The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Vol. 4: Dabit Deus His Quoque Finem

by Carlo Zen

  They honestly couldn’t sense any reluctance at all. Could it be that that was also Comrade General Secretary’s will? Are you even allowed to give your own opinion like that in this dictatorship?

  He was so confident that everyone was seized by these thoughts.

  “But you never know when they’ll betray us!”

  “Isn’t that what the political officers are there to supervise? I think our comrades the political officers are dauntlessly, aggressively standing up to those sorts of reactionary plots.”

  Are these…

  Are these the words of a man who, until just the other day, had his political officers make accusations? Who sent most of the mages to concentration camps in Sildberia or had them shot? It was as if he was saying, Why are you asking something so obvious? It was unfathomable.

  “…No, I’m against it. It’s too dangerous.”

  As one of the attendees mumbled…this would be turning back the clock. It was too great a risk for the Federation and the Communist Party.

  What is the right way to approach this?

  At that point, they all were stuck picking a side. But they couldn’t pick the wrong one.

  Displeasing Comrade General Secretary Josef could mean the end of their lives. At the very least, they wouldn’t be able to avoid ruin. How should we think? No, we need to figure out what Comrade Loria was thinking in the first place. What is he—no, the general secretary thinking?

  “Too dangerous? You just said it’s too dangerous, but can you prevent the next strike?”

  “…What?”

  “Do you mean to say that our comrades in charge of defense have enough fighting power already? Then whom should I hold responsible for not preventing this strike?”

  But sullen Loria’s remark obliterated any extra time they would have had to think.

  …If they refused, they would be charged with defending Moskva with their current forces. But if that were possible, then the incident that already happened would probably be due to negligence. In that case, saying they could do it and then not being able to would be deemed irresponsible. The best that would be waiting for them was a concentration camp.

  “Comrade General Secretary Josef, what do you think? I’d like to ask our comrades their opinion…”

  “Go ahead, Comrade… This is to defeat the Empire. You should use any means necessary.”

  At that point, the political commissars in attendance had braced themselves. You could say they had no other choice.

  All they could do was agree to the plan to free the rebels they had put in camps, the rabble they had denounced as enemies of the state, in order to have them fight an external threat. If they didn’t, someone among them would probably—no, almost definitely—be purged as the dissident who compromised the army.

  …Or it could be that someone was already the target.

  “It’s unanimous.”

  On that day…

  The Federation’s politburo unanimously decided to release the magic officers and soldiers they had previously deemed enemies of the state and incorporate them into the military.

  They even twisted the principles behind their actions, their “politics,” in order to resist the Empire. Well, principles and rules bend to priorities.

  In the Federation, that made things very simple and clear. Be purged or obey. In the Federation, those were the only two options.

  No, actually, you were pretty lucky if you had an option.

  After all, in the case of most of the Federation’s citizens, it was decided for them.

  A DAY IN APRIL, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, SOMEWHERE IN SOME COUNTRY

  In a certain factory in a certain country…

  In a factory of the nation worthy of being called the highest temple of capitalism, John was applying his energies to a shopping trip—what fun! Naturally, he wasn’t paying for anything out of his own pocket.

  His friend Philadel was covering it. Well, the bill would go to the state, so he couldn’t spend too much. That said, necessary purchases were necessary purchases.

  For example, the newest “tractor.” It weighed 41.9 tons, but five hundred horsepower wasn’t bad. Though he was also considering some faster models, the Commonwealth was most often engaged in defensive battles, so it sought durability over speed.

  “Mr. Johnson, I’m afraid that would be unfair.”

  But even in the Unified States, just because he said he wanted to buy something didn’t mean they had the inventory to sell. Production on the new model had only just begun. Plus, since it was so new, it contained a pile of industrial secrets.

  It was only natural for John’s contact to be unwilling to negotiate.

  “Oh? Is it so thoughtless of me to say I want to buy your company’s ‘newest tractor’?”

  “Yes, and it is the newest! Exporting when we haven’t even filled domestic demand yet would be a bit…”

  This wasn’t a case of selling off stock the States Army didn’t need—the army’s needs weren’t even met yet. Under the circumstances, selling off “tractors” to a “neutral” nation would be difficult.

  “I’m not saying give them to us for free. I’ll pay properly. Philadel is buying. There’s no more reliable payment than that, is there?”

  “Could you at least choose an older model? We have plenty of those in stock.”

  Of course, the salesman didn’t know when to give up. John had deep pockets. You don’t even have to be a capitalist to want to sell if someone has needs.

  He proposed buying slightly older tractors as a business move.

  Luckily, they had more than ample inventory. Productivity was even good, so they could manufacture more. If they could get production lines moving, that in itself was good news—at least for the seller.

  “Alas, I’ve heard they can’t be used in deserts or hot, humid climates—and worst of all, that they’re weak.”

  But in John’s catalog, that model was on the “do not buy” list. According to the experts, not only were they soft, but they couldn’t deliver a punch, either.

