CHAPTER - II ( part 2)

JULY 2, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL, NEAR CENTRAL STATION

Trains bound for the east leave the imperial capital every single day. Eagerly awaiting their next leave, soldiers brace themselves all along the eastern front or perhaps trembling in the trenches.

Every last one of them is homesick. Sadly, given the critical state of the war and the deteriorating railway situation, getting a chance to actually go on your allotted leave is almost too much to wish for.

On the other hand, the capital also welcomes returnees on a daily basis. Many must have dreamed of returning to their Heimat and savoring the beer of their hometown, but instead they come back as silent coffins.

Though the main point of departure during this great war had shifted from west to east, returnees were still coming back to the capital horizontal in their coffins.

Tanya has been supplied with civilian mourning clothes, and the ceremony she is ordered to attend is one of those ubiquitous memorial services for the war dead.

Military business without the military attire. Apparently, she's just a

private citizen for today. Lieutenant General Rudersdorf has also removed his uniform to put on plain formal wear. He all but tells her to follow him with the way he pointedly walks over to one corner of the venue.

I'm not getting the sense that he'll take no for an answer. Tanya has no choice but to swallow her questions, purse her lips, and follow him.

Before long, they reach a spot just a short way from the north exit of the train station.

In every direction, all that can be seen is black. Mixed in with the throng of mourning clothes, the occasional dress uniform interrupts the wall of muted colors.

Are those white spots navy dress uniforms? They stick out too much.

The thin streaks of white give the crowd a strange, mottled pattern. And most of the visible army officers are ranked captain or lower. The ones overseeing the procession are field officers, at least, but…compared to Tanya's and the general's formal wear, it's plain to see how the folks in uniform are extremely conspicuous.

In impersonal, black mourning clothes, you cease to be an individual and fade into the background. It was a smart choice as a camouflage. Thus, Tanya is able to attend this funeral as a mere bystander.

That said, she's in the Empire, and this is a ceremony, so certain norms still need to be followed.

No matter where it takes place, all these things start the same way.

A sad bugle rings out. Whether a simplified service on the front or a memorial service for the war dead in the rear, the song is always the same.

Frankly, the Empire loves decorum.

Whether in the capital, on the forward-most line, or yes, in the trenches of the east, the dead are grieved for in the prescribed way.

Apparently, I've gotten quite used to hearing this song. It really does make you recall your fellow soldiers, and the melody lingers in Tanya's ears. It almost lulls her into acting instinctively, without thinking.

Standing at attention, she stops short of saluting. She's dressed as a civilian right now. She snaps her rising arm back down and swallows a little sigh.

The goal here is observation.

Thus, she takes a closer look, and…she finds herself unexpectedly confused.

She can't see.

The reason for poor visibility is, to be blunt, a sea of people's backs.

Normally her subordinates are considerate and keep out of her way, but naturally she can't expect that treatment from the masses… How am I supposed to do anything like this?

"Can you see?"

She responds to the teasing officer's voice honestly, with some impatience.

"I-it's a bit… Well, with my height, I can't quite make out…"

-x-X-x-

[Image]

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On the front line, my height doesn't inconvenience me at all. Sometimes it even makes my life easier—for instance, I don't need to crouch as much as the others. But it's not very helpful when I'm standing upright in a crowd of people.

The height disparity is undeniable. I admit it—I'm tiny. Of course, since I present a smaller target to the enemy, that just means I'm optimized for the battlefield.

How frustrating that I'm not optimized for a civilized urban landscape. "You can't see at all, huh?"

"Er…not from here, unfortunately."

"And it would be rather inappropriate for me to hoist you up on my shoulders."

It's exceedingly clear that her superior, smiling like somebody's kindly grandfather, is having a laugh at my expense. This is what makes staff officers such nasty characters.

I'm not happy I have to show a strange weakness in such an unusual moment…but I must admit that Tanya is on the short side.

"Are you saying I could sit on your shoulders?"

"What? That's what you want? Then I suppose I could do that."

Despite my best attempt to rattle him, the general's defenses are impregnable.

Political animals though they may be, as social animals, there are lines humans should not cross. And if I'm being honest, I'd do just about anything else than have to sit on his shoulders.

"…No, er…"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me. I have the strength."

He laughs while assuring me that he's plenty capable of holding me up, and my spine practically freezes.

