking for the impossible. To construct a base and amass resources while also catching up on training. Teaching the recruits eastern geography and combat drills. But…I am pleasantly surprised to see my officers handling things just about as well as I could’ve hoped for.

Subordinates make good use of their bosses, and bosses make good use of their subordinates. That is a part of work. Tospan was once a first lieutenant who just waited around for someone to tell him what to do, but now he has grown into a fine member of staff with personal initiative. It’s impossible to imagine the old Tospan casually requesting supplies from his boss.

It was almost certainly Grantz’s suggestion, but still, Tospan deserves credit for agreeing to it so readily. Tanya can be proud of her training chops.

“I guess training the infantry is worth a shot.”

“Colonel?”

“With magical officers and staff officers alike, it’s easy to focus on what stands out. But people… In the end, it’s all about people. In my opinion, so long as you make sure that the regular people can do what needs to be done, then… Never mind, I’m just rambling.”

I shrug and turn the conversation back to work matters.

“The sooner we can whip the infantry into fighting shape, the better. After all, the foundation of any army is its infantry. At the end of the day, they’re the ones who make victory possible.”

“As aerial mage officers, it may be strange for us to say such a thing, but you may be right,” Major Weiss says, amused. I nod in total agreement.

“In sports, games are carried out by the elite of the elite. But this is war. Total war. Everyone has to be involved. In which case, it is the lowest rung that makes the quickest path.”

“But with only infantry…”

“You mean you can’t rely on the infantry alone? If anything, the opposite is true.”

“I understand the logic. But the actual problem right now is a shortage of armor. And as a result, we are trying to make up for it with mages. If we ask too much from the infantry, losses will skyrocket.”

True. What Weiss is saying makes sense.

“I understand. After all, in mobile warfare, you need to be prepared for things to move at a speed where artillery simply can’t keep up. Trying to force infantry to run at that pace would be useless… What a headache.”

With a grumbling moan, I cross my arms.

“Let’s appoint Captain Meybert as acting commander in our absence. Fortunately, he and Lieutenant Tospan work well together.”

We probably don’t have enough artillery. And for all practical purposes, our armor is gone. The only things we can rely on right now are our infantry and mages. The infantry and artillery will also have to be left at base until they’re up to snuff. They can be used as tactical reserves at best. Victory may depend on how far these units can be shored up by summer.

Come summer. A summer of war. All would likely depend on whether General Laudon assumes command…but if things go as General Zettour expects, the situation shouldn’t be too bad.

“Either way, until the next campaign begins, we need to focus entirely on preparing. Unproductive and unfair as that might seem.”

“This is war, after all.”

“Yes, exactly,” I say with a shrug.

War is very different from sports. There is no concept of fairness in war. But that also means there are other ways of winning in war. Even if you don’t win outright, it can be enough to simply not lose.

But I shake my head. Even if victory and defeat is defined as a matter of magnitude and how you make use of the results, those involved in prosecuting a war still prioritize eliminating problems on their own plates first and foremost.

“Ultimately…all our issues boil down to a shortage of game pieces. That’s probably what inspires these absurd demands that come from above.”

“By above…do you mean the General Staff?”

“Most likely. They’re flying by the seat of their pants in the east. General Zettour was right to send us in as quickly as possible.”

Personally, I would rather not get caught up in it. But I can understand why the brass are so eager for a pawn they can actually use.

“Different positions provide different points of view, I suppose.”

“Colonel?”

“Think about it, Major. We’re both being used as workhorses, correct? And yet you and I are both considering how to do the same to First Lieutenant Tospan’s infantry, as they are the most useful right now. Or racking our brains over how to best utilize Captain Ahrens’s armor, despite the state they’re in. In the end, we’re all the same.”

It’s not a matter of who is in the wrong. It is the necessities of business and breakdowns in the market that ultimately create environments that support sweatshops. If the market was functioning properly, surely we could look forward to improved conditions, whether through new hires or transfers!

“Major Weiss… I am once again reminded of how much I hate war. It takes so much from all of us.”

“I’m sorry, is our army really in that bad of a state…?” my subordinate asks, staring at me. I nod firmly but also use the moment to drive home a point.

“Major…shouldn’t you know this already?”

“I guess I haven’t studied enough.”

