CHAPTER - III

THE RHINE FRONT

-x-X-x-

The sky over the Rhine Front… Among the mages soaring through it is Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff. If anything separates her from the others, it's that she's been ordered to fly solo.

Why was I given such orders? Because the higher-ups are idiots.

And so I'm flying around the front lines alone.

The whole sad story of how I was sent here can be told in three sentences. Perhaps this is unexpected for the Empire. But as someone hastily selected for deployment due to the higher-ups' lack of foresight, I can't really let it go as simply "an unanticipated turn of events."

I've learned from my experience against the Entente Alliance on the northern front that there's no cover in the sky. Clouds are about the closest thing you can get. And as for defense, mages are lucky they're tough.

But just because I'm resilient doesn't mean I'm immortal. If someone asks me to stand in front of a high-penetration sniper rifle or a machine gun with a caliber that breaks the scale, my answer will be a flat no. Solo assignments are worse for mages than any other branch of the military. Nevertheless, the brass ordered Tanya to fly alone in hopes of drawing out a strategic delay.

How can a lowly second lieutenant possibly dodge the order? All I can do is adhere to my employer's regulations like a salaryman. I want to weep for the lack of such a noble concept—a soldier's right to refuse. As for my aerial combat maneuvers, my diligent training in the academy earned me the ACM Skill Badge. Whining that I can't fly isn't a valid tactic at this point.

And so, no matter how loath she was to go, Tanya nevertheless scrambled to fly ahead of the land forces. She would serve as airborne early warning and a scout for the forward warning line. Western Army Group's Control Center gave her the call sign "Hawkeye." It was certainly preferable to "Fairy."

"Hawkeye 03 to Command Post. Please respond."

Hawkeye 03 is my temporary call sign as a member of the early warning team. With eyes like a hawk, my job is to fly ahead to search for enemies and notify the advancing troops if I find any. Other than that, I'm supposed to maintain a fixed distance from the approaching enemy and continue gathering intelligence. Depending on the situation, my duties might eventually include taking on the role of forward air controller to guide direct support groups.

Unfortunately, though, I have to admit this job is tougher than I thought it would be. I didn't realize I'd have to work so hard just to contact the controller of the area I've been assigned to.

"…Hawkeye 03 to Command Post. Please respond."

Ever since the surprise attack, radio communications have been growing more and more chaotic. With that in mind, perhaps I'm lucky that ground control eventually connects to one of Tanya's repeated—and exasperated—calls.

"This is Seventh Provisional Field Command. Call sign Lizard 08. Reception is poor but not a problem. Hawkeye 03, send your traffic."

Basically every single type of unit targeting land forces wants to take out the enemy's eyes in the sky—aerial mages—first thing. The situation is essentially the same as the one I experienced on my mission in Norden. If an army fails to secure air and magic supremacy, it's akin to losing their ability to see. Lone magic officers are preyed upon more than any other unit of the military.

In a military operation, the first course of action is generally to eliminate interference, not that you can afford to neglect anything.

"Roger, Lizard 08. I can hear you on my end as well. Commencing support mission now."

"Thanks, Hawkeye 03. Glad to have you! We've been needing another pair of eyes."

And that makes what's coming next even worse. Now I have to kill the excitement of troops who are sincerely thrilled to finally get decent support.

"Hawkeye 03 to Lizard 08. Sorry to say this so soon, but don't expect much help from me after all. I've picked up a large group approaching fast from up ahead."

As a solo mage under enemy assault, it's out of my hands. If I get attacked the moment I arrive, then I have to defend myself before I can provide intelligence support.

Personally speaking, Tanya feels no desire to take pointless risks out of some desire to sacrifice herself for the greater good. She focuses as much as she possibly can on ensuring her safety. Anyway, if it's necessary to fly solo, then the moment enemy detection is confirmed, fleeing becomes the name of the game.

So although I hate to draw attention, I gain altitude using the power of the Type 95 computation orb, which has been issued to me for field tests. As always, I take advantage of my acceleration abilities and ascend to a certain point, where I can quickly dart up and out of range of any hostile enemy aircraft sent after me. At the same time, in anticipation of anti–air fire from the ground, I form the best protective film I can beneath me; a single hit would probably be all I can take.

The altitude I choose for my survival is eight thousand feet. That's the upper limit for combat operations, which were made possible by the protection of the Lord and Type

95. According to the mad scientist, this is the fruit of a miraculous collaboration between the hands of God and man, but the details of how this technological innovation was accomplished are immensely unpleasant for a certain free-spirited individual. Not only is this device cursed, but the most vexing part of all is that Tanya has no hope of escaping the duty of being its dedicated tester, since she's the only one who can operate it.

Well, there are other ways to look at the situation; someone might describe it as being "in the care of providence" or "blessed," but Tanya adamantly refuses to think of it in that light. There are reasons for that I don't even want to talk about.

In a manga I read a long time ago, a member of a crime syndicate whispered that secrets make a woman beautiful, but that's an unmitigated lie. The more Tanya uses this orb, the deeper it engraves this "faith" or whatever in her mind. With no choice but to praise the Lord, I'm dying for my inner self to be free again.

Well, before I start to think about this stuff too much, I should at least do the job before me. It's time to get down to business. This is what it means to be hounded by reality until you lose your inner freedom.

"An approximately company-sized group of mages is rapidly approaching from three o'clock."

Tanya conveys what she can observe of the enemy to ground control as she gains altitude, all the while grinding her teeth and vehemently cursing the ineptitude of the higher-ups in her head.

Tanya was out here with a target on her back due to their failure to notice the François Republic's attack coming from the west. Their gravest error was committing forces to trample the Entente Alliance in earnest. They had faithfully followed the theories of force concentration, pursuing battle in their desire for ever greater military achievement. Some even had delusions of annexation, it seemed.

Thanks to that, they left their own country unguarded, stupidly inviting an invasion from the west. I can't help but laugh.

Normally, according to the Empire's defense plan, it's fine for the north to just focus on delaying operations. The Northern Army Group is responsible for the northeastern front; lately, there's been an argument that they should support the Eastern Army Group against the Empire's primary potential enemy, the Federation. If each individual army group was prioritizing defense, reinforcements would be only sporadically available, and they would have no hope of achieving total victory.

As such, the General Staff had apparently schemed to take advantage of the unanticipated large-scale invasion and cut down the Entente Alliance with a single stroke by mobilizing reserves on a grand scale.

Mobilizing so many troops, however, rapidly altered the situation. "The art of war is of vital importance to the state," but the Empire's foolhardy mobilization showed poor judgment at a time when established national strategy called for caution; whether it liked it or not, its actions had provoked the surrounding countries.

In the same way the Empire hoped to proactively take out the Entente Alliance to gain future national defense advantages, the François Republic decided to take advantage of the opening and launch a preemptive strike of its own. Only an idiot could say they didn't see it coming.

To the Empire, the mobilization was surely meant to address the problems between it and the Entente Alliance. The neighboring nations are nervous about the Empire's ever-present interest in increasing its military might, however, and consider the prospect of a break in the encirclement terrifying. Not to mention that François Republic, to the west, is unable to overlook the Empire's overall goal. The long- smoldering border disputes and territorial issues between the two have erupted into localized wars on multiple occasions in the past.

The chains binding the cornered Empire are beginning to loosen, and what if the master isn't home because he's out trying to pry them off? Fully aware of the gap between its own military strength and that of its potential enemy, the François Republic believed that it could not miss this opportunity.

Ironically, it did the exact opposite of the Empire, with its huge debate about whether or not to break from the existing military strategy. In the François Republic, they had no choice but to go on the offensive to ensure the effectiveness of their own strategy.

"I've also got a battalion-sized ground unit at one o'clock. Also, multiple unidentified aircraft are approaching fast."

That's how Tanya has ended up flying, forced to use this new orb she doesn't even want, while facing swarms of incoming hostile mages.

"Lizard 08, roger. Take immediate evasive action."

The relationship between the Empire and the François Republic is such that they both have a fairly good idea of the cards in each other's hand. Naturally, the François Republic can predict that the Empire will confront the encirclement via interior lines. As a result, its defense strategy focuses tightly on how to defeat the interior lines strategy of its potential enemy.

The solution is quite simple. Before the Empire completes its large-scale mobilization, the Republic's core standing army would storm and subdue the Empire's western region, the source of a great deal of its industry and military power. That would drastically cut down the Empire's war potential. The Republic's strategy also includes taking action if the Empire invades a third nation.

Strictly speaking, the Republic's position gives it no choice but to frame all its actions as responses to the Empire. If the leaders let the situation be, they would eventually have to contend with an Empire free of northeastern pressure. As such, they have to act now, while they can still gain the upper hand.

Oh, I get it. From a purely historical perspective, it's possible to say the northern front will be decided in one blow. It would really only take a second. Anyone with common sense, even an amateur, could clearly see that the war is going to end soon.

The Entente Alliance's resistance wouldn't amount to anything, and it would be forced to surrender to the Empire. That snapshot of the future is too realistic for the analysis to be flawed, but a specialist would have told you it wasn't quite right. A few months is a bit fast for a country to fall into ruin, but strategically, it's also far too long to have your main forces tied up.

