Youjo Senki - Volume 13 - Chapter Pr2

JANUARY 21, UNIFIED YEAR 1928, BARUCH BRIDGE

War is cruel.

What’s the big deal?

Of course no one would disagree that war is brutal! Cruel or not, though, when was the last time people stopped a battle halfway because of brutality? The hand-wringing usually only starts after the fighting’s all over. Regardless of whether everyone truly recognizes the brutality of war, only those who survive can have those sentiments.

And no one is more aware of that than Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff.

“Incoming…!”

I quietly grumble, “Shit, they’re getting closer,” in response.

The whistle of artillery shells. Where will they land?

That sound is all it takes to understand what’s about to happen. As creatures, humans grow accustomed to things. The defining feature of the human species, you could say, is its ability to adapt to its environment. An ability that becomes extremely apparent on the battlefield. But accustomed or not…on the battlefield, entertaining extraneous thoughts is a luxury.

Humans and their oh so human thoughts are a wonderful product of civilization. Far be it from me to speak ill of civilization. But you can’t assume that civilization will always be there.

Is that sad?

We occupied these trenches that the Federation Army had so carefully prepared, and now the previous tenants are back, and they’re mad. Looks like they want to till the land with artillery and make sure they bury the imperial troops along with the remains of their old camp.

Dig a hole, fill it up.

Did I read that in a textbook somewhere?

The Communists should also give reading a try! Why not pledge fealty to Keynes and transition over to a market economy already? So long as you can build a home in peace, who gives a damn about productivity?!

Even as I continue to toy with these ideas in the back of my head while hugging the dirt, I have to admit: Who can aspire to anything more than survival at a time like this? At the same time, it only makes me wish all the more for peace.

As it says in “A Song of Liangzhou,” do not laugh. Of course, this is the eastern front. There are no jade cups to be found here, and the only thing a passed-out drunk will accomplish is freeze to death. The end is the same, either way. How many soldiers ever come home?

Yes, that is war.

Tanya, however, will still do her best.

In place of a lute, we have the overwhelming symphony of war pounding in our ears. The strumming of the Federation’s corps-level artillery leaves our inexperienced new recruits pinned to the ground, trembling and unable to move. Deplorable as it may be, the General Staff Office has infused a great deal of promising human capital into our ranks to make up the numbers needed for this mission. With any luck, they’ll get a chance to accumulate more value in the future.

Using the kindness reserved for new soldiers (a strong and entirely altruistic kick to the ass), I drive them forward, shouting, “Unless you want to die, move!” Adjutant in tow, I change position slightly, praying that the enemy barrage will soon come to an end.

In a sense, we are lucky.

Imperial or Federation, a trench is a trench, after all.

The Federation’s field engineers must have known what they were doing. These trenches, lovingly crafted and only recently stolen by us, continue to stand firm even as their former occupants rain artillery fire down.

A cynical smile crosses Tanya’s face. Former occupants? As if anything has really changed.

“Didn’t think we’d reenact the Rhine front here.”

Did we drop into enemy territory and seize this position just so we can sit here with our dicks out under enemy fire?! Tanya grimaces reflexively.

As the saying goes, infantry wins wars. However, from a footslogger’s point of view, it’s hard not to complain!

Besides, Tanya is supposed to be a mage. There shouldn’t be any reason whatsoever to use her as infantry. So what is she doing holding trenches like a grunt?

“…Looks like we’re here for the long haul.”

Apparently, the forecast in the east this January is partly cloudy with frequent showers of artillery shells. Too bad there are no cancellations due to bad weather in war.

“In any case, this is terrible. Even on the Rhine, you would normally get rotated back to the reserve trenches once in a while.”

We dropped in behind Federation lines and, like Horatius, are currently defending a bridge. After seizing this important critical point in the enemy’s supply line, my orders are to defend this lonely outpost in its bloody stream at all costs. Consider us open for business. Operating hours, twenty-four seven.

No reinforcements, and no hope of relief.

Of course, this particular paratrooper squad of ours is composed of mages.

