CHAPTER - V

JUNE 18, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE EASTERN LINES, RESCUE UNIT, FORWARD-MOST VANGUARD

On the endless expanse of land, the visible man-made objects were tiny dots. Little grains scattered here and there. From a bird's-eye view, they were probably easy to overlook as inconsequential blips.

But those who approached would surely gasp at their majesty. They were the very definition of massive—the best armor modern technology had to offer: This was the Imperial Army's armored division on the attack.

Leaving ruts in the ground, nothing blocking their path, the group was headed straight for Soldim 528. In the lead was the commander's tank equipped with a large wireless set to keep everyone together, and behind that were several vehicles also fully loaded with communication devices.

That was fairly unusual, but it was a move that manifested the commander's mentality. On the eastern front, where armored warfare frequently took place on a large scale, it had become normal for the unit commander to be there on the front lines in order to make snap decisions; there was nothing rare about that.

But the curious glances from the tanks and infantry trucks traveling around them—from the no small number of seasoned armored division veterans maintaining their formations perfectly—said that something about the commander's cluster was peculiar.

If you lent an ear to the radio, the answer would be clear immediately. "We've made contact with the enemy. It's a Federation Army defensive

unit!"

Ah, but the troops are familiar with that warning voice. The word enemy probably made them nervous, but it wasn't out of the ordinary, so…it wouldn't have caused the curious looks.

Nevertheless, for some reason today, everyone was watching for the combat vehicles' reaction with both bewilderment and anticipation.

The reason was the person sticking their head out of one of the tanks. After casting a look at the enemy camp, so focused that it was liable to burn it down, he turned around, shook his head, and shouted. "Notice to everyone in the division; I say again, notice to everyone in the division. This is an order from your commander. Ignore them! Go around! Do not engage!"

He was neither a company, battalion, nor even a regiment commander.

He was the commander of the whole division.

Commander Cramm's roar from the front was conveyed via the large wireless set to the other vehicles behind him.

"Don't even think about it—just press onward!"

As he waved an arm fiercely to say, Follow me! the figure he cut as he encouraged his troops brimmed with determination. Judging by appearance only, his subordinates probably would have exchanged glances that said, My old man does the same!

Cramm had the commander-out-front spirit, and he led the resolute charge after climbing aboard one of the vehicles and saying, "I'm going with you!"

All of this was the fruit of seeds sown by Zettour, who now sat in the rear seat of a military vehicle smiling in amusement.

"Boy, Lieutenant Grantz, Commander Cramm really has us beat. We might as well be spectators."

"General, with all due respect…" "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"I'm sure from Commander Cramm's point of view…" It was your desire to go to the front line that brought about this situation, don't you think, sir? That was the look in the eyes, like he wanted to say something, of the first lieutenant escorting Lieutenant General von Zettour; apparently, he didn't hesitate to express his opinion on the battlefield.

That Colonel von Degurechaff—how in the world does she train her

young officers so a mere lieutenant is mentally capable of speaking with no fear, and so unreservedly, to a general? If she wasn't so adept in the field, I'd throw her straight into an education job in the rear… It's actually quite frustrating.

Cracking a smile about what an amusing dilemma that was, he clapped Grantz on the back. "I see what you're trying to say, Lieutenant. But observing on the front lines is one of my duties in this position—as inspector, that is. So where's the front line? Here, right?"

"Though it may be impertinent of me to say so, do take care, General." "Of course, I'll be careful once this is over."

Realizing there was no way to get him to change his decision, Grantz flashed a vague smile and kept silent. Disappointed that his joke hadn't gone over better, Zettour turned to look at Cramm's tank.

The way he leaned out of the hatch, paying no heed to his own physical safety, was the very picture of a hero.

"Well! He really is daring," Zettour murmured, swallowing his complaint that all division commanders should be that way.

The group of vehicles driving across the vastness of the eastern front lands probably proclaimed universal order and discipline. But how many people would know that it was actually rare?

The Imperial Army, which had overexpanded due to the massive mobilization, rapidly swelled with new posts, but—not that anything could be done about it—the undereducated officers couldn't replace the personnel lost since the start of the war.

Divisional HR? They were already concerned about regimental HR. Given the mental exhaustion of the B Group staffers, they should have been long since swapped out. The fact that they couldn't even find the personnel to do that spoke volumes to how much the Imperial Army was scraping the bottom of the barrel.

That's why seeing with his own eyes that a critical unit like an armored division was maintaining high standards of both quality and motivation was a rare silver lining.

"It's a bit of a rough situation."

As long as they had to defend such a huge front like the one in the east with limited forces, outstanding, aggressive officers were essential for carrying out missions with the highest degree of efficiency.

"But we don't have enough… We don't have anywhere near enough officers."

After standing on the forward-most line on the eastern front, that was a reality anyone could feel whether they wanted to or not.

The fact that field officers like Degurechaff and armored division commanders like Cramm were meeting the standards required by the front lines made them…extreme exceptions in the current Imperial Army.

There was no choice but to prepare more people like them. But personnel like that couldn't be whipped up overnight. Cultivating officers who could be truly useful always took time. Even if they wanted to pull from the noncommissioned ranks, the pool of noncoms wasn't exempt from the same attrition and understaffing that everyone else was suffering. Under these circumstances, producing an officer corps that could withstand live combat would probably take a generation.

Zettour wasn't sure whether to be disgusted or depressed; the Empire only realized the value of trained, disciplined, well-educated officers on the front lines after they lost them.

Perhaps most of the country was still living in a fantasy. Maybe they were convinced the Imperial Army was just as powerful of an organization as it was before the war started.

The homeland's wish was for them to push on through the mud of the eastern front. Which is why the army was almost carelessly throwing troops onto the barren earth as fertilizer.

From his rear seat in the military vehicle, if Zettour looked around, he could see the grandeur of nature. If this were a sightseeing trip, it would have been nice to enjoy the great views of interweaving scenery. Though he was no major proponent of a return to nature, this wasn't half-bad.

But on the other hand, it was merely evidence of undeveloped space. To the Empire, this was far from Heimat.

His beloved home was distant, and this place couldn't even be considered a borderland.

"…This is the epitome of a barren battle line." The words in his mind slipped out in a murmur. "Something's wrong."

Something Zettour couldn't manage to put into words had been bothering him.

The Imperial Army's current operation objective was to secure a resource area to support the war economy. That was understandable. A resource area was an alluring trophy. If Operation Andromeda succeeded, he had no doubt that the Empire's resource situation would improve. If they succeeded, their victory would be easy to comprehend.

It would probably also have a positive effect on the rear's dwindling will to fight. Of course, that was only if you were looking at the situation from the rear.

To those out in the field, victory in an offensive and expanding their occupied territory was a veritable nightmare. On the forward-most line, anyone who didn't realize what a pointless endeavor this was had to have some screws loose.

It didn't even require an intellectual exercise to identify the problem. It was clear at a glance.

This vast expanse of mud was, yes, marvelously rich black soil. But if it wasn't going to produce any fruit, it really was pointless.

"If we could raise the Council for Self-Government's agricultural yields, we could expect some improvement, surely… Is the bottleneck fertilizer? But we can't stop gunpowder production. There aren't enough resources to go around…"

It would be tricky… Zettour winced as he caught himself considering the balance of things.

That's not my job right now.

For better or worse, I've been uprooted and have no choice but to make my living here on the front lines.

"Hmm?"

Suddenly, the car shook, and tense voices shouted over the radio. "Enemies spotted! They're at one o'clock…enemy tanks!"

Contact. And armored forces that would be difficult to evade. Enemies with speed always irritated Zettour to his core.

He had been prepared for an encounter battle but had hoped they would be able to avoid it. From another perspective, they could clash with the most problematic enemy in their least weakened state—but the best would have been if they could do it after getting through to Soldim 528.

"Prepare to engage! Watch out for anti-tank guns, and shoot 'em dead!" It was Cramm's rousing encouragement ringing over the radio. Zettour

returned to his senses and stared out at the enemy. It was a group of tanks.

When he looked over at Cramm's vehicle to see what he would do…it appeared he wasn't planning on pulling back.

But of course not. The commander's tank must be in the lead. As soon as the platoon jumped out front, the tank regiment began tracing complicated, coordinated maneuvers in order to return the enemy fire.

Cramm's tank had entered firing range, and its main gun began to roar. Now then, how will they…? Eager to observe firsthand, Zettour took up his binoculars and opened his notebook, but just then, an unexpected transmission came through.

"General, please fall back."

He couldn't help but be confused by the division commander's voice flowing from the receiver. To put his finger on it, the words were so boorish. He couldn't understand at all.

