Top 26 Medieval Manhwa!! Their stories unfold in the Middle Ages, where sword and magic fight!

Chapter 5: The Devil of the Rhine

PRESENT DAY, AS WELL AS SOMEWHERE IN MARCH

OF UNIFIED YEAR 1925

It’s a familiar dream for the old man who lived through the Rhine.

He would have the same dream again tonight. As one of the soldiers

who served in the Great War, it’s all burned into his mind.

Back then, back there—in a way, it was where the rest of their lives were

forged.

Even now, unceasing gunfire echoes in his head like a broken record.

Before he knows it, his thoughts return to that battlefield full of

memories. Even after the war, the sights and sounds are too raw in their

minds to fade. It’s the past, but they can remember that world so clearly.

The fucking battlefield. The most horrible thing the human race ever

created. That battlefield where mud and flies reigned.

Ahh. He groans at the recollection. The Rhine was the very gates of hell.

The old man has that dream over and over and is reminded again and

again. I’ll probably never forget it.

I remember the events of that day in detail. As shells crisscrossed just

over our heads, me and the rest of Company G were steadily advancing

under orders to move to a new attack position. Of the five regiments

composing the front line, Company E was seeing the most intense fighting,

and our mission was to support their flank.

I was in a machine-gun squad. Our job was simply to set up the guns at

the trench dug by the vanguard unit and create a firing position. The

Imperial Army was supposed to have the Republican Army pretty well

suppressed in that area, but the lines themselves were complicated as

always. They were almost fluid. In other words, the battlefield was a

bloody, chaotic jumble of us and them.

The bombardment had blown away all but one tree in this mire—the sort

of place where resources were wasted, blood ran in rivers, and when you

would peek out of the trench to see what you could see, it would be all

artillery smoke.

Still, the blasted enemy artillerymen made nothing of the awful visibility

and shelled us constantly at a varying pace. Our company’s trench mortar

squad returned fire, but they barely made a dent. Despite the smoke

obscuring the battlefield, we could see a number of muzzle flashes from the

Republican Army positions.

I remember how much we struggled with the mortars. They didn’t have

a stable place to shoot from because the duckboards were sinking into the

mud. Conditions were so bad that for the machine guns, too, even the

highly trained gunners couldn’t control their lines of fire.

I remember that as far as the eye could see, it was soldiers covered in

mud, doing everything within human power to secure their attack positions.

I remember that day very well.

The field guns set up in the trench were trying out some observed fire,

and the designated riflemen were digging foxholes with all their might.

Looking back on it now, these were superhuman actions from the few who

stepped up in one corner of the harsh battlefield. Not allowing themselves

to be discouraged by the maggots, the muck, or the shells raining down,

enveloped in the stenches of rot and death, with no decent cover, those men

advanced through the mud. They had trench foot. Their display of bravery

is burned into my eyelids, and it even appeared divine; I respect those men

to this day from the bottom of my heart.

It was a shocking picture from a world you can’t understand unless

you’ve experienced it; you can only understand by being there.

“I can’t believe this. Those toads. They must really like the mud!”

“Yeah. The gunners want to turn this land into a swamp and jump right

in.”

“But the ones getting shot at are Company H. I feel for them.”

The team’s banter eased our nerves somewhat, but the chatter from the

guys in a nearby foxhole reminded us of reality. The ones under fire were

Company H, who had gone ahead of us. Frustratingly, the brass at the time

seemed convinced we could break through the enemy’s defense with human

bullets.

How many lives do they think this muddy tract of land is worth?!

“Air support still isn’t here?! Shut up the enemy guns already!”

Someone let out a groan that echoed the sentiments of the whole

company. We were supposed to push the lines up in places under local air

superiority. That’s how the operation was supposed to work.

Those despicable bigwigs said we would have complete air support, but

we wanted to scream that they must have meant a complete lack of air

support.

“I told ya, didn’t I? You can bet your Easter turkey that was an empty

promise.”

High explosives crisscrossed over the battlefield. A near hit from one of

those was enough to blow a human body to bits. In a situation like that,

close, full support was a pipe dream. So I don’t think we were expecting

much in the first place. Regardless of how the new recruits rushed through

training felt, the old hands knew that there was no promise less reliable than

one made by the brass.

Everyone ended up like that. The soldiers exposed to the squall of heavy

shelling, faced with the inescapable pain and mental strain of long hours

under fire, couldn’t help their eternal skepticism.

If they didn’t, gruesome reality would slay the beautiful propaganda in a

single blow, and the soldiers would go insane. In order to survive the

horrific war, you couldn’t rely too much on hope.

“Ngh! I’m hit! Damn it!”

“Medic! Medic!”

I remember being able to hear, for some reason, the sounds of someone

in a neighboring dugout crumpling to the ground and their friends

panicking, even over the roar of the battlefield. I suddenly realized that one

unlucky bastard had been done in by a stray shot or a sniper. Since the

entire trench wasn’t blown away and there were no follow-up shots, it had

to be a sniper.

We quickly ducked lower and sprayed harassing fire anywhere it seemed

like he could have been lurking. We don’t wanna die.

“Send out a stretcher! Cover them!”

Then…

I’ll never forget those four stretcher-bearers racing out under diligent

cover to try to get their injured brother to the rear. Emblems of courage and

integrity. The medics are the only ones those of us headed away from the

battlefield can rely on. Because the medics, called Sanis, were with us, we

were guaranteed some humanity in that hellish world.

Unlike people working easier jobs in the rear, if there was a fellow

soldier who needed them, they would always charge into hails of bullets

even we would balk at. Even when they were blown away with a painful

impact, more of them were ready to go out after their fallen teammates. It

was proof of their courage.

They were the only ones I really, deeply respected. They were the only

ones we could trust no matter what. I still feel that way.

“Lay down a smoke screen!”

“Hand grenades! Throw everything you got!”

The mortar squad shot smoke shells, the designated riflemen threw

grenades, and we just put up a curtain of fire. The stretcher was a sight for

sore eyes when it safely appeared. Our trustworthy friends with their

magnificent bravery. Sanis had to be protected if no one else; they were the

only ones who would save us.

And at the same time, I guess you could say, due to our covering fire,

the Republicans spread out across from us seemed to remember the target

they were supposed to prioritize. They were determined to crush not the

swiftly receding stretcher but the smart-aleck machine-gun nets. Thanks to

that, we were showered in concentrated fire, and I lowered my head without

thinking, unable to take all the blasts of dust filling the air from near hits.

Facedown in our trench with our ears alert, we smiled weakly at the thought

of how many Republican artillerymen must be treating us to shells.

But that strange calm only lasted so long. After the whiz of something

cutting through the air came a big, heavy boom we weren’t used to. It sent

chills up our spines.

Those weren’t 128 mm shells; they’d brought out their precious 180 mm

field guns.

“Listen up, troops! Friendly reinforcements are on their way! Let’s stick

this out!”

At that moment, we were happy for instructions over the radio from our

battalion commander, but our sense of futility was greater. Our battalion had

no shortage of replacement troops. We’d nearly lost our will to fight, so I

guess they were throwing us a line to cling to.

Maybe that line would work on guys who didn’t know how unreliable it

was, but we understood all too well how that illusion would hold up.

“So when the hell is that support unit getting here?”

Someone on the machine-gun crew expressed what all of us who knew

that battlefield were thinking. We really needed reinforcements. The way it

was going, we figured we would all have to die defending that quagmire

and covered in its muck.

So we really wanted backup as soon as possible.

“I want reinforcements…preferably before we die.” Was it me who

murmured it? Or the fellow next to me? I still don’t know, but I’m sure

someone did.

That was when the nearby radio operator started shouting at the top of

his lungs. The operators were the guys monitoring enemy transmissions,

making sure they didn’t pinpoint us. Usually they were full of bad news, but

later I would think over and over how sometimes they did have something

good for us.

“Reinforcements! Reinforcements are here!”

I remember very well how people thought the operator was shellshocked

and sent him pitying looks. But then we saw something we could

hardly believe, so there was no time to think about that.

Or rather, we heard it.

“O Fatherland, my love, be at peace.”

On every channel over a wide area, the words were broadcast so

powerfully even a regular soldier with no magic ability could hear them.

Clouds of dust were blackening the sky, and the mud seemed to be

swallowing up everything on the battlefield, but the voice that rang out over

the chaos was surprisingly calm.

It was no wonder we questioned for a moment whether we had gone

crazy as well. The phenomenon seemed that unreal.

It was the code for a unit of reinforcements. We cocked our heads

thinking the backup couldn’t be real, that it had to be an auditory

hallucination.

“O Fatherland, my love, be at peace.”

But we weren’t hearing things and we weren’t crazy; someone was

really repeating those words in the official language of the Empire. And it

was the single-use password to show they were friend and not foe at that!

“Guardians of the Rhine! Ye are loyal! Ye are rocks! Ye are loyal! Ye are

rocks!”

The operator boosts the signal to the highest output possible, and the

answer from the radio dugout was the happiest sounding I’d ever heard. The

stream of words coming out of the machine-gun squad’s radio will be

forever carved into my eardrums.

We always laughed at what silly codes they’d come up with. The radio

operators, especially, would make fun of them, but this time, just this once,

I think all of us were truly consoled by them. The widespread interference

only mages could employ. It could only be mages. It could only have been

the elite mages of the Imperial Army.

So it’s lucky they didn’t know—that their saviors, their reinforcements,

were hazardous, could bring utter destruction to their allies.

She was supposedly on their side, but even the Imperial Army brass

treated her as a god of death. It was a battalion for war nuts by war nuts,

and they had arrived on the battlefield.

Slicing through the haze of clouds and gunsmoke, she bristles with

nerves. Major Tanya von Degurechaff, internally sick of this, externally

expressionless, is leading her response unit to the Rhine Air Defense

Identification Zone Sector D-5.

“Code confirmed. This is the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, call sign

Pixie. We’re en route. Arriving in 160 seconds.”

Tanya isn’t particularly keen on trench warfare. The only job I hate more

is turning on the charm for propaganda.

After all, now that I’ve been turned into a girl, I’m faced with this

annoying military framework where men are superior. Just the thought of

my promotions being blocked by an invisible glass ceiling is enough to

dampen any desire I might have to act all girlish for propaganda. Trench

warfare, on the other hand, is just too dangerous.

Apart from that, the Empire’s personnel system has adapted extremely

meritocratic principles for the war, in a way, so I’m more or less satisfied

with it.

So even though hugging every contour of the land to maintain the

lowest-possible altitude as she speeds toward the battlefield is dangerous,

she is satisfied because at least she’ll be valued.

That said, she’s in command of a mission to cross an area littered with

spent shells and assault the enemy artillery position with gunsmoke curling

high into the air. Even if it came with hazard and war zone pay, it didn’t feel

great.

“Troops, you’ll be performing supporting combat. Ready anti-surface

ordnance, diffusion explosion formulas, optical deception formulas, and

counter-bullet outer shells. Take on counter-air and -mage fights as you

like.” Gripping her rifle and computation orb tightly, Tanya gives the

necessary instructions in a matter-of-fact tone.

Supporting combat is actually a pain for commanders. Bombing the

wrong side is unforgivable. If we blow away our own troops, next will be a

shower of bullets from the firing positions on the ground, no question.

The trenches and positions are built in such a way as to limit damage,

but even so, nobody is happy to be blown up by accident. Only the USA is

allowed to accidentally bomb whatever the hell. That they somehow get

enough leeway to—oops—bomb the Chinese embassy in Belgrade makes

me jealous, in a way.

Setting those thoughts aside, the only viable option for this support

mission is to swoop in close to the enemy position and go to town. In that

case, the best plan is to maintain as high a speed and low an altitude as

possible and invade all at once in a sneak attack.

But that’s theory. The ones actually maintaining that speed and altitude

are already fed up. No one will tell you that flying fast near the ground is

comfortable.

Although this allowed me to escape the trouble surrounding the sinking

of the Commonwealth submarine, getting sent to the Rhine front was bad

luck.

“CP, this is Pixie. Send the target.”

“Roger, Pixie. Take out the enemy artillery emplacement pummeling G

and H Companies.”

“Understood. I’d like to request five minutes of supporting suppressive

fire starting now. We’ll get them during that time.”

Still, I’m glad that on this type of arena Tanya’s managed to retain the

measure of autonomy that naturally comes with being a Silver Wings

Assault Badge recipient. For starters, I can choose my targets freely.

And the rear base may not have been perfectly tidy, but it was way better

than getting all muddy, being ordered to defend a position, and ending up

the target of a barrage in the confusion.

The place just barely counts as a rear base, though. The meals aren’t the

standard portable trench rations but proper hot food. On top of that, if I may

broach an indelicate topic, the waste management situation is also better.

It’s only our first spring. If the air when I’m flying low reeks this badly, I

can only imagine they’re doing the exact opposite of what hygiene dictates.

As the cultured man with a commonsense grasp of hygiene I was before

trenches, becoming a little girl, and what have you, I can only say it’s a

difficult environment to withstand. It’s about as bad as being aboard a

submarine sinking into an out-of-order toilet.

Instead of that, I have work commensurate with my pay striking field

guns, with their feeble anti–air fire, from the sky.

