CHAPTER - III

Mages are an all-purpose painkiller, able to scratch those difficult-to-reach places. Unfortunately, they are only a treatment for the symptoms, not a cure.

When applied, however, they do provide temporary relief. After all, they boast exceptional firepower and defense, are blessed with mobility, and are extremely easy to deploy. Managing orbs and making sure their skill doesn't dull takes effort, but otherwise, they are generally on par with infantry.

Fuel is simple. While they do require more calories than regular infantry, some extra food on top of standard infantry rations quickly solves that issue. Even motorbikes, relatively adaptable compared with other vehicles, will not move simply by shoving a piece of bread into its fuel tank. Additionally, even when forced to cross long distances, mages rarely break down in the same way that heavy machinery can.

As a household medicine, they are perfectly capable of serving as a state's instrument of violence, and in a sense, they're an inordinately vital part of the medicine cabinet. In a way, they are almost too convenient.

More useful than a horse. This was often the catchphrase when magic- based tactics were first introduced, but it was also the clincher. When magic engineering brought modern applications of magic to the world—that is to say, when the door to magic was opened and the Imperial Army succeeded in creating its mage division through the combination of computation orbs and rifles—it was convenience that was stressed above all else.

During the dawn of this new age, much was attempted through trial and error. Training was strengthened. Technologies were researched. Combat techniques were explored. At some point, through significant effort, mages gained the ability to fly through the skies. This would eventually lead to aerial mages.

At first, the ability to fly was not actually considered that significant. No

more than another convenient bonus. Not flying units, per se, but units that happened to be able to fly. It was originally envisioned that mages would be utilized as a type of elite infantry, much like marines or snipers.

And why did that change? The answer is obvious. Like any sweatshop, the Imperial Army has its own proud history of tradition and trust. It certainly isn't about to change its practices now. The fact that mages can fly means that, when out on the battlefield, they're easily ordered about and can be given all manner of preposterous tasks.

"Flying infantry? What could be better?!"

And when push comes to shove…it turns out mages really can do anything. Before long, aerial became the de facto standard for deploying mages.

The degree to which mages have transformed the sky into their primary battlefield means that, today, all mages are effectively aerial mages. But there is one major caveat to this idea, and that is primarily because only well-trained mages can carry out these duties.

In other words, there is a need to screen and train them.

Before the war, the attrition rate suffered during minor conflicts was negligible. In those days, even for essentially limited departments, losses never exceeded what was "acceptable."

To repeat, mages are convenient. No one can resist such flexibility and ease of use. And yet they also conceal a painful fault that no country can avoid in times of war.

Namely, there are never enough mages.

Even if full numbers are secured at one point, they will begin to dwindle off around the edges. Militaries are constantly chasing after new mages. From a supply point of view, the pool of available mages is decided by individual qualities and thus is never sufficient. Ideally, mages are deployed in teams, but despite everyone's best efforts, there are never enough mages to make this reality.

Additionally, there are many fields in which mages need to be trained. Progressing from new cadet to useful mage requires time. And if, instead, early deployment is favored and promising new greenhorns are thrown onto the front too quickly, incorporating new recruits into the core force will only grow more difficult as time passes.

It is lamentable, but mages simply aren't very compatible with total war.

Their replenishment can never keep pace with attrition.

However, as the Federation and the Empire continued to clash in the east, the severe erosion of both armies' aerial mage forces revealed a startling truth. And that was that even mages who cannot fly are still mages. The human resource layer had evidently degraded too far in quality for aerial mages. But with a slight shift in perspective, what remained could

still be transformed into magnificent nonaerial mages.

The Federation Army, which had limited experience in deploying magic technologies, was less set in their ways and were able to more easily free themselves from the preconception that mages must always be aerial.

A new pair of lenses can often make the world seem different. In this way, the Federation Army quickly rediscovered a simple truth about mages: They can also be powerful infantry. As versatile as other foot soldiers. But with more mobility than cavalry. And with enough firepower to substitute for heavy weapons in a tight spot. But still just as easy to keep supplied as foot soldiers.

What could be more convenient? Human weapons that can walk on their own feet, don't break down as often as normal equipment, and can be used in place of tanks and cannons!

They were theoretically superior troops, and experimentation revealed one hypothetically optimal application. Regiments of ground mages formed through en masse conscription of people with mixed magical aptitude could prove highly effective at punching through the front. This offered a potentially powerful vanguard for operations that drove deep into enemy territory.

In other words, mage troops could once again become a force for world supremacy.

And certainly, this seemed to be the direction the world was heading. But if there was a problem, it was that the ground where these seeds were being strewed was already barren. The continued existence of mage troops, by this time, was already uncertain.

—Twilight of the Mages: Why Have Mages Disappeared?

-x-X-x-

JANUARY 6, UNIFIED YEAR 1928, SKY ABOVE THE EASTERN FRONT

"Ridiculous…"

Tanya von Degurechaff grits her teeth at the absurdity of the world, embracing reality and summing up the current situation with a faint sense of pride, rather than disgust.

"They've certainly got it easy over here in the east."

The Ildoan front had been exceedingly political, with a need to decipher General Zettour's intentions, and even military pragmatism was subordinated to the greater strategy. The anxiety Tanya felt on that battlefield was far beyond any demands put on her from above.

The eastern front, however, is an entirely different beast.

"This is supposed to be a main area of operations," I mutter, shrugging before rubbing my eyes. The beautiful reality, however, still remains.

The eastern front, the main battlefield upon which the Empire and the Federation have bet the fate of their nations. War may be an extension of politics, but when war drags on for too long, it can become an end in and of itself in extreme cases. In that sense, the east is a battlefield. Even political bargaining here is for the sake of war, a phenomenon similar to—but quite different from—the idea of war being a tool of politics.

It is the extremity of absolute war.

A totally futile battlefield. But that means what must be done is evident. Fight and win. That, or be at the mercy of war's fortunes. A simplified world, where no other options need be considered.

That also means, however, that there is less room for the side that is inferior in strength to play any tricks.

Regarding whether or not we can win.

If there was a good job to be had, then maybe the Imperial Army could make ends meet by virtue of pure strength. But a good patriot of the Empire would probably do better to despair, as the limits to what can be accomplished under the current situation are almost entirely limited to prolonging defeat as far as possible, rather than achieving decisive victory

for the Empire.

I, however, do not fall into the category. I shrug internally as I turn my attention to the sky. On that point, at least, I don't believe I must share the state's fate.

Our altitude is nine thousand feet. We're conducting reconnaissance and patrol in pairs.

Other than my adjutant, no one else is within hearing distance. We are quiet as we fly. Aside from an occasional complaint or navigational remarks, the world is silent. As the peaceful eastern sky stretches onward, I begin to grow strangely philosophical.

The sky is almost too pleasant to just be an afterthought. Even the stinging air is bracing. When not accelerating for combat, the Type 97 flies much like an elite sports car. Although the phrase assault orb sounds bombastic and awe-inspiring, it also conceals a capacity for exceptionally smooth and stable flight.

An unruly steed, but incredibly faithful if one can tame it. Computation orbs are perfect works of craftsmanship that never betray expectation so long as the user has sufficient skill.

"Lieutenant Serebryakov, this Type 97 is a profound work of art. Though, I think the designers could better spend their time developing weapons."

"They seem like practical enough tools of war in our hands." "You are not wrong, but that is exactly the issue."

The Type 97 Assault Computation Orb. A masterpiece created by Chief Engineer Schugel at the Elinium Arms Factory. The dual-core orb is, of course, both a technological marvel and a complete nightmare from the viewpoint of military affairs.

First, the atrocious manufacturing costs. I have heard that even competitive race cars are easier to produce than Type 97 Assault Computation Orbs. And while the number of defective orbs produced is maddening, even the slightest relaxation in standards would definitely result in the cores blowing out during acceleration in combat. Not maybe, not possibly, but definitely.

When the instructor squad tried to make use of the defective orbs, there were even instances of veteran mages—precious commodities of the Empire who were worth more than their weight in gold—dying in the line

of duty as a result.

The finished products, meanwhile, can only be described as unruly steeds. In the end, at least eight hundred hours of solo flight experience was set as the minimum requirement before a mage could officially operate a Type 97. One thousand six hundred flight hours and four hundred hours of orb-specific training if you wanted to play it safe.

These were the instructor squad's desired standards, but they have never been taken seriously. Hence why there have been so many accidental deaths among promising new recruits when using Type 97 Assault Computation Orbs. Valuable human resources—who only just finally completed their minimum training—lost along with their expensive machinery. A great blood tax paid by citizens of the Empire to the earth.

With that in mind, I flash a cynical smile.

"What do you think would have happened to the Type 97s if we hadn't been able to use them effectively, Visha?" I ask casually.

In response, First Lieutenant Serebryakov crosses her arms and thinks for a moment. With a look of realization, she laughs.

"I'm sure we would have been told to figure it out. We are their favorite fixers, after all."

"What about these new toys, all specs and no bang? Do you think they'll get put to actual use?"

I certainly hope not, I think privately with a laugh. Worse, First Lieutenant Serebryakov is probably right on the money. The Empire truly is a sweatshop.

Results at the time the orbs were first sent out were underwhelming. The higher-ups are probably desperate to see real-life performance live up to specs.

