Youjo Senki - Volume 9 - Chapter 2

[chapter] II The Home Front

JUNE 30, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL AIR CONTROL IN THE WEST

Interception Control was originally established as a very limited provisional role within the Imperial Army—a sort of task force made up of aerial mages and other air assets dedicated to interdicting enemy air attack. To put it plainly, interception controllers were people who specialized in air defense. The rationale for this command’s formation was simple.

The air battles over the Rhine front were fierce. It was natural to desire a unit dedicated to conducting rapid response missions when the enemy was so close that every second counted. In particular, the few Republican units that conducted recon-in-force missions needed to be dealt with urgently whenever they took to the skies.

Thus, to lessen the burden on the overworked Rhine Control, it was decided that a post specializing in interception missions would be set up along a separate chain of command. That was their only purpose and reason for being. Once the challenges of the extreme close quarters of trench fighting could be resolved, then their job was done…or at least, that was how it was supposed to play out.

Their disbanding was put off time after time, until the Air Battle of the West broke out.

From then on, former Rhine Control became full-time supporters of the raging air war and maintaining air supremacy over the former Republic became the jurisdiction of the provisional interception controllers.

But at that stage, Air Control and Interception Control were two different things within Rhine Control. If nothing else, there’s little doubt that the two groups held themselves apart. Air Control was the main force, and Interception Control chipped in to help deal with the occasional incursion of the enemy’s long-distance reconnaissance aircraft.

Once things in the west settled down, everything would revert to the purview of Air Control… Little did they know how that would change.

The future they took for granted was nothing but a dream.

Currently, the former Rhine Control, now dubbed Western Air Control, was specialized in air defense and interception.

In addition to this strange reversal, the small and supposedly still provisional special forces group ended up needing navigation support from Air Control when they entered enemy territory.

They had been forced to shift from offense to defense. That perfectly described the situation the entire Empire was facing. And nothing demonstrated the Imperial Army’s predicament quite as eloquently as the glum faces of the interception controllers in the control room.

Some might say there was an excess supply of sighs. In the Empire, beset by chronic lack of production capacity to meet demand, irritated, miserable grumbles were the sole exception and available in massive quantities.

“It’s the guys on their regular flight. They refuse to learn their lesson and are back for more.”

“They’re going all in tonight… They’ve split into three groups, on course for a raid on the lowland industrial zone.”

The personnel on duty swiftly gauged the enemy’s apparent intentions, and the commander made the call as usual. It was time for war.

Another night of fighting had just begun.

“Issue the warning. It’s an interception battle, ladies and gentlemen. You know what you’re doing. I want to see the usual results.”

You know what you’re doing.

The fact that the duty officer said it as encouragement, without a hint of sarcasm, painted a vivid description of the Empire’s circumstances.

THE SAME DAY, ABOVE THE ROUTE TO THE LOWLAND INDUSTRIAL ZONE ON THE FORMER RHINE FRONT

Meanwhile, the Commonwealth bomber crews had surprisingly little idea what they were doing.

To most pilots, apart from the pathfinders, bombing raids were unfamiliar territory.

The reason for that was exceedingly simple—the average life span of a Commonwealth bomber was fifty to sixty flight hours.

There was no way anyone would enthusiastically volunteer for these missions if plane after plane came limping back home full of holes, while the crew inside was lucky to still be alive.

They called them “bombing runs into hell.”

Whether they ended up dropping bombs or themselves into hell was a total coin toss. One stroke of bad luck was enough to invite the god of death.

And this day was going to be a trial more than a match for any one of those shitty, cursed days.

The cause of their misfortune was incredibly straightforward.

Clouds.

The veil of night that should have been covering hell was lacking. The first to realize were the veterans, who were used to bad luck.

One of them, the captain of the pathfinder bomber leading the formation, gnashed his teeth as he grumbled in anxiety. “…They’re not canceling the mission?! This is nowhere near enough cloud cover!”

The night sky.

A pitch-black sky.

The surface below was completely dark, most likely because of a strict blackout order, but it was obvious that it wasn’t hidden behind a thick wall of clouds. It was fine that they could see their targets, but when you stare into the abyss, it tends to stare back at you.

“What the hell did the weather specialists mean by ‘perfect conditions’? Perfect conditions to be intercepted?! Were they knocking back aquavit or something? Those idiots probably just said whatever popped into their liquor-addled minds first!” he spat and, with a deep foreboding, scanned the terrain.

What he spotted was red. The sudden appearance of a violent, blinding beam.

“A searchlight!”

“Shit! We’re totally visible!”

“Night fighters, high!”

At the shriek from the flight engineer, the captain tried to push the control stick to evade but lost consciousness before he had a chance.

The cause was a 20 mm autocannon shell fired from above by an enemy fighter. The modernized grim reaper’s scythe didn’t even allow the captain time for his life to flash before his eyes. He was gone in an instant. The god of death was so efficient in this day and age.

At the same time the brains of the man who had been the captain splattered the plane’s interior, his crew was meeting with a similar fate. The pathfinder—now unsteady, aimless, and out of control—was unable to maintain its flight position and was pulled to the ground as gravity’s prisoner.

Meanwhile, the planes behind it in the formation had a sickeningly good view of the carnage. Or rather, they were unfortunate enough to see it unfold in great detail. After all, the imperial searchlight had been kind enough to illuminate the whole scene.

That was when the following bomber’s crew screamed.

“Pathfinder went down! Aw, hell!”

There weren’t enough clouds. They were hopelessly naked in death alley.

And the enemy night fighters were descending on them like fish eager for bait. Irritatingly for the bombers maintaining formation, the enemy was in prime night-fighting form.

These troublesome visitors came not just from above but below as well.

“Flak’s directly beneath us! The ground’s opening up!”

With their targets lit by searchlight, a storm of anti–air fire was going up. And on top of that, the illuminated planes made great targets for the zooming fighters.

Get lit up for one minute, and your life span gets cut in half.

Get lit up for two, and you thank God if you survive.

Each and every moment spent in that sky grated on the soul. It might as well have been an eternity of torment. Now? Not yet? Haven’t we reached the release point yet?

That’s what it meant to be a member of a Commonwealth bomber crew. All of them knew what they were in for, but it was still absolute torture.

“Prepare to release! Sync up!”

With the pathfinder gone, the commander set the target at his own discretion.

“Now!”

The bombs simultaneously released were, to the bomber crews, excess luggage. Once the heavy load was dropped on the imperial side, their task was done. There was not even the slightest reason for the now much lighter bombers to linger over the furiously firing enemy anti–air positions. One plane after another banked around and hurried to withdraw from imperial airspace, where danger prowled for prey to follow home.

But while they were on their way…

“They’re coming after us! Damn it! We’re taking fire!”

They were still far from friendly territory beyond the Dodobird Strait.

JULY 1, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL ARMY WESTERN AIR CONTROL COMMAND

There’s a very basic saying about war that goes: “If one side is hurting, it’s no walk in the park for the other side, either.”

The Imperial Army was continuously, resolutely repelling the Commonwealth’s strategic bombings. But these were far from sweet victories. They were extremely familiar with how bitter winning could be.

When dawn broke after the long night, the duty officers reluctantly faced one another to address reality with scowls on their faces.

Why would this day be any different from the ones that had come before it?

“Damage report?” the commander asked.

The tense atmosphere weighed on the soldier reporting in as much as the waiting commander’s gaze did.

“Within acceptable limits.”

The officers reviewing the aftermath of the attack sighed in relief. It was the way everyone at Western HQ wanted every morning to start.

Negligible damage.

No one dared ask for more. They had all given up on wishing for an end to bombers long ago.

“The perimeter defenses suffered limited damage… I daresay the decoy anti–air positions are working as intended. But I doubt we can keep relying on the same trick forever.”

“One group didn’t fall for it and actually reached the industrial area. Luckily, a division of the air fleet noticed and drove them off. Damage there is also limited.”

“Overall, we were able to bloody the enemy. Nevertheless, there’s a good chance they will be able to continue offensive operations.”

They had just weathered a night-bombing mission that fielded more heavy bombers than the imperial air fleet could dream of. Early on in the war, they were able to completely shut out the Commonwealth bomber force, but at some point, enemy numbers had grown to the point where they were consistently getting through.

Of course, it wasn’t as if their imperial hosts had been twiddling their thumbs, either. But they simply couldn’t keep up. They couldn’t eliminate every threat.

Through their sighs, everyone just kept wondering if they would be able to even maintain the status quo.

“Get started on repairs, distributing aid, and caring for the victims.”

The commander’s words represented nothing less than their solemn duty. After countless days of bombings, the officers in the west had already fallen into a routine.

Of course, when the nightly raids first started, it wore on their nerves. Now, though, they were all too familiar.

At least for the officers, it had become a normal part of the day.

Even so, their sage minds turned toward the future at times.

No one ever loudly proclaimed what everyone must have been thinking. Even imperial officers thought twice about cheerfully discussing their grim prospects.

But when their minds naturally wandered…sometimes quiet comments slipped out.

“…Right now, we’re doing a decent job of handling the bombers. But we can’t keep that up forever. At this rate, sooner or later…” one officer murmured in fear.

Pessimism is the greatest taboo there is for a soldier. Usually, they would laugh such dire thoughts off, encouraging one another or complaining playfully.

Would the fighting only grow fiercer?

Even these disciplined officers didn’t have the strength to laugh these worries off as pessimism. Most of them harbored the same fear.

The same worry.

The same terror.

The same foreboding.

Their training and orders were all that had kept them from sinking into defeatism. Once one anxious comment slipped out, more followed it like a dam had burst.

“The eastern front took too many of our fighter units.”

“And mages. It’s always, The eastern front needs this; the eastern front needs that! What about the rest of us?”

Unproductive griping.

They all recognized it for what it was. But their discontent had been building for so long that the officers had to get them out now that an opportunity presented itself.

“And the new replacement pilots that we do get have flight hours way below prewar standards. Some of them are in the double digits!”

“Seriously? I thought they were still flying a minimum of a hundred and fifty before their first deployment.”

“In the latest accelerated batch, it’s rare to find anyone who’s hit three digits.”

That’s hard to believe. The room’s attention focused on the air liaison officer. Before the war, anyone with only a hundred hours wouldn’t even be out of training yet.

They were supposed to have at least three hundred under their belts. Six hundred, if possible.

To any officer blessed with the fortune to have been trained according to the strict prewar standards, that was the baseline they lived by.

It was only natural that they found the current situation deeply unsettling.

“Unbelievable. So we’re just going to run our promising pilots and young mages into the ground?”

“What choice do we have? All the aerial mage units that were halfway decent in the field got pulled to replace all the losses in the east…”

“So, in the end, it really is all about the eastern front, huh? That place is a quagmire.”

Central Command sucked up tons of matériel and injected it into the eastern front. Hearing that even the ammunition manufactured in the occupied territories was being sent to sustain the battle of attrition in the east was enough to make anyone sick.

They could scream that they didn’t have nearly enough anti–air shells, but the home country still requisitioned it all because they’re needed in the east. Normally, there would be more than enough soldiers to crew the air defenses, but even manpower was in short supply.

There just wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough of anything.

The reason was the east. The Empire was hemorrhaging on that front.

“We let them keep believing that it’s all quiet in the west. People back home clearly have no idea what it’s like out here.”

What interrupts the storm of complaints is their superior officer clearing his throat in exasperation.

“That’s enough grumbling for one day.”

Given a warning look that says they’ve gone too far, officers who can decipher even the subtle wavelengths of a CRT aren’t about to misread it.

Any further comments wouldn’t be forgiven. It was a firm statement that there was a line they weren’t allowed to cross.

And so they all raced to be first to return to their work, allowing the practically mutinous atmosphere to vanish without a trace.

Of course, the commander who told them to cut it out shared their feelings on the matter. Even if was only a private thought, anyone in charge of air defense couldn’t help but feel it keenly.

“…Things are going downhill, huh?”

The removed core.

The mounting strain of endless battles.

And replacements who were disappointing in both quality and quantity.

Just as he had been practically ripping his hair out, word came that a large batch of replacements was on its way, so he held out hope for a time. But when they finally arrived, it turned out they were graduates of the accelerated training program thrown straight onto a battlefield they were wholly unprepared for. It was a desperate measure the Empire never should’ve resorted to doing.

In front of the others, the commander maintained composure as if nothing was wrong. But internally he wanted to groan.

They had given the Commonwealth bomber groups another good thrashing. Considering the fortunate lack of cloud cover, they could probably expect quite a score from last night.

The ratio of losses was definitely within the acceptable range. Their first gold star in some time.

But that only meant they had succeeded at fending off the enemy.

“This is suffering.”

There was little doubt they would have to fight against tomorrow. Would the Empire manage to emerge victorious yet again from the Battle of the West’s next engagement? It was possible the enemy would come again the day after that as well. There was no reason to think the Empire couldn’t win that day as well.