And as long as there are no intercepting mages, we’ll just be duck

hunting. They’ll be great targets. I want to rack up as many

accomplishments as I can and fulfill the requirements for leave. I may be

here as punishment, but if nothing’s on paper, I must be allowed to exercise

my rights.

I want to hurry up and get transferred to the rear to find a safe post.

“Five minutes? That won’t even suppress the anti–air fire, much less the

artillery.”

After all, even a strike mission, which is comparatively safe for the front

line, forces you to run some pretty lousy risks.

For example, the observation squad is going out of their way—

volunteering—to support us. If the frontline observers are acting as guides

for us, that has to mean the situation is less than ideal. Usually, the

observers would be out there spotting impacts. If they have time to kill, it

must mean our side doesn’t have much artillery.

If we deploy our mage’s outer shells at full power and fly in anti-surface

assault formation, there’s no way we’ll get shot by our own, at least.

If by some miraculous chance we suffer direct hits, we should be able to

escape fatal injury thanks to the new orb model. More importantly, defense

from artillery is drilled into everyone in boot camp.

“That’s no problem. And don’t worry about us—keep firing after we go

in.”

After all, keeping an eye out overhead is the commander’s job in an antisurface

assault. Having one unit strike while another unit provides air cover

is a basic necessity in an air battle.

I’m sure I don’t need to explain that if I fly with direct support, the

danger of getting caught in a barrage lessens to an incredible degree. Plus, I

can finally increase my altitude. Escaping that sticky, thick air even feels a

little nice.

Anyhow, leaving the smell and the danger zone is enough to improve

Major von Degurechaff’s mood.

“Lieutenant Serebryakov, we’re getting five minutes of supporting fire.

After all the artillery shelling drills we did, I don’t believe there’s any

numbskulls in my battalion who would take a friendly shell to the head.”

“Understood.”

Frankly, it still feels weird to call my being “she,” but anyhow, this little

girl is wearing a rare smile. She pays no mind to the rather strained quality

of the reply and, noting that it’s time for work, cheerfully starts on an

upward trajectory. Since we’ll be attacking the ground, we don’t have to

climb to freezing cold temperatures—another plus.

As a result, Major Tanya von Degurechaff is decidedly chipper. Her

expression even relaxes into a grin.

And that scene is carved into the mind of the former soldier who was

there watching it. How many years has it been since the war? Yet his

memories of the time are still clear as day.

Pleasantly surprised by the news of reinforcements, we figured things

would work out somehow. That said, the threat level we were facing might

have dropped a bit, but lowering our guard as well would see us turned into

silent corpses.

So our company used the little extra time we’d been given wisely. The

dead were moved aside, and stretchers were prepared for the wounded. And

the machine guns had just worn out, so we arranged to swap in replacement

barrels. To our dismay, however, although they had plenty of the allimportant

barrels, apparently Logistics was too understaffed to deliver them

to the firing line in the middle of a large-scale battle.

When they told my team to send someone, I was called upon to settle

my tab from that ritual both traditional and sacred known as cards. In other

words, “You owe us!” Come to think of it, I think the cards hated me back

then. Or I just couldn’t see through the clever cheating of my company

mates. It pains me that now I have no way of knowing.

But at the time, those things weren’t even a dream in my mind as I set

off, grumbling and crawling to the base dugout. There I negotiated with the

formidable Logistics NCO and ended up stuck carrying the parts.

People tend to have this misunderstanding that it was safe in the rear, but

on the Rhine front at the time, safety was a fantasy.

The closest distance between firing lines was only a few dozen meters. I

wish I had been staring down the enemy in one of those. Since the trenches

were so close together, the risk of accidentally hitting friendlies was high,

so they couldn’t usually conduct bombardments.

Even if that wasn’t their situation, artillerymen apparently hated firing

into dangerous areas where they might lay waste to their own along with the

enemy. Whether Empire or Republic, we all had the common desire to

avoid blowing up our fellow troops.

Rather than drop high explosives on our own positions, shoot for the

enemy, even if you miss. It was common sense for both armies, so if you

watched out for snipers, land mines, and rifles on the forward-most line,

you weren’t likely to be an instant fatality.

But I should probably add that it wasn’t rare for artillery to mistake the

position of the front line or to have trouble telling friend from foe in the

confusion. I was once in a position nearly overrun by the Republican Army,

and I saw all the invading soldiers get wiped out in an instant by

Republican Army shells. Our respectful nomination of the enemy artillery

for the Field Artillery Badge made it into the official gazette as a bit of a

gag. We applaud the Republican artillery’s great demonstration of their

training and contribution to the imperial war cause.

That’s the kind of battlefield we were dealing with, but there was only

one reason the rear was considered the most dangerous place to be.

It’s the radios. Any strong waves that aren’t your own are obviously

enemy command or a base dugout. It doesn’t take even two days to crush a

newbie’s delusions of safety because of our sturdy underground

fortifications.

If you can’t achieve much firing on the front line, then aim a storm of

steel at the communications apparatus you can find, or so the thinking goes.

If heavy armor-piercing rounds hit, dugouts are practically meaningless.

You’re holed up in a cellar one minute, and then next, you’re being

plowed by artillery shells—the end. A suffocating death under a collapsed

trench would be dreadful. Nobody was eager to set foot in a radio dugout.

At the time, they were so dangerous it was taboo to keep the

communications base in the same dugout for more than forty-eight hours.

Nobody talked about it, but everyone avoided doing it.

The reason radios were brought to the front despite those conditions was

that we needed them. You can’t keep something as big as an army together

with semaphores and trumpets alone. Wireless technology has proved

effective amid the fog of war, so it’s no wonder armies continue to depend

on it even now.

And listening in on the flood of messages was second nature to not only

the radio operators but also the rumor-starved soldiers in the trenches.

That’s why I was keeping my ears open by habit and heard it. Something

so unbelievable I wondered if the fray had ruined my ears.

“There aren’t any numbskulls in my unit who would get hit by a friendly

shell. We need to prioritize keeping the enemy under control and holding

them back above all else.”

A commander asking for a bombardment to be shot over them? I was

about to shake my head, thinking there must have been some mistake, when

—

“CP to Pixie 01. These are high-explosive shells with fuses timed for air

bursts, you know!”

“Pixie 01, roger. That’s fine.”

Despite the static, I could tell she sounded cheerful. I’m still confident in

my hearing ability even at this age, but that time was the one occasion I

didn’t trust it.

She sounded so excited. Her tone was lighthearted, but her message was

disturbing. What I heard over the radio was definitely the voice of someone

having fun. She thought nothing of a direct hit from an air burst. She wasn’t

worried about shrapnel coming down like rain?

Without thinking, the NCO I didn’t even know and I looked at each

other. We had to make our artillerymen bombard our own mages? I couldn’t

believe it. If they hit them, there would be hell to pay. Even if they were

forgiven, they would have killed their own.

“…Is she serious?”

“She can’t be. Why do the mages listen to her?”

But either God is a piece of shit, or he has some farsighted design us

lambs can’t even begin to imagine. She was serious.

In the case of friendly fire, it was impossible to tell which emplacement

had hit the wrong target, so incidents were handled with silence. They were

unfortunate accidents, and no one said a word.

But it’s a different story if the artillery is executing an observed fire

mission on an area with our troops in it. Their reputation would be ruined.

No one would forgive firing on our own troops, even if it was an order.

“…Major, do you…?”

“Don’t worry about us. Continue the bombardment.”

Even more invigorated. It scared me that such good cheer was coming

over the radio. No, even now I’m not sure exactly what I was scared of.

The fear of being shelled for hours on end, holed up in a trench praying

to make it through. The terror and the urge to scream at the top of your

lungs, Just put me out of my misery! Only someone who has experienced

that horror can understand it. There was something strange about someone

who could laugh off the fear of a bombardment.

I wasn’t this scared even when the sniper was aiming at us. I was cold. It

felt like my body was frozen to the core. What the hell is this chill?

“Pixie 03 to Pixie 01! Detecting multiple mana signals! Two companysized

groups of enemy mages are on their way up! Time to contact is 600!”

I remember that the warning someone issued brought me back to myself.

And the radio operator frantically relayed the enemy info to other stations.

It was either just a new enemy unit or an intercepting unit. Even so, that

was daily life on the Rhine lines, so I felt a strange happiness at returning to

the normal from such an anomaly.

I remembered that I had to take the replacement parts and ammunition

and return to the firing line. I had to get back while the communication

trench was relatively tranquil. So it must have been about the time I thanked

the NCO, grabbed the stuff, and was about to set off running?

I definitely heard the click of a tongue and a sigh over the radio—the

same radio that cheerful voice had been coming from until a moment ago.

“First Company, prepare for counter-mage combat. Follow me. These

idiots don’t have an appointment, so we’re going to beat them back. The

rest of you, on the artillery. Finish that quick and join up with us.”

The spirit in her words was like a blizzard. You don’t know that spirits

can dwell in words? It’s a pretty well-known topic on the battlefield, but,

well, it’s probably better not to know. Maybe it’ll be easier to understand if

I say it was like the devil reading prophetic writings at random.

In other words, chaos.

“Pixie 01 to CP. We’ll meet the incoming enemy mages, but no changes

to the original plan. You don’t have to watch out for air combat.”

Normally, that would be condescending and overconfident. The ones

under that commander must have been unlucky. But when I replay the

memories in my mind, I can’t help but shout, You monster!

A hero, a star, an outstanding magic officer. You, ma’am, were a great

officer. To all of us imperial soldiers serving on the Rhine lines, you were a

god.

“A new commander with a lot of mana and not much else? She must

have a death wish.” Unfortunately, whoever uttered that comment is no

longer alive.

“Pixies…? I’m pretty sure I heard of them from some Great Army guys.

They said she was a god of death.”

The rumors from those guys who thought they knew a bit about Major

von Degurechaff were true. Yeah, she’s a god—an immensely powerful one

who presides over life and death.

“Things are getting fun now, troops. You’re having fun, right?”

Her words, brimming with a spine-chilling anger, swept over the area as

if she was planning to attract all the enemy hostility like moths to a flame.

Major von Degurechaff had bared her fangs. It invited a violent reaction.

The Republic wanted to hunt the devil. In other words, they devoted all

humanity’s wisdom to killing the god of death. Gods don’t die, but those of

us next to them?

…They were right to call her a god of death.

She killed the enemy, and the enemy killed our men. Then the noble

major, with a glance at all the dead in the mud, took her leave.

Fucking hell.

FEBRUARY 24, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE SUBURBS OF

BERUN, IMPERIAL ARMY MILITARY COURT

Tanya would tell you that an army, at the end of the day, is a state’s

instrument of violence. No matter what rhetorical flourishes are employed,

its fundamental nature doesn’t change. Those who get indignant and ask,

What do you mean, “instrument of violence”? either don’t understand the

military or do understand voters, one or the other.

Either way, regardless of the definition, the army must be controlled.

Thus, regardless of how trustworthy those making up the organization are,

they must be put on a leash.

The emperor’s army, protectors of the Empire, vanguard of the people,

shield of the nation… Even the Imperial Army, showered with such praise,

is no exception.

Imperial subjects are proud of their soldiers. That’s why deviating from

that ideal inspires such reproach.

The imperial military, as one of its standards, desires all officers and

men to be model citizens. These expectations apply across the board, even

to lowly privates.

A natural consequence of this is that proper conduct is demanded of

honorable officers with special emphasis. In a way, during peacetime it’s

even more important than your caliber as a soldier. As a result, the military

authorities have a maniacal love for rules, meaning they have a courtmartial

waiting for you if you break one.

As a class in society, military officers are ashamed of being courtmartialed.

But that’s during peacetime. The peaceful era of prioritizing

honor and worshipping causes is over.

Now we’re at war. The matters dealt with in military courts, too, become

issues of whether you unflinchingly carried out your duty or not.

So according to military logic, it’s difficult to overlook that this was an

officer just doing their duty who got mixed up in an international political

deal brought about by improperly maintained legislation.

On the other hand, in a foreign affairs sense…a few of the high-ranking

officers and most of the diplomats are pulling their hair out. “Please

consider the politics!” they demand. “You intend to make an officer who

did her duty a scapegoat?” comes the retort. The combination of these

viewpoints makes for a volatile courtroom atmosphere.

There we find the governance of a trial according to law.

“Major von Degurechaff, this court is dismissing your case.” The legal

specialist acting as the judge stands and reads the decision, amid a forest of

thorns formed from the gazes of uniforms and suits alike.

They’re throwing out my case. Which is to say, this compromise lets

them avoid having to reject the claim by saying there’s no reason to make

one; they’re getting around making a judicial call by saying that the case

doesn’t technically meet the criteria to be considered.

The acting judge can do nothing but read the paper in his hands with an

expression like a Françoisman who has been served the best Albion cuisine

in the world three nights in a row. They need to save face on both sides, but

if the positions are in marked contradiction, sublation is the answer. In other

words, shelving the case is the only choice.

“The attack on and sinking of the neutral country’s vessel was an

unfortunate accident.”

But by adding that extra bit at the end, he is able to express his regret

about the affair. It’s clear to all seated in the courtroom that the presiding

legal officer inserted the line to absorb some of the shock.