"As mages, we are adherents of modern science. Not some one-stop shop capable of miracles or deux ex machinas…"

"You do seem to play the hand of God from time to time, though, Colonel."

I immediately correct my adjutant's misconception. "No, I am a person. Not a god."

The last thing I want is to fall into the same category as someone like Being X. I'd rather be good and peaceful, a citizen with a lowercase c, a lover of free and open markets. That is Tanya to the core.

Speaking of which, I'm hardly the type to get sentimental. Nevertheless, this pleasant exchange and beautiful sky seem to have made me turn over a new leaf. Sometimes, flight patrol isn't so bad.

It's nice, the way that jogging can be nice. Maybe it is no time for such thoughts, seeing as we're at war, but the current flight is so picturesque that it seems like it should be captioned.

But it's not perfect. As time passes, my pleasure begins to dissipate. The east is cold, after all. Hostile, not only physically, but conceptually as well.

"We've come this far, and still no sign of enemy hides…" "Neither hide nor hair."

"Yes, neither hide nor hair," I repeat, agreeing with First Lieutenant Serebryakov. "Visha, have you picked up any radio transmissions?"

"It's completely quiet; all I'm getting is the occasional friendly signal." "Do you think the enemy is using cables? Or are the field engineers who

lay our own cables just overworked?" "Can't it be both?"

"That's possible. Between the partisans and regular wear and tear, they could also just be cut off…"

Which would necessitate communicating by other means, even if it meant creating detectable radio signals. In any case, any large-scale attack or aerial deployment would be preceded by plenty of chatter. That means silence is golden.

I stare down at the snow-covered earth, remembering how quickly sounds dissipate in that sea of white. Part of me wishes the snow would just melt and bring the mud season already.

If, as General Zettour expects, there is no significant movement on the front before then, we'll be relatively safe for a time. But the trusty mud season is still a ways away.

A respite as we wait in hope for the mud season. There is no sign of the enemy on the ground below, which is wrapped in a blanket of snow. The sky, from all corners, is quiet.

"Still, it seems odd that there's absolutely no sign of them. This doesn't sit right." I have a bad feeling about this, but hopefully, I'm wrong. "I don't know why, but I just don't like it."

"You too, Colonel?"

"You feel the same way?"

"Yes," First Lieutenant Serebryakov says. She is a trustworthy adjutant. With Serebryakov as my wingman, we should be able to cut through any number of intercepting enemies we happen to encounter. But as we proceed closer to the enemy's sphere of influence, it would be best to heed our intuitions.

"An eerie silence, so to speak."

I can't help but grow tense. I hope my misgivings will turn out to be nothing, but I know better. On the battlefield, such wishful thinking is a luxury.

And yet as we continue to peer around cautiously, nothing seems to change. All clear, at least as far as the eye can see.

Not just clear, but desolate. The sky above the eastern front, which has donned an uncharacteristically peaceful form, is almost entirely uncharted. After a moment of hesitation, however, I rouse myself.

"Let's increase our altitude and see if we can lure them out." "Understood, Colonel."

We purposely reveal our mana signals as a lure. However… "No response," First Lieutenant Serebryakov says.

I nod reluctantly, looking stupefied. "Apparently so."

Climbing causes signatures to be detectable from a greater distance. In other words, this increase in altitude should have triggered a response from the enemy. In the parlance of the east, it was a blatant provocation. And yet nothing.

After being sent careening back to the east by Colonel Uger's pitching arm, I expected a few chance encounters while out on patrol. Now that there haven't been any, I can't help but feel unsettled.

It is almost more frightening than spotting the enemy.

"It's just like we were told…," I mutter as I scan the area again together with my adjutant. "When they told us how peaceful it is out here, I wasn't really listening, but…"

For it to be this quiet? I'm amazed. My adjutant nods in agreement. "Honestly, I find it hard to believe this is really the east."

What the two remember about the east is its biting sky. The air literally thick with the stench of war. Scrambling to intercept enemy air attacks. Ground control raising the alarm. Transmissions from the air defense net.

Enemy radio transmissions.

But this?!

Where is the stink? I furrow my eyebrows. To a veteran like me, this clean air smells fishier than anything.

A sense of danger is important. Such instincts shouldn't be underestimated. Normalcy bias can blindside people into an early grave. As a result, when Eastern Command briefed us that "the front is all quiet," I simply nodded and smiled. "We'll see about that," I grumbled. They even suggested holding a welcome party. I nearly screamed but managed to keep my composure.

General Johan von Laudon was appointed by General Zettour. I eagerly look forward to the day he whips the other senior officers at Eastern Command into shape. For now, there's no way I could take that briefing with anything but a pinch of salt.

After playing nice with Eastern Command for a little while and returning to our roost, I decided to set out on an urgent recon mission together with Visha. We'd barely unpacked our things.

"All that trouble for this?"

"There are no signs of the enemy. At least nothing obvious, Colonel."

"We're still in regular contact with HQ… Nothing to report from forward outposts, either. Air intercept control seems fine as well. It's rather early in the year to be made the fool. This all seems too good to be true."

Crossing her arms in midair, I cock my head in confusion at this strange, almost off-putting peace that has descended on the front.

"Colonel. Look at the ground." "Hmm?"

"They're friendly forces. A ground unit is waving their caps at us." Isn't that nice? I think as I let my face relax.

"Let's bank at them."

Although dressed in white winter camouflage for the snow, the human shapes on the ground below have removed their caps and are now waving them cheerfully in our direction. In response, Tanya and Visha pay their respects with a nicely executed aerial maneuver.

After saluting the troops on the ground, we continue our flight, but there are no signs of anything unusual. The area is so clear that we even have time to check out friendly bases.

"Maybe General Zettour's predictions were right."

Maybe the Federation Army really is suffering from terrible attrition. I furrow my brow as the cold sends a shiver up my spine. I've gotten far too accustomed to the warmth in Ildoa.

To be transferred from that world of color, culture, and for better or worse, saturated brightness, to this, the eastern front! I may be accustomed to the east, but I can still feel the cold in my bones.

I am an officer, however. The cold is no excuse. In fact, it is precisely times such as this when it is incumbent I step out in front.

"This is what it means to take the initiative, set an example, and lead."

It is in times of difficulty, more than any other time, when people begin to question leadership. This is a universal truth in every day and age when it comes to human organizations.

The eyes of subordinates are always on the boss. Higher-ups can say whatever they like, but if action doesn't follow suit, their words are meaningless. And when it comes to soldiers, who risk their life in their line of work, they expect impeccable behavior from their commanders as a matter of course.

Tanya lacks the slightest intention of ever dying for her troops, but she knows that her soldiers are her best meat shield and does not hesitate to worry over, sympathize with, and when necessary, even do right by them out of pure self-interest. That's precisely why she is currently patrolling herself.

"Truly, neither hide nor hair… Maybe they really are hunkering down for the winter," I say, after readying her binoculars once more. I only half believe what I say. "I feel like we're falling for a poor excuse of a scam."

"Or maybe it's just harder to relax when the enemy is gone than when they're here where you can see them, Colonel."

I'm tempted to wax philosophical about how much I hate those filthy Commies, but instead, I just shrug.

"I'm hardly pining for an enemy. But we know what they are." "You mean Commies."

Exactly. I nod.

"Neither hide nor hair, when we know they should be here. Who could relax? What do they call it again? Maskiróvka?"

"It's scary to not know what the enemy is really thinking. But Eastern

Command believes this lull is just the result of both sides trying to build their forces back."

"Yes… Maybe that does make the most sense." I nod, half out of momentum, and fold my arms.

These days, even in the Empire proper, a flight so uneventful that you have time to scan the ground at your leisure is unusual. And yet here we are, carrying on a full conversation as we casually fly.

"It doesn't seem entirely impossible, but still…"

Winter sky or not, the only mages within detection range at the moment are myself and First Lieutenant Serebryakov. Despite being the commander, I have slightly more leeway to speak what is on my chest at the moment. I can likely be forgiven for a few small complaints.

"If it makes so much sense and things are this peaceful, then I would have rather we spent at least the holidays in the capital. There was no need to cancel our leave. I'd like to give them an earful about that."

"Agreed… The new year just hit, and they've already got us running around like chickens with our heads cut off."

"Exactly," I agree with a sour look on my face. I keep the rest of my complaints to myself, but the General Staff seems to be getting a little too attached to the concept of discretionary labor. Not that I could talk. I canceled their three days of New Year's leave to carry out a proof-of- concept experiment, but it had been Major Weiss's idea, so let's just say the buck stops with him.

Either way, this applies to our sudden eastern deployment as well. One wave of the hand by General Zettour and off you go. Plus, what about Colonel Lergen's strange request? I know Lergen was worried I might get caught up in a bureaucratic pissing contest over here, so instead, I'm just expected to handle myself in the deep end and somehow display ingenuity and autonomy on the battlefield. It doesn't get much more exploitative than that.

What I wouldn't do for some labor standards. "Actually…"

Labor standards are no more than a fight for worker rights based in law, but the power of the state is capable of constantly contorting that law. Or to put it another way, reason is contorted for the sake of war.

It all boils down to the same thing.

"War is awful." "Colonel?"