But what about next month? And the month after that? In half a year? The next whole year even?

Could they really continue sustaining this rate of attrition?

“…Absolute suffering.”

THE SAME DAY, IMPERIAL CAPITAL, GENERAL STAFF OFFICE

Shore up command personnel in the west. The Imperial Army had been aware of the need for quite a while. Yet, it was merely one among many other minor issues that had long been left unresolved.

The reason was simple.

There weren’t enough people to go around.

To go a step further, unrealistic expectations had led to the current predicament. The prewar estimates had been proven inaccurate, and there were not enough staff officers.

For a decisive battle, commanding a field army did require concentrated commitment of human resources, but the necessary head count was limited. Taking this into account, the Empire cultivated its staffers through a strict selection process and targeted investment.

Only the most promising officers who passed initial screening were sent to the war college and put through staff training. The officer pool was already a selective group, so this system of choosing only the very best was overly exacting.

The policy that was absolutely the correct answer during peacetime was completely insufficient in wartime.

In a situation like the one on the Rhine front, where the army found itself unable to extricate itself from bitter trench warfare, it was unfeasible to yank officers out just to send them off to war college. And in a situation like the east’s, with its mobile fronts and fluid defensive lines, it would be difficult to pull an officer, who would have detailed knowledge of the theater of operations, without leaving forces in disarray.

On top of that, there was a limit to how much training for staffers could be accelerated. For all these reasons, the existing staff officers were terribly overworked.

They were thankful to have even injured officers stationed in the rear helping out.

For staff officers who could move freely, there was no such thing as time to rest. Most of them were being worked like rented mules.

They were considered staff officers first and human beings second, but they were still only human.

On top of everything else, there was the chronic lack of hands.

Being ordered to send away personnel under these circumstances was a chilling demand. Even the imperial-style staff didn’t have it in them to enthusiastically meet this request.

But their hesitation ended there.

If the head of the General Staff, Lieutenant General Rudersdorf, was personally taking the lead, the staffers would voice their complaints to God and reluctantly get their asses in gear.

They were all gathered in a meeting room.

Fewer than ten in number, they gazed with trepidation at the chairman of the meeting, Rudersdorf himself.

To one of the attendees, Colonel Lergen, it made perfect sense.

Overall, the staffers were exhausted. The same staffers whose outstanding endurance had been acknowledged after their minds and bodies were pushed to extremes over the course of their intense military education!

We can’t possibly spare anyone else. The words seemed to be rising in the throats of everyone present.

But as Lergen watched, the leader of the meeting broached the topic with a straight face.

“As I suspected, we do need to send someone west.”

The general indicated that would be the meat of their discussion. Realizing they would be entertaining the possibility of someone being dispatched, even the most reserved staffers felt compelled to voice their objections.

The officer sitting next to Lergen went pale and quickly thrust a hand into the air, requesting permission to speak.

“General, with all due respect, I don’t think there are any major issues with the west’s personnel…”

“It needs to be better. We’re sending someone. The only question left is who.”

The staffer had tried to say, We don’t want to send anyone, in a roundabout way but was completely routed by Rudersdorf’s flat reply.

So we have no choice? Lergen braced himself.

We have to send someone. That’s what the higher-ups want.

“There are very few people who can comprehend the General Staff’s will fast enough to act on it immediately. And the quagmire out west is a battle of attrition. Even a slight improvement could prove decisive down the line.”

When he scanned the room, they all shuddered.

“That’s why we’re going to do this right. It’s time to give the western front some proper attention. Got it?”

When he asked for confirmation, most of the staffers averted their eyes. Though Lergen was just barely able to meet the general’s intense gaze, he preferred not to answer.

But for better or worse, Lergen was also a staff officer.

He searched his mind for an appropriate person and promptly proposed a candidate.

“What about General Rosenberg? Before returning to the service, he was a member of parliament. He’s well versed in the relationship between the government and the military, and he’s a baron.”

Rosenberg was a military government official in Dacia. The high-ranking general was not only on relatively good terms with the imperial family, but he also got on decently well with the civilian government, too. The man came with a wealth of political experience.

“The military administration in Dacia is our oil lifeline. I don’t want to think about what would happen if we moved him.”

His first choice having been shot down, Lergen suggested his second pick.

“How about Lieutenant Colonel Schulz? He joined around the same time as me. Given the long recuperation from his illness, it’s an open question whether he’s fit for line duty, but his handling of critical matters in the rear has been outstanding. If I remember correctly, he’s dealing with military-civil affairs.”

“That’s a good choice. If only we could have him. It hasn’t been made official yet, but that idiot Zettour is taking him to the east.”

“He’s been pulled, sir?”

Rudersdorf grunted yes with a bitter nod.

“His transfer will be announced at the next general meeting for personnel assignments. He’ll be posted as an advisor to the Council for Self-Government—an appointment that acknowledges his coordination skills. I can understand it from a division planning perspective, but an agreeable, skilled staffer is so rare…”

That meant Lergen’s second choice was also no good. But the General Staff should have been capable of unilaterally moving mid-ranking personnel.

If necessary, they had the option of stealing him.

“Shall we divert Schulz from there?”

“No. We can’t let the planning of the voluntary division fail.”

Given the obvious importance of the east, the west simply had to be lower priority. At this point, very few viable candidates remained. There were many capable staffers despite the shortage, but there were hardly any who could be relied on for something besides operations.

Oh. There Lergen recalled a certain exceptional railroad man. Excellent coordination skills. An ideal in both personality and character.

“What about Lieutenant Colonel Uger? A good, talented man. I think he meets the bar.”

“…We’ve been working him too hard. He’s also not aggressive enough. If he were a brigadier general or had experience commanding a regiment on the front lines, it might be a different story…”

Career matters, hmm? And then someone came to Lergen’s mind.

There was a candidate who had the perfect experience for the job, if nothing else.

“Then what about me, sir? I have combat experience, if only on paper. I’m also not a general, but if you take my service experience into account—”

As he was about to mention the suitable presence he exuded, Rudersdorf interrupted. “It’s folly enough to use your house as firewood during a total war, but we’re not so pressed that we need to burn our arms and legs, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I have more than enough work for you, Colonel. Anyone else you can think of?”

Before he even had time to jokingly ask for a reprieve, he was ordered to name his next suggestion.

At this point, I guess I’ll think strictly in terms of military careers. Lergen mulled over his options. Someone who was available and capable of following through on the General Staff’s intentions…

What about him?

“What do you think of General Romel? If we assigned him to the west following a short stay with the General Staff after the Southern Continent Expeditionary Corps gets recalled, I think we could fill him in on the situation.”

“…He will have his hands free.”

“Yes, sir. Once he’s back, he surely will be. A command in the west might even be a bit of a vacation for him. Personnel-wise, he’s a very convenient choice.”

“But he’s an outstanding tactical commander. That ability would go to waste if we posted him there. And he doesn’t have much experience with the intersection between civilian and military matters. We could educate him, but is there a chance that will end up watering down his talents?”

“In that case…” Lergen quickly revised his proposal. If one wasn’t good enough, then two would do. “How about sending Lieutenant Colonel Uger along to assist?”

“That’s out of the question.” Rudersdorf shook his head. “I’m not sending more than one. Usable staffers are already too scarce.”

Unbeknownst to Lergen at the time his plan was getting shot down, Uger was prized for his negotiating ability.

Being able to coax needed supplies out of someone who persistently grumbled, complained, and even made outright nasty remarks—that had never been valued in staff officers.

As a result, the sky was the limit when it came to demand for people who could make a compromise.

Any attempt to put “the railroad guy who negotiates so politely” with civilians in the rear would elicit objections that spared no thought for appearances.

“Haaah.” There, Rudersdorf openly emitted a sigh. “A sudden increase in divisions, replacing the dead, and to top it off, the General Staff has to cough up people for military administration. Even Zettour was tapped by Supreme Command and shipped off to the east.” Sighing again in irritation, he continued, “Meeting staffing requirements on paper and actually finding people who can do the job are two very different things.”

It was a valid complaint. Probably all the staff gathered in that meeting room would agree. They could only cradle their heads in their hands after his pointed remark.

“We don’t have enough people. Yet, we must send someone.”

“…I’m sure you’re aware how difficult it is.”

“At any rate, choose someone. We can’t neglect the west too much. If we don’t keep someone with combat experience in the rear, we risk not absorbing the lessons of the western and eastern fronts equally.”

THE SAME DAY, THE EASTERN FRONT

When the one in charge in the home country is sick to their stomach, the one in charge in the field probably feels equally sick—Why can’t you give us more soldiers?

Even in the Imperial Army, this was an inescapable truth.

Lieutenant General Zettour, too, in his advisory role on the eastern front, smothered his distress beneath an iron mask and smoked one of his precious few remaining cigarettes with a blank face.

“…And the multinational unit?”

“They’re keeping the pressure on the Hofen salient. The 301st Division is putting up a tough fight, but they may not be able to hold out for long.”

Staring at the map spread out before them, Zettour fell silent for a time. Forces stretched thin. Limited reserves. That was the situation they were currently facing.

…In theory, they had the massive Eastern Army Group at their disposal, but the attrition rate was brutal.

The only strategic reserves left were one armored division, one mechanized division, and one aerial mage battalion. Besides that, there were only a few depleted infantry divisions.

For an entire army group’s strategic reserves, it was incredibly threadbare.

The textbook move would be to immediately order a general retreat to reorganize and replace their losses. Back when he was a supervisor at the war college, Zettour would have taught exactly how to best conduct the withdrawal. The problem now was that even if they pulled back, there wouldn’t be any replacements waiting for them, much less reinforcements.

“How about deploying the aerial mage battalion from the strategic reserves? We can’t afford to lose the Hofen salient if we want to still try to successfully complete the objective of annihilating the enemy army…”

“Let’s not.”

“General?”

Zettour scoffed at the puzzled officers, though he was ostensibly smiling. “Do you really intend to revisit the classic dilemma of debating whether key terrain or flexibility of strategic reserves is more important?”

He recalled his years at war college and how genuinely fun it had been.

Carrying out his duty to the imperial family and the fatherland while shouldering the fate of the troops was quite taxing. Recently, he had begun finding the weight difficult to bear. Had he grown old? His shoulders certainly felt sore.

“Can you say for sure that we absolutely must hold that position? Are you capable of making that call? Think about it. Even if it would be useful in theory, do we have the manpower to exploit it?”

Time, space, and strategic reserves.

An officer must always be calculating.

“If I may, General.”

“What is it? I always welcome an opinion.”

“With all due respect, it sounds as if you’re suggesting that withdrawing troops is an option.”

Condemnation masquerading as confirmation. I see—from a textbook point of view, it makes sense that removing troops from a salient, a key offensive position, is worthy of criticism.

But Zettour smiled.

“…If it ‘sounds’ like that to an operations staff officer, then the Eastern Army Group must truly be in a tight spot.”

“Well, that’s…!”

These fellows were far from inept.

They were perfectly aware of the trade-off between time and space, and they reacted precisely because the pressing need to pull back the front line had been on their minds. Even if the common sense of not retreating from a critical location was cemented into their brains, they had enough intellectual integrity to fret about how inconsistent that was with their situation.

“There aren’t enough forces. Not anywhere near enough. Overcommitting our strategic reserves to a single scrap of supposedly important terrain would only result in a pointless battle of attrition.”

Everyone acknowledged Zettour’s judgment with wordless groans. No one was happy about it, but they accepted that they had no other choice.

“We are going to abandon the Hofen salient. We should probably plan to assist in the retreat.”

“But there’s the precedent of Soldim 528 and the viability of a partial envelopment…”

The protest was hesitant. But it was nothing but a greedy wish.

“Is there a reason you’re comparing our current situation to the time we used an elite Kampfgruppe and a fresh armored division against an enemy whose main body was busy dealing with Operation Andromeda?”

The force concentration involved and the strategic environment were far too different. The two scenarios couldn’t even be compared. With a sober look on his face, Zettour snapped. “If you still have the audacity to recommend we mount a frontal attack, then I order you to give me the location of that brazenness at once. I’ll fill out the requisition forms for it right away.”

When he shot a sharp glance around the group, they were all wearing the same troubled expression.

If an officer wanted to see what kind of frown they were making in the mirror, all they had to do was look at their neighbors. Intelligent staffers could grasp a situation by simply observing one another’s faces.

And what they saw now were one another’s pained expressions.

“Good.”

“General?”

“Now that we all agree, let’s move on. We should discuss how to best support the withdrawal.” Zettour rapped his knuckles on the table and dropped his irate tone. “If it’s possible for our forces to pull back, then I’d like to use that to set up our next move. Specifically, I’d like to provoke the Federation Army.”

