Part 2

During that journey, one of the few ways to pass the time was sharing rumors. As he'd

heard, the old stagers either slept, played cards, or spread rumors. Grantz dozed now

and then, otherwise chatting as the train rocked along. He heard some rumors he

knew of, too.

For example, one legend at the academy said a second-class student had once

murmured that Cadet Degurechaff was more terrifying than the battlefield. She

certainly is scary. Such were the thoughts running through his mind as he presented

himself at Rhine Command.

When he arrived, he heard he would be attached to an instructor unit, which was a

relief.

According to Command, he'd be retrained as a replacement before getting his

assignment, so the first thing to do was get used to the front lines.

Maybe I can do this! It was several days ago that he had thought that.

"Gentlemen, welcome to the Rhine front!"

If the devil exists, it has to be our instructor, the commander of the 203rd Aerial Mage

Assault Battalion, the legendary Major von Degurechaff.

The way she smiled. The way she looked at us like we were maggots. The way she

seemed thirsty for blood.

I'd believe she had tried to kill a rebellious underclassman or crack his skull open. If I

screw up on the battlefield, she'll definitely kill me. That's how threatened I felt by the

instructor who just had to also be my advisor.

…I wanna cry.

Out of all the replacements, I was the only one who had been through the academy. In

other words, everyone either didn't know the rumor that she was a demon in the guise

of a little girl or laughed it off. The ones who figured they could handle war if that little

kid could were on the safer side.

Just the thought of what the ones who underestimated her might do made my stomach hurt. I've never hated the words collective responsibility so much.

Tonight, I'm off duty. I should go to bed early. It happened just as I thought that.

We were summoned. The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion was ordered to appear in the

briefing room, grouped by platoon, within three minutes.

"Hurry up! Run!"

I urged my platoon, who had been finishing dinner; raced over to the briefing room;

and just barely made it at two minutes and fifty-one seconds. No other platoons had

arrived yet. Well, no, in ran Seventh Platoon; they'd been competing with those of us

in Fourth Platoon. That second, the three minutes were up.

And the next second, the superior officers broke into broad grins and went to go get

the tardy platoons. Did the others even feel bad for being late?

In any case, we all assembled quickly. And our smiling battalion commander

announced a night picnic plan. Not that it involved anything like a picnic.

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, I think that aside from Fourth and Seventh Platoons, you

deserve penalties."

This was the major who had once said during a speech at the academy that deadweight

should be killed. I pitied the groups who hadn't been able to make it in three minutes

because I figured they would be thrown into hell, but that wasn't right.

"In order to teach you the importance of haste, I'm sending you to the trenches. Since

you don't seem to understand when I tell you, you'll experience firsthand what

happens to slowpokes."

They'd actually be buried in the depths of hell. The shocked mages were immediately

assigned to the warning trench. The warning trench on the front lines of the district

with the worst fighting… They would be what are commonly called "canaries," the first

to get attacked on the forward-most line. The mortality rate was naturally the highest;

it was a position where you couldn't rest for even a moment.

By the way, they're called canaries after the caged birds that are taken into mines. The

comparison is made because of the criticism that the raison d'e tre of anyone in this

post is to stop responding.

But I shouldn't have been relieved.

"Now then, you fine, punctual fellows, I have a reward."

She looked at us one by one as if she was going to tell us something wonderful. My

platoon mates next to me seemed to be expecting a reward, but I wasn't.

I had a really bad feeling.

"You get a little amity-building recreation. We'll go on a picnic, make a toast, and invite

some new friends to come back with us. I guess you can call it a party."

As soon as she said that, someone handed us a pamphlet that said Field Trip Guide.

Picnic procedure?

"First, equip hand grenades and your shovel; then ready your rifle and computation orb.

Dress in night camo for CQB. By the way, if you use your computation orb or rifle without

permission, you'll be shot or beaten to death. Republican soldiers are people, too. That

means you can make friends with them"?

Then why did we have to knock them out with shovels?

"…In ancient times, people made friends by talking with their fists"?

"Civilized people of the present use the implement born of civilization, the shovel…"?

This is crazy. No one said it aloud, but it was the look on everyone's faces. This was a

nighttime mission to abduct enemy soldiers—a so-called intelligence-gathering

mission but extremely dangerous nonetheless. If we were going to drag enemies back

with us, it went without saying that we would have to approach the enemy trenches.