"Commander Cramm? Sorry, but I don't understand." "What?!"

"Why are you leaving me out? Your vehicle is staying, right?"

The radio immediately barked. "General! I'm in a tank! It has armor!" Cramm must have been shouting himself red in the face, but…so what?

His observation that it was too dangerous to be in an unarmored car was, yes, valid.

It was valid, but that didn't mean anything.

"I appreciate the warning, Commander Cramm. But you needn't worry." "Huh?"

"I told you I was borrowing mages to escort me, right? They'll handle it.

Don't worry about me; go on and wage war."

With that, Zettour took the receiver away from his ear, and Grantz, fairly frothing at the mouth, shouted at him in disbelief. "General!"

"According to Colonel von Degurechaff's report, there's a precedent for using mages as armor in a tank desant—and you were the one who pulled it off."

"But that was on a tank! It had armor!"

Cramm, Grantz—are they both only capable of repeating themselves?

Zettour furrowed his brow.

Perhaps people these days were too particular about armor, but…it also made him worry about the current paradigm.

"Lieutenant Grantz, armor is important, but it's technology. Ultimately, technology is a tool, not something we can allow to control us."

"One stray shot to this open-top car, and you'll be telling a different story! Armor isn't just for decoration!"

Ah. Zettour gave a small nod. Grantz's opinion was extremely appropriate for someone in his position.

It made sense that escorting a multipurpose vehicle was much more difficult than supporting a tank. Unfortunately, Zettour could absolutely not go along with his advice.

"So? You're telling me if the enemy shoots at us, I should find some armor to hide behind? What am I supposed to do with that suggestion, Lieutenant?"

As the young lieutenant's face stiffened in disbelief, some contempt even for his recklessness probably crossed his mind.

And he was being imprudent.

Attending a tank fight in a mere car essentially made him an easy target. He apologized mentally for making everyone deal with the trouble he was putting them through. But it was necessary.

In military affairs, that one word—necessary—was enough to justify anything.

"Lieutenant, I bulldozed the rescue of the Lergen Kampfgruppe through. If the one who proposed the operation retreats, it might make success look impossible and red light the whole thing. If I make an excuse like that, the rescue may not happen."

"With all due respect, General, this is an official military action!" "That's a dutiful answer."

If he believes it, that is.

Zettour didn't think Grantz personally had all the answers, but he knew he had been trained under Degurechaff. He was experienced enough to be treated as an officer who knew the ropes, and guys like that were well aware of the way the official account diverged from reality.

"Are you saying you don't know what will happen if the one who proposed it flees? Obviously, our response will falter. Without a forceful attack, I doubt we can break the encirclement."

"But… Take cover! Take cover!" Grantz had been about to nod in agreement when his expression abruptly changed, and he shouted. At the

same time, the driver's face warped, and he began turning. Zettour noticed a moment later that something was wrong.

"Growing old is such a hassle. Your eyes just can't keep up."

No matter how determined you are to fight whenever you see an enemy, it doesn't mean much if your all-important eyesight starts to go. As he mocked himself, he turned to follow Grantz's gaze…and saw what looked like the silhouettes of enemy tanks with their guns pointed this way.

Debating in the face of the enemy? Apparently, I've been in the rear for too long—I've lost my edge.

"Mages, defend against the bombardment! If you use your shells, the vehicles will be blown away! Don't take the hits head-on—use your protective films to deflect them!"

When Grantz shouted, the mages accompanying him clutched their orbs. Almost simultaneously, a booming sound cut through the air. It was the enemy guns opening up.

"…Ngh?!"

Should it be said that it was the combination of contemporary science and magic that caused a miracle? Or was it always just these moments that God chose to bless him? An enemy shell had been headed right toward him, but its path must have deviated, because it whistled past and flew away harmlessly.

The mages' skill at evading point-blank fire at this range was incredible.

…Degurechaff really gave me some good people. So this is why she was loath to see them go. She might hold a grudge against me for taking them…

"Well done, Lieutenant!"

"It's an honor to hear you say so, sir, but please get to the rear! The enemy tanks are—!"

"I know there are enemies around. But what do I care about that, Lieutenant Grantz? Besides, you're going to do something about them, aren't you?"

"But those are the new model!"

"That's precisely why I need to see them. I need to complete my inspection! An eye for an eye and a tank for a tank…" Zettour's comment trailed off, and the notebook he had taken out dropped from his hand as his eyes widened in shock at the scene unfolding before him.

Though they were in motion, the imperial tanks ferociously attacked the

enemy vehicles. The skill of the tankmen, firing their main guns and brilliantly scoring direct hits while on the move, was magnificent.

But there was just one problem.

"…They deflected the shots? I can't believe it."

The imperial tank guns were well within effective range, but the fire wasn't effective. Enduring hit after hit, the enemy tanks were unharmed.

If they managed to destroy the tanks' treads, they could wear them down with focus fire. No matter how proud the enemy was of their armor, once they were disabled, they could be bombarded with concentrated attacks till they burst into flames. Still, that was a result that could only be attained with a massing of firepower against immobile enemies.

…Against the enemy armor under normal circumstances, the imperial guns were as good as useless.

He had read it in reports. But seeing it had a different level of impact.

The scene of enemy tanks fighting on unfazed despite direct hits by the main guns of imperial tanks was difficult to accept all at once… Even if he understood it with his brain, the sight left him shocked.

"Lieutenant Grantz, are those the new types you were speaking of? How often are you clashing with them? Your best estimate is fine."

"They're all over the place. We've taken out so many, yet here we are." Grantz spoke calmly; though his expression said he was fed up with the situation, there were also signs that he had gotten used to it.

"…I understand rationally…and I realize it's a bit late, but I'm reminded how different things feel."

Several years ago, 50-70 mm cannons were deemed overpowered and not maneuverable enough, so 37 mm had been recommended for a tank's main gun.

And what about now?!

They would have to start considering 80 mm, 100 mm, or even higher as the new standard!

"So the tanks are evolving like dinosaurs now?"

Could the infantry, cavalry, plus artillery and the small number of mages they had be put to practical use or not? The war General von Zettour had been taught as a first lieutenant was filled with more mystery and honor.

"Things have changed."

Statistical warfare, after all, took an extreme view of humans as

interchangeable parts in an intricate, organic violence that moved the machinery of war.

The way the imperial infantry and tanks coordinated to take on the unbelievable dinosaurs of enemy tanks as they roared was a scene that Zettour would have laughed off as something out of an SF novel before the war.

"New enemies! It's a unit of Federation tanks!" "Federation reserves?!"

"At eleven o'clock, too! Enemy tanks!"

The situation reports coming in over the radio were not good. The Imperial Army was just barely managing to blast the enemy tanks, but they were so sturdy, it was taking an awfully long time. There were no signs they would be wiped out anytime soon. The pace of destruction was too slow.

At this rate, a breakthrough was a dream within a dream.

Even if they wanted to force a maneuver battle, the impact would be too limited. They had no choice but to bypass the defenses here, but doing so right in front of the enemy would basically invite them to cut their communication lines.

They could advance like an amoeba, but if there were creeps on their tail, they wouldn't get anywhere. Everyone knew the advance would be nearly impossible, but they should have at least had some legs. Their speed, however, suffered a greater decline than Zettour had been relying on, and the enemies blocking their path were frustratingly powerful.

If the B Group staffers had been reluctant because they could sense this on some instinctual level, then they had a point. Though sadly, it was only a point and nothing more.

Weakened and facing this caliber of enemy…

How much longer can our army keep up this confrontation?

"…Shit. There's not enough sand in our hourglass. How do we add more?"

If he wouldn't have had the habit of soliloquizing in the car since normal times, the comment would have surely been a distressed shriek. The tactics of putting up brave fronts and toughing things out are all in how you use them. A pinch of salt can hide that something is missing…but if the dish is all salt and nothing else, it's inedible.

In other words, the current situation was awfully salty.

"…The situation is more fluid than I thought. It truly pains me that the data we've accumulated can't be trusted."

It couldn't be helped, but this is why he didn't like war. In the rear, they seemed to be too fond of it; he couldn't keep up.

Ironically, Hans von Zettour, deputy chief of the Service Corps, felt more depressed the more he thought about the rear. He had grown so used to the air on the front lines that he wasn't sure he would remain sane when he returned to the capital.

"More troops! Friendlies are headed this way!" Someone shouted that they were saved.

It was lucky that the mechanized infantry arrived just in time to counter the enemy reinforcements. Though it was a borderline piecemeal commitment, this augmentation of force would give them more of a fighting chance.