“…You mean luring the enemy into the salient? But we don’t have enough forces to conduct an encirclement even if we manage to draw them in…”

“I’m all for maneuver war, but we can’t keep using the same lure, envelop, then annihilate move every time.”

It’s like sleight of hand.

There may be a lot of room for creativity with tactics, but falling into a pattern could only spell trouble.

Once the gimmick is revealed, it becomes impossible to stay fed on a single trick.

Zettour smiled faintly. “That said, the instant the enemy thinks they’ve seen through your tricks is the best time to trap them. Gentlemen, why don’t we get a little creative?”

Being denied access to any straightforward method was more than enough to cause them stress, but the best plan in the field would always be the one that could actually be carried out.

The Eastern Army Group was, after all, an army group.

It wasn’t as if they couldn’t work on things that didn’t affect strategy, such as coordinating with the Council for Self-Government, maintaining the supply lines, and improving logistics.

But even so…they were limited by what they could do in the field.

What would the Empire—what would Supreme Command do?

The military wasn’t the head. They were the hands and feet. Taking that metaphor to its logical conclusion, the Eastern Army Group was merely a finger on one of those hands, and they had to do whatever they could.

“In any damned case, let’s send that multinational voluntary army to a cosmopolitan graveyard.” He would have liked another smoke, but he had so few remaining that, grieving inwardly, he chuckled instead. “Gentlemen, Commies love propaganda. Always keep an eye on where that unit is stationed. The next major thrust will revolve around that location.”

“General, in Operation Andromeda, the main battlefield was nowhere near the front lines…”

“That’s right. And following Communist logic, that will be the basis for their next move. Of course, we can’t know for sure, but it’s something to take into consideration.”

AT THE SAME TIME, THE MULTINATIONAL VOLUNTARY ARMY GARRISON

Victory is a cure-all. At the very least, it can sugarcoat just about any conflict.

And the multinational unit that had been getting pummeled by the Imperial Army for so long was no exception.

Thwarting Operation Andromeda had been a major turning point. If nothing else, the Federation was loudly trumpeting their great triumph over the Empire, and their allies were lavishing one another with congratulations.

Even if they suffered a painful defeat in the ensuing maneuver battle, their strategic victory was undeniable.

The improvement in the situation fell like a welcome rain on the multinational unit. This was just perfect for propaganda.

They couldn’t have wished for a more politically convenient victory.

That’s what had the commander of the Commonwealth Marine Mage Expeditionary Unit, Lieutenant Colonel Drake, in such a good mood.

“…I guess we’re making progress.”

Fertile ground as far as the eye could see. No sign of the enemy. And as the Imperial Army made their retreat, the Federation Army pushed up.

Drake and his troops had been sortieing daily to support the general advance. Their primary mission was search and destroy. Though they fanned out for maximum coverage on their sorties, encounters were sporadic.

He could only conclude that the imperial ground forces were giving up ground with terrifying practicality and beating a hasty retreat.

The rare reports that did come in were of contact with what seemed to be imperial reconnaissance planes or aerial mages.

“The front is moving faster than I expected.”

There was so little prey that they often returned from their sorties empty-handed.

That’s a fine thing, he was thinking as he gathered up the company under his immediate command, but as they landed, he spotted two familiar faces.

Colonel Mikel and First Lieutenant Liliya Ivanova Tanechka were standing together, their mismatched heights making them an odd couple. One was a comrade in arms he was close with, and the other was a bothersome political officer.

Setting aside the former, if the latter was here to “greet” him, he could only assume trouble was afoot.

What exactly did they want from him?

“Colonel Drake, do you have a moment?”

Just as expected, the one to address him was the Commie dog. He couldn’t stand talking to political officers.

If anyone asked him, Drake would probably say that there was almost nothing worse in the world. A conversation with a parrot would probably be more rewarding.

“Yes. Is it for Colonel Mikel or yourself?”

“Comrade Colonel would like to consult with you about the war situation.”

“Oh, so it’s for Colonel Mikel!” Openly sarcastic, he turned his gaze on the interpreter, Tanechka. “What in the world does the colonel wish to consult me about, Lieutenant?”

Normally, it would be Drake and Mikel who had the discussion—there was no need whatsoever for Tanechka to explain every little thing to Mikel in the Federation’s language.

This lieutenant, a political officer, was only present to guarantee the Communist Party’s interests under the guise of interpreting.

I guess I just have to conveniently forget that my friend Colonel Mikel is fluent in the Commonwealth’s language.

I suppose the important thing about a show is that it must go on.

It was an utter farce, but the performers, Mikel and Drake, were dead serious. Their audience may have been a single political officer, but when Mikel’s life and more depended on how well they acted, Drake couldn’t afford to relax.

“The magic air battles are going well. As our troops advance, the front line will continue moving forward. At this juncture, I’d like to consider a new operation.”

“A new operation now?! You’ll be sure to tell him, The Federation’s soldiers are just bursting with life and what a fine thing that is, all right?”

As he stared at her, the first lieutenant seemed to hesitate.

Oh, I see.

“And how does the colonel reply?”

“Ummm, I beg your pardon, but could you repeat what you said?”

“Ah, sorry, Lieutenant Tanechka. I guess I spoke too quickly?”

A snarky little jab.

Just a bit of provocation meant to curb her attitude.

The political officer said something to Mikel, and as soon as Mikel nodded a few times, Drake lost no time in expanding on his childish mischief.

“By the way, won’t we be getting any reinforcements from the south? A new operation is all well and good, but we can’t ignore the issue of manpower.”

“According to the party’s announcements, the situation in the south is steadily improving, but it’s still necessary to watch for a counterattack.”

The political officer replied immediately, but this conversation was supposed to be between Mikel and Drake, if only as a formality. Drake vented some of his frustration on Tanechka.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. But you’re a lieutenant. We mustn’t let a gap in rank become a gap in knowledge. Could you ask Colonel Mikel if we can expect reinforcements, just in case?”

As before, she spoke rapidly to Mikel and then serenaded Drake with a padded-out version of the colonel’s utilitarian reply.

“As I thought, his answer is the same. The situation in the south is improving, so this will be the best opportunity for us to pulverize those evil imperialists.”

“Very good! So what’s the new operation about?”

“It’s a proposal that comes straight from the Central Committee.”

“Oh? How exciting. What sort of proposal? I can’t wait to hear it.” Drake’s words were practically dripping with veiled contempt. Talking with these political guard dogs was such torture—all it did was eat away at his dignity and reason.

But the next words out of her mouth ejected those idle thoughts from Drake’s mind.

“Party leadership is considering decapitation tactics.”

Decapitation!

Apparently, it was the perfect time to give the enemy a taste of their own medicine.

That was probably the gist of this idea.

“What’s the target?”

“Eastern Army Group HQ. I believe they’re targeting the enemy chief of staff, Lieutenant General von Zettour.”

“Isn’t he an inspector, not chief of staff?”

“But according to testimony from prisoners, he’s the one who’s actually in charge.”

Drake was happy to get a straight answer to his question.

If there was anything to complain about, it was that a mere first lieutenant, even if she was a political officer, was better informed than him, the commander of the Commonwealth forces.

They wouldn’t get anywhere like this.

“Lieutenant Tanechka, may I ask you one thing?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Sorry, but when did you get that intel?”

“Huh?”

The young political officer bewildered by Drake’s irritated gaze probably didn’t mean anything by her reply. It most likely never even occurred to her.

Attributing malice when something could just as easily be explained with stupidity only complicated matters.

“No one informed me. Discussing an operation that’s premised on intel I haven’t received yet is out of the question.” Then he emphasized the issue of rank again. “You may be a political officer, Lieutenant Tanechka, but I cannot fathom why you would know something that the commander of the all-volunteer unit from the Commonwealth doesn’t. I ask that you provide me with the relevant reports.”

“Ummm, well…”

She had put him in a situation where he had no choice but to get angry. This is how you treat a fellow soldier who’s gone to such lengths to put their life on the line and fight beside you?

“Did Colonel Mikel know and just not tell me?”

He knew full well that wasn’t the case.

If anything, Mikel was even more wary of the Communist government than Drake.

The bigwigs back home really needed to ship a few more career soldiers for a tour in the east. Even a short stay would probably make them appreciate and trust the central government more than ever.

In the Federation, everyone gets to learn just how precious a thing democracy is.

“There was some sort of mix-up, and…I was just about to tell you.”

“Very good. Then I’d like to ask you to interpret for me. Please tell him, I’m sure that going forward you’ll provide your allied country with the appropriate intelligence reports.” Only then can we continue, intimated Drake to Tanechka with the feigned smile of a clever diplomat.

“Let’s cooperate for the relationship between our nations.”

“So you agree?”

The political officer jerked her face up, clearly worried about whether her error would have far-reaching effects. Honestly, people from the Federation are far too terrified of making mistakes.

…We’re supposed to be allies, for crying out loud!

Even the PM said that, if necessary, they would shake hands with the devil and defend him in the House of Commons.

Everything hinged on the words if necessary!

And that was how he had been saddled with the abominable task of approaching a political officer with a smile on his face!

“The multinational unit will do everything in its power to succeed on all fronts. That’s our role.”

This was a political assignment, and ultimately he was under no obligation to follow the Federation’s orders. But as long as cooperation was fruitful, obliging his hosts was part of his job.

The home country would probably approve this sort of enjoyable operation. It seemed especially up Major General Habergram’s alley.

“From that standpoint, mobilizing the elites should be rather productive—assuming those of us who carry out the plan make it back alive, of course. But that’s what officers are for. I’m willing to give it a shot.”

A difficult mission.

But very worthwhile.

It would be easy to get the troops excited about it.

“Can I expect to receive the necessary documents without delay?”

The one who replied to Drake’s request and hard stare was, as expected, the political officer. She nodded, forgetting to maintain the facade that she needed to consult Mikel.

“Of course. I’ll see to it.”

“Good.” He nodded, made the decision to shake only Mikel’s hand, and promptly returned to his quarters, where he found an unexpected visitor.

It was Tanechka and a crowd of military police. Before he had a chance to wonder what they had come for, the political officer and her entourage noisily slammed packets of paperwork down on his desk.

It was the transcript of the aforementioned prisoner’s testimony properly translated into the Commonwealth’s language—the materials he had only just requested. Apparently, the Federation Army occasionally delivered what was asked of them in a timely fashion.

So they had it all this time, he wanted to groan.

If it was this easy to do, then just do it from the beginning! he nearly screamed. After a thought that he was in a room that might be bugged, he pragmatically expressed only his amazement.

Fuckers.

Even so, after he looked over the papers and had a chance to think through the situation, he no longer had any choice but to say what he thought.

“Crap, this guy… He’s one tough customer.”

The target was a high-ranking general. Any commander who made frequent use of decapitation tactics naturally knew how to guard against them. Based on what was in the documents, it was clear that this general moved quickly and often.

The conditions necessary for this sort of operation couldn’t even be compared to a strike on a fixed target. Even if they could count on tips from the Federation partisans, there was no way they would be able to nail down his location for certain.

“…How are we going to catch a moving target? We’ll have to know what his plans are.”

The chance of missing their shot was enormous.

“Even if we can find him, there’s still a whole pile of other issues. Can we take out his security detail fast enough? What should we do if he escapes?”

In short, it was too high risk.

“I’m not sure how the imperials managed to make this tactic work so often.”

Surprisingly, the enemy had been using this stratagem to incredible effect.

He despised them, but as a professional, he had to respect their skill.

The two “coincidental run-ins” off the Norden coast, the attack on the Republican Army’s Rhine front headquarters, and finally the exasperatingly frequent strikes on key Federation Army positions…

And I guess it’s appropriate to include the landing operation against the Entente Alliance, too. You could call it a successful instance of flanking a land army by sea.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how well planned all their moves were.

Analysts in the home country pointed out the possibility that they were all just haphazard decisions, but…as someone with experience on the lines, Drake wondered if it was really possible to get lucky so many times. Even well-laid plans often fail. Explaining away success as repeated flukes was out of the question.

“Just winging it in war? Ridiculous.”

They couldn’t all be coincidences. Without intensive research and development of a fully fleshed-out operational doctrine, it would be impossible to get such consistent and stunning results.

Therefore, learning from the enemy was the best option…but the details of the greatest example—the direct attack on the Republican Army’s Rhine headquarters—were still largely unavailable. It was clear that some sort of aerial operation had been carried out, but no mages were detected until they completed a long-range flight, at which point they descended in sync with some kind of supporting bombardment, perhaps a railway gun attack or the like.

There was also the hypothesis that it had been an aerial bomb and not a railway gun…but there was so much chaos. Before any sort of proper inspection could be made, they had been overrun by the Imperial Army.

“It’s a bit late to say so, but there really are too many mysteries. I can’t believe we have to hunt around just to find something to analyze.”