In a few weeks, mobilization would be complete, and the troops would be able to march in great numbers. Under those circumstances, an offensive would become a seductive option for the François Republic. It's akin to the Empire's conviction that it could use the Northern theater to break the fetters that had kept it bound to their defensive policy for years. The François Republic is equally confident that, with this one move, it can eliminate a significant threat that has been plaguing its fatherland's national defense for so long.

The Empire is prioritizing victory in the Northern theater. In other words, the higher- ups are insisting this is a strategic decision… Really, they either foolishly failed to foresee this scenario, or it did occur to them and they underestimated the probability.

The war has been recklessly directed in the first place. The stupid radio stations and newspapers were celebrating the sweeping victory on the Northern theater with dreck like, "This is the Empire's secret plan to avoid a multifront war, and the roar of artillery heralds the birth of a new order," and now, thanks to the sudden attack, they're slinging daily propaganda about the diabolical François Republic. But the people on the front lines don't care about propaganda; that's only good for making jokes about the brass to kill time in the trenches. They want to yell, If you can afford to broadcast propaganda all the way to the front, get more men and supplies over here. They're the ones in trouble if the higher-ups keep arguing about causes and ideals instead of facing reality.

"It looks like the vanguard mages have spotted me. They're still coming up fast."

Reality is cruel but also simple. The forces in the Western theater are basically a punching bag until the main forces return. The Empire has reached the limit of its resources. The proof is the special deployment of the instructor squad from the forces at home and the evaluation unit that assesses the practicality of preproduction models.

Really, the instruction and research-oriented units are meant to improve the overall quality of the army from the rear, not to fight on the front. Sending them in is usually a taboo that only a nation nearing its end would violate. Of course, these units are universally skilled, which makes them great problem solvers. And that's why, with the nation in a panic over the unexpected development, Tanya got thrown from a homefront research lab to the front lines.

"Lizard 08 to Hawkeye 03. We'll send reinforcements immediately."

"Hawkeye 03 to Lizard 08. I'd appreciate it, but I won't hold my breath," Tanya acknowledges as she promptly begins to withdraw. She's allowed to run this time. No need to tough it out.

"Leaving this airspace." "Hawkeye 03, good luck!"

Out on the battlefield, incoming reinforcements might seem like a ray of hope, but I know all too well from both personal experience and history that more often than not, they don't make it in time. It's the epitome of stupidity to count on unreliable backup and risk one's life with wishful thinking, so I give my undivided attention to retreating.

"Hawkeye 03, roger."

The hand I've been dealt is discouraging, but I know I need to confront reality, even if it makes me reluctant enough to pull a face. The impatience and conflict in Tanya's blue eyes resemble that of a philosopher yearning to explore the wisdom of mankind; the groan that slips from her adorable mouth in that immature voice, her indignation at the unfairness of the situation, embodies the innocence of a child.

"…Ugh…"

Tanya Degurechaff's worries are quite simple. She's angry that the duties dumped on her exceed her pay grade, and she's distressed by her evil workplace that fails to comply with safety regulations. She would accept the existence of unions, and she wishes with all her heart for the creation of labor laws.

Part of the issue is my personal conflict with the army's goal-oriented rationale. Armies generally supply aviation personnel with high-calorie diets as a means to relieve fatigue and maintain the concentration necessary for withstanding consecutive days of intense combat, and that's great. In the Empire, too, mages and pilots have to be provided high-calorie diets.

But I'm not so sure I want them to make me take Pervitin. And "hesitant" doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about my orb as a trump card. The fruit of the collaboration between Being X and the mad scientist could poison my sharp mind in a manner far more insidious than any drug. Really, I should have gotten rid of it.

That's how desperately I don't want to use Type 95. I really hate the idea of relying on that damned computation orb steeped in the grace of God. But what if I need it to survive? Truly the ultimate choice.

This was supposed to be a day like any other for the 228th Reconnaissance Mage Company commanded by First Lieutenant Michel Hosman. The François Republic Army had successfully conducted a surprise attack, and this company was its forward- most advance guard. Even if the "surprise" was beginning to wear off in places and the mission was transitioning to assault, the spearhead's duties didn't change.

Crush the Imperial Army's eyes as it attempts to recover from the chaos, and cut off their communications while you're at it. Their duty was to isolate the enemy and prevent the formation of an organized line of resistance, which would help later troops widen the breach. It was the same assignment these veterans and First Lieutenant Hosman had received the previous day. Yet on a real battlefield, unlike in war films or novels, there was no foreshadowing what would come next.

"Golf 01 to CP. I've encountered an enemy sentinel."

"CP, roger. We think it's local direct support. Upon elimination, continue searching for the enemy's main forces."

Luck isn't on this guy's side. That was First Lieutenant Hosman's impression. After all, this sentinel was up against a whole company of mages, and it was Hosman's company, the vanguard for an entire army. It was obviously not a fair fight. That was why the enemy mage had been focused on running ever since detecting the company's approach.

Seeing that response, Hosman immediately recognized that their opponent was extremely accomplished and excelled at quick decision making; the lone mage had already climbed to the impractical altitude of eight thousand feet. And that was why Hosman couldn't help but consider the enemy unlucky: Soldiers never lived long without luck, no matter how skilled they were.

"Golf 01, roger. But that mage sure was bold, climbing up to eight thousand…"

Nobody could last long up there, but it was their only avenue of escape in the face of a whole company. Hosman was also perfectly aware of that fact. To shake off pursuit in a confrontation like this, their opponent's only options were to flee where hunters would be hesitant to follow or to fly erratically low to the ground and trust everything to fate.

Units advancing over long distances were usually loath to expend the energy necessary to climb that high, so the sentinel had assumed they would avoid that option. Not bad.

"Only little kids can get away with crying, 'It's too high! I can't reach!' Let's get to work, men!"

They couldn't very well let an enemy mage escape to fight another day. Considering their mission, there was no way they were backing down.

"Everybody got that? Okay, Platoon Mike will eliminate the sentinel. Everyone else is conducting recon-in-force with me. We're gonna bust right through."

With the Empire's warning line spread so thin, the Republic had a good chance of victory. That was the guiding light for everyone participating in the operation, regardless of rank. They couldn't waste time on a provisional defensive line when the main enemy forces could return.

That was why the reconnaissance mage units were crucial to disrupt the enemy lines. They would start with the usual recon-in-force, which entailed initiating contact with the enemy to gather intelligence, but they were then expected to also create openings to break through. Knowing that Republic victory rested on their shoulders, they were determined not to get routed.

"Wilco, we'll catch up with him right quick."

After the platoon leader's acknowledgment, Platoon Mike climbed rapidly. Naturally, operating at eight thousand feet would be exhausting even for the Republic's elites. Standard combat altitude was four thousand, though if they really pushed it, they could tolerate six thousand.

In this sense, their enemy was doubly clever for choosing eight thousand. First, the chase would exhaust Platoon Mike, reducing the overall strength of the recon-in-force mission to two platoons. Also, the sentinel was making significant contributions to the wider battle by distracting the enemy and dragging things out. We're taking on a respectable opponent.

"Engage. Fox 01, Fox 01!"

The silence of First Lieutenant Hosman's thoughts was suddenly shattered by radio contact from one of his men. As company commander, he followed the calls for long- range magic formula fire. At the same time, the enemy soldier in front of them performed a new maneuver after realizing that escape was improbable. The bandit abruptly circled around to rush Platoon Mike as if descending upon some prey. Apparently the lone mage was taking the offensive.

"Fox 02, Fox 02! I can't believe it! He dodged that?!"

The confused voice of his subordinate on the radio contained both surprise at the enemy strike, as well as the shock of his shot missing. As Hosman speculated about their enemy's intentions, the distance between Platoon Mike and the mage shrank considerably.

Hosman was in a somewhat-removed position, but when he confirmed the platoon had cautiously begun combat maneuvers, he was certain they were on top of it. Was the enemy trying to squeeze more time out of them by engaging at close quarters? As a tactic that could be employed immediately, it wasn't a bad choice. But unit Mike was a platoon, not a company. The coordination of a platoon was too tight to easily disrupt, and the difference in their combat potential made it hopeless for one mage to take them on alone. Hosman respected the courage and resolve, but it was a reckless maneuver.

"Enemy incoming! Disperse! Disperse!"

That very moment, Platoon Mike spread out to shift to a formation more suitable to close combat. Their objective was eliminating the opposition's eye in the sky to support follow-up Republican attacks. Their plucky opponent couldn't have known it, but the reconnaissance mage company's mission had been all but accomplished the moment they made visual contact. Take out the eyes. If they could do that, even if they were held up for a bit, they would be fine.

"Three rounds of interlocking fire! Get your formulas ready! Nail 'em! Fox 03! Fox 03!"

The coordination and skill of Hosman's subordinates were textbook ideal as they deliberately kept some distance in order to intercept the charge and maintain cross fire. The enemy mage had entered the line of formula bullet fire. Even if he had superior speed, Hosman's men were ready and waiting. It wouldn't be hard to nail him.

But what happened next was something no one could have predicted. It was definitely a direct hit. Regulated fire of military-grade explosive formulas, which could easily strip off a mage's protective film and even chip their solid defensive shell, had hit the target dead-on.

"Fox 03! Fox 03! Shit! The bastard's so tough!"