If he puts me on his shoulders here, the shame will stay with me for the rest of my life. If there end up being photos, any honor and dignity I may have accumulated will be obliterated. I started this, but surely my only choice is to respectfully decline.

"I'm honored by your offer, but I believe the circumstances call for some reserve. Perhaps another time."

"I see." Rudersdorf laughs, utterly unperturbed. Is it just me, or is he enjoying himself quite a bit at this funeral?

It makes me question his humanity. Even the people like Tanya who are here for work are maintaining a somber expression, yet here he is screwing around!

Is he socially awkward or something?

In the rear, for better or worse, social etiquette is alive and well. Though I'd just as soon rather not, if people see a child standing on tiptoes, I'm sure the ladies and gentlemen around us will naturally give way.

Specifically, a bit of piss-poor acting takes care of the crowd. I suppose Rudersdorf feels a bit like Moses when he dons a mournful expression and appeals to bystanders with phrases like "Please, this little girl is trying to see…"

And so there's no choice but to take part in this awkward theatrical production. Bowing apologetically, I occupy the space that has instantly been created for me.

As I push forward, my field of vision opens up.

The bit about the shoulder ride must have been a jab. Staff officers often take the initiative to exploit the things that people hate.

Yes, that's the problem with staff officers. Still, as a result, I can see now.

Turning her head to look around, Tanya's focused eyes notice that everything is laid out in a completely standard manner. The service is very by the book, and no matter how hard she looks, there is nothing particularly novel about it. To be honest, I'm sick of seeing these things.

After all, the east is one of the major processing centers for turning soldiers into war dead.

The eastern front transforms the raw materials ferried from the imperial capital into corpses and then delivers them back home. The capital exports raw materials and imports war dead—it's a processing trade.

Of course, I recognize regional variation with different locations. Case in point, the capital is as far as you can get from the front lines. Given the location, there is a notable presence of black civilian mourning dress.

But that's it.

There's no real reason to be here studying the scene. "…Look at them."

Following the finger that poked her in the shoulder and then points… Tanya can make out a group of people with crisply starched clothing. On the

eastern front, other soldiers carry the casket, but here they appear to be honor guards.

"Hmm?"

That's when Tanya notices something. They're awfully—how to say— they make the casket look so heavy. They're probably not breathing hard, but it's obvious from a glance that they're straining.

Strange.

That coffin shouldn't even have anything in it—it's most likely just an empty box. Are they acting as if an actual body is inside out of consideration for all the civilians in attendance?

But the war has been going on long enough that surely it's common knowledge by now that you're lucky if there's so much as a bone to put in the casket. It's impossible to gloss over that reality.

What's more, this performance isn't even regulation for burying the war dead. There's no stipulation that the casket should be carried as if it was a heavy burden, as far as I'm aware… Was it revised while I wasn't looking?

Or did they really throw a body that decomposed into that coffin? Then it must be a high-ranking officer, or someone decorated at least. But if that were the case, there should be more familiar faces in the crowd.

I don't understand it one bit. Tanya continues observing. The key to these things is always the rank and file.

Setting aside the issue of what's in the casket, Tanya turns her gaze on the utterly normal soldiers. But the longer she watches them, the stronger the urge to avert her eyes grows.

Talk about out of sync!

I'm not claiming they need to be flawlessly goose-stepping or anything. But how is something this visually disconcerting allowed to happen during a ceremony in the rear? Considering the importance of appearances for the army, it's puzzling.

If a whiny military bureaucrat married to the regulations were present, they'd be ripping into this performance without a second of hesitation.

Not that I have any intention of having my troops abide by such a strict interpretation of military code, but if this is the state of the honor guard, I can confidently say the Salamander Kampfgruppe would perform much better.

Even a unit that hadn't had much etiquette training would be preferable. "…What a mess." Tanya finds herself lamenting in spite of herself.

If you can't carry a single wounded comrade, you can't call yourself a soldier. Gasping under a casket carried by multiple people is entirely out of the question. Under normal circumstances, it would be difficult to believe that a group of properly trained soldiers carrying a casket could find it heavy.

Or perhaps it really did feel heavy—to these borderline malnourished fellows, it just might.

As Tanya continues to watch, something else becomes apparent.

All the pallbearers look rather pale and unwell. Are they mostly soldiers who were sent to the rear to recover from illness? Or perhaps with a golden wound? Watching them move, she can make out a slight wobble that could indicate a limp.

