Part 2

ALTITUDE 9,500, IN THE WAR ZONE AHEAD OF THE SUPPLY DEPOT

-x-X-x-

"With his glory like the morning sun, he illuminates the darkness. He is born! Praise

the Lord!"

A converging magic bombardment formula.

Magic bombardment has the penetration and destructive power of a 28 cm gun. The

seven-layer control equation that created it scatters and disappears. For an instant,

the battlefield shines with a great light, and then the sound of impact roars through

the air.

"Collapse of surveillance waves confirmed. Elimination of enemy observation unit

complete." At the same time, a noise-heavy report of the effects comes in from her

observer, Lieutenant Serebryakov. "Splendid, Major," she adds, and Tanya has to agree.

She rarely registers the satisfaction of an attack, but this time she feels it. It goes

without saying that she hit her target. And it had to be quite a blow to them. In any

case, this fundamental part of any mage battle, eliminating the enemy observation

personnel, had gone quite smoothly.

The victims were either amateurs, or they were awfully confident in their dugouts, but

they had been putting out powerful surveillance waves like crazy, so they had been

discovered right away. Compared to the Republican Army, which was mainly a passive

receiver of waves, they were quite easy to find.

Apparently, the Entente Alliance's army continues to be qualitatively inferior. You

wouldn't normally actively emit surveillance waves unless you were at a distance in a

control unit where you could easily escape, or at least a surface surveillance train.

How dumb are they to blithely observe from a fixed position?

That's Tanya's judgment coming from experience. It seems luck is with her. She balls

her little hands up and enjoys it.

"Enemy transmissions dramatically increased. Multiple calls from mages confirmed. You must have hit their Combat Direction Center."

The report from her subordinate observer only deepens her belief. She has definitely,

without a doubt, blown away the enemy controllers. Knowing the implications of that,

she triumphantly raises her rifle and crows.

Even just looking from a distance, she is satisfied to see the enemy formations begin

to waver—an indication of the shock they just received.

"Okay, we definitely got them, right? Then let's move in."

Normally, engaging the enemy in an airspace of their choosing with a numerically

inferior force is out of the question. I would stubbornly refuse. But once the enemy's

head is blown off, that's a different story. A conservative description of the units

fighting in the air would be chaos. The job of maintaining discipline and turning this

into organized combat is too big for their frontline commander to handle.

No matter how outstanding the commander, once combat devolves into a brawl, it's

impossible to keep an eye on the entire situation. There are limits to how much a

commander can monitor their unit while engaged in dogfighting. On that point, Tanya

is thankful for the Imperial Army's combat doctrine. Its mission-oriented beliefs mean

that if an officer has good subordinates, they don't need to hold their hands and show

them how to shoot.

Of course, the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is receiving a minimum of direction,

including navigation support, from Norden Control. A war without Control is just a

crude dogfight between isolated mages.

After all, without Control to keep the necessary order, you're left with individual

mages flying around. Power that can't be harnessed isn't much of a threat.

"Pixie 01 to all hands. Enemy Control has been eliminated."

We are lucky the linchpin of the enemy command scheme gave away its position. You

never know till you try, so she had thrown out the bombardment and blown them

away with ease…apparently.

Now the enemy is no longer units but a mob of individuals. Mages without their CP

are like a pack of Don Quixotes each fighting their own battles.

"Pixie 01 to CP. Send the status of the enemies you spotted."

"CP, roger. The remaining enemies are flying at 6,500 feet. Looks like the vanguard is

about a reserve regiment's worth. Two companies guarding them. They also have

bombers. No sign of reinforcements."

The situation is exactly what it looks like. The only enemies who can engage with us

right now are the disheveled troops directly before us. Normally, enemy control would

have any number of options how to proceed, like sending the escorts ahead to shore

up the disordered vanguard.

But now none of them know what to do—they're panicking. Entente Alliance and

Republican mages, I've noticed, have a tendency to be overly specialized in group

combat.

The mages of our Imperial Army's pride, the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, who

somehow cheerfully survived their hellish training, should be able to overpower them.