The moment the formulas in the multiple bullets activated, the flames should have swallowed up the enemy mage for sure. But even so…

That thing continued its advance without missing a beat, casually closing the distance as if it were flying through an empty sky. By intuition, not logic, they sensed something bad was happening. However, as civilization had advanced, humans as a species were no longer in touch with their animal instincts.

"Mike 3! Check six! Check six! Ahh, damn it!"

In a blink of an eye, the bandit had rushed Hosman's subordinate. Absurdly but undeniably, a magic blade sprouted from the man's chest. Then, in a single, unenthusiastic motion, as civil as someone cutting up their dinner, the blade sliced clean through him.

"Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan!"

"What is that thing?! What?! It's—! Agh, Fox 04!"

A tangle of radio calls. What was that? What the hell was that? Hosman watched the unfolding scene through his binoculars. He couldn't believe his eyes. In terms of air combat maneuvers (ACM), Platoon Mike was the best in his company. They were being given the runaround? "It can't be…," he muttered in spite of himself. Can a mage really move…that fast?

"Mike 1? Mike 1?"

By the time Hosman realized, Platoon Mike was half-paralyzed. One and three were down, and the engine of four's computation orb seemed done for. He had stalled and was falling. Two was barely hanging in there covering for four and wouldn't last long, either.

"Shit, Bravo, Golf, turn back! Turn back! We have to cover Mike!"

There was no way First Lieutenant Hosman could stand idly by while his men were in trouble. He abruptly ordered the platoons in his command to race back at full combat speed to support Platoon Mike.

But inside, he wondered, How? No matter how much individual abilities differed between mages, could there ever be a fight this lopsided? He had heard that some imperial mages were armed with specially tuned computation orbs and had naturally high mana output.

But even then, the most they could take was a two-man team. Supposedly even those Named monsters mostly specialized in hit-and-run tactics. For someone to face a platoon head-on—and capably—instead of picking off the mages one by one was inconceivable.

"Enemy in range!"

As the company commander, though, Hosman didn't have time to lose himself in those thoughts. The enemy was already within shooting distance. The question on his mind had nothing to do with the fight, so he pushed it aside and called out sharpshooting formulas at long range in flight formations. It was a little far, but with a hail of bullets from two platoons, they couldn't miss.

Their opponent must have understood that as well and began taking textbook evasive action, which was perfectly fine. There was only one problem. Just how was that mage flitting around as if gravity didn't exist?

"Fox 01! Fox 01!"

But the most unbelievable thing—no, the utter nightmare—was how resistant the enemy's protective film was. Although the recon company had prioritized accuracy due to the long-distance nature of their shots, they had combined, albeit imperfectly, explosion formulas with the guidance formulas. Even if their target dodged all the shells, there was no one who could completely avoid the fireball blotting out the sky.

But the enemy didn't seem to be in any pain and returned fire unfazed. Hosman had to wonder if it was a joke.

"I'm going in! Cover me!"

Golf 02 probably felt like they weren't getting anywhere, so he charged with magic sword in hand. Certainly no matter how tough someone was, they'd have to take some damage from a close-quarters slash with a magic sword. If the platoons couldn't finish the enemy off at range, concentrating their fire was also a reasonable strategy.

"We got 'em! Fox 02, Fox 02!"

They agreed and advanced, ready for a midrange brawl where it would be difficult to take evasive action. At the same time, they executed the Named Killer, an internationally famous tradition of the Republic's and the epitome of fire discipline. The support fire was six sharpshooting formulas with an explosion formula as a smoke screen, and they all made a direct hit—or rather, it should have.

"He's still fine?! Of all the ridiculous—!" "Golf 02! Break! Break!"

The enemy mage was still up and running even after the combination of restraining and enveloping midrange fire. Those sharpshooting formulas can pierce subpar defensive shells easily. How can anyone still fly after that? Though he could hardly take it all in at once, he didn't have time to ponder the question.

As for Golf 02, who had tried to charge in close, he just barely managed to escape the tiger's jaws thanks to Mike 02's cover fire. Then the enemy mage shot through two protective films like they were nothing and took the men out of the fight.

"It's a trap! You piece of shit!"

Hosman had been had. He didn't like it, but he knew it was the truth.

Evading by climbing to eight thousand feet was a trick to divide our forces. Common sense says combat maneuvers are impossible at eight thousand…but that's been proven false. We walked right into this. My men are being taken out one after the other, and it's all my fault. Chewing his lower lip, he was having trouble swallowing his fury at the deaths of his subordinates, but he understood the situation they were in. They had encountered a monster—an unknown Named.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! We've encountered a new type of enemy!"

"Shit! And they said this would be easy! Golf 01 to CP, this is an emergency! Tally one unknown Named! Requesting reinforcements and permission to RTB!"

-x-X-x-

IMPERIAL ARMY TECHNOLOGY RESEARCH LAB BOARD OF REVIEW

-x-X-x-

When building a new weapon, it wasn't enough to simply implement the latest technology. Production cost, maintainability, and mission capable rate were all matters of life and death. Even so, many elements were difficult to evaluate without using the weapon in actual combat.

To the General Staff, the fighting with the François Republic that had broken out in the west was a horrible disaster, but to the Type 95 development team, it meant a highly anticipated chance to try the orb out in the field. The engineers awaited the results en masse, and the Type 95 proved itself—it blew past their expectations.

"How did the battle go?"

"Very well. Six downed, three defeated, three missing. According to the observer squad, it's incredibly doubtful that the three who went missing will make it back to their base."

They had assumed it would be impossible. After all, the experiment had only succeeded thanks to a miracle. But the test run had yielded surprising results. Type 95's achievements were worthy of all the praise the elated technology personnel were heaping on it. They could hardly stop grinning.

Of course, the skill of the user made a big difference. Second Lieutenant Degurechaff certainly had the skills of a Silver Wings Assault Badge recipient, but that alone shouldn't have been enough to overcome such a disadvantage and get such impressive results.

"She basically took out an entire company by herself."

She didn't defeat all the mages, but she had still repulsed the whole unit. She was overwhelmingly superior in a fundamental sense, nothing more. The theoretical values had indicated possibilities, but she had made them real.

"Yes, to think it's come so far…"

From a commonsense perspective, the results could only be described as incredible. The orb was nothing short of revolutionary. This technological innovation opened the door to a whole new universe of combat.

"Right. Judging from its record at Elinium Arms, I was expecting it to have major issues."

The officers who had questioned continuing development were now commenting in wonder, almost self-deprecating. They had been so worried about this thing, but when they saw what it was really like, the results were so good that all previous failures could be forgiven. If it could perform this well, everything was fine. They could even lower the cost via mass production.

"Oh, it has issues all right."

The tech department grandly threw a bucket of cold water on them and their admiration. They understood Operations's feelings all too well. They were excited by the revolutionary technology, so they were hoping for a revolutionary improvement in quality. But unfortunately, it was all a fantasy.

They had to wake everyone up from the dream.

"What do you mean? It achieved far more than we'd expect from a solo flier." "Right. This thing could change mage combat as we know it."

Certainly, Type 95 had achieved stellar results. That was a fact. In terms of performance, it was in such a league of its own that you could call it a next-next generation orb. That was made possible by quad-core synchronization. The quad-core engine's demonstration of mana fixation in actual combat and the possibilities inherent in that were enough to make Operations drool.

After all, the technology to stabilize mana and store it like bullets was of immense tactical value. The ability to freely use stored mana effectively removed the barrier of mana capacity.

"My understanding is that all the worries and criticism raised in the past have been proven false in combat," a General Staff officer muttered.

Really, the achievements spoke for themselves. Quad-core synchronization made quadruple output a reality, increasing combat potential to a whole new level. After seeing the technology was usable, Operations had to have it.

"We only have one successful case. The project has been a huge failure, unless we say the goal was simply to verify the technology."

But engineers didn't deploy Type 95 in order to convince the army to adopt it. They just wanted to see what kinds of issues would come up in actual field use, so when war broke out in the west, they sent it to the front. They had focused on the tech and never even considered mass-producing it.

"What happened in the other cases?"

The most successful case was also the only successful case. If anyone asked about the prospect of mass production, they would have to raise doubts as to whether they could reproduce their success. Users of mage technology were already a chosen few, but even then, an orb with only one successful operator couldn't have much chance for mass production as a weapon.

"In one of the worst tests, there was an explosion in the lab, and we lost a whole platoon."

The things were constantly blowing up—one defective circuit would cause them to self-destruct. If someone could manage to coat the orb with mana, it could take a beating, according to the actual combat trials. However, the success rate of that critical step was hopelessly low.

The worst accident had occurred during a synchronization failure; four times the usual mana had detonated and blown away the platoon doing the testing—a group of elites including instructors from Central and members of the Advanced Technology Inspection Corps.

"…But it can shoot bursts of mana, right? That's too appealing to give up on."

"The only one who can use it is Lieutenant Degurechaff. The best anyone else has managed is not getting blown up."

As developers and engineers, they were ethically bound to push back. Even the engineers who had requested to continue research had only cared about the technological revolution. After their impulsively inquisitive minds had been inspired, Chief Engineer von Schugel and his team had spent their days focused only on testing the limits of what was possible. But when they took a moment to think calmly, they were the ones who best understood the orb's dangers and difficulties.

Of course they understood—they built the thing.

