CHAPTER - II

JULY 29, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE EASTERN FRONT

A familiar scene was playing out on the eastern front.

"So we're being transferred? I had a feeling we would be, but…"

The assembled Imperial Army officers shared a looked of puzzlement after receiving their latest orders.

The eastern front was large beyond belief, so being transferred didn't seem very out of the ordinary. Despite this, or maybe precisely because of this, the men grumbled as they began filtering back to their respective battalions.

They were on the move again, marching through the vast tracts of land that characterized the eastern front as they made the journey west.

"Heading west again, eh? It feels like we've been heading west a lot lately."

There was a reason for their grumbling.

They were keeping an eye out for roaming partisans as they traveled with the assistance and guidance of the Council for Self-Government. The army was slowly going back from whence it came.

It was a slow withdrawal as they steadily contracted the front line. From the average soldier's point of view, it felt eerily like committing suicide by letting an open wound slowly bleed out.

After receiving the orders to pull back time and time again, the officers started to think the same way. They were bound to let out a grumble or two after pulling back so many times.

July had seen the Imperial Army perform a series of measured retreats.

This change in Lieutenant General Zettour's tune was stark after the large- scale maneuver warfare he conducted back in June. It felt an awful lot like they were being pushed back by an advancing enemy.

Do we still hold the initiative? The soldiers were beginning to have their doubts.

"…Not again. They want us to pull back even more."

It wasn't just one or two soldiers who made small remarks like this.

There was a dangerous edge to their voices. They collectively gritted their teeth as they—yet again—packed up their gear. They often stayed only a single night before they got new orders to move out, crawling ever westward. Most of these soldiers weren't the type to go charging ahead without thinking.

From a military standpoint, the general withdrawal was essentially inevitable.

Graduates from the academy and the rare, well-seasoned soldier understood this implicitly.

That the endless shuffling of soldiers… That was something that always happened before a large-scale battle. Consequently, in the beginning at least, most of troops in the ranks were hopeful this was the case.

And so they obediently took up their new positions where they would wait for their next orders, only to be disappointed over and over.

Being known for his aggression and decisiveness on the battlefield, the famous strategist Lieutenant General Zettour's orders were exceedingly simple.

As far as anyone could remember in recent memory, the only command he gave was fall back, fall back.

Thus, officers on the front could only raise idle complaints as they fell in line. They told themselves that higher up, there must be some sort of secret intent behind the orders that they couldn't grasp.

Their superior officers, however, didn't have this question to fall back on.

They were confused about the orders they were giving their men. Why are we acting so cautiously?

One glance at the map was all they needed to begin thinking, There's something wrong with these orders. The more time that passed, the more this incomprehensible feeling reared its ugly head.

Had the orders been fall back and hold the line instead, it would've

made a little more sense. Enough for the commanding officers to rationalize the orders, at least. But it felt like they were continuing to retreat without any perceivable strategy. It was difficult to process.

At first, they thought it could be an attempt to establish a new defensive line, but their movements weren't conducive to fortifying any positions. All Lieutenant General Zettour's orders had them deployed with an emphasis on mobility. Again, the commanding officers chalked it up as preparation for their next strike…but the retreats didn't stop.

The general was known for using aggressive maneuver warfare to encircle his enemies. This made it exceedingly difficult for the commanding officers to reason out why he would give orders that had them going backward rather than forward. It would be a different story if they were shifting the line back to conserve resources for a major operation. That was textbook military strategy. Unfortunately, there was a major problem with that conclusion.

Such a strategy would have involved retreating, regrouping, then preparing for an eventual counterattack.

Had they been following these three steps, not a single soldier would have questioned their movements even once. The issue was, they weren't regrouping.

As far as they could tell, the entire front was steadily ceding ground.

They couldn't shake the feeling that they were yielding to enemy pressure on the front line. That possibility felt all too real.

If they knew what their ultimate goal was, they would quietly listen. Nonetheless, falling back in the face of mounting enemy pressure was beyond their comprehension.

It was enough to make some soldiers furious, and for those tormented by their suspicions—they'd convinced themselves that there must be some grander, well-thought-out scheme. In that sense, the Imperial Army was an organization that didn't accept silence. Everything started with obedience.

Offering a dissenting opinion was a right and a duty for anyone who had one.

And so the commanding officers raised their concerns with the General Staff Office.

Each time they were met with the same answer: It's all part of the plan. They would accept that explanation once.

They would grudgingly go along with it a second time. But the third time was where they drew the line.

As time passed, their suspicions only deepened. By that point, the field officers had joined their enlisted troops in openly doubting the current strategy.

No one knew what Lieutenant General Zettour had in mind for the eastern front. Quietly questioning his intentions became something of a greeting among the soldiers.

"What do you think the general's trying to do?"

"We're probably just going to draw the enemy in. Then we'll surround them like we always do." The cautiously optimistic crowd hoped this was the case even as they assured their comrades.

In the end, skeptics and believers alike went quiet and followed their orders.

-x-X-x-

THE SAME DAY, INSPECTION OFFICE ON THE EASTERN FRONT

The man standing at the center of the quagmire—that was how Lieutenant General Zettour viewed himself.

Friend and foe were desperately trying to figure out his true intentions.

The man chuckled bitterly to himself.

"How delightful. I wonder if this is a vice of mine?"

He stretched before relaxing his shoulders for the first time in quite a while. He wasn't afraid to admit it. On some level, he was enjoying himself as a military man.

His current situation could almost be described as pleasurable.

"What a terrible habit to develop… I've been on the battlefield for too long."

Lieutenant General Zettour continued to chuckle to himself in the corner of his command office. The command center was considerably less busy these days as their bread and butter had become retrograde operations.

The general even had time to enjoy a cigar while he let his mind wander.

He scanned the large map spread out before him as he paced around the room in thought.

It was the perfect environment for thinking.

…He paced around the same way he always did at his deputy director's office when he strategized. The general puffed one of his favorite cigars while he analyzed various war scenarios.

It went without saying that he never forgot the burden he shouldered—not once. He had to fulfill his duty as a general. Having said that… He laughed quietly to himself with that private thought. Lieutenant General Zettour was merely human. When humans realize the true nature of their work, they can only lean into it.

"…I can't fight against my inner strategist."

While he was an operations man, he was specialized in a different field compared to his peers. His responsibility included virtually all aspects of the war. That was why he no longer considered operations to be supreme…or so he thought.

"Look at me now."

A puff of smoke escaped past the cigar in his mouth as he lamented with a mixture of self-deprecation, surprise, and nostalgia.

"Seems there's still a part of me that sees operations as the deciding factor of warfare."

Should we focus our efforts and ensure victory in the east?

That was what he thought, though it wasn't long before he began to feel ire toward the politics, advising, and logistical juggling he was forced to handle.

Naturally, these feelings were wholly unjustified.

"I thought I had separated myself from the church of necessity. Rather surprising that I'm still bound by its precepts deep down inside. I suppose forgetting where we come from is harder than I realized."

Lieutenant General Zettour's official title was the deputy director in charge of combat support services for the entire Imperial Army; the idea of prioritizing combat operations over all else should be anathema to him. From that perspective, what he was doing was clearly a huge mistake. If his plan caved in on itself, he would be incredibly hard-pressed to justify the unjustifiable.

But changing one's position also sometimes offers a new perspective.

Looking at the problem through the eyes of an operational planner flipped the entire war front on its head for Lieutenant General Zettour. There were too many external factors that restricted all activities on the eastern front. This not only put constraints on how they strategized but also made it difficult to pursue a purely military plan of action.

To start off, he needed to take into consideration how they governed their territories similar to the Council for Self-Government. This was a precarious problem seeing as it easily could have knock-on effects for army logistics.

The general questioned whether or not civil administration and military command could be handled simultaneously on the battlefield. Were he to pull it off, it would go down in history as an incredible strategic feat. But he was barely getting started.