At the very least, they probably won't hold me back, so I can use them as a shield with

no problems.

And this time we also have the wonderful addition of enemy bombers. If I take them

down, I can expect a raise and other perks, according to air force regulations.

Ah, this really is great. Tanya unconsciously gives her lips a vulgar lick.

For once, she's in a situation that is virtually blue ocean. It has to be her efforts day

after day that have created such a blessed environment. As in Dacia, fate, or the law of

cause and effect or whatever, is finally on my side. I'm willing to stick with the

hypothesis that Being X is evil, but I'm in a good enough mood to argue that a

benevolent entity might exist.

"First, Second, and Third Companies, hunt the two enemy vanguard battalions. Fourth

Company, with me."

We aren't lacking a necessary cause to act. I'm the commander of the battalion, the

one who leads.

To put it bluntly, my attitude is more or less Maybe I'll end up fighting myself at some

point. I can push the annoying job of dealing with enemy units onto my underlings.

Or rather, that's what they're there for. I want my subordinates to give it their all so I

can think about more important things.

The Imperial Army General Staff has invested a lot in these guys. It's not my money,

but it is taxpayers' money, so I've done my best to put it to wise use. I don't want to do

anything that would make me look inept, and though taxes are a sort of evil, I'd like to

atone for it by using the funds in a meaningful way.

For that reason, I need to show that the investment was worth their while. Most of all,

I don't want to be branded all talk and sent to the front lines as punishment. So I'll

leverage my position and make my subordinates do the tough stuff.

There's a right man for every job, you know. Since they like war so much, I'm sure

they'll be happy to do it. I intend to make my way to the rear with a record of

discovering and recommending talent. This is the ideal win-win scenario. It's fair to

call it truly wonderful.

"Fourth Company, we're going to strike the escorts and the bombers. After that, we'll

go around the back of the other fight and pincer those two battalions."

For the time being, I take Fourth Company as my escort and initiate maneuvers to take

the rear. I want to avoid any danger spots, so under the pretense of a detour, I put off

some fighting. First, I want to see how they do against my subordinates. If the enemy

seems stronger than expected, I'll abort the roundabout sneak attack and head back

to assist the rest of the troops. My insurance is all in place.

"That's it for the battle plan. That said, gentlemen…"

The Northern Army Group is watching, so I need to show them this frontline

commander's fighting spirit.

This'll make us look like an army.

A resolute commander with a loud voice and an offensive mind-set will silence any

meaningless criticism.

Just look at the loudmouth Tsuji. He indiscriminately ground down talent, caused a

catastrophe, and still got promoted.

"Though your job is to stop them, you don't have to wait for me by any means. I don't mind at all if you defeat them."

If things get bad, I'll use the Tsuji doctrine to protect myself. For better or worse, after

World War II, that guy brilliantly managed to avoid war crime prosecution. Even if I

can't imitate his shameless nerve, there are still things I can learn from him.

He could have been a corporate warrior who would have forever been waging internal

company battles with his demonic drive for promotion. Well, I don't actually want to

be that kind of person. This world is rather impossible for good citizens like me—I

have shame and a conscience.

"Also, when we get back, whichever company gets the worst results will have their

commander treat the rest of us to a party. I ordered some twenty-five-year-old wine,

so fight hard if you don't want to go bankrupt!"

Thus, I came up with an elegant way to get around socialization expenditures.

Associating with one's subordinates is part of a boss's job, but I hate getting my

expenses audited for no reason. Take that guy, for example. Tsuji was really picky

about inspecting for improper spending. He would find people's weaknesses that way.

What you can learn from that is that armies and companies aren't so different from

one another. Improper spending on entertainment will affect your future career. So I'll

use my subordinates' money—just below the threshold of power harassment.

Furthermore, though in society it's generally accepted that children aren't allowed to

drink wine, if one of my brothers-in-arms offered me some, and I can't refuse, perhaps

the army would look the other way. The thought that I might finally get to have wine

brings tears to my eyes.

""""Understood!""""