"On the ground! Quick, get ready for combat!" "Anti-tank commander, hit those tanks!"

The shouts of officers commissioned and not filled the air, and the soldiers who jumped out of the trucks rapidly joined the battle line. The situation was improving. At least, the imperial forces had been strengthened.

Although in exchange, their attack had slowed. "General, please!"

In response to the pleading voice, Zettour, who (if forced to say so) wasn't exactly eager to die, smiled. At this stage, there wasn't much good holding his ground could do.

If the infantry was mixing it up in combat, then it made sense that he should be running the base.

"All right, all right, I have no intention of being unreasonable. I suppose I'll go with you, Commander Cramm."

A grunt wouldn't have felt out of place as he leaped from the vehicle, and he stumbled as he landed and nearly fell over. He had been polishing his butt on a chair in the General Staff Office for a long time, and it shocked him how much his physical strength as a field officer had deteriorated.

Back in the day, he could have led an infantry charge. He could have fought hand to hand. He was probably that capable up until he became a lieutenant colonel. But now he was hit with the bitter realization that

regardless of what he wanted to do, his body wouldn't be able to keep up. "Times like this, I sure am envious of the young." Grumbling as he took

up his gun, he looked out over the area he was sure the troops would take up according to infantry combat fundamentals, and it felt like he hadn't lost his touch; he was relieved that his senses as a commander hadn't dulled. If he failed to understand what was intended by the movements of Commander Cramm and the others as they got out of their vehicles, he would have been a relic of an officer.

Luckily, he could tell what the troops were trying to do based on their position. But there were still some things that made his eyes pop.

One of them was the anti-tank guns all gathered together. "Huh, that's a rare way to use them…"

"General?"

"Lieutenant Grantz, shouldn't the anti-tank guns…?" He was glad he didn't finish saying, …be attached to each infantry unit as a tight escort? The response to the enemy tanks closing in before his eyes answered his question.

"Infantry, don't approach the enemy soldiers! All guns, hit that Federation tank that's sticking out!"

The young commander ordered all the anti-tank guns to fire, and a dozen or so muzzles targeted a single tank. With local firepower superiority, or perhaps simply artillery large-enough caliber to be called heavy, it seemed possible to destroy the enemy tank, even from a distance.

"Concentrated anti-tank fire, entrusting local authority to the commanders… I see. There's certainly no reason we need to fight these things foolishly fair in a one-on-one bout of mortal combat, so that's the right way to do it."

…Although this is also evidence that without that strategy, we'd have little hope of combating the enemy tanks. Not so long ago, it was taught that tanks could be destroyed by a close-quarters mage or even infantry assault, but now that seemed rather impossible.

Which is why Zettour asked his field commentator his view with great interest. "Lieutenant Grantz, is that way of operating the anti-tank guns standard on the eastern front?"

"Not so much in our Kampfgruppe. Usually, they aren't necessary because of our substantial mage power, so they're often assigned to assist

the infantry against nonmotorized vehicles. But in units where the mage and mechanized forces can't incapacitate the enemy's armored forces and they don't have enough firepower, we're seeing concentrated fire as a stop-gap solution."

"So a desperate measure, then. But it's effective."

Necessity is the mother of invention. Technologies and procedures come into existence when they are needed. And on the battlefield where your life depends on it, creativity probably accelerates without much regard for appearances.

The battlefield was full of surprises. The moment Zettour nodded in fascination, an excited cheer next to them hit his ears.

"…Aerial mages!" "They came!" "Best timing ever!"

"Ready signal flares! Send 'em up!" "Over here, mages!"

He looked up in response to the soldiers' exultant shouts to see three formations. The charge of an aerial mage battalion? …That was proof B Group was running properly.

If the aerial fleet was supporting them, it meant that at least this operation wasn't Cramm's division operating on its own.

"That's a weight off. So the units in the east are still functioning…"

The comment he let slip out without thinking was how he actually felt. Returning to himself, he winced… Good grief. To think the day would come when I'd be anxious about our troops in action. He couldn't very well say that. Which was why he had to swallow his honest feelings.

To gloss over that conflict, Zettour looked up at the sky and praised the incoming mage reinforcements. "Isn't it fantastic to get a mage battalion as backup? Now that I've experienced being rescued by them, I understand how amazing it feels for the troops."

It wasn't the same as banking to wave, but they had their act so together that they barrel-rolled as a friend-or-foe response to the signal flares. Zettour felt keenly what a latecomer layman he was in the field of aerial magic.

It was difficult to avoid preconceived notions, subjective impressions, and misunderstandings.

Actually…one case in point was his utter surprise at the fact that aerial mages in the east were able to fight. Maybe he had just seen too many troops from the east get fooled by optical deception formulas during the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion screening process.

No… There Zettour decided to suspend his internal judgment. They'd been fighting this war for years. Anyone who had survived this long would have acquired the minimal know-how even if they didn't want to.

"That's a costly tuition, Experience. Couldn't you lower your rates a bit?"

That said, though greedy, there was no denying that it was a fantastic teacher. No one could claim the effects of its education were anything less than outstanding. It was right that he absorb what lessons and wisdom were available while he was in the field.

In particular…he was the opposite of an expert in the realm of aerial magic. He had to admit that he lacked the knowledge to understand simply by witnessing the action; luckily, though, he had a teacher besides Experience with him this time.

This is a great opportunity, so I should ask for his unreserved opinion, thought Zettour as he asked for some commentary. "Lieutenant Grantz, how do you see the situation?"

"Huh?"

Zettour continued his inquiry, pointing to the scene before them. "I want your opinion as an expert."

"Oh? I'm at your service, sir."

The young first lieutenant next to him answered in earnest. Even if Zettour was inspecting his conduct, there wasn't a single flaw, but the attitude felt out of place on the front line.

How was he so calm in the tense frontline atmosphere? "Give me your unflinching appraisal of their performance."

"You want an evaluation of the aerial mages' combat, sir? It'd be better if Colonel von Degurechaff were here; I'm not qualified as a combat instructor."

It was fine to be cautious, but that was for in the rear.

"It doesn't have to be an official examination. You can curse them out or gush about how great they're doing, either way. Or simply give me running commentary."

"General? What exactly do you mean?"

"You've never listened to that sort of thing on the radio? Sometimes, I'd like it if someone could comment on the battle while I observe, too."

"…The thought never crossed my mind."

This straitlaced youngster was apparently quite strict with himself. He was confronting this god-awful war with too much sincerity.

War leads to destruction.

Even officers need only deal with war itself; if they tried to confront the meaning of it, they were more than likely to get in over their heads. An officer without leisure would have an inflexible mind. An inflexible mind is a fragile mind. If they can't protect themselves except by stiffening up, then they're really in trouble.

"I won't say it's wrong to take things seriously, Lieutenant, but you might want to reconsider your way of thinking."

"I-I'm not sure I understand, sir?"

"You seem to be overly concerned with a lot of things. As far as I can tell, you're a decent officer. On the battlefield, everything breaks down. Yet, you're maintaining your sanity. So save the thinking for when you get back to the rear."

Shells, explosions, screaming, and all the stenches assaulting our noses… How many dialogues in human history have taken place in a setting like this? Zettour found some small amusement in it.

On a battlefield where, just beyond our position, our tanks and anti-tank guns are clashing with enemy tanks, I'm taking it awfully easy. He chuckled to himself and continued, "Worrying is a luxury—because it takes time to worry. So if you flip that, what I'm saying is: Don't worry when you don't have the time for it. Overthinking is the same."

There's no reason to keep going down the same path until it's too late. Zettour remembered the context and cracked a wry smile. This guy was a member of Colonel von Degurechaff's unit.

Anyhow, a superior is a superior. Since she was the type to be demanding of even lower-ranked officers, Don't think about anything might have been a bit of a harsh request.

"It must be tough to work so closely with her… Well, I'm just an old man droning on. Feel free to forget what I said."

Re-collecting himself, Zettour lightly wiped his binoculars and pointed

toward the imperial mages. They'd gone off on a tangent, but he still wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to hear a critique by someone in the field.

"Let's back up a bit, Lieutenant. What do you think of that aerial mage unit of ours?"

"If we're talking strictly about skills, then they're passable. Their surface attack patterns aren't bad, either."

Lieutenant Grantz was beating around the bush. Though he wasn't disparaging them, the way he spoke was less praise than withholding judgment. Frankly, the nuance was close to completely negative.

"That's not very high praise. How come?"

"Their tactics are too rigid… Well, that might be an exaggeration. But there's evidence that they drilled only certain movements."

"What kind of evidence?"