The next problem was the troublesome orders coming from the homeland. While it was showing signs of decreasing, the Empire was a classic example of a nation that was addicted to winning. Even the mere idea of retreating provoked reactions of contempt… Whether or not there was precedence for retreating from a military standpoint, the masses had no appreciation for that kind of logical reasoning. Even the more liberal camps in the war college were unwilling to entertain such ideas.

But Zettour's greatest fear was something else entirely.

The third problem was the quality of his soldiers. What hurt him the most was the severe lack of soldiers who could competently conduct mobile warfare. There simply weren't enough soldiers to cover the sprawling eastern front, and what soldiers he did have were replacements who were practically children. Who could have possibly foreseen this Great War or whatever they've taken to calling it?

"Nobody except for Degurechaff, I suppose. Her sensibilities and perspective on the war are so different from any of the other officers. It's as if she's standing on the shoulder of a giant. I have no words."

He wondered if it was because children lacked a certain level of common sense, which inversely gave them the ability to think more freely than those burdened by the passage of years. Though it did feel strange to lump Magic Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff together with other children.

Lieutenant General Zettour flashed another wry smile as he sat down.

The same old map laid out before him. It had become a habit for him to read the map, make a note of his forces' positions, and run through potential

scenarios in his mind. Being able to put together the entire picture with a single glance at these maps was something of a talent of his—a point of pride for him.

And yet, compared to the past…the situation was incredibly depressing. The disposition of the battalions told the story. They weren't under his command in the official order of battle. Even the three big restrictions he mentally listed earlier paled in comparison to the greatest systematic flaw facing Zettour.

"I doubt even God…could have predicted this outcome."

Zettour's position as the inspector on the eastern front was honorary. His orders had no command authority in his current position; they were considered a form of strategic guidance and were followed thanks to his reputation and insight that stretched over multiple theaters.

In other words, his orders weren't really orders.

They were nothing more than professional advice. Although he technically had the eastern army's endorsement, it was hardly proper protocol.

Zettour's supremely limited ability to issue orders was officially supposed to be something like a precautionary measure that could be temporarily considered should an emergency arise. Or perhaps it could justify him taking charge of a snap evacuation if it became necessary. It may ultimately just have been a means to draw attention away from the commotion that took place before the summer festivities.

Either way, the reality was completely different. The current system had been put into place upon his arrival and had remained in effect for quite some time now. The Imperial Army's officers were the kind of soldiers who valued substance over form and would rather circumvent the rules than disregard what they considered legitimate command authority.

What resulted was an unofficial chain of command that allowed greater individual freedom.

"…We're a hop and a skip away from forming a military clique." And yet, Zettour found himself enjoying all this.

It was interesting. This strange dynamic only served to rile up his inner- operations officer.

He had an urge to use his dormant skills—and what an incredible urge it was. These three restrictions only added spice to the scenarios as he enthusiastically played them out in his mind.

"This really is such a poor habit of mine. If you want your man to be a gentleman, don't send him to staff officer training."

Rubbing his chin in thought, Lieutenant General Zettour chuckled to himself. His habit was neither here nor there, so long as they won the battle. He looked down at the map again. They were one step away from ending this long backward trek.

It was all going according to plan. The final moves were so well executed, he felt somewhat validated.

"This is more alluring than a game of chess, more challenging than a hunting trip. I may end up getting addicted."

It almost felt like it made his cigar better. He had outwitted his enemies and even kept his allies guessing as he prepared his masterstroke. This was his chance to implement all those theoretical tactics and strategy he had ever studied in the war college… For a commander—especially one who stood on the battlefield like Zettour did now—this was a dream come true.

"Winning this will be the ultimate prize. I yearn for the taste of victory… And wine always tastes the best when you're already thirsty."

Delectable wine. The nectar of the gods. An ambrosia so enticing, a single taste would be enough to enthrall you.

To the newly conscripted soldiers who had been sent to the east, it would be like poison.

A way to give them hope and rally them—but should they taste victory here, they would surely ache for it for the rest of their lives, no matter the cost.

It would drown out the voices within the Council for Self-Government who questioned the Empire's chances of victory.

In other words, it was the spark they needed to set the army ablaze. "I'm worse than the devil himself."

If he could win this fight, it meant there was another waiting for him.

There was hope for another day.

The only issue was he needed to get his country addicted to the venomous wine he had brewed… It was, unfortunately, the only course of action he could take. What more could he hope for?

"It's why I must dare to try."

He knew it was an incorrigible habit.

He also realized that deep down inside, he no longer desired to change

his ways. This was a sort of desperation born of the dire situation that he had been placed in by circumstance. It was a catch-22 really, as there was nothing else he could do. It was hard to describe how it felt to know that the fate of his country rested on his ability to salvage the war.

A heavy burden had been laid on his back, though he learned to bear it with composure… He had to be this way if he was going to shoulder this national crisis for as long as he did.

"Hesitation, eh? Maybe I'd be more reluctant if I were a simpleton, like that dolt Rudersdorf who slams windows and screams at the drop of a hat. It seems I can't afford to be as simpleminded."

This was why Lieutenant General Zettour was always accused of being too academic in his assessments. He felt a sense of nostalgia well up inside, though such emotions were useless to him now. He turned his attention back to the war plan. He repeatedly tapped his finger on each of the points on the map.

The salient, their base, and their communication lines in the rear.

He painstakingly reorganized his troops and arrayed them carefully against the emboldened enemy, camouflaging their deployments so well that even his own troops were complaining about their seemingly mindless series of retreats.

The Federation was…without a doubt, still cautious. With great chagrin, he needed to acknowledge his formidable opponent. It was likely that they were already aware of his habits and methods.

This meant they had a dedicated strategy to combat his maneuver warfare tactics. It was only natural that they would—it was how he preferred to wage war.

And yet… Lieutenant General Zettour puffed his cigar as he confirmed his suspicions by reviewing the enemy's positions.

"The enemy is wary, just as I had hoped…or at least it seems that way."

He had laid the simplest of traps, clear as day—teaching the enemy to be wary of his habits. This was the core of his art. With the way it seemed like they weren't luring the enemy…his plan was plausible.

Plausible being the key word.

Certainty was like a bluebird of happiness. This was the only certain thing in a terribly uncertain world.

In any case, Zettour had planted his seeds and painstakingly tended to the

field. The only thing left now was the harvest.

Harvests are by no means guaranteed—not until the crops are already safely in hand.

"…It depends on if we have enough sickles. Finding out we have too few could be very painful."

Even the best farmers can't do good work with rusty tools. To keep their sickles sharp, they needed time, which was hard to come by even in the best of times.

A shortage might not stop the harvest entirely, but it was a sharp thorn in his side nonetheless.

Just the thought of how much wheat he stood to lose from this simple fact was enough to make Zettour's head spin. All he could do was stare up at the same old, stained ceiling above him with his hands idly laced together.

"…I feel like I have an idea as to why palaces and churches around the world paint their ceilings."

His predecessors were surely troubled the same way he was. The purpose of ceiling murals was empirical knowledge that could be gleaned only through intense mental anguish.

"Now…what to do, what to do."

His goal was to show the fresh recruits a ray of hope through victory. The problem was, he didn't have the budget for it. Taking the safer route should still net them a harvest but most likely a minimal one.

To start off with, centralization is a core tenant of strategy. The worst strategy is one that's weak because you split your assets between too many goals.

It's imperative to keep your forces together. "It'll be a gamble."

Zettour knew he could only stare at the map for so long before it became pointless. What were the consequences should he fail? Getting panned by history teachers looking back on this moment?

The need for him to make a decision was lying on his map, staring at him. "This reminds me of the Rhine. It's hard to call this the right way to draft

an operation… But at the end of the day, an operation plan isn't something you can create with only a level head."