Aside from that, most of them appear to be rosy-cheeked young men.

Their relative sizes are a bit varied for an army that likes to choose honor guards of similar heights for a dignified appearance, but more than anything, they're unbelievably young.

Maybe it's just her, but they look like they could almost be cadets from the officer academy, or volunteers in their mid- to late teens.

"…I guess this is what you call distortion," Tanya murmurs quietly. She was talking to herself, but her superior seems to have heard her remark and found it appropriate.

"So you see it, too."

Seeing him apparently satisfied by her observation, Tanya nods slightly. "Yes."

"…This, what you see in front of you, is the current situation we are facing," Rudersdorf whispers, having crouched down. "The unwell and the young carrying coffins. It's awful."

These boys look like they're really struggling under that coffin… How sad. It's a scene that embodies the dried-up human resources pool. For Tanya, it's about all she can do to endure the dizziness. Perhaps Rudersdorf feels the same way. He continues his lament in a quiet voice.

"And it speaks accurately to the Empire's fate. But that's from our point of view. Let's observe from a different angle." He pats Tanya's shoulder and rises. "Today, make sure you take a good look at people's faces."

As instructed, she runs her eyes over the venue, taking in the rows of anguished expressions. Perhaps they're grieving relatives? Friends of the dead?

Either way, if they're in the procession, they must have some connection to the deceased. It's only natural that people left behind would look upset. The death of someone close to you is always distressing.

The sorrowful air grows stagnant, and the muted sound of overflowing tears is audible. This is unmistakably a funeral procession.

But Tanya notes something else as well.

These grieving lamentations are only from those in the procession.

Even unconnected people coming and going in the capital superficially make way as a formality and bow their heads to be polite. But beneath that, you can sense a sort of disinterest. The civilians passing by convey a sense of hopeless familiarity with their every move.

It's clear at a glance. Their movements are smooth and even relaxed. A group of soldiers who appear to be off duty stiffen and perform slick salutes. If Tanya herself had been passing by on other business, she would have offered one with a silent prayer as well.

These repeated and perfected motions are nothing more than well- practiced manners at this point.

"…Ah, I get it now."

Grief has become commonplace here, as if it were just another part and parcel of being well-mannered in polite company.

It's fine to be sophisticated—as long as we aren't constantly holding ceremonies for war dead.

In peaceful Japan, any event that caused double-digit deaths in one day would be reported nonstop. Meanwhile in the imperial capital today, casualty numbers have lost all meaning.

The same applies to being informed that dozens are dying every single day. The best such a topic can do is incidentally come up in conversation and inspire the same level of interest as the weather. In the next moment, the conversation will shift to a rousing debate about substitute foods.

That's how far war has encroached on the fabric of society. For residents of the capital during the great war, caskets of war dead have long since become a normal part of daily life. Someone like Tanya, returning from the front where they don't have time to give each and every corpse a proper burial, finds the ceremony more unusual than the civilians.

This is a distorted sense of normalcy.

A broken peace where the abnormal has long since supplanted the normal.

The forward-most line has felt like a world of people whose rationality has been ground down by enemy heavy artillery, but…apparently, the madness has slithered its way into the rear as well and to a much greater degree than expected. The world's reason has been obliterated, and chaos is only growing.

"…There's something tragic about this."

With that remark from Tanya, Rudersdorf must have decided that he had shown her enough. He tersely says, "Let's go."

"…Yes, sir."

It's not necessary to push back through the crowd. A few slight bows to the smattering of people around them is enough to make a path. Regardless of how it is on the front, other areas are quite open.

As they leave the funeral venue, Rudersdorf maintains his silence.

He reaches into his pocket for a cigar, brings it up to his mouth, and puffs as he strides away.

His gait seems…irritated. He doesn't seem to notice that his stride is longer than Tanya's, either. In the end, she has to jog to keep up.

Some superior officers really don't pay attention to details like this… Or maybe it's simply that they can't afford to care…

The former is no good for obvious reasons, but if someone who was normally considerate of these things has been forced to ignore it because circumstances don't allow for it…that's a much bigger problem.

Coming out onto Main Street and mingling with the pedestrian traffic, the general finally stops.

"How was it?"

A sudden question completely devoid of ornamentation.