Grantz closed his mouth for a moment to think.

"…In situations where I would use different approaches, they keep repeating the same patterns."

"Instead of choosing the optimal method on the fly, they select one of a limited roster?"

"Yes, sir," said Grantz with a nod. "Their movements are a bit clumsy, and overall, their maneuvers are too predictable. It's probably due to being drilled in only those things during their accelerated education."

So the same as the aerial battles in the west, then. There was no room to breathe anywhere. That was why they wanted to hurry and at least increase the head count.

As a result, they were finding ways to make good use of under-trained troops…or that was the idealistic hope anyway. In actuality, the abilities of an aerial mage company now were a far cry from prewar units. Frankly, the issue of education duration was too big.

Though the types of missions were diversifying, fully trained soldiers and officers had been scarce for a while now. Reaching head count through shortened, accelerated training due to lack of personnel only made the issue more complicated.

The gap between the abilities of the Imperial Army the operation drafters assumed and the current Imperial Army's abilities was growing too large to gloss over. It was getting so severe that soon there would be

nothing they could do to solve it, to the point that headache-inducing risks were involved.

"…If it's all right with you, I'd like to ask you what you think the results would be if we had the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion and those mages fight a mock battle."

"There wouldn't be any point to fighting with even numbers. We would win with half or even a third of our personnel."

Grantz's immediate reply was the type of comment to be laughed off as overconfidence—under normal circumstances. But on the battlefield, under their protection, Zettour could understand that it was the literal truth.

"Wow." He was wholeheartedly impressed. He had grasped mentally how talented his playing pieces were…but seeing it was a whole new dimension of moving. "Then how about if mages of ours went up against Federation aerial mages?"

"I don't think it would be a bad battle. With identical numbers, they could probably fight evenly or maybe a little better. I definitely don't think they would be inferior."

"…Even or better? You're sure about that?" Zettour's confusion and unease slipped right from his mouth. The idea that imperial aerial mages would have to struggle against Federation mages was absurd.

"Yes, based on the level of the Federation troops we've fought so far, I think so. As long as it's not the rumored guard mages, we wouldn't have to worry about a one-sided trampling."

The lieutenant reassured Zettour not to worry, but he was misunderstanding the situation.

He was leaving out the absolutely critical concern of the skill gap between imperial and Federation mages.

The problem was simple. Though the imperial side was numerically inferior, at least they had been able to boast superior quality; now, that was clearly in jeopardy. To be "even" spoke volumes about what the future held. The Empire's personnel and infrastructural capacities couldn't ignore a kill ratio4 of one to one. At that rate, even after the Empire had completely dissolved, the Federation would still have units left—and an even bigger advantage.

"Thanks for your comments, Lieutenant. I learned a lot."

Suppressing his expression and emotions, he extended polite yet empty gratitude as he peered through his binoculars. The aerial mage unit ground attack unfolding before them seemed a usage of mages far more polished than anything that had been imagined prewar, but an officer with experience fighting in the east called it "accelerated."

So I'm an old man now. It's extremely questionable whether I'm even managing to keep up with our progress. He harshly mocked himself in his head.

"At any rate, oh? It seems they've mopped them up." He made a point of speaking matter-of-factly. "An anti-tank position, aerial mage tactics, and the concentrated commitment of both armored groups. So we can open up a hole even if it is small."

The moment he had figured that they would be able to break through and retry the encirclement maneuver, those calculations collapsed.

"General von Zettour! It's Commander Cramm calling!" "Give it here."

"General von Zettour, bad news from the aerial fleet. The Federation Army units are reacting to our presence and changing position."

"Ooh, we have guests?" "General!"

What a mess. He winced.

Maybe after all that chair polishing at the General Staff Office, he was a little too giddy to be back in the field. The front lines were complex yet simple. He much preferred the atmosphere here to meetings with Supreme Command.

"Commander Cramm, you say there's a crisis, but conversely…couldn't it be considered a chance? I don't mean to be impetuous, but I can't deny that I'm excited."

"A chance?"

"The enemy soldiers who have been holed up in their positions are coming right out. On the Rhine lines, we booted them all the way to the sea."

"Ha-ha-ha-ha, but that was an awfully risky advance. And this time is even riskier."

"That depends on how you're interpreting the situation. Certainly, our flank is at risk, but it'd be a different story if the Lergen Kampfgruppe

synced up with our offensive for a pincer attack." "You're saying the envelopment worked?"

"Not yet." Zettour continued, injecting some slight irritation, "We've only just attained the possibility of it happening. As time passes, that possibility will slip from our grasp… That's why we need to get creative."

"G-get creative?"

"What's wrong, Lieutenant Grantz?" "No, errr, beg your pardon."

"Getting creative in this scenario could…really only mean one thing, right? It's probably what you're afraid of, but at the rate we're going, I fear the Lergen Kampfgruppe's persevering struggle will only end up a tactical waste."

"What are you planning? I'd appreciate if you would tell me."

It was less a question than a confirmation request. It was clear from Cramm's stiffened expression that he had steeled his resolve.

So, respectfully, he told him.

"We need bait, Commander Cramm."

"Understood, but please allow me to say one thing."

"Which is?" Zettour wasn't arrogant or insolent enough to refuse to hear the opinion of someone in distress.

"If you met with Colonel von Lergen to discuss a pincer operation, you would normally let us know ahead of time."

"I haven't." """Huh?"""

Suddenly the object of everyone's questioning stares, Zettour gave them an awkward grin. "Is that strange? I didn't make any specific plan with the Lergen Kampfgruppe beforehand."

"B-but a pincer…"

"I didn't order a pincer. The General Staff's job is to protect the fatherland in the place of God, but who would be able to foresee this situation and give appropriate orders ahead of time? Luckily, it's a staffer in charge over there. I just trust that even in the worst-case scenario, we'll at least get the minimal response necessary."

"What makes you so sure, sir?" the commander asked back, and Zettour smiled at him brightly. That's obvious.

"I'm repeating myself, but I'll say it again: There's a staff officer

commanding the unit."

They had the same paradigm pounded into them. Plus, she was one of the Twelve Knights at war college.

"So, well, it's a sure thing."

"Wh-what about the message from before?"

"It was psychological pretense, pressure, and an alert. Well, it's pretty easy to toy with both the enemy and our own if all it takes is a single message."

An officer who doesn't require excessive explanation makes a decision immediately, responds instantaneously, and doesn't hesitate to take the necessary action. Sure, Degurechaff may have been broken, but not as an officer.

For the Heimat, that was a competence to be celebrated.

"All right, troops. This is my request. Lure in the enemy—in as flashy a way as you can manage."

It's a tall order, but let's trust that if we lure them in here, the pincer will take shape. This was all a bit too irrational to be called tactics, but since a frontal attack was out of the question, they had no choice.

He was going to push it through with the full awareness that it was reckless.

"Very well, General. Allow me to give you my official reply to your request: 'We will counterattack. I say again, we will counterattack.' That is all."

The concise report of the situation was everything a clear report should

be.

And the marvelous way the single line was composed to retain the

ambiguity in the chain of command: Taking Zettour's standing and position into account gave it an even more artful essence.

So he's prepared for the worst, too.

"Good, very good. I wish you luck. That is all."

"Yes, sir! All right, General. Then by your leave, I'm prepared to storm Valhalla with you as marshal and general."

"I don't know which of us will be the first to go, but sure, I'll tag along." Zettour realized the corners of his mouth had relaxed into a smile as he watched them dash off. It wasn't as if he was letting his guard down;

perhaps the spirited exchange had simply lightened his mood.

"…I didn't think it would happen, but I've grown sentimental as I've aged."

There was a mountain of things to deal with. But he had managed to break it down.

Turning it to rubble wasn't just a dream.

Where are you, my means of escape?

"Okay, I can't let them show me up. There's one more job I need to do." Just as Zettour, gun in hand, was about to mingle with the other infantry and join the defensive battle, a first lieutenant with a panicked look blocked

his path.

"General, please fall back! Any more is—"

"Too dangerous? I know that without you telling me, Lieutenant Grantz. Well, this is a do-or-die moment. We're prepared for an infantry battle, and even I can shoot a gun."

"Please stop, General!"

Grantz, standing in his way, trying to bar him from the battlefield, was a good escort. Zettour was grateful that the lieutenant put up with him and, without a single complaint, continued to worry about him.

But withdrawing now was something he couldn't do.

With the enemy approaching right in front of them, how could he be the only one to fall back?

"Lieutenant, this is a critical juncture."

"We'll handle it! Please fall back, General. I have strict orders from Colonel von Degurechaff to protect you!"