No matter what kind of strategy you scheme up, it's nothing but theory until it hits the battlefield. Plans always have a way of blowing up in your

face once the shooting starts. Zettour knew this for a fact, but it was still tough for him to swallow nevertheless. To think that after he risked everything to concentrate his forces only to find their numbers still lacking!

He brushed his hand across the map. There was an ambiguous grin sliding onto his face.

"What would've happened if necessity wasn't driving us forward, whip in hand?"

Necessity is the mother of invention and innovation. If he thought he could have afforded it, Zettour likely would've opted for a safer option. Chances were he may have even left the planning to a subordinate under different circumstances.

That was the kind of man he was.

In comparison, he found it much simpler to go out on the front line where danger could be found wherever he looked. Were he to die, it would only be his life that was lost. Commanding an army was completely different. The lives of thousands rested in his hands.

"Now, when to start… Yes, that is the million Reichsmark question… Hmm?"

Just then, there was a firm knock at the door. Zettour had been so absorbed in his planning that he didn't hear his visitor approaching. The general shook his head to clear his mind and let the young commanding officer in. A nervous-looking fellow entered.

He looked so anxious that it almost made the general worry about his country's future.

"Is there a problem?"

Preparing for the worst was another habit of his. His tone always tensed at moments like these.

"W-well…sir. There's someone here to see you from the capital."

Lieutenant General Zettour laughed a little awkwardly; he wondered if it was his harsh tone that made the young officer nervous.

"Ah, my apologies. I'm not one to kill the messenger. Please show our guest in."

Had there not been a messenger outside, the general may have very well scoffed… But he wasn't one to pick on the younger officers.

He needed to make his final decision. It was the worst possible time for some official to pay a visit, but such was the life of an operations man.

He swallowed his frustration and waited for his guest's arrival. To his surprise, he was quite pleased to see them. A small figure walked down the hall and turned into his office… He lowered his line of sight to better see them.

The short officer was young enough to make the nervous wreck from before seem like a veteran… The Imperial Army was large, but there wasn't a single soldier shorter than the magic lieutenant colonel standing before him. "Oh, it's you. Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff. Had I known you were the

official being sent, I'd have prepared some coffee."

The general smiled warmly. When lost during a hunt, who better to consult than a hunting dog?

"Yes, sir. I've come to deliver these to you."

"Seems that stubborn old man is considerate enough to lend someone of your caliber to the eastern front. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks. At least this gruesome war has served some purpose."

"Could you please confirm the messages?"

Tanya overtly shrugged off his jest and, with her tiny hands, held out two sealed envelopes. Degurechaff stood at attention in silence. Her duty was to deliver a message.

"Let's have a look."

Lieutenant General Zettour broke the seals and scanned each of the letters before letting out a hearty laugh.

"I don't have time for either of these. A boring message and a worthless congratulations. It's an extreme waste of personnel to have someone with your skills delivering these. I take it skies in the homeland are as cloudy as always."

The first envelope contained a letter from human resources. The second was a political message.

"I thought this would happen, for the most part."

Zettour reached for the cigar resting on his ashtray, then took out a match to light it. He rubbed his chin as he took a drag.

Though politics in the homeland always moved at a snail's pace, this was a good sign.

The news wasn't exactly bad. If the Foreign Office had a newfound recollection of what the words foreign diplomacy meant, there might be a different way to end the war after all. As far as Zettour could tell, this was

the best way out for the Empire. Should their fatherland decide to take the right path, he could find a way to hang on.

He was perfectly willing to hold out for the best outcome if it meant getting rid of the army's need for a Plan B, which might as well have been synonymous with complete and utter destruction. As his friend once said, "Time is limited," but Zettour wasn't particularly interested in making a suicidal decision based purely on their lack of time.

All he could do was fight for the sake of the future. This was precisely why it was worth considering his gamble on the eastern front.

"The letters are top secret, but both contain good news in a way. You have my thanks, Colonel. By the way…were you informed about their contents?"

"No, sir. I was only ordered to deliver them to you."

"Very good. I'd like to celebrate this bright moment with you before the hardships that lie ahead are upon us. It appears the shot callers have recognized my contributions to the war effort. I'm being promoted."

"So you will be a full general soon? That is great news, sir."

It wasn't easy for the general to stifle a chuckle when he thanked Degurechaff for her congratulations. To Lieutenant General Zettour, it was nothing short of irony that he would be promoted to General Zettour right before launching his offensive.

"This is actually Rudersdorf taking a jab at me. That idiot. He sure has learned some useless political techniques. The man might as well become a bureaucrat himself."

He knew Rudersdorf wanted to leave the eastern front entirely in his control—an unreasonable request for a mere lieutenant general. Though they were late, he finally had the suitable credentials to justify what he was already doing. It was a considerate move as an operational planner but could only be described as insufficient as a General Staff officer.

He had wanted this title when he arrived at the eastern front. Either that or some sort of clear-cut authority to go along with the promotion to general.

The title of general was a major milestone for any career military personnel… But it didn't excite Zettour.

"…The other message is just as pointless as my promotion. It's a regular letter. There's nothing worth noting other than the fact that Rudersdorf is coming dangerously close to doing something drastic."

"As it was my duty to deliver the messages with the utmost discretion, I

can't speak for the contents."

"How bureaucratic of you to answer that way, Colonel."

Or perhaps this was just how they always handled things at the General Staff Office. Zettour never paid mind to such petty politics while he was there, but now that he was on the outside looking in, it struck a different chord. Documents that pertained to political affairs were always considered top secret within the Empire. As a man fighting on the front lines of the war, however, its contents amounted to nothing more than a mental note.

The nature of what was an urgent matter was different for a high-ranking officer standing on the battlefield.

They cared about where the battle would be heading in three weeks or three months from where they were now… Not whatever politics were the flavor of the day.

"I need you to deliver a verbal message for me. Right now I'm an operations man. I'd rather talk about plans than politics."

"I never would've guessed someone as high ranking as you would ignore politics, sir."

"I don't ignore them entirely, of course. Politics are a critical part of grand strategy, and strategy is what gives operations meaning. That said, it's important for those of us fighting on the eastern front to not lose sight of what's in front of us. For someone like me, there are too many soldiers I need to keep alive to be worried about political maneuvering." Lieutenant General Zettour rubbed his chin as he continued to speak. "Well, it seems like we're moving in the right direction, so now I can conduct operations in peace. I'll let him be the one to fill you in on the details."

Considering the sensitive nature of the letters she delivered to him, dispatching the magic officer as a courier was a legitimate choice, bureaucratically speaking. Setting aside what Zettour viewed as important information for the moment…these documents spelled out details about the inner workings of the Empire. It would be catastrophic if they ever fell in the hands of their enemies.

In that regard, nobody would second-guess Rudersdorf's decision to have Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff, the famed White Silver—now known as Rusted Silver—in charge of their delivery.

Zettour had something else in mind for his messenger, though.

"That was a good read," the general said as he lit the two letters on fire

with a match. As their ashes drifted into the ashtray below, he jumped to what he really wanted to speak with her about.

"Colonel Degurechaff, I too have the authority to give you orders. How about it? Would you like to do a little job for me?"

"Sir?"

"I have high hopes that you will go down in history as the embodiment of the ideal aerial mage. Do you have objections to how I feel? I want to hear what you think."

"No, sir."

She nodded, but there was something about her expression that showed her bafflement at the words little job. The same expression also showed her strong sense of obligation to follow orders. It was quite the facial expression to see, Zettour thought. He needed more boots, though. So he asked her despite knowing his imposition.

He did this because he knew he could trust the magic lieutenant colonel to do the job right.

"Good. Very good. I'm glad you haven't forgotten to take some time to enjoy yourself in the east. Let's start by having a short chat about the war."