He could remember the confusion of the collapsing lines even now. It was no wonder there weren’t enough records. But he had to get some research done, or he really wouldn’t get anywhere.

“I wish someone would show me how to do the trick. Maybe I should inquire with the home country and get in touch with the Free Republic as well…”

Surely someone back home would have a clue or two. The issue there is how it always takes time for intel to make it back out to the boys and girls in the field.

The problem of time was surprisingly serious.

Drake wanted whatever clues he could get as soon as he could get them. Lives were hanging in the balance. It was only natural that every second counted.

Even if I can’t expect much, I suppose I should still request materials from the Federation Army… Then again, even though they were the ones to propose the operation, these louts didn’t offer anything in the planning stage.

I can’t count on them. Should’ve known better than to expect anything from Communists in the first place. Are there any other sources I’m missing? After turning these thoughts over in his mind for a moment, he pounded his palm.

“Hmm? Oh right, there are some guys in the press corps I can talk to. Wasn’t Andrew on the Rhine?”

The embedded journalists were one option.

He didn’t have high expectations, but it was worth trying. Either way, out in the middle of nowhere, deep inside Federation territory, he didn’t have many ways to acquire intelligence.

It can’t hurt…

However, a knock on the door interrupted that train of thought.

“Colonel Drake? May I have a moment—uh, sir?”

“Of course. Who is it? You can come in.”

He could chalk up the quirky way of talking to unfamiliarity with the Commonwealth language and overlook the impropriety, but there was only one officer under him who would say things that way.

Honestly, it was hard to keep her reined in…but not impossible, which was perhaps the blessing in the curse.

“Lieutenant Sue? I see you’re back.”

“Yes, I’m preparing my report. We didn’t encounter any enemies, though, and we hardly spotted any on the ground, either.”

“Good. Turn in the full details later.”

First Lieutenant Sue nodded quite obediently in response to Drake’s request. She had just returned from leading a unit on a mission with a degree of independence.

He couldn’t completely rest easy, but things were stable enough that he could afford a compromise or two.

The fact that he had been able to get her to settle down at all had to be thanks to divine intervention.

“No rampages, huh?”

Needing to handle her with kid gloves was not ideal. It was actually rather problematic. But whether he wanted to or not, he had to find a use for her. He figured he should be happy he was able to manage her at all.

“Not bad.” He even found himself murmuring, “Honestly, a war you can win is so nice.”

Did finding his own words moving make him an idiot? Truly, though, he was enjoying how grateful victory made him feel.

“Few deaths and a decreasing number of disputes. All good things. How nice it’s been since the Lergen Kampfgruppe left.”

He wasn’t actually thanking the enemy or anything. Perhaps it was the Lord’s protection, or maybe the imperials were just stupid—either way he didn’t mind getting a chance to take it easy.

“…I feel for Mr. John, though.”

For those in the field, a challenging enemy withdrawing is great fortune.

“Still, we have our own issues. There are tricky orders coming down the chain of command. If anything, I wish we could get some sympathy.”

Once the menace of the Lergen Kampfgruppe had receded, Sue and the others in the unit only became unrulier. Right when they were starting to get results, and the war seemed to be swinging in their favor.

The deeply worrying issue of Mikel and Tanechka sharing command authority still hadn’t been resolved, either. Simply overseeing the multinational voluntary army on a day-to-day basis was already a nightmare. If they ran into trouble on the battlefield, then what would happen?

“Aren’t we winning right now, though? Maybe I’m overthinking things.”

No. Drake braced himself against optimism.

“That Zettour is far too disturbing.”

One moment, the enemy general would ferociously commit to relieving a beleaguered position, and then the next, he would go silent and vanish. It would be great if he would just hole up somewhere or retreat. He constantly kept people guessing.

Right up until the moment he really did retreat.

…A dedicated enemy who always demanded a price in blood and iron. Drake had no doubt he was up to no good.

It made perfect sense to lop off the head of the imperial forces. As much as he disliked agreeing with the Federation leadership—or rather, the Communists.

But he had to accept it.

A decapitation strike was worth considering.

The risk was huge, and he also had to admit that the unit carrying out the mission would be essentially wandering the desperate realm of catastrophic failure or death. As a unit commander, Drake ordinarily did his best to avoid those kinds of situations. On the other hand, he had to recognize the idea for its tactical and strategic merits.

Whoever coined the phrase the officer’s dilemma knew exactly what they were talking about.

What to do? he thought with an overwhelming longing for a cigar.

He mulled over it for some time.

“Colonel…sir? Food’s ready.”

Hearing the orderly’s voice brought him back to his senses. Drake instinctively glanced at the clock. He had been lost in thought for quite a while.

“Shoot. It’s already this late? Better eat while the food is still hot.”

What a waste of time. Drake shook his head as he stood up. I should’ve had a good idea or three if I was going to spend so long thinking… He just couldn’t come up with anything unless he flooded his brain with alcohol.

It was times like these that really made him miss knocking back a beer at the local pub. Maybe it was time to open the bottle of wine he’d won from the reporters in a game of cards.

If he used it as a chance to hear from them, that could be considered a necessary expense… No, officers couldn’t go around getting drunk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Our supply situation improved. We got some colonial stuff.”

“Oh?”

That’s something to look forward to, he was thinking as he joined the stream of soldiers heading to the officers’ mess when he noticed a mountain of cans. The delivery must have just arrived. They were even individually wrapped.

Heading toward that trove of canned and bottled goods, the grinning officers were enjoying themselves quite a bit. And why wouldn’t they be? The labels weren’t written in the Federation’s language that they had gotten used to seeing. It was all familiar Commonwealth markings. In other words, these were the same supplies the people in the colonies received. And the only ones who would send individually wrapped canned goods during wartime were colonists.

When he entered the officers’ mess, anticipation running high, he saw that most everyone had already arrived.

In the hands of his happily chatting subordinates were…teacups. Wafting up from them came the rich, fresh smell the Commonwealth took so much pride in.

“Straight from port. Fancy a cuppa, Colonel?”

“Not bad, not bad. So the colonists sent tins of tea as well? I guess I should have some. I’d like to try putting some jam in, too.”

“Ah, so it’s heresy, then?”

It was easy to laugh off the friendly jab. That had gotten much easier ever since the war situation seemed to be tipping in their favor.

“When in Rome, am I right? Communists are impossible to stomach, but we can at least try the way they drink their tea, right?”

When he glanced at the table—Oh, today it’s blueberry jam.

Cookies instead of scones was acceptable. The bread may have been hard, but at least it was white. Anything was better than hardtack.

Bean soup, a simple fish dish, a meat dish—not bad at all. Considering they were at war, this was basically a full-course meal.

The food was about as good as they could expect on the front lines.

Things finally seemed to be headed in the right direction.

“It’s nice to have things like this once in a while on the battlefield. Let’s enjoy some quality for a change.”

JULY 1, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL CAPITAL, ZOLKA CAFË

Colonel Uger has offered to treat Tanya to a meal. What a moving gesture of friendship.

Professionally, it can’t hurt to rub elbows with someone in the rail administration—and he’s a useful friend besides. Throw in a free meal on top, and Tanya has no choice but to show up. Uger is an affable man, so it’s an easy decision to meet him.

On this day, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff was careless.

After a stroll down familiar streets, she steps into Zolka Café, clearly in a great mood and excited for coffee. When she spots Uger’s rather tired-looking face, they trade polite greetings as she takes a seat.

It isn’t until the meal is about to begin that I realize I’ve miscalculated.

The dishes served at the venerable Zolka Café adhere to tradition, meaning an initial offering of bread, then an appetizer, the main course, and a spot of tea to conclude the affair.

That’s all well and good, but there is one issue—every single thing being served is ersatz.

“…What do you think, Colonel Degurechaff? About this home-country feast?” There’s a faintly childish look tinged with sadness on Uger’s face. Maintaining that unusual expression, he chuckles and says, “From the look on your face, it seems that my ambush worked.”

He certainly pulled a fast one on me. Tanya half-jokingly nods. “To be shot in the back. What nasty business.”

“A soldier as distinguished as you should have another set of eyes back there.”

“If it were the notorious General von Zettour inviting me out, maybe, but I thought I could afford to lower my guard if it was a classmate from war college.”

Uger shakes his head, finding that out of character. “I thought you were the embodiment of constant vigilance, on and off the battlefield.”

“Even on a battlefield, you have to trust your allies. This is rather cruel.”

“Successfully springing a trap on a recipient of the Silver Wings Assault Badge will make for a great war story. I’ll have to tell my daughter someday.”

“Too bad that she’ll also have to find out you’re a reprobate who would betray his sworn friend.”

“Please no. Anything but that.”

A good father, Uger worries his daughter might hate him. The family man raises his hands in surrender. They must be close. What a peaceful scene from the rear. I’m jealous. It makes me want to snark at him some more about being served K-Brot for dinner.

“Personally, I’d like to express my good fellow soldier spirit, but sadly I don’t think my tongue will cooperate.”

“It’s having a fit over K-Brot?”

“Yes, it’s quite a real struggle.”

Serving someone K-Brot on the home front is basically violence.

Food quality and quantity is directly linked to morale on the front lines, so more often than not, the soldiers in the thick of hard fighting receive rations of genuine rye bread. Even so, it’s difficult to feed everyone without someone somewhere having to make do with K-Brot, so even frontline troops have eaten it a few times, whether they like it or not.

But…the flavor and adulterations of the home country’s K-Brot are so bad I’d almost call it KK-Brot.

“I’ll never forget the first time I tried K-Brot. I honestly wondered if the idiots back home had developed it to be used as punishment or illegal torture.”

“I feel for you, Colonel. But look. Now everything on the table is food substitutes.”

As Uger said, Zolka Café can’t even hide it anymore.

The meat is practically a disaster. What they bring is nonperishable rations of fish and vegetable matter that was manufactured who knows how many years ago—revolting stuff called De De-Fleisch.

This is the state of the rear—and Zolka Café in the capital.

It’s so bad that if I didn’t know how this place used to be, it would sincerely stump me how they could stay in business while serving such awful food.

The meals here were quite enjoyable. But that’s all in the past now. Grudgingly moving her fork and knife, Tanya crams some of the unidentifiable mush into her mouth. The jumble of flavors is impossible to ignore.

“…Has it gotten worse?”

“Well, the chef and cooks were drafted, so there’s that. But the main issue afflicting the capital is one you’re familiar with. Even the best cook would struggle with rations this bad.”

“I’d like to hope the logistics situation improves…”

“That makes sense, but…this is better than if it started tasting bizarrely good.”

Hmm? Tanya furrows her brow in response to Uger’s comment. Wouldn’t an improvement in food quality be a good thing?

“Zolka Café is making do with what it’s rationed.”

Ahhh. Tanya nods as it becomes clear what he’s getting at. I had to get creative to sort out the Kampfgruppe’s food situation, too. There are times when it becomes necessary to carry out decidedly gray-area methods of procurement—essentially pilfering from the food stores.

The pain of having to produce something even when supplies run low hits close to home.

“They’re making quite an effort… Valiant is the only word for it.”

Not resorting to the black market or procuring things through other illicit channels is certainly praiseworthy. But it tastes bad. It tastes so, so bad.

“Knowing where your food comes from is great as long as it also tastes good.”

I don’t have any pretensions about being a gourmet, but when things have gone this downhill, it’s impossible to simply let it pass without comment.

When food is one of the few things we can still look forward to, this is beyond the pale.

It’s not tasty. Simply put, there could be nothing blander. With meals like this, morale in the trenches would crumble like bad K-Brot.

“That comment makes me question your own law-abiding spirit, Colonel.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel Uger, but I’m an aerial mage. Without the regular intake of calories, I may very well starve to death before I even take to the air.”

Shoving crap food down your throat eats away at the mind faster than you’d think. War is already unbelievably stressful, so some consideration for mental health would be nice. Could the higher-ups keep it a little at the forefront of their minds that food is one of the rare joys that can be found on the battlefield?

I don’t mean to deny how critical it is to be conscious of the supply situation, but we can let the Commies be the ones to rely on endless single-product production. Abundance is what grants capitalism its legitimacy.

“You mean you’re particular about food because it’s part of your duty?”

“I’m a growing girl.”

“Ha, well said. In that case, I can put in a word to the dining room at the General Staff Office if you’d like. I could treat you to all the food you can eat, but…”

“Are you offering to pay for all my meals, Colonel Uger?”

“…We should probably refrain, for both of our sakes.”

“It’s gotten that bad?”

That makes me wonder if the food served to the staff officers is as awful as ever, but Uger cocks his head slightly.

Hmm, that was a curious reaction.

“Well…hmm. How to describe it? It’s bad, but it’s not especially bad.”

“I cannot even begin to guess what you mean by that.”