Not only are we capable of deploying from transport planes like an airborne unit, but we also aren’t dependent on aircraft and, in theory, are fully capable of returning home on our own, making us a convenient power projection tool.

And if such a force can be used to disrupt enemy logistics? Obviously, that would be an extremely effective and attractive option. From a tactical standpoint, that is. As the one who actually has to carry it out, Tanya is less than enthused.

“Colonel, contact! They’re on the move! Enemy infantry!”

I sigh as Major Weiss reports, raising the alarm. They were bound to come.

“Use the captured LMGs to lay down suppressive fire! Conserve magic rounds for now. Don’t forget that this is going to be a long fight!”

“We knew it going in, but this is insane.”

“Yes it is, Major. But it’s also an extremely logical move.”

Put another way, logic is basically all this plan has to offer. I sigh internally.

After finishing with Major Weiss, I mutter softly to myself.

“Honestly, this is preposterous.”

Hmph.

As soon as that complaint leaves Tanya’s mouth, the sky shudders as a large artillery shell lands nearby. A striking reminder that complaining is a luxury. The shrapnel that punches through Tanya’s protective film and reaches her defensive shell is upsetting…but even more upsetting is the fact that the shot wasn’t even aimed at her in the first place. This is a textbook case of area suppression. But as the one on the receiving end, the fact that it is being carried out so by-the-books is what makes it all the more infuriating.

“Well, I suppose everyone is being rational today. How respectable.”

There is little to do now but laugh.

After all, the moment we air assaulted this supply base, I fulfilled my purpose. This is the crux of Zettour’s three-dimensional strategy. A large-scale airborne operation targeting key supply bases in the enemy’s operational rear with divisions of aerial mages.

On paper, at least, it’s very straightforward.

Unfortunately, there weren’t enough mages for the plan. The idea of scraping together whatever mages you could squeeze out of the Imperial Army, in its current state, and pasting them together into three full-size mage divisions and dropping them behind enemy lines? It was no small endeavor, to say the least.

But I suppose the extreme nature of radical ideas is part of what makes them effective.

We have captured the enemy’s base, after all.

Aerial mages wield a certain amount of firepower and armor. They also have the ability to hold a position, much like regular infantry. If three aerial mage divisions could be put together somehow, they would be a powerful set of spikes that could hold down an area for quite some time. And if three such powerful spikes were hammered directly into the Federation Army’s arteries? It could completely asphyxiate the Federation’s massive supply network.

Could, could, could. But the Federation Army has its own hard-fought lessons. As far as I can see, the Federation Army is ruled by pragmatism and more than willing to make hard decisions.

“Damn Commies, can’t you work a little harder?!”

What are those Reds doing over there? The Communist Party is supposed to be making life difficult for the army. Why can’t they make it a little harder? You call that being obstructionist?

What good is an ideologue, after all, if they don’t use their ideology to trip up their own comrades?! Even now, heavy artillery continues to bombard the supply point we’ve just taken. They clearly won’t hesitate to bomb every last inch of this position, even if it means losing a supply point their army depends on.

“This is just like Arene,” I grumble, taking a quick glance around.

At Arene, the Empire were the ones carrying out the bombardment. This time, the Empire is on the business end of the artillery. But there’s no padding with infantry. We overwhelmed the enemy with nothing but aerial mages.

Militarily speaking, interrupting the flow of supplies is a much more serious issue than whatever the current stock might be at any given point in time. Of course I know that. Apparently, the higher-ups think we should be able to “hold off the enemy with whatever captured supplies and equipment you procure on-site.” I wish the brass would keep those calculations to themselves.

“And General Zettour… Well, he probably also got burned,” I mutter, praying that the sound of heavy artillery will quiet down enough for me to ignore it.

While technically disputed territory, Arene can more or less be considered an imperial city. Yes, anti-imperial sentiment there was fierce, which caused plenty of headaches for military police and eventually reached the point of open rebellion, but it did show that an army is perfectly capable of raining shells down on its own cities given sufficient justification.