Basically, we had to sneak up to the enemy position—where machine guns, all types

of heavy artillery, infantry guns, snipers, and tons of soldiers were waiting—and

abduct enemies out of the warning trench, which was the place that was on highest

alert.

"…We're gonna die."

It was from there that things would get really intense. "After using your shovels to

mingle with lots of friends, let's invite some to our house. But I think all our friends will try to keep us from leaving in various ways. The field trip lasts until you shake them off

and make it home"?

"Incidentally, I'm not too worried about you punctual fellows, but one thing…" She

beamed. Oh God, please save us. "If you're too slow, we're leaving you behind. Yes,

anyone who wants a quick double promotion can stay out there. We wouldn't want to

hinder your success in life."

She said the same sort of thing when I first met her. I didn't realize it was word for

word the truth!

Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz realized he was shaking.

My survival instinct was screaming. I wanted to avoid the war, the combat, the killing.

I was hesitating.

But one glance from Major von Degurechaff was enough to subjugate that instinct. She

was far more terrifying. We sallied forth like lambs being herded by a sheepdog. No

one raised so much as a groan. We advanced under the cover of night, crawling in

silence.

The commander was the first to strike. We heard the thudding of her shovel followed

by the grunts of several people. We whacked the enemy soldiers caught with their

guard down, too, as if our lives depended on it.

How much time passed after that?

It felt like the experience lasted a lifetime, but in reality, it was only a few dozen

seconds.

It was a short moment. During that tiny amount of time, all the enemy soldiers in the

specified area of the warning trench were either incapacitated or deep in a sleep they

would never wake up from.

I could still feel the shock of the shovel impact in my hand; it was different from the

recoil of shooting like we were taught at the academy. That particular feeling, the

sensation of crushing something, was still impressed upon my body.

If I had been left like that, I wonder what would have happened to me.

"It's time. Company, carry the prisoners. Newbies, you're support. In thirty seconds,

the magic ban is lifted. We're flying outta here. Sync your watches—three, two, one,

start."

But the orders delivered in a calm, unruffled whisper brought me back to reality.

Combined with my training, they slowly got my body moving. That's what I had been

drilled for. My training saved me.

As instructed, thirty seconds later I started up my computation orb at full throttle and

took off.

We really hightailed it back to our own defensive lines. It only took a few minutes. All

we had to do was fly—simple. But it was horrible. My heart raced with every artillery

shot. It hurt to breathe.

I was so terrified I hardly felt like myself anymore.

When we climbed up high to avoid being shot accidentally and set a safe course for

the rear base, all the stress left my body at once, and weariness washed over me.

…How could the major just calmly sing a hymn?

Today, after completing her morning exercises and eating breakfast, Major von

Degurechaff reaches for her pen as if she's made up her mind.

In the rear base, the mail can get through. Naturally, it's possible to send a letter if

necessary.

It's military mail, so sometimes there are delays, but in general, things can be sent and

received like any normal letter.

Of course, someone like her with no relatives doesn't have any personal letters to

write.

She only ever writes on official business or unofficial business.

What she's writing this time is official. That said, in a rare case, she takes out her

stationery hesitantly, and her pen moves over the paper awkwardly.

She's already written a pile of these documents. She just accepts that they're work and gets them done. But today the tip of her pen feels heavy.

Well, it would be stranger if a person could write it without trouble.

To the dear family of Warrant Officer Anluk E. Kahteijanen,

I am Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff, his superior officer.

I regret to inform you that your one and only young Anluk E. Kahteijanen is being

discharged with a disability.

He became abruptly ill during an operation, and the surgeon has judged that it would be

difficult for him to endure lengthy military service.

His recovery will most likely require a long recuperation period at home or in a military

hospital.

The Personnel Division has agreed to go ahead with this treatment plan.

Please speak with him and ensure he has a restful convalescence.

And please forgive us for returning your child in such a condition.

He is an outstanding mage, our irreplaceable brother-in-arms, brave and trusted by all.

We are deeply saddened to no longer have Anluk E. Kahteijanen in our ranks.

Small consolation though it must be, I recommended him for the Field Service Badge

First Class and the Disability Medal, both of which were approved.