Uger rephrases. “If I had to put it another way… Lately the gap in quality between the dining room and outside restaurants has lessened.”

“You mean it improved?! Really? Is that even possible?!”

He responds to her tremendous shock with an emotional headshake. “If only that were true. It’s simply that poor-tasting food has become the norm.”

“Meaning…”

He’s saying that relatively speaking, it’s not so bad anymore. But also that it’s just as awful as it’s always been. The only explanation is that food everywhere else got worse overall.

“Rather than the General Staff Office’s fare improving, civilian fare has gone dramatically downhill. As a result, there are now people who voluntarily eat at the office when pressed for time.”

“Surely you’re joking.”

“No, it’s terrible but true.”

He replies with a straight face, and I honestly can’t laugh even if I wanted to.

Tanya’s been “treated” to meals at that dining room a few times by General von Zettour as a sort of power harassment… Things have gotten so bad people actually choose to eat there?

Can this get any more horrifying?

The more I think about it, the more the Empire’s food situation comes into sharp focus. If people are actually choosing to eat at the General Staff Office dining room, doesn’t that mean civilization itself has been defeated?

“Total war is truly a scourge,” Tanya murmurs before dropping her gaze to her hands.

Colored hot water in a pretty vessel. What a wretched feeling. The best porcelain filled with the most disappointing substitute. The porcelain, rich with the scent of civilization, only makes that juxtaposition more depressing.

“Even drinks have become victims.”

Two bitter laughs and a pair of sober expressions.

This lukewarm, tinted water is supposed to be black tea. Even the lowest-quality tea looks and smells better than this.

“It’s a type of herb tea that has been popular of late. Apparently, it’s really good for you if you need a diet high in fiber, Colonel von Degurechaff.”

“I have nothing against being health conscious, but I do wonder about the merits of involuntarily losing weight and cramming your stomach full of indigestible food substitutes. Honestly, it doesn’t seem very agreeable. I’m repeating myself, but I am a growing girl, you know.” Now wearing a frown, Tanya makes her position on the matter quite clear. “More than anything, it’s a matter of taste… I’m not opposed to herb tea. I’d just rather have black tea or coffee.”

“Caffeine, huh?”

“I’m a civilized person, after all.”

Coffee and black tea are perhaps one of the greatest catalysts for progress. It creates a demand for clean boiled water and robust trade networks to distribute commercial products.

Commerce is the best driver of diverse cultural exchange and societal advancement. Thus, it’s only natural to consider caffeine a good friend of the modern citizen.

“To be blunt, Colonel Uger, principles surrounding beverages should not be made light of. Even I find it difficult to get on well with people who have bad taste in tea.”

“Is that a matter of taste?” Uger lifts his teacup with a finger, a wry smile on his face as he speaks. “Sadly, it’s always tastes like that that fall victim to war first—tea and coffee being prime examples.”

“As you say, but surely that doesn’t mean we have to meekly resign ourselves to our miserable fates.” Joking mildly, Tanya winces. “There are times an officer has to fight tooth and nail.”

“I’m afraid this is one time you’ll have to give in, Colonel von Degurechaff. Without your gift from the east, it’s questionable whether there would have even been any sugar.”

The Empire used to be the biggest sugar producer before the war. Then the potato became the most prioritized crop amid repeated calls for more food.

The more I learn, the more heavily reality weighs on me.

“Total war is encroaching on every aspect of daily life now?”

“That’s right. Everyday existence has become much less convenient.”

“But it’s not that bad, is it?”

“…What do you mean by that?” Uger leans in to peer into her eyes. Did Tanya say something that shocking?

“Life may be harder now, but it’s still the same peaceful rear.”

There aren’t enemies lurking behind every corner that need to be cleared out. The home front is a peaceful world where a person can stroll down the street with their wallet in hand. The soldiers we pass by all have crisply starched uniforms.

You won’t find the muck of the trenches here.

No charging Commies, no guerrillas of unknown nationality, no friendly fire from incompetent allies—it’s an extremely orderly space.

To Tanya, the rear is still as inviting as a warm bath.

“I respect the sacrifices of the home front, but during a war, they’ll just have to accept this degree of suffering.”

There’s no disdain or mockery in that statement.

If you’re asking me to compare this place to the front lines, I have to say I much prefer it in the rear. It’s undoubtedly safer here than there.

It’s the objective truth—self-evident and axiomatic.

Despite this being the case, Uger’s expression contorts. Anyone watching would instantly recognize the anger and grief marring his face.

“Colonel Degurechaff…I’d like you to put those thoughts on the back burner.” With a sigh, he looks up at the ceiling before continuing. “…I do have one suggestion on the topic, though.”

“Oh, what might that be?”

“I told the lieutenant generals this as well, but you and they are birds of a feather. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but your minds are too sharp.”

It’s unclear whether that’s praise or criticism.

It’s not a straightforward compliment, but it’s not as if he’s disparaging Tanya, either. And there are worse things than being grouped with influential figures like Rudersdorf and Zettour.

“What do you mean?”

When he’s asked to clarify, Uger clams up. The awkward way he brings the cup of gross “herb tea” to his mouth—his hesitation is practically overflowing.

If he’s this unsettled, the sentiment must be so biting that he’s hesitant to even say it out loud.

“You can tell me, whatever it is.”

When Tanya stares at him, he heaves another heavy sigh.

Does this man intend to drive global warming all on his own?

Considering the industrialization in this era…there must already be a massive amount of greenhouse gasses in the air, but no one sees it as an issue. People are more worried about the planet cooling. Maybe I should warn them that in the long run, the trapped heat is a much greater concern?

The silence continues long enough for these idle musings to cross my mind before Uger finally speaks up again.

“…I need you to take in some human emotions.”

“I beg your pardon, but are you saying that…I’m—?”

“To put it bluntly, I’d like to ask you to do what is natural as a human.”

Is he saying I’m not human? That’s awfully unexpected. I feel like there are few people who can boast a sense of individuality as polished as mine. Even that piece of shit Being X would be hard-pressed to deny that.

“Is there a reason why my humanity has come into question? My character? Colonel, on my honor, I’ve carried out my duties perfectly…!”

In a flash of apparent anger, Tanya half-rises out of her seat, only for Uger to hastily add, “This is not a condemnation! Please understand!”

“Could you elaborate?”

“I have no intention of disparaging your character! I swear—it’s simply frank advice! Please just think of it as a candid suggestion.”

“…So you’re pointing out a shortcoming?”

Sitting back down, Tanya asks a pointed question, and Uger simply nods in response, as a staff officer is wont to. No point in trying to dodge the subject.

“When it comes to right and wrong, you expect too much too fast, and you’re overly harsh on those who don’t measure up. Given your upbringing and experience, I can understand why you behave that way, but…it’s a bad habit.” He continues with a look of heartfelt exhaustion on his face. “After all, most emotions are persistent. Once they get tangled up, it takes time to smooth them out.”

“I can’t say I don’t understand…”

“But you still want to disagree?”

“Yes,” Tanya replies honestly.

I can acknowledge the basic truth that emotions can be stubborn.

By the time some idiot who’s given himself over to his emotions pushes you off a train platform and Being X—awfully short-tempered for someone who claims to be a supernatural deity—misdirects his anger at you and the Reich throws itself in the middle of a war in service of the emotional arguments made by those who are long dead, the basic truth about human emotions becomes quite clear. Who would know better than a victim of it like me?

Which is why that harm has to be condemned. If something gets snagged, it can simply be cut away. Isn’t that how the Gordian knot was unraveled?

“We aren’t children who have the luxury of wailing about what we do or don’t like.”

People who reach adulthood become full members of society, at which point good sense is something they are required to have.

If all humanity only ever acted on their emotions, the cornerstones of civilization probably never would have been laid. If we always resolved things with brute force, the doctrine of nuclear mutually assured destruction would never have been realized.

I’m loath to admit it, but the examples of history cannot be denied. Even the Commies managed to maintain some base level of rationality. Although I’m still skeptical as to whether that can be truly defined as reason…

Anyway, the truth is good enough. Both sides brandished their nuclear weapons, threatened mutual assured destruction, stockpiled enough toxic substances to reduce the globe to cinders, and yet the Cold War never went hot.

Viva civilization. Viva rationality.

“Necessity requires reason. Hesitation, trepidation, lack of a firm resolve—they’re all synonymous with lost opportunity. Nothing but shackles.”

This isn’t pretense or a facade but simply my honest thoughts.

In biological competition, which is in a sense nastier and more brutal than market competition, soldiers on a battlefield must make split-second decisions on which lives quite literally depend. And they must do this on the fly, under circumstances that often offer no room for caution.

Rather than what’s ideal, we need to choose whatever is good enough in the time allotted. The opportunity cost of time, especially during wartime, weighs heavier than some poor sod’s life. Naturally, my own life and assets are a different story.

“…That’s exactly my point.”

Judging by Uger’s expression and tone of voice, he doesn’t find much to agree with in Tanya’s impassioned declaration of commitment to those guiding principles—though surely any field officer would completely agree with each and every detail, not to mention the general tone of her remarks.

“I can’t understand that mentality of unconditionally abiding by necessity.” The voice he quietly emits is a groan. “I’m an adult. I’ve received a thorough education as a General Staff officer. Even so, right now I want to curl up like a child and sob.”

“Huh…?”

“Colonel, I just can’t comprehend it. I’m honestly incapable of understanding your idea of ‘necessity.’”

I’m struck by a wave of confusion. This is more shocking than an indestructible wall that suddenly crumbles.

What does he mean he can’t understand? Of all the ridiculous…

“Excuse me for pointing out the obvious, but you are a General Staff officer, Colonel.”

He received a proper education at the war college. Once you become a staff officer, the staff officer paradigm is repeatedly pounded into your brain.

Yet, here is a staff officer openly saying he wants to break down and cry? Keep it together, man!

“We are staff officers. We are—must be—beings who, through shared knowledge and training, all follow the same unshakable creed.”

“You’re saying there should be no way I don’t understand?”

“Yes, Colonel Uger. It should be impossible on principle.”

Staff officers are educated to be staff officers.

The fundamental and also most basic concept is necessity. Once set, goals must be carried out with firm resolve.

It’s both the mother of invention and our loathsome duty. If it is required of us, we have no choice. No hesitation, no delays. All indecision and complaint must be set aside. We always do our jobs.

“Education at the war college is extremely simple. Its goal is to mass-produce staff officers, so once you’ve set foot in the classroom, the thinking and behavior of a staff officer should sink into your bones. That’s the kind of people we should be now…”

Emotional issues are an element of the will to fight that need to be taken into consideration and accounted for. They mustn’t be any more or less than that, and they cannot ever cause a staff officer to waver.

They beat that into us from the moment school started.

“What do you think, Colonel?”

“…What you’re saying makes sense. And in fact, I do grasp the logic. Thankfully, my memory is halfway decent.” He shakes his head, however. “But I’ve been in the rear for too long. I’ve become human. I’m sure that’s been the case since my daughter was born.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he feebly wrenches some words from inside his chest.

“Colonel Degurechaff, I…I can’t go on in life as a monstrous staff officer. I’m nothing but a weak human. Once, I wanted to be a monster, but it’s beyond me now.”

A declaration of his humanity?

From someone who went through the same war college curriculum as me? From my classmate, a capable worker with integrity as well as a man who possesses all the virtues of a modern citizen?

“That can’t be! You’re worrying far too much!” Tanya raises her voice to encourage him. “You’re a fine staff officer! I’ve heard how talented you are. I know you must be tired, but surely there’s no reason to lose heart!”

“I’m barely useful as a distribution and logistics overseer. And even then, most of my duties just involve negotiating in the rear. It has nothing to do with what staff officers should really be working on.”

He weakly mocks himself, lamenting how he can’t be of any use on the battlefield.

“Worst of all, I’m a third-rate operations man. I hesitate too much. I’m absolutely useless when it comes to being a commander. For better or worse, I can at least see myself objectively.”

Uger utters this unbelievable self-evaluation in a detached way, and it’s completely beyond my ability to understand.

What in the world is going on?

“Honestly, I’m so glad I got stationed in the rear, and it was all thanks to you.” Uger’s head bows low.

Though it’s not busy, per se, we’re still in public at Zolka Café. If he’s this unconcerned by what people might think, he must be serious. His expression isn’t visible from where Tanya’s sitting, but I have to believe that whatever sincerity or whatnot is there has to be genuine.

If Tanya laughs it off, her social skills will undoubtedly be brought into question. After a moment’s indecision, I opt for a benign response.

“With all due respect…back then, I was merely advising you as a concerned classmate.”

“Even so. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Being thanked so personally like this feels… Hmm, is it the joy of a civilian? Perhaps I’ve been on the front lines too long—the lump forming in Tanya’s throat is enormous.

“And now it’s my turn to give you advice. I understand that you personally aren’t evil—that’s precisely why I’m telling you these things.”