To Tanya, this is the reconciliation she was expecting. She knows that

someone who is faithful to the logic of the organization is in no danger of

being disciplined unless they do something to harm the whole.

And the group from the Foreign Office had been prepared for that

decision as well. They went in with the gloomy thought that the army would

probably not give them the decision they wanted, but they understood. Not

that understanding does anything to soften the looks they’re sending

Tanya’s way from their seats in the gallery, fists clenched.

Meanwhile, as Tanya, I feel that receiving these murderous stares as if

she’s killed their parents was rather unfair. Of course, I understand what the

Foreign Office guys think. They very badly want a scapegoat to appease

public opinion in the Commonwealth.

For better or worse because the Foreign Office types value the entire

state, they apparently don’t consider an individual’s interests with the same

framework as the national concerns.

Well, that’s annoying. Tanya wants to sigh, but seeing as they are already

seething internally, she figures keeping her mouth shut is the smarter plan

and remains silent.

“It is a grave truth that international relations have been harmed by this

accident, but in light of both precedent and laws and regulations, although it

is our moral obligation to debate Major von Degurechaff’s negligence, we

find that in terms of legal authority, the matter lies outside our jurisdiction.”

The statement he reads is, in a way, declaring an ambiguous position.

While speaking of moral obligation and whatnot, they indicate, in a

roundabout way, that they intend to evade responsibility via the

bureaucratic reply that the matter doesn’t fall under their legal authority.

That said, Tanya’s not the only one who can understand that to not judge

her means the same thing as to not blame her.

“In addition, having taken into account the lawful nature of the mandate

Major von Degurechaff was given, we acknowledge that at the time she had

very little room for discretion and that she acted in faithful accordance with

her orders. In any event, however, we dismiss the case.”

But it seems like the General Staff or someone at the top put pressure on

them. Even to Tanya, that last bit on the conclusion was a strangely

favorable addition.

She grins. Without realizing it, her glossy lips have twisted into a faint

smile. With this, she is as good as innocent.

But in the courtroom, the only one looking so cheerful is the girl at the

center of it all. Among a majority of people who are willfully suppressing

their expressions, the smiling defendant can’t help but draw attention—all

the more so because the happy face belongs to Major von Degurechaff, who

is rumored to have rather emotionless features.

“For the aforementioned reasons, we lift Major von Degurechaff’s

detention order.”

All those involved think it best not to mention that she wasn’t ever under

one.

That said, confronted with her smile, many of the attendees fret and

wonder if this was really the right thing to do. But the decision has already

been made. And the superior mage the front lines want so badly will be

released from custody…exactly as the General Staff expected.

The Rhine lines call for urgency. Having a usable mage detained due to

a political issue would be intolerable.

They can prioritize the allotment of shells and other supplies to the

Great Army but not mages?

If they could fight the war like that, then no one would have to worry.

Give us more mages! Even just one more! When wailing entreaties like that

are coming in from the front lines, the General Staff don’t have the

resources—anywhere—to let a decorated Named just loaf around. And how

would they? If they had such resources, the war would surely have been

decided a long time ago.

We need her on the Rhine. It can’t be helped. For those sorts of reasons

alone, the matter was decided from the start. Well, no, if she had actually

been negligent, things might have been different.

Those are the only reasons. She’s proud and visibly relieved that her

previous judgment has proven correct.

According to the rules of military and international law, I threatened a

submarine of unknown nationality that was either violating or deviating

from established standards. Though unfortunate, the accident was caused by

warning shots fired according to procedures that were not created with

submarines in mind.

If there had been even one mistake in execution, the diplomats probably

could have gotten the heavy punishment they wanted so much. But when

there wasn’t a single error? That’s right—if there are no grounds for a

sacrifice, what do you think will happen?

If they were going to force through disciplinary action on me under

these circumstances, this would turn into a scandal involving everyone from

the Ministry of the Interior and the people from the army and navy who

drafted the rules to members of the Foreign Office. My most significant

military achievement has been to complicate things.

I’m a promising mage and a recipient of the Silver Wings Assault Badge.

In other words, they can’t afford to cut me off. And Tanya’s analysis is

correct.

The army’s Railroad Department, the Service Corps, Operations in the

General Staff, and even the Technology Division had been putting pressure,

albeit informally, on the legal officers. The person in charge of practical

matters in each department had gone directly and hinted that they were

deeply concerned that an outstanding officer’s reputation might be ruined. It

was probably so much pressure it gave the legal officers stomachaches.

I’m so important that multiple departments came together to protect me.

Not that anyone made direct threats, but the expectations multiple military

organizations have for me put an awful lot of pressure on the legal officers

not to disappoint them.

So the legal specialists’ hard-won achievement was showing that they

were ready to court-martial me and deliberate. I can say that’s a job well

done.

But that’s only an internal matter. Someone within the organization may

have resisted, but to an outsider, the end result wouldn’t look any different.

Of course, in terms of international law, the matter between the Empire

and the Commonwealth is officially settled. It was an unfortunate accident.

The deal is that the Empire expresses their regret, the Commonwealth

makes an announcement to the effect that they hope this will be prevented

going forward, and there ensues some finger-pointing where each lays most

of the blame on the other.

But that’s between diplomats. I highly doubt the people will accept that

just because the government does. The Commonwealth’s public is furious

that one of their warships was sunk and people died as a result; they have

no reason to bury the hatchet so easily.

…On top of that, and I’ll say it without mincing words, Commonwealth

authorities are happily inciting such opinions.

The atrocious Imperial Army.

For someone who knows their geopolitics, their actions are actually

natural. It’s obvious what would happen if the Empire defeated all its

opposition on the continent. Having to face one giant country would have to

be a nightmare. So if the people aren’t on board with fighting the war,

there’s nothing strange about the authorities starting to stir them up.

Into that situation comes an event, an unfortunate accident, perfect for

propaganda. No matter how dirty it is, they’ll shout their anti-Empire views

endlessly. And reading the complicated legal details of the discussion in the

paper is too much trouble.

Officially, of course, both countries declare it an accident and speak of it

as an unfortunate misunderstanding.

The official line from both sides is that the Commonwealth submarine’s

communications and navigation equipment were malfunctioning from the

start and had broken down, so the sub lost its way in imperial waters, was

unable to pick up the radio contact from the imperial mage unit on guard in

the area, and began a training dive as part of its scheduled exercise. Then,

as a result of warning shots fired according to the law of war, a high level of

water pressure was applied to the hull of the submarine. About to be

crushed, it performed an emergency blow.

Then both sides, implying that the other is to blame, deliver the

ambiguous conclusion that as a result of lifesaving operations performed by

the imperial mages, many injured crew members were treated at an imperial

hospital, but for those with serious injuries, the rescue was in vain, and they

perished. It is also confirmed that the emergency mechanisms didn’t

function in time and the submarine sank due to flooding. Additionally, both

countries agree that the loss of life is regrettable and that there will need to

be discussions about how to prevent similar accidents going forward.

So according to that story, it was more of a shipwreck than a sinking by

attack. What that means politically is that both sides admit to mistakes, but

they agree to look together for a way to prevent future accidents.

But if the Commonwealth wanted to, it could paint a very simple

picture.

Empire Sinks Commonwealth Vessel

That would prime their public more than enough. It’d be like pouring

gasoline on an already smoking fire. That’s precisely why the Empire’s

Foreign Office is so anxious to avoid any further deterioration of the

situation.

No, to be more precise, everyone knows. Everyone knows that at this

stage, the world is asking whether the other powers will allow the Empire to

be the sole winner and invite the birth of a hegemonic state or intervene to

stop that from happening in the interest of balancing the powers.

So this is an excuse. Nothing more, nothing less. In reality, everyone has

braced themselves. If you have commonsense powers of judgment, it’s

plain to see.

The policy makers in both the Empire and the Commonwealth are aware

that the clash between the two countries is only a matter of time.

As such, the handling of Major von Degurechaff, one little magic

officer, is not top priority.

Basically, it’s politics. But it’s also true that as a result of all this, her

presence is a bit complicated. So being sent to the Rhine is understandable.

In one respect, this is where Major Generals von Zettour and von

Rudersdorf were pushing to put her anyhow, so it can be done now without

any awkwardness.

The General Staff is sending me and expecting results. The diplomats

expect me not to cause any more issues. If possible, they’d like me to die

out there. Then the legal specialists can escape this pain in the neck.

Anyhow, now that everyone and his brother wanted to send her and her

troops west, the Devil of the Rhine sneered.

And the situation on those lines became even more hellish.

APRIL 5, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE RHINE LINES

Life with shells from breakfast through brunch. Waking up to find your

friend who was sleeping right next to you dead is a rarity that happens all

the time in service on the forward-most line. If you relax in the trenches,

you get burned. That’s why you have to smile, keep your mind sound, and

watch out for your health. They say you can’t fight a war with a smile, but

wars without smiles are dangerous.

If the troops lose the ability to smile, that’s a bad sign. Times like those,

you need to make sure they aren’t drinking too much. If you don’t want to

get sniped at, you have to give up cigarettes.

As that thought occurs to her, Tanya realizes with a start that she’d like

to give herself a pat on the back for not wanting to drink even though

they’ve confiscated so much alcohol. The only ones in the battalion who are

getting enough drink and tobacco despite no rations are me and Lieutenant

Serebryakov. Someone must care about us; we even get playing cards and

candy.

Cocking her head, wondering whether girls are unexpectedly more

suited to this type of warfare, Tanya is once again forcibly reminded how

harsh life is in the trenches. Even the soldiers most loyal to their nations

might turn traitorous if cards, one of their sole leisure activities, were taken

away. There are tens of thousands stationed on the front lines in this delicate

mental state.

Even on the most peaceful day in those trenches, the weather is rainy

with a chance of shells. Apart from when we deal with snipers and

harassing fire, we can just lie around in the damp and the mud, but we’re

probably only able to get away with that because mages are so scarce.

Mages have leeway to take a quick break in the rear and get cleaned up.

We’re worked that much harder when we get back, though, of course.

On sunny days, vision is good, and we fight huge, fierce battles where

blood demands blood. In this world, the number of shells flying around has

reached the point where a single division consumes one thousand tons in a

day. How could they say, Artillery plows and the infantry advances? Sure,

it’s half-true, but we can’t advance.

Anyhow, both matériel and men are being used as if they are worthless,

and when Tanya steps back and thinks about it, it’s unusual; the more she

thinks about it, the more she wants to frown. It’s such a huge waste that she

can’t imagine a bigger one. Even I think human assets should be better

taken care of.

Once the troops receive their red slips and get called up, it costs money

to train, outfit, and feed them, but here’s this war where we’re going

through them like they’re sold at bulk discount. Our meetings may not be

with stockholders, but it’s a wonder we don’t get criticized.

We’re firing with such wild abandon I want to grill them for about an

hour to see how much kickback they’re getting from Grupper for these

shells.

Tanya doesn’t doubt the importance of a curtain of fire. Of course, she

understands that without the views of her esteemed superiors.

But she has told them they should at least cut costs. The rear is such a

mess that she has to sincerely wonder why there need to be seven or eight

different standards for railway guns alone.

Never mind the 20 cm guns and whatnot. Why does there have to be so

much variety among 80 cm railway guns used by thousands of men? As

someone with rotten experiences with an engineer, I suspect the imperial

engineers just made them because they wanted to. I wouldn’t put it past

them.

Still, shouldn’t they be at least a tiny bit interested in mass production?

Anyhow, faced with this scene, I can see why the military-industrial

complex prefers war.

So that’s why Japan was booming during World War I. Ditto regarding

“special procurement” during the Korean War.

There’s no way sales don’t climb when you have consumers plowing

through supplies at this tremendous rate. It’s a perfect example of supply

and demand. The market is so attractive it almost makes me want to start up

a private military company.

Ah, the heartlessness. If they’re going to waste us like this, they should

at least raise our wages. They have the money to shoot these shells at the

Republic like so much water, and those cost who knows how much a pop.

They should give some thought to employee welfare. I’d like to receive more

than just candy and snacks.

Tanya is lost in these utterly normal thoughts for an employee to have

when Lieutenant Serebryakov interrupts her with an administrative notice.

“Major, we’ve received word that the fresh mages have arrived at group

command. They say they’d like you to stop by to see about them…”

“Fresh mages? …Even if I wanted to replenish the battalion, we haven’t

lost anyone.” Zero casualties. Tanya intends to be performing the most costeffective

management on the insane Rhine front, so she doesn’t understand

the relationship between her battalion and new recruits. “Are you sure they

weren’t stationed here by accident? Or did the message go to the wrong

person?”

“Though it’s presumptuous, I did, er, check myself…and there’s no

mistake, ma’am.”

I’m confused. I didn’t even request any replacements. But Lieutenant

Serebryakov says she didn’t mishear, that she confirmed there is no

misunderstanding. So Tanya has to think. Her adjutant understands that a

battalion with no casualties doesn’t require replacements. Command

understands this logic even better than Serebryakov, so it couldn’t be them.

On top of that, the battalion is already an augmented battalion. For a unit

under a major’s command, that’s about as big as they get. And it’s difficult

to imagine being promoted and receiving new personnel so suddenly under

these circumstances.