I hope he makes a full recovery.

Sincerely,

[xxx] Unit Commander, Imperial Army Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff

…To think the day would come when I'd lose a man to some bad potatoes. Apparently,

the legendary remark from an American Thunderbolt pilot that even a veteran can't

beat food poisoning wasn't a joke.

So those potatoes really were rotten after all. Tanya puts away her pen, irritated by the

worsening logistics situation.

Sending a letter to the family when something happens to a subordinate is the superior

officer's responsibility, and I'm not against writing…but food poisoning from potatoes?

Tanya has finished the letter, but she has complicated feelings about the incident and

can't get over it.

He had eaten, participated in a night raid, and shocked me upon our return by

throwing up and complaining of an awful stomachache. I was dumbfounded. A veteran

writhing about like that, I was sure he had to have been hit by an NBC weapon. Those

work even on mages. I hurriedly cast a medical formula, but it only eased the pain.

Protective films provide comprehensive NBC coverage, and I remember we were on

the verge of panicking that some new weapon not on that list had been developed.

When the surgeon rushed over and examined him, we were finally able to sigh in relief.

In other words, it was just sudden, acute food poisoning. And it only hit unlucky Anluk

E. Kahteijanen.

He was a good mage, damn it. I never thought I would send someone away from the

front like this.

But it's really great that Personnel treated his condition as a disability. This way, he

gets his pension, and his honor as a soldier remains intact. And I, as an officer, won't

have the blemish on my record of a dishonorable subordinate.

I mean, you can only really laugh at an officer who loses a man to bad potatoes. Who

would have thought I had a guy in my unit who would be taken out by his own

stomach…? Nah, it's not even funny.

The Republican bombardments come as always, shaking our position like clockwork,

but I must feel oddly reflective on this auspicious day because I sent a man to the rear

for a difficult-to-verbalize reason.

That said, what we learned from this lesson was promptly applied. As such, this

morning's breakfast was bacon, hard biscuits, and ersatz coffee. The vegetable soup

featuring the guilty potatoes was hastily disposed of. Personally, I worry about my diet

being unbalanced without vegetables, but there's nothing I can do about it.

I had someone go to get supplies first thing this morning, so I figure maybe we'll get a chance to eat canned vegetables with lunch. And well, even if we are on a battlefield,

we can't escape falling into routines, and I'm a bit sick of it. It'd be great if we could get

a meal that's not part of the rotation.

Aside from these things, our daily battles in the trenches take place in the world of All

Quiet on the Western Front. We basically repeat the same pattern day after day. The

only novelty to keep my attention is whether the recruits training on the front lines

are doing well or not.

Well, I only put them in yesterday. Tanya expects that after a week's baptism of war in

the trenches she'll find out whether they're usable or not.

If not, all she has to do is send them back and apply for their retraining.

So although she regrets war's brand of tunnel vision, she devotes herself to instructing

her troops. First, just as her boss said, she gave them the most difficult test first;

despite the risks, she reluctantly took them on a night battle, but to her surprise and

delight, they only lost two.

Though she'd told everyone they were leaving in thirty seconds, that pair couldn't

keep up and were blown away in an artillery barrage, a fact confirmed by one of her

subordinates. That was all. Apart from that, the newbies all followed instructions, and

no one went insane. As Tanya mulls over the recruits' misfortune to be blown up

together in their two-man cell, she finds herself in a somewhat philosophical mood

and begins to wonder about the role of luck in food poisoning.

In any case, she's doing what she needs to do.

But actually, even though she's doing what she needs to do, she sometimes gets

doubtful looks.

For instance, she reported in, "I'M INSTRUCTING THEM ACCORDING TO YOUR ORDERS."

And the response she received was "ROGER. GOOD LUCK."

But then when they went on the night raid and lost only two men, the higher-ups told

her to be more careful next time. She began wondering if maybe they wanted her to

do it with zero losses.

But this is a battlefield, she argued, and we went on a high-risk operation. Losing two newbies under those circumstances is not bad.

But when it comes to luck, it seems Tanya has to admit that she needs to take certain

things into account.

Still, she finds it lamentable that just because they don't want any losses and her unit

got unlucky, the blame is laid on her as the commander who was present.

I know history repeats in little ways, from private companies to the Yankee military.