"But you have one successful case, right? Can't you just replicate it?"

"…I told you we almost lost Elinium Arms! Even the successful case of Lieutenant Degurechaff was a total fluke—though I shouldn't be saying that as an engineer. We still don't even really know what happened."

Analysis of observed values made it clear that mana fixation via quad-core synchronization was more dangerous than anyone had imagined. The experiment was a miraculous success, but they had measured enough mana to know that if the test had failed, the entire Elinium Arms Factory would have been blown to bits. It was obvious to anyone with a modicum sense that they couldn't afford to repeatedly fail an experiment that would cause destruction on that scale.

"A fluke?"

"Just when a runaway mana reaction was about to melt the cores, the interference waves harmonized, and moments away from liquefaction, the cores synchronized."

For the engineers, it was a frustrating result. They didn't know how, but they had managed to succeed. By some fantastic stroke of luck, the uncontrollable mana had just happened to straighten itself out; that was as far as they could grasp. Even if they wanted to verify the results further, all they could tell was that it was a coincidence.

You could propose that it might be possible to duplicate the results if they lost control of the mana and then adjusted accordingly…but that was a conclusion. It was impossible to make conclusions about these results. They simply couldn't be duplicated. This was like seeing a lightning strike that just happened to carve a splendid sculpture and then trying to re-create it with human hands.

"So the rampaging mana stabilized itself. Basically, it was a miraculous coincidence."

The fact that Chief Engineer Schugel noted in the experiment report "We owe our success to the power of God" showed the extent of that miracle. Something that was by all rights impossible had occurred, and it just happened to do so beyond the reach of human understanding.

Even Chief Engineer Schugel, who created Type 95, had given up on continuing development, saying, "Going any further would be blasphemy, an insolent act in defiance of God." Even the hard-core techies concluded that you probably had to be chosen by God or something to use that computation orb, which goes to show how hard it had to be.

"So what does that mean?"

"We're currently using something we don't understand without understanding it, and it hasn't been easy."

In other words, that was about all they knew. Whether unraveling the principle behind the orb or reproducing it, a vast amount of time and effort would be required, and on top of that, their probability of success wasn't worth betting on no matter how they calculated it.

"It might be better to just glorify Lieutenant Degurechaff as a hero." "…I agree. That could help us out in a bigger way."

Fortunately, Second Lieutenant Degurechaff had earned her Silver Wings Assault Badge at quite a young—frankly, tender—age. Praising her abilities for publicity would be much easier than trying to show off the flawed orb.

-x-X-x-

CADET CORPS DORMITORY

-x-X-x-

I, Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov, am an early riser. "Visha! Get up, Visha!"

"Urgh, morning, Elya."

Technically, that's because my gorgeous friend always wakes me up. The ever-kind Elya is taller than me, and she has curves in all the right places even though she's so thin. Not only that, but she also doesn't get low blood pressure in the morning—she's always full of pep.

I'm only a centimeter shorter than her and just as slim! God is just so unfair. Elya and I have the same lifestyle, so I really don't get why certain parts of her body are so much more developed than mine.

Anyone fresh out of the Cadet Corps wants to stay sound asleep in their warm beds as long as they can. That's because one of the only fun things about cadet school is staying up all night chatting with your dorm buddies. Elya is one of the girls who really loves it. I go to bed before her pretty often.

But then she always gets up earlier. How does that make sense? I guess it's just one of those differences between people. I can't do anything about it no matter how hard I try.

I probably sound like I hate my good-natured friend, but really, I don't.

In general, joining the Cadet Corps is voluntary, but anyone eligible to become a mage is basically forced to enlist and thrown into the fray. So this unlucky cadet was bound by the strictest rules and continually chewed out by demon drill sergeants. Of course I blamed God at the time, but I couldn't stay mad when I'd met such a great friend.

Sadly, my time with my good buddy is scheduled to end today. It hasn't sunk in yet, but today, we'll be assigned to our respective combat units. I hope we end up together, but that's probably too much to hope for.

It's less like we're wearing our uniforms and more like our uniforms are wearing us, but we're still real soldiers. For whatever reason, fate gave us magical potential.

And so, we've become Imperial Army mages, pride of the Reich. Well, technically, we're newbies. Before I knew it, I was tossed into the dormitory of the Western Army Group as a reinforcement for the Rhine Front.

My duty as a soldier is to serve indefatigably in the west as a shield for the beloved fatherland at this critical juncture…or something. I'm an imperial subject, too, I guess, so I do think maybe I should fight for my great country, but it doesn't feel quite right. Maybe that's only natural since I was born in lovely snow-white Moskva. Well, the hazy remnants of my memory are just a torrent of red, which isn't very fun. My parents turned to relatives for help, we thankfully managed to escape the country, and that's my story. I was too young to really remember much, but I might be lacking qualifications compared to imperial soldiers actually born here.

That said, I'm so grateful to my aunt and uncle for taking me in. I'm second grateful to God for giving me my daily bread.

"Let's eat!"

Our diet here is different from the rear, but I already got used to the less-than-fresh veggies and the canned goods you tend to find at the NCO mess halls near the front. On the first day, I cried because the food tasted about as awful as combat rations, but lately I've been enjoying it just fine.

"Visha, did you hear that the platoon you're assigned to is getting a new leader?"

Mealtime is fun since we get to chat. Given the circumstances, it's no wonder we're interested in discussing our assignments.

"Really? Isn't this kind of a weird time to add a new platoon leader?" "It's definitely true!"

"Elya, calm down."

Of course, so much of the chatter is gossip. I heard that once you get to be a vet, you can catch wind of your own assignment and your buddies', and I bet it's true. But as you might imagine, mages fresh out of the Cadet Corps, mere NCOs, can't tell right from left in the army.

Still, I'm interested in my assignment, and my friend has an uncanny ability to overhear things.

"But seriously? We're supposed to be reinforcements. Would they really make a whole new platoon on the front lines?"

"Logically, no, but this has to be true, Visha. I heard personnel officers talking about it!"

I do wonder where Elya just happened to hear all this news. It isn't like they're elementary school teachers chatting about their classes; would officers from Personnel really discuss assignments in front of other people? …I shouldn't overthink it.

"Elya…sometimes I wonder if you're a ninja from the Far East." "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. A woman has her secrets, Miss Serebryakov."

"Well, whatever. So do you know where this new platoon will be deployed?"

"Oh, so…it's not a new platoon but a replacement for one that got wiped out. You'll be okay, though. Supposedly the leader is a veteran with Silver Wings."

For a second, I don't understand what she said. I'm normally easygoing, but when I come to my senses, I'm so shocked that I can't help a knee-jerk reaction.

"Silver Wings…? You mean the Silver Wings Assault Badge?!" "Wow, your eyes are like saucers."

"What?!"

"Visha, your faces are always so funny."

I'll have to thank her later for keeping her burst of laughter quiet so we don't draw attention from the other diners. But wow, someone who is still alive got the Silver Wings Assault Badge… An awesome imperial soldier? More like an awesome human being.

"You must know about your own assignment, too, right?"

"Yup. I'll be supporting the artillery as part of an observation squad. Of course, I'll be making tea in the back!"

"Hey…you never know what'll happen if you're not careful."

That said, the news that my friend will be somewhere safe makes me envious, but I'm still relieved.

"Uh-oh, if we keep lollygagging like this, our time'll be up. Chow down, Visha!" "Yeah, you're right… Hey, where'd my caramel go?"

"Oh, you hadn't eaten it yet, so I helped you."

Yes, this maddening mischief maker is my precious friend.

-x-X-x-

(A FEW DAYS EARLIER) IMPERIAL CAPITAL

-x-X-x-

"Reassignment?"

I'm being transferred away from the technology research department and from being treated like a guinea pig as the dedicated tester of the Type 95 computation orb. Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff has longed for this notice—waiting out days that felt like years—and is pleased as punch to accept. Her application must have finally, finally been approved. My mind will be freed. I'll leave this place and head to the new posting immediately.

"Yes, a reassignment. Guess the brass isn't about to let an ace just hang around. You're going to be leader of Third Platoon in the 205th Assault Mage Company."

Considering resources are so low that even the instructor unit has to join the battle, there's nothing I can do about ending up on the front lines. Actually, as someone fresh out of the academy, leading a platoon, even in the thick of battle, is much better than getting abused as a guinea pig.

Finally, I'll apparently have subordinates. Now I can delegate tasks I would have had to handle alone in the past. And in the worst-case scenario, although I'd lose favor with the higher-ups, using them as human shields is a possibility. I mostly hope they aren't incompetent, but either way, this is cause for celebration.

"And congratulations, Lieutenant. It's not much compared to the Silver Wings, but in recognition of your recent achievements, we have decided to award you the Aerial Assault Badge."

"Thank you, sir." Tanya gives a cheerful salute and a smile that makes her look like the little girl she is.

In high spirits, I return to the dormitory and set about packing luggage. Of course, soldiers don't have many personal belongings to begin with. Even though she's biologically female, Tanya feels that clean and neat is good enough for clothes. In fact, her uniforms are the only clothing she has. Since none of the existing sizes fit, she just has to apply for a clothing allowance and get them made to order.