The small soldier held the clue he had been searching for all this time… A highly skilled field aerial magic officer he could trust was more precious than gold on the eastern front.

He wouldn't let this chance slip by him.

The general always assigns the toughest jobs with a friendly expression—it's a talent of his. In other words, he knows how to wrap up a burden like a present. This is an important skill for a talented manager, but Tanya cannot help but stand in awe at the way General Zettour has perfected it.

I know how to wiggle out of bothersome work like this from my days as an office worker, but there's no way out for Tanya when the orders come straight from the dragon's mouth like this. In other words, General Zettour is skilled at cornering talent. He may even be the best in the game. There's no choice but to go along with his request.

I'm going to need to be very careful with any attempts to transfer away from a superior like this.

All bosses hate losing people. It makes sense. As they say in Japan, a bird who leaves the nest should leave it clean. Birds don't need to worry about this, though, until they can actually fly. Tanya should— No, her response needs to be genuine precisely because she's trying to leave. Not to mention, the more inside information she has, the more likely she'll be accepted with open arms wherever she goes.

Above all else, while Tanya currently enjoys a certain level of fame within the Imperial Army, that may not hold true when it comes to the surrounding countries. Depending on how much they personally know or how much propaganda they're subject to—due to their lack of relations with the Empire—talking about Tanya's stellar military credentials to officials in other countries could be worse than worthless.

Tanya's name needs to be known in all the countries she could potentially defect to, and she needs to be the one to visit them. To do this, she needs to be sent out into the field more to secure even more accolades.

This is why I meet Zettour's request with an earnest response. "At your discretion, sir."

"Excellent. Take a look at the map. This is the current state of the war." He points at the desk, which has a large map spread across it.

Tanya's eyes, guided by his finger, scan the extensive notes on all eastern front dispositions. These are military secrets worth drooling over. Any career soldier told they were allowed to look would realize in an instant that the Imperial Army is being pushed back. Their entire front is slowly retracting. And with hardly any reinforcements trickling in and a dire lack of firepower on their defensive line, it's bad enough to be worth crying over.

There are far too many glaring weak points…but for some reason, it isn't the map of a defeated army.

"It looks bad, but there's something about the map that doesn't show signs of collapse."

"Do you think so? Even though we're being pushed back this far?"

Lieutenant General Zettour sounds like he's enjoying this. As he says, the glaring matter of fact is that the Empire has been forced to cede a great deal of ground. Our enemies are hammering a weak defensive line. In that sense, the map is displaying the Empire's weakness.

And yet, there is one other difference from when Tanya was last deployed to the east—all the fatal choke points are perfectly guarded. A direct result of

the continuous contraction of the front is that all the holes in their line have been effectively filled.

To put it nicely, the front line has been completely reorganized. Phrased less charitably, General Zettour has adjusted the line by completely abandoning all positions that seemed difficult to hold.

Setting such details aside, the map paints a picture of an extremely radical strategic redeployment.

"The slow and steady retrograde operation…looks too clean." "Regardless of how it looks to the other imperial officers, I'm sure the

Federation would agree with your statement. Assuming, of course, that they are as clever as you."

What do you think? the general asks Tanya with his eyes. I'm still baffled.

Could it be that he picked up on the fact that I've been entertaining the idea of relocating? It can't be. I'm thinking too much. But if not, then he is asking Tanya to think from the perspective of their enemies.

"…I'd like to see their sullen faces. They must think they've been had, sir."

"Without a doubt. Look at how cleanly we've pulled back. When they draw it out on the map, they should be able to guess what my decision was. I'd imagine their war planners are livid right now."

He grins. I can almost make out the outlines of the vicious fangs he's trying to hide. Lieutenant General Zettour boasts to Tanya, "I believe they've made a miscalculation about our plan."

"That the Imperial Army is primarily focused on fortifying its gains?" "Yes… It appears they've forgotten that dominance on the battlefield is

and always has been my true goal. I'll give them all the land they want. The price they'll have to pay for it is control."

This was something only a general who pulled this off on the Rhine front could say. A lesser general would never have even attempted such an extreme reshuffling of their forces. This general can, though. He's a man capable of commanding his army to fall back when he sees the need to. His reasoning is sound, but it's incredible that he can pull it off so perfectly without compromise.

Most people would hesitate in his position or cave in to the pressure of naysayers. It's impossible for a strategic retreat as exemplary as this to be

pulled off by any ordinary commanding officer.

…I really don't want to leave a superior this capable. Even if I do intend on changing jobs, I hope I can do so on good terms, with the backing and recommendation from a man as competent as this. The only problem is that not only is Tanya limited in places she can go but also anyone who might be a reference for her would likely fall alongside the Empire should they lose the war.

That's a huge problem.

But it isn't something I can figure out right here, right now. I shake my head and focus on the task at hand.

Changing jobs is important, but it's just as important that Tanya doesn't fail at her current one. If she's going to change jobs, it's imperative that she demonstrate her capableness here until the very end. Only those who are capable and have drive are ever headhunted. What nation wants to recruit someone who makes basic mistakes?

Time to focus on everything I've learned as a soldier.

This is also the perfect moment to call upon what I remember of history and two lives' worth of experience. I scan the map several times before offering some thoughts on the operation unfolding…and then happen upon a stunning realization.

"Allow me to be straightforward with you. I believe you've made a bold decision."

The plan is excellent; I can't believe he's gone this far.

It's harder for most people to let go than it is for them to acquire things. There are many fools who are so fixated on keeping what they have that they eventually lose it all.

This is why it's important to know when you should cut your losses.

In order to salvage the entire war effort, the general has lured the enemy forces in while discarding territory that couldn't be held anyway in order to prepare for what's coming next.

The precision of his calculations makes me want to sing his praises from the rooftops. Using the same reasoning that has led me to the decision to pursue a new employer, Lieutenant General Zettour understands that he needs to cut his losses.

This man absolutely deserves to be promoted to full general.

That might also explain why a thorough analysis of the entire map reveals

an unnatural formation. There was a notable swelling at one point in the front line.

Every time my eyes pass over it, I can't help but notice that specific point.

It sticks out like a sore thumb.

In that spot, a salient was forming.

The Empire's front line had been broken all too easily, and this salient seemed like the beginning of a deadly cancer that threatened to eat away at the Imperial Army's entire front. And yet…how could there only be one visible tumor? There should be limits on how deliberate you can be with these kinds of things.

"What do you think?"

Tanya answers her superior's question with a genuine compliment. "This can only be described as art, sir."

No one else in this war could possibly pull off a stunt like this. It's nothing less than the product of expert craftsmanship. Honestly, the Imperial Army should offer the deputy director a bonus.

It's important that talent and labor are met with commensurate rewards. "Oh? I'm glad you like it. So you're one for the finer arts, Colonel?" "No… I have no confidence in my aesthetic sensibilities. I'm just an

officer who likes to move her body, not her paintbrush. But even I can recognize the appeal of something this beautifully orchestrated."

Any senior officer who uses their head for something other than a hatstand would agree with Tanya's comment after gazing upon this map. Is Lieutenant General Zettour some sort of con artist?

Whether it's deviously cunning or terrifyingly brilliant is a matter of semantics. Either way, I'm glad that this strategist on our side is far more talented than those of our enemies. I definitely want to stay on good terms with this man, if at all possible, even if I stay the course and really do end up changing careers.

"Are you planning to cut off this salient, sir?" "What makes you think that, Colonel?"

He sounded surprised. Tanya answered him without hesitation. "Their salient is too well-placed."

"…Look at the map. There's a hole in our front line where we don't have the strength to oppose the enemy forces."

"I see. So the salient seems legitimate to a certain extent. That said, I can

tell that it's artificial. Excuse me for saying this…but I know how you hunt, sir. This is as excellent a trap as I've ever seen."

"Good eyes, Colonel."