"It forced me to acknowledge my lack of foresight and imagination… It's hard to believe we're in the rear. Has the imperial capital become purgatory?"

"Indeed. It's as you've seen with your own eyes. Colonel Uger mentioned it to me the other day, so I went to have a look. It was only then I finally realized."

"I feel the same way. I suppose seeing really is believing."

I've finally caught a glimpse of Uger's brilliant consensus-building skills in action.

Frankly, his planning is impeccable. Someone who doesn't go over

someone's head to move them but forces them to comprehend intuitively. His talent with people is a real treasure. I'm sure he'll go far.

I originally intended to knock him out of the running for promotions, but it seems he has the mettle to keep growing. Competing with someone like him would be a waste of energy, capital, and time. I'll try to stay on good terms with him instead.

At the same time, I belatedly realize that if such an outstanding individual is going out of his way to give Tanya a warning, it deserves more than a cursory examination.

"…So even those who died in battle can no longer affect public opinion?" "Zettour would have something to say about death becoming ubiquitous." The shock of total war is great. It must have necessitated a paradigm shift.

But perhaps the immensity of it pushed society to numb its senses instead.

Mobilizing every last youth, the rationing system, the mass employment of women and girls in every service and industry, and a sea of corpses flowing from the front lines.

"I do think it's possible to find some hope in all this." "What?"

"If they aren't seized by emotion, couldn't that mean that a proper discussion centered on logic and reason is possible?"

A wise thought if I do say so myself. It certainly feels as though Tanya just made a sharp observation.

Sadly, conversation is a tricky business. "Colonel, are you an idiot?"

The exact opposite of the agreement I was expecting. It's a stinging retort. "I—I beg your pardon, General. What do you mean?"

"You really are an idiot, then."

Being told off so bluffly is quite upsetting, even for me. Tanya maintains a polite smile, but her twitching lips definitely give it away for anyone who bothers looking closely.

"Are you that hopelessly ignorant of people's feelings? You're the typical example of someone who can conduct psychological warfare yet still can't comprehend the human heart."

"Sir?"

Faced with Tanya's incomprehension, Rudersdorf heaves an exasperated sigh. How…humiliating.

Tanya is extremely, utterly offended.

"Are you one of these morons who thinks of war as nothing more than people butchering one another? Use your head and figure out where you left your common sense behind. Once it passes a certain threshold, anger plateaus."

As if they're having a pleasant philosophical discussion, Rudersdorf smiles, his stern features unnaturally peaceful.

"True fury is marked by the strange calm that comes over someone after they've gone past their limits."

Taking out another cigar and a lighter, he apparently intends to enjoy a brief pause. As the smoke puffs out from between his lips, the general seems as calm as ever…but his hands are shaking.

It would be one thing if I could believe it was simply due to age.

"While they can still scream, it's different. While they can scream, they give it voice. Once people reach rock bottom and they stop crying out… How can I explain it?"

Though restrained by the basic training every soldier receives, a subtle expression crosses his face. Is that…fear? I want to dismiss the very idea, but there's no other explanation.

Her superior and the operations officer who is de facto don of the General Staff is frightened? That's the sort of thing that paralyzes the hearts of field officers like Tanya. This is a nightmare. I come close to sympathizing with people who mistakenly cling to supposedly higher beings in their moment of weakness.

If it weren't for free will and my resolute, modern ego, these feelings of powerlessness probably would've driven me into the grasping hands of faith as well.

Luckily, the fraud's trick has been revealed.

Tanya takes a deep breath. After waiting a moment to let the oxygen reach her brain, she shakes her head to clear it and regain a measure of calm.

"General, is that something we should be afraid of?"

"Afraid? …Hmm, I suppose we have to acknowledge that," he mutters. "The explosive power of public opinion bottled up for so long—it's like magma under extreme pressure… There really is something equally awe- and fear-inspiring about it."

The way he's talking about public opinion as if it were magma makes

Tanya's brow furrow. That said, it's undeniable that lately I've had to accept that the masses and public opinion are outside my areas of expertise.

Tanya herself is an ordinary, upstanding citizen, so it'd be nice if she could claim that she could represent public opinion, but…

Sadly, there are idiots out there.

Those imbeciles are beyond saving. And it would seem that they're more formidable than an individual of good sense like Tanya can imagine.

"So what you're saying, General, is that what appears to be peaceful in this world might actually be concealing something that's on the brink of blowing up?"