It takes less than an hour to pack my officer travel bag. I briskly tell the manager of the dormitory, where I was staying during my temporary assignment, about the transfer; show him my orders; and thank him for taking care of me while I lived there. With that, my moving preparations are complete.

Then I head straight for my designated unit. These are frontline orders. They require me to forgo annoying social obligations like farewell parties and take up my position as quickly as possible. Hence, after receiving permission to fly from the Air Defense Identification Zone, I immediately take my bag and race across the sky toward the assigned rendezvous point.

Fortunately, though the army is facing a crisis, this is still only moving between bases in the rear. The short flight ends without incident, and less than two hours after my departure, I arrive and present myself to my new company commander.

"Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff, leader of Third Platoon of the 205th Assault Mage Company, reporting for duty."

"Thanks for coming, Lieutenant. First, allow me to welcome you. I am company commander, First Lieutenant Ihlen Schwarkopf." He confirms that I've arrived as ordered and completes assignment procedures as he welcomes me. While keeping things businesslike in adherence to military regulations, we casually appraise each other. We're both soldiers, and soldiers don't get to choose their allies. Thus, it's logical to assume that they won't last long on the battlefield if they don't at least get to know

each other.

"Commander Schwarkopf, sir, pleased to be serving under you."

"Great. Let's get to it, Lieutenant Degurechaff. Do you have any experience leading a platoon?"

One thing that makes Tanya happy at a glance is that her commanding officer appears to be an extremely orthodox mage. He is a first lieutenant. Judging from his age, he has probably served a decent amount of time. And from the medals he's wearing, it's easy to gather that he has a wealth of combat experience.

The decorations commending his participation in several minor conflicts, especially, provide a certain level of assurance. So my first impression is that he isn't an inept superior, which would be scarier than the enemy. Since I can't choose my commanding officer, if he ends up being like the legendary soldier who ruined the Burma-Imphal front, I may decide to take action and mourn the ensuing "unfortunate accident."

"This will be my first time, sir."

Schwarkopf is also observing Degurechaff. He can't deny being a bit puzzled to see a little girl appear before his desk in the company command office. All he has heard from above is that they would send him a mage from an instructor unit at Central who has combat experience on the northern front.

Schwarkopf figured they would give him a seasoned veteran. It's safe to assume that a second lieutenant from an instructor unit would have worked up from noncommissioned officer status, and a veteran should be reliable in any situation. Plus, as a recipient of the Silver Wings Assault Badge, whoever the brass sent would have to be a capable soldier with a wealth of combat experience. That's why when Schwarkopf laid eyes on this kid younger than his daughter announcing her arrival with a perfect salute, he wonders what he'll do with the difficult platoon. His original intent to give her the command had relied on his expectation that she would be a veteran…

"…Lieutenant, I'll be frank."

If the records don't lie and there isn't any mistake, the second lieutenant waiting at attention for him to speak is a significant asset who has splendidly distinguished herself in battle, and she had been dispatched to deal with the worsening situation on the western front. But being a great athlete is different from being a great coach, and Schwarkopf fears this situation is similar.

"The 205th Assault Mage Company is meant to have three platoons, but during the early days of the war, our numbers dropped to less than two, and we've been operating undermanned ever since."

To replace the lost men, a new platoon leader and fresh members have been assigned to the company. Schwarkopf knows he can't complain, even if every member of the platoon is a raw recruit, but that's precisely why he hoped the leader would be an experienced veteran.

"…Can you command a platoon of recruits straight out of the Cadet Corps?"

To cast the situation as it currently stands in a pessimistic light, the platoon will consist of a child leading greenhorns. It would be not only ineffective but also deadweight—worse than deadweight. Needless to say, if the Empire's forces could simultaneously babysit and wage war, they wouldn't be having such a hard time.

He asks the question partially out of doubt; whether an immediate change in personnel is necessary or not will depend on her answer.

Degurechaff's response is simple. "Please give me the order." She keeps her reply short and speaks in an even, matter-of-fact tone. Yet her eyes shine back at Schwarkopf with nearly arrogant pride, rejecting his misgivings about her ability. "I will give you results."

Her reply also shows her unfaltering self-confidence. It surpasses his expectations. The first step toward trust is believing that if this combat veteran says, "Give me the order," the order will be carried out.

"Well, you've got the Silver Wings Assault Badge. I'm expecting a lot out of you!" "Yes, sir!"

A living recipient of the Silver Wings Assault Badge from the instructor unit is worthy of that much trust.

Tanya, for her part, surmises that Schwarkopf only accepted her response because of the decoration she's wearing. In other words, the entire worth of Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff can be summed up by the badge.

In that sense, she's truly grateful to have received the Silver Wings. Apart from the "White Silver" moniker that comes with it (which I never wanted in the first place and am more than eager to get rid of), and the sanity checks it forces onto me, nothing about my current situation is harmful, and I have a good reputation.

Well, I should probably welcome this. Beneath the face of a soldier, Tanya is calculating. Goodwill and praise are better than hostility and insult, at least.

"All right. I'll go ahead and explain the situation." "Yes, sir."

Having gotten more or less good impressions, they decide for the present to trust each other enough that they can focus on their respective jobs. Next, it's time for work.

"As you know, the Great Army's main forces are urgently being reorganized and assembled."

The Empire has fallen into disorder in the immediate aftermath of the François Republic's surprise attack, but overall, it mostly held its own in the early battles. That doesn't change the fact that the troops are under pressure, but the national defense policy calls for interior lines strategy. In that sense, though it's true the Western Army Group has received reinforcements from remaining units at Central, they have completely fulfilled their duty of delaying the enemy.

"While that is the case…it will take some time to reach the western front."

There's only one problem: The reserves and standing troops, who are supposed to be the counterblow, have all been invested in the north. The top General Staff members wanted to resolve the Norden issue with one push, but the original national defense plan is falling apart.

"All the Western Army Group can do is hope they arrive soon, but we have to assume it will take a while."

Originally, the plan called for Central to send three divisions within twenty-four hours of mobilization orders, including one Imperial Guard division as vanguard, and within seventy-two hours, seven more divisions to follow. Within a week or so, the Great Army itself would invest an overwhelming force—twenty divisions of their dignified regular troops and enough reserves for sixty divisions.

That's why the Western Army Group never imagined a need to slow down the enemy on their own for a month. And of course, since they don't have the reinforcements from the plan, even if they only fight to delay, they'll have to do it in a way that minimizes their casualties.

The only plan the Western Army Group has prepared is a defensive battle limited to large-scale resistance.

The General Staff forgot that while investing the Great Army in Norden, and the price has been higher than anyone imagined.

The fact that the higher-ups have mobilized the instructor unit in an attempt to establish western defenses shows how panicked they are. They even sent out Type 95, a military secret that wasn't supposed to leave the lab, under the pretext of continued evaluation with Tanya; really, they just wanted the muscle.

Perhaps the rapidly changing war situation gave them no choice, but if they're in so much turmoil they can't prioritize confidentiality, there's no way they can carry out the defense plan as it was envisioned.

The Great Army, the main imperial attacking force, was deployed to the north in its entirety due to an error in strategic judgment. Even if it only took a short time to reorganize and redeploy the troops, that was far too long from a military perspective.

"How is assembling the Great Army going?"

It's obvious that their difficulties stem from the lack of a plan for this unforeseen need to deploy troops. Even a minutely calculated operation is difficult to execute without hitches, so handling this situation off the cuff seems nigh impossible.

Inevitably, the current pace of assembly is not ideal. In this situation, the delay of reinforcements and ensuing impact on the front are matters of life and death for the Western Army Group, as well as critical concerns for the imperial soldiers who have to suffer the brunt of the attack before the Great Army arrives.

"Not good. They're short on vehicles in the north, so they need about two weeks to redeploy the units to the west."

Schwarkopf seems to doubt they'll really be only two weeks late. Experience has taught him that HQ always gives optimistic estimates when it comes to the number of reinforcements and their arrival time.

Redeployment sounds simple enough, but it involves more than just reorganizing the units and setting up a new chain of command; the units need to be replenished and resupplied before they can go anywhere. It's no easy feat. Just transporting an army consumes resources—not only fuel and supplies but also intangibles such as soldiers' energy.

That's why Tanya isn't surprised when her superior matter-of-factly explains, "We've given up on delaying along the western line. We're switching to mobile defense."

Once you determine that buying time won't cut it, adopting a mobile defense strategy is a natural step. Normally, you would base the troops in rear locations that are reinforced against long-distance enemy artillery and use the distance you withdrew during the delaying battle for defense in depth.

"Lieutenant, I doubt I need to say this to you…but this is a classic example of something easier said than done."

"Yes, sir, understood."

The original interior lines strategy calls for the defensive line to obstruct the enemy's advance and for the Great Army reinforcements to surround and annihilate the forces that have penetrated too deeply into imperial territory. But that line has already collapsed, and they're now fighting a defensive battle on thin ice, which is not much fun at all. Probably the only enjoyable defensive battle would have been the one fought behind the famous Maginot Line,12 perfect for shut-ins. You could have just holed up in there and wait for the war to end.