For example, when that guy MacArthur ordered his subordinate Eisenhower to plan a

parade and then insisted he had no memory of it—there are a number of rotten

incidents like that throughout time.

Still, Tanya is feeling really sad. Ahh, I might start to cry. I mean, I'm a girl, you know!

…??

When her thoughts stray, she suddenly realizes she feels off.

Her mind floods with the horror of psychological contamination.

She runs off in search of some kind of help as if her life depends on it.

A doctor! I need to see a doctor!

-x-X-x-

APRIL 28, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL ARMY GENERAL STAFF OFFICE,

JOINT MEETING OF THE SERVICE CORPS AND OPERATIONS1

-x-X-x-

"Well, it's the appointed hour, so I would like to begin the joint meeting between the

Service Corps and Operations surrounding the pros and cons of the Rhine offensive

plan."

The officer presiding over the meeting spoke, but no one followed him, and silence

reigned.

In contrast with the splendid exterior of the building, the expressions of the highranking men in the meeting room were dour.

Some of the officers were practically tearing their hair out with incessant worries,

unsure what to do, and among them was Major General von Zettour. The situation

changed from moment to moment, and just getting a handle on what was going on

was incredibly difficult. Moreover, the Empire was learning from the rising pile of

corpses, courtesy of the Republicans, how fundamentally impossible a frontal

breakthrough was in trench warfare.

That is, the price of a front assault on the trenches was too high. On the other hand, a

large-scale firepower offensive would put too much strain on the supply lines.

They had just improved the supply-line light-rail to the front, but there were already

requests from every post for reinforcements coming in day after day.

The burden on supply had blown through prewar estimates long ago.

The Entente Alliance was essentially collapsing, and it was necessary to allot some

military strength to the area for a short time to ensure it, which also weighed heavy

on Logistics.

Even the local army group alone was enough to secure overwhelming superiority for

the Imperial Army in the north, but the harsh winter weather had held them back.

They weren't in a situation where they could spare troops to reinforce the main

fighting lines on the Rhine. These lines would probably be frozen stiff until next spring.

In other words, it would be a while before they could expect any easing up on the

supply line burden from the north.

Meanwhile, the navy was in the process of gaining superiority in the channel against

the Republic, but the navy and army disagreed on whether that was a good thing or

not. The air and magic forces were prepared to support either side if asked, but the

army's and navy's worries were just so different.

The navy apparently couldn't wait to break through the channel. After all, their

ambition was to wipe out the Republican fleet in a battle of warships. They even

proposed doing an amphibious operation afterward, like with the Entente Alliance, to

completely annihilate the country.

As far as Zettour could see, taking command of the sea for a landing operation seemed

likely to keep casualties down far more effectively than advancing by breaking through

the trenches. The issue was the safety of the route if they went by sea. If they broke into the channel between the Republic and the Commonwealth, they had to be worried

about how the (superficially) neutral Commonwealth would react. Would it just stand

quietly by?

He'd already been over these questions with Major General von Rudersdorf. They

were both forced to conclude that if they entered the channel, the Commonwealth

would probably interfere to maintain the balance of power. If that happened, the fears

that made the rounds at the office in "Predictions on the Shape and Direction of the

Current War" and "Theory of Total War," would come true.

Yes, world war. The war's expansion would be like a never-ending chain reaction, and

they wouldn't be able to avoid it. If that happened, they could end up with a Rhine-like

scenario on every front.

The Republican Army on the Rhine lines was quite a handful. If it was only the

Republic, though, they still had a chance of winning.

But what would happen if some units from the Commonwealth showed up? They

could find themselves in the opposite of their current superior position.

As long as it was doubtful the Imperial Navy could stop the Commonwealth Navy, if

the remnants of the Republican Navy joined in, it would be all the imperial fleet could

do to protect itself.

Of course, they couldn't twiddle their thumbs for too long, either. If they waited to act,

even the Empire would run out of steam. Then they would lose the strategic effects of

having brought down Dacia and the Entente Alliance.

And they couldn't bear the idea of being beaten from the side by the Commonwealth

or some other interloping power. What can we do about this dilemma?

Yet, it was becoming clear that if they tolerated the current situation, anything that

happened to affect the supply lines could spell disaster. That was their irritating

predicament.