"It's nothing. Being back in the east after so long has probably just left me a little discombobulated. For some reason, I keep imagining the worst."

My adjutant sighs, half in understanding, half in confusion. She smiles uncomfortably.

"The gap between reality and instinct is frightening, isn't it?"

"You said it. Still…better paranoid than addled by peace. Too much vigilance may be a problem as well, but at least it's a problem you can laugh off later."

Which is why, as commander, it is probably best to push ahead a little farther with this aerial recon while my reliable adjutant continues to cover my back. Of course, what is best ultimately depends on the time and place, as I am well aware.

"Either way, it looks like our fears were for nothing this time."

It had been hard and long work. And not particularly fun, even as war goes.

"With how quickly General Staff rushed to redeploy us, I may have allowed myself to get a little too worked up… Do you think they really canceled our New Year's leave just so we can jump at shadows out here?"

"They're probably thinking the same thing over there, though, Colonel." "'They'? You mean the Federation?"

"Yes. I'm sure they would have much preferred we spend our time enjoying ourselves back in the capital."

I laugh as I put away my binoculars. Visha got me there. "We've got so much to agree on."

"Naturally."

I nod in agreement.

"Definitely. Now then, since the enemy still hasn't shown their faces yet, shall we advance a little farther?"

"Recon in force?"

"Precisely," I say, smiling at my adjutant. "Not to be flamboyant, but while we're here, we may as well knock on their door and wish them a happy holiday. It would be rude to not at least say hello!"

"Roger that! Let's go wish those Commies a happy New Year!"

-x-X-x-

FEDERATION, OFFICIAL NAME: FORWARD OBSERVATION BASE / AIRBASE COMMAND

Keeping Operation Rising Dawn secret was taken very seriously as a matter of course. The Federation's intentions needed to remain thoroughly hidden. With the exception of commanders, not even soldiers on the front line had been informed of the plan.

But keeping intentions hidden was not the same as keeping every sundry detail hidden. What mattered was the when. In other words, obfuscating when the attack would commence. There were many other points that were also best kept secret, but what mattered most was timing.

After all, even the biggest moron in the Empire could understand the problem was not if, but when the Federation would strike. Federation authorities had already been tolling the virtues of a "great counterstrike," hadn't they? And they had taken an offensive posture. Repeated, sudden drills. Unannounced readiness maneuvers. All sorts of other clever schemes to make it appear as if a massive offensive was on the horizon.

They weren't hiding their intention to launch an offensive, only the crucial timing of it.

Spring? Summer? Such whispers were common in both armies alike.

But these rumors were wrong. The offensive was not so far away. It was nearly upon them.

At the very least, the commandant and the political commissar at the front knew the truth. Stationed on a wide, sweeping plain, this posting was officially a forward observation base. A variety of equipment had been brought in, under the pretense for surveillance.

The site was even referred to as an observation base in documents shared with friendly forces. The truth, however, was that it was an air base. The equipment, which base personnel thought was for surveillance, were items that could also be used for air control, in fact. Planes were taking off from the recently opened runway.

At the start of the offensive, they would send air assets to hit the Empire hard. They were constantly on standby for that fateful day. In contrast to the

troops, who were enveloped in a celebratory holiday mood, those who knew what was coming had begun to gird their loins in anticipation.

Hence why the presence of a couple of snooping Imperial aerial mages was currently so unwelcome.

The Federation soldiers, who were placidly unaware of the real situation, thought that the only reason they were hiding was to avoid catching the attention of an apparently strong enemy, but the commandant, who knew the base's true purpose, prayed that the two mages would not come this way.

"There is a pair of Imperial mages steadily approaching," the officer on observation duty reported. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the commandant's humble request was not going to be granted.

As part of the ruse, the site was full of observation equipment. There was no chance the signal had just been misread. The commandant shrugged lightly, but he would have preferred to have shouted, Go away! Go home! at the shockingly aggressive flight path of the two mages.

"Such pushy guests, and so early in the year."

"Yes, Comrade Commandant. They are flying quite high as well… Perhaps it's command reconnaissance."

"This could be strategic recon, then."

The commandant felt his stomach drop. He could not show such worry in front of his men. Despite vague assurances that "sprawling or not, there's nothing much to see here," in the back of his mind, he was painfully aware of the fact that two very dangerous guests had just shown up on the front porch of the area he was responsible for, right as the Federation was on the verge of launching a critical strategic offensive.

As the party mandated atheism, the commandant knew it was wrong to believe, but in his heart, he couldn't stop himself from praying to every god he could think of. With a sigh, however, he was forced to admit that his day-to-day public disavowals had most likely left his spiritual balance in the negative. It seemed no blessings would be coming his way.

"Observer! Can you verify the mana signature?"

The observer stared at his equipment for a moment before shaking his head sadly.

"The library data is corrupted. I'm unable to get a match."

Hmph. The commandant released a sigh. They may have had plenty of

observation equipment on hand, but the delay in new parts had grown severe. Parts for the various pieces of lend-leased observation equipment, in particular, were in dangerously short supply.

They were not completely tapped out, strictly speaking. There was still some in stock. But as soon as it became apparent that there was a chance the supply from overseas might get cut off, all departments began fearing the worst and suddenly became extremely reluctant to lend out what parts they had. As a result, the number of parts reaching those in the field had taken a serious dip.

"I'm sorry. Equipment has been in bad shape for some time…," the observation officer apologized, shrinking slightly.

Obviously, no officer would be eager to report that precious equipment under their care had fallen into disorder. There was always a risk they could be personally accused of sabotage, after all.

However, for better or worse, on the harsh battlefield, the Federation followed a philosophy of realism. As the commander displayed his displeasure, the political commissar lost no opportunity to intercede with a friendly smile and place a hand on the observer's shoulder.

"Of course, our domestic parts still aren't very reliable. You have my respect for doing the best you can under these difficult circumstances. Thank you, comrade."

"Comrade Commissar?"

As the observer stared blankly, the political officer returned a warm, unguarded smile.

"Issues of mechanical reliability can be reported to higher-ups. Just as I, too, can carry out my own work. To be clear, I am not saying they must be; I am saying they can," the political officer affirmed, tapping the equipment lightly as he spoke. "It is not your fault, comrade. This is an issue with the equipment that you were provided. In which case, it falls on me to inform the higher-ups."

Managers needed to respect the experts on the ground, keep their work environments in good order, and protect them when necessary. To ensure the Federation was seen as an open organization, it was crucial that political officers fostered a sense of psychological safety through their bearing.

"Hiding problems and pretending they don't exist is the much bigger issue. The party does not need simpering, flattery-wielding patricians but

good, hardworking, honest proletariats."

Internally, the political officer added what he could not say out loud. Federation Army aside, the leaders of the party detested mages. This fact was so well-known that people on the ground were loath to offer up negative reports. What people didn't know, however…was that, lately, the real anger on high was at the lack of accurate reports in relation to issues dealing with mages.

Once it was evident that the truth was being embellished, the Commissariat for Internal Affairs was immediately dispatched. Although accurate reporting might leave the mules at High Command somewhat unhappy, such reports would hardly be squashed. In fact, when appropriate, they might even contribute to evaluations when the time came.

The commissariat was so hungry for detailed information on enemy mages that they were even asking for separate, direct reports from political officers. They were desperate for every scrap of truth they could get their hands on. Hiding information because it was inconvenient would only lead to death. There was no shooting the messenger. On this topic, at least.

Still. The political officer and the commandant made eye contact.

"The Krauts are certainly aggressive. What do you think, comrade?"

"Yes, they seem very insistent in their patrol, Comrade Commandant.

Perhaps they are poking around looking for our whereabouts."

The two were in tacit agreement. They only had one choice: to reveal

their camouflage for the suspicious enemy to see.

With the exception of a few forward observation bases, the bulk of their army was in the rear, and they had taken careful steps to make it appear as if they were hunkering down for the winter.

A few of these units had already begun mobilizing, but both internally and externally, this was being treated as a typical supply and training mission. Fearing there might be spies, they had even been carrying out preparations for a casual New Year's celebration, as a way to disguise their intentions from even their allies. To be doubly sure, they had asked inspectors from friendly forces, who knew nothing of what was going on, to report any suspicious movement, just to give themselves a bead on what enemy eyes might be seeing.

The risk of having their cover blown was low. More dangerous was the risk of revealing themselves by doing something stupid.

"Continue to watch them closely. Once they come a little closer, see if Command can identify them with their library. After then…"

Just as he was preparing his resolve, however, the situation suddenly took a turn. Warning alarms began to bray from the equipment.

"…! We've got a large-scale signature response! It looks like a spatial explosion formula…!" the observer shouted, barely managing to get the warning out as the blood drained from his face and he went pale. The commandant immediately rushed to the desk and picked up the receiver.

"Warning! Two enemy command recon units conducting reconnaissance in force! Intercept! Case C!"

Regardless of their power, large-scale spatial explosion–type magical formulas have long since been seen as one of the most impractical battlefield formulas in the Great War. The height of recklessness. More reckless than heavy artillery conducting direct fire instead of indirect fire.

Artillery usually do their best to keep their presence hidden until their first shot. Mage formulas, however, are like a salvo to the world at large and are even known as "interference formulas."

Meaning when one uses such a formula, they stick out like sore thumb.