To Tanya, this is a problem that goes deeper than a strategic level failure. If you're planning on fighting using attritional containment tactics, then it should probably have dawned on you to tighten up your border with forts instead of going for a strategy that will fail before the fighting even starts. If command actually assumed that the François Republic would be content to overlook the threat of their exterior lines strategy collapsing upon the defeat of the Entente Alliance, that naivety would leave Tanya dumbstruck. Lower-ranking soldiers like Tanya and Schwarkopf are stuck paying the price of that miscalculation in blood, which is something they can't tolerate.

"We are soldiers. If the brass tells us to do something, we do it."

A patriot might argue that the nation's leading strategists work against the country by dint of their incompetence. Tanya doesn't house even the slightest intention of dying for the Empire. I always have to make exemplary remarks that go against what I truly feel, acting out the expected role to help myself succeed. To that end, I would even give a Tsugene-esque13 speech, though I despise his incompetence. If it came down to it, I would even shout, "Patriotism is not a crime!"

I can blather about those things as naturally as breathing, and that plus Tanya's doll- like appearance is enough to suggest my patriotism to anyone listening.

Most importantly, the majority of soldiers detest the idealists throwing around words like patriotism and brave loyalty in the rear, but to them the sentiment of loving one's country is sacred. Combat veterans who earned their praise in the field swear to defend their country. In extreme conditions, they treat that vow as a declaration of faith.

"…Quite right, Lieutenant Degurechaff." Thus, the model imperial soldier is one who indifferently completes their missions in adherence to mission-oriented war doctrine, and those qualities are praised. "Good. Back to the topic at hand, then."

"Yes, sir!"

He must at least be able to tell that I'm not inept. With a deep sense of satisfaction, Schwarkopf is able to relax a bit. The situation is unpleasant to be sure, but here's a good asset.

He has to take units that were mobilized at the last minute with no clear strategic direction and fight a defensive battle. He's lost a great number of his already harried troops, the replacements are deadweight recruits, and their leader is a little girl? For just a moment, he feels like looking to the heavens in despair, but for Schwarkopf, the mere fact that Degurechaff is an officer who can get things done makes her one of his few valuable resources.

"The 205th Assault Mage Company has been selected as a mobile strike force in the mobile defense battle."

Schwarkopf and his company's skilled fighting and finesse during the initial battles have landed them on the mobile strike duty; their job is to rush around putting out fires, and it will require playing more roles than ordinary units do.

"We are the linchpin of the counterattack. That's a big responsibility for us to share. I look forward to seeing what you're made of out there."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll do my best to protect the fatherland."

Tanya looks at Schwarkopf with her innocent blue eyes and speaks of noble ideals and contributing to the nation with her childlike lips.

Of course, Tanya's words don't have an iota of sincerity; I just know it's a line someone in her position should say.

Tanya knows how awful the trenches are—even if my sources are war films and books from another universe—so she's happy to be a counterattack reserve instead of stuck in one of them.

Certainly, holing up in some fieldworks fortified with reinforced concrete seems like the safer option at a glance. I can understand why amateurs would think that. The invention of the machine gun gave defense the advantage, and to anyone who knows that, the defensive position is unquestionably strong. No one ordered by General Nogi to capture Port Arthur with swords would hesitate to make an "accident" happen. Humans are much frailer than concrete and iron.

At the same time, it's important to remember that the base at Port Arthur was destroyed by heavy naval artillery. Fortifications on a battlefield have the fatal structural flaw of being immobile. History teaches us that that no matter how sturdy the fortress, before siege artillery it's nothing but another target. Given the previous point, Tanya knows that being part of a mobile unit out in the field where they can run anywhere they need to in a pinch is safer.

Even a mage can't attack a well-defended stronghold at close range and get off easily, but I also know that stronghold will get pummeled by artillery. And I'm also aware that attacking the enemy vanguard is safer, if only in comparison, since they'll be exhausted from breaking through the defensive line.

Thus, Tanya makes false declarations of loyalty, while the only thing she truly welcomes with joy is her assignment. Raising her chances of survival even just a little is undoubtedly a happy occurrence.

"Great. Any questions?"

"Yes, sir. Will we be sortieing from the defensive line or the rear?"

There's one point worth bearing in mind. Mobile strike forces come in two types. One is positioned in the rear and responds quickly to seal enemy breaches. The other sets off from a forward position to catch the enemy around their backside. The difference between the two is whether you can kick back and relax as counterattacking personnel in the rear or have to dig trenches and build fortifications while under the constant threat of enemy attack. They are two completely different environments.

Of course, the unit that has to seal the breaches will take some damage since they do have to charge up to the front lines, but generally, the act of launching a counteroffensive in the first place usually means they get to enjoy numerical superiority. In other words, I won't need to worry about being sent on counterattacks if the situation is overwhelmingly bad.

"Rejoice, Lieutenant. We'll be on the forward-most line." "What an honor."

This is the worst.

Mobile strike personnel on the front? Meaning they would have to defend the line and double as distraction during the counterattack? No number of lives could be enough. If she were defending from a trench, she could use the nearest people as shields, but she can't do that if she leaves the line to be a decoy. Pincering the enemy with the guys from the rear might sound great, but we would only be glorified targets.

"I never doubted that would make you happy. We may also need to help defend the strongpoints, depending on what the situation calls for."

As expected. Should I be happy? I'm not thrilled that my ominous hunch was right on the money. As a way to hone my crisis management skills, this assignment won't be bad, but I would rather never need to use them.

"So we'll prioritize mobile strike operations but also support the defensive line?" "That is correct."

Am I supposed to just accept my fate? Let myself be exploited as part of the mobile strike force after being stuck on the line? There should be a limit to how much you can overwork someone. I'd like to demand better working conditions or at the very least an increase in base pay.

Of course, I don't have any problem with performing duties covered by my contract, but this is a bit much. I'd like to be adequately compensated.

"However, our mission isn't to eliminate the enemy, just repulse them. We don't need to bend over backward to surround and annihilate them."

"This is the worst. Assembling the Great Army must be going rough." "Oh, you can tell?"

"If we make our only objective to delay enemy forces and don't adopt a mobile defense aiming to exhaust them, we won't last long enough. Even the stupidest freshly minted officer could see that."

They couldn't possibly conduct a successful delaying defense along the whole huge front. Without using a mobile defense strategy to exhaust the enemy forces, it would be impossible to suppress the enemy; things are so dire that the Empire would have to risk allowing raiders to get through at one location and attack them there. At least they would be organized, so it probably wouldn't be as much of a disaster as the latter days on the eastern front in World War I, but I still have to brace myself.

"…That's one way to put it. Well, there's no cheerful way to fight a war, anyway. Here's who is in your platoon."

"Thank you, sir." Tanya takes a mental deep breath and looks over the list of her first subordinates ever, but it's so ridiculous, it makes her brain freeze up. It dawns on her that she's reeling. The only reason she doesn't instinctively hurl the document away is due to excessive shock, rather than a triumph of reason. In words, her thoughts would be, This is too much! "My understanding was that there was a general lack of key personnel in the Western Army Group and that because of this, the only replacements we could get for the third platoon were rookies with zero experience, but I have to correct myself… Perhaps we should call them untrained recruits?"

"I see no problem with that. This means your platoon will be extremely rough around the edges. I want you to make defending the position your main duty."

These mages have only completed Cadet Corps basic training, and we're rushing them into a combat unit? Anyone with half a notion of how mage battles work would laugh it off as an April Fools' joke. With four to a platoon and twelve in a company, mage teams prioritize skills over numbers more than anyone else. Even someone with innate mage potential would only be in the way as a newbie with nothing more than basic training. This is like taking a guy with only the most basic army rules and regulations beaten into him, putting him in a plane, and telling him to fly. It'll be worse than a turkey shoot.

I see. By having us on defense, he's telling me that he doesn't consider them fit for combat. It'd be irrational to expect anything out of this unit, so it's a valid conclusion.

"Commander, a humble suggestion, as platoon leader, if I may…"

"Lieutenant Degurechaff, I realize fighting a war while babysitting is a lot to ask, although it's weird to say that to you…"

"I have to say that, frankly, I would be more useful fighting solo than in that platoon."

I get that the platoon lacks training, but you're telling me to make it a stationary force? They can't handle mobile battles, so you're telling me to defend the base while reeducating and training them? Isn't that the same as ordering me to let the incompetent hold me back?! Tanya vehemently protests this crisis with indescribable rage. Unless the regulations that she learned at the academy have been revised, childcare is definitely not in a soldier's job description.

It would be safer to hurl these novices into no-man's-land and free myself of the burden. Maybe I should do that if I get the chance. No, I can't judge them without even meeting them…

"As an officer, I have no plans to abandon my command duties, but I hope you will consider the way to use our forces most effectively."

"These guys are backup. If the situation calls for it and the timing works out, we'll send you on guerrilla missions."

Even though he wants her to whip the platoon into shape, he's implying from the start that he will send Tanya on her own if necessary.

"Understood. Are we permitted to abandon our position if need be?"

"Regrettably, we can't pull the lines back any farther." "So we have to hold it?"

"Command says we can choose victory or Valhalla."14

Victory or Valhalla? Is that even a choice? It's just a roundabout way of ordering us to die on the line. No, it's not even roundabout—it's just narcissistic bullshit.

Why should I die for other people? If someone wants to die for me, that's their prerogative, but forcing me to die completely violates my free will.