"…Is the rest of the division still on their way? Go and tell them to advance as well."

"General!"

"How could I fall back without even getting shot?"

Grantz was trying to argue when he shouted something at the receiver in his ear in spite of himself.

"Commander Cramm has been gravely injured and is being sent to the rear! Brigadier General Schulz is taking over. General, you can't—"

"You heard them! Commander Cramm is the one who should be sent to the rear."

Not allowing any further debate, Zettour gripped his gun and positioned himself on the forward-most line. Sadly, the sound of light machine guns

was sparse.

Bearing in mind the lessons learned on the Rhine, the Imperial Army had a love for artillery and machine guns bordering on favoritism…but the prospects for maintaining the necessary supply network on the eastern front weren't promising. While the artillery shells were still being manufactured, they weren't reaching the front line in sufficient quantities. And when it came to light machine guns, chronic ammo and barrel shortages were rampant.

The Empire's faltering infrastructure had been weighing on the east for a long time. But not receiving supplies is all it takes for an army to start writhing in agony. The Imperial Army's ideal of crushing the enemy position via large-scale artillery action became infeasible, and the decreasing density of infantry fire deteriorated the imperial infantry units' numerically inferior combat strength in the extreme.

As a result, all the high-ranking imperial officers were forced to either choose the direct approach of targeting enemy communication lines or make circumvention the goal and bet on a maneuver battle.

That was the fundamental reason Andromeda, Lieutenant General von Rudersdorf's operation targeting the resource fields to the south, hinged on winning a maneuver battle. There was no longer any hope of performing a general offensive according to schedule. As Lieutenant Colonel Uger had nearly spat with a grimace, the Empire didn't have any margin for error left. Laying the conflict bare was B Group's ammunition shortage. Even working the expert timetable masters to the bone, the army could hardly scrape together enough bullets. That was how grave the situation was for

the Empire.

Those who experienced the outcome on the front lines understood whether they wanted to or not.

"Deputy Commander Schulz has been hit! General!"

"No complaints. Have them keep playing it by ear. What officer could complain in front of his men? All we can do at this point is hold!"

"But so many regimental commanders have already been—We can't go on like this! General, please order a retreat!"

"Lieutenant Grantz, quit your whining. The operation is already under way. Just try and retreat now—the entire army would collapse. This isn't the Rhine front."

A plan decided in advance, a stockpile, an adequate railway timetable, and plenty of forces in reserve…were all things the eastern front didn't have.

Now that the maneuver was under way, if they stopped, it could mean the downfall of the Imperial Army. Despite the hardship, they had to carry on.

Even if all they had was a tightrope, they needed to make the crossing— if they couldn't, the only thing awaiting them was death.

…We're at war. If our fate is unavoidable, all we can do is laugh.

"High-ranking officers will die. That's a good thing. Maybe it'll be a wake-up call for those in the rear."

Relying on the creativity of the lower- and mid-ranking officers, plus the skills of the noncoms, the generals were putting their bodies on the line to get the job done.

You couldn't call it a tactic.

A few years ago, he would have laughed it off as a mess, a battle of attrition spawned by a dearth of intelligence. There wasn't enough firepower left to defeat the enemy. If you didn't have enough supplies, then you made up for it with the right attitude. If your attitude was flagging, then you had no choice but to fill in the gaps with blood and resignation.

…That's an impressive level of foolishness.

"Lure them in! Show them I'm here! Raise the battle standards!" "The enemy will target you!"

"That's the point! I don't care—just do it!"

But having come this far, the most he could do was act as bait.

Zettour hoped he would be able to lure in the enemy and make the operation a success… Surely, it was terribly childish as a gamble. You would be hard-pressed to call this operation-level intelligence.

Still…even if he died, it wouldn't be in vain. It would shock the nation awake.

If he could inform the rear of the alarming state of the eastern front… "…It's the best use I can think of for my body. The corpses of soldiers

must be employed as efficiently as possible. Heh, have we reached the outer limits of war?"

But that was why all he could do now was fight with all his might. "Quit jabbing and get busy! Fire back!"

-x-X-x-

THE SAME DAY, SOLDIM 528

Military orders, aka the impossible asked of you by your superiors.

Either way, once Tanya infers their fellow troops on the eastern front have begun maneuvers to relieve Soldim 528, she gives up on her leisurely sleep rotation. Overtime is legal during a crunch period if there's a labor- management agreement. And anyhow, imperial soldiers are "public servants," so they're not allowed to grumble.

Being able to peremptorily shift all units into rapid response preparedness is the ideal for a mid-level labor manager. If only there wasn't a war on, things would be perfect; well, no helping that.

First Lieutenant Tospan and First Lieutenant Wüstemann have strict orders to keep watch on the front line; Captain Meybert and Captain Ahrens are on standby at HQ for command and control purposes. Having arranged conditions intently so she can make free use of the subordinates she has trained from the start, Tanya privately gives careful thought to the joint breakout to be undertaken with the mages of the siege-breaking squad. It's fortunate that the rescue Lieutenant General von Zettour guaranteed her is in the works, but it's self-evident to Tanya that the deployment of friendly units doesn't necessarily equal her successful escape.

Frankly, looking back through history, there are plenty of rescue operations that failed.

That's why she listens carefully, making every effort not to miss a thing. She has no intention of getting the unit wiped out because she missed their chance.

"There's been a change in the Federation Army's communications!"

Tanya looks up—This is what we've been waiting for!—in response to the communications personnel's raised voice. It's the announcement HQ has been expecting.

Tanya takes hold of the receiver and listens for herself. Aha, not only has the frequency exploded, but there's a ton going out un-encoded. It appears less as though they aren't being careful enough with their encoding and more that there simply isn't time.

But she can't understand the critical message.

"Lieutenant Serebryakov, explain it to me. I'm learning Federation language, of course, but…I'm nowhere near native. It's too hard to make out their accents over the radio."

From the way so many un-encoded messages are getting through, she can assume that some kind of major situational change or combat is happening.

But she can't understand the content, which is crucial. Well, how would she be able to?

They're intercepting panicked signals. Not only Tanya but any non- native speaker of Federation language would find it impossible to read the situation on a split-second basis and follow along with the unstable intercepted messages.

Even her adjutant, clinging to the receiver and listening as hard as she can, has sweat beading on her forehead. That's how hard it is to understand. "Important target? …Command function? Sorry, between the chaos over

there and the quality of the interception, I can't get anything clear…"

According to her disappointed adjutant, their grasp of the intercepted info stops at the fragmentary level. But it isn't as if they have proper monitoring equipment; they're doing their best with the communications gear they have.

"But it's possible that the friendly HQ's location has been exposed." "Exposed…? It's not as if we're the Dacian Army. Did General von

Zettour leak it on purpose? There's a very good chance it's fake info. Or maybe a decoy unit has lured them in?"

"I can't deny the possibility, but the word is occurring with high frequency."

What? Tanya peers into her adjutant's face. When she asks if there's no mistake, the timid answer is solidly in the affirmative.

"Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Tanya bursts out laughing.

It was a fantastic moment, when she was sure of it. Do you—do you really think Zettour would screw up and tell the Commies his position?!

"'Exposed' is a wonderfully original interpretation!"

I can declare from experience that a specialist in desk work in the rear like a Service Corps man is well versed in not only preservation of intelligence but the art of intentionally "leaking" information. There are all

sorts of creative ways to spill intelligence.

"That's the silly talk of someone who doesn't know the general. Ah, but it's such a clear invitation; it's how all lovers should whisper in the three thousand realms… This is the first in a while I've found something so hilarious on the battlefield. It may be imprudent, but it's just so funny!"

Whoever said a person's character is the greatest decision-making material knew what they were talking about!

Honestly, the quality of this laughter is downright bizarre. As far as Tanya knows, staff officers are by and large very cautious. In the field especially, the nastier their personality, the more devious they become.

"C-Colonel?"

"Visha, remember this." She figures she should point out her puzzled adjutant's training bias. "Times like these," she says, smiling ear to ear, "you don't say the HQ's location has 'been exposed' but that we 'exposed it.'"

It isn't wordplay but a problem of subjects. Or probably it would be better to say that what's lacking is an appropriate understanding of the situation.

"B-but in that case…it's such a huge risk…"

"True. Normally, exposing the location of your HQ is too risky. After all, we've demonstrated to the Federation Army how effective decapitation tactics can be."

"I don't understand what General von Zettour is thinking. It seems entirely too futile…"

Serebryakov is probably speaking from her point of view as part of an active service unit. She has some understanding of the Federation Army, hence the apprehensions.