The only logical inference to make is that we’re in for some trouble.

Why? I’m such good person, cost conscious, and a stickler for

compliance. If Fate exists, I can guarantee she’s a jerk. Well, she’s probably

in league with Being X.

“Uh, this isn’t for sure…it’s only a rumor…but I heard Command might

want us to act as an instructor unit.”

“What? And where did you hear that?”

“Well, a classmate from the Cadet Corps is attached to Command as an

observer on the Rhine. She’s in a different sector, but…in a personal letter,

she said, ‘I heard you’re going to be a teacher. Nice work.’”

Hearing this plausible rumor through a random personal connection,

Tanya finds herself asking for clarification.

“Lieutenant, your friend’s ears are a little too sharp. Not that it’s

anything to be upset about.”

The duty to instruct recruits who aren’t used to the battlefield yet… It’s

a bit late, but someone must have noticed the rate at which new troops fall.

That’s all well and good, but how did they conclude that we should be the

instructors?

“But an instructor unit? If that’s true… No, with the war going as it is, I

doubt they’ll have us fall back to the rear. So they’re telling us to train

rookies at the front?”

One of my men snorts as if he can’t believe it. Exactly. Fresh recruits on

a battlefield are deadweight that can’t even be used to deflect incoming

rounds. Honestly, they should be hauled off somewhere else.

I don’t want anyone in my way, and yet they assign me recruits to train?

Frankly, I want to scream at them to come over to the front and see for

themselves whether that is even possible.

But just as I’m thinking that, First Lieutenant Weiss yells it himself.

“Unbelievable. I guess they think we can babysit while fighting a war!”

They all start shouting with no way to vent their indignation. Well,

they’re honest guys. And as one who’s spent time shivering in a trench, I

can sympathize.

“So we’re supposed to keep the shells off them? Have you ever heard

something so stupid?”

“Well, umm, everyone was a new recruit once…”

Still, Lieutenant Serebryakov’s cautiously stated comment is correct.

Watching after panicking newbies is a bona fide pain in the ass, but we

were all new once. Going a step further, Tanya’s already fought on the

Rhine while babysitting once before.

Maybe it’s because she has that experience that the brass is pushing it on

her again.

“Yeah, it’s true. I taught you on the Rhine, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Major, I’ve come this far thanks to you.”

Considering that, contrary to my expectations, I managed to find a

useful subordinate, maybe we just have to do our best and see if we can dig

up someone good.

“This might be rude, but the major’s training seemed pretty harsh. I

can’t believe you…”

“What’s that, Lieutenant Weiss? If you have something to say, go ahead

and say it.”

“Never mind—excuse me!”

From the looks on my bickering subordinates’ faces, it seems like they’ll

take care of the recruits. And it’s an order, after all. Tanya unwillingly

braces herself. Resigned, she has to force herself to accept the task.

The reason she still can’t think positive is that she knows reality.

They’re throwing new recruits into a world where you’ll go crazy if you

can’t endure the misery of suppressive shellfire. She’ll want to pull her hair

out the day an untrained newbie makes a scene in the trenches or the

lodgings at base. At least if it’s at the base, she can shove them on the

medical staff in the rear, but if they panic on the front lines, we won’t have

time for that. I won’t know what to do.

More importantly, panic is contagious. If one handsome newbie’s face

crumples into a teary mess, and then the brave ones who’ve been enduring

everything start making a fuss, I won’t be able to control it. If someone

pukes everywhere, it’ll start an unacceptable chain of nausea for everyone.

In a worst-case scenario, I’ll have no choice but to produce silence with a

shovel.

Shovels are fantastic for rookie education—we can bury their waste

products, shut them up, and, if necessary, bury them as well. They’re useful

no matter where you are—trench, base, or graveyard.

“Well, that’s fine. Gentlemen, if that’s our duty, we have no choice but

to do it.” That said, orders are orders, and it’s not as if this one has been

issued yet. It’s important to confirm these things. “Anyhow, first let’s

inquire with Command. If it’s the truth, it’ll be tough, but we’ll just have to

do it. We’ll give it our all!”

If I ask for confirmation on the rumor, I’ll learn whether I want to do

this or not. If it’s true that we’ll be rearing greenhorns, then we’ll have to do

it in a way that doesn’t break our backs. Tanya braces herself. We can’t be

expected to hold their hands every step of the way.

Of course, I know that wasting precious human resources is a folly to be

avoided. Which is also why I think I’d like to do this only as long as it

doesn’t put too much of a burden on me.

“This is Major von Degurechaff. About the new mages…”

So Tanya hazards a simple guess and receives confirmation right away.

In a nutshell, the mission we’ve been given is to break the newbies in.

From the phone conversation, Tanya makes a fairly certain guess that her

unit will be training them.

Then the first thing to do is have them observe the firing line as soon as

possible. I’ll just be glad that the battalion shouldn’t get thrown into

anywhere actually dangerous.

The front lines will teach them reality far better than a million words of

explanation. Apparently, my troops agree.

All right, I need to plan a training schedule is what I should have been

thinking.

Yes, what I should have been thinking.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the Rhine front!”

The fresh recruits were sent over more efficiently than I expected. Tanya

was thoroughly at a loss as she gave them a word of welcome. When

Command does something promptly, things are not normal. It’s an anomaly,

and you need to prepare yourself for the worst.

In the army, not having to worry about Command’s mess of

administrative procedures is the kind of aberration that should put you on

guard. Supplies get held up, reinforcements are delayed, but they’ll send

trouble over right away. In other words, Command being efficient is bad

news.

Which is why even Tanya wants to rip her hair out over the group of

newbies they’ve pushed on her. Even though she knows it isn’t becoming,

she gets cranky and frowns.

She braced herself, but…why are these replacement personnel so utterly

green? Lieutenant Weiss and the others all groan as they look over the

careers of the recruits they’ve been assigned.

They aren’t here for retraining or changing arms—they’re literally a slab

of fresh newbie meat. We’re being given raw recruits, whose only use is

fodder for the meat grinder, and being told, Don’t mince them! Evolve them

into fighting chunks of steak!

“I’m your instructor, Magic Major von Degurechaff.”

If this was what was going to happen I should have never gotten

assigned to the instructor unit at Central. Tech Research wasn’t a proper

workplace, either, and the Elinium Type 95 is one more reason my head

hurts. I guess I haven’t been able to take proper advantage of my promotion

opportunities. I just end up with more and more unfortunate connections.

Tanya can’t help but lament her circumstances.

“As you know, the Rhine is hell. It’s a graveyard, so to speak.”

She smiles weakly, thinking how it won’t do for all the fresh meat to

drop like flies, and describes the battlefield to them in frank terms as a

warning. It would be better if they had received a little more training that’s

actually useful for their situation; soldiers who don’t understand are

deadweight. Then again, on second thought, that’s exactly why someone

thought of making them a proper fighting force with this training mission.

“To break it down further, this is the wonderful Rhine front, where the

Republican Army will throw periodic welcome parties for any useless

bodies who deserve to be disposed of, and you can get promoted two ranks

in no time at all.”

Still, the high rate of attrition on the Rhine lines can only be lamented.

It’s a fundamental problem. I’m only a major, but all the superior officers

here when I arrived were busy getting their posthumous double promotions

or, if they were lucky, getting transferred or sent to the rear.

Before I knew it, as a major, I was closer to the top of the command

structure than the bottom.

Oh, competition is so fierce in the Rhine lines labor market it’ll make

you pale. What would Darwin say if he saw this? Is this the ultimate

progression of the theory of evolution? Or is it a desolate place where the

theory of evolution breaks down? It’s definitely a fascinating question.

“So anyone who wants to be a hero should go play with some snipers.”

Any time you spend talking to idiots who don’t listen is for nothing, and

having them hang around using supplies is a waste.

The best thing they can do is go make an enemy sniper use up a bullet. If

I can get rid of idiots and tire out enemy snipers at the same time, it’s not a

bad deal.

“The rest of you. Do your best not to get in the way.”

Well, if they follow instructions they should at least be able to act as

bullet repellant.

“Okay, gentlemen, we’ll probably only be together a short while, but

let’s all get along.”

Guess that’s about it. Now then, time to work as much as I get paid to.

Shovels are great. Shovels are the quintessence of civilization.

With a shovel, you can dig a hole just deep enough to hide yourself. Or

if you gather a bunch of people with them, you can dig a fine trench.

If you change your viewpoint just a little, you can even dig a tunnel. You

can smash a sturdy enemy trench with mining tactics (not that they get used

often).

A shovel is a good friend to any and every type of soldier. And a shovel

is the best gear for a close-quarters fight in a trench.

Longer than a bayonet, simpler to handle than a rifle, sturdier than any

other tool. Not only that, but they are extremely cheap to make, so they’re

perfect for mass-producing. Plus, I don’t have to worry much about

damaging my mind.

This is it, the ideal piece of equipment. This is the point humanity was

meant to reach. Civilization has developed the shovel as its implement.

Above all, it doesn’t rely on magic, so it’s optimal for stealth kills. With

a shovel, it’s possible to educate numbskulls who are dependent on magic

scanning— Klang! We can say it’s an indispensable item for nighttime

raids. Of course, it’s an excellent general-purpose tool at any time of day.

“The shovel is truly an implement born of civilization,” Tanya murmurs,

leading a unit to wish good evening to the enemy with their shovels. On this

nighttime outing, they get all muddy as they crawl over the ground on their

bellies. Her objective is clear—it’s part of the new recruit education she has

undertaken.

Tanya has no problem forcing them to wriggle through this morass if she

can beat into them that the only ones who can dress nicely on the Rhine are

dumbasses or corpses of heroes being sent to the rear. She doesn’t want to,

but when it’s an order, she has no choice. And so, she’s reluctantly crawling

at the head of the group, biting her lip.

If it were possible, she would want to go back this instant, but she’s

advancing across no-man’s-land. Since the snipers have given up their day

off and are going for the perfect attendance award, she and her troop, clad

in the gray camouflage of the trench dress code, drag themselves inch by

inch toward the enemy camp.

Sneaking forward, jumpy as a mouse, with a heavy steel helmet on your

head is the height of humiliation. What torture that we can do nothing but

sneak like this covered in mud! This place is utterly insanitary; the putrid

reek of the unrecovered corpses of both sides has completely numbed my

nose. Agh, how extraordinarily disgusting! Though conditions are severe

enough that I lament as such, work is work. I curse the fruitlessness of this

3D (dirty, dangerous, and demeaning) labor from the bottom of my heart.

…Why are the higher-ups always asking for the impossible?

To find out how all this started, we have to go back several hours to the

beginning.

Whether you see it as a comedy or a tragedy will depend on your point

of view. The incident does, however, become the momentum for marked

improvements in the Imperial Army’s chain of command and

communications channels.

“I’d like to hear your opinion on improving field battle capabilities.”

The Operations staffer attached to Command who had come to visit Tanya

that day handed her a circulating notice. On it were the loss rates of new

soldiers stationed on the Rhine lines as replacements, separated by arm of

service. What jumped out at her when she scanned the page was how high

the numbers were. You could say the Empire’s new soldiers were literally

dropping like flies.

As a frontline officer, she put the notice on her desk and sat down with a

sigh. These are what the rates will be if you have to deploy new recruits

with not enough training or experience.

“If I may be blunt, this is surely due to insufficient training and

accelerated education. I should think that instead of learning how to march

in formation, they need to be trained how to lie in a trench. Aside from that,

perhaps they should also be baptized in the most difficult parts of trench

warfare under conditions that minimize casualties.”

“They certainly have a ways to go to be useful, but…we can’t very well

stand them up in front of the machine guns, either.”

Seeing the important colonel sigh, bring his coffee to his lips, and

grimace, Tanya’s face stiffened. On the forward-most line, there’s no way to

provide adequate hospitality. She had given Lieutenant Serebryakov strict

orders to make it the best cup of coffee she could, but there probably hadn’t

been enough fuel to boil the chalk out. The colonel had drunk some, so she

did, too, but it tasted awfully tainted.

“…You don’t like it, sir?”

That said, she showed him what it was like on the front lines by

implying that that’s just how it tastes there.

“I don’t mean to nag you about conditions on the front, but…this is

horrible. It reminds me of the dining room at the central General Staff

Office.”

“They must have better luck with water there, though. This is the firing

line,” Tanya murmured, staring sadly into her butchered coffee, oozing a bit

of helplessness. Even the taste of these luxury items wasn’t the same on the

front. They were in another world, removed from daily civilian life. It

would be no easy task to throw in new recruits with only accelerated

training and get them acclimated.

“You’re saying we should give them a taste of this experience in the

rear?”

“If possible, they should be informed of the realities of the trenches so

as to shatter their illusions about war. The numbskulls who want to be

heroes end up killing not only themselves but their fellow soldiers.”

The newbies who try to pull off heroics in the trenches really are

numbskulls. If one of them succumbs to the rush of adrenaline and does

something reckless or makes a futile charge, at least the damage can be

minimized to affect just him, but oftentimes they have the nerve to involve

others.

On top of that, though you can’t really blame them for a physiological

phenomenon, I’m also really sick of them polluting the trenches with all

varieties of incontinence and creating hotbeds for every type of infectious

disease.