“No…despite what I just said, it’s natural not to know. Maybe it’s unfair of me to criticize you.”

Hmph. I ponder the point for a moment.

Major Weiss is a career soldier. The position of number two in the unit carries a heavy responsibility that demands a wide range of knowledge, but to be fair, the lack of economic knowledge could hardly be considered his fault.

“Never mind, it was…my mistake.”

My second-in-command stares blankly when I quickly apologize for my indiscretion.

“I’m sorry, Major Weiss. I expected too much.”

“What?! No, it’s simply my own ignorance!” my second-in-command insists, but I wave my hand.

“There is no need to be embarrassed. My personal experiences have just been a little extraordinary. This kind of knowledge is something that takes time to learn. Live long enough, and you’ll likely begin to see where I’m coming from.”

“Honestly…all the experiences in this unit tend to be on the extraordinary end.”

Major Weiss looks a little perplexed. Usually, he’s so serious. Maybe the pressure is getting to him.

But one should not go around giving advice based on vague speculation. I only just chastised the man inappropriately a second ago. For now, I decide to just nod in agreement.

“A long life is full of all sorts of extraordinary moments. The only reason I can sit here lecturing you so smugly like this is because I’ve experienced a bit more of it than you have yet.”

“Oh, you…must mean combat experience. Of course, I’m sorry.”

Well. If that’s what he wants to believe, that’s fine. I wonder for a moment if I should clarify, but I quickly decide it’s more important to give my subordinate an opportunity to save face.

Besides, my focus has already shifted to the next matter at hand. Better to examine the issues currently facing the army than to spend my time throwing egg on people’s faces.

“As you already know, Major Weiss, our unit is relatively fortunate. Don’t forget that standards here are very different than elsewhere.”

“Yes… Er, no. That is…”

The major’s gaze flickers around in confusion. I think back on our conversation thus far. Aside from his alcoholism, my second-in-command is generally quite straitlaced. Have I really mentioned anything strange enough to merit such an awkward response…? After a moment of thought, I realize the problem.

Of course, what was I thinking? How could I let myself speak so freely?

“Listen to me rambling. We’re so blessed when it comes to people, and yet here I go complaining, wishing for more. And in front of one of my subordinates, of all things.”

Evidently, even someone as amiable as Major Weiss can find himself at a loss for words when his superior commits a terrible blunder. As a tried and true company man, I should have known better. Especially with all my experience! Quickly realizing my mistake, I apologize again.

“I’m sorry. My words made you uncomfortable. Let’s just forget I said anything, if you don’t mind.”

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing. You were giving excellent advice. Thank you.”

Another example of thoughtfulness on his part. Before I can thank him, however, my nose picks up on my adjutant’s imminent return with the coffeepot in hand.

Yes, coffee, in all its authentic, mellow aroma. You needn’t be a war dog to pick up on that glorious scent, as unsuited as it is to our present surroundings.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Serebryakov. Perfect timing.”

“Shall we take a coffee break?”

“Yes…it’s important to relax now and again.”

The folding desk, which was made for field use, is an inconvenient height, but more than good enough to enjoy a cup of coffee in this crumbling country house.

Major Weiss smiled slightly inside as he stood before his magnificent boss, whose presence was as incredible as she was short. The lieutenant colonel, currently sipping elegantly on her coffee, was one of history’s greatest military figures.

Even as one of her own subordinates, as a career soldier, Weiss held Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff in high regard.

But sometimes, he couldn’t help but think… Most of the time, it slipped Weiss’ mind, but the lieutenant colonel’s height was a reflection of her age. On the rare occasion that he was reminded of how old she was, he couldn’t help but feel strange. On the one hand, she was unmistakably a figure of greatness, but when you stared hard enough, she was, after all, quite tiny.

First Lieutenant Serebryakov was casually enjoying her coffee, chatting pleasantly with the lieutenant colonel. This pairing was also amusing in its own way. Sometimes, they looked like a child and her big sister, playing soldier.

Weiss shook his head. It was best he keep such ridiculous thoughts to himself. To the grave, if need be. From the side, the pair may have looked as if they were just playing make believe, but the truth was they were both Named. Veterans even among veterans.

