The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Vol. 7: Ut Sementem Feceris, ita Metes

by Carlo Zen

  And that’s why the present existed, an inheritance of the past.

  “Well done, General von Rudersdorf. It’s only a matter of time before you’re made marshal.”

  And it seemed permissible to bask in the strange feeling of having fulfilled one’s duty. Which is why Zettour found himself offering his colleague more extravagant praise than ever before.

  “I’m happy to hear you say that, but I’m merely a deputy.”

  “It’s obvious who was running things, though. Your achievements brought about these results. I don’t think the Empire is so corrupt that it would pretend not to notice such astounding achievements.”

  “I’m grateful for your glowing evaluation. I think it’s your specialty, but…I’m pretty sure there’s such a thing in this world as appearances…”

  “You mean it’ll go in order of length of service? Still, though. Still.” Come on, now. Zettour smiled gently. “Friend, you’ve done it. Be proud.”

  “I suppose I owe some thanks.”

  “To me? To the troops?”

  “That should be obvious.” He laughed, which was a relief. “To the troops.”

  “Yeah… They really pulled it off.”

  Which is why… Zettour shut his eyes for a moment and made a mental vow. I have to end it this time, no matter what it takes.

  It was a happy daydream. It was extravagant, but he could believe in it. He felt that things really would be brighter going forward.

  Let’s admit it, though.

  No, let’s admit he was forced to admit it.

  It isn’t only wishful thinking but negligence.

  THE SAME DAY, IN THE AFTERNOON, IMPERIAL CAPITAL BERUN, LIAISON CONFERENCE ROOM, SUPREME COMMAND MEETING

  Lieutenant General von Zettour, who was participating in the Supreme Command meeting, stiffened at the unexpected response to his summarization of the negotiations that had happened via Ildoa at the post-victory course-of-action meeting and his presentation of the terms.

  Though most of their eyes were exhausted, the civil servants wore well-tailored suits. Just like military officers, they were intelligent, knowledgeable cogs of the state… That is, they should have “understood.”

  Should have…

  But what swirled in the meeting room was a violent emotion.

  “Don’t give us that drivel!”

  The bureaucrats stood and pounded on the table, expressing their feelings openly.

  “Are you serious, sir?!”

  “These are good terms?! Is that what you’re telling us?!”

  Though rattled, Zettour confirmed. “With all due respect, indeed they are. I understand that these are the best terms available under the circumstances, and I support them.”

  “General von Zettour! You still call yourself a man of the Empire?!”

  “Of course.”

  The room filled with furious voices wondering why. For the one getting the looks of murderous hatred, it wasn’t a terribly comfortable atmosphere.

  “How are we supposed to make peace with terms like these?!”

  “…You say terms like these as if it’s a bad thing.” As if he was a teacher dealing with dense students, Zettour spat back and corrected them. These were the results after they made every effort. “But these are the best terms we’re able to secure. If from here we go to a cease-fire agreement and peace talks, the terms will be realistic and likely to go through. Listen.” He stared around the room and snapped at the disgruntled civil servants. “Our troops fought with all their might to get us these conditions! At least that’s how I see it.”

  “Excuse me, General von Zettour, but these—these terms—are the best you could get?!”

  He scoffed, as if to say, Yes, they are.

  The possibility of a cease-fire and the debate over terms that would lead to peace were both secured only by bending over backward to make the best use of imperial military power—really getting the impossible done. They had won them by forcing the other side to see reason through victory in combat, but it wasn’t enough? The light thud on the table was him nearly pounding his fist.

  It had been an unconscious motion. But the others must have taken it as a provocation. They confronted him irately.

  “I’d like to know what you think! We can’t understand if you remain silent!”

  But conversely, Zettour found himself beginning to regain composure in the face of their anger.

  It was just like war. There was no reason he had to get all riled up and play by their rules.

  Being able to choose meant having the initiative. Defense didn’t necessarily equate to losing it.

  Having considered various tactics, his brain suggested the approach of waiting for his opponents to wear themselves out. They may have been feisty, but being feisty only meant consuming energy.

  “I’m fairly certain I’ve answered all these questions.”

  “…But those are your thoughts, General von Zettour. We want to know what the army thinks!”

  Ironically, the more agitated the others got, the calmer he grew. Though he knew it was a bad habit of his, Zettour had too much pride to talk with fools.

  He snapped at them that they must know.

  “So?”

  “Well, this is strange. Does the opinion of the deputy chief of the Service Corps really not count as the general opinion of the army?”

  He must have used a tone for talking with idiots. The men didn’t even hide their displeasure as they averted their eyes, and Zettour sighed.

  “…General von Rudersdorf! You’re the same rank. What do you think about this?”

  “Honestly, I agree with what General von Zettour has pointed out.”

  “…Of all the—! But that victory was so massive!”

  And it was indeed a great victory they had won in the east. It was the kind of victory that all soldiers dream of being involved in.

  But perhaps the barking civil servants didn’t understand that the General Staff knew quite well what that win was worth. Figuring that they wouldn’t get it if he stayed silent, Zettour spoke up. “Yes. And it’s precisely because we achieved such a victory that we were able to nail down these terms.”