And if the formula involves blasting an entire area with significant force, the scale of interference will only grow that much heavier in scale, making it easy to detect the source even from long distances. As a result, time is needed to prepare such formulas.

Even when forced with top-spec computation orbs like the Empire's Type 95s or dual-core type 97s, these formulas still involve standing exposed for an extended period time and thus demand time to safely work the formula.

On the one hand, they are useful as a grand and flashy statement. On the other, however, their practical uses are limited, as they cause the user to stand out in a way that could easily backfire. After all, the ability to be detected from extreme distances makes you a sitting duck for long-range optical formulas. In other words, attempting a spatial explosion draws widespread attention and can force any nearby enemies to respond.

If one spins the formula carefully, diligently, and deliberately…that is.

"There doesn't seem to be any jamming."

With a nod, Tanya activates the formula. She tries to release it far into the distance, but…

"I should have guessed winging it wouldn't cut it." She sighs.

In the end, it is indeed a big flashy show. A massive explosion, yes, but essentially, all I've done is cause a large fireball to appear in a deserted field of snow. The Type 97 is a good computation orb, but it is highly lacking when it comes to power. Not that it completely lacks it, but tossing some snow into the air is hardly fair compensation for getting stuck in position and having all your movements restricted for several minutes.

"First Lieutenant Serebryakov. I don't expect much, but…what's the BDA?"

"Just a moment. At such a long-range and after such a large explosion, visual confirmation is…"

"Yes, I know… Hmm?"

I'm the first to notice. A faint response, coming from a distance. "A signature response, maybe?"

"A signature? No, wait…"

First Lieutenant Serebryakov seems to pick up on it a moment later, but the signal seems different. It does appear to be a mana signature, but something about it—it is difficult to say—is unfamiliar. However, the composition reminds me of one thing in particular.

Of course…the dummy signal cooked up by Major Weiss! I think I see what the enemy is after.

"We did something similar at the Ildoan front."

"The sudden ground-to-air strike against enemy mage troops, right?"

Exactly.

"Well, well, at last. Looks like the enemy's real move is coming from below?"

A classic decoy. Drawing a combat maneuver, I brace myself for a cunning ambush. Distract with a dummy mana signal while the main attack comes from another direction. Despite having pulled this trick off myself before, it's still possible to fall for the same trap when the shoe is on the other foot. At least, it is when you get caught by surprise on the battlefield.

A mental blind spot is all you need. I laugh as I roll up my sleeves. Too bad I already know the trick.

"Lieutenant Serebryakov, keep your eyes peeled." "Affirmative."

As the first lieutenant deftly covers our backs while scanning the ground, I focus on the approaching signal. The faint mana signature seems to still be gaining altitude. Either the decoy advanced enough to rise to some degree on its own, or it has already been equipped in an aircraft. No… Scratch that. While it's difficult to detect perfectly due to the residual noise of the spatial explosion, the signature suggests a vertical takeoff and landing.

Could it be an aerial mage? I can't get a read on the orb's characteristics, however.

As far as I can tell, the Federation's computation orbs, while durable and possessing excellent firepower, are generally below average in terms of mobility. As they focus on accessibility, however, they are comparatively easy to use. They are also not bad in terms of survivability.

"But in turn, they're supposed to be poor at stealth and concealment…"

With a defensive shell, protective film, and flight formula active all at once, any Imperial mage in engagement distance should be able to detect these mages immediately.

Real-world conditions don't always match theories on paper, but if an enemy took off at a distance close enough to detect, I should be picking up a clearer signature… Time to consider another possibility.

"Does this resemble the signature from a Type 105? Or maybe someone not used to their orb… A person with just barely enough affinity?"

It could be an issue with either the quality of the orb or the user. My suspicion grows. This is smelling more and more like a trap. What First Lieutenant Serebryakov says next, however, boggles my mind.

"No sign of enemies on the ground. It doesn't seem like they've got visuals on us, either."

"Wait? You mean it's not a diversion? They're not trying to hit us with a surprise attack while we're distracted?"

I already convinced myself this was the same trick we pulled against the Unified States mages. The shock of hearing there is no sign of enemies on the ground is immense.

"I was certain the enemy's main attack would come from the ground below us."

"I thought so as well, Colonel. But I've checked, and…I can't find anyone. At the very least, if there are any enemies hiding out down there, there aren't enough to even call them a unit."

"A lone attack from a Named, then? No, but… Let's get some altitude just in case. Climb to ten thousand. And let's shelve the possibility of a surprise attack for now."

"Roger!"

The two increase their altitude.

Even if a strike does come from the ground, the potential energy they have from gaining altitude—the difference in kinetic energy—will still ensure Tanya and Visha's advantage. Taking the high ground is always a good thing.

High equals energy. On top of that, more altitude gives a better view. "The signature still seems a bit far. The distance is unclear."

First Lieutenant Serebryakov quickly picks up on the signature coming from ahead. Likewise, I begin to rescrutinize what I'm detecting.

Their conclusion is that the signal does not warrant caution.

"It's a good thing we got a look at the 105s in advance. It seems like the enemy is pushing something similar as well… The speed of that climb is slow as molasses, though. Do you think they're loaded with bombs?"

I'm pretty sure there are no bomb-equipped fighter planes in this world, either, though. And besides, when it comes to interceptors, climbing rate tends to be vital. As attached as they are to firepower, even the Federation is still bound by the laws of physics. Their requirements for an intercept squad can't possibly be very different from our own.

The two experienced Imperial mages agree. The signal doesn't make sense.

"Is it…a platoon? No. There's more coming up after them. Based on the signature, it seems like a company of enemy mages. But the way they're assembling…" Serebryakov trails off.

"It's atrocious, isn't it? And maybe I'm just imagining things, but they seem to be packed in pretty tight, don't they? That would be a dangerous way to fly."

"Maneuvering in pairs in anticipation of close combat is standard practice, but flying so close that you are practically holding hands just makes you a good target. Usually, mages try to strike a good balance…"

"This makes no sense," I mutter. "As far as I can tell from tracing their signatures, their movements are sluggish… Maybe they just don't want to fight. But then why head toward us?"

"Based on the signal, I don't think they're putting out much speed. But what does it mean? None of this fits…"

"I'm having trouble figuring it out myself. Maybe…it's not a problem with the orbs or their aptitude."

"This signal is too weak, either way. Unless they've got cloaking devices, it almost looks as if they've only got their protective films up."

Despite her confusion, I smile uncomfortably at my adjutant's suggestion.

"This is the Federation we're talking about. Tough defensive shells are what their orbs do best."

"I mean… I doubt they've had any sudden leaps in orb-deployable signal-blocking or concealment technology."

"Yes, that would seem like a leap, wouldn't it? But to enter battle with just a film and no shell? That would be like an open-topped self-propelled artillery gun charging a tank head-on."

Aerial mages adapt to their environments by deploying protective films, and then they clad themselves in defensive shells, as armor, underneath. Theoretically, film alone might be enough for flying, and if one is particularly skilled, they might be even able to make their film as hard as a shell… But for the average mage to do something as crazy as entering battle without their armor—their shell? It's beyond comprehension.

"Still, the majority of those with magical aptitude don't necessarily match those in our battalion. If the Federation is suffering from the same level of attrition as we are…"

"They might promote simplicity instead? It sounds crazy to us… Still, though, without shells?"

That would be like making an MBT without armor. Maybe if they're using mages like self-propelled guns, but throwing them on the front lines like that? Anybody who knows anything about mages could see the problem with that…

"Anybody who knows anything about mages…"

Hmph. I consider my own words. For better or worse, the Empire is a mage sweatshop, aware of the risks it can get away with before needing to

worry about how easily their mages will crack. The Federation, however, is new to this exploitation game. Maybe they are such amateurs that they don't even know when and how to exploit mages in the first place? Never mind labor standards.

"First Lieutenant Serebryakov, this may actually be an unprecedented chance for us to learn more about the enemy's magical combat capabilities. Let's hit them."

"Roger!"

If it were possible to see the future, that hastily conscripted compulsory magic unit may have very well bemoaned getting the short end of the stick.

Their commander had just returned from the gulag. The political officer attached to the unit was an ideologue. And the troops were all rookies with computation orbs newly thrust into their hands who didn't know the first thing about magical tactics.

On top of that, the majority of them didn't have any magical aptitude beyond what could barely be described as present.

Human attrition was slowly causing the Empire to drop its own pretenses, but even the Empire, regardless of how far they lowered standards, still included the ability to deploy a defensive shell as part of the minimum requirements for mages.

This was because the Empire expected mages to be able to fundamentally withstand aerial clashes with other mages. The Federation's military leadership's understanding of mages, however, went no further than seeing them as troops with magical aptitude. Beyond that, it was simply a matter of effort, indoctrination, and training.

Firm, clear decisions always derived from organizational logic. Free from assumptions, they represented a kind of possibility. In reality, however, such decisions could not escape distortion.

Leaders at all levels could not help but think of quotas. So when one layer of the machine scraped together whomever they could with magical aptitude to meet their quota, and then the bureaucratic machine took these personnel who'd been scraped together and formed a great number of magical units—again, to meet quota—and handed them over to operations.

On paper, at least, the task had been accomplished. The mass deployment of newly formed magical units!