“That’s why, with these young ones, I just…” Tanya groaned, burying

her head in her hands. “…Hmm? What was that, sir?”

“Oh, I just thought it was strange, given how young you are, Major.”

“The one with infant military careers are useless. Of course, I’m sure it’s

a different story if they can manage to survive two months on the Rhine.”

“Ahh, no…uh, forget I said anything. Let’s get back to the topic at

hand.”

I wasn’t really sure why the colonel was mincing words. The whims of

superior officers don’t always make sense. Tanya politely did as she was

told and switched to their main topic without asking anything further.

Tanya’s age might be strange from an objective perspective, but

subjectively, she could only think of years of service, similar to the way

someone would say how long they’d been working at a company.

“Yes, sir. At present, we can’t hope for large-scale mobile battles. All we

can have them do is hole up in the trenches and maybe shoot their guns.”

Anyhow, Tanya’s idea about the loss rates, that they would improve a bit

once the soldiers acclimated, was a violently realistic one—i.e., that’s just

how it goes in total war, where you’re in a competition to literally grind up

human resources. Even if it made sense to be concerned about high losses,

she thinks they’re overly worried about the effect such losses might have on

the lines. To Tanya, you can afford to overlook losses that aren’t big enough

to affect the ability of the organization to continue fighting.

To put it another way, if they were dropping as fast as they were in All

Quiet on the Western Front, things would be pretty much like the title of the

movie—all quiet.

Even if divisions attacked by night, like in the Russo-Japanese War, it

would be a cinch to repel them with machine guns and mage support. Well,

we would have to be practical and expect casualties within some

permissible range, since the newbies would still be learning the ropes.

After all, I wasn’t the one who’d be dying. Not that I wanted them to die

if we could help it.

“Indeed. It is difficult to imagine a large-scale mobile battle breaking

out. You’re probably correct that we should focus our instruction on other

areas, but…”

Ultimately, the colonel didn’t say anything that negated what Tanya had

said.

What came through in his anguished reply were the emotions he

couldn’t shake, the feeling of wrongness and hatred for this way of fighting

that involved sending so many young to die.

“…neither can we ignore the damage being done in these smaller

engagements. The problem is that even if the losses are small, they pile up.

Worst of all, morale will start to flag.”

“But if an engagement is small, it shouldn’t be resulting in too many

losses.”

Wait a minute. Tanya seemed to be the only one present who thought

those losses were within the permissible range. Compared to the rate of

casualties in World War I, these little scuffles were adorable. But a normal

person wouldn’t usually use deaths in World War I as the yardstick even if

they were aware of it, and if they weren’t, they would undoubtedly shiver at

the inconceivable numbers.

“At most, a harassing raid would only kill the ones who would die

anyhow, so that doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

A serious raid would be too high risk, so the most the enemy can do is

take a company of infantry for a sneak attack. The limit for mages would be

a battalion-sized harassing attack. If that’s all, the casualties the imperial

side could expect wouldn’t be unsuitably high.

Speaking in extremes, of course. With that thought, Tanya drained her

awful coffee and reached for a mint candy as a palate cleanser.

The large gap in experience between veterans and newbies can only be

explained by how much actual combat they’ve been through. My unit’s rate

of loss was far and away the lowest, but the replacements from other units

were starting to get injured, albeit gradually. The soldiers who got their first

taste of combat in the easy Dacian War were lucky. If your first time is this

rough, it must take a long time to get used to it.

“Major von Degurechaff, don’t you think with your instruction and

direction the loss rate could be lowered?”

“If you order me to do it, I’ll do my utmost, but ultimately our only

option for these first-time combatants is to teach them step-by-step.”

On a battlefield with snipers, pointing at a moron who got shot is far

more persuasive than telling them, Don’t stick your head out! While

trenches diminish the effectiveness of field guns, concentrated fire from

large-caliber heavy artillery reduces even reinforced concrete to rubble, so

don’t all hide in the same place! They’ll understand well enough if you

make them recover the bodies of the poor radio operators who suffocated

when they were buried alive in a pillbox.

Take writing the alphabet, for example. If you don’t go A-B-C step-bystep

and actually teach how to write it, there’s no point. When that occurred

to her, Tanya realized her battalion still hadn’t experienced some things on

the Rhine, either.

The obstacle of trenches certainly changed the way night battles were

fought. They changed the way guard duty was performed as well, and the

replacement troops were definitely not used to it. Newbies and veterans

alike had to deal with warnings being given at the drop of a hat. And maybe

this was compounded by the mages not having much opportunity to be in

the trenches during the day.

“That said, it seems to be as you say. From what I’ve seen, I agree that

we should be able to improve a bit more,” said Tanya upon reflection.

In other words, she needed to educate the fresh recruits under the

assumption they were unfamiliar with the trenches. The change in

environment and premises requires retraining.

“Yes, that’s right. Their combat in environments where they can’t rely

on magic is particularly unbearable to watch.”

Tanya nodded in response to the colonel’s observation. The mages were

trained under the assumption they’d be deploying both protective films and

defensive shells, so they really did suck at stealth combat. The shameful

sight of newbies unconsciously protecting themselves and then getting

targeted by the enemy annoyed her.

“It’s true that even though they’re under strict orders not to use magic in

the trenches, there are too many examples of people leaking signals without

realizing and getting picked up by the enemy.”

Having said that, it really started to hit home. Oh, right, there was also

an incident where a whole unit got blown away because some numbskull

gave away their position while they were getting ready…

There had been an inquiry, but did anyone attempt to reevaluate

replacement training as a result? Aha, it really is an issue when one person’s

mistake multiplies the damage. Having jumped to that conclusion through

logic incomprehensible to others, she was touched, thinking it was good

that the higher-ups cared about improving the situation.

“You’re worried about even the small-scale battles with recruits this

under-trained?”

Right, Heinrich’s Law. There is always the risk that letting small errors

go will lead to getting majorly burned. And Murphy’s Law teaches us about

the dangers of ignoring the possibility of failure. Humans are numbskulls. If

there is a way to fail, someone will figure out how to do it at some point.

In that case… Tanya, shocked at her own pride, felt her heart stop. The

higher-ups must be apprehensive about the shaky new recruits not for some

baseless reason but because they’ve discovered some risk that officers

across the front have been carelessly overlooking.

How perceptive. I need to hand it to them, from an HR perspective.

There’s no guarantee that these issues won’t worsen if things develop into a

massive battle, so if there are even small ways to improve, we have to work

at them.

“That’s exactly the issue. Large-scale engagements notwithstanding,

these smaller skirmishes…”

Even if the current assumption is that a large-scale battle won’t break

out… The Operations staffer emphasized that even the present human losses

couldn’t be ignored and felt (as a decent person would) that this level of

harm, this mass production of corpses, was wrong somehow.

Meanwhile, Tanya nodded—quite right—at everything the colonel said

but nevertheless took no particular issue with the losses as such. Rather, she

thought the biggest problem was that many of their units were inferior due

to being formed mainly with replacements.

Certainly, even if the chance of a large-scale fight was negligible, they

were currently leaving open the possibility of failure and piling up small

errors.

Actually, after having this pointed out to her, her most serious concern

was the very real (if sporadic) instances where one person’s error had

caused catastrophic damage—too much. She worried that newbies who

couldn’t function without relying on magic could be a major component of

failure on a high-risk mission.

“You were on an operation in Norden where you couldn’t rely on magic,

right? I imagine you have a handle on the gist of it.”

“As you say, sir. I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t been thinking about it, but

I’ll keep it in mind when I’m teaching.”

The idea of requesting error-prevention measures indicates, in a way,

healthy operation of the organization. In civilian life, trouble can usually be

dealt with by firing the person who made the mistake. In the army, however,

one person’s mistake can mean everyone dies. One for all. All for one. It’s a

truly wise saying. If one person fails, everyone dies, and if everyone else

messes up, one person’s fierce fight won’t be enough to win in the end.

“About that…”

I appreciate that instruction is happening, but it’s far from enough. The

issue really is lack of actual combat experience. The colonel was

enthusiastic, thinking that he’d gotten her to understand his opinion. Thus,

he and Tanya entered a strange misunderstanding without realizing the

incongruity of their views because they saw only their agreement that

something needed to be done.

“Yes, what is it, sir?”

“Can you give them some experience?”

What they needed more than protected experience in a large operation

was thorough repetition and review in small-scale battles. That is what

Tanya believed, so although she didn’t want to, she resolved to go on a nonmagic

raid.

Yes, combat experience should be gained alongside a well-trained unit

with extraordinarily low loss rates. Experience trumps schooling.

“Sir! Experience, yes.”

There was no point in training corpses. There was no telling on the

ground when the chance would arise to do a large-scale mobile battle or

breakthrough or difficult operation like an infiltration attack. As long as that

was the case, troops should be kept trained up so they could respond to

orders at any time; Tanya kicked herself for her careless neglect.

I didn’t want losses in my unit, and I figured if I put the newbies out to

pasture, the battlefield would turn them into master soldiers, but that was

the wrong way to go about it.

“Yeah, if there’s a chance to train them in the trenches for a while, I’d

like to have them fight with your troops.”

It was true that having her battalion go to the trenches with the new

recruits as an instructor unit would reinforce the front. The Empire sure gets

all they can out of their people. The shocking truth had just started dawning

on Tanya that in the abnormality of war she had lapsed into irrationality and

laziness. This is why war is bad, she thought. War numbs humanity and

reason and drives you crazy with rotten fantasies.

When that thought crossed her mind, she had been on the verge of

resisting, saying, You’re telling me to leave the rear and throw myself into

the trenches? And not only that but take a bunch of deadweight with me and

train them? She was terrified to see how tainted her own thoughts were.

Even though I know that being hasty and shortsighted is most likely to

cause a failure, once I experienced it, I got a good taste of how easy it is to

fall into that trap.

“Understood! I’ll do my best to instruct the unit.”

“Great. I’ll prepare the written orders immediately. Sorry for the

pressure, but we’re counting on you.”

“Yes, sir. Leave it to me! I’ll have results to show in no time.”

And so, neither of them realized there was a definite contradiction in

their views, and Tanya moved ahead with carrying out her orders.

Taking her time to enjoy her dinner, she has the company commanders

under her prepare for a night battle and confer with the leader of the

recruits. She also points out to her batman that the potatoes are inexcusably

old. When he replies that the supply unit is bringing canned goods as a top

priority, she is forced to reluctantly back down…because she senses her

superiors are focused on logistics network maintenance and efficiency.

The light railway is handling about as much traffic as it can take, so

they’re probably prioritizing canned goods since those keep for a long time

and can be transported according to a preset plan. In other words, I

shouldn’t expect raw vegetables or fresh meat or fish anytime soon. The

calories, at least, should be up to regulations. Still… When she hits upon

that prospect, she has to accept the reality that her already simple table will

become even drearier.

Well, I guess the only ones who get to expect decent meals at war are the

navy. Or maybe just the submarine squads—I’ve heard they get treated

well. Of course, everything else about their situation is the worst…

Basically, they’re beginning to prioritize ease of transport, and that

makes sense to her. She certainly can’t argue against it, so with nothing else

to do, she lays down her sword on the food issue and continues her meeting.

That’s how essential close cooperation and maintaining leadership will

be in the upcoming operation. After all, discipline in a normal mage

battalion night battle would be managed via magic. But if they were to cast

interference formulas in the middle of no-man’s-land, they’d be detected;

no individual radios will be distributed, either. Fighting a night battle under

these conditions with fresh recruits is incredibly reckless.

Operation Eagle Claw heading for Iran probably had a higher chance of

succeeding.

So should we split into autonomous platoons for the raid? Just one

imperial mage platoon is said to have firepower equal to a company of

regular infantry. Well, practically speaking, an infantry company and a

mage platoon really can probably deliver the same amount of damage.

Plus, it’s a night battle. If we hit them with that much firepower under

the veil of darkness, we can probably expect widespread confusion. But

then to continue fighting, we’ll have to rely on magic. That means the

second we cast interference formulas, it’s possible that the enemy retreats

and the whole area gets bombarded indiscriminately.

Well, or we could just take checking machine-gun fire.

So should we infiltrate as companies? It’s realistic but on a whole new

scale of difficulty. It’s not a bad idea to have each group perform a feint and

then attack from four totally different locations. But sending in all four

companies would mean that even as an augmented battalion, we wouldn’t

have any muscle in reserve. I want to stay in the rear under the pretext of

commanding the reserves, so I can’t accept that plan.

I will take the most highly trained First Company. Having all the other

companies perform the raid would be best for me, but my subordinates are

advocating for a plan where First Company is the main attacking force.

They want to go without reserves and have the others feint.

The objective of our night battle is the abduction of enemy soldiers,

which is relatively less difficult. Basically, we’ll invite enemy sentries from

a warning trench to be friends for Intelligence to chat with.

“In other words, you all want to avoid engaging as much as possible.”

“Yes, Commander. Honestly, it’ll be impossible to fight with those

recruits along.”

…I suppose it is important to avoid combat. My orders are simple.

“Give them night battle experience.” Period.