  The remark got him doused in looks from around the room that said, Surely you must be joking. If looks applied physical pressure, he would have been skewered. Well! What cold, sharp glares.

  I anticipated some degree of resistance, but this is beyond what I imagined. Zettour couldn’t help but wince.

  “Don’t you understand the position the Empire is in?!”

  He was reminded of the Oriental saying about teaching Buddhist sutras. When it came to the numbers, given that he had access to military secrets and everything else, there had to be only a handful of people who understood the situation better than he did.

  “I’m fairly certain I have a detailed grasp on the Empire’s position.” His comment came mixed with a puff of purple smoke and a faint, bitter grin. That was the expert Lieutenant General von Zettour’s true intention, his true feeling, and his regret.

  If I didn’t know, I’d be able to say something more optimistic…

  “I believe I have a solid understanding of the current wartime strength of the state as presented by Supreme Command, including matériel distribution and human resources.”

  He was in charge of logistics, the Service Corps member responsible for the matériel mobilization plan, and he had a background in Operations.

  The confidence that of all those in the room, he was the one with the best understanding of the situation ended up making him say, “Is there some sort of secret I don’t know? If not, then my answer to your question doesn’t change. There are no better terms in our current situation than these.”

  “If you’re aware of our situation, that makes this simple. I beg your pardon, but revise your opinion. General von Zettour, with all due respect, the military is too focused on the present.”

  “And?”

  “The losses the Empire has sustained, includ
ing those of national wealth, are too great.”

  “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “You don’t? That’s strange…”

  The civil servants heaved fed-up sighs and began arguing all together.

  “We have to regain those losses somewhere. That thought doesn’t occur to you? Unless we get reparations, the Empire is—”

  “I know what happens then,” Zettour interrupted.

  They had wasted a fortune on this war and gotten almost nothing in return. And their young male workforce had gone extinct. Each shell that Zettour, as one involved in matériel mobilization, sent to the front lines was made by women and the elderly. Schoolchildren were producing daily necessities in the factories while prisoners worked the fields.

  “I suppose the state goes bankrupt. In the worst case, the apparatus is also in danger and—though I say this with the understanding that it’s a dreadful scenario—the imperial family might even be at risk.”

  “If you know all that, then—!”

  They could tell him to do something all they wanted, but it wasn’t a soldier’s job.

  “With all due respect, I’m a military man.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I swore loyalty to the emperor and the state to defend our fatherland from external threat. So it’s self-evident, then, that the army shouldn’t interfere in domestic affairs.”

  In short, the army shouldn’t overstep its designated authority. That was a central principle that, as a career soldier, Zettour believed absolutely.

  War, at its foundation, is an extension of politics. Military matters could never be superior to politics. If that was the case, it would usher in a nightmare of the state being driven not by grand strategy but solely by military strategy. The Imperial Army was the state’s violence machine; it wasn’t supposed to be the state itself.

  “General von Zettour, I object! You have no qualms about letting the state’s finances collapse? This is a serious matter!”

  “Finances? Whatever about them? Are you so frightened of a gentle decline that you’d rush us straight into poverty?”

  “Money, money, money! Money is everything! Do you not realize what it’s like in a state that could go bankrupt?! Listen!” the officer of the Ministry of the Treasury argued. It was clear from the tense looks on their faces that they were not fooling around. “We have a mountain of credit in bonds! You can’t trust scraps of paper that aren’t backed by anything! How would we pay back the government bonds?!”

  Are you serious? he thought. If they truly feared the state going bankrupt over waging war…that was absurd.

  “I realize it’s an extreme opinion, but if we need more scraps of paper, we can just print more.”

  Lieutenant General von Zettour was a military man. The tools of his trade were guns and its losses, soldiers. In other words, humans. The youths of the country would die.

  …He wouldn’t allow anything to take priority over them.

  “Sure, sure, I’m sure the mint will just print more! So? What denomination of marks would you like?”

  “States may have fallen into decline due to inflation, but that’s better than the people losing fundamental belief in the Reich. We should just take pride in ourselves and deal with it.”

  “Neither of those should be hanging in the balance!”

  Everyone’s eyes were on him, pleading.

  …Is it possible that they…understand what they’re saying?

  No, it wouldn’t make sense for them not to. They must understand. Zettour revised his thought. Even members of the imperial family had died. That was the nature of this war, which wore on despite the mountains of dead. It was rarer for a subject of the Empire to not have lost someone close.

  Which was precisely why Zettour couldn’t comprehend these people. They’re saying not to let those sacrifices be in vain but then also to keep fighting, knowing that that would entail further sacrifices?

  “If one more win will earn us better terms, we should win just once more! We need to secure the critical payment that will allow the state to survive!”

  “What exactly do you take the military for?! I won’t have you mistaking this national struggle as an opportunity to gamble!” Zettour snorted, saying it was out of the question.