"Good. Now then, gentlemen. Do your duty for the emperor and the fatherland."

I don't have a lick of love or respect for the emperor, and as for the fatherland, I just

hope I get benefits commensurate with the taxes I pay. But the state does give me my

soldier's pension and other various allowances. Then again, this place sadly seems to

be in the strategic position Germany was in during the First World War…

Ahh, what a tragedy. I feel like I'm at a company guaranteed to go bankrupt. Or like an

employee who is going to be worn down to nothing at an office with abhorrent working conditions. There's no way to win here.

I'd like to submit my voluntary resignation and transfer to a better company. In the

worst case, I would even be ready to bring a labor suit.

But betraying the army during a war would come with all sorts of troublesome issues.

Who would trust a whistle-blower like that? Even if they promise freedom of belief,

nobody would want to take on a hard-core leftist activist in a million years.

Thinking logically, only an idiot would risk betrayal if the returns aren't guaranteed to

be worth it. What's more, it would be difficult to protect myself when I've already done

so much killing in this war.

My position is somewhat like a sniper's. If the war ends and I can be safely

demobilized, that's great, but on the off chance I find myself having to surrender,

there's a good chance I'd be shot on the spot. In a word, I'm buying my enemy's enmity

at limit up.

"Let's teach those Entente Alliance mopes and the rest of them a lesson. They don't get

it when you only put it in words."

Actually, I tried to get them to surrender once, and I couldn't get through to them at

all. Hideously enough, they're people without a shred of economic sense. If they like

war so much, they should just split their country in half and fight among themselves.

But apparently, the Republic and the Entente Alliance are really into involving others.

Talk about a pain in the neck. They're beyond saving if they ignore the balance

between public matters and personal freedom by causing other folks trouble. I'd like

them to think a bit about what a nuisance they are to the average person.

"We're gonna bring an iron hammer down on them from the heavens. They're about

to learn how powerless they really are." If we can't leisurely attack them from high in

the sky, I won't be able to take this.

For now, we have the bandwidth to spare, but this really isn't good for my heart.

The only time I'm thankful for this little body is when the enemy is aiming at it and

having trouble hitting. A wise man once said, "They call bullets slugs because they

pack a punch." Well, I don't want to get shot.

"First, Second, and Third Companies, go on ahead. We'll go around and strike from

behind."

That's why into the most risky situations—with the greatest potential for

achievement—I send the volunteers.

"""Roger! Glory to the fatherland and our commander!"""

"I wish you all luck."

Well! It seems my subordinates are really starved for war since we walloped the

Dacians. They're more fired up than I imagined they would be—it's a bit moving. They

have a consummate service spirit.

They're so wonderful that if they weren't so dedicated to the pursuit of the

unproductive enterprise of war, I would definitely want to recruit them. It's really too

bad. It's this kind of thing that proves the devil's existence.

If God existed, resources wouldn't be allotted so improperly. The market principle is

the one truth path. Only the market has an invisible hand.

Honestly, it's so unfortunate. The world really is made to be difficult. It seems like it'll

be a long time before economics works everything out.

"Fourth Company, we're climbing. We're going to go around and attack those two

companies that seem like reinforcements."

Anyhow, this job is fine—I'll just do what needs to be done. We're an augmented

battalion—four companies. What that means is we're a battalion plus an extra

company. Our battalion will intercept the two battalions, and the extra company will

take on the two companies. What simple proportions. As for where to employ my

personal strength, the latter situation is easier. And I want to make it easy on myself,

so I'm going with the latter group.

There is no greater aim on the battlefield than to defeat the enemy with as little effort

as possible. It's all about how comfortable you can make your life.

The idea that struggling while you're young builds character must have as much truth

to it as a hedge fund advertisement. I think I'll go ahead and build other people's

character.

"Understood. What will you do about the bombers?"

"They're mine. Don't hate me! I'd just like to be an air force ace as well as an army one."

"Ha-ha-ha. Good one."