Actually, the Federation Army—and people from the Federation—are extremely sensitive to decapitation tactics against an HQ. Their headquarters are so well protected, Tanya is liable to scoff, What are you, badgers?

"You're a respectable person, Lieutenant." "Huh?"

"If you get a chance, I recommend looking up how staff officers are educated at the war college. Basically, we're taught to take the initiative and try to figure out what people hate!"

You occasionally come across that sort among corporate employees, but the Imperial Army systematically selects people and trains them that way. Essentially, they're a group of human resources whom they can trust with confidence.

…And it's precisely because Tanya understands the way staffers think that she is forced to choose action.

When she looks at the officers around her, it seems that not even the captains, Meybert and Ahrens, have noticed: It's unusual for such a high- ranking officer to put himself in danger.

Frankly, it's so unusual, it strikes her as suspicious. That is, she finds it difficult to discount her serious question as to whether it's being used as a pretense to perform the rescue. Of course, on a fundamental level, she trusts Zettour. She believes in him, but…sometimes the organization's reasoning can blow even a lieutenant general's promises out of the water.

"Anyhow. Flipping things around as you think them over is one of the basic principles of being a staff officer. General von Zettour exposed the location of HQ as a giant lantern."

"Ummm…"

"All right, time for some social studies, Lieutenant." "M-ma'am?"

With her subordinate's education in mind, Tanya inquires in a light tone, "The Imperial Army's counterattacking unit has exposed the location of their HQ to the Federation Army. What will happen next? Well, what do you think? Be as candid as you like."

"I mean, I think they'll be targeted by the Federation Army…" "You're exactly right."

The answer is extremely simple, so surely the correct response should be given 100 percent of the time.

After all…the Federation Army has plenty of bitter experiences of headquarters disabling, encirclement, and annihilation at the hands of the Imperial Army. You'd have to be delusional to think they have zero urge to attempt revenge. So they must be thrilled to feel they have a chance to crush an enemy HQ.

And it's probably not wrong to guess that their minds are monopolized by this idea of crushing.

"Now let's ask a different question. What if…the enemy was being

attracted on purpose? Then what would happen?"

"They would be perfect bait, but I don't understand the motive. Even if they succeed in luring the enemy in, they don't seem to have the units to take proper advantage."

"Lieutenant Serebryakov, you haven't become a ghost by any chance, have you?"

Tanya lightly kicks her puzzled adjutant's foot, smiling as if to say, You have legs, don't you? She exists. Accordingly, she is here. The Salamander Kampfgruppe, done up as the Lergen Kampfgruppe, exists…not that I want to work them so hard. This unit is powerful and too precious to lose.

Also, I have to wonder if the eastern army's strained B Group is even worth sacrificing ourselves for. Under these conditions, the organization's interests—which transcend things like good, evil, and a boss's disposition— could easily lead to a cruel conclusion. Considering the worst-case scenario, innocently waiting to be rescued would be an unforgivable act of folly.

Thus, Tanya makes the same choice as her superior. She chooses what will be great in the best case and allows her self-preservation in the worst case.

It's simple.

"You don't get it? That's such a surprise. There is a unit that can sneak up behind those numbskulls preying on the bait and leisurely kick their asses."

Sensing the non-voice filling the office—Where?—Tanya sighs. She can set aside the communications personnel and the noncoms, but even the Kampfgruppe officers who went through the academy don't realize?

Everyone needs to have a little more confidence in their existence… Or should I be disappointed that they've naively put too much faith in the military?

Stifling the gripes in her mind, Tanya purposely continues in a light tone. "Here, troops." Tap-tap. She lightly strikes the floor with a foot, as if performing a dance step, and goes on. "We're here, aren't we?"

Since Soldim 528 is surrounded, the Federation Army must think of it as a static point. Yes, it's hard for an isolated point to pose a threat to their rear. But the troops here include two companies from a seasoned aerial mage battalion. Adding in Wüstemann's replacement unit and that's standard head count for a full battalion.

Certainly, pulling the replacements would be a bit much and cause issues with defending their position, but importantly…taking two companies for self-protection and flying to freedom seems surprisingly possible to justify.

"What say we teach those Commies how sharp the fangs of this forgotten battalion are—whether they're eager to learn or not!"

Realizing what she's saying, the officers gasp.

"C-Colonel! You mean you're going to pull the 203rd Aerial Mage battalion from the position while we're still surrounded?!"

"I do."

Meybert's astonishment is probably warranted. Soldim 528 is an isolated, salient stronghold. And the troops surrounded inside only consist of an understaffed Kampfgruppe.

If the whole mage battalion gets pulled out, their defensive fighting power would plummet. Even if they pushed ahead with fortifying the position, and Tanya stationed Tospan's infantry and Wüstemann's replacement mages there, it must be hard to imagine them holding out against the enemy's fierce attack in the half-destroyed city.

"It'll be rough, Captain Meybert. You can make use of Captain Ahrens's armored forces; they must be bored, since they've been on reserve. Do whatever you have to do to defend till it's over."

It would be such a shame to lose these troops.

Tanya hopes from the bottom of her heart that the defense is a success. But at the same time, she must prepare herself for the worst case of being forsaken by friendly troops and lead her units on the advance.

If she does that and it goes well, everyone will be saved. And even if she fails, I'll still be saved.

"Your orders, ma'am."

He must not have a clue. After maintaining a respectful silence, Major Weiss inquires about their orders as usual, and spurred by his request, Tanya gives them.

"…The aerial mage battalion is going on a long-range advance. But we need to keep our signals to a minimum. We don't want our sortie to be detected."

"Huh?"

"Try to do it as stealthily as possible. We'll advance as fast as we can

while suppressing our mana signals."

She can't run away, leaving the rest of the unit as bait. This has to be done logically. They need to delay the enemy attack on the position by concealing the mages' absence for as long as possible, or the rest of the troops won't be able to hold out for very long.

She'll save her subordinates, save herself, and show off to Zettour in the process. In order to hit all three birds with one stone, she has to make that compromise.

"Once we've taken some distance, we'll kick the Federation Army in the pants. Our higher-ups have given us this perfectly timed chance! Attack those numbskull enemy soldiers from behind."

If this goes well, some truly great outcomes are guaranteed.

"Got it, troops? Sneak up quietly and destroy their asses. I don't feel the need to repeat myself any more than this."

-x-X-x-

THE DAY SAME, IN THE VICINITY OF FEDERATION ARMY SIEGE LINE ONE

To Lieutenant Colonel Drake, the Lergen Kampfgruppe was a powerful enemy to be feared. Tenacious defensive combat, occasional bold attacks, plus a stubborn infantry.

Though he observed their movements, repeatedly scanning for any weaknesses, there were never any holes worthy of the name in their defenses—a fact that was enough to wear him out.

Perhaps it should be said that that was Tanya's intention. Like the Federation Army, Drake was also convinced that Soldim 528 was an isolated stronghold, a static point. He never dreamed that enemy troops could sneak out while surrounded.

But fate is strange.

The order Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff gave to her subordinates, to suppress their signals for the breakaway, became a strange trigger. For a sneak attack to kick the enemy in the rear, it was an extremely normal order.

No, more than normal…it was straight-up theory.

To put it simply, this officer, Degurechaff, made orthodox decisions. According to the manual, the rules, and even the sense most aerial mage officers had on the field, there was nothing mistaken about suppressing mana signals for stealth action.

But it came with one unanticipated reaction.

At Soldim 528, in order to prevent exhaustion and maintain combat capabilities, they were loosening up wherever they could, as exhibited by the frequent naps taken by the garrison.

Naturally, the mages staying there couldn't conceal their mana signals twenty-four seven.

But because of Tanya's strict orders to cut signals for the advance, their stealth action could be sensed by a sensitive mage as a kind of lack.

So… Let us continue.

The change was big enough for a marine magic officer, Drake, observing enemy movements on the first line surrounding the Imperial Army's position, to feel something was off.

"Tch, they have to be so vexingly impregnable. This is why I hate positions near railways. Coordinated defensive positions with infantry, artillery, and armored troops can fuck right off."

In urban combat, enemy soldiers had plenty of cover to hide behind, which meant they could really dig in. And then to have enemy artillery and armored troops butt in…

"Hmm?"

Drake stopped short at his own words. Coordinated defensive positions were fine.

Infantry built them, artillery supported them, and enemy armored forces occasionally functioned as the strike axis—these defense positions were meant to be formidable.

But one thing was missing.

One of the enemy threats was gone.

"…Only infantry, artillery, and tanks? No mages?"