  In the end, some of them even denounced such a “tractor” as not a “tractor” at all. Certainly, they were mechanically sound, but being only four hundred horsepower was another mark against them.

  “…That’s too bad for us, too.”

  Well, let’s try something else. John was a gentleman who could change gears.

  If need be, he could consider settling for the old “medium tractors” rather than the worst-case “heavy tractors.”

  But he also wanted to pursue another topic of discussion in parallel. For example, there was a pressing need for “precision pocket watches,” which could cost more than a flagship tank or aircraft, so they could proceed with that first.

  “Hmm, what to do? You don’t handle ‘precision pocket watches,’ do you?”

  “No, the Skunk Association does those.”

  Then the man’s counterpart, an engineer from the Skunk Association, came out with a smile, and John was able to have a pleasant consultation with him. It was so much easier to do business when the seller was friendly and well versed in technology.

  This is good customer service. John applauded the Skunk Association in his head. He already intended to give them a good review in the report he would write back to the home country.

  “I’ll be direct: How many ‘6F water-resistant precision pocket watches’ do you have?”

  The men on the boats wanted the 6F if at all possible. Well, it was very popular.

  It wouldn’t rust in the salty ocean breezes, and on top of that, its movements were very reliable—the men who sailed were desperate to get their hands on it.

  It was at the top of the “buy this” list.

  “The 6F? It only just got on the production line. Honestly, it’s going to be a while before we’re able to sell any.”

  But sadly, they apparently didn’t have enough units for their own country yet. Geez, no this, no that. When will I be able to buy something we can actually
use? John sulked.

  Happily, the Skunk Association man was a more zealous salesman.

  “But how about the ‘4U general-purpose precision pocket watch’?”

  That one wasn’t very popular.

  Of course, it wasn’t optimized for oceans and bad weather, and its performance was only so-so. At the same time, for an emergency import that could work in most situations, maybe the 4U wasn’t so bad.

  “Oh? You have inventory?”

  “Yes, five hundred. If need be, I can deliver them as early as tomorrow.”

  Fortunately, the Skunk Association had a large number of these “precision pocket watches” on hand due to their relative unpopularity.

  When one door shuts, another opens. John decided to buy immediately. The ready payment made the Skunk Association man want to throw in a bonus.

  “Wonderful. Any other notable items?”

  “If you don’t mind a model that didn’t get selected in the competition, I have a few of the trial run ‘G58 precision pocket watches.’ The performance isn’t any different from the winning design.”

  He brought out something equivalent to the new model as the bonus. John had no problems with spending money.

  And the Skunk Association guys were technicians. If they made something, it was in their nature to want to test it out. In that sense, the agent’s idea to try to sell the units was lucky for both parties.

  “Interesting. What’s the difference?”

  “We prioritized stability, and on top of poor peripheral compatibility, the manufacturing costs were too high.”

  They created it as a potential new model. The results weren’t bad. But due to the costs and the peripheral issues, upon verification, the Skunk Association’s prototype wasn’t adopted.

  While the official selection lacked stability, it boasted extraordinary peripheral compatibility, so the Skunk Association was feeling miffed. That played into it: Basically, they wanted to get back at everyone and show off what their product could do.

  And so John was blessed with the offer of something better than he expected. It was like being shown a department store clerk’s secret stash. He had no hang-ups about brands, so he didn’t hesitate to buy.

  “It’s great to have stability with those specs. Hmm, can I take your entire inventory?”

  “If an advance test lot of twenty is all right, I can have them for you tomorrow. If we can get operational data, I’ll sell you them at cost.”

  We can definitely get him as a regular customer. With that thought, the man instantly offered a discount. Skunk Association agents were also quite skillful salesmen.

  We want to know how it feels to actually use it. That’s what the agent was thinking. Not only would they not have to pay for testing, they would make back some of their manufacturing costs. With this forward-thinking idea, the Skunk Association requested data, and John saved some money.

  “Oh, that would be much appreciated.”

  “It’s no trouble. We’ll be looking forward to your impressions.”

  I’ll give them the highest praise in my report. He smiled and took out a pen in response to the beaming Skunk Association agent proffering the contract.

  Then he signed with a flourish: Johnson. It would later be said that it was a great contract, and he was thankful for such a wonderful friendship.

  APRIL 18, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, THE COMMONWEALTH, HORTON BARD TRAINING BASE

  The cadets were told by their superior officer to take advantage of their first free time in a while and write a letter to their families or something, and one of them was Mary Sue.

  It was a little bit of a break during which they each wrote the first news to whomever they most wanted to contact, with a little bit of ribbing. The instructors who normally guided them through every little detail quit nagging for this brief time.

  In the part of the barracks she was allotted, where she somehow managed to secure a bit of privacy with a corner desk, Mary grumbled about how small the army-issued military-use stationery was as she wrote her neat, round letters.

  Dear Mother and Grandmother,

  I’m still doing well in the Commonwealth. And how are you faring? Please take care of yourselves.