He asked something important, so I made myself clear. I replied casually enough, but

I meant it. Though it was a sort of snobby motivation, I read somewhere that it's not

bad to show a human side once in a while. Of course, I also read that if you're too

snobby, people won't like you. Why is a good person like me so unreasonably

tormented by Being X and made to fight in this war in the first place? I can't help but

lament my fate.

But now my subordinates have started to laugh like they've heard a great joke. Finding

that suspect, I glare at them and ask what in the world is so funny.

"You know you have to do it with fighter planes, right?"

But the answer is simple. Vexingly enough, it seems I've misunderstood the rules. How

regrettable that I should expose my ignorance in front of my men like this. What

indescribable shame.

"Really? That's too bad. We should have borrowed fighter planes. I'd almost like to go

back and get them."

"Why don't you? Although, if I go with you, I think I'll end up having to treat the

battalion."

They must be having a great laugh at my expense. Going back to borrow fighter planes

from the air force? I can't do that.

If I did, it'd be treated as fleeing before the enemy. Death by firing squad! Death by

firing squad would be waiting for me. And on top of that, it's not like I can pilot a fighter

plane anyhow, so I wouldn't even have an excuse. I have no doubt this bureaucratic

system would execute even a young child like me. Isn't there some kind of interest or

rights group, or even a group with vested interests, that would protect me?

"I couldn't possibly turn my back on the enemy."

"Well, that's that, I suppose. Let's just finish this up as fast as we can."

And then messages from the other units come in. There's nothing better than good

timing.

I love that my men can read a situation. I'm sure they'll be a great help in getting

promoted. This is very good.

"Sorry, you're definitely going to be treating us. Engage!"

"Twenty-five years… I'll be drinking my fill. Company, forward!"

"Nothing better than having good brothers-in-arms. Well then, 'scuse us, Commander."

"A-argh! Those guys! My apologies, Commander."

The atmosphere had completely changed. They were great backup.

Even though I had been in human resources, where I didn't have to deal with too many

nights out drinking or entertaining clients, when someone is this good, I know in a

glance. These guys are definitely cut out to be in sales. I'm sure they have what it takes

to handle strategy.

What a waste. It really is a shame. The fact that they love war instead of business is

just too bad. I have to respect their free will, yet I still find it unfortunate.

"Okay. Don't worry about me. Go on ahead."

"Thank you. Fourth Company, we're going out in front!"

Apparently, all my company commanders are full of fight. They're raring to go like

Dobermans before their prey, so when I let go of their leashes, they're off.

They immediately get into a spindle-shaped assault formation and zoom out of the sky

to put pressure on the enemy from above. It's a truly beautiful maneuver. The

instantaneous charge is performed in perfect unity, but their desire for battle is so

intense they get a bit too daring.

Really, I had intended to have Fourth Company be my direct support, but if they like

fighting so much, maybe it's safer to keep my distance. They might be too aggressive

to use as my shield; enemies might actually be attracted to them.

"Sheesh, so I'm up against the slowpoke bombers? Doesn't seem like we'll be able to

dance."

My own lonely interception battle. Against bombers, I probably won't get to perform

any elegant maneuvers. It'll be the simple labor of turning into a fixed battery and

blasting them out of the sky. If I miss, I'll just be a laughingstock, so although it's a safe

job, I can't take it too easy.

"I'm not really in the mood, but this is work. Let's just get it done one step at a time."

Maybe it's good not to stick out, but you can't show people what you can do that way.

Besides, I'm up against bombers. I have to aim very precisely to take them out.

Since I can't sense magic and use that for guidance, I have to employ either heat

detection or radar. I may be a mage, but I don't come with radar, and building in a heat

detection formula is a pain. Considering it's going to basically be a sniper attack in the

end, it doesn't seem worth the time and effort.

Frankly, it's no wonder that puts me in a foul mood. At least if I down the things my

score will go up.

"Major von Degurechaff, how copy?"

"This is Pixie 01, solid copy. Since when have you forgotten we use call signs?"

And that's why I gave a cranky response to the message that suddenly came in.