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result

of a hundred battles. Or endeavor to understand one another in an advanced,

civilized manner. To that end, a bit of nocturnal hiking to invite enemy

soldiers over isn’t so bad.

No, it’s not bad. Well, it’s not good, either. I guess things can’t be

declared simply good or bad.

“I’m concerned about speed. More than anything, this’ll demand a swift

withdrawal.” Without thinking, I’ve already voiced a worry. Well, as the

one in charge, I have to consider and prepare for all eventualities.

I can’t get away with saying, Oops, I didn’t think about that.

If I say it’s possible and fail, I’ll be laughed at. If I say it’s impossible,

I’ll be reprimanded as inept.

I’m compelled to raise concerns; we need to think seriously about this.

Any resisting enemy soldiers won’t be killed but knocked out. Well, that’s

easy for a mage to do. We get a lot of practical experience on how to leave

people neither dead nor alive in the military academy and basic training.

The venerable Daigongen and Zusho come in surprisingly handy.

We’re up against soldiers instead of farmers, but in terms of governing

theory, the result is the same. Well, no, I’m actually much more comfortable

doing it to civilians.

We could also tap them lightly with the flat side of a shovel. If you

swing a shovel sideways, it slices, but if you hit with the flat, that’s one

down. They really are convenient—so much so that I’d almost like to have

all the recruits participate armed only with shovels.

But what do we do once we capture our guests? If the warning trench

sends out an alert, our only options will be to fight or run. As long as our

objective is to take prisoners, fighting is pointless. When all you’ve got is

the muscle of a group on force recon, dealing with the counterattacking unit

in a trench fight is a completely futile battle of attrition. And if we were to

miss our chance to pull out, we would literally die in vain. That’s why after

we achieve our appointed objective, there’s no reason to stick around.

When your work is done, there’s nothing better than going straight

home.

Which is why we can prioritize speed without fretting over the mana

signals we’ll have been concealing up to then and go literally flying out of

there with flight formulas. There is no better way to let your mana signal

loose and hightail it away from the battle lines than a flight formula.

Hooray for flight formulas.

We’ll have to run for our lives for a couple minutes, but if we can’t get

away, we’ll get blown up in a hail of SOS fire.

Well, another way to look at it is that as long as whatever gets us makes

a clean hit, we won’t have to suffer.

That said, everyone wants to enjoy life.

Even suicidal people aren’t born in such a passionate state of despair

over their existence that they want to kill themselves. If they are able to

believe in the future, humans all have the wonderful potential to build a

bright, peaceful tomorrow. Humans are irreplaceable; we’re all unique.

At least, I don’t know about other people, but I have no substitute.

That’s why I want to survive, no matter what it takes. No, I will survive. To

that end, I’ll even praise the devil as God for those couple minutes to go full

throttle.

I’m saying that we’ll keep an eye out for each other as we withdraw, but

I’m definitely not stopping. Falling behind means being taken prisoner if

you’re lucky or death in battle if you’re not.

“…Well, seems like you’re appropriately nervous.”

Apparently, all my subordinates have screws loose. I mentioned a

concern, so why are they talking about “appropriately nervous”? Was it a

mistake to gather a bunch of war addicts when I formed my unit?

I want to take a little space. I hunt for someone with some other—some

normal—opinion. When I scan my troops, I see Lieutenant Serebryakov

raising her hand.

“Major, the last few minutes are the dangerous part, although we do

have to give the new recruits support on our way over as well.”

This is a much more sensible viewpoint. We’ll be fine on the approach

unless someone makes a sound or some numbskull gives off a mana signal.

“Lieutenant, you and I have seen enough newbies screwing up on the

Rhine to make you sick. You can handle them, right?”

“…If need be. But, Major, I’m going to do my best to cover for them so

that won’t be necessary.”

“Hmm. Well, let’s go over the opinions we’ve presented.”

Let’s round up the most sensible conclusions we have.

1. Do all we can to avoid combat.

Peace is best, of course. No reason to oppose that.

2. Send the strongest unit.

This is irritating, but in terms of military sense, I can’t argue with it.

Accepted for its prudence.

3. If we don’t get discovered, the approach is possible. Withdrawing will

be dangerous.

These are the points we collected. It’s probably the safest plan. That is, if

we arrange for a steady advance and a swift withdrawal, I guess we

shouldn’t have any problems. And if the troops make a mess of it, they’ll

have officers and NCOs with plenty of Rhine experience to back them up.

Lieutenant Serebryakov and the others who have come up through the ranks

will probably do a proper job of that.

“Good. I’ll notify them of the plan.”

Now, which of the fresh mages will I take on our first picnic?

Dinner was potatoes. And a little bit of fresh meat. Everything else was

canned. Mages are usually treated well, and I’m even an officer, but this is

what I get. This is still the rear base, so I’m told it’s on the good side; I

wonder what the situation is on the front line. I hear the Great Army is

putting pressure on the enemy lines, but Logistics is probably still

struggling.

With those things on his mind, Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz,

who had finally just been commissioned, ate his food quickly like soldiers

do. The meal was better than the rations at the field exercise grounds.

At least it satisfied his appetite, and his tongue didn’t reject it. But even

if the food was better, he’d actually been feeling depressed for a few days.

After all, he was being sent to the district with the fiercest fighting.

No, when he left the academy, he even trembled with excitement at

being sent to the Rhine sometimes. He even thought he’d rack up brilliant

exploits and become a hero.

But that enthusiasm withered the closer the military train got to the

Rhine district on the way to the front.

What he saw were shell craters and burned, blistered things. Everything

in his field of vision was gray. All of it, scorched fields. By the time the

pungent odor began invading his nose, his spirit was deflated. And the

thunder of a large gun, maybe an imperial railway gun, intensified his

worries.

Before he knew it, he and the others were restlessly glancing around,

noticing that many of their fellows wore the same anxious faces.

During that journey, one of the few ways to pass the time was sharing

rumors. As he’d heard, the old stagers either slept, played cards, or spread

rumors. Grantz dozed now and then, otherwise chatting as the train rocked

along. He heard some rumors he knew of, too.

For example, one legend at the academy said a second-class student had

once murmured that Cadet Degurechaff was more terrifying than the

battlefield. She certainly is scary. Such were the thoughts running through

his mind as he presented himself at Rhine Command.

When he arrived, he heard he would be attached to an instructor unit,

which was a relief.

According to Command, he’d be retrained as a replacement before

getting his assignment, so the first thing to do was get used to the front

lines.

Maybe I can do this! It was several days ago that he had thought that.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the Rhine front!”

If the devil exists, it has to be our instructor, the commander of the

203rd Aerial Mage Assault Battalion, the legendary Major von Degurechaff.

The way she smiled. The way she looked at us like we were maggots.

The way she seemed thirsty for blood.

I’d believe she had tried to kill a rebellious underclassman or crack his

skull open. If I screw up on the battlefield, she’ll definitely kill me. That’s

how threatened I felt by the instructor who just had to also be my advisor.

…I wanna cry.

Out of all the replacements, I was the only one who had been through

the academy. In other words, everyone either didn’t know the rumor that

she was a demon in the guise of a little girl or laughed it off. The ones who

figured they could handle war if that little kid could were on the safer side.

Just the thought of what the ones who underestimated her might do

made my stomach hurt. I’ve never hated the words collective responsibility

so much.

Tonight, I’m off duty. I should go to bed early. It happened just as I

thought that.

We were summoned. The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion was ordered to

appear in the briefing room, grouped by platoon, within three minutes.

“Hurry up! Run!”

I urged my platoon, who had been finishing dinner; raced over to the

briefing room; and just barely made it at two minutes and fifty-one seconds.

No other platoons had arrived yet. Well, no, in ran Seventh Platoon; they’d

been competing with those of us in Fourth Platoon. That second, the three

minutes were up.

And the next second, the superior officers broke into broad grins and

went to go get the tardy platoons. Did the others even feel bad for being

late?

In any case, we all assembled quickly. And our smiling battalion

commander announced a night picnic plan. Not that it involved anything

like a picnic.

“Unfortunately, gentlemen, I think that aside from Fourth and Seventh

Platoons, you deserve penalties.”

This was the major who had once said during a speech at the academy

that deadweight should be killed. I pitied the groups who hadn’t been able

to make it in three minutes because I figured they would be thrown into

hell, but that wasn’t right.

“In order to teach you the importance of haste, I’m sending you to the

trenches. Since you don’t seem to understand when I tell you, you’ll

experience firsthand what happens to slowpokes.”

They’d actually be buried in the depths of hell. The shocked mages were

immediately assigned to the warning trench. The warning trench on the

front lines of the district with the worst fighting… They would be what are

commonly called “canaries,” the first to get attacked on the forward-most

line. The mortality rate was naturally the highest; it was a position where

you couldn’t rest for even a moment.

By the way, they’re called canaries after the caged birds that are taken

into mines. The comparison is made because of the criticism that the raison

d’être of anyone in this post is to stop responding.

But I shouldn’t have been relieved.

“Now then, you fine, punctual fellows, I have a reward.”

She looked at us one by one as if she was going to tell us something

wonderful. My platoon mates next to me seemed to be expecting a reward,

but I wasn’t.

I had a really bad feeling.

“You get a little amity-building recreation. We’ll go on a picnic, make a

toast, and invite some new friends to come back with us. I guess you can

call it a party.”

As soon as she said that, someone handed us a pamphlet that said Field

Trip Guide. Picnic procedure?

“First, equip hand grenades and your shovel; then ready your rifle and

computation orb. Dress in night camo for CQB. By the way, if you use your

computation orb or rifle without permission, you’ll be shot or beaten to

death. Republican soldiers are people, too. That means you can make

friends with them”?

Then why did we have to knock them out with shovels?

“…In ancient times, people made friends by talking with their fists”?

“Civilized people of the present use the implement born of civilization,

the shovel…”?

This is crazy. No one said it aloud, but it was the look on everyone’s

faces. This was a nighttime mission to abduct enemy soldiers—a so-called

intelligence-gathering mission but extremely dangerous nonetheless. If we

were going to drag enemies back with us, it went without saying that we

would have to approach the enemy trenches.

Basically, we had to sneak up to the enemy position—where machine

guns, all types of heavy artillery, infantry guns, snipers, and tons of soldiers

were waiting—and abduct enemies out of the warning trench, which was

the place that was on highest alert.

“…We’re gonna die.”

It was from there that things would get really intense. “After using your

shovels to mingle with lots of friends, let’s invite some to our house. But I

think all our friends will try to keep us from leaving in various ways. The

field trip lasts until you shake them off and make it home”?

“Incidentally, I’m not too worried about you punctual fellows, but one

thing…” She beamed. Oh God, please save us. “If you’re too slow, we’re

leaving you behind. Yes, anyone who wants a quick double promotion can

stay out there. We wouldn’t want to hinder your success in life.”

She said the same sort of thing when I first met her. I didn’t realize it

was word for word the truth!

Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz realized he was shaking.

My survival instinct was screaming. I wanted to avoid the war, the

combat, the killing. I was hesitating.

But one glance from Major von Degurechaff was enough to subjugate

that instinct. She was far more terrifying. We sallied forth like lambs being

herded by a sheepdog. No one raised so much as a groan. We advanced

under the cover of night, crawling in silence.

The commander was the first to strike. We heard the thudding of her

shovel followed by the grunts of several people. We whacked the enemy

soldiers caught with their guard down, too, as if our lives depended on it.

How much time passed after that?

It felt like the experience lasted a lifetime, but in reality, it was only a

few dozen seconds.

It was a short moment. During that tiny amount of time, all the enemy

soldiers in the specified area of the warning trench were either incapacitated

or deep in a sleep they would never wake up from.

I could still feel the shock of the shovel impact in my hand; it was

different from the recoil of shooting like we were taught at the academy.

That particular feeling, the sensation of crushing something, was still

impressed upon my body.

If I had been left like that, I wonder what would have happened to me.

“It’s time. Company, carry the prisoners. Newbies, you’re support. In

thirty seconds, the magic ban is lifted. We’re flying outta here. Sync your

watches—three, two, one, start.”

But the orders delivered in a calm, unruffled whisper brought me back to

reality. Combined with my training, they slowly got my body moving.

That’s what I had been drilled for. My training saved me.

As instructed, thirty seconds later I started up my computation orb at full

throttle and took off.

We really hightailed it back to our own defensive lines. It only took a

few minutes. All we had to do was fly—simple. But it was horrible. My

heart raced with every artillery shot. It hurt to breathe.

I was so terrified I hardly felt like myself anymore.

When we climbed up high to avoid being shot accidentally and set a safe

course for the rear base, all the stress left my body at once, and weariness

washed over me.

…How could the major just calmly sing a hymn?

Today, after completing her morning exercises and eating breakfast,

Major von Degurechaff reaches for her pen as if she’s made up her mind.

In the rear base, the mail can get through. Naturally, it’s possible to send

a letter if necessary.

It’s military mail, so sometimes there are delays, but in general, things

can be sent and received like any normal letter.

Of course, someone like her with no relatives doesn’t have any personal

letters to write.

She only ever writes on official business or unofficial business.

What she’s writing this time is official. That said, in a rare case, she

takes out her stationery hesitantly, and her pen moves over the paper

awkwardly.