Freedom reigns supreme. We can be democratic, nationalist, or even imperialist, so long as I'm free. So please, stop issuing war bonds. Financing the war by printing bonds under the assumption the Empire will win just guarantees hyperinflation no matter how the war ends.

Win or lose, I can only imagine the future will be a barrel of fun. How utterly unpleasant.

"Splendid. Both options sound great."

"Fantastic. Then I'll introduce you to your platoon."

Okay, time to greet my allies in this miserable war. If they happen to be in the right place at the right time, I might even use them as human shields, so I have to expect a lot out of them.

And so, though neither of them wanted to, the young lady and the little girl would slurp the same sludge and nibble biscuits so hard they had to chip them apart with bayonets before they could eat them, fighting side by side on the western front under a shower of shells.

My first impression of my direct superior, Imperial Army officer Second Lieutenant Degurechaff of the western front mobile strike army, Seventh Assault Group, 205th Assault Mage Company, was "vampire." Her skin was so white she looked sick, and her sharp eyes seemed to loathe the sun. It was quite a shock.

The first time I saw her, First Lieutenant Schwarkopf had ordered us to assemble, and as we were standing by, a little kid who looked bizarrely comfortable in her uniform showed up. She couldn't have been a student from the Cadet Corps—she wasn't even old enough to enroll. The cap sitting atop her messily tied hair was too big for her. Any normal soldier who saw her wearing the rank of second lieutenant would have done a double take.

When the company commander introduced her to us, though, I didn't feel like anything was off about Lieutenant Degurechaff. I couldn't quite explain it, but it was like she fit right in.

Still, the moment she turned her icy cold eyes on us like we were objects to be appraised, I shrank from her in spite of myself. People might laugh at me for being afraid of such a little kid, but those eyes reminded me of the way a cat looks when it's playing with a mouse, which creeped me out.

Just like Elya said, Lieutenant Degurechaff was a veteran ace who had earned numerous decorations for her distinguished service, not the least of which was the Silver Wings Assault Badge. She had a thick aura of battle around her, and her face was almost doll-like, it was so pleasant to look at. Vacant blue eyes, blond hair tinged dark gray.

Maybe it was partly because we didn't get much sun on the Rhine front, but I noted in my head that she looked just like a vampire.

She urged us, in a calm, businesslike tone that left no room for misunderstanding, to state our rank, name, and where we last served, and I felt—just a little bit—like I wanted to get out of there. The Cadet Corps had a simple method of categorizing cadets. The army knew very well that volunteers and conscripts wouldn't be on the same wavelength, even if they trained together, so they divided the mages into two classes from the start. Battalion C was expected to eventually train as officers at the academy, and Battalion D would just complete their compulsory service.

My two platoon mates were elites from Battalion C.

"Corporal Kurst von Walhorf from Idal-Stein Battalion C, First Company!" "Corporal Harald von Vist, also from Idal-Stein Battalion C, First Company!"

I gave my rank and name after the two Cadet Corps volunteers. I didn't wish I had volunteered, exactly, but it was sort of a bummer to say I was drafted right after people who announced they had offered their services to their country. I couldn't just not care like Elya; I wasn't thick-skinned enough to just laugh it off. Oh, God, why must you torment me?

"Corporal Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov from Idal-Stein Battalion D, Third Company."

You could say I felt a bit out of place as the only conscript. I mean, Corporals Kurst and Harald were volunteers from the same company. If we did things the usual way, that meant the two guys with experience working together would be buddies, and I'd get paired with the platoon leader.

That was why I was thinking, as I reported, that it would be great if I didn't get chewed out for being a slow, lazy draftee. So I was momentarily stunned by what the second lieutenant said next.

"You have my respect for fulfilling your obligations, Corporal Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov. It'll be tough, but do your best to survive."

Unexpected words of encouragement—and from an officer I was convinced was so cold, with those eyes more warlike than any I'd ever seen. For a second, I couldn't understand what had happened and froze.

Meanwhile…

"Then, to the fellows who enlisted of your own free will: Since you volunteered, you better not die after Corporal Serebryakov and me." Her calm tone hadn't changed. She didn't raise her voice. But the words she spoke with that emotionless expression were incredibly heavy. "First, I'll make one thing clear. The Empire doesn't have the time or resources to support inept officer candidates. In fact, doing so would be counterproductive."

She was different from all the drill sergeants. The way she talked, it was almost like she was a different species of imperial soldier. Her values ran counter to the ones that had been pounded into me since I had joined the army.

"It'd be a different story if you were forced to serve against your will because the nation needed you, but you're the ones who got in line to don the uniform of the fatherland, so contribute accordingly. If you're too inept to do that, then die."

She must have said all she wanted to say to us speechless, frozen recruits. After telling the company commander that was all, she immediately kicked us outside because we were still just standing there. Before we knew it, though we'd only just arrived, we'd been hurled into the trenches and were getting showered with periodic "deliveries" from the Republican Army.

What awaited us there was a reevaluation of our basic skills as mages. We learned that not only were we not earning our salaries, we were worse than garbage.

Having been thus "straightened out," Corporals Kurst and Harald became rebellious, but they weren't disciplined outright—key word outright. After the company commander and the second lieutenant mentioned that they simply couldn't take care of them on the front lines, the pair was assigned to the rear.

After that introduction and a bit of action, I became Lieutenant Degurechaff's buddy as the sole member of her platoon, and we flew together.

Meanwhile, the two other cadets were transferred to a better position. They were double promoted and assigned to defend the company's base in the rear. They could stay safe inside a pillbox as reserves and prepare for the counteroffensive. One thing I learned while flying, though, was that…for artillery, an immobile pillbox is nothing but a sturdy target.

It was when we received orders to flank the Republican unit trying to breach the line while we were under suppressive fire by their supporting heavy artillery. Half in tears, thinking I would never make it out of there alive, I followed the senior members of the company, who were grinning as they charged. I saw a base get blown to smithereens while we got off without so much as a scratch.

Weirdly, not only did barely any shells come our way, but also we didn't suffer any real losses at all before we made contact. After experiencing this over and over, I realized that artillery needs to be used systematically.

It made sense when I thought about it. Machine guns had a better chance of hitting aircraft than artillery. As long as you didn't stumble upon an anti–air cannon position, the only things shooting aircraft were machine guns. Although mages were slower than planes, we were still too fast for the artillery to take their time aiming.

It would probably be a different story if we assaulted a firing position or a pillbox and took heavy zoned fire. But we were taught that when fighting on our own territory,

speed is everything. I was lucky enough to learn from Lieutenants Degurechaff and Schwarkopf that the more experienced you get as a mage, the more suspicious you get about defending a fixed position.

In short, artillery is the god we should trust on the battlefield; it's also the god we should never anger. You can't survive unless you make this god your ally and learn how to avoid its iron hammer.

Maybe that was why… My leader is a dyed-in-the-wool believer in firepower, the perfect embodiment of nonnegotiable mobile warfare, and then a mage. The only faith she has rests with artillery.

Could soldiers, by nature a group of realists, believe in God? Her answer to the question was pretty interesting. When I wrote to Elya about it, she wrote back, "Then I am the war goddess in charge of divine will." That answer was so like her, it made me smile. She had a way with words.

We had eyes and ears, so the devout believers crouching on the front line, in the trenches, and in gun nests were promised the divine revelations of the artillery.

With the contribution of the observers, we could call for fire to break up an enemy charge or a bombardment, depending on the crisis. It reminded me of Elya, smiling about her easy job where she could hang out and drink tea. But she was always the nurturing, helpful type, so I was sure her sense of responsibility kicked in and she was hard at work.

Right before we went on an airborne assault, what the company wished for most of all was supporting fire from the artillery. Whenever we received orders to counterattack the Republican Army breaking through our defensive line, we attacked its flank in sync with the artillery's fire to break up the offensive.

I was used to battle now. My only job as a newbie was to follow Lieutenant Degurechaff as she raced ahead. Ideally, we were supposed to be partners, but our commander laughed and said I still needed more training.

"Ohhhh, praise be to God. His name is Artillery! That's about right. Isn't it a wonderful sound?"

First Lieutenant Schwarkopf beamed, praising the artillery as their shells rained down with perfect timing. Our taste in music seems a tad different—I'm only just able to get through these intense bombardments without the sound freaking me out. "Yes, it is God of the Battlefield! God has answered our radio requests!" "Artillery, Artillery! Thou art our friend! Thou art our savior!"

The ones carrying on, relaxing their scary frowns, were the intense but dependable old hands from First Platoon. Although their opinion that artillery was our savior was a little dramatic, I was learning that it wasn't entirely wrong. We may have been a counterattacking unit, but half of our job was to contain the enemy so the artillery could finish them off.

If we just surrounded them—the rabble, an advancing unit, a defensive unit, or even enemy artillery—the artillery would naturally destroy everything. Witnessing it just once was enough to make you want to pray. Dear God, please grant me artillery support.

The artillery prep prior to an assault was always reassuring for inconsolably fearful hearts. One time our support ran late, so our battalion-sized unit, containing various different mage companies, had to go at it with an enemy echelon15…and a bunch of things I don't really want to remember happened.

On that note, when there was enough support and enough space between the front and the rear, the weight of combat would grow lighter. Yes, looks like I'll survive again.