When putting these new troops together, there were naturally some in the Federation, experienced mages and others in similar situations, who naturally wondered if this was the best approach. There were even those in the field who had their misgivings.

But things had kicked off with such great fanfare from the top that halting trials, when serious results had yet to be achieved, was difficult—at least in an organization with such a rigid hierarchy. This was how they had reached a point where rookies were essentially being sent into the battlefield on their own.

For most of these troops, deploying a protective film and getting airborne was almost more than they could manage. For them, taking on a pair of Named Imperial mages—two thoroughly accomplished mage hunters—was just as impossible as it would have been for them to take on a whole company.

Those poor, unlucky bastards who flew up into the sky to intercept those two Imperial mages. The word flight was almost too kind of a description for what they were doing.

After all, these motley forces barely had time to even learn flight. They floated haphazardly like balloons, wafting about and managing only by hook or by crook to ready their weapons and point them in the enemy's general direction.

On top of all this, due to a malfunction caused by electromagnetic interference from the earlier spatial blast, the commander who was supposed to be giving them direction had gotten stuck in military observer mode. Despite being in their own friendly territory, they were essentially isolated and alone.

The outcome was pathetic. A complete massacre.

"They were completely wiped out," the political officer muttered, quietly stating the obvious, his tone of voice half-resigned. As mundane and unoriginal as this statement was, it had an effect akin to lobbing a stone into a sheet of ice.

The commandant nodded, somehow managing to force out his own equally uninspired statement on the matter.

"They didn't stand a chance, did they?"

This company of mages, equipped with the latest orbs, had been placed in their hands—in the experienced commandant's and the faithful political officer's care. Well then, why not send them to intercept?

The result: The company had been annihilated by a single attack.

When engaging head-on, Imperials mages tended to open with explosion formulas in order to contain the enemy. This had been pointed out so many times, in so many reports, that they had almost grown tired of reading it.

"Which is why orbs capable of producing tough defensive shells had been provided as a countermeasure… That's what it says on paper, at least."

"Maybe the two mages were just very skilled."

True. Between their smooth maneuvering, coordination, and the fact that they appeared to be engaged in command reconnaissance, they had likely been among the best of the best.

But that was why they had played it so careful, sending a whole company to intercept and overwhelm the enemy with numbers.

"This is more than just an issue of training. You saw, didn't you? Even the enemy probably expected that explosion formula to only serve as suppressive fire at best. Our company was flying in such close formation, though, that they were immediately destroyed."

Maybe it only seemed that way while observing from the ground, but the Federation political officer felt certain that anyone, friend or foe, would have been shocked by the sight. Even the enemy seemed to hesitate after seeing how a single explosion formula was enough to mop up.

The enemy's probable intention was to toss out formulas to restrict their movements and close in for an advantageous dogfight. Immediately after firing off the explosion, the pair picked up speed, apparently accelerating for imminent combat, but once the company was eliminated, their maneuvers seemed to stall, as if they were in shock. For a moment, they continued to fly in a simple straight line.

From the Federation's vantage point on the ground, the reaction was obvious to the point of being comical.

"There are so many issues we need to correct before we can even think about using our mages to fight the enemy. From an observer's point of

view, I'm not entirely sure our men even raised their shells. Who was responsible for putting that unit together? At this rate, these new orbs may as well be baubles…"

You're not wrong there, the commandant thought, agreeing internally with the political officer's assessment, but the conversation was starting to cross into dangerous ground. He casually turned the topic back toward the enemy's movements.

"It looks like the enemy has finally turned back, at least. What do you think, comrade?"

"They probably don't plan to advance any farther… Their recon mission must be complete. Although, the cavalier way they turned back is a little infuriating in its own right."

"If only they had come in just a little farther."

Internally, the commandant rued the fact that the two mages hadn't advanced far enough for command and control to identify them. He tried to speculate on who the fearsome enemies might have been.

"They must be Named. Command reconnaissance or not, there can't be that many mages of that caliber. Can there?"

The threat posed by the Empire's mages was nigh legendary. In particular, the Named were considered especially lethal.

"Maybe it's just what I want to believe, but I'd hate to think that's what their ordinary, run-of-the-mill mages are like."

The commandant sighed, allowing a moment of weakness. It was over now. He smacked himself on the face to clear his head. They still needed to get ready for Rising Dawn.

"We are less than amateurs, while they are adepts. The situation is far from ideal. But as long as we commit to compensating through operations, there is much that we can do."

In other words, why play to the enemy's strengths when they could seize the initiative and proceed according to their own rules, on their own terms, in the manner that was most advantageous for them? They had no obligation to approach the enemy head-on and fight fair and square.

"In the end, problems are best solved through steel."

Our plan had been for recon-in-force. I knew the enemy might be rookies. I thought I accounted for their underwhelming aptitudes and even the possibility that they might not even have defensive shells up.

For once, my habit of preparing for the worst has turned out poorly. "Well, that didn't go as planned."

"And how… A single shot. Who would've thought?"

We manifested three explosion formulas simultaneously in order to check the enemy's movements. Instead, the explosions wiped them out completely.

From Visha's and my point of view, the outcome was so bizarre that we couldn't stop ourselves from turning and staring at each other midmaneuver.

After all, the heavy armor of mages in the east is usually extreme. As a dual-core orb, the Type 97 can put up defensive shells that are fairly tough in their own right. The Federation, though, threw balance to the wind, practically adopting defensive shell strength as their mantra. Such technical advances mean that explosive formulas, which were once considered one of the most effective anti-mage tactics available, are now strikingly underpowered. Or at least, so they thought.

Explosive formulas could possibly serve like anti-materiel rifles, but they are basically an AT gun that is too underpowered to be of any actual use against tanks. That's the limit of their effectiveness. It's why veterans tend to use them for suppressive fire.

While we were opening up, I thought there was no way they actually had only protective films up. Will wonders never cease?

"That didn't even qualify as a test…"

It was like plinking away at an enemy MBT, hoping just to piss them off, and watching an entire company of armor explode instead. I'm gobsmacked!

"Well, Visha, I guess you were right."

"I know what I said, but I still can't believe they didn't have shells.

That's…just so…"

Poor, pathetic bastards. Enemy mages or not, even I feel sorry for them. They got thrown into the lion's den, under the pretext of OTJ, without even minimum training. Disposable.

The labor board would have a field day.

"Colonel… Do you think the enemy might be running out of mages?"

"I don't know. But if that's the state of their intercept units, I can understand why no one thinks they're ready to make a move."

Both the Empire and the Federation continue to blatantly squander their human resources. They're scattering the earth with what were once good citizens, severing the possibilities that these talented figures ought to have carved into the future, and forever losing the chance to collect payout on their long-term investment into well-disciplined and trained human capital. The impact is colossal.

"The enemy is beginning to wither as well. Maybe not at the roots, but at least at the ends."

If this is a sign of deteriorating quality for the enemy, then the Empire, which still has veterans in its rank, is in slightly better condition. However, I understand that reality is not that simple.

"Their fighting spirit remains just as ferocious as before…"

To be honest, this is more troublesome than anything else. If I was in the enemy's position, I would never want to be inserted into battle with that level of equipment and training. Even if the Commies stopped me from running and conscripted me against my will, would I be willing to go into battle with my life on the line with such spirit and determination? Obviously not. But the Federation soldiers—they have strange tastes. And I recognize the threat.

"An age of warmongers."

The enemy's inscrutable will to fight is vaguely alarming. After all, the members of our unit are fairly aggressive as well, but their confidence is backed up by actual ability.

But the enemy is who the enemy is. With a slight shiver, I'm once again reminded of the mess we've found ourselves in. But we've gathered enough information. It's time.

"First Lieutenant Serebryakov, let's start heading back soon."

"Really? We could still go a little farther," First Lieutenant Serebryakov says, indicating her willingness to continue their recon.

Very admirable, but I smile uncomfortably. I'm not interested in doing unpaid overtime.

"Your go-getter spirit is commendable in a unit such as ours that is always ready for battle, but the human body has its limits. Relax when you

can and save the enthusiasm for when it is most needed."

Resting at every opportunity is an important part of producing results. Just as using the talents of one's subordinates appropriately is a vital part of management. If I don't keep the environment up to snuff, how can I expect my little meat shields to do their job?

"Resting is a part of work, Lieutenant."

"I got plenty of rest in the capital, so I'm raring to go!" my adjutant says.

She's just full of vim and vigor, it seems.

"So you're saying that while all the other officers were busy working, you were busy resting?"

"Of course not, Colonel. You know what a workhorse I am."

"I didn't mean that as an insult. You take your work very seriously, get it done quickly, and enjoy the bare minimum of labor like a true person of culture. Just as it should be."

"To be honest, I wish we could have spent more time in the capital. I was genuinely shocked when they deployed us back here so quickly."

"The decision came from above."

The higher-ups have their own ideas about how things should be done. I know this too well.

"The brass probably wanted to deploy strategic reserves to the eastern front, even if only on paper. That's what we get for being so good at what we do, First Lieutenant."

Strategic reserves are a type of insurance, a necessary part of any plan B. You would have to be mad to do anything so foolish as to go into war without contingencies. Or maybe you would just have to be mad to go into war in the first place. But that's a question for another time.