It was always his unit's role to chase off the enemy mages attacking their infantry. But bizarrely, for whatever reason today, he was barely conscious of them.

Why? As he was trying to articulate a response, he finally realized what

had been feeling off for a while now.

The number of enemy mana signals had…dramatically decreased. "Where did they go?"

It wasn't as if there weren't any at all. Some were still active. He could pick up a few signals. But it was like a residue of the threat he'd constantly sensed up until the previous day. The feeling…had decreased dramatically.

He would go as far as to say that it was like an empty husk.

"Does this mean that utter pain-in-the-ass mage battalion—they're all gone?!"

It was necessary to consider the possibility that they were suppressing their signal as a ruse. The classic text on ambushes said the way you drew the enemy in was critical. Imperial soldiers were fairly skilled players when it came to the game of deception, so relaxing was not an option.

…But Drake understood this intuitively. It was like reading the tide.

Rather than overthink things with a chaotic mind, instinct, and intuition, sometimes the heart was far more accurate.

That was especially the case when detecting ill will and threats. Survival instincts were effective for staying alive. This sort of intuition wasn't logical. But it was terribly accurate. Anyone who laughed it off as occult nonsense was either a blockhead who had let their senses as a living thing go numb or a bigheaded jerk who had never been on the front lines.

The intense pressure he should have been sensing from the enemy position under siege had scattered. If he had to describe it, he might say it was something like the void after something had left.

Anyone with a sense for war could guess what had happened. This wasn't an ambush. They—and that monster—were gone!

Without another thought, Drake was off and running. It was extremely irritating that he couldn't make things happen with a single order due to the inconvenience of being part of a multinational unit.

While traveling from the position allotted to the Commonwealth troops all the way to HQ, even Drake, who was treated as an officer, was stopped by the Federation Army—what a pain.

"Colonel Drake? I beg your pardon, but may I ask why you've come…?"

The political officer stopping him with nonsense that had no place on a

battlefield was a perfect example of bureaucracy in action. But while he usually felt political officers were only a hotbed of annoyances, this time he welcomed the encounter. If someone with the authority to make calls was around, this would be quick.

"Lieutenant Tanechka, I need to speak to Colonel Mikel immediately." "Comrade Colonel…? Did something happen?"

Apparently, this political officer was decent enough that she wouldn't waste his time with nonsense at a critical moment. Convinced that's what made her better than most, he kept talking.

"The enemies have made a move. They secretly pulled out some mage units!"

Though the mages had left, the enemy position was still tight as all hell.

The enemy infantry were so vicious, it made him sick; the artillery was disgustingly skilled; and the tank units were thoroughly familiar with urban warfare. But the aerial mages, who had proven limitlessly aggravating at Arene, were mostly gone.

Thus, it's obvious what we should conclude. He continued, "The enemy mages are concealing their whereabouts! Assault the enemy position immediately!"

If they overwhelmed them with matériel superiority, they would be able to push through.

It was brutal arithmetic, but they could expect definite results. The sacrifices would come with returns. At least, it would be better than attacking and leaving his subordinates' bodies behind.

"Let's roll in with a tank desant! Hey, where's the interpreter?! Prepare to sortie! Hurry! Get as much fuel and as many weapons as we can muster!"

"Please wait!"

The words hit him like ice water. Unable to conceal his disbelief, he shot back at her incredulously, "But can't you see? This is our chance! Why in the world would we wait?!"

"Colonel Drake, tank desants on enemy positions are prohibited with the exception of flank attacks! I can't approve an act of barbarism that would expose people's lives to unnecessary risk. Anything that would wear down your comrades in vain is…"

"Are you stupid?!" He knew full well it was extremely rude, but he had to say it. "Look closely! Look with your own eyes!" Pointing at the town's

periphery, he continued, trying to calm his voice. "Most of the imperial mage forces are gone! Now is our chance—no, this is our only chance to combine our forces and overcome the infantry and tanks!"

"Do you have definite proof?" "Definite proof? Of what?"

"Where's the proof that the enemy isn't lying in wait to ambush us?!"

Where would that be? Who would expect it?

This is the forward-most line!

"If you want the risk to be zero, take off your uniform right now! Bury yourself and enjoy eternal rest! We're fighting a war here!"

In the uncertainty of the fog of war, it's all doubt and hesitation until you seize upon the optimal plan. In the end, you're gambling with people's lives

—that always comes with a risk.

But this time, we can strike with confidence, so why hold back?!

"The lack of signals, the operating conditions, and above all, the situational assessment! Take a look at how they're moving, and there's no doubt in my mind! If you call yourself an officer, then make a judgment call!"

"Have you thought about what it would mean if we failed?!"

"It would still count as reconnaissance in force! And first off, there's no way they can hold the line with their mage units gone! We should be able to break through to the urban area!"

"I find it difficult to believe we have a real chance! Did you not get the notice from the party?!"

The way she spoke to him so condescendingly made Drake explode. He was always thinking seriously about the war.

He didn't need this additional hurdle of a political officer's hand- holding.

"You mean about how the cities down south are seeing fierce fighting? Isn't that precisely why it would be meaningful for us to put pressure on the enemy?! That's why we're here!"

"The orders we were given on this front are to be a threat to weakened imperial units and prevent the enemy from concentrating in the south. Therefore, all we need to do is encircle—"

If he interrupted a woman in the home country, Drake would've been

slapped in the face with an etiquette manual. But on the battlefield, there was no distinguishing between men and women—a stupid asshole was a stupid asshole.

She was being so dense, Drake's irritation built up to the point that he nearly spat. "That's exactly why securing the railway is such high priority! If we're just surrounding the urban district, we won't get anywhere, but if we get rid of the Lergen Kampfgruppe in our way, we've basically acquired an attack route! If we can destroy them here and now, the effect on the Imperial Army will be massive!" Why can't she understand? She may be a political officer, but she still wears the insignia of a first lieutenant! "Isn't the whole point here to have the multinational and other remaining units be aggressive about putting pressure on the imperial lines in order to support the south?!"

Though the fighting was hard, they were apparently evenly matched. He had heard a couple of days ago that it might even be possible to hold out. It was unclear how true that was, but if their allies could really hold in the south… Why doesn't she understand that a strike here would then be even more significant?

"That's not our call to make!"

This unbelievable comment rendered Drake speechless. The role of an officer was to make calls. To give orders based on those calls. And then to take responsibility for the outcome.

But she refuses to even evaluate the situation? Then who will?

"The party's commanded us to lay a siege. Our orders are to keep the enemy tightly surrounded."

"…You're telling me to obey the party?" "Of course."

The way she declared it as if she had no doubts whatsoever felt a bit chilling on the battlefield. If that attitude was consistent throughout the Federation, then their officers weren't even officers.

"Ma'am, allow me to say something." "What is it?"

"I'm a soldier of the Commonwealth trained to obey the intentions of an order. I have no plan to follow an order to twiddle our thumbs in a siege when it would mean surrendering the initiative."

Not only military officers but anyone leading others needs to grasp the intentions of their orders and strive to achieve their true objective. That's what officers are for. Why even have officers otherwise?!

"Please inform Colonel Mikel that I'm a soldier of the Commonwealth and will only be bound by the operation objective to which we agreed. There's no reason I should have to follow the orders of another country's Communist Party."

"It's unacceptable that you would propose something that crushes our dignity in front of Western journalists!"

"Ma'am, I beg your pardon, but let me remind you: We're at war with the Empire!"

"As you so astutely observe, we're in the middle of a war!"

Shouting matches with political officers were the ultimate exercise in futility. At that very moment, time more precious than gold was passing them by. While they were wasting time debating, their victory was liable to slip through their fingers.

"Then how about just the tanks?! For mages, we'll make do with the Commonwealth's! Send out your army's tanks! We'll coordinate with them to get the job done!"

"I can't do that! Taking action on one's own discretion ruins the army's order and discipline!"

"Fine, then! Sorry, but I need to speak to HQ, not the political officer attached to our unit! Please connect me with Colonel Mikel!" He had been taught at the officers' academy not to get emotional. Had he forgotten the reason why? Or perhaps the eastern front was just that exhausting. "The Devil of the Rhine is among those who have disappeared, you know! We can't let this chance go by! We need an all-out offensive!"

He had let his guard down just slightly and ended up raising his voice against the unreasonable political officer. The fact that he did so without checking who might be listening proved fatal.

When Drake instinctively turned around in response to the strange clatter of something falling, it was the sight of a young magic first lieutenant, face flushed and fists clenched, not at all concerned about the canteen she had dropped, that leaped into his eyes.

Here and now was the absolute worst timing. "…She's gone?"