"Even gunpowder is stable until it explodes."

That sounds like something an artillery officer or field engineer would say. Those guys love making comments about how charming explosives are as long as they don't go off.

"Is that the same as feeling surprisingly calm while thinking, I'm gonna kill you?"

"…That may be the truth on the battlefield, but it has no place in discussions about important matters of state. It's the sort of outrageous thing someone who only knows the battlefield would say. A classic example of inflexible thinking. I'm disappointed in you."

For a moment, I'm not sure how to respond. I'd like to argue that I have a wealth of experience, but that would be a baseless claim.

Damn. Tanya freezes up, but for better or worse, Rudersdorf also looks puzzled and then pounds his hand.

"…Sorry, I take back everything I just said. Your lack of experience is self-evident."

"Excuse me?"

"It's true that the vast majority of your life has been spent in the army. I forgot who I was talking to. I must admit my criticism was inappropriate."

Much to my chagrin, the general is earnestly lowering his head in apology.

Is he feigning politeness? Is he mocking me?

If he wants a counterargument, I have plenty.

That's why it's so hard for Tanya to swallow her protest. There's no way she can say any of those things. If he asks for an explanation, how could she possibly reply?

After all, Tanya "volunteered" for the army at the youngest possible age.

As far as anyone in this world can tell, she has no other life experience to speak of, not even nominally, and there's no way she could claim otherwise.

I have no idea how the general is interpreting Tanya's polite silence, but he seems to have come to a conclusion on his own. "If I compare it to the calm before an attack, you understand, right? All who remain are simply waiting for the whistle in the trenches, exhausted, their minds numb."

"In that analogy, when the peace finally comes to an end, it shatters in an instant."

Rudersdorf nods in acknowledgment and brings his cigar to his lips in discomfort. "When order is upheld, peace can be preserved. Without it, peace is impossible. It's the difference between having a thin layer of ice or not."

An imperial victory would be wonderful…or rather, it would be an achievement proportionate to the vast sacrifices. In other words, it's equal in price to the blood the Imperial Army has shed. That's fine if we're talking statements that say nothing at all.

Sadly, investment doesn't come with a guarantee that you'll recoup the principal.

This is a project that has lost sight of its definition of victory. The only ones who can hope for any success are scammers deceiving the stockholders. Even start-up press releases sound more promising than this.

The credit known as victory is now just bad debt.

It's so subpar, it can't be rated. Even specialists who don't fear the risk of investing in bad debt wouldn't be able to find a scrap of hope in this enterprise.

And the funniest part of all is that it's impossible to laugh at this absurd situation. What a nightmare this is turning out to be.

Perhaps humans are creatures who are fated to repeat that cycle. To my subjective memory, it feels like ages ago, but when was it that the U.S. messed up in the same way?

Those subprime mortgages—what a panic that was.

What says it all is how "average Americans" seemed to have decided as a group to take no interest in that abnormality. Truly unbelievable.

"…The illusion of plans. The fantasy of harmony and order. The way the future should be. General, this is an outrageous con."

"Con or whatever it is, a plan is a plan."

"The reason it's a con is that it's not going to work out, though."

"If our failure is exposed, it'll be impossible to escape disaster. As such, our only choice is to keep fighting. After all, there's nothing to say that it won't trigger the detonation that will blow the Empire sky-high."

An explosion—that is, an unprecedented rampage.

Oh, he must be referring to what happens when you lose a war.

At the same time as I have that idle thought, the realist in me has some doubts. Would a country that has fought past the point of exhaustion have the energy for an explosion like that?

It's an open question whether humans will continue to cling to something that's been thoroughly broken beyond repair.

"I don't mean any disrespect, but…I do wonder what will really happen after we burn out. Depending on the situation and the timing, isn't it possible we end up quietly welcoming peace?"

"Have you joined the pack of dreamers drowning in daytime fantasies, too?"

Withering under his utterly disdainful tone and glare, Tanya is taken aback. She's neither an unprincipled defeatist nor an optimist.

Tanya speaks more forcefully to make her point. "No, General. It's merely my personal theory. Very simply, I'm just extrapolating what seems like a possible result we can expect following total war."

History certainly has precedents. There is no greater proof than reality.

And actually, as far as Tanya is concerned, truth is stranger than fiction.