"Are you sure our Kampfgruppe is really being deployed as conventional reserves? If they are expecting us to deliver principal mobility and striking power in the event of a counterattack, at our current strength, I'm not sure that would work out too great."

The Salamander Kampfgruppe's fighting capabilities are presently rough around the edges. As rough as they have ever been. The mages were thoroughly exploited back in Ildoa. Infantry and artillery, of course, advanced together with the mages, so ammunition stores are on the verge of running out. Although, having any on hand at all puts them in a better

position than some units. Regardless, even Captain Ahrens's armor is on deferred maintenance.

As First Lieutenant Serebryakov fears, if we get the order to move to the front lines now, the men might have no option but to die valiantly. In short…it would be extremely difficult to describe us as being at full strength at the moment.

I'm painfully aware of all this. The shortage of artillery shells practically has Tanya tying her hair in knots. The higher-ups, though, have put their stamp of approval on the situation, deciding that, for the moment, this is not that pressing of an issue.

"We probably don't need to worry too much yet." "What do you mean?"

"General Zettour is of the opinion that there will be a lull on the front for at least a little while, and—well, this all depends on General Laudon— but…the brass will likely do what they can for us."

"That may be too optimistic."

"True," I say, nodding at First Lieutenant Serebryakov's statement. I don't disagree, but I thought it was worth putting the possibility out there.

"Well, we have confirmed one thing with our attack. Fortunately, perhaps, it doesn't seem like the enemy is in great shape. Based on this, we can surmise we still have time to recover."

The Imperial Army is in a shabby state at the moment. But the Federation Army, which put us in this state, seems to be suffering as well. That much seems clear. At the very least, the Federation Army is currently in no condition to take aggressive action.

Maybe that conclusion is obvious, but it was enough for General Zettour to take a gamble and uproot their strategic reserves, sending them into Ildoa. And the result of that gamble? As we know, the general made big bets and won big while there, likely earning the Empire a decent amount of strategic leeway. At least, that is my assessment.

"The state of Alliance logistics in Ildoa is as miserable as can be. On top of that, the current situation should give us strategic depth in northern Ildoa. We can likely expect Alliance reinforcements and material support to the Federation to dwindle for the foreseeable future."

Meaning even if it is a battle against time—we are still all right for the moment. At the very least, there is no need to panic yet. This seems like a

reasonable judgment to make in my mind.

"Considering everything, the brass's assessment that the enemy will also need time to regroup does not require any significant leaps of logic."

"But with the Unified States joining the fight, the situation must be serious, right? The Ildoan front will obviously get steady reinforcements by sea, but won't the Unified States be able to do the same for the Federation as well?"

"That's always a possibility… But at the moment, we seem to have them by the short hairs. We should be able to contain them for a while, at least."

"Lack of freight ships?"

"Exactly," I say, smiling in an almost devilish fashion. "They may be giants across the sea, but even giants need to come by sea before they can tour the old world. It goes without saying, but the bottleneck will be ships and harbor facilities."

And as for the state of goods in southern Ildoa…now is the time for Tanya to boast of her own past accomplishments.

"And it's sorry for them, but between myself and the Alliance, the ports in southern Ildoa have been thoroughly demolished."

True, First Lieutenant Serebryakov indicates with a nod, but her face is still taut.

"So you see, Lieutenant? You can rest easy. The south is safe and secure for the time being."

Yes, the time being. The unpleasant reality is painful clear. Safe, but only for now. This lull is temporary. And after that? The enemy's near- inevitable superiority is systemic. And an enemy with such an advantage is almost certain to launch a counterattack.

Like anyone in the Empire with half a brain, Visha and I understand the self-evident future that awaits us.

"As for me, I think we should be retraining our units while we've got time to spare. Hopefully, the eastern defensive line gets strengthened in the meanwhile with reinforcements."

"And while that's happening, what should we do…?"

"I'm glad you asked," I say, flashing First Lieutenant Serebryakov a winning smile. "The only thing we can do: dote on our soldiers and stockpile ammo and fuel as much as possible. If necessary, we shouldn't hesitate to engage in training missions for friendly forces, either."

"You mean we should train friendly troops?"

"It will be a hassle, and immediate results will be difficult to see, but last-ditch effort or not, there is no other way. Sometimes, you've just got to bite the bullet."

If markets were functioning, we could have resorted to headhunting to get useful personnel. In war, with the exception of culling from the retired, all we can hope for is entry-level hires. And training is OTJ, as new recruits are expected to hit the ground running.

Any effect from Salamander Kampfgruppe attempting to improve training would likely be supremely localized, but if we could put new recruits coming to the eastern front through a serious enough wringer, it might at least create opportunities. And if those recruits happen to be hard- nosed, then we can push those noses to the grindstone. Maybe we'll even teach the sweatshops a lesson or two.

However, it's important to remember that people are stone walls. People are stone walls, people are castles, people are moats. The words of Shingen Takeda, which encapsulate how best to use people in an age of total war. It's times like these that remind me of how important the classics are.

Speaking of which, it is crucial to delegate, after all. I turn to my subordinate and ask a leading question.

"How about it, Lieutenant? Care to discover the joy of teaching?" "I go where you go, Colonel!"

"In that case, I expect you to watch my back. I'll be counting on you to keep your eyes peeled in case anyone tries to knock me down from behind." "Knock you down? I doubt there is any hero out there who's brave

enough to dare!"

"You'd be surprised," I mutter softly. Even in a world as supposedly peaceful and sensible as her previous one, those people exist. Those who do not understand social norms, rules, and contracts, those who will not hesitate to carry out even the most outrageous acts.

It is important to learn from mistakes. I now consider back insurance a necessary expense.

"Complacency is the greatest threat. I always want somebody watching my back. It's simple, Visha. The enemy is coming eventually. This is what it means to be ready."

"But putting aside whether they are actually coming…when, exactly, is

'eventually'?"

"There's no way to know the answer to that. Based on Air Fleet reconnaissance and the predictions of Eastern Command, the Federation Army is probably banking on summer or later. From our latest impressions, that estimate doesn't seem too far off."

My adjutant sighs in relief.

"In that case, even in the worst-case scenario, we'll still have a two- to three-month reprieve during the mud season. Maybe even as much as half a year."

"It's difficult to say for sure…"

I shake my head. According to estimates from the higher-ups, we have at least two months. At most six. We can probably cram the basics into the first two months, then spend any remaining time on supplementary training. That could expand the scope of possibility in all sorts of ways.

It might not be the best approach to learning, but if we can focus solely on applied skills, breaking them down, and making sure that recruits learn the basics through repetition and cramming, we can expect a little.

If we do have a full half year, we might be able to greet the summer with a well-fortified defensive line. Even four months would be something.

"It all comes down to a race against time, but there's still much that we can do… So long as the east gets those reinforcements, we can whip them into shape."

Faint hope, and numerous worries.

With these thoughts whirling in the back of our heads, Visha and I make a U-turn and head back toward base. They use a designated air route and quickly arrive in their target air space.

Customarily, the location of the Salamander Kampfgruppe's encampments in the east are generally chosen with considerations that differ markedly from those of purely military rationale. For instance, General Zettour might plop us down into a piece of impossible terrain and order us to "defend it with our lives" so that he can draw out the Federation Army. Crazy strategic deployments like this, based on the military logic of higher- ups, may be sensible from an army's point of view.

This time, however, we are camped directly next to Eastern Command. Stationing a unit immediately next to Command that is neither command reserves nor under their direct control must be a nuisance. From

Command's point of view, all they can do is urge us not to get out of line.

Unfortunately, this whole arrangement stinks of a bureaucratic pissing contest. In fact, our position forces us to take a strange route back from the front, because we need to ask permission from Control to approach the area near Command.

"Ost Control, this is Fairy 01. Requesting identification."

"This is Ost Control; you are verified. Permission granted to enter Command Air Defense Space. Any route changes?"

I answer the controller briefly. "This is Fairy 01, no change."

"This is Ost Control, copy that. Signing off."

The transmission cuts off shortly. I glance at my radio and smirk.

"You hear that, Visha? Our allies appear to be as uptight as the Federation is laid-back."

We had an easier time entering enemy air space than we did coming home!

"Well, we are resting our heads right next to Command… It's probably normal for there to be a little hassle."

"Yes. A little."

A reserve force, on standby, near Command.

To an outsider, this might seem like the embodiment of pure military rationale, but contests over jurisdiction are no laughing matter. Besides, the root problem is that our assignment differs from Command. The Salamander Kampfgruppe is one of the General Staff's pawns. The eastern forces are only borrowing us.

"It's just affiliation. It might not seem like much, until it is."

Any company man would understand. The Salamander Kampfgruppe is under the direct control of the General Staff. In other words, not only are we outside the eastern chain of command, but our deployment is also no more than a provisional measure. Which is why we are being subjected to IFF protocols even though our mana signals identify us as an Imperial unit.

"It's still ridiculous, though," I mutter, unable to contain my anger. "If the libraries were down, that would be one thing, but do they really need to interrogate us every time when it could be done automatically? What, do they prefer the risk of us getting intercepted?"

"If they're willing to go this far, we should have just been stationed

farther back."