As Tanya gazes at the enemy unit through her binoculars, shells plow the earth right where they were meant to, turning people into fertilizer. In other words, this is the correct way of waging war—taking organic life and rendering it past tense through the use of ammunitions.

"The concentrated fire of a 120 mm really is a spectacular sight, sir. Amen."

"Truly, Lieutenant. Must be the teamwork between a talented observer and the artillery. They wasted no time before firing for effect."

People in any situation find it easier to remain calm as long as things go smoothly, and apparently those on the battlefield are no exception. The edifying teachings of the Chicago school say that all things can be measured using economics, but it's tricky to measure and quantify the effects on health when things go according to plan. When everything is on track, with redundancy limited and no additional costs incurred, it's just wonderful.

The situation unfolding before the 205th Assault Mage Company is a perfect example. Just as First Lieutenant Schwarkopf had said, the artillery is performing admirably. They must be coordinating quite closely—the way they transition from establishing a calibrating shot to firing for effect in only a few shells shows magnificent skill.

Thanks to that, by the time the company arrives at their attack position, the enemy army is collapsing under the artillery's thorough barrage. Normally there would be a chance of retaliatory fire and an artillery duel, but it seems the enemy guns are busy with the suppressive fire from our forward position.

"Lucky us. Our corps level artillery blew up the enemy troops with 120 mm shells, and we just have to mop up the surviving remnants."

"Yes, indeed."

It was just as Schwarkopf said—the company is in luck. For Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff, it's a great day for a war. All we need to do is take out the decimated enemy infantry on a battlefield they already have the advantage on—a simple, convenient mission.

"It's almost time. Company, prepare to attack. We're gonna hunt down the ones the artillery missed."

And so, following her commander's orders, Tanya shoulders her rifle loaded with formula-imbued bullets, grabs her computation orb, and prepares for the assault.

The company is on standby and aware they'll be charging, but right before they leave, even experienced veterans can't help but get anxious. The nervous swallows are a familiar sound in the trenches, distinctly audible over even the shells exploding nearby.

"Let's go to work. If only every time could be this much fun!"

For Tanya, being able to fight against the dregs of infantry ravaged by artillery fire under the lead of a competent officer like Schwarkopf is great—well, relatively. People don't fight wars because they want to.

Ask if she considers herself happy, and you'd learn everything you needed from the string of expletives directed at Being X for hurling such a young, innocent child onto this random battlefield. Still, she has to be objective, so it isn't a mistake to welcome a

less awful situation.

"Lieutenant, don't be a picky eater, or you'll never grow any taller."

"Commander Schwarkopf, I rather like having a smaller surface area, since it makes me less likely to get shot."

"…You win, Lieutenant. That's the best excuse for being a picky eater I've ever heard."

For Schwarkopf, who is waiting for the right moment to launch the strike, the banter with Degurechaff is opportune. You don't have to look back at history to know that commanders at all levels consider managing pre-assault stress part of making the job go smoothly.

Schwarkopf's 205th Assault Mage Company may have been veterans of the Rhine Front, but even they still tense up the moment before an attack. So when the light joke relaxes everyone to some extent, the lieutenant chooses that moment to move them out. He alerts the artillery units that they're launching the assault.

Once he gets the go-ahead from Control, the operation is go.

"Okay, everyone. Don't let picky Lieutenant Degurechaff hog all the good stuff!"

Thanking God that the company is able to remain calm and chuckle in the face of the enemy, First Lieutenant Schwarkopf roars with his well-trained voice, "Charge! On me!"

Everyone soars from their assault positions and rushes the enemy troops at a reckless speed.

To unprotected infantry, rapidly approaching mages are a threat just as serious as artillery. Mages have protective films and defensive shells, so a few shots aren't enough to take them down. On top of that, they have no trouble unleashing firepower more intense than heavy weaponry. They are truly tough opponents.

There are a limited number of ways to effectively counter those dreadful mages. One is grenades. If you're lucky, a mage will come into range—and that's it. The best way is to intercept them with a concentrated barrage of fire. Apart from that, infantry units don't have many options.

So from the perspective of the enemy army, whose command structure is already in disarray due to the shelling, even an undermanned company of only about ten mages is a terrifying threat. They probably already have direct support mages to fight fire with fire, but even mages have a hard time on the receiving end of artillery shells.

Lucky for the imperial company, unlucky for the Republican Army, the Empire's 120 mm guns connected with the flying Republican mages, turning them into mincemeat and littering the ground.

"Make sure to target enemy commanders and communications first!"

Isn't that obvious? Tanya thinks to herself, targeting a group of soldiers who seem to be carrying the distinctive backpack-style radios. Like the other company members, she uses an explosion formula to greet their uninvited Republican guests with the warm, welcoming embrace of fire and steel.

Judging from the sporadic return fire, resistance is weak. At most, there's only a handful of isolated soldiers shooting at random. The majority have already given up and turned tail, so all we have to do is sweep through.

Normally, potential enemy reinforcements would be a concern, but this time a mixed group containing another artillery unit and mobile strike team have already taken care of them; the current mission is just mopping up the remaining infantry.

That gives Tanya enough leeway to keep a close eye on Corporal Serebryakov's combat performance, whereas before she was only able to make sure her subordinate was still behind her. Even under rifle fire, she never drops her defensive shell. Her maneuvers are still textbook, but compared to a month ago, she moves like a totally different mage. That amount of progress isn't half-bad.

I can't help but recall Lieutenant Schwarkopf's comment that this is a combat exercise, using the beat-up dregs of their collapsing enemy as targets. Actual combat really is the best training.

"And just think, not so long ago they were turning green and puking everywhere. It's amazing what you can do with a bit of training."

Never underestimate human potential. Remembering that lesson once again, Tanya can't help but ponder the sacredness of human dignity and free will.

For that reason, she pities the Republican soldiers. What an outdated mess their HQ must be to have ordered them to charge into so much iron. It was demonstrated to the whole world ten years ago during a conflict in the Far East between the Federation and the Dominion that iron dominates flesh.

This is the horrifying thing about people who lack initiative. No initiative basically necessitates lost potential, so it's a sad irony that they took human resources that probably did have initiative—an abundance of human capital—and exported them to the Empire as mincemeat.

It was to the point where I wanted to ask if they maybe shouldn't rethink a bit and recognize the value of human capital according to the market principle.

Unfortunately, everyone in the world is bound by contracts. As an imperial soldier, the relationship between Tanya and the Republican invaders is kill or be killed. It's fine and good for every country's propaganda to praise the noble act of dying for one's fatherland, but I really wish people would understand the utterly obvious flip side— that they have to kill their fatherland's enemies, too.

In terms of precious human resources wasted, there's no greater crime than war, laments Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff, having just robbed several young people of their futures with a magic formula.

Things just never turn out how you'd like, she thinks to herself as her formulas mercilessly turn the fleeing Republican Army soldiers into organic debris. The only word for it is wasteful. Even though it isn't her own country, Tanya can't escape the feeling that something is wrong with squandering so many trained youths. Aha, I see why "extravagance is the enemy." Of course one of the ironies of history, in a sense, is that a certain country adopted that slogan and then wasted their human resources. Perhaps there will always be inept leaders frittering away the lives of their most promising patriots.

"Geez, maybe I should focus a little more on the battlefield."

"Artillery plows, mages descend, and the infantry advances." I remembered learning that on a nice afternoon, when I would rather have been sunbathing than struggling to stay awake in a lecture on the history of warfare. But when exactly that was, I didn't know…

Back in the Cadet Corps, the lessons seemed so ordinary as I sleepily listened, but once they became real life, it was horrible. Lieutenant Degurechaff had this disheartened look on her face, but she still unleashed a swift, merciless storm of destruction. I was half-impressed at her superhuman abilities and half simply stunned; it was all I could do just to fly after her, but she managed to handle even the enemies coming after me without taking a single hit.

I knew it was pointless to think about these things at times like this, but this kind of stuff forced me to realize that if the two of us weren't basically in different universes, she would never have earned the Silver Wings Assault Badge.

"Company commander to all hands. In three hundred seconds the bombardment will continue. Fall back."

And then at some point while I was spacing out, the scattered vestiges of the enemy forces had begun to retreat. The battle always ended while I was just flying for dear life. Naturally, then, I had braced myself for the usual orders to pursue, so it was a bit of a relief to answer, "Roger."

Yes, relief. Relief that I wouldn't have to guiltily chase down the enemy. I was different from Lieutenant Degurechaff, who could calmly nail fleeing soldiers in the back with optical sniping or explosion formulas. I was relieved because I wouldn't have to shoot.

When I was doing everything I can just to fly after her, I practically went into a trance, scattering formulas at random with no time to think. But I still hesitated when I had to aim at a fleeing soldier and cast. I mean…I would wonder if killing them was the right thing to do.

Of course, as Corporal Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov, I should shoot, but as Visha, I have no motive.

"We're all here. No casualties. No losses besides gear."

When we landed at the rendezvous point, the sudden release from tension left me dazed. The sole thought occupying my mind was a desire to sleep like a log.

I did wonder if that was all right, as a young lady of a delicate age, but on the front, where there was barely any water, you couldn't hope for something as convenient as a girls' shower room. Lieutenant Degurechaff brusquely muttered, "Sleeping now. Night," and went to bed, so I followed her example and decided to just be thankful I had a bed; I was so ready to rest.