Tanya hit the nail on the head. Or at least she nods as if to make it seem like she did. These are really the only times when Tanya acts her age.

"Does that mean what I think it means, sir?"

"I have indeed lured the enemy army into a trap. It was hard work." "Drawing in the enemy all while conducting a careful organized retreat?

That's history book material, sir."

Draw out the enemy and destroy them—far easier said than done. In fact, the scale of what General Zettour's trying to do makes it seem virtually impossible. He's masterfully ceding ground to bait the enemy with the ultimate goal of annihilating their field army. Should this plan succeed, it'll be studied for years to come.

I quite honestly can't believe that he's pulled this off.

"It's a bit too early for praise, Colonel. No matter how much you plan, it's nothing more than an assortment of scribbles on paper until you actually pull it off."

"But, sir, your plan is unfolding exactly the way you want it to, is it not?" "Our enemies come from the same stock as the soldiers of the Russy

empire. As imperfect as they may be, it's too soon to assume they've forgotten how to do ballet. Hopefully, this old bag of bones is worthy of a dance or two."

Could their enemies really see what was coming? I can't reject the notion flat out, but it seems highly unlikely…

But then again, there's always a chance.

"So what do you think they'll do next, Colonel?" "May I have some time to think, sir?"

Staff officers are constantly thinking about how they can outwit, outthink, and outmaneuver their enemies. Based on that…

Tanya shakes her head.

The problem is…I don't have a single clue what the right answer is. "Colonel, time's up. This is war. I can't give you all day."

"…Then I'll go with the aggressive option. Despite realizing it's what we want them to do, they will knowingly play into our hands to force us to show that very hand. It's not exactly the same as the revolving door operation on

the Rhine front, but I believe this is a good opportunity to encircle them." "How would you make that happen?"

Tanya answers the moment Lieutenant General Zettour finishes his friendly question.

"A pincer movement targeting the salient's base would be the textbook approach. Once we cut the fools off from their country, we can close ranks and achieve local superiority…"

It was hard to describe how fulfilling it felt to hear her say that. The best example Zettour could come up with was having a large stag right where you wanted it during a hunt. Was there a greater joy than lying in wait while aiming down your sights at big game before making the perfect shot?

He had managed to dupe even the magic lieutenant colonel who stood before him. This was a senior officer, someone who knew the way he planned. Well, to a certain extent, at least. Still, he had been able to fool her!

"I would've marked that answer correct back when I was teaching at the war college."

"What?"

By the blank look on her face, he could tell she had been taken by surprise. His strategic ambush had fooled Degurechaff, one of history's greatest magic lieutenant colonels. The feeling of satisfaction was indescribable.

-x-X-x-

[Image]

-x-X-x-

"Things are dire on the eastern front. Drastic times call for drastic measures."

With a bit of a chuckle, Zettour grabbed a cigarette instead of his cigar. He lit it and took a drag. Even his cheap military tobacco tasted incredible after this small victory he had earned.

He had thought that Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff might be able to see through his ploy. If that were the case, then wouldn't it stand to reason that his enemies would be able to do the same? …Except she hadn't. His plan had passed this impromptu litmus test with flying colors.

"So even a field officer as formidable as yourself can't detect my trap. If that's the case, then we may be able to stay in the game longer than I'd first assumed."

"Sir? I'm having a hard time following you…"

"Lieutenant Colonel, I'd like you to go on a recon-in-force mission for me."

"Yes, sir. I'll get right to it," Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff said before cushioning her objection politely as she continued. "However, are you sure it's a good time for such a mission? I feel a probing attack now would be… somewhat provocative. It could end up giving away your plan, sir. This is even more so the case if you intend to encircle the enemy forces, though it looks like there will need to be a proviso added."

"Your point?"

"I wish to hear what your intentions are."

He could hear the bewilderment in her voice. Anybody can wrongly interpret a map. Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff was no exception. He recalled his college days, back when he was busy trying to be a good student. The moment of nostalgia put a slight smile on his face.

He thought about how simple things were back then. The reality now was much more complicated. One thing stayed the same. Something that people learned the hard way once they stepped onto the battlefield.

"Lieutenant Colonel, let me tell you one thing." It was obvious he was speaking from experience. He took a deep breath before he continued. "The rules of war never change."

"Do you mean that the side lacking in numbers will inevitably have to think up a strategy?"

The general wanted to nod affirmatively at her instant reply. His

expression loosened slightly. An officer who knew what they were talking about was always an incredible thing to behold.

Her ability to follow along allowed the general to keep his own answer short and simple.

"Exactly. That is why we'll use our mobility. An encirclement will work perfectly!"

"But earlier, you said…"

"It's a matter of where you look. Lieutenant Colonel, perhaps I should resolve some of the contradictions as well."

The lieutenant colonel wore a dubious expression that screamed, What is he getting at? while she thought as hard as she could. Evidently, he couldn't be outdone by even the younger officers when it came to creating bold strategies.

"I'll let you in on the secret, Colonel." With an ever-so-slight skip to his step, Lieutenant General Zettour continued his explanation. "Just like on the Rhine front, we're only allowed to retreat a distance that will enable us to conduct a counterattack. These are the orders from the homeland. Assuming this is the case, then we can't simply encircle the enemy while we retreat. There has to be more to it than that. It's simple, don't you think, Colonel?"

The orders to attempt a counterattack were purely political posturing by people in the capital. They were a joke, thought up by somebody in Berun who was too busying polishing their chair with their ass to know what it was like on the front line. Even so, many soldiers would pay the ultimate price if this joke was issued as an official order on the battlefield. Just thinking of the collapse such a pitiful command would result in was enough to evoke a dry laugh or two.

But fret not, for we're senior officers. There's nothing to fear.

An impossible mission or two wouldn't be enough to break them. He was going to push aside logic with the art of war to catch the Goddess of Fate from behind by grabbing her hair.

"We have no choice but to follow orders."

"…A frontal assault? If we use the soldiers as human bullets, wouldn't it simply devolve into trench warfare and stop us in our tracks after a few meters?"

"That's absolutely right, assuming we play it by the book. However, we don't have the time nor the obligation to mount a frontal assault. Thus, we'll

have to take a more deceptive approach. What do you think about this?"

He tapped a spot on the map. Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff's eyes widened when she realized what she was looking at. A simple tap of the finger was enough for her to discern his true intentions.

"Sir, this is…"

The small senior officer couldn't hide the astonishment in her voice, a clear sign she fully understood his plan.

"I had no idea you had ambitions to become a field marshal, sir."

Though she must have been exaggerating…it showed that it only took her an instant to get on the same page as him. Her perceptiveness was so incredible it made him laugh, though he hid it with a small puff of cigarette smoke.

"It's too early to tell if we'll be able to move quickly enough to take over an enemy base. If the enemy reacts poorly, though, I may very well become a marshal."

Obviously, they were both joking. Should their troops advance that far into enemy territory, their already pitifully overstretched supply line wouldn't be able to support them. Not only that, but they would need to move much quicker than they did when they trapped the François army in the revolving door.

At most, they would be able to pull off a strategic victory on the battlefield.

Either way, he was impressed that the young lieutenant colonel comprehended the ambitiousness of his plan. The magic lieutenant colonel already knew what Zettour wanted her to do.

"Will I be the diversion, sir? Similar to what we did on the Rhine front." "Yes, I need you to seize their attention."

He had forced the enemy to bring their supply hub forward.

Before, he had put his odds of success at fifty-fifty…but now he had the perfect bait to lure them into his trap. He had everything he needed to win. There was nothing left to worry about. It was time to start the operation.

"With all due respect, you would make an incredible con artist, sir.

You're something of a trickster."

"That has a nice ring to it, Colonel. General Trickster, soon-to-be Field Marshal Trickster. I'll make sure to reserve a seat for you on my board of trickery."

With a big smile, Zettour took out another cigarette.