She’s already written a pile of these documents. She just accepts that

they’re work and gets them done. But today the tip of her pen feels heavy.

Well, it would be stranger if a person could write it without trouble.

To the dear family of Warrant Officer Anluk E. Kahteijanen,

I am Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff, his superior officer.

I regret to inform you that your one and only young Anluk E.

Kahteijanen is being discharged with a disability.

He became abruptly ill during an operation, and the surgeon has judged

that it would be difficult for him to endure lengthy military service.

His recovery will most likely require a long recuperation period at home

or in a military hospital.

The Personnel Division has agreed to go ahead with this treatment plan.

Please speak with him and ensure he has a restful convalescence.

And please forgive us for returning your child in such a condition.

He is an outstanding mage, our irreplaceable brother-in-arms, brave

and trusted by all.

We are deeply saddened to no longer have Anluk E. Kahteijanen in our

ranks.

Small consolation though it must be, I recommended him for the Field

Service Badge First Class and the Disability Medal, both of which were

approved.

I hope he makes a full recovery.

Sincerely,

[xxx] Unit Commander, Imperial Army Magic Major Tanya von

Degurechaff

…To think the day would come when I’d lose a man to some bad

potatoes. Apparently, the legendary remark from an American Thunderbolt

pilot that even a veteran can’t beat food poisoning wasn’t a joke.

So those potatoes really were rotten after all. Tanya puts away her pen,

irritated by the worsening logistics situation.

Sending a letter to the family when something happens to a subordinate

is the superior officer’s responsibility, and I’m not against writing…but

food poisoning from potatoes? Tanya has finished the letter, but she has

complicated feelings about the incident and can’t get over it.

He had eaten, participated in a night raid, and shocked me upon our

return by throwing up and complaining of an awful stomachache. I was

dumbfounded. A veteran writhing about like that, I was sure he had to have

been hit by an NBC weapon. Those work even on mages. I hurriedly cast a

medical formula, but it only eased the pain. Protective films provide

comprehensive NBC coverage, and I remember we were on the verge of

panicking that some new weapon not on that list had been developed.

When the surgeon rushed over and examined him, we were finally able

to sigh in relief. In other words, it was just sudden, acute food poisoning.

And it only hit unlucky Anluk E. Kahteijanen.

He was a good mage, damn it. I never thought I would send someone

away from the front like this.

But it’s really great that Personnel treated his condition as a disability.

This way, he gets his pension, and his honor as a soldier remains intact. And

I, as an officer, won’t have the blemish on my record of a dishonorable

subordinate.

I mean, you can only really laugh at an officer who loses a man to bad

potatoes. Who would have thought I had a guy in my unit who would be

taken out by his own stomach…? Nah, it’s not even funny.

The Republican bombardments come as always, shaking our position

like clockwork, but I must feel oddly reflective on this auspicious day

because I sent a man to the rear for a difficult-to-verbalize reason.

That said, what we learned from this lesson was promptly applied. As

such, this morning’s breakfast was bacon, hard biscuits, and ersatz coffee.

The vegetable soup featuring the guilty potatoes was hastily disposed of.

Personally, I worry about my diet being unbalanced without vegetables, but

there’s nothing I can do about it.

I had someone go to get supplies first thing this morning, so I figure

maybe we’ll get a chance to eat canned vegetables with lunch. And well,

even if we are on a battlefield, we can’t escape falling into routines, and I’m

a bit sick of it. It’d be great if we could get a meal that’s not part of the

rotation.

Aside from these things, our daily battles in the trenches take place in

the world of All Quiet on the Western Front. We basically repeat the same

pattern day after day. The only novelty to keep my attention is whether the

recruits training on the front lines are doing well or not.

Well, I only put them in yesterday. Tanya expects that after a week’s

baptism of war in the trenches she’ll find out whether they’re usable or not.

If not, all she has to do is send them back and apply for their retraining.

So although she regrets war’s brand of tunnel vision, she devotes herself

to instructing her troops. First, just as her boss said, she gave them the most

difficult test first; despite the risks, she reluctantly took them on a night

battle, but to her surprise and delight, they only lost two.

Though she’d told everyone they were leaving in thirty seconds, that

pair couldn’t keep up and were blown away in an artillery barrage, a fact

confirmed by one of her subordinates. That was all. Apart from that, the

newbies all followed instructions, and no one went insane. As Tanya mulls

over the recruits’ misfortune to be blown up together in their two-man cell,

she finds herself in a somewhat philosophical mood and begins to wonder

about the role of luck in food poisoning.

In any case, she’s doing what she needs to do.

But actually, even though she’s doing what she needs to do, she

sometimes gets doubtful looks.

For instance, she reported in, “I’M INSTRUCTING THEM

ACCORDING TO YOUR ORDERS.”

And the response she received was “ROGER. GOOD LUCK.”

But then when they went on the night raid and lost only two men, the

higher-ups told her to be more careful next time. She began wondering if

maybe they wanted her to do it with zero losses.

But this is a battlefield, she argued, and we went on a high-risk

operation. Losing two newbies under those circumstances is not bad.

But when it comes to luck, it seems Tanya has to admit that she needs to

take certain things into account.

Still, she finds it lamentable that just because they don’t want any losses

and her unit got unlucky, the blame is laid on her as the commander who

was present.

I know history repeats in little ways, from private companies to the

Yankee military. For example, when that guy MacArthur ordered his

subordinate Eisenhower to plan a parade and then insisted he had no

memory of it—there are a number of rotten incidents like that throughout

time.

Still, Tanya is feeling really sad. Ahh, I might start to cry. I mean, I’m a

girl, you know!

…??

When her thoughts stray, she suddenly realizes she feels off.

Her mind floods with the horror of psychological contamination.

She runs off in search of some kind of help as if her life depends on it.

A doctor! I need to see a doctor!

APRIL 28, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL ARMY

GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, JOINT MEETING OF THE

SERVICE CORPS AND OPERATIONS

“Well, it’s the appointed hour, so I would like to begin the joint meeting

between the Service Corps and Operations surrounding the pros and cons of

the Rhine offensive plan.”

The officer presiding over the meeting spoke, but no one followed him,

and silence reigned.

In contrast with the splendid exterior of the building, the expressions of

the high-ranking men in the meeting room were dour.

Some of the officers were practically tearing their hair out with incessant

worries, unsure what to do, and among them was Major General von

Zettour. The situation changed from moment to moment, and just getting a

handle on what was going on was incredibly difficult. Moreover, the

Empire was learning from the rising pile of corpses, courtesy of the

Republicans, how fundamentally impossible a frontal breakthrough was in

trench warfare.

That is, the price of a front assault on the trenches was too high. On the

other hand, a large-scale firepower offensive would put too much strain on

the supply lines.

They had just improved the supply-line light-rail to the front, but there

were already requests from every post for reinforcements coming in day

after day.

The burden on supply had blown through prewar estimates long ago.

The Entente Alliance was essentially collapsing, and it was necessary to

allot some military strength to the area for a short time to ensure it, which

also weighed heavy on Logistics.

Even the local army group alone was enough to secure overwhelming

superiority for the Imperial Army in the north, but the harsh winter weather

had held them back. They weren’t in a situation where they could spare

troops to reinforce the main fighting lines on the Rhine. These lines would

probably be frozen stiff until next spring. In other words, it would be a

while before they could expect any easing up on the supply line burden

from the north.

Meanwhile, the navy was in the process of gaining superiority in the

channel against the Republic, but the navy and army disagreed on whether

that was a good thing or not. The air and magic forces were prepared to

support either side if asked, but the army’s and navy’s worries were just so

different.

The navy apparently couldn’t wait to break through the channel. After

all, their ambition was to wipe out the Republican fleet in a battle of

warships. They even proposed doing an amphibious operation afterward,

like with the Entente Alliance, to completely annihilate the country.

As far as Zettour could see, taking command of the sea for a landing

operation seemed likely to keep casualties down far more effectively than

advancing by breaking through the trenches. The issue was the safety of the

route if they went by sea. If they broke into the channel between the

Republic and the Commonwealth, they had to be worried about how the

(superficially) neutral Commonwealth would react. Would it just stand

quietly by?

He’d already been over these questions with Major General von

Rudersdorf. They were both forced to conclude that if they entered the

channel, the Commonwealth would probably interfere to maintain the

balance of power. If that happened, the fears that made the rounds at the

office in “Predictions on the Shape and Direction of the Current War” and

“Theory of Total War,” would come true.

Yes, world war. The war’s expansion would be like a never-ending chain

reaction, and they wouldn’t be able to avoid it. If that happened, they could

end up with a Rhine-like scenario on every front.

The Republican Army on the Rhine lines was quite a handful. If it was

only the Republic, though, they still had a chance of winning.

But what would happen if some units from the Commonwealth showed

up? They could find themselves in the opposite of their current superior

position.

As long as it was doubtful the Imperial Navy could stop the

Commonwealth Navy, if the remnants of the Republican Navy joined in, it

would be all the imperial fleet could do to protect itself.

Of course, they couldn’t twiddle their thumbs for too long, either. If they

waited to act, even the Empire would run out of steam. Then they would

lose the strategic effects of having brought down Dacia and the Entente

Alliance.

And they couldn’t bear the idea of being beaten from the side by the

Commonwealth or some other interloping power. What can we do about

this dilemma?

Yet, it was becoming clear that if they tolerated the current situation,

anything that happened to affect the supply lines could spell disaster. That

was their irritating predicament.

Since the founding of the nation, the Great Reich had obtained its

historical lands but was also hounded by territorial conflicts, so there was

never any lack of sparks for the next war.

Hence their distress. No one with a simple solution to a problem suffers.

For better or worse, there were people present who knew the plan.

Zettour knew. He knew that all they had to do was not lose. Zettour

believed, to a rather surprising degree for a member of the military, that

there was no need for them to go on the attack. Simply put, the status quo

was fine.

And Rudersdorf was also aware of it. He knew there was no need for

them to make serious attacks on the trenches. Unlike Zettour, however, he

couldn’t accept the notion that this attrition war was fine. He had the lucid

determination of a soldier: If they could control losses and win, then why

not do that?

They finally both made up their minds and received permission to speak.

“I feel we should change the way we’re looking at this problem.”

Zettour didn’t consider himself timid, but given the significance of what

he was about to say, even he was nervous. There was just a hint of stiffness

in his voice, too small for almost anyone to pick up, but he spoke as calmly

as possible.

His secret plan to disentangle these snarled-up threads in one blow

would be gory. The Gordian knot is just a story. A sharp sword is sharp no

matter who it’s cutting.

“With our existing doctrine and values, we probably won’t make it. We

need a paradigm shift.”

Achieving victory by attacking the enemy castle and forcing them to

sign a capitulation was now impossible. It would be difficult to demand a

full surrender outside of instances like the Empire and Dacia or the Entente

Alliance, where there was an overwhelming gap in national strength.

Looking at the current terrible war, it seemed the bloodletting would have to

continue until one or the other of the powers couldn’t take any more.

“Don’t aim for victory, avoid defeat. If we don’t do that, it will be too

hard to be the last one standing.”

“…General von Zettour, you mean you oppose the offensive?” a

member of Operations asked him, perplexed. That was as far as their

thinking went.

No, that was probably common sense. To them, the offensive was how

they would overcome and trample the enemy and end the war. But they

were wrong.

“No, I support the offensive as such, but I do think we should modify its

operational aims.”

“Change its aims?”

Go on—no, stop. The question could mean both of those things, and

Zettour answered by dropping a bomb in plain terms.

“The goal of the operation shouldn’t be to break through. It should be to

bleed the enemy. To put it another way, our offensive plan should be to wear

out as many enemy soldiers as possible.”

Conclusion: Exhaust the enemy.

“We carry out a thorough bloodletting and crush the enemy’s ability to

continue fighting.”

Degurechaff’s remark.

He could still remember each and every word the young soldier said to

him in the war college library. The shock of hearing her speak so

dispassionately about such a horrible world was hard to forget. And now

that everything was progressing just as she had said, he was even more

surprised. How much did that girl Degurechaff predict?

Predicting the future of a war is extremely difficult.

The only constant rule is that common sense can change in an instant

and a new principle of war can conquer the battlefield. There aren’t many

soldiers who can adapt to those changes, so to think there’s one who can

predict them is…!

“In other words, we bleed the enemy until they collapse. This is the only

way to resolve this.”

Someone unconsciously shifted, and the creak of the chair sounded extra

loud in the quiet room. It was completely silent.

Zettour was actually feeling calm in the face of it. No, strictly speaking,

he was sympathizing with Degurechaff. He sensed now that she had been

able to speak so calmly back in the library because she understood.

She understood the cost of breaking through would be too high. Even if

they could pull it off, their losses would be heavy. And if the

Commonwealth, anxious about the deteriorating war situation, decided to

intervene, they would be pushed right back. That would be the worst

possible outcome for the Empire.

If they shed all that blood not for nothing but a push in the wrong

direction, the soldiers’ will to fight would crumble.

I couldn’t send men in that condition back to break through again, at

least. Giving the order would only lead to more waste. So why not let the

enemy make that mistake?

We’ll just wait for the Republic to drown in their own blood.