Perhaps not being able to control my emotions disqualifies me as an adult member of

society, but nobody would be happy to have a difficult job interrupted with a flagrant

violation of regulations. Honestly what does everyone think rules and regulations are

for? There are too many careless people in the world.

"M-my apologies."

"What do you think the military discipline and regulations are for?"

You can't just fix this kind of thing by saying sorry. Regulation violations lead to

accidents. Don't you know Heinrich's Law, the rule of thumb an insurance worker

discovered taking statistics? Accumulating small mistakes is the first step to a serious

accident. Mistakes must be eradicated.

"Please leave it at that. This is Hotel 03, Hotel 03. Do you copy?"

Someone who sounds important got on the line, so I decide to adjust my attitude.

Sometimes swallowing your pride is the right choice. As a member of an organization,

what you need to do is simple: Don't bite the hand that feeds you.

"This is Pixie 01. Loud and clear. What can I do for you?"

"The reorganization of the Viper Battalion and the units that retreated is complete.

Shall we have them act as a rear guard?"

This time instead of scolding, Tanya breaks into a smile at what a well-made address

it was. The Viper Battalion is worn down, and she figured they would be more like

deadweight than reinforcements, but it seems their reorganization has gone well.

Perhaps the Northern Army Group is more efficient than she gave them credit for.

"Wow, what a speedy reorganization! Very well, please do."

Anything useful is welcome. Deadweight that can't even serve as a shield is annoying,

but she is always happy to accept pawns.

She has more luck than she thought this time. People shouldn't rely on fortune, but

neither should they be too narrow-minded to seize a good chance.

"What? Oh, understood. I'll get them on their way."

"You have my thanks. Now watch us work. Over."

While I'm at it, I want to share the news with my unit. Even for a bunch of war

aficionados, there shouldn't be anything better than getting more friends. Frankly,

Tanya is ready to welcome reinforcements right away.

The truth of the matter is that they were outnumbered, so she couldn't wait for the

reorganized battalion to arrive.

"Battalion, this is your commander."

Yeah, they'll probably be happy. They'll be able to fight without worrying about their

rear. I live by the creed "safety first," and even I'm not against realizing a few

achievements in this battle.

"Rejoice. We're getting backup. Some reinforcements are coming all the way out here

to help us."

I'm surprised a unit that withdrew could be reorganized so efficiently. Wonderful.

That's the word to express how moved I am. Granted, it's dangerous to judge a whole

situation by looking at only a couple events. Still, even if the radio operator is inept,

this shows his superior officer is on point.

The reinforcements will probably be here any minute.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Why don't we just take our time and wait for our backup? I can't say that because my

will to fight would be suspect, but if I can get them to understand as much indirectly,

there would be no problem. Tanya's real intention as she informs them of the

reinforcements is to change the plan in a big way, from an offensive tactical formation

to a defensive one, just like in Dragon Quest.

"""Yes, ma'am!"""

The clipped reply surely means they grasp her intentions. Tanya nods in satisfaction.

"Now, let's do as much work as we get paid for!"

-x-X-x-

NOVEMBER 7, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, SOMEWHERE IN THE ENTENTE ALLIANCE…

A HOSPITAL OPERATED BY THE COMMONWEALTH HUMANITARIAN

ORGANIZATION PEACE WORLD

-x-X-x-

"The bombers are done for! No support yet?!"

"The light—the light!! Uwaaaagh!"

"We lost the formation leader's signal?!"

"Break! They're fast! Put up a wall of bullets! Don't get anywhere near them!"

"Pixie 02 to all companies. Charge!"

"Ngh! They're past the vanguard?! Stop shooting and be ready for a close-quarters

fight!"

"Mayday! Mayday! No rescue yet?!"

"Norland Control to all units. Abort the operation! Abort the operation! As of this

moment, abort the operation!"

"The bomber unit—!"

"Fucking hell! The vanguard got savaged! Who are those guys?!"

"The recon company has been wiped out! At this rate, we'll be surrounded!"

"They got past our close support?!"

"Viper 02 to Pixie 01. We're on our way now."