“I appreciate the kind gesture.”

“…Don’t say it so formally, Colonel.”

“It’s just my nature.”

I’m not stupid enough to let my guard down and abandon etiquette with work friends. Really, that’s the norm in the Empire.

“That it is. You really are that kind of person. Your dedication to duty is entirely too perfect. If I didn’t know better, I would peg you for a cold-blooded beast. You’re not worried about people getting the wrong idea about you?”

What a polite warning. Honestly, Uger tends to be much more personal than the typical citizen of the Empire. Of course, looking that up in a dictionary would also turn up the word busybody.

Tanya puffs out her chest and says, “At any rate, I’m fairly proud of the relationships I’ve built…”

“Ha-ha-ha. It’s always the person in question who is the last to realize. Let me just say as a friend that you should be careful, Degurechaff.”

“I’m blessed with good superiors, reliable brothers-in-arms, and even good subordinates. My relationships with people are one of the very few things I can boast about.”

Capable bosses, a former classmate who makes life easier for me, and my trusty meat shield. They’re all well trained to boot, so what more can I ask for?

I even have other colleagues and subordinates I can trust. In the rapidly deteriorating Imperial Army, it’s probably rare to find an officer as lucky as me.

“Pride in your friendships…hmm? Well, you’re free to have that if you like, I suppose.”

“Hooray for freedom. Hooray for friendship. That’s about all I have to say on the matter.”

“I see,” Uger says, his smile darkening just slightly. Then he says casually but with a subtle change in tone, “…Oh, right. On that note about friendship… This is a personal topic I’d like to discuss with you in confidence…”

“What might that be?”

I notice the unspoken signal.

It’s information from an unofficial connection. Those kinds of tidbits are very important. An idiot will tell you to get your intel on the news, but by the time anything is being broadcast to the world at large, those in the know have long since heard the outcome.

During wartime, the only way to grasp the fluid, ever-changing situation is to draw information out of the insiders.

See? My relationships are serving me perfectly fine. You worry too much, Uger, and more so than I expected.

“I have bad news.”

Maybe that’s why he’s giving me these roundabout warnings? To express heartfelt gratitude, Tanya bows her head and listens with every fiber of her body.

“I think I mentioned it before. The let’s-be-friends-again party I was planning at my buddy’s house. I’m sure you remember. Does it ring a bell?”

Buddy, party, and…making up with someone?

Given the context, I guess he’s referring to the peace talk negotiations via Ildoa.

“Oh, our mutual pal? You have an update on the plans?”

“It’s just not coming together. We left it at Perhaps under different circumstances.”

“Our friend who was going to mediate said that?!”

If Ildoa is hampering communication between the Empire and the Commonwealth, that could be a major signal as to which side they’re really on. Well, that’s just great. Tanya is furrowing her brow when she notices Uger shaking his head.

“No, it was our choice.”

“That’s a surprise. I thought you wanted to make up.”

“Sadly, the distance has grown too large. I didn’t feel like talking anymore, so I simply got up and left.”

“I see. That’s too bad. Understood.”

Ooh, these bastards. The imperial leadership’s feet fell asleep! Here we are, direly in need of peace, but they can’t tolerate a little discomfort? Unbelievable!

This news is so bad that if she didn’t know Uger, Tanya would have jumped up and yelled that he was talking absolute nonsense.

“Not that it’s really a substitute, but I’m planning a field trip with General Rudersdorf. You should come and watch.”

Our hopes for peace have been crushed, so we’re going on a field trip? Only one thing needs to be made clear right now.

“Is that an order?”

“It is.”

His matter-of-fact reply as he nods is the necessary and sufficient condition.

“Then I’ll do as instructed.”

“I appreciate it, Colonel.”

“Don’t mention it.”

This exchange is over, but why had Uger felt the need to declare his humanity? Tanya doesn’t have an answer.

JULY 2, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL, NEAR CENTRAL STATION

Trains bound for the east leave the imperial capital every single day. Eagerly awaiting their next leave, soldiers brace themselves all along the eastern front or perhaps trembling in the trenches.

Every last one of them is homesick. Sadly, given the critical state of the war and the deteriorating railway situation, getting a chance to actually go on your allotted leave is almost too much to wish for.

On the other hand, the capital also welcomes returnees on a daily basis. Many must have dreamed of returning to their Heimat and savoring the beer of their hometown, but instead they come back as silent coffins.

Though the main point of departure during this great war had shifted from west to east, returnees were still coming back to the capital horizontal in their coffins.

Tanya has been supplied with civilian mourning clothes, and the ceremony she is ordered to attend is one of those ubiquitous memorial services for the war dead.

Military business without the military attire. Apparently, she’s just a private citizen for today. Lieutenant General Rudersdorf has also removed his uniform to put on plain formal wear. He all but tells her to follow him with the way he pointedly walks over to one corner of the venue.

I’m not getting the sense that he’ll take no for an answer. Tanya has no choice but to swallow her questions, purse her lips, and follow him.

Before long, they reach a spot just a short way from the north exit of the train station.

In every direction, all that can be seen is black. Mixed in with the throng of mourning clothes, the occasional dress uniform interrupts the wall of muted colors.

Are those white spots navy dress uniforms? They stick out too much.

The thin streaks of white give the crowd a strange, mottled pattern. And most of the visible army officers are ranked captain or lower. The ones overseeing the procession are field officers, at least, but…compared to Tanya’s and the general’s formal wear, it’s plain to see how the folks in uniform are extremely conspicuous.

In impersonal, black mourning clothes, you cease to be an individual and fade into the background. It was a smart choice as a camouflage. Thus, Tanya is able to attend this funeral as a mere bystander.

That said, she’s in the Empire, and this is a ceremony, so certain norms still need to be followed.

No matter where it takes place, all these things start the same way.

A sad bugle rings out. Whether a simplified service on the front or a memorial service for the war dead in the rear, the song is always the same.

Frankly, the Empire loves decorum.

Whether in the capital, on the forward-most line, or yes, in the trenches of the east, the dead are grieved for in the prescribed way.

Apparently, I’ve gotten quite used to hearing this song. It really does make you recall your fellow soldiers, and the melody lingers in Tanya’s ears. It almost lulls her into acting instinctively, without thinking.

Standing at attention, she stops short of saluting. She’s dressed as a civilian right now. She snaps her rising arm back down and swallows a little sigh.

The goal here is observation.

Thus, she takes a closer look, and…she finds herself unexpectedly confused.

She can’t see.

The reason for poor visibility is, to be blunt, a sea of people’s backs.

Normally her subordinates are considerate and keep out of her way, but naturally she can’t expect that treatment from the masses… How am I supposed to do anything like this?

“Can you see?”

She responds to the teasing officer’s voice honestly, with some impatience.

“I-it’s a bit… Well, with my height, I can’t quite make out…”

On the front line, my height doesn’t inconvenience me at all. Sometimes it even makes my life easier—for instance, I don’t need to crouch as much as the others. But it’s not very helpful when I’m standing upright in a crowd of people.

The height disparity is undeniable. I admit it—I’m tiny. Of course, since I present a smaller target to the enemy, that just means I’m optimized for the battlefield.

How frustrating that I’m not optimized for a civilized urban landscape.

“You can’t see at all, huh?”

“Er…not from here, unfortunately.”

“And it would be rather inappropriate for me to hoist you up on my shoulders.”

It’s exceedingly clear that her superior, smiling like somebody’s kindly grandfather, is having a laugh at my expense. This is what makes staff officers such nasty characters.

I’m not happy I have to show a strange weakness in such an unusual moment…but I must admit that Tanya is on the short side.

“Are you saying I could sit on your shoulders?”

“What? That’s what you want? Then I suppose I could do that.”

Despite my best attempt to rattle him, the general’s defenses are impregnable.

Political animals though they may be, as social animals, there are lines humans should not cross. And if I’m being honest, I’d do just about anything else than have to sit on his shoulders.

“…No, er…”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me. I have the strength.”

He laughs while assuring me that he’s plenty capable of holding me up, and my spine practically freezes.

If he puts me on his shoulders here, the shame will stay with me for the rest of my life. If there end up being photos, any honor and dignity I may have accumulated will be obliterated. I started this, but surely my only choice is to respectfully decline.

“I’m honored by your offer, but I believe the circumstances call for some reserve. Perhaps another time.”

“I see.” Rudersdorf laughs, utterly unperturbed. Is it just me, or is he enjoying himself quite a bit at this funeral?

It makes me question his humanity. Even the people like Tanya who are here for work are maintaining a somber expression, yet here he is screwing around!

Is he socially awkward or something?

In the rear, for better or worse, social etiquette is alive and well. Though I’d just as soon rather not, if people see a child standing on tiptoes, I’m sure the ladies and gentlemen around us will naturally give way.

Specifically, a bit of piss-poor acting takes care of the crowd. I suppose Rudersdorf feels a bit like Moses when he dons a mournful expression and appeals to bystanders with phrases like “Please, this little girl is trying to see…”

And so there’s no choice but to take part in this awkward theatrical production. Bowing apologetically, I occupy the space that has instantly been created for me.

As I push forward, my field of vision opens up.

The bit about the shoulder ride must have been a jab. Staff officers often take the initiative to exploit the things that people hate.

Yes, that’s the problem with staff officers.

Still, as a result, I can see now.

Turning her head to look around, Tanya’s focused eyes notice that everything is laid out in a completely standard manner. The service is very by the book, and no matter how hard she looks, there is nothing particularly novel about it. To be honest, I’m sick of seeing these things.

After all, the east is one of the major processing centers for turning soldiers into war dead.

The eastern front transforms the raw materials ferried from the imperial capital into corpses and then delivers them back home. The capital exports raw materials and imports war dead—it’s a processing trade.

Of course, I recognize regional variation with different locations. Case in point, the capital is as far as you can get from the front lines. Given the location, there is a notable presence of black civilian mourning dress.

But that’s it.

There’s no real reason to be here studying the scene.

“…Look at them.”

Following the finger that poked her in the shoulder and then points…Tanya can make out a group of people with crisply starched clothing. On the eastern front, other soldiers carry the casket, but here they appear to be honor guards.

“Hmm?”

That’s when Tanya notices something. They’re awfully—how to say—they make the casket look so heavy. They’re probably not breathing hard, but it’s obvious from a glance that they’re straining.

Strange.

That coffin shouldn’t even have anything in it—it’s most likely just an empty box. Are they acting as if an actual body is inside out of consideration for all the civilians in attendance?

But the war has been going on long enough that surely it’s common knowledge by now that you’re lucky if there’s so much as a bone to put in the casket. It’s impossible to gloss over that reality.

What’s more, this performance isn’t even regulation for burying the war dead. There’s no stipulation that the casket should be carried as if it was a heavy burden, as far as I’m aware… Was it revised while I wasn’t looking?

Or did they really throw a body that decomposed into that coffin? Then it must be a high-ranking officer, or someone decorated at least. But if that were the case, there should be more familiar faces in the crowd.

I don’t understand it one bit. Tanya continues observing.

The key to these things is always the rank and file.

Setting aside the issue of what’s in the casket, Tanya turns her gaze on the utterly normal soldiers. But the longer she watches them, the stronger the urge to avert her eyes grows.

Talk about out of sync!

I’m not claiming they need to be flawlessly goose-stepping or anything. But how is something this visually disconcerting allowed to happen during a ceremony in the rear? Considering the importance of appearances for the army, it’s puzzling.

If a whiny military bureaucrat married to the regulations were present, they’d be ripping into this performance without a second of hesitation.

Not that I have any intention of having my troops abide by such a strict interpretation of military code, but if this is the state of the honor guard, I can confidently say the Salamander Kampfgruppe would perform much better.

Even a unit that hadn’t had much etiquette training would be preferable.

“…What a mess.” Tanya finds herself lamenting in spite of herself.

If you can’t carry a single wounded comrade, you can’t call yourself a soldier. Gasping under a casket carried by multiple people is entirely out of the question. Under normal circumstances, it would be difficult to believe that a group of properly trained soldiers carrying a casket could find it heavy.

Or perhaps it really did feel heavy—to these borderline malnourished fellows, it just might.

As Tanya continues to watch, something else becomes apparent.

All the pallbearers look rather pale and unwell. Are they mostly soldiers who were sent to the rear to recover from illness? Or perhaps with a golden wound? Watching them move, she can make out a slight wobble that could indicate a limp.

Aside from that, most of them appear to be rosy-cheeked young men.

Their relative sizes are a bit varied for an army that likes to choose honor guards of similar heights for a dignified appearance, but more than anything, they’re unbelievably young.

Maybe it’s just her, but they look like they could almost be cadets from the officer academy, or volunteers in their mid- to late teens.