Since the founding of the nation, the Great Reich had obtained its historical lands but

was also hounded by territorial conflicts, so there was never any lack of sparks for the

next war.

Hence their distress. No one with a simple solution to a problem suffers. For better or worse, there were people present who knew the plan.

Zettour knew. He knew that all they had to do was not lose. Zettour believed, to a

rather surprising degree for a member of the military, that there was no need for them

to go on the attack. Simply put, the status quo was fine.

And Rudersdorf was also aware of it. He knew there was no need for them to make

serious attacks on the trenches. Unlike Zettour, however, he couldn't accept the notion

that this attrition war was fine. He had the lucid determination of a soldier: If they

could control losses and win, then why not do that?

They finally both made up their minds and received permission to speak.

"I feel we should change the way we're looking at this problem."

Zettour didn't consider himself timid, but given the significance of what he was about

to say, even he was nervous. There was just a hint of stiffness in his voice, too small for

almost anyone to pick up, but he spoke as calmly as possible.

His secret plan to disentangle these snarled-up threads in one blow would be gory.

The Gordian knot is just a story. A sharp sword is sharp no matter who it's cutting.

"With our existing doctrine and values, we probably won't make it. We need a

paradigm shift."

Achieving victory by attacking the enemy castle and forcing them to sign a capitulation

was now impossible. It would be difficult to demand a full surrender outside of

instances like the Empire and Dacia or the Entente Alliance, where there was an

overwhelming gap in national strength. Looking at the current terrible war, it seemed

the bloodletting would have to continue until one or the other of the powers couldn't

take any more.

"Don't aim for victory, avoid defeat. If we don't do that, it will be too hard to be the last

one standing."

"…General von Zettour, you mean you oppose the offensive?" a member of Operations

asked him, perplexed. That was as far as their thinking went.

No, that was probably common sense. To them, the offensive was how they would

overcome and trample the enemy and end the war. But they were wrong

"No, I support the offensive as such, but I do think we should modify its operational

aims."

"Change its aims?"

Go on—no, stop. The question could mean both of those things, and Zettour answered

by dropping a bomb in plain terms.

"The goal of the operation shouldn't be to break through. It should be to bleed the

enemy. To put it another way, our offensive plan should be to wear out as many enemy

soldiers as possible."

Conclusion: Exhaust the enemy.

"We carry out a thorough bloodletting and crush the enemy's ability to continue

fighting."

Degurechaff's remark.

He could still remember each and every word the young soldier said to him in the war

college library. The shock of hearing her speak so dispassionately about such a

horrible world was hard to forget. And now that everything was progressing just as

she had said, he was even more surprised. How much did that girl Degurechaff predict?

Predicting the future of a war is extremely difficult.

The only constant rule is that common sense can change in an instant and a new

principle of war can conquer the battlefield. There aren't many soldiers who can adapt

to those changes, so to think there's one who can predict them is…!

"In other words, we bleed the enemy until they collapse. This is the only way to resolve

this."

Someone unconsciously shifted, and the creak of the chair sounded extra loud in the

quiet room. It was completely silent.

Zettour was actually feeling calm in the face of it. No, strictly speaking, he was

sympathizing with Degurechaff. He sensed now that she had been able to speak so

calmly back in the library because she understood.

She understood the cost of breaking through would be too high. Even if they could pull

it off, their losses would be heavy. And if the Commonwealth, anxious about the

deteriorating war situation, decided to intervene, they would be pushed right back.

That would be the worst possible outcome for the Empire.

If they shed all that blood not for nothing but a push in the wrong direction, the

soldiers' will to fight would crumble.

I couldn't send men in that condition back to break through again, at least. Giving the

order would only lead to more waste. So why not let the enemy make that mistake?

We'll just wait for the Republic to drown in their own blood.

Zettour believed this was the only viable option for the Imperial Army. In other words,

war is ultimately about not heroes or the expression of chivalry but how efficiently

you can kill your enemies.

To put it another way, it was inevitable that this conflict would become total war.

"So we'll thoroughly pummel enemy soldiers and supplies. I ask that we draw up an

offensive plan with those aims, and that is all I wish to say at this time."

Surely, almost definitely, our future has been decided. The frozen expressions on the

faces of his colleagues and subordinates spoke to that.

You're crazy, they said.