Zettour believed this was the only viable option for the Imperial Army.

In other words, war is ultimately about not heroes or the expression of

chivalry but how efficiently you can kill your enemies.

To put it another way, it was inevitable that this conflict would become

total war.

“So we’ll thoroughly pummel enemy soldiers and supplies. I ask that we

draw up an offensive plan with those aims, and that is all I wish to say at

this time.”

Surely, almost definitely, our future has been decided. The frozen

expressions on the faces of his colleagues and subordinates spoke to that.

You’re crazy, they said.

The operation he proposed was the opposite of almost anyone’s idea of

common sense. Leave parts of their territory undefended and prioritize

wiping out the enemy field army. And finish them off with a revolving door?

You would have the army that exists to defend the fatherland carry out this

operation? No one could help but think these things.

But sooner or later, the staffers sitting there would understand—there

was no other path. He didn’t know when, but he knew they would come

around to the plan for its military merit, in every way except emotionally.

“I agree. Clearly, we should focus on annihilating the enemy’s field

army.” Despite the others’ hesitation, Rudersdorf made a clear declaration

of his strong support for Zettour’s idea. He was aware that posterity would

judge them harshly, but he made up his mind and stated his position with

confidence.

It’s a mad world where promising youths are pit against one another in

battles to the death to see who can draw the most blood… And we’re likely

to carve our names into history as the ringleaders. If that’s the case, then

let’s at least improve the situation a little bit by putting an end to the war

with our own hands.

“I have an idea… We advance. In other words, I believe the best plan is

to escape forward!”

And therefore, he made a proposal that was devoid of rationality: Fight

the war aiming not at the territory but at the army.

…Oh God, why do you let these things happen?

After vomiting up the contents of his stomach, including everything he’d

eaten the night before, Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz was

lamenting to the heavens in a corner of his lodgings. Even the recollection

of what he’d just experienced horrified him.

I hit a Republican soldier whose name I don’t know over the head with

my shovel and kept swinging like a madman. Then orders brought me back

to reality, and soon after that, we were ordered to leave.

I poured mana into my computation orb like my life depended on it so I

could race across the sky for all I was worth.

As soon as I took off, several machine guns began firing at me.

I frantically formed my defensive shell and protective film. No matter

what, I had to get away. With that on my mind, I forgot about support

completely and made a run for it.

That’s when it happened. Whether by some trick of fate or the work of

the devil, I saw the battalion commander climbing at a furious pace. Despite

the dark veil of night, she was singing a hymn in an invigorating voice—the

battalion commander. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but I was scared

she was escaping alone and would leave me behind, so I tried to follow her.

I don’t want to get left behind was what I was thinking when I started to

ascend, but right at that moment, First Lieutenant Weiss seemed to come

out of nowhere to grab my arm and pull me down. When we got back to

base, he chewed me out—Why would you approach the commander while

she’s acting as our decoy? Are you insane?—but if he hadn’t saved me, I

would have been turned into mincemeat like those other two guys who

came to the front the same time as me.

At the time, all I was thinking about was getting back, so my memories

before I made it onto a safe flight path are really hazy.

Looking at the scenes recorded on my computation orb, I want to thank

God I was somehow able to make it back from such a dense rain of fire.

It was only a few seconds. The reactions of the pair from Seventh

Platoon were delayed by mere moments, but they paid for it with their lives.

One careless moment. But it meant so much.

The second I arrived at the rear base, the sensation of bashing someone’s

head returned to my hands, and I felt sick. No, it wasn’t just me. All the

recruits felt the same way.

The guilt—it was like I’d suddenly become an unpardonable criminal.

And right next to us and the worries tormenting us, the senior officers

coolly began to interrogate the prisoners.

“Tell the truth. If you don’t, my hand might slip.”

“Relax. We follow the law of war. If you fellows take the prisoner’s

oath, you’ll have your rights.”

“Don’t worry. We’re not torturers. We’re proper, sensible humans.”

…I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe humans were capable of this.

This battlefield.

I had thought I understood that all manner of brutal, inhuman things

would be done. I’m a soldier, myself. I thought as long as I was in the

military, I wouldn’t hesitate to do my duty.

…Keyword: thought.

But what was this?

Was this a soldier’s duty, what must be done to protect the fatherland?

My duty?

I couldn’t stand the feeling. It was a strange sensation, like I was losing

myself forever.

I didn’t want to remember my first…my first time killing someone with

my own hands.

People die too easily on the battlefield. People you eat dinner with one

night disappear by breakfast.

In just a short time, I kill people, and my friends get killed.

The Rhine front is really, truly hell.

The urge to run flitted across my mind.

But then—

The batmen came to tell us breakfast was ready. Since we were at a rear

base, as an officer, I had the right to use the provisional officers’ mess.

Put another way, I have to eat at the officers’ mess.

As I rinsed out my mouth and straightened out my uniform, the mirror

reflected my haggard face. In just one day, I’d transformed into a monster. I

couldn’t believe it was me.

“…Now I’ve seen war.”

Quietly.

My inner thoughts slipped from my mouth on their own.

Leaning on the sink, I just managed to hold back the rising nausea, and

then I looked to the heavens.

Really, how can everyone act normal in this crazy world of war?

The moment I entered the officers’ mess, the feeling intensified.

It was crowded with the officers from my battalion. I heard the

commander had eaten and was already at work. And the officers were

taking their time and chatting.

Despite what had just taken place, I even heard laughter. Everyone was

smiling and talking, relaxed. Something about the gap between the insanity

suffusing the battleground and this scene disgusted me.

My batman waited on me, and my food came out, but how could I

possibly have an appetite? Even so, I still had the habit I’d learned in my

military career to force food down my throat if I had to.

I used coffee to break up the hard biscuits and made myself eat them

along with some bacon. There was no way the flavors would register, but I

figured my body needed them to stay alive, so I swallowed them down.

Humans have to eat, even at times like this. It’s the same as forcing food

down my throat when I was exhausted at the academy. That’s what I told

myself, but it took an awfully long time for me to finish my meal.

Then I found myself heading to the small auditorium for the usual

morning classroom session.

My mentality was to follow orders due to force of habit from the drilled

repetitions, again and again. Even times like this when I had no willpower, I

was still a soldier.

Then I realized I wanted to burst out laughing.

“…Wait a minute, what happened?”

I can laugh. It was a startling, refreshing discovery.

I guess I didn’t expect it because of my situation. Apparently, the human

spirit is ridiculously resilient.

“Oh, I can’t be late.”

I took so long to eat breakfast even though soldiers, praised for their

unceasing vigilance, are supposed to get that over with quickly.

As a result, I had no time to lose that morning. If I stood around lost in

thought, I wouldn’t make it to the lecture on time. When I realized what

time it was, I dashed off to the hall.

“Magic Second Lieutenant Grantz coming in.”

“Grantz? Sure, come in.”

But when I got there, the desks were empty aside from a few company

commanders and key officers giving me puzzled looks.

Am I too late? The worry flitted across my mind, but when I looked at

the clock on the wall, I had just made it five minutes early.

Everyone was supposed to be there by that time.

Normally, I would never be the only one rushing over here.

“What is it? You guys are supposed to have off today.”

Lieutenant Weiss must have understood why I was confused, and I

finally realized after he said something.

“Sir, embarrassingly enough, I thought we had class today.”

I guess the shock from last night was so great that nothing they told us

registered. Wincing, Lieutenant Weiss explained that after we got back we’d

been granted leave. With my head full of other things, I had gotten up

unsteadily this morning, but apparently they thought I was taking my time

with breakfast to enjoy it. In other words, the superior officers figured I was

having a relaxing breakfast on my day off, so they didn’t check on me.

I should have realized sooner.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? You’re fine. But while you’re here, tell me what you thought of

the raid,” said Lieutenant Weiss, pointing to a seat. The other officers didn’t

seem to mind, so I decided to join them… Well, it was a good opportunity.

You reap what you sow, after all.

“Honestly, I was in a trance. Before I knew it, I was back at base.”

I didn’t want to die, so I had been completely absorbed in taking action.

If you ask me what I actually did, though, my memories are hazy.

It was embarrassing, but I was honest with them.

“Yeah, that’s how it goes, I suppose.”

“Well, nice job making it through. With that as your first combat

experience, your next one should be a lot easier.”

But the officers didn’t really seem to blame me. At the academy, I would

have gotten chewed out—Keep your head screwed on out there! On the

front lines, they’re more realistic; they recognized that I had survived.

They were actually nice to me, as if being considerate were the norm.

“Everyone has to run that gauntlet. Well, if you survive the

commander’s training, consider yourself more or less fine.”

“Lieutenant Serebryakov toughened up just by flying after her.”

“Well, yes, that’s true… Would anyone like to trade with me?”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha. I’m second-in-command, so I can’t fly with her.”

“It wouldn’t do for company commanders to bunch up, so unfortunately

the reality of my duties prevents me from trading with you, Lieutenant.”

“It really is too bad.” Lieutenant Serebryakov puffed out her cheeks and

pouted as if she were really fuming.

The collection of individuals here creating this peaceful atmosphere

were the old stagers who had been working so furiously the other day.

I suddenly felt like I might sigh out of relief. Up until just a moment

ago, I was so shaken, but I was starting to calm down a little bit.

Nobody said so, but I’m sure they had all been upset the first time they

shot and killed someone.

But now they have those memories, and they aren’t upset by them.

“Don’t think too hard, Lieutenant. Just focus on staying alive.”

Someone patted me on the shoulder, and they let me go. It was proof

that the more experienced officers accepted me as a little bit tougher than a

chick newly hatched.

The next day…

To Tanya, everything is going too well. For starters, when she wakes up,

breakfast and coffee are already neatly prepared for her.

There are no harassing bombardments and no enemies wandering into

their airspace, so after eating in peace, her first administrative tasks of the

day go smoothly. Awfully smoothly. A request that would normally take

weeks to fulfill gets accepted in one try, and the supplies are delivered right

away.

How horrifying can it get? Parsimony is the supply officer’s job, but he

hands over the special bullets for loading with interference formulas and the

casting detonators with a smile. Meeting a grinning debt collector or auditor

would feel more real— No, actually, they’re all unthinkable.

This is the first time everything has gone according to procedure; I never

would have imagined that supply delivery and paperwork inspection could

be done so amiably. Thoroughly astonished, Tanya has no choice but to be

on guard at this unexpected efficiency.

After all, supply and paperwork inspections operate on the iron rules of

precedent and not rocking the boat. In other words, you can practically

describe them as a naturally occurring phenomena.

If they are acting unusual, it has to be a sign of abnormal conditions. I

guess I should avoid going out for a while, if I don’t have to, Tanya thinks;

she’s not averse to preparing for any eventuality.

Today is definitely going to be trouble. Convinced of this, Tanya steels

herself. She’ll give strict orders to the troops in the trenches to be on guard.

She’ll have her unit at combat readiness level two. She’ll keep an eye on the

enemy and make preparations to ensure a rapid response is possible.

Then, for some reason, nothing has happened and it’s lunchtime. Food is

served. It’s a real steak with sauerkraut. There’s even rhubarb juice for

dessert.

It all just arrived via the unusually smooth-running supply lines.

The members of her unit all dig in enthusiastically, but she still can’t

believe it and inspects the food a bit before eating.

I’m jealous of the guy who struck gold with that potato condition and

got to fall back to a safe area.

I’m wondering if they want to send me to the rear already due to the

nudge I may have given foreign policy regarding the Commonwealth. If I

got food poisoning, they’d happily sacrifice me, so I can’t be carelessly

getting sick.

Of course, watching my subordinates wolf down the meat is torture.

Being the only one who has to wait is sad, indescribably so if it turns out

nothing’s wrong. I can’t stand it anymore. Reluctantly balancing reason

with desire, I am about to start on my meat, and that’s when it happens.

Lieutenant Weiss comes running over with a telegram, and Tanya ends

up missing her chance to eat.

“Major, it’s from Command.”

With no choice but to lay down her knife and fork to exchange salutes,

Tanya is the very definition of displeased.

If he weren’t so sensible I’d throw him out right now.

At least read the situation. It had better be awfully important if you’re

obstructing my opportunity to have a fine meal on the front lines where we

have almost nothing to look forward to. Unbelievably outraged, she can’t

help but reply grouchily, though she knows it’s an emotional reaction.

“…I’m eating, Lieutenant Weiss.”

Her tone doesn’t veer into criticism, but her discontent is faintly audible.

Most subordinates would hesitate if their superior spoke to them in such a

voice. No one wants to incur their boss’s wrath. But in unusual

circumstances, they don’t yield. And this is one of those rare situations.

“My apologies, but it’s quite urgent.”

And from the fact that he presents not a message tube but simply a short

cipher, she smells trouble.

“Hmm? It’s not orders?”

Usually orders come by telegraph.

As long as it’s addressed to the commander, no one can read it before

them except for the radio operator.

So short ciphers are used when it doesn’t need to be telegrammed or

can’t be.

Basically, it’s going to be either stupid or utterly annoying and stupid.

“No, you’ve been summoned to appear immediately.”

“Summoned to appear immediately? Understood.”

Agh, what a day.

It’s going to be horrible. 

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