“…I guess this is what you call distortion,” Tanya murmurs quietly. She was talking to herself, but her superior seems to have heard her remark and found it appropriate.

“So you see it, too.”

Seeing him apparently satisfied by her observation, Tanya nods slightly.

“Yes.”

“…This, what you see in front of you, is the current situation we are facing,” Rudersdorf whispers, having crouched down. “The unwell and the young carrying coffins. It’s awful.”

These boys look like they’re really struggling under that coffin… How sad. It’s a scene that embodies the dried-up human resources pool. For Tanya, it’s about all she can do to endure the dizziness. Perhaps Rudersdorf feels the same way. He continues his lament in a quiet voice.

“And it speaks accurately to the Empire’s fate. But that’s from our point of view. Let’s observe from a different angle.” He pats Tanya’s shoulder and rises. “Today, make sure you take a good look at people’s faces.”

As instructed, she runs her eyes over the venue, taking in the rows of anguished expressions. Perhaps they’re grieving relatives? Friends of the dead?

Either way, if they’re in the procession, they must have some connection to the deceased. It’s only natural that people left behind would look upset. The death of someone close to you is always distressing.

The sorrowful air grows stagnant, and the muted sound of overflowing tears is audible. This is unmistakably a funeral procession.

But Tanya notes something else as well.

These grieving lamentations are only from those in the procession.

Even unconnected people coming and going in the capital superficially make way as a formality and bow their heads to be polite. But beneath that, you can sense a sort of disinterest. The civilians passing by convey a sense of hopeless familiarity with their every move.

It’s clear at a glance. Their movements are smooth and even relaxed. A group of soldiers who appear to be off duty stiffen and perform slick salutes. If Tanya herself had been passing by on other business, she would have offered one with a silent prayer as well.

These repeated and perfected motions are nothing more than well-practiced manners at this point.

“…Ah, I get it now.”

Grief has become commonplace here, as if it were just another part and parcel of being well-mannered in polite company.

It’s fine to be sophisticated—as long as we aren’t constantly holding ceremonies for war dead.

In peaceful Japan, any event that caused double-digit deaths in one day would be reported nonstop. Meanwhile in the imperial capital today, casualty numbers have lost all meaning.

The same applies to being informed that dozens are dying every single day. The best such a topic can do is incidentally come up in conversation and inspire the same level of interest as the weather. In the next moment, the conversation will shift to a rousing debate about substitute foods.

That’s how far war has encroached on the fabric of society. For residents of the capital during the great war, caskets of war dead have long since become a normal part of daily life. Someone like Tanya, returning from the front where they don’t have time to give each and every corpse a proper burial, finds the ceremony more unusual than the civilians.

This is a distorted sense of normalcy.

A broken peace where the abnormal has long since supplanted the normal. The forward-most line has felt like a world of people whose rationality has been ground down by enemy heavy artillery, but…apparently, the madness has slithered its way into the rear as well and to a much greater degree than expected. The world’s reason has been obliterated, and chaos is only growing.

“…There’s something tragic about this.”

With that remark from Tanya, Rudersdorf must have decided that he had shown her enough. He tersely says, “Let’s go.”

“…Yes, sir.”

It’s not necessary to push back through the crowd. A few slight bows to the smattering of people around them is enough to make a path. Regardless of how it is on the front, other areas are quite open.

As they leave the funeral venue, Rudersdorf maintains his silence.

He reaches into his pocket for a cigar, brings it up to his mouth, and puffs as he strides away.

His gait seems…irritated. He doesn’t seem to notice that his stride is longer than Tanya’s, either. In the end, she has to jog to keep up.

Some superior officers really don’t pay attention to details like this…

Or maybe it’s simply that they can’t afford to care…

The former is no good for obvious reasons, but if someone who was normally considerate of these things has been forced to ignore it because circumstances don’t allow for it…that’s a much bigger problem.

Coming out onto Main Street and mingling with the pedestrian traffic, the general finally stops.

“How was it?”

A sudden question completely devoid of ornamentation.

“It forced me to acknowledge my lack of foresight and imagination… It’s hard to believe we’re in the rear. Has the imperial capital become purgatory?”

“Indeed. It’s as you’ve seen with your own eyes. Colonel Uger mentioned it to me the other day, so I went to have a look. It was only then I finally realized.”

“I feel the same way. I suppose seeing really is believing.”

I’ve finally caught a glimpse of Uger’s brilliant consensus-building skills in action.

Frankly, his planning is impeccable. Someone who doesn’t go over someone’s head to move them but forces them to comprehend intuitively. His talent with people is a real treasure. I’m sure he’ll go far.

I originally intended to knock him out of the running for promotions, but it seems he has the mettle to keep growing. Competing with someone like him would be a waste of energy, capital, and time. I’ll try to stay on good terms with him instead.

At the same time, I belatedly realize that if such an outstanding individual is going out of his way to give Tanya a warning, it deserves more than a cursory examination.

“…So even those who died in battle can no longer affect public opinion?”

“Zettour would have something to say about death becoming ubiquitous.”

The shock of total war is great. It must have necessitated a paradigm shift. But perhaps the immensity of it pushed society to numb its senses instead.

Mobilizing every last youth, the rationing system, the mass employment of women and girls in every service and industry, and a sea of corpses flowing from the front lines.

“I do think it’s possible to find some hope in all this.”

“What?”

“If they aren’t seized by emotion, couldn’t that mean that a proper discussion centered on logic and reason is possible?”

A wise thought if I do say so myself. It certainly feels as though Tanya just made a sharp observation.

Sadly, conversation is a tricky business.

“Colonel, are you an idiot?”

The exact opposite of the agreement I was expecting. It’s a stinging retort.

“I—I beg your pardon, General. What do you mean?”

“You really are an idiot, then.”

Being told off so bluffly is quite upsetting, even for me. Tanya maintains a polite smile, but her twitching lips definitely give it away for anyone who bothers looking closely.

“Are you that hopelessly ignorant of people’s feelings? You’re the typical example of someone who can conduct psychological warfare yet still can’t comprehend the human heart.”

“Sir?”

Faced with Tanya’s incomprehension, Rudersdorf heaves an exasperated sigh. How…humiliating.

Tanya is extremely, utterly offended.

“Are you one of these morons who thinks of war as nothing more than people butchering one another? Use your head and figure out where you left your common sense behind. Once it passes a certain threshold, anger plateaus.”

As if they’re having a pleasant philosophical discussion, Rudersdorf smiles, his stern features unnaturally peaceful.

“True fury is marked by the strange calm that comes over someone after they’ve gone past their limits.”

Taking out another cigar and a lighter, he apparently intends to enjoy a brief pause. As the smoke puffs out from between his lips, the general seems as calm as ever…but his hands are shaking.

It would be one thing if I could believe it was simply due to age.

“While they can still scream, it’s different. While they can scream, they give it voice. Once people reach rock bottom and they stop crying out… How can I explain it?”

Though restrained by the basic training every soldier receives, a subtle expression crosses his face. Is that…fear? I want to dismiss the very idea, but there’s no other explanation.

Her superior and the operations officer who is de facto don of the General Staff is frightened? That’s the sort of thing that paralyzes the hearts of field officers like Tanya. This is a nightmare. I come close to sympathizing with people who mistakenly cling to supposedly higher beings in their moment of weakness.

If it weren’t for free will and my resolute, modern ego, these feelings of powerlessness probably would’ve driven me into the grasping hands of faith as well.

Luckily, the fraud’s trick has been revealed.

Tanya takes a deep breath. After waiting a moment to let the oxygen reach her brain, she shakes her head to clear it and regain a measure of calm.

“General, is that something we should be afraid of?”

“Afraid? …Hmm, I suppose we have to acknowledge that,” he mutters. “The explosive power of public opinion bottled up for so long—it’s like magma under extreme pressure… There really is something equally awe- and fear-inspiring about it.”

The way he’s talking about public opinion as if it were magma makes Tanya’s brow furrow. That said, it’s undeniable that lately I’ve had to accept that the masses and public opinion are outside my areas of expertise.

Tanya herself is an ordinary, upstanding citizen, so it’d be nice if she could claim that she could represent public opinion, but…

Sadly, there are idiots out there.

Those imbeciles are beyond saving. And it would seem that they’re more formidable than an individual of good sense like Tanya can imagine.

“So what you’re saying, General, is that what appears to be peaceful in this world might actually be concealing something that’s on the brink of blowing up?”

“Even gunpowder is stable until it explodes.”

That sounds like something an artillery officer or field engineer would say. Those guys love making comments about how charming explosives are as long as they don’t go off.

“Is that the same as feeling surprisingly calm while thinking, I’m gonna kill you?”

“…That may be the truth on the battlefield, but it has no place in discussions about important matters of state. It’s the sort of outrageous thing someone who only knows the battlefield would say. A classic example of inflexible thinking. I’m disappointed in you.”

For a moment, I’m not sure how to respond. I’d like to argue that I have a wealth of experience, but that would be a baseless claim.

Damn. Tanya freezes up, but for better or worse, Rudersdorf also looks puzzled and then pounds his hand.

“…Sorry, I take back everything I just said. Your lack of experience is self-evident.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s true that the vast majority of your life has been spent in the army. I forgot who I was talking to. I must admit my criticism was inappropriate.”

Much to my chagrin, the general is earnestly lowering his head in apology. Is he feigning politeness? Is he mocking me?

If he wants a counterargument, I have plenty.

That’s why it’s so hard for Tanya to swallow her protest. There’s no way she can say any of those things. If he asks for an explanation, how could she possibly reply?

After all, Tanya “volunteered” for the army at the youngest possible age. As far as anyone in this world can tell, she has no other life experience to speak of, not even nominally, and there’s no way she could claim otherwise.

I have no idea how the general is interpreting Tanya’s polite silence, but he seems to have come to a conclusion on his own. “If I compare it to the calm before an attack, you understand, right? All who remain are simply waiting for the whistle in the trenches, exhausted, their minds numb.”

“In that analogy, when the peace finally comes to an end, it shatters in an instant.”

Rudersdorf nods in acknowledgment and brings his cigar to his lips in discomfort. “When order is upheld, peace can be preserved. Without it, peace is impossible. It’s the difference between having a thin layer of ice or not.”

An imperial victory would be wonderful…or rather, it would be an achievement proportionate to the vast sacrifices. In other words, it’s equal in price to the blood the Imperial Army has shed. That’s fine if we’re talking statements that say nothing at all.

Sadly, investment doesn’t come with a guarantee that you’ll recoup the principal.

This is a project that has lost sight of its definition of victory. The only ones who can hope for any success are scammers deceiving the stockholders. Even start-up press releases sound more promising than this.

The credit known as victory is now just bad debt.

It’s so subpar, it can’t be rated. Even specialists who don’t fear the risk of investing in bad debt wouldn’t be able to find a scrap of hope in this enterprise.

And the funniest part of all is that it’s impossible to laugh at this absurd situation. What a nightmare this is turning out to be.

Perhaps humans are creatures who are fated to repeat that cycle. To my subjective memory, it feels like ages ago, but when was it that the U.S. messed up in the same way?

Those subprime mortgages—what a panic that was.

What says it all is how “average Americans” seemed to have decided as a group to take no interest in that abnormality. Truly unbelievable.

“…The illusion of plans. The fantasy of harmony and order. The way the future should be. General, this is an outrageous con.”

“Con or whatever it is, a plan is a plan.”

“The reason it’s a con is that it’s not going to work out, though.”

“If our failure is exposed, it’ll be impossible to escape disaster. As such, our only choice is to keep fighting. After all, there’s nothing to say that it won’t trigger the detonation that will blow the Empire sky-high.”

An explosion—that is, an unprecedented rampage.

Oh, he must be referring to what happens when you lose a war.

At the same time as I have that idle thought, the realist in me has some doubts. Would a country that has fought past the point of exhaustion have the energy for an explosion like that?

It’s an open question whether humans will continue to cling to something that’s been thoroughly broken beyond repair.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but…I do wonder what will really happen after we burn out. Depending on the situation and the timing, isn’t it possible we end up quietly welcoming peace?”

“Have you joined the pack of dreamers drowning in daytime fantasies, too?”

Withering under his utterly disdainful tone and glare, Tanya is taken aback. She’s neither an unprincipled defeatist nor an optimist.

Tanya speaks more forcefully to make her point. “No, General. It’s merely my personal theory. Very simply, I’m just extrapolating what seems like a possible result we can expect following total war.”

History certainly has precedents. There is no greater proof than reality. And actually, as far as Tanya is concerned, truth is stranger than fiction.

Make no mistake, the world truly is filled with real mysteries. That’s what enables Tanya to argue with her superior officer by shooting a question back at him.

“I can’t help but be skeptical. In a country that has fought down to the marrow in their bones, does the populace even have enough energy in reserve for an outburst?”

“Do you have any basis for claiming that?”