On top of that, Weiss’s superior officer was decorated with a full brace of medals, with a Silver Wings Assault Badge not least among them. Her brutality had been proven in combat. She was a mage who had survived battle and achieved results time and again. Who would dare tease such a person over something as trivial as height?

“Only someone with a powerful death wish,” Weiss muttered to himself. No one with any sense of risk management would ever dare.

“As for the handover of duties…”

“You’ve just come back from recon, Colonel. Shall I stay in command for a little while longer?”

The lieutenant colonel flatly refused Weiss’s thoughtful suggestion.

“Thank you, Major. But I’d rather you get your appropriate rest, as proscribed. You’re aware, aren’t you, that even as we recover from physical exhaustion, concentration continues to erode? Or are your powers of concentration such that rest is no longer required?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Thank you for your consideration. But regulations are preferable to unnecessary flexibility in such matters. And besides, bosses should always toil more than their subordinates. It is the duty of those in authority.”

Despite agreeing, Weiss eyed First Lieutenant Serebryakov, looking for backup. The first lieutenant, however, simply remained silent, her face suggesting there was no point in arguing.

At a loss, Weiss left the command center behind, crossing his arms and staring up at the sky as he stepped outside.

“I guess the sensibilities of capable people are just a little different.”

On top of having an exceptional sense of responsibility, for better or worse, his boss was the type to be excessively consistent and reasonable.

However, she was also eminently simple, seeming to think that what she could do, others could do as well. In that context, it was a little mortifying to hear the words I expected too much come from her lips.

“Expectation weighs heavy.”

Whether General Zettour or Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff, Weiss was forever surrounded by towering figures of excellence!

“I can try, but I’m not sure I’ll ever catch up.”

All he could do was sigh. It was hard to explain, but Weiss’s boss was outside the scope of his understanding. As poor Lieutenant Grantz, who had twice been given the runaround by a certain general, once said, such people were just a different breed.

“I wonder…”

His boss often spoke about things outside his understanding, almost as if they were the most natural things in the world. Forget about General Zettour, whom Weiss rarely came into contact with. Weiss was constantly struggling to understand Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff’s perspective, despite seeing her day in and day out. It was strange how different their perspectives sometimes were.

“Not that thinking about it will do any good.”

With a sigh, Weiss the field officer placed his thoughts on the shelf for now. There was nothing wrong with thinking, but there were few things more important than resting one’s mind. It went without saying, but work that required thinking was tiring. As an officer with war zone experience, Weiss was familiar with how dangerous a tired mind can be. Fatigue could result in mistakes that were usually unthinkable.

Which is why it was important to rest fully when one had the chance.

As simple as it sounded, however, making the effort to rest properly was difficult. For the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, resting was always part of the battle. Experience had drilled that fact into the very marrow of Weiss’s bones.

Swallow the food he was given, lay his head down on what little bedding (better than nothing) that he was provided, and catch what little sleep he could. Veterans who continued to survive knew to eat when they could and sleep when they could. That was part of being a good soldier.

After all, battlefields were full of free time, with nothing to do. If one didn’t find a way to use that time wisely, they might just go mad.

Nap accomplished, Weiss woke up somewhat groggily, passing the time by chatting with some of the others in the unit in order to wake himself up, chasing the blues away by complaining about the lack of military mail, and thoroughly stretching his shoulders. Before long, it was time for duty again.

After nibbling on a bit of military chocolate—instead of additional canned rations—to get himself back into working order, and sipping on some of the strange coffee substitute they were issued, Weiss headed back to his post.

“Good morning.”

As Weiss poked his head inside the command center, his superior officer, looking slightly sleepy, beckoned him over.

“Oh, Major Weiss. You were lucky!”

“What do you mean, Colonel?”

“I mean, you were lucky to get sleep. I was planning on taking a nap, too, after I took over, but the higher-ups had some bullshit for us,” Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff grumbled with a sigh, unable to even force a smile. “I guess I pulled the short end of the stick.”

Weiss wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but the lieutenant colonel wasn’t usually one to complain. An internal switch flicked inside Weiss. His superior, meanwhile, glared at him with a mask of intensity, much like a ferocious tiger…fitting for one whispered of as the Devil of the Rhine.

“Wait, orders? Directly from above?” Weiss asked, though the lieutenant colonel hardly seemed that impressed. “What are they?”