  In response, the officer of the treasury shouted back with a crumpled face, not even trying to hide his tears. “It’s a reasonable request based on carrying out our national policy! Do you mean to tarnish our reputation?!”

  “Have you ever heard of ‘cutting your losses’?!”

  “And for that, you’d leave your family destitute?! We can still win! We should be able to negotiate more advantageous terms!”

  They were getting nowhere.

  That is, they were going in circles.

  “You’re saying we should cling to wishful thinking and continue the war? As the one in charge of the Service Corps, I absolutely cannot have you assuming our forces have energy to burn.”

  “After all the resources it’s eaten up, you’re saying our army is a paper tiger?!”

  Even showered in criticisms of the giant, unsustainable consumption machine the Imperial Army had become, all Zettour could do was crack a wry smile.

  “If our opponent cries uncle, we should be able to expect better terms, right?! In order to rebuild, we must get them, no matter what it takes!”

  As Zettour icily watched the murmuring group, he reached the end of his rope. Upon a casual scan of the room, he suddenly hit upon a terrifying truth that nearly made his eyes swim. Whenever the red-faced civil servants shouted, most of the silent attendees were bobbing their heads in agreement!

  Agreement? Agreement?!

  They identify with that nonsense, of all things?!

  “…Apparently, generals know war, but not how to finance it. Take the occupied territories, for example. The Federation’s resources are within hailing distance.”

  Having been asked, What do you think about that? he had no choice but to answer. Suddenly, though, he found himself as terrified as an infantryman who had fallen behind and gotten separated from his unit in enemy territory.

  “Beg your pardon, but are you saying that if we conquer them, we’ll be self-sufficient?”

  “Exactly. If we go forward with that system—”

  The civil servant seemed to say they had a good chance, but Zettour saw where he was going with it and interrupted. “Sorry,” he barked, “but I will not have us waging war according to wishful thinking.”

  Let’s admit it. There was some huge disagreement here. Which was why he had to drive his point home.

  “It’s pie in the sky. Even if we went back to negotiate further, if the situation was different, what we’d have to do to get terms like these would—”

  “If we pile up victories, the enemy’s attitude is sure to change!”

  …Victory, victory, victory!

  These addicts and their omnipotent cure-all, victory!

  Unable to hold back the true feelings he wanted to spew, Zettour nearly groaned in spite of himself. He was keenly aware now of why his predecessors had warned that the only thing more dangerous than a major defeat was a major victory, and it utterly horrified him.

  Are they just arbitrarily convinced that we can still win? The atmosphere made him want to scream, Are you serious?!

  “Excuse me, may I say something?”

  “Go ahead, General von Rudersdorf.”

  It was his esteemed friend, who had been silent beside him, who chimed in. Having muscled his way into the conversation, he gave a straightforward summary of the situation.

  “It’s fine for you all to criticize General von Zettour. But this setting requires a composed debate. Why don’t we review where we’re at?”

  “Very well, General von Rudersdorf. How do you see things? Since you’re the one in charge of Operations, I’d very much like to hear your thoughts.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. But it would help if you’d
specify exactly what you want to know. I can give you a clear answer rather than an outline.”

  “All right, then.” The civil servant nodded. “Do you believe that the Empire cannot hope to win any further?”

  “Hmm.” Zettour and the others watched as Rudersdorf put a cigar in his mouth. As everyone in the meeting room stared, he boldly puffed away.

  Finally, the gazes urging him to continue were enough that he slowly opened his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

  “Frankly, it would probably be difficult. Look,” he said, repositioning his cigar, and the civil servants were quick to shoot questions back at him.

  “Difficult?”

  “Indeed. Extremely difficult.”

  “But you’re not calling it impossible.”

  A slight disturbance. An almost imperceptible aberration. The only one who noticed him furrow his brow as if to say, That’s not a very nice thing to ask was Zettour.

  To a soldier, there was no question more loathed than the one that had just been slung at him.

  “…Would the army declare right here that it couldn’t win? How could we do that to the imperial family and their subjects?”

  He refused to answer in a roundabout way. Having said just that, he busied himself with his cigar once more.

  But to anyone who knew the ways of these creatures, military men, the answer was too clear. Zettour’s old friend was as good as admitting the limits of the army. He was probably using his cigar to disguise his sighs. A cigar was the optimal tool for holding one’s tongue.

  …Thus Zettour, who had become a much heavier smoker than he was before the war, understood Rudersdorf so well, it made him sick.

  It was good of you to go that far. He could spare no mental praise for Rudersdorf’s bravery and resolve. The ones who had sacrificed so much for this victory were the troops. The General Staff was thoroughly aware of how they had piled up dead in the east to wrench this victory from the Federation. They didn’t need the civil servants to tell them. The Imperial Army General Staff wasn’t so far removed from reality that they could ignore the mountain of promising young people’s corpses forming on the forward-most line.

  The results of the war weren’t yet decided. Why would a soldier irresponsibly announce that they couldn’t win? After all the military expenses, human resources, and hardships forced on the home front, it wasn’t acceptable for the army to flinch before the fog of war and say victory was impossible.