"Absolutely," I say, agreeing with that assessment. As a middle manager, however, I can appreciate the concern of the higher-ups. I smile uncomfortably. "They're probably scared to place us in the rear…and I suppose it would be a waste as well."

What are the Eastern Command staff officers thinking? By and large, they probably want to keep us in their pocket in case push comes to shove. At the same time, they know that if they misuse us, it could lead to trouble, and so they're trying to avoid that as much as possible.

"I guess the Salamander Kampfgruppe is like a soup bone at the moment."

"A soup bone…?"

"Not enough meat to eat, but still a waste to throw away. In other words, until they feel like making broth, we're just in the way."

Obviously, we are a powerful combat force. A stellar unit that can produce huge results when sent into the field. But if they send us into hot zones too readily and we get bogged down or, worse, suffer heavy losses, the responsibility of whoever gave the order might be called into question.

"Any transfer sent in by higher-ups is bound to find their welcome a little…unpleasant."

"Does the fact that we belong to the General Staff really matter that much?"

I laugh.

"As adjutant, I would think you should know. I've been granted an unusual amount of authority for a field officer…a mere field officer in direct communication with General Staff. When exceptional circumstances demand, I can even exercise leadership on par with chief strategists—that's a level of authority that even allows me to interfere with Command."

"That's because you are trusted."

"And that's precisely why senior officers out in the field are so on edge.

They're worried I could cause trouble."

"Are they? If General Laudon and General Zettour are in agreement, I don't see why there should be any trouble adjusting."

"Yes, that is an entirely correct opinion for a company officer to hold."

It is also correct on a tactical level. I nod in agreement with First Lieutenant Serebryakov.

For field commanders, bleary-eyed and trapped on the battlefield with only two choices before them—destroy the enemy in front your nose, or watch yourselves get wiped out—a commander with a clear-cut approach is probably the strongest. One who considers consequences something to worry about after you've lived to see tomorrow.

"However, even if the people up top agree, the people on the ground have their own concerns. Or instead of concerns, maybe I should say turf. Face to save. Bureaucratism is the chronic disease of organizations. We can expect things to improve sooner or later, though."

"Sooner or later?"

"It's not hard to imagine why General Zettour appointed Laudon."

I smile and continue. I heard this at the General Staff Office, but… "Rumor is that the reason that General Zettour interfered in Eastern

Command's staffing and placed someone as important as General Laudon there, so early in the year, is that he is expecting big cuts."

"As rumors go…that sounds pretty open-ended."

"My source is two colonels in the Service Corps and Operations. We were having tea in the capital."

"But…the information still isn't certain."

General Laudon's record is impressive enough on paper, but more importantly, he was once General Zettour's commanding officer and mentor, meaning Zettour can ask him for personal requests.

The Imperial Army is a relatively open, merit-based organization, but it is still an organization. Connections pay, after all.

Besides, there are plenty of exit strategies open to those who work in Command. There are enough of them who are ready to abandon responsibility to more than justify soldiers grumbling about command staff who have no intention of dying with their men. But with the bold and experienced mentor of General Zettour among them, perhaps staffers can be expected to shape up after all.

"The important and powerful must have their own concerns." "General Zettour is terrifically easy to understand, after all, isn't he?"

"Visha… I don't think there is anybody in the world as hard to understand as that man. What exactly is it about him that you think is so easy to understand?"

"Huh?" my adjutant says, answering with a broad, magnanimous tone as

if she doesn't understand.

"But he's the same as you, Colonel." "The same?"

"You're willing to do anything if necessary, aren't you?"

"I'm…not sure how to answer that. Should I be flattered? Or are you suggesting that I'm simple?"

Seeing my subordinate hem and haw as she flounders for words is charming. Even shooting the shit in the middle of the eastern sky like this, however, we are still two mages at a time of war and are always prepared for battle.

First Lieutenant Serebryakov's expression suddenly changes, as if noticing something. Her face goes from warm and friendly to the hardened expression of a seasoned soldier.

"Colonel, I'm picking up a mana signature. Directly over Command.

Coming from one o'clock."

Yes, I nod, having picked up on it earlier. But it's good to see First Lieutenant Serebryakov was still scanning our surroundings while we talked.

"I'm aware. It looks like they're hard at work as well… This is rough, though. For a combat air patrol directly over Command, their flying is awfully stiff. I'd be worried about their proficiency level."

A platoon of friendly mages, giving off a clear mana signature, was currently patrolling in formation.

"At least they're not as bad as the Federation guys we saw earlier…"

"As bad? Maybe not. But what are we comparing? These mages are right on top of Command. Those Federation mages were at a forward outpost."

I'm not sure whether to bemoan the fact that Command's security is only a platoon, or if I should criticize them for tethering such precious personnel to Command in the first place, given the dire situation on the eastern front.

Poverty ruins everything! I cry internally. This is the epitome of what people mean when they say a light purse makes a heavy heart.

"And we're supposed to act as strategic reserves in conditions like this?"

The Salamander Kampfgruppe's current formal designation is strategic reserves. Meaning we are the ones who will be called upon to put out fires

when worse comes to worst. The eastern army may be trying to save face by not putting us out on the front lines immediately, but they're still keeping us close so that we can be deployed immediately in an emergency.

Tanya is supposed to understand such niceties.

At the same time, I have my own ideas about how things should be done as an aerial mage who is capable of lording over the skies.

"There are far too many cheap tricks at play. Consideration is fine and all, but did those powdered wigs in Command forget that we're in the middle of a war?"

As the name suggests, strategic reserves are a matter of strategy. If their idea of effective operations is sticking difficult-to-use units on the shelf as reserve units, are they really even doing their job…?

"In a pinch, will they even be able to make the decision to use us? If they're going to hesitate, I'd much rather they place us in the rear to build up forces."

When the house is burning, waiting to call the fire department is a recipe for disaster. Calling for a fire truck is the first thing a person should do…or so you would think. Unfortunately, the nature of human perception is that people can act in strange ways when under constrained, high-stress environments. Ways they would have never considered under normal circumstances.

No one would argue against the notion that, during a hail of bullets, running out from the safety of cover and into the open would be an inexplicably irrational thing to do. It would constitute purposely running from safety and into danger. But when exposed to such pressure, a few soldiers are bound to reach their limit and freak out.

"Reserving a dedicated force for counterattacks is fine and all, but…"

There's no guarantee that omission bias won't come into play. In the end, issues of jurisdiction are huge. What would happen when the time came? When decisiveness is required? Would Command have the grit?

Not everyone can be General Zettour.

"That would be frightening enough in its own right, though." "Colonel?"

"I was just thinking what it would be like if everyone in the eastern army was General Zettour. A whole army of Zettours! How terrifying."

"If each of us were a Zettour? The unimaginable would happen,

probably."

"There would be tough times, I assume, but I'm sure it would all have a purpose."

I sigh and smirk.

"I do seem to be complaining a lot lately. But I doubt I would feel so comfortable complaining to anyone else. Keep this kind of conversation between us, okay?"

"It would be my honor."

I apologize and bow my head, while Visha shakes her own head lightly. This is no time to indulge themselves, however. A grimace appears on my face.

"Either way, we'll need to work out details with General Laudon eventually, but for now, let's just do what we can on our own…"

"The situation is quite tense. It's enough to make you feel sick." "You've got that right."

Flying close to Command affords us a glimpse of their facilities. We spot the gaggle of buildings, which appear warm and well constructed, and slow down for a tick. Our own encampment where we will be landing, however, is just an ordinary village, cold and drafty. I feel my bile rising at the sight of it.

"The cold is dangerous…"

Preparing for the cold is one of the most pressing requirements for enduring the eastern front winters. Our one saving grace is that this village was originally a Federation settlement, and while it seems to have been completely abandoned, the homes themselves were originally built with a fair amount of insulation… Though, they were abandoned, so the condition is far from perfect.

A tattered unit, in a tattered village. From the moment our unit arrived, we have been running ourselves ragged making preparations to winter here. "And we're supposed to be getting special treatment as General Staff's

precious strategic reserves," I mutter absently.

She descends slowly with Serebryakov, landing in the very middle of the settlement. It's not even a proper landing zone, just a clearing. Even now that we are on the ground, the area looks like a regular village. After all, we are still trying to get individual foxholes dug. First Lieutenant Tospan is in charge of that.

This incredibly run-of-the-mill village is almost depressing when viewed from the air. It is so underwhelming that I almost wonder if we should just abandon it altogether so that it will be harder for the enemy to spot us. Behold, the base from which we are meant to reconstitute our forces!

We might wind up becoming decent survivalists by the time this is all over, but whether that would be an appropriate use of our time is a different question.

"Should we take care to prevent the enemy from realizing a unit has reached this village? Or should we fall back and try to regroup, knowing it will cause issues with Eastern Command? This is our chance to really consider what to do."

I lightly kick the packed snow where I've landed, my heart full of bothersome concerns.

Rolling my shoulders, I decide to get down to business. Even the command center…or whatever you want to call it…the simple command post, let's say, is just another crumbling village home. Far from luxurious, even when considering that it's only been twenty hours since their deployment.

In a positive light, at least it is camouflaged well. If I gave an order to attack this place, I wouldn't immediately know where to strike. However, that's quite a lot of mental gymnastics to find one minor advantage. Whether or not that is worth complaining about, though, is up to the individual, I suppose.