The operation he proposed was the opposite of almost anyone's idea of common

sense. Leave parts of their territory undefended and prioritize wiping out the enemy

field army. And finish them off with a revolving door? You would have the army that exists

to defend the fatherland carry out this operation? No one could help but think these

things.

But sooner or later, the staffers sitting there would understand—there was no other

path. He didn't know when, but he knew they would come around to the plan for its

military merit, in every way except emotionally.

"I agree. Clearly, we should focus on annihilating the enemy's field army." Despite the

others' hesitation, Rudersdorf made a clear declaration of his strong support for

Zettour's idea. He was aware that posterity would judge them harshly, but he made up his mind and stated his position with confidence.

It's a mad world where promising youths are pit against one another in battles to the

death to see who can draw the most blood… And we're likely to carve our names into

history as the ringleaders. If that's the case, then let's at least improve the situation a

little bit by putting an end to the war with our own hands.

"I have an idea… We advance. In other words, I believe the best plan is to escape

forward!"

And therefore, he made a proposal that was devoid of rationality: Fight the war aiming

not at the territory but at the army.

…Oh God, why do you let these things happen?

After vomiting up the contents of his stomach, including everything he'd eaten the

night before, Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz was lamenting to the heavens

in a corner of his lodgings. Even the recollection of what he'd just experienced

horrified him.

I hit a Republican soldier whose name I don't know over the head with my shovel and

kept swinging like a madman. Then orders brought me back to reality, and soon after

that, we were ordered to leave.

I poured mana into my computation orb like my life depended on it so I could race

across the sky for all I was worth.

As soon as I took off, several machine guns began firing at me.

I frantically formed my defensive shell and protective film. No matter what, I had to

get away. With that on my mind, I forgot about support completely and made a run for

it.

That's when it happened. Whether by some trick of fate or the work of the devil, I saw

the battalion commander climbing at a furious pace. Despite the dark veil of night, she

was singing a hymn in an invigorating voice—the battalion commander. I couldn't

believe what I was seeing, but I was scared she was escaping alone and would leave

me behind, so I tried to follow her.

I don't want to get left behind was what I was thinking when I started to ascend, but right at that moment, First Lieutenant Weiss seemed to come out of nowhere to grab

my arm and pull me down. When we got back to base, he chewed me out—Why would

you approach the commander while she's acting as our decoy? Are you insane?—but if

he hadn't saved me, I would have been turned into mincemeat like those other two

guys who came to the front the same time as me.

At the time, all I was thinking about was getting back, so my memories before I made

it onto a safe flight path are really hazy.

Looking at the scenes recorded on my computation orb, I want to thank God I was

somehow able to make it back from such a dense rain of fire.

It was only a few seconds. The reactions of the pair from Seventh Platoon were delayed

by mere moments, but they paid for it with their lives.

One careless moment. But it meant so much.

The second I arrived at the rear base, the sensation of bashing someone's head

returned to my hands, and I felt sick. No, it wasn't just me. All the recruits felt the same

way.

The guilt—it was like I'd suddenly become an unpardonable criminal.

And right next to us and the worries tormenting us, the senior officers coolly began to

interrogate the prisoners.

"Tell the truth. If you don't, my hand might slip."

"Relax. We follow the law of war. If you fellows take the prisoner's oath, you'll have

your rights."

"Don't worry. We're not torturers. We're proper, sensible humans."

…I couldn't believe it.

I couldn't believe humans were capable of this.

This battlefield.

I had thought I understood that all manner of brutal, inhuman things would be done.

I'm a soldier, myself. I thought as long as I was in the military, I wouldn't hesitate to do

my duty.

…Keyword: thought.

But what was this?

Was this a soldier's duty, what must be done to protect the fatherland?

My duty?

I couldn't stand the feeling. It was a strange sensation, like I was losing myself forever.

I didn't want to remember my first…my first time killing someone with my own hands.

People die too easily on the battlefield. People you eat dinner with one night disappear

by breakfast.

In just a short time, I kill people, and my friends get killed.

The Rhine front is really, truly hell.

The urge to run flitted across my mind.

But then—

The batmen came to tell us breakfast was ready. Since we were at a rear base, as an

officer, I had the right to use the provisional officers' mess.

Put another way, I have to eat at the officers' mess.