Make no mistake, the world truly is filled with real mysteries. That's what enables Tanya to argue with her superior officer by shooting a question back at him.

"I can't help but be skeptical. In a country that has fought down to the marrow in their bones, does the populace even have enough energy in reserve for an outburst?"

"Do you have any basis for claiming that?" Of course I do.

The Empire of Japan.

When the people found out they lost, they were shocked beyond belief. There may have been a handful of exceptions at Atsugi, holdouts on the front lines, and a domestic campaign against Commies, but the majority embraced defeat.

The Third Reich.

In the ruins of their dreams of empire, utterly overwhelmed, they were forced to confront defeat.

Or the Cretan War. Or the Soviet-Afghan War. Fighting so hard you run out of options means there is literally nothing to do but embrace defeat.

"Please take a look at the former Entente Alliance and the Principality of Dacia and how their will to resist differs from the Republic's. The former two were bludgeoned completely into the ground while the latter, though defeated, retained the energy to resist."

It's no élan vital,1 but morale can sometimes be a monster.

Whether people act recklessly or not is a mental issue. Psychological warfare deserves to be recognized at least a little bit.

"If they have any energy remaining, they'll be liable to revolt again, perhaps more seriously this time."

"It's not as if you don't know about our rampant partisan problem. They're even popping up in Dacia these days. Under the circumstances, that sort of opinion seems rather bold."

"Time is a medicine that relieves pain and memory loss—it seems to be a tonic for the troubled mind."

Humans are frequently capable of forgetting the inconvenient.

Thanks to our handy brains, the French hold up their resistance myth, German people murmur about "good Germans," and the British called their Empire "generous." The Japanese turned into "victims of militarism," while Americans have no doubt that their exceptionalism is real, kings of the hill.

But what is the reality?

"Fine. I can concede that there is the possibility of things concluding without a great upheaval. But, Colonel, there are too many issues with that scenario for us to accept that as the most likely outcome."

When he points that out, I understand so well it makes me sick.

Defeat means literally being forced to accept peace. That's not something the Empire is capable of enduring at present.

A gradual decline. A quagmire.

A way forward that isn't clear.

Despite these things being true, the Empire still boasts the ability to fight.

Considering its position in negotiations, there is too great a risk in failing to compete. If we let someone discover our weakness, we could end up in the same position Germany found itself during World War I.

But then how can we resolve things? Is there some way to satisfactorily patch things up in every arena?

From the history I'm privy to, peace seems… Well, that's the shameful truth.

Even after decisive victory in the Russo-Japanese War, there were the Hibiya riots.

Looking at other historical precedents, rather than being dismayed and muted, people rioted in major opposition to the perfectly acceptable peace terms. Without a proper explanation that the public is willing to accept, that's what happens.

In the end, if we want to avoid chaos on the home front, we can't discount public opinion.

Luckily…the current political situation vis-à-vis popular sentiment isn't particularly awful. And the Empire's administrative organs are superior to that of any of our time-honored Communist rivals. With what some would call decisive and merciless oppression, the police force has achieved the virtual obliteration of organized dissent, so the fact is that our society's malcontents have been beaten and cornered for a while now.

But our opponents are Commies.

We definitely haven't eradicated all their cells. They are shockingly tenacious and resilient. There's no end in sight for this game of Whack-a- Mole. Reminds me of the east—argh.

"I realize it'll be a difficult challenge. It's a task on par with achieving victory in the east."

When you're looking for a soft-landing strategy while a hard landing keeps flickering in and out of view, it's pretty hard to stay calm and carry on.

Seeing how the world was forced to confront the Commie threat head-on after World War II, letting our guard down would be no different from contemplating suicide.

Let's be honest. This is a truly intimidating challenge. But Tanya speaks forcefully, incorporating her determination and will into her reply. "Nothing could be harder than attaining a peaceful, quiet conclusion to this war, but… we mustn't give up."

"Well said."

"Yes. We have to do this—for peace." And for me.

We have to reestablish peace.

In my general vicinity, if nowhere else. I'm not asking for anything so ambitious as world peace. Achieving an environment where I can pursue my own future in safety would be plenty satisfying.

That environment requires peace. "For peace, huh?"

"For peace in the Reich. For a tranquil Heimat. It's an extremely simple wish."

Soldiers are fans of peace by nature. Who could possibly better understand the value of peace more than soldiers during wartime?