"Roger. No sign of enemy reinforcements. Expect a hot pursuit."

"Viper 02, roger."

"Detecting enemy reinforcements! They're the size of a battalion."

"Reinforcements? What about ours?!"

"Norland Control to all units. Retreat immediately to marshaling point two. I say again,

retreat immediately to marshaling point two."

"It's no good! I can't lose them!"

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

"Pixie 01 to all hands. Transition to cleanup."

"Viper 02 to Pixie Battalion. We have visual."

"We see you, too. Can we leave the pursuit to you? I want my team to mop up the

stragglers."

"Enemy reinforcements have arrived!"

"Fucking hell! Don't stop! Run! Hurry!"

"Roger. Thanks."

"For fuck's sake, this is hell!"

"My intestines… Someone pick up my intestines!"

"They're your sworn enemy. No need to hold back. Over."

What the hell did I drink last night?

The first question that entered his mind was absurd.

He could tell someone was shaking him, but it took a long time for his brain to start

working.

First Lieutenant Gunning wondered why his whole body felt so heavy.

Someone is…calling me?

"Nn…!"

His consciousness returned, though it was hazy, and outlines began to appear.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!"

…Well, this is no good. If they're not using my name, it's either my boss or the military

police.

But I'm still out of it. I'm so dizzy I can't take it.

Seriously, what did I drink? I'm fit as a fiddle after a bottle of Scotch, so why…? Did

someone slip me vodka?

He only cracked his eyes open, as was his habit.

A blinding white space. Something was blinking. No, maybe some kind of machine?

The brightness still bothered him, but a strange sense that his body wasn't his own

confused him. He was so weary that try as he might he couldn't move.

As he stared up at the ceiling, his brain finally woke up, and as it got up to speed, he

started to grasp his surroundings. At a glance, it didn't seem to be his room. So what's

going on?

He had no recollection of this. A pure white field. Hmm? A room? I think I know this

place. I have some memory of it. So where am I?

"…Uhhhgh. Where…?"

He wasn't particularly looking for a reply with the groan, but it seemed the person

who had been calling out to him had heard. It caught the attention of everyone in the

vicinity, apparently, and suddenly he was engulfed in a huge commotion. For whatever

reason, he tried to sit up, but he nearly tipped over instead. His body wouldn't move

the way he wanted. It seemed like someone propped him up, and he vaguely

understood he was being held.

"Lieutenant! Okay, you're conscious, right? Medic! Bring a surgeon, quick!"

"What…?"

Just voicing the question exhausted him completely. Something weird is going on. He

couldn't find the words for it, but something was different. What the heck happened to

me?

He wasn't half-asleep, but though his awareness kept increasing, the foggy light before

his eyes failed to dissipate. Not only would his eyes not focus, he couldn't hold them

steady.

If I were hungover, I'd feel sick and have a headache…and I don't. As reality slowly

returned to him, it started to dawn on him what a strange situation he was in.

"Relax. How much do you remember?"

"…What? What are you saying?"

No. I don't want to remember any more than that.

I must not remember.

I can't… What?

"Captain, it's no good. He's totally minced."

"Here, too. The log's been destroyed. We recovered it, but I don't think any of this will

be useful."

Minced?

Destroyed?

My…

What about my mates…?

"Welcome to the Empire. Do you have a passport?"

"Ha-ha-ha, Commander. We didn't bring a welcome bouquet. Now what?"

"Oof, what will I do with you guys? But you brought the fireworks, right?"

"Oh, that's right. Those look kinda like flowers, right?"

"Great. Then maybe I'll sing a welcome song."

"Hmm? You know a song?"

"Yeah, a good one."

"Do you need me to sew your mouths closed?" the captain snapped.

Somewhere, someone hastily shut their mouth, but it was too late.

Red, red flowers. My brothers. My superiors. My men.

"…Ahhaahhhhhhhhhhhggghh!"

"Medic! A sedative! Quick!"

"You idiots! You can expect disciplinary action for this!"

They're meat now.

Bright red, bloody blossoms.

Burst.

Blooming.

All over.