This is perfectly rational.

That was why it was so simple for Tanya to give the order to fire on the city. But for those civilized men and women on the receiving end who only know peace, it is difficult to see the one issuing that order as anything other than a monster.

At the same time, such condemnation is pointless, as no amount of it will bring an end to war.

On the other hand, General Zettour is the kind of man who would say, If you can’t avoid the hail of artillery, why not jump right in? What a terrible joke.

Ultimately, these sorts of issues tend to be decided with a single word: necessity.

“What a barbaric time, war is!” I mutter. That’s when I notice something lying on the ground by the wall of the trench. A wooden box.

No, a paper box? Something conical is sticking out… I go pale as I reach for the box, terrified for a moment about the possibility of secondary explosions. However, I quickly relax.

Almost collapse, even.

“Well, well, well, what do you know? In a place like this…”

A beverage! The logo and label on the bottle closely resemble products I’ve seen in my previous life.

Someone must have gone to great lengths to transport it here from somewhere very far away. Likely sent as part of an aid package from the Unified States. A carbonated beverage, straight from the high temple of capitalism all the way to the sacred seat of Communism.

One of the original occupants of this trench probably stashed it here. And now the Federation Army has come back to mercilessly dispose of it with heavy artillery, along with Tanya and her troops.

I glance around. The area near the trenches looks like the pockmarked surface of the moon. Scattered across the ground are holes, craters, flames, and—as a fun bonus—fragments of what used to be humans, as well as the remains of the massive Federation Army stockpile so generously provided by the capitalists.

Even with all her combat experience, Tanya has rarely been witness to a sight like this. Not only the ammo and fuel stored in the warehouses, but everything from foodstuffs to luxury goods is also strewn across the battlefield, mostly blown to smithereens. A joyous sight? No, this is the opposite of that.

At least I can savor the great taste of capitalism while we ride this out. I reach for one of the bottles of soda, materializing my magic blade in place of a corkscrew.

“Lieutenant Serebryakov, care to join me for a glass?”

“Colonel?”

I don’t know if these beverages were meant for celebrating the New Year or a successful offensive, but this generous gift of soda will taste just as good on imperial lips. In which case, the least we can do is enjoy it.

“A gift from the Federation! Or should I say, from the Unified States? Very considerate of them, either way. A little fizzy from the opposite end of the planet!”

“In that case, don’t mind if I do.”

“By all means!”

A smile plays on my lips. Delight springs onto my adjutant’s face as I gently toss her a bottle.

Just as Serebryakov is about to catch it…

…an artillery shell detonates directly above the trench where my unit is hunkered down. Shrapnel fills the air, striking the airborne bottle with perfect timing and splattering it and its contents onto the ground.

“Low-down Commies…! Too stingy to share a single lousy drink!”

I grimace. I expected nothing less from those bastards.

“Well, that’s disappointing. The one thing I did always like was their slogan. How does it go again? From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs?”

“What a civilized insight, Visha. Cheers! There’s still another bottle. How about it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

I lob another soda to the lieutenant. Shell after relentless shell continues to explode in the sky over our heads. Tanya has no official qualifications as a weathercaster, but even an amateur can tell there will be heavy shelling, with occasional flares, for the foreseeable future.

With the way things are going, it might not be long before the enemy starts laying down a smoke screen in preparation for a charge.

Unpredictable weather is just another example of the many atrocities of war.

That’s why Tanya is supposed to be a force for equity and fairness.

And is it fair, I ask, that the Federation should be the only ones to rain explosions on the battlefield? With a swig of carbonated soda, I fire off a crude burp into the air in an attempt to bring some small measure of equilibrium to the Federation artillery’s one-sided balance sheet.

Unfortunately, that’s all Tanya can do here. There are no jade cups to be found. Flares light up the night sky in place of the moon, and the elegant sounds of battle are the only strains of music. There isn’t even any sand. Only deep and stifling trenches.

This is a battlefield.

And I fucking hate war.

There must be something wrong with the brass if they can still smile while all this is going on.