"I didn't know you were such a fan of peace." "Yes, sir, I'm a coward."

Tanya tells the truth as if it's a joke.

The reason he finds it out of character must be her combat record. She's been on the front lines for so long that it makes sense people would assume she enjoys it there.

But I'd much prefer working at the company headquarters.

And it was just recently that Lieutenant Colonel Uger's declaration of his humanity left quite an impression. I'd like to be thought of as a human commander, too.

"A recipient of the Silver Wings claiming to be a coward? You? I'm surprised, Colonel. This is starting to sound like a children's book."

"Will the General Staff Office publish it? I look forward to the royalties." Her reply seems to have hit her superior's funny bone.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha! Royalties! Royalties, you say?" Rudersdorf laughs heartily, holding his belly, and then claps his hands. "Very well, Colonel."

"Huh?"

"It's a promise." "What is, sir?"

What are you talking about? his smile seems to say. "Of course, we have to get out of this war alive first, but…once that's taken care of, I'll turn your confessional into a story for children. The General Staff will fund the whole thing—a picture book."

"Really? That sounds like misappropriation of government funds, sir."

Mixing public and private matters usually invites punishment no matter the era, and war heroes are no exception. Even Scipio Africanus was lambasted for a family member's misuse of government money. Cato the Elder may have been great, but many others would have simply been remembered as Cato the Bozo.

"That much will be overlooked. I'll take it out of the propaganda budget.

And for the all-important title—how about The Cowardly Hero?" "It would be an incredible honor, sir."

Rudersdorf's smile says he thinks that's great. "Do your best to survive to the day the war ends. I'll make your secret shame public for all to see. There's no stopping me now, Colonel."

"Of course not." She smiles back. It's more beneficial at this juncture to be thought of like this rather than as a ball of courage or a mad dog that doesn't know when to quit. "I have to survive so I can fulfill my dream of living on royalties."

As long as work comes with proper compensation, it's a wonderful thing. But who am I to oppose receiving passive income without needing to put in any work?

The sobering rebound from a happy fantasy is rough. The more seductive the prospects, the greater the disappointment.

After parting with Rudersdorf, Tanya emits a sigh as she walks alone through the capital.

The gray imperial capital, city of the dead, and this strange lifestyle of clinging to broken normalcy… The situation here is beyond her understanding.

"…The tricky part is that we haven't lost yet." There's one root cause for it.

Though we haven't won, we haven't lost, either—a bizarre state of limbo.

In reality, the eastern front is a nightmare. The Empire is already waist deep in a quagmire. Severe attrition, administrative chaos, and no exit strategy. That's the cause of this gradual yet evident decline.

Look in all the right places, and you'll be able to see the hourglass's sand flowing at an alarming rate.

But humans are blind creatures who only see what they want. A man is

less often a roseau pensant than a zombie that pretends to be pensant.

The Reich is ruled by emotion and the weight of the dead.

I see that if you say, I'm no zombie! to a bunch of zombies, you'll obviously get bit. Everyone needs to become a zombie.

Wandering aimlessly past corner after corner, Tanya sighs again.

Being stripped of the officer's uniform that gives her purpose and direction is enough to elicit a stream of melancholy sighs.

"There are too many reasons to fear a pandemic, huh."

Zombie panic—it's a stereotypical development you might see in a Hollywood blockbuster.

But it's impossible to laugh off because this isn't fiction playing out on screen. Shockingly, this is reality. If we don't stop it in its tracks, the Empire is liable to become a great power that rots from the inside out.

Having thought that far, Tanya shakes her head. "It's too much for a mere lieutenant colonel to handle. I can mull it over as much as I want, but I haven't even figured out the puzzle I'm already working on."

It's one thing to be proud of your abilities, but you'll trip yourself up if you get arrogant and overestimate what you're capable of.

Even with the career she has built, Tanya isn't much more than a handy tool for the General Staff. Like a capable field team being given preferential treatment at the main office. You may be a reliable hand or foot, but you're still just an extremity.

Hands and feet aren't allowed to think for themselves. "That said, I can't just give up."

When the brain is mistaken, there's no reason the extremities should be able to escape unscathed.

Rather, it's the opposite. Some utter idiot has forgotten to wear his diaper, and it's the job of the hands to get him into one. Hands and feet are frequently forced to clean up after stupid brains. And it's not uncommon that the brain only becomes aware of its predicament because the hands and feet are rotting.