As I rinsed out my mouth and straightened out my uniform, the mirror reflected my

haggard face. In just one day, I'd transformed into a monster. I couldn't believe it was

me.

"…Now I've seen war."

Quietly.

My inner thoughts slipped from my mouth on their own.

Leaning on the sink, I just managed to hold back the rising nausea, and then I looked

to the heavens.

Really, how can everyone act normal in this crazy world of war?

The moment I entered the officers' mess, the feeling intensified.

It was crowded with the officers from my battalion. I heard the commander had eaten

and was already at work. And the officers were taking their time and chatting.

Despite what had just taken place, I even heard laughter. Everyone was smiling and

talking, relaxed. Something about the gap between the insanity suffusing the

battleground and this scene disgusted me.

My batman waited on me, and my food came out, but how could I possibly have an

appetite? Even so, I still had the habit I'd learned in my military career to force food

down my throat if I had to.

-x-X-x-

[Image]

-x-X-x-

I used coffee to break up the hard biscuits and made myself eat them along with some

bacon. There was no way the flavors would register, but I figured my body needed

them to stay alive, so I swallowed them down.

Humans have to eat, even at times like this. It's the same as forcing food down my throat

when I was exhausted at the academy. That's what I told myself, but it took an awfully

long time for me to finish my meal.

Then I found myself heading to the small auditorium for the usual morning classroom

session.

My mentality was to follow orders due to force of habit from the drilled repetitions,

again and again. Even times like this when I had no willpower, I was still a soldier.

Then I realized I wanted to burst out laughing.

"…Wait a minute, what happened?"

I can laugh. It was a startling, refreshing discovery.

I guess I didn't expect it because of my situation. Apparently, the human spirit is

ridiculously resilient.

"Oh, I can't be late."

I took so long to eat breakfast even though soldiers, praised for their unceasing

vigilance, are supposed to get that over with quickly.

As a result, I had no time to lose that morning. If I stood around lost in thought, I

wouldn't make it to the lecture on time. When I realized what time it was, I dashed off

to the hall.

"Magic Second Lieutenant Grantz coming in."

"Grantz? Sure, come in."

But when I got there, the desks were empty aside from a few company commanders

and key officers giving me puzzled looks.

Am I too late? The worry flitted across my mind, but when I looked at the clock on the wall, I had just made it five minutes early.

Everyone was supposed to be there by that time.

Normally, I would never be the only one rushing over here.

"What is it? You guys are supposed to have off today."

Lieutenant Weiss must have understood why I was confused, and I finally realized

after he said something.

"Sir, embarrassingly enough, I thought we had class today."

I guess the shock from last night was so great that nothing they told us registered.

Wincing, Lieutenant Weiss explained that after we got back we'd been granted leave.

With my head full of other things, I had gotten up unsteadily this morning, but

apparently they thought I was taking my time with breakfast to enjoy it. In other

words, the superior officers figured I was having a relaxing breakfast on my day off, so

they didn't check on me.

I should have realized sooner.

"I'm sorry."

"What? You're fine. But while you're here, tell me what you thought of the raid," said

Lieutenant Weiss, pointing to a seat. The other officers didn't seem to mind, so I

decided to join them… Well, it was a good opportunity. You reap what you sow, after

all.

"Honestly, I was in a trance. Before I knew it, I was back at base."

I didn't want to die, so I had been completely absorbed in taking action. If you ask me

what I actually did, though, my memories are hazy.

It was embarrassing, but I was honest with them.

"Yeah, that's how it goes, I suppose."

"Well, nice job making it through. With that as your first combat experience, your next

one should be a lot easier."

But the officers didn't really seem to blame me. At the academy, I would have gotten

chewed out—Keep your head screwed on out there! On the front lines, they're more

realistic; they recognized that I had survived.

They were actually nice to me, as if being considerate were the norm.

"Everyone has to run that gauntlet. Well, if you survive the commander's training,

consider yourself more or less fine."

"Lieutenant Serebryakov toughened up just by flying after her."

"Well, yes, that's true… Would anyone like to trade with me?"

"Ha-ha-ha-ha. I'm second-in-command, so I can't fly with her."

"It wouldn't do for company commanders to bunch up, so unfortunately the reality of

my duties prevents me from trading with you, Lieutenant."