It was too late to do anything. "Lieutenant Sue? Lieutenant Sue!"

Letting Drake's shout to stop ricochet right off her, she ran away. And he was well aware that she wasn't the type to go to her room and sit quietly.

"Shit, that girl's always jumping the gun!"

Spending any more time talking to the political officer was now out of the question. I have to stop her, thought Drake as he raced after Sue.

And it was strange how quick she was in this and only this sort of situation. By the time he saw her fly away, just after voluntary mages in full gear who appeared to be on standby tried to restrain her…it was clear that they had failed to stop her rampage. And watching her closely, it was obvious where she was headed. Apparently, she was setting off on a long- range flight, bypassing the enemy position.

"Of all the—Is she really trying to go after her?"

If she just wanted to explode, there were better directions she could have stormed away in!

"She could have attacked the enemy position, but instead she's trying to follow the enemy mages?! Why?!" spat Drake but at the same time bracing himself.

At this point, hesitation is the enemy. I'll have to give up on quietly raiding the enemy position. The rest of the troops can handle the encirclement—it's time to clash with those pesky mages.

In truth, he really didn't want to go. He was wholeheartedly against it. Was it sane to go up against the main enemy defensive force solo?

He didn't even have to ask himself—the answer was clear. It would be the worst. How many bereaved families would end up hating him?

He could already see them grieving. Surely, left before the hearths of the home country, they would ask, Why did that incompetent superior officer have to go charging after the main enemy force with no plan?

But from a purely tactical standpoint, it was a great chance to tie up the enemy.

If they had to do what they had to do, then they simply had to do it. "Notice to HQ! The Lergen Kampfgruppe appears to have sortied on its

own discretion, and we're going after them!"

From the spirited letter of the message, some might have assumed he was thrilled for a chance to engage in a pursuit battle. But Drake expected

that if Mikel received it, the colonel would understand how he really felt. "You can leave it to me!"

Drake wasn't a fan of leaping haphazardly into action, but momentum was a factor. He couldn't deny that.

-x-X-x-

THE SAME TIME, AIRSPACE OF THE EASTERN MILITARY DISTRICT, AT THE HEAD OF THE 203RD AERIAL MAGE BATTALION

The battalion, flying as stealthily as possible, intends to break through and give the enemy a good beating. We shall be the ones to sneak up on the enemy and kick them in the rear.

But their innocent conviction wavers immediately after sortieing. "Colonel! The enemy's on the move!"

"What? It's too soon!" Tanya replies with a face that is half-doubt.

The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion excels at hide-and-seek. Even Tanya, one of the top five imperial mages of the present era, struggles to pick up the mana signal of one of her subordinates if they are serious about hiding.

They've been improving their covert flight skills ever since the trench battles on the Rhine. Even using the twin-engine Type 97 orbs, there's no way mana is leaking.

The idea that that, of all things, was the indirect cause of the enemy movement is beyond Tanya's imagination—which is why she's so confused.

"Are you saying they found us even with our magic suppressed?"

We've been operating under the assumption that we had some time until the imperial position would be attacked. Tanya worries that if the enemy has detected the core aerial mage battalion missing, the remaining troops are in danger, but her ability to fret about the issue as someone else's problem ends right there.

"Colonel! Look!" "They came after us?!"

Her adjutant points at a sprinkling of specks in the distance. The moment they're in the air, they're heading for us. Enemies. Enemy mages.

"This isn't funny!" yells Tanya. "Of all the—They're coming after me?

Normally, if the mages are gone, you strike the position they just left!"

Taking mages out of your defensive position is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. It's logical for the enemy to rush the position with zero hesitation—to the point that Tanya had assumed the enemy would mount an all-out attack once they discovered the 203rd had left.

"…I can't believe this. They're really headed this way."

Even the veteran officers Weiss, Ahrens, and Meybert had expressed the same fear prior to departure, so Tanya made sure that the Salamander Kampfgruppe—rather, the Lergen Kampfgruppe was thoroughly prepared for a defensive battle in the mages' absence.

Of course, Tanya isn't happy-go-lucky enough to think they could continue to hide the mage battalion's absence indefinitely, but she didn't anticipate it coming out this soon.

"I was resigned to the fact that our exposure was a matter of time, but…I never thought they would pursue us."

If I were in the enemy's shoes, I wouldn't go after the pesky enemies but the position that the pesky enemies had left open.

Which marbles do you have to lose to decide to charge after us?

"…If I had known the enemy would come this way, I would have done things differently."

She thought she had covered her bases for the worst-case scenario by giving rather final orders to her underlings to defend to the last and fight outside the position.

And though it's an awful way to go about things, quite a few of them have managed to stay alive. Tanya is ready to prioritize protecting herself. Her will to survive is not about to be crushed.

So she should be in a nice position no matter how it turns out, but…if the enemy is in pursuit, her position and premises have completely changed. Having to join up with Lieutenant General von Zettour's offensive while being pursued takes her out of the frying pan and thrusts her into the fire.

She wants to wail about how overworked she is.

—I'll just have to make this work.

This is the battlefield. Sadly, it's an uncivilized world. Worlds where

regulated violence carries more weight than civilized debate can rot. Or rather, jerks like Being X can rot.

I need to live, return to the rear, and slap everyone back there with my objections and discontent in the form of a mountain of written complaints.

"Major Weiss, cancel mana suppression. Prepare to enter combat at full strength. Don't hesitate to use the trick up our sleeve—the anti-magic sniping formula rounds."

"Yes, ma'am! Canceling mana suppression and engaging with the pursuing enemy unit at full power!"

I had been secretly hoping that the two-headed chimera of the Federation and Commonwealth armies might help us out by being slow to react.

But I guess I shouldn't have counted my chickens before they hatched. If I have to do this, then let's get it done.

The one thing we can't do is slow down.

"Major Weiss, fighting back is good, but no matter what, we keep advancing! Deal with pursuers as they catch up to us!"

"We're advancing even while the enemy is chasing us?!"

In response to her aghast subordinate, Tanya nods as if it's only natural. "It'd be worse if we stopped! Forward, forward! Fire back as necessary while maintaining speed!"

If the shock troops supposed to be making the breakthrough get caught up here, we'll have missed the point. And in the first place, mixing it up with the enemy instead of taking advantage of the Elinium Arms Type 97 Assault Computation Orb's speed would be a waste of time.

After giving the order to shake them off and fight with ranged attacks only, Tanya is brought back to her senses by the voice of her adjutant.

"The enemy's in firing range!" The unit in range is an enemy mage company.

I realize it takes a minute to go from suppressing your mana signal to max combat velocity, but they're still fast.

She can't help but be impressed that it's a company that has showed up to cling to her. They're not even performing evasive maneuvers, just coming straight in—what determined ducks.

"Baptize these heroes of a bygone era with modern long-range fire! This time we're blasting straight through their defensive shells!"

With one word from Tanya, the two companies return fire. The volley, both quantitatively and qualitatively the best of the age, splendidly slams into the oncoming company, sending enemy soldiers crashing into the Federation earth.

But they don't achieve as much as Tanya expected.

She figured one attack would cut down half of them, but only a few were downed.

The little speck of what must be an officer leading the way should have been on the receiving end of multiple concentrated shots from Tanya's subordinates, but their leader seems fine as ever.

Even taking into account the long-range firing conditions, this fellow is incredibly hardy.

"Tsk, what a stubborn stalker!" Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Tanya tries to manifest a formula that will pierce the enemy defensive shells, selecting an optical sniping formula, but right as she's about to fire, she notices incoming enemy long-range fire.

Did part of the group coming up behind the breakout company stop to snipe? When she looks, it seems like there is another battalion. I don't really feel like going at it with two companies and a full battalion.

But it's clear from this small engagement that these opponents aren't going to give up so easily.

"Entering medium-range and close-quarters combat! This was a very fast move for the Federation. Too fast!"

"Know who you're fighting, Major! They're multinational units. That is, they're not as slow as the Federation. We won't be able to get our job done with these nimble pursuers following us around."

Guess I have no choice. Tanya accepts her fate. Tanya gives Weiss, who nods that he catches her drift, a little smack in the shoulder, then swaps partners to pair with her buddy, First Lieutenant Serebryakov.

The skill on display as the two companies immediately get back into formation to hunt the prominent enemy company is so dreamy.

The mages of the 203rd charge wildly to secure local numerical superiority, and the fate of the enemy company on the receiving end of their strike is miserable indeed. With no time to recover mentally from the shock of going from the hunter to the hunted, most of them die heroic deaths, unable to muster the toughness they had only moments ago.