  Er, I guess that was pretty stiff. I get scolded a lot in the army for the way I talk. But life here is more fulfilling than I expected.

  If there’s anything I worry about, it’s the food. I’ve gotten a bit more used to it, but still. It’s the army, so if nothing else, the portion sizes are big, but I miss the apple pies we used to bake, Grandma.

  After she’d written as much, Mary stopped her hand with a groan and winced. Maybe I should’ve been honest, and instead of saying I miss it, I could have said I’ve been having dreams about it.

  Since arriving on Commonwealth soil, Mary had been undergoing lots of military training, and she’d had some tough, painful times, but the thing that really got to her was the food.

  It was only a matter of taste, and Mary knew she couldn’t be picky.

  The only reason recruits were given three meals a day while so many people were suffering in the war was national defense; Mary felt bad even without her unit instructor’s lectures.

  “But it just doesn’t taste good… Seriously, why won’t they let us cook for ourselves?”

  In the Unified States, some of the differences from Entente Alliance cuisine made her hesitate, but her grandmother’s cooking had a gentle flavor that she liked. The neighbors had given her fruit, and she had cooked with her grandmother for her mother.

  It’s no wonder that feels like so long ago, thought Mary, remembering what had been on the menu recently.

  “Seriously, ever since I got here, we’ve been having practically the same thing for every meal… I don’t have to worry about my weight, but other than that…”

  She knew that was probably just how it was in the army, but when breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all identical, she started to get sick of it.

  Training was also tiring…but somehow it was a fulfilling sort of tiredness, so she didn’t mind it. On the other hand… Mary recalled the baked beans she would rather not have. I wanna eat something sweet. She missed dessert just a teeny, tiny bit.

  And another thing: She hadn’t gotten to taste that tea she’d been looking forward to. The expeditionary volunteer force was specially issued coffee because that’s what people from the former Entente Alliance zone and the Unified States were used to drinking. It was a weird way to be considerate.

  “They’re going about this wrong, or at least things aren’t quite what they think…” Maybe getting special treatment was better than being treated like a nuisance, but I’d still like to try tea and biscuits… Mary daydreamed.

  After this casual day, they would be back to the never-ending drills. Lately, they had been focused on shooting in particular.

  During their firing drills, the importance of sighting your target and learning to eyeball distances was pounded into them over and over.

  Mary understood why the moment she held a gun.

  Shooting seemed easy, but the gun was heavier than she expected. And even if she tried to follow the textbook to measure a hundred meters by sight, unless she learned whereabouts a hundred meters was, she would end up aiming at the fifty-meter or two hundred–meter target.

  After a string of terrible failures, her instructor would often tease her, “You know you’re aiming at the two-hundred target, right?” Hearing rumors that the instructors were constantly moving the hundred-meter target around to get them used to different distances, Mary felt like they might not be far off.

  Prompted one by one into the shooting range being used as the exam venue, the orderly sound of complete cartridges being fired had indicated they were shooting live ammo.

  She had learned in the classroom that getting used to standing by was part of being a soldier, but Mary didn’t really like having all this idle time.

  But—she smiled wryly—at least today we haven’t been told to stan
d by holding our heavy rifles.

  If she made the mistake of restlessly looking around, the sharp-eyed instructor would spit fire at her. After two or three times, she had learned her lesson. This time, when she discreetly moved her eyes, she could tell the mood wasn’t right for chatting to her neighbor.

  With the understanding that this would take some time—I bet our standby posture is part of the test—she looked reproachfully up at the once again overcast sky.

  If it started to drizzle, shooting conditions would deteriorate…and even worse, the exercise would continue even if they got soaking wet. That was something she hadn’t anticipated when bravely making the oath of loyalty in the Unified States recruitment office.

  When she’d left her grandmother’s house, which was so clean and orderly, she’d thought she would encounter all kinds of trying situations, but apparently, her imagination didn’t go far enough to be reliable.

  “…Mary, it’s almost your turn.”

  Her cadet friend patting her shoulder startled her. She had assumed that since it was an exam, it would drag on forever, but when she hurriedly checked the line, she saw that at some point the number of waiting cadets had started decreasing at a fair clip.

  Mary switched gears in her head with a “Thanks.”

  Packing away the carefree memories of her hometown, she recalled the mage handbook. She’d read it a zillion times, and ever since she’d arrived in the Commonwealth, she’d had it beaten into her during exercises, so when she checked it again in her mind, she felt—just a little—confident she could follow it.

  While her rifle still weighed her down, she was sure she could perform the correct movements.

  “Next! Cadet Mary Sue!”

  She gave a brisk acknowledgment and jogged toward the exam shooting range. On her way, she glanced at the gun and target that had been prepared for her.

  It was the usual range and the usual rifle. She’d heard that for some reason their own rifles would be taken into custody and they would have to use an exam rifle, but…as far as she could see, the gun was normal.

  It wouldn’t do to let her eyes wander for too long, so she went straight in front of the instructor.