"It really is too bad." Lieutenant Serebryakov puffed out her cheeks and pouted as if

she were really fuming.

The collection of individuals here creating this peaceful atmosphere were the old

stagers who had been working so furiously the other day.

I suddenly felt like I might sigh out of relief. Up until just a moment ago, I was so

shaken, but I was starting to calm down a little bit.

Nobody said so, but I'm sure they had all been upset the first time they shot and killed

someone.

But now they have those memories, and they aren't upset by them.

"Don't think too hard, Lieutenant. Just focus on staying alive."

Someone patted me on the shoulder, and they let me go. It was proof that the more

experienced officers accepted me as a little bit tougher than a chick newly hatched.

The next day…

To Tanya, everything is going too well. For starters, when she wakes up, breakfast and coffee are already neatly prepared for her.

There are no harassing bombardments and no enemies wandering into their airspace,

so after eating in peace, her first administrative tasks of the day go smoothly. Awfully

smoothly. A request that would normally take weeks to fulfill gets accepted in one try,

and the supplies are delivered right away.

How horrifying can it get? Parsimony is the supply officer's job, but he hands over the

special bullets for loading with interference formulas and the casting detonators with

a smile. Meeting a grinning debt collector or auditor would feel more real— No,

actually, they're all unthinkable.

This is the first time everything has gone according to procedure; I never would have

imagined that supply delivery and paperwork inspection could be done so amiably.

Thoroughly astonished, Tanya has no choice but to be on guard at this unexpected

efficiency.

After all, supply and paperwork inspections operate on the iron rules of precedent and

not rocking the boat. In other words, you can practically describe them as a naturally

occurring phenomena.

If they are acting unusual, it has to be a sign of abnormal conditions. I guess I should

avoid going out for a while, if I don't have to, Tanya thinks; she's not averse to preparing

for any eventuality.

Today is definitely going to be trouble. Convinced of this, Tanya steels herself. She'll give

strict orders to the troops in the trenches to be on guard. She'll have her unit at combat

readiness level two. She'll keep an eye on the enemy and make preparations to ensure

a rapid response is possible.

Then, for some reason, nothing has happened and it's lunchtime. Food is served. It's a

real steak with sauerkraut. There's even rhubarb juice for dessert.

It all just arrived via the unusually smooth-running supply lines.

The members of her unit all dig in enthusiastically, but she still can't believe it and

inspects the food a bit before eating.

I'm jealous of the guy who struck gold with that potato condition and got to fall back

to a safe area.

I'm wondering if they want to send me to the rear already due to the nudge I may have

given foreign policy regarding the Commonwealth. If I got food poisoning, they'd

happily sacrifice me, so I can't be carelessly getting sick.

Of course, watching my subordinates wolf down the meat is torture.

Being the only one who has to wait is sad, indescribably so if it turns out nothing's

wrong. I can't stand it anymore. Reluctantly balancing reason with desire, I am about

to start on my meat, and that's when it happens.

Lieutenant Weiss comes running over with a telegram, and Tanya ends up missing her

chance to eat.

"Major, it's from Command."

With no choice but to lay down her knife and fork to exchange salutes, Tanya is the

very definition of displeased.

If he weren't so sensible I'd throw him out right now.

At least read the situation. It had better be awfully important if you're obstructing my

opportunity to have a fine meal on the front lines where we have almost nothing to

look forward to. Unbelievably outraged, she can't help but reply grouchily, though she

knows it's an emotional reaction.

"…I'm eating, Lieutenant Weiss."

Her tone doesn't veer into criticism, but her discontent is faintly audible. Most

subordinates would hesitate if their superior spoke to them in such a voice. No one

wants to incur their boss's wrath. But in unusual circumstances, they don't yield. And

this is one of those rare situations.

"My apologies, but it's quite urgent."

And from the fact that he presents not a message tube but simply a short cipher, she

smells trouble.

"Hmm? It's not orders?"

Usually orders come by telegraph.

As long as it's addressed to the commander, no one can read it before them except for

the radio operator.

So short ciphers are used when it doesn't need to be telegrammed or can't be.

Basically, it's going to be either stupid or utterly annoying and stupid.

"No, you've been summoned to appear immediately."

"Summoned to appear immediately? Understood."

Agh, what a day.

It's going to be horrible.