“Reconnaissance in force, from the General Staff. With General Laudon’s approval, we’ve been ordered to try and suss out the state of Federation Army reconstruction.”

As we grow drowsy, toward the end of a shift, humans apparently have a tendency to become less friendly. It’s just been about time to switch out when a new hassle lands on Tanya’s plate. Although I would prefer to bury my head in my hands, I continue to deal with the mountain of paperwork and orders. Which is when my second-in-command finally chooses to poke his head into the command center, looking just as fresh as a fiddle. I regret glaring at him… Perhaps it was a little childish of me.

It’s warranted, however. The sort of matter to warrant a complaint.

“Strictly speaking, the order is for the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. Some of the enemy’s movements seem suspicious in places, so they want us to hit them. Orders courtesy of General Zettour, it seems.”

Tanya snorts through her nose before continuing:

“Well…at least they haven’t forgotten that we’re capable of hit-and-run tactics,” she says, explicitly verbalizing the brass’s clearly high opinion of them. Aerial mages are only convenient, of course, if they are skilled. For good and faithful middle managers, meanwhile, properly sharing such evaluations is one of the minimum requirements of the job.

“A boss with a good memory…is a bother,” Major Weiss replies amiably, but I shake my head.

“It’s better than those amnesiacs over at Command. Although, we’re still busting our butts, either way.”

Even while ensuring that my subordinate understands that our skills are appreciated, I make sure that it is clear that we are on the same page in regards to the fact that the work will be hard. The point-and-call method. It is always worth being thorough, with these little extra steps.

“Now then, Major, let’s get down to business.”

I select a portion of documents laid out on the desk and pass them over to Major Weiss.

“These are aerial recon photos from the Air Fleet. Surprisingly, there seems to have been some movement among Federation troops.”

I urge him to take a look at the photos as I continue explaining.

“It looks like the bear has failed to fully hibernate and has now crawled out of its hole in the form of a mechanized unit.”

After peering at the photographs and carefully reading the documents, Major Weiss lifts his head. Pure doubt is written on his face.

“Despite the appearances…I’m guessing they’re not just a mechanized unit. After all, the fact that they’re bothering to send orders our way…makes that seem unlikely.” Major Weiss is wise to question.

Mechanized units are troublesome foes, but not so dangerous that it would merit General Staff putting the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion the table when they specifically deployed us here as strategic reserves. Timing is everything when it comes to reserve forces. If we respond to every mechanized unit that appears along the front, we could find ourselves in the grim position of being completely out of strategic forces when they are really needed.

Besides, the fact that they first coordinated with the Eastern Army’s General Laudon shows that the order was too systematic to have been issued on a whim.

However. However…

“No, no, it’s just as it seems, Major. A Federation mechanized unit.”

“But why would the bigwigs want to send a bunch of unruly hounds like us after a unit like that? Is there anything special about them?”

Excellent instinct. I welcome my subordinate’s question with a smile.

“Apparently, they were giving off a strong mana signature.”

Of course. Major Weiss’s face grows tense, clearly understanding what that could mean. A mana signature from a mechanized unit. The implications are big. It is natural that General Staff would want to respond.

“A mechanized unit. And giving off a mana signature… That does smell pretty fishy.”

“Agreed, Major Weiss. A mechanized unit with a mana signature sounds like our own MO when attempting a breakthrough. If there is a possibility the Federation is using magic in that way, we can’t ignore it.”

Just as Major Weiss said, something about them smells fishy. Mana signatures are something given off by mages. Usually, these are detected in the air. Because, after all, they are flying.

It goes without saying, but flying mages are faster than tanks. With speeds a whole digit, maybe even two, greater. However, while they make for versatile troops, mages are also easy to detect and thus present many problems when attempting a covert breakthrough. But while this issue is difficult for mages on their own, the conversation is different when paired with transport methods such as transport trucks or planes.

In fact, when working at a small scale, it is not strategically rare to utilize mages in this manner. Having mages walk or ride in a vehicle up until the moment they are ready to be used and thus leak a signal—approaching quietly in order to launch a surprise attack—is even included in textbooks.

But something like that at larger scale, with full units…

“If the Federation Army is planning something systematic and in secret, combining mage and mechanized units, we can’t overlook it. It obviously needs to be examined more closely.”