The real problem is the state the place is in.

"Hopefully, it doesn't come down on our heads while we're asleep."

One of the terrors of trench warfare is the risk of being buried alive. But I never thought I'd have to worry about that while sleeping above ground… I pry the ragged door open with a heave. Inside, Major Weiss, who had been left to look after things while they were gone, greets her with a look of worry.

"Colonel, how did recon go?"

"It was quiet. There was no sign of enemies on the ground. They did launch an intercept, but…"

"There weren't that many of them?"

"No, it was almost a full company. But they may as well have been lead

balloons."

"I see," my second-in-command says with a nod, his expression relaxing slightly. "You mean the enemy's skills are severely underdeveloped?"

"Not just underdeveloped—I'd be surprised if they had more than a hundred hours of flight time. Also, I think we should write a report on this matter, but…they only had protective films."

As I share that detail, Major Weiss blinks. "Mages without defensive shells?!" he exclaims in surprise, the shock so great that the thought tumbled right out of his head. I know exactly how he feels, but it's the truth. I turn the conversation back to our recon flight.

"Honestly, returning was the hard part." "You ran into trouble on the way back?"

"Pushy interrogation in the air defense identification zone," First Lieutenant Serebryakov answers, looking annoyed. "Strictly speaking, we aren't assigned to eastern forces, after all."

"But up until now…"

We never had to deal with that. These were old friends in the east. Previously, they had been less interested in nitpicking the fact that we were a neighboring unit, and they were more interested in the fact that they were short on hands and in need of help.

Now, though…? I cross my arms. Perhaps this is because General Zettour lost his patience and sent in his mentor to shake things up.

"On the bright side, they're just following rules. On the other hand, it's a revival of bureaucratism. When General Zettour is in the east, it may be different, but for now…" I trail off, and Visha, who was subjected to the same interrogation, nods in agreement, seemingly exasperated.

"It's an extra hassle. I know grunts aren't allowed to think for themselves, but if they are going to be sticklers for the rules while not taking responsibility, there is going to be trouble before we even get to fighting the war."

"It's ridiculous," someone interjects. "I mean, they've got to know the harm it could do."

As a commander with combat experience, Major Weiss believes it's a bridge too far. This is a man who's been in the trenches. He emits a heavy sigh of exasperation in the cramped confines of the command post and suggests that Eastern Command should face reality.

"How can they be so stubborn? Who cares about a rule like that at a time like this? If they could just pry their noses out of their manuals…" Major Weiss trails off suddenly and makes a sour face. He starts speaking quickly. "Please don't throw the past in my face right now."

Previously, during the battle in Dacia, Weiss blundered, earning Tanya's rage for doing things too by the book himself. But there is no reason to scold him about that again at this point. Seeing as it still bothers him so much, I decide to throw him a bone.

"Major, that's ancient history."

Major Weiss sighs, scratching his head and stepping back, while Tanya begins summarizing what they witnessed during recon.

"In any case, there were no signs of the enemy being on the move.

Everything was quiet."

"I was expecting a little more in terms of combat flight patrols or intercepts, but maybe this is it."

"At the very least, it doesn't seem as if Eastern Command's assertion that things are peaceful and quiet was completely unfounded."

However…as soon as I mention this optimistic assumption, my face sours.

"Something feels off. It's a little too quiet."

"You think the enemy might be up to something?" Major Weiss asks. I nod.

"We can't get careless. If the enemy were fools, we wouldn't have struggled against them so much and for this long."

If they were foolish, weak pushovers, then the Empire could have afforded contempt. But better to look in the mirror before throwing stones. That's assuming you're sentient enough to take a proper look, that is.

"We can hit the enemy, but they are fast learners. Never forget that. If we're not careful, they may turn out to be even greater pragmatists than ourselves."

An organization that can learn from defeat is more powerful than one that cannot afford to fail. Experience is the best teacher, but its fees are exorbitant. Although poor in iron and blood, the state never hesitates to pay those lesson fees when war demands it.

That's why I remain skeptical of such a convenient situation.

"Is the enemy force actually stationary? The question merits careful

investigation. Do we have any information from Command?"

"We do," my second-in-command says with a nod, handing me several envelopes from a holding desk that had been placed in the middle of the wide space that was probably once this house's living room.

"This is the latest intelligence from the Air Fleet. Even the newest reports agree with your assessment, Colonel. There are no signs of enemies massing. There are occasional signs of the enemy, but they seem to be hunkering down for the winter. As expected, there are no signs of them mobilizing."

"Hmm? We have reports already? That was faster than expected."

"Yes. Things seem to be functioning much more smoothly compared with last year."

"I see." With a smile and a nod, I reach for the envelopes. Tearing open the seal and peeking inside, an exclamation of wonder escapes me.

"Now this is a surprise. General Laudon, indeed! Look, Lieutenant Serebryakov! Aerial recon, with photos. Recent ones, too!"

Whether or not command staff are giving us the cold shoulder, this must be the doing of the newly arrived General Laudon. Working closely with Operations clearly has its advantages.

At the end of the day, for better or worse, work is work. It's good that things are so cut and dry.

"Hopefully, everything is going this well, but I'm guessing that's not the case."

"True," Major Weiss says, continuing his report with a sour look on his face.

"Regarding the suspension problems Captain Ahrens's tank unit has been facing, news from the maintenance crew is worse than expected."

"I was prepared for that, but how bad is it?"

"It's not ideal. They were overexerted in Ildoa, and orders for redeployment came so suddenly. When we arrived, several units were already out of service, and well…"

Upon hearing the number, I can't help but go stiff. Three! Only three of the tanks in the Kampfgruppe are currently ready for combat!

"That's not even enough for a platoon. We may as well have been wiped out. If they could have just spent time overhauling the tanks back in the capital…"

If it was just a matter of Eastern Command being assholes and preventing us from doing repairs, we would be able to do something about it. Appeal to authority, appeal to connections, appeal to the greater good. Political strong-arming, basically. We could even lean on General Laudon's sympathies via General Zettour. Or use Colonel Uger's authority to force the issue. But when it comes down to a simple lack of function and facilities, there's no point in playing such games. All we would manage to accomplish is cause problems for honest workers.

I sigh and stare at the worn and musty wall.

"Besides, even our sleeping arrangements are in a sorry state." The buildings might be old, but at least they're insulated.

The risk of carbon monoxide poisoning is frightening, but we are mages. Always keeping orbs equipped and protective films up is a little straining, but configuring them to sound an alarm when carbon monoxide levels become dangerous is surprisingly simple.

Besides, manpower has already been stretched thin opening up the road between our camp and command. As real-estate properties on the eastern front go, we could do worse. Even if it is drafty!

In war and real estate alike, location is king.

"We are so obviously short on everything we need to fight a war that it hurts. Just thinking about it makes my head spin. And the more I think about it, the worse it gets."

With a sigh, I turn toward Major Weiss and First Lieutenant Serebryakov. "We have our work cut out for us," I say with a vague smile. "I suppose we have no choice. We'll send Captain Ahrens to the rear to do what repairs he can. We'll simply have to make do in the meanwhile. Lieutenant Serebryakov, I know we've just gotten back, but bring me a coffee. It's times like this that I truly appreciate your skills. Major Weiss, would you like a cup as well?"

"If you don't mind!"

"By all means," I say, smiling faintly. "Two coffees, please. Three, if you would like a cup yourself, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Colonel!"

As my adjutant cheerfully goes to prepare the coffee, I turn my eyes back toward Major Weiss and begins speaking.

"Now then, I'd like to finish discussing work before the coffee arrives.

You seem to have organized things well, but how are the troops?" I ask casually. The answer, however, comes surprisingly quickly.

"According to Lieutenant Tospan, a portion are ready for immediate action."

"A portion?"

"Those are the units that didn't receive replacements. As for units that did back in the capital, well…"

I understand what it is Major Weiss is hesitant to say. "Understood. Please say no more."

"Colonel?"

"Even a veteran unit won't be any use when they have fresh recruits in its ranks that have had less than a month to acclimate. They might as well be a boot camp at that point, and that's putting it lightly. Lieutenant Tospan is dependable, but I wouldn't call him clever."

He's hardly the type of man who knows how to put new recruits to good use. As an officer, he's very good at doing what he's been told, exactly as he was told. Anything more is expecting too much from him.

Although, these days, successfully doing what you're told is no small feat.

"My head hurts," I say with a sigh, furrowing my brow. "We're lacking infantry capable of conducting maneuver warfare. Not a good place to be in."

We could make up for this to a degree with mages, but that's assuming the mages have the time. Truthfully, the fact that we don't have any other cards to play besides throwing mages in the mix is a serious problem.

"Our armor is out of commission. We don't have any real options other than pouring infantry into the trenches. At this rate, if they attack as soon as the mud hardens in spring, we'll almost certainly be swept away in a Federation flood."

But once winter passes, we might be able to do something about this.

After wintering here, even raw recruits will become more accustomed to the eastern cold. That is part of what it means to gain experience. But there is so much training that needs to be done, and time keeps ticking away.

"On that note, Lieutenant Tospan and Lieutenant Grantz have submitted a joint training plan."

"Let me see it."