Of course I do.

The Empire of Japan.

When the people found out they lost, they were shocked beyond belief. There may have been a handful of exceptions at Atsugi, holdouts on the front lines, and a domestic campaign against Commies, but the majority embraced defeat.

The Third Reich.

In the ruins of their dreams of empire, utterly overwhelmed, they were forced to confront defeat.

Or the Cretan War. Or the Soviet-Afghan War. Fighting so hard you run out of options means there is literally nothing to do but embrace defeat.

“Please take a look at the former Entente Alliance and the Principality of Dacia and how their will to resist differs from the Republic’s. The former two were bludgeoned completely into the ground while the latter, though defeated, retained the energy to resist.”

It’s no élan vital,1 but morale can sometimes be a monster.

Whether people act recklessly or not is a mental issue. Psychological warfare deserves to be recognized at least a little bit.

“If they have any energy remaining, they’ll be liable to revolt again, perhaps more seriously this time.”

“It’s not as if you don’t know about our rampant partisan problem. They’re even popping up in Dacia these days. Under the circumstances, that sort of opinion seems rather bold.”

“Time is a medicine that relieves pain and memory loss—it seems to be a tonic for the troubled mind.”

Humans are frequently capable of forgetting the inconvenient.

Thanks to our handy brains, the French hold up their resistance myth, German people murmur about “good Germans,” and the British called their Empire “generous.” The Japanese turned into “victims of militarism,” while Americans have no doubt that their exceptionalism is real, kings of the hill.

But what is the reality?

“Fine. I can concede that there is the possibility of things concluding without a great upheaval. But, Colonel, there are too many issues with that scenario for us to accept that as the most likely outcome.”

When he points that out, I understand so well it makes me sick.

Defeat means literally being forced to accept peace. That’s not something the Empire is capable of enduring at present.

A gradual decline.

A quagmire.

A way forward that isn’t clear.

Despite these things being true, the Empire still boasts the ability to fight.

Considering its position in negotiations, there is too great a risk in failing to compete. If we let someone discover our weakness, we could end up in the same position Germany found itself during World War I.

But then how can we resolve things? Is there some way to satisfactorily patch things up in every arena?

From the history I’m privy to, peace seems… Well, that’s the shameful truth.

Even after decisive victory in the Russo-Japanese War, there were the Hibiya riots.

Looking at other historical precedents, rather than being dismayed and muted, people rioted in major opposition to the perfectly acceptable peace terms. Without a proper explanation that the public is willing to accept, that’s what happens.

In the end, if we want to avoid chaos on the home front, we can’t discount public opinion.

Luckily…the current political situation vis-à-vis popular sentiment isn’t particularly awful. And the Empire’s administrative organs are superior to that of any of our time-honored Communist rivals. With what some would call decisive and merciless oppression, the police force has achieved the virtual obliteration of organized dissent, so the fact is that our society’s malcontents have been beaten and cornered for a while now.

But our opponents are Commies.

We definitely haven’t eradicated all their cells. They are shockingly tenacious and resilient. There’s no end in sight for this game of Whack-a-Mole. Reminds me of the east—argh.

“I realize it’ll be a difficult challenge. It’s a task on par with achieving victory in the east.”

When you’re looking for a soft-landing strategy while a hard landing keeps flickering in and out of view, it’s pretty hard to stay calm and carry on.

Seeing how the world was forced to confront the Commie threat head-on after World War II, letting our guard down would be no different from contemplating suicide.

Let’s be honest. This is a truly intimidating challenge. But Tanya speaks forcefully, incorporating her determination and will into her reply. “Nothing could be harder than attaining a peaceful, quiet conclusion to this war, but…we mustn’t give up.”

“Well said.”

“Yes. We have to do this—for peace.”

And for me.

We have to reestablish peace.

In my general vicinity, if nowhere else. I’m not asking for anything so ambitious as world peace. Achieving an environment where I can pursue my own future in safety would be plenty satisfying.

That environment requires peace.

“For peace, huh?”

“For peace in the Reich. For a tranquil Heimat. It’s an extremely simple wish.”

Soldiers are fans of peace by nature. Who could possibly better understand the value of peace more than soldiers during wartime?

“I didn’t know you were such a fan of peace.”

“Yes, sir, I’m a coward.”

Tanya tells the truth as if it’s a joke.

The reason he finds it out of character must be her combat record. She’s been on the front lines for so long that it makes sense people would assume she enjoys it there.

But I’d much prefer working at the company headquarters.

And it was just recently that Lieutenant Colonel Uger’s declaration of his humanity left quite an impression. I’d like to be thought of as a human commander, too.

“A recipient of the Silver Wings claiming to be a coward? You? I’m surprised, Colonel. This is starting to sound like a children’s book.”

“Will the General Staff Office publish it? I look forward to the royalties.”

Her reply seems to have hit her superior’s funny bone.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Royalties! Royalties, you say?” Rudersdorf laughs heartily, holding his belly, and then claps his hands. “Very well, Colonel.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a promise.”

“What is, sir?”

What are you talking about? his smile seems to say. “Of course, we have to get out of this war alive first, but…once that’s taken care of, I’ll turn your confessional into a story for children. The General Staff will fund the whole thing—a picture book.”

“Really? That sounds like misappropriation of government funds, sir.”

Mixing public and private matters usually invites punishment no matter the era, and war heroes are no exception. Even Scipio Africanus was lambasted for a family member’s misuse of government money. Cato the Elder may have been great, but many others would have simply been remembered as Cato the Bozo.

“That much will be overlooked. I’ll take it out of the propaganda budget. And for the all-important title—how about The Cowardly Hero?”

“It would be an incredible honor, sir.”

Rudersdorf’s smile says he thinks that’s great. “Do your best to survive to the day the war ends. I’ll make your secret shame public for all to see. There’s no stopping me now, Colonel.”

“Of course not.” She smiles back. It’s more beneficial at this juncture to be thought of like this rather than as a ball of courage or a mad dog that doesn’t know when to quit. “I have to survive so I can fulfill my dream of living on royalties.”

As long as work comes with proper compensation, it’s a wonderful thing. But who am I to oppose receiving passive income without needing to put in any work?

The sobering rebound from a happy fantasy is rough. The more seductive the prospects, the greater the disappointment.

After parting with Rudersdorf, Tanya emits a sigh as she walks alone through the capital.

The gray imperial capital, city of the dead, and this strange lifestyle of clinging to broken normalcy… The situation here is beyond her understanding.

“…The tricky part is that we haven’t lost yet.”

There’s one root cause for it.

Though we haven’t won, we haven’t lost, either—a bizarre state of limbo.

In reality, the eastern front is a nightmare. The Empire is already waist deep in a quagmire. Severe attrition, administrative chaos, and no exit strategy. That’s the cause of this gradual yet evident decline.

Look in all the right places, and you’ll be able to see the hourglass’s sand flowing at an alarming rate.

But humans are blind creatures who only see what they want. A man is less often a roseau pensant than a zombie that pretends to be pensant.

The Reich is ruled by emotion and the weight of the dead.

I see that if you say, I’m no zombie! to a bunch of zombies, you’ll obviously get bit. Everyone needs to become a zombie.

Wandering aimlessly past corner after corner, Tanya sighs again.

Being stripped of the officer’s uniform that gives her purpose and direction is enough to elicit a stream of melancholy sighs.

“There are too many reasons to fear a pandemic, huh.”

Zombie panic—it’s a stereotypical development you might see in a Hollywood blockbuster.

But it’s impossible to laugh off because this isn’t fiction playing out on screen. Shockingly, this is reality. If we don’t stop it in its tracks, the Empire is liable to become a great power that rots from the inside out.

Having thought that far, Tanya shakes her head. “It’s too much for a mere lieutenant colonel to handle. I can mull it over as much as I want, but I haven’t even figured out the puzzle I’m already working on.”

It’s one thing to be proud of your abilities, but you’ll trip yourself up if you get arrogant and overestimate what you’re capable of.

Even with the career she has built, Tanya isn’t much more than a handy tool for the General Staff. Like a capable field team being given preferential treatment at the main office. You may be a reliable hand or foot, but you’re still just an extremity.

Hands and feet aren’t allowed to think for themselves.

“That said, I can’t just give up.”

When the brain is mistaken, there’s no reason the extremities should be able to escape unscathed.

Rather, it’s the opposite. Some utter idiot has forgotten to wear his diaper, and it’s the job of the hands to get him into one. Hands and feet are frequently forced to clean up after stupid brains. And it’s not uncommon that the brain only becomes aware of its predicament because the hands and feet are rotting.

“Haaah,” Tanya sighs and shakes her head. “I guess I just have to keep coaxing the brass.”

I shouldn’t get too caught up in body metaphors. Even the hands and feet I’m talking about are, in reality, made up of individuals who can think and speak for themselves.

There’s no rule that says we can’t think for ourselves.

What can be done to improve the situation? Thinking seriously about the possibilities, the presence of wise, influential leaders like Lieutenant General Rudersdorf and Lieutenant General Zettour are like shining stars. The expansion of their influence should have a beneficial effect on the war situation.

It would seem at a glance that a helpful first step toward a solution, then, would be to serve them above and beyond what my responsibilities dictate.

“But that would very much be the first step toward forming a military faction. An army that becomes a party and wages political war? No matter how you look it, it’s a recipe for disaster.”

An instrument of violence.

An army always has that aspect to it. Without proper oversight, a tool designed for violence can easily spin out of control.

No matter how just the objective, any negligence inevitably leads to tragedy.

Tanya has no interest in getting mixed up in a future like that.

If you know a storm is coming, you take appropriate precautions. Emergency evacuation. Fleeing is surely a natural right of any human being.

“Though it’s not my style…”

What about requesting asylum?

The thoughts that Tanya can’t risk saying aloud get entertained privately for a moment.

It’s like switching jobs. It feels as if the residents of the capital going by are watching her, but it’s time to take stock of the overall situation.

The Empire is a sinking ship.

To use an airplane metaphor, it’s like there’s an intoxicated amateur in the cockpit. At a glance, the plane seems to be flying stably due to autopilot, but there’s no guarantee of a safe landing.

If you have a parachute, jumping is a real option that should be considered.

But diving hastily in a panic would only be wringing your own neck.

When job hunting, it’s only natural to stay in your current position until you know where you’re going. If you’re transferring from a big-name company, your weaknesses aren’t likely to be visible, but if you’re looking for a job with no work, you’ll notice them treating you differently.

I may not look it, but I used to work in HR. I know exactly how these things go.

Someone who’s used to getting the best terms is likely to continue to receive excellent compensation, if poached, while someone who was treated well before they were sacked frequently finds their market value lower than before.

Things might be different for people in a skilled occupation, like doctors or engineers, but…Tanya’s military career isn’t one of those highly specialized ones. The highest education she’s ever attained was at the Empire’s war college. It’s extremely doubtful the diploma would even be recognized overseas.

Her prospects for finding work after seeking asylum are dismal. She doesn’t even have any connections she could rely on if she had to switch careers.

“Maybe I should have taken a high-ranking official prisoner.”

If Tanya had captured a VIP who was worthy of a prisoner exchange, she could have forged some connections. Practically everyone she knows is inside the Empire.

The foreign soldier she is closest with would probably be Ildoa’s Colonel Calandro. But they’re merely work acquaintances.

“Although he seems like a good person.”

But that was all.

To be blunt, as far as Tanya can tell, it’s only a matter of course that an officer attached to a frontline Kampfgruppe—and often involved in delicate matters, at that—is rated highly.

Calandro seems sort of like Lieutenant Colonel Uger, a man with good sense, but…

Tanya shakes her head. Unlike Uger, the man she attended war college with and whose family life she even knows about to some degree, she can’t claim to know Calandro personally.

The best she can say is that he’s a client she’s familiar with. Yes, definitely not the type of connection she can quietly consult about a career change. Setting aside the idea of clinging to him after losing her job, her connection to him is too tenuous to try anything overt while still employed.

It’s important to have some stability at turning points in life. It’s because the fog is thick that we need to be well insured.

“Do I keep up appearances on a sinking ship? Or do I hang on for dear life while exploring a career change?”

Both options are awful.

I’m the restructurer. I never dreamed I’d be worrying about getting laid off or changing careers. I prefer being on the side that gets to choose.

I can declare sincerely, with my whole heart, that this lifetime employment system of the army’s makes even the practice of employing new grads while restricting the freedom of movement of labor look decent in comparison. The military system can eat shit.

Plus, in the army, “lifetime” really means from the time you sign up to the day you die in combat.

That devil Being X really had the nerve to land me into this situation. I never liked a thing about him to begin with, but…this is just too much.

If gods exist, then they left one hell of a villainous spirit to his own devices.

We should have taken the philosophers shouting that God was dead more seriously. Nietzsche, you were right.