"Haaah," Tanya sighs and shakes her head. "I guess I just have to keep coaxing the brass."

I shouldn't get too caught up in body metaphors. Even the hands and feet I'm talking about are, in reality, made up of individuals who can think and speak for themselves.

There's no rule that says we can't think for ourselves.

What can be done to improve the situation? Thinking seriously about the possibilities, the presence of wise, influential leaders like Lieutenant General Rudersdorf and Lieutenant General Zettour are like shining stars. The expansion of their influence should have a beneficial effect on the war situation.

It would seem at a glance that a helpful first step toward a solution, then, would be to serve them above and beyond what my responsibilities dictate.

"But that would very much be the first step toward forming a military faction. An army that becomes a party and wages political war? No matter how you look it, it's a recipe for disaster."

An instrument of violence.

An army always has that aspect to it. Without proper oversight, a tool designed for violence can easily spin out of control.

No matter how just the objective, any negligence inevitably leads to tragedy.

Tanya has no interest in getting mixed up in a future like that.

If you know a storm is coming, you take appropriate precautions.

Emergency evacuation. Fleeing is surely a natural right of any human being. "Though it's not my style…"

What about requesting asylum?

The thoughts that Tanya can't risk saying aloud get entertained privately for a moment.

It's like switching jobs. It feels as if the residents of the capital going by are watching her, but it's time to take stock of the overall situation.

The Empire is a sinking ship.

To use an airplane metaphor, it's like there's an intoxicated amateur in the cockpit. At a glance, the plane seems to be flying stably due to autopilot, but there's no guarantee of a safe landing.

If you have a parachute, jumping is a real option that should be considered.

But diving hastily in a panic would only be wringing your own neck.

When job hunting, it's only natural to stay in your current position until you know where you're going. If you're transferring from a big-name company, your weaknesses aren't likely to be visible, but if you're looking for a job with no work, you'll notice them treating you differently.

I may not look it, but I used to work in HR. I know exactly how these things go.

Someone who's used to getting the best terms is likely to continue to receive excellent compensation, if poached, while someone who was treated well before they were sacked frequently finds their market value lower than before.

Things might be different for people in a skilled occupation, like doctors or engineers, but…Tanya's military career isn't one of those highly specialized ones. The highest education she's ever attained was at the Empire's war college. It's extremely doubtful the diploma would even be recognized overseas.

Her prospects for finding work after seeking asylum are dismal. She doesn't even have any connections she could rely on if she had to switch careers.

"Maybe I should have taken a high-ranking official prisoner."

If Tanya had captured a VIP who was worthy of a prisoner exchange, she could have forged some connections. Practically everyone she knows is inside the Empire.

The foreign soldier she is closest with would probably be Ildoa's Colonel Calandro. But they're merely work acquaintances.

"Although he seems like a good person." But that was all.

To be blunt, as far as Tanya can tell, it's only a matter of course that an officer attached to a frontline Kampfgruppe—and often involved in delicate matters, at that—is rated highly.

Calandro seems sort of like Lieutenant Colonel Uger, a man with good sense, but…

Tanya shakes her head. Unlike Uger, the man she attended war college with and whose family life she even knows about to some degree, she can't claim to know Calandro personally.

The best she can say is that he's a client she's familiar with. Yes, definitely not the type of connection she can quietly consult about a career change. Setting aside the idea of clinging to him after losing her job, her connection to him is too tenuous to try anything overt while still employed.

It's important to have some stability at turning points in life. It's because the fog is thick that we need to be well insured.

"Do I keep up appearances on a sinking ship? Or do I hang on for dear life while exploring a career change?"

Both options are awful.

I'm the restructurer. I never dreamed I'd be worrying about getting laid off or changing careers. I prefer being on the side that gets to choose.

I can declare sincerely, with my whole heart, that this lifetime employment system of the army's makes even the practice of employing new grads while restricting the freedom of movement of labor look decent in comparison. The military system can eat shit.

Plus, in the army, "lifetime" really means from the time you sign up to the day you die in combat.

That devil Being X really had the nerve to land me into this situation. I never liked a thing about him to begin with, but…this is just too much.

If gods exist, then they left one hell of a villainous spirit to his own devices.

We should have taken the philosophers shouting that God was dead more seriously. Nietzsche, you were right