In any case, all the conditions are there. The fact that the eastern front is so peaceful and quiet has only served to stir the Imperial Army’s suspicions. The correct call for the higher-ups was obvious. We can’t overlook this; it is time for reconnaissance in force!

“On careful thought, the Federation could even come in spring,” I say, voicing my worries aloud as an indescribable sense of loathing begins to bubble up within me.

“You’re not serious! An attack during the mud season?!” Major Weiss says in disbelief.

It is a sensible response. Even General Zettour believes the possibility to be low. But what if?

“It would explain why they keep drilling tank desant maneuvers in secret… An offensive may be much closer in fact than we presumed.” “Just our luck,” I mutter, preparing to order Major Weiss to marshal the unit. Right then, however, I notice First Lieutenant Serebryakov rushing toward them. It looks like she has come from the communications room. She is clutching what appears to be a telegraphic message in her hand and immediately begins to speak, foregoing formality.

“Colonel, a request from Eastern Command.”

“Thank you,” I say, glancing over the message while frowning at the terrible timing. “I hate to do the eastern army a bad turn, but seeing as we’ve already got orders from above…”

My words, however, are soon replaced with an expression of surprise.

“Why, what is this?!”

“Colonel?”

I share my reason for surprise with the confused Major Weiss.

“According to Eastern Command, there is a suspicious mechanized unit. It seems General Laudon and General Zettour are of one mind. So nice of him to go out of the way to order us to follow the General Staff’s order. This should go far in reducing bureaucratic friction.”

I could almost cackle.

Through shared paradigms, the General Staff strives for a “shared tactical brain capable of common judgments, whereby every person under identical conditions displays a certain degree of interoperability.” Until that time comes, however, it is delightful to see that they are keeping practical concerns in mind.

“All the higher-ups have endorsed the same proposal. Good. Let’s make quick work of this.”

Now that the decision has been made, preparations go smoothly. As for troop commitment, I immediately decide to go with the full battalion, holding nothing back. I give Captain Meybert, who is left in command in my absence, the usual spiel about staying concealed and counterattacking in case of an incident, but we are both used to it by now.

Command is handed over with a word.

All that’s left to do is take off. Marshaling a whole battalion of aerial mages is an ordeal, but it is still much easier than trying to pull a rapid sortie after getting hit in our sleep.

Once everyone is ready, I give brief instructions before departure. Next, Major Weiss reports their objective, “a mechanized unit leaking a mana signature,” and notifies them of the general situation.

Next, one after the other, they form up in company formation in the sky. Glancing down, I can see the base has been camouflaged splendidly.

“First Lieutenant Tospan has gotten quite good at that.”

Even from my vantage point, it looks to be no more than a simple village at first glance. One you might even describe as decrepit. No one would ever guess that a Kampfgruppe unit is nestled within. Given an aerial photograph, even the most hawkeyed, the most eagle-eyed of analysts would struggle to notice it.

Knowing my base is down there doesn’t help me spot it any better, so it’s unlikely the enemy would ever suspect. If you just insist the village isn’t impoverished, but rather that the shabbiness is part of the disguise, the buildings suddenly seem a little brighter.

While I’m still staring down, my adjutant suddenly speaks.

“Something to smile about, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Indeed there is, Visha. Look down.”

“Is there something with our base…?”

“I was just impressed at how well it’s been camouflaged.”

“Oh, of course. I know it’s our own camp, but from up here, it looks just like a normal village…”

“Right,” I say with a laugh. “Any unit can camouflage a defensive position, but completely hiding an encampment is a whole other matter.”

“Of course,” my adjutant says, nodding in agreement, but then sighs. “Although…if it’s nighttime when we get back, we could be in trouble.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I say, laughing off my adjutant’s concerns. Searching for such a well-camouflaged base at night would likely be a pain. But this time, there is a clear landmark nearby. “If worse comes to worst, we can always set our sights on our neighbors over at Eastern Command. They’d probably even give us radio guidance, if we requested it.”

“Oh, of course.”

Upon pointing out the benefits of being next to Command, I have a sudden realization. Despite our thorough camouflage, being so close to Command is sure to attract enemy eyes and ears. They might still be spotted in the end.

“Camouflage, concealment, and deception… It takes a village.”