Just as he was about to give the final order, he realized there was one flaw he had overlooked.

Zettour was a fan of smoking when he planned, and it only just occurred to him that he couldn't share this with the small lieutenant colonel who had never smoked before. Judging by her stiff expression, Zettour thought there was a good chance she was personally against smoking as well.

That was fine. If Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff had been smoking at her age, he would've been obligated to alert the military police. They were a strict bunch. He put on a wry grin at his tactless thought before turning his focus back on the war planning.

"I want you to act as bait, Colonel. I'll hit the enemy with the main forces while you have their attention. It'll be a simple but highly effective assault."

"But, sir, I'm a bit worried about the main troops." "What do you mean?"

He shot the lieutenant colonel a look, asking her for elaboration. "It's about where they're currently deployed."

Her tiny hands pointed out a few numbers on the map, which indicated the Empire's divisions, with a confused look about her.

"As far as I can tell…some of the forces on the front line are units I've never even heard of before. Why have we positioned the newer divisions here for such an important assault?"

"To give them hope, Colonel. It is an investment for the future."

He looked over at the ace mage. It was very evident that she had no idea what he was talking about. It made sense that an officer with troops as elite as hers would feel this way.

"Did you know, Colonel? Hope is what gives people the will to fight."

Hope was like a deadly poison, but depending on the dose, it could be used as a miracle drug. It was something only older officers would be able to understand.

"Sir, I'm not quite sure I follow you… Is that some sort of code word above my authority…?"

She was an excellent officer and soldier, but she was still young. Her limited experiences didn't allow her to notice the subtleties of the human spirit. Zettour thought that was the most likely reason the small child was unable to grasp the core of the issue at hand.

"Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff, I know this is sudden…but could you tell me about your decorations?"

"Of course, sir. Are you referring to my accolades?"

The lieutenant general answered her question with a look, and—still confused—she answered him back.

"In addition to the Silver Wings Assault Badge, I have received the General Assault Badge, a war merit medal, a special skill badge, as well as various other distinguished service awards and campaign medals…"

"I believe the 203rd and the Lergen Kampfgruppe have also both received unit citations, correct?"

"Yes, my subordinates do incredible work."

The lieutenant colonel seemed proud of herself and the men and women she worked with. It was another one of those moments where she showed her age. Of course, there weren't many schoolgirls who boasted about their friends' achievements on a battlefield.

What strange times they lived in.

Zettour felt the need to stifle another sardonic smile when he thought about just how twisted the world could be.

Of course, he had nothing but applause and praise for the young soldier standing before him.

"Superb. Absolutely outstanding, Lieutenant Colonel. You and your subordinates are the cream of the crop and make no mistake: That's something to be proud of."

"I believe it's all thanks to our education and training, along with our unbridled warrior spirit on the battlefield."

It's likely that she was proud because she was capable. It was sad, though there was also a strange humorousness to it.

"Let's have a friendly debate for future reference. What do you think the core of your success is? What was important for elevating your troops to such a level?"

"I believe it's our training. My battalion prides itself on the blood and sweat we put into our training."

Success and effort. He figured that she would say something like that. The subordinates who worked for her would likely say the same thing.

They were a group that had experienced significant success, and it was a core part of their identity now.

"Ah…is that so." "Sir?"

Lieutenant General Zettour sighed as he spoke with an inquisitive voice. "Forget about the illusion of success."

"…What?"

"Do you need me to lay it out for you? I can't hold it against you, though… You need to understand what it's like for people who lose battles, Colonel."

The young officer was visibly confused by his words.

It was rare for her to lose track of a superior's train of thought… Was it because she was still a child even with her outstanding battle record, impressive accolades, and an incredible battalion? Or perhaps it was because she was too outstanding and simply couldn't understand those who were not.

He remembered the day he told her not to choose her subordinates. Hopefully, her terrific prowess wouldn't lead to measuring her peers by impossibly high standards.

"Remember this, Colonel. These are trying times we live in, and there aren't many who are stoic enough to train as hard as your troops."

"Insufficient training will kill a soldier on the battlefield as surely as any bullet. Training to the death is the only hope they have of staying alive." There was a tone of indignation to her voice as she continued, "It's important to take the state of the war into consideration. Everyone knows there isn't much time, and what little we do have is tremendously precious. Wouldn't anyone who wants to survive devote themselves to training body and mind, sir?"

"Ha-ha-ha, that way of thinking would have been just the thing we needed

before the war started, Colonel. Our current recruits don't think that way." "Is it a lack of competence causing that? Either way, I believe true

soldiers are forged with time and training, then blood and fire…"

"The will to fight is derived directly from victory on the battlefield," Zettour declared in a firm voice. "For someone like you, whose troops know no defeat, it's impossible to comprehend this feeling. Fighting a losing war will turn even the finest soldiers into worthless dogs."

"I'm failing to follow you."

"See for yourself. Pessimism about our victory quietly plagues the eastern

front, even at the higher levels of command."

"It's my opinion that people with middling levels of intelligence will inevitably think that way."

"Colonel, your insight for total war is second to none. I'd venture to say your perception is on a level of its own. That said, you have a tendency to use yourself as an objective measure to evaluate those around you. You've placed your own experiences above those of others, which is admittedly quite interesting, considering you're still a child."

Would some experience off the battlefield give her a different perspective? Zettour wore a sullen grin when he entertained the idea. Funnily enough, he was the same. The majority of his life had been spent in the service of the military. He supposed that what wisdom he could lay claim to had come with age.

That train of thought was cut short when he suddenly realized something. What about that idiot, Rudersdorf? He was living proof that wisdom wasn't a matter of age… Zettour then considered whether it was perhaps the degree of hardships he had endured.

"Hmm, I wonder which it is…?" "Sir? Is something the matter?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I was just thinking about the importance of education. Let's get back on topic. This is a secret report on the morale of our soldiers on the front line… I want you to read through it, Colonel."

Zettour pulled out a folder from his desk and set it in front of Tanya while he fiddled with his tobacco in his other hand.

"Wait, have you been conducting a covert investigation on morale?"

"It's important that we know how the soldiers truly feel. The results were that forty percent of our soldiers still believed that the Empire could win this war. Considering the situation of the war, does forty percent not seem surprisingly high?"

I quickly read through the papers in the folder as requested; the contents are indescribably bad.

Though uneasy, Tanya announces her objection. "Sir, there's no way to interpret these numbers as good."

If someone asked me right now whether the Empire can win, I would simply say the answer is self-evident. I know for a fact that we can't. The most we can hope for is fighting to a draw. If we work incredibly hard to spin that as a victory…there's a chance the masses might consider it one… but a clear-cut, total victory is the stuff of dreams.

And yet, if the soldiers on the front line don't believe it's possible, then who would have the will to fight on? It's possible that there are officers similar to Tanya who willingly go into battle purely out of a sense of duty.

But could the same be said for the rank and file? Back in my old world, even the holdouts on Saipan believed reinforcements would come for them until the very end!

If the enlisted no longer believe in eventual victory…then our country is in dire straits on the psychological warfare front.

"That's right, Colonel. Sixty percent of our troops believe the war is already a lost cause. The numbers among the new recruits are even worse."

"…I would have thought that only the battered and worn down would feel that way."

"Not too long ago, that would have been the case. It's incredible when you think about it, but most of the pessimistic veterans have already gone ahead to Valhalla. The ones who remain know exactly what's at stake and are putting everything on the line for our victory. This has actually inoculated them against the rampant defeatism that currently plagues us."

While I can understand what the general's trying to get at on multiple levels, there seems to be a few contradictions.

"Creating a struggle for hegemony in the east, dividing the enemy with the establishment of the Council for Self-Government, and deciphering the nationalist code—are these strategic victories not enough to boost the morale of the troops?"

"The new recruits lack the perspective to see it that way. Besides, if they had that much experience, they'd also be able to recognize the predicament we've gotten ourselves into. They need a taste of real victory to rally themselves."

"What about all the propaganda they gobbled up in the homeland before they made their way here? I've always thought they were a naive bunch, but have they really lost their nerve that easily?"

"The propaganda has had the opposite effect. It's worked too well. They

arrive thinking the Empire is due for certain victory. The moment they realize that couldn't be further from the truth, they fall apart. Frankly speaking, most of the new recruits are shocked by the reality of the eastern front."

I see. I'm starting to understand what he's getting at. When the new recruits come here under the impression that our forces are dominating in the east, it must be devastating to learn firsthand what's really happening around these parts.

That's how exploitative corporations in my old world worked. The more a company boasts about its ideals and vision, the more shocking it is when new hires realize how rotten it is on the inside. Fortunately, the last firm I worked at was an upstanding company. We performed so well that we could actually afford to lay off all the slackers and underperformers. We did everything by the book and followed all the relevant laws, of course… The Imperial Army, however, is not so kind.

Ah, damn it. Memories of my previous life as an HR manager remind me of how much I miss peace. My desire to find a better working environment has only gotten stronger.

"This is why we need to give them a taste of victory, even if it means asking them to do something slightly unreasonable. In other words, all that nonsense about needing to win is actually right for once."

While what the general had said sounded nice, the true meaning behind his words makes me want to sigh. This is no different from a company with toxic work culture that tries to convince its employees their work is super important!

Tanya's gaze shoots up as the sinister scheme comes to light. "…They didn't teach us this at the war college."

"Think of it as learning on the job, Colonel. You should be happy. Like you said, we'll be walking the path of a great trickster together."

From the bottom of my heart, I want to scream No!

Tanya von Degurechaff's military career is steadily growing. I want absolutely nothing to do with this exploitative promotion of artificial job satisfaction. If I could refuse, I would.

If this was a regular company, I'd already have my resignation letter in hand. Tragically, there's no transferring or resignation for a field officer during a war. The only way to transfer out is defecting. Oh, how I miss Japan. At least then I'd have the freedom to choose my job.

At the end of the day, Tanya is just a humble white-collar worker. I can entertain the idea of leaving all I want, but there's no way I can change the system from the inside. Not that I would even if I could—I'm not that altruistic.

Therefore, for the sake of my conscience, I decide to confirm one important detail.

"If we can be partners in crime, then make this my first honorable step in joining you. To start off with, it's important that I fully understand the nature of our con. So please enlighten me, sir. What is the trick you have hidden up your sleeve?"

"You've really perfected roundabout speech as an art, Colonel. If you're asking about my confidence in the Empire's victory, then there's only one answer."

All capable leaders have a firm grasp on what their subordinates are thinking. I'm not sure if I should be glad or if I should be more careful about what I let come out of my mouth.

All I can do now is wait silently for Lieutenant General Zettour's answer. "Victory is no longer achievable. Our only option is, just as you pointed out, to continue holding on while preventing total collapse. Even that will

prove to be difficult, I'm sure."

"So you'll be providing the soldiers with the opium of hope in order to keep them from losing? You're going to create an army of addicts?"

"While that's not a great way of putting it, you're not wrong. I'll bestow them with hope and confidence by giving them a victory. At this point, the thought that this is what my job has become is enough to bring tears to my eyes."

He's not wrong. I can feel something welling up in the corner of my eye as well.

"I see you're prepared for what will come next, sir."

Unable to choose where his career leads him, Zettour is just like Tanya.

Not even the amount of authority and experience that comes with his positions as deputy director and inspector are enough to free him from the twisted system. I can only hope that I'll never find myself in his shoes.

The inability to escape one's fate is a nasty business. They say that you don't realize how precious freedom is until you lose it… As obvious as it sounds, it truly is a sad thing.

Also, judging by the nod he just gave me, it seems that while I was pondering the importance of the freedom to change jobs, General Zettour likely mistook it as me understanding his sentiment.

"Good. Very good. Now then, Colonel. Give them the hope and dreams they need. Give the Federation the nightmare they deserve. And give our army the foundation it needs to stay in the fight. I'm counting on you."

"I hadn't realized that I've been transferred to the circus to become a clown." Ultimately, Tanya can't refuse to do her duty. It'll be tough, but I'll do my job with my head held high. "It's not what I'm used to, but I'll do my best, sir. Please enjoy the show."

"I look forward to it, Colonel."

-x-X-x-

JULY 31, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE MULTINATIONAL VOLUNTEER UNIT GARRISON IN THE FEDERATION

The volunteer troops who had traveled far to aid the Federation came from a variety of backgrounds and were a brave lot, every one. Commanding this band was practically an adventure in and of itself. Every day was filled with exciting episodes born from the unexpected and heartwarming ways that very different yet like-minded people came together for a common cause.

For Lieutenant Colonel Drake, things always got poetic at the end of the month, whether he liked it or not. He even requested a collection of famous comedic poems from his homeland to stimulate what he felt might be a new side of himself.

The reports he wrote about the garrison were filled with nice words to take his mind away from reality.

"…There's so much to think about and no end in sight."

This was what it meant to be at war. It felt rather similar to unrequited love. As most could guess, one reason was because it involved a lot of wondering about the intentions of that one person you couldn't stop thinking about. It also involved a lot of bumbling about, wandering in complete darkness, hoping to find a hint of their shadow.

At this particular moment, however, Drake was reading an old newspaper in a field tent while he thought about how to fix his teakettle. He swallowed the fact that the order for his favorite jam never found its way to his camp while he spent his time thinking about his enemies.

Whether they be asleep or awake, it was sort of an instinctive impulse for officers to think about enemy movements.

"I can't help but feel impressed by the Federation's reach…"

Just earlier, the political officer attached to Colonel Mikel visited him to deliver a plethora of top-secret files. The diligently translated documents described the inner workings of the Imperial Army with surprising detail.

The office that provided him with all this information was known as the Commissariat for Internal Affairs at the Federation… It was infamous for a whole slew of reasons, but the documents were also undoubtedly valuable.

They were so thorough that even the specific brands of cigars and tea the imperial officers favored was listed. Lieutenant General Zettour, for example, evidently preferred coffee over tea. It would seem he liked his coffee black, the same color as his heart. At the same time, Drake had to admit the level of detail the Federation put into these briefs was almost obscene.

What other nuggets of information were they keeping hidden away? Drake grimaced when he saw that the file after Zettour's was for the infamous Devil of the Rhine. According to the reports, the two were close.

The Federation's Commissariat for Internal Affairs reports stated that the Devil of the Rhine also preferred coffee and made a special note that the two shared similar tastes. Drake felt compelled to ask the question of whether beverages had the power to bring people together… In any case, he was in awe at the level of information he had on his enemies.

At the same time, it made him feel a bit greedy. It was only natural that he would wonder how the Federation was able to attain such information.

"I'm curious. I'd love to know more about this."

His whisper to himself could be heard throughout the tent, though Drake knew well that such information was well beyond his reach.

Their source was the most heavily guarded of secrets.

Whoever it was, likely few in the internal affairs office even knew, let alone their foreign allies. It wasn't something they'd tell him even if he ever had the chance to ask. Approaching them alone was enough to put a dent in

their already fragile relationship.

"They do say that all's fair in the name of love and war… But it's probably best I keep my nose out of this one."

He was honestly surprised that those secretive Federation agents were willing to share this much with him. The Federation provided him—a citizen of the Commonwealth—with this level of information before he even requested it.

"Could this be the work of God? I suppose only the impossible is impossible."

Perhaps the Federation had finally picked up on the fact that they were technically allies.

That was a good thing in and of itself. It was a good sign for the future.

As someone who wanted to pull off a counterstrike against the damned Imperial Army, he felt grateful to the Federation for once.

It's what convinced Drake to swallow his woes from that day on. He started by mobilizing those who were willing to fight.

His first step was to put on a show for those annoying journalists he detested so much. He sang high praises for the multinational unit in front of the press corps from around the world. He put forward a positive message, painting their collaboration with the Federation Army in the best light possible.

He didn't enjoy having a picture of him shaking hands with the Communists plastered all over the international news… Nevertheless, he made peace with it by simply considering it part of the job.

He forced himself to shake their hands and smile. His country was happy with his work.

Drake caught wind of First Lieutenant Sue talking behind his back about how he was so eager to take pictures, but what did he care about the grumblings of a little girl who didn't know the first thing about politics? He decided to take out his frustration on his journalist friend Andrew anyway.

In the end, Lieutenant Colonel Drake's guardian angel appeared to approve of his hard work. The multinational volunteer unit was better prepared than ever in anticipation of an imperial counteroffensive meant to blunt their advance west.

Colonel Mikel and Lieutenant Colonel Drake were working even closer together than before on behalf of their Federation-Commonwealth alliance.

The Commonwealth even made an effort to accommodate the infuriating political officer corps whenever the opportunity presented itself.

What's more important was the sheer amount of information he had access to. The Federation Army had almost analyzed the entire plan created by the Imperial Army. The Imperial Army intended on using Lieutenant General Zettour's preferred tactics of luring out the enemy before encircling and annihilating them. The Federation's intelligence analysis seemed right on the money.

Ascertaining his enemy's intent to this extent was enough to make him want to jump for joy. In actuality, their information was almost perfect…like an exposed magic trick. He could see certain victory on the horizon along with his enemy's defeat. There was a skip in his step as he spent his days preparing for his enemies to taste bitter defeat.

Doing so led him to the very next day when Lieutenant Colonel Drake would come into contact with his enemy, just as he predicted.

-x-X-x-

AUGUST 1, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, EASTERN FRONT, MULTINATIONAL UNIT GARRISON PROTECTED AIRSPACE

"Bogeys identified. I can't believe it… It's just as the reports said. It's the Devil of the Rhine!"

One of the soldiers Drake had assigned to monitor their airspace called out in surprise.

It was exactly as the Federation Army's analysis stated—Lieutenant General Zettour had a tendency to use his little apprentice when it counted most.

It seems like his protégé—the Devil of the Rhine—had finally decided to show up.

The enemy's goal must have been the salient's supply line. To be honest, when he first read that the Empire was going to use one of Lieutenant General Zettour's favorite tricks—a surprise attack—he had his doubts, but…

"Are you sure?! How many are there?"

"It's a two-man cell! Maybe they're here for recon?"

"That's what they want us to think. At first glance, it'll look like nothing more than an imperial scouting mission. But if these documents are correct, then they're here for more than just information. They'll either conduct a recon-in-force or try to take out an officer. Either way, we're not going to make it easy for them."

Drake could feel it; he had successfully seen through his enemy's plan. There was a solid chance they would win this fight. This was the good sign Lieutenant Colonel Drake could feel confident in for once.

"We saw right through them… We owe the Federation Army for their expert analysis."

Yes, this was a diversion. The pair of mages looked like nothing more than a scouting unit. Normally, they would never pay any mind to a pair like them.

The two mages were attempting to present themselves as a simple reconnaissance team, but it wasn't going to work this time.

"We know all about your little tricks. You're not going to have your way anymore."

The salient was crafted by Lieutenant General Zettour.

The whole thing reeked of a blatant trap. After studying what happened on the Rhine front, it was plain as day that their general had an addiction to encircling his enemies. The way Drake saw it, the imperial General Staff Office was full of officers who believed in surrounding their enemies.

He knew that they generally started their attacks by targeting their enemy's weak points, often aiming for their supply lines.

It was no longer a question about what hand they were going to play. Formulating a plan is the easy part of the job once you know what you need to do. However, the battle-hardened soldier who stood next to Drake didn't share the same optimism.

"There's something off about all this…" "What's that, Colonel Mikel?"

Mikel was one of Drake's closest companions, and he wouldn't openly share his reservations without a good reason.

Unable to take this lightly, Drake questioned his comrade. He was met, however, with a look of doubt.

"It's just a feeling… Don't you think there's something strange about those

two?"

Something strange? That was hard to answer.

The enemy had come in a flight of two—standard procedure for a reconnaissance mission. There wasn't anything particularly unusual about their enemies surveying the battlefield…

Drake was more surprised that he was able to predict their appearance… The rest seemed remarkably run-of-the-mill.

"My apologies, but I don't notice anything out of the ordinary about their movements. That's not to say I'm underestimating them. We're dealing with a Named mage. We'll hit the bastards with everything we've got."

"Please do. I just can't shake the feeling that there must be more to all this… Something feels off about their appearance here."

Before Drake could ask his partner what he meant, his subordinate called his attention back to the enemy duo.

"The enemy has increased their altitude to eight thousand! They're moving fast!"

Drake looked out at the pair of hostiles. They shot up into the sky with incredible speed. They were moving with such unbelievable speed that it was literally sickening. Just seeing the state-of-the-art Imperial Army magic technology was enough to make Drake's stomach turn.

It was absolutely infuriating. They were going to take full advantage of their aerial superiority.

"Damn it. Well, the fact that their recon was just a ruse isn't news for us.

They sure didn't waste any time making their move, though."

The fact that they treated climbing to eight thousand like it was nothing pissed him off more than anything. Those bastards fully intended on watching his troops struggle for air at six thousand.

But their plan wasn't going to work this time.

Little do they know that the multinational unit has figured out a way to breach the eight thousand flight ceiling. He had his soldiers condition their lungs at that altitude and reevaluated their flight formula. The sky no longer belonged to only the imperial mages.

"I'll head out first. We'll show them what we've got." "Good luck."

Drake thanked his friend before speeding off to muster his volunteers.

On short notice, he managed to ready a single battalion for battle. The

Devil of the Rhine was a tough opponent, but with these numbers, they should be able to come out on top.

Or so they thought. Once Drake's unit was up in the air, the two imperial mages gracefully foiled all their attempts to catch up. But why? They had reached the appropriate altitude, and yet they couldn't quite keep pace.

"Th-they've reached ten thousand!"

His subordinate practically screamed that report. Drake didn't even need the report to know—he could see with his own two eyes.

While he did manage to keep that snide remark from slipping out, he couldn't stop himself from swearing.

"I thought their Type 97s could only go up to eight thousand? Damn it!

Those sons of bitches…!"

There was nothing more aggravating than being at an altitude disadvantage due to inferior hardware. It wasn't fair… They were being forced to fight a skilled hunter with a collection of rinky-dink weapons.

Would it hurt those nitwits back home to send us some proper equipment for once?

He cursed whoever was in charge of their supplies from a continent away while he commanded the flights in his battalion to take up positions. While each individual soldier still had a long way to go, as long as they stuck with their wingmates and worked together, they'd probably make it through this.

There was just one soldier who didn't follow suit… She seemed to lack the awareness that teamwork was their only way to fill the technological gap.

"Cover me…! I'll bring them back down!" "Lieutenant Sue?!"

Drake hesitated for a split second. Should I stop her? He shook his head.

Fucking hell.

He had to let her do it.

Their altitude difference was far too great. He needed a way to close the distance. Even if it meant relying on First Lieutenant Sue's suicidal rush into battle.

To his chagrin, Lieutenant Colonel Drake changed the way he thought about it.

He wanted to face the enemy as a cohesive unit as much as possible, but this wasn't the time to be inflexible.

If Sue wanted to be a wild card, then he was going to use her as just that.

"Cover First Lieutenant Sue! Ready your weapons! Optical sniper formulas! Pay attention to the altitude difference! Fuck the imperials! Aim like they're four thousand out!"