by Carlo Zen
“Good. All right, Cadet Sue! We will now begin your shooting evaluation.”
Luckily, perhaps it can be said, she didn’t get scolded for some unfathomable thing, and the instructor turned his gaze on the booth and had her enter. She was about to move to follow his eyes when she remembered the procedure and its detailed regulations.
“Yes, sir! Requesting permission to enter the firing booth, sir!”
“Permission granted.”
This was the army. They probably didn’t want anyone shooting without permission. “That’s a high mark for not getting caught,” murmured the instructor with a proud grin and nodded at her to enter the booth.
“This is the practical skill exam, so measure the distance to the target by sight. Naturally, you’ll correct your own errors.” The instructor casually piling on the pressure like, Naturally, you won’t betray our expectations, was standard practice.
Mary had fallen for it enough times in the past to let this go in one ear and out the other.
“Show me the results of your training. Okay, you may fire at will.”
Mary acknowledged energetically, and the instructor told her to begin with a bored look.
Upon stepping into the firing booth, Mary did a safety check per the regulations. No empty shell casings on the floor, no overt traps. The complete cartridges she’d been issued also appeared, as far as she could tell by looking, to be normal.
Just as Mary lifted up her rifle to find the sight and eyeball the distance to the target, she noticed something.
We’re firing one at a time because it’s an exam, but there isn’t enough time between to adjust the target.
Which means maybe they’re making the firing conditions the same for everyone. So the test is to check if we can put the results of our daily practice on display.
Huh? Then Mary felt something else was strange: I wonder who has been cleaning the gun.
At first, she thought the words correct your own errors had to do with eyeballing the distance. But now she had another idea.
What if…the gun itself has something wrong with it? Well, I doubt it would be a very big error at a hundred meters, but when they specifically tell us to correct errors…
“U-uhhh, Instructor?”
“What is it, Cadet Sue?”
Mary nearly shrank from his gaze that said, Cut the chitchat and shoot already! but resolved to speak.
“C-could I borrow tools for taking apart and cleaning the gun?”
“You want to take apart and clean the gun?”
“Yes, I’d like to make sure the rifle won’t induce any errors.”
The instructor stared at her for several seconds. It was only a short time, but to Mary, it felt like hours.
Time passed intensely, and she felt like her face might twitch from the tension.
She expected the instructor would yell at her—What are you talking about?!—and began to regret opening her mouth. Why did I say something so stupid?
Just as an apology was on the tip of her tongue, the instructor’s gaze, so severe as to be physically oppressive, softened, and he laughed.
“Very well…is what I’d like to say, but it’s not necessary.”
When Mary looked surprised, his smile grew awkward and he murmured, “Think about it. Look, Cadet Sue. If every cadet realized that, not only would it take time to clean the gun, but the ones waiting would get a hint that there was some time-consuming element involved.”
So. He pointed at wooden boxes on the floor next to her. Following his finger out of habit, she finally noticed that the boxes were the same size as the cases they stored their rifles in. When she’d entered the range, her attention had been on the gun and the target, so she hadn’t even noticed them.
“Don’t slack on your inspection. Well, it’s a problem all new recruits have. When your field of vision is small, you guys don’t look at what’s there—you can only find the things you expect to find.
“A little lesson before the exam,” crowed the instructor as he checked the numbers stamped on the boxes.
He must have been satisfied, because he smiled and said, “Must be this one.” Flustered, Mary took the rifle he held out—her own rifle.
“If you’ve been taking care of it regularly according to the textbook, you’ll be fine.”
Aim and fire as usual. You couldn’t call it a great shot, but the results weren’t too bad. Nodding in approval, the instructor said she hadn’t done too shabbily. Mary was really happy to get the grade she expected.
She mingled with the people who could move on to the next course and shared the modest happiness of having made it through the exercise. She hadn’t been sure she would be cut out for military life. She still had lots of worries. But if she worked at it, she would be able to keep going.
Even in her worst subject, shooting…she managed to pass with decent results.
“Hmm, guess I feel kind of relieved,” she had calmly remarked after the tension was over, and her pals peppered her with comments somewhere between teasing and making fun.
“Hey, Mary, if you’re relieved with those grades, then we should be terrified!”
“Ha-ha-ha. Ain’t that the truth? Mary, you look so sweet and gentle, but you’re pretty handy with a gun, huh?”
The young recruits had been given a half day off, nominally to reflect on their training so far. In their rooms, chatting up a storm, was the one time they could forget about training and goof around like kids their age.
After all, for the longest time they’d been just doing laps between the exercise grounds and the barracks. Drills, drills, and more drills. The days were so hard it felt like the only thing left in the world was training.
Freed from their harsh conditioning, the moment they relaxed they began talking to make up for lost time. But whether positive or negative, the topics discussed by friends who all coexisted in a cramped space tended to be very similar. As such, they were hungry for rumors from the outside world.
That’s when it happened.
“Hey, did you hear the news? It’s horrific. A nearby Commonwealth mage company got totally wiped out!”
The cadet who popped his head in had news about what was happening with the war nearby, so it grabbed everyone’s attention.
“They say it was the Devil of the Rhine!”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“It’s, I mean… Well, it’s one of those—a battlefield legend, don’t you think? That list of achievements has to be padded!”
“But she’s a Named! It could be true!”
The cadets gathered around to hear more—We can’t miss this! As everyone exchanged fragments of stories they had overheard from veterans and instructors, Mary smiled wryly and quietly sipped tea out of her mug.
“Mary? What’s wrong?”
“Mm, I dunno. I guess…she just feels like a being from another world or something—I can’t keep up. I’ve got my hands full just flying and shooting.”
During flight training, she just did her best to stay in the air, and by the time she was casting a formula, she was exhausted. Even with a gun, she didn’t feel like she had so much talent.
Multiple people had told her, “Your father was an outstanding magic officer,” but no matter how many times she was told that her father, who couldn’t do a lick of housework at home, would zoom through the skies handily deploying formulas, she couldn’t help but just stare blankly.
“Ha-ha-ha, but that in itself makes you pretty great!”
“Yeah, Mary, you can fly any which way you like, can’t you?”
“You think so?” Mary replied, remembering the moment she’d flown across the sky with her fellow cadets. When they’d soared through the air, it was such an invigorating feeling, like she could go anywhere. But once she tried mock battle with the instructor, she learned just how sluggish her movements really were.
“But, hmm. I don’t want to meet anyone so horrible.”
“Hey now, that’s awfully wimpy-sound
ing. If you knock her down, you’ll be hailed as a hero who took out a Named! It would be more optimistic of us to all think of ways to stop her!”
Even we could do it! Someone laughed.
“You mean get decorated and brag about it?”
“You’re all taking the danger too lightly. If we’re up against an enemy Named, let’s think of a way for everyone to come out of it alive.”
“Mary, you’re such a good girl… Boys, you should take after her.”
“Damn right, we should!” someone shouted, and everyone burst out laughing—in this little space. In a foreign land, volunteer soldiers from the Entente Alliance enjoyed a happy moment because they didn’t know the battlefield yet.
Even if the storm had come right up next to them…
This moment gave these guys and girls an abnormal day that was infinitely close to normal life. Here, there was nothing to stop young people from dreaming, talking big, or fantasizing as young people should.
Their baptism by combat was not yet at hand.
[chapter] V The Battle of Dodobird
APRIL 28, UNIFIED YEAR 1926, OVER THE STRAIT
Cloudy with a chance of mages.
The Imperial Army mage units taking off from a base in the former Republic, now under military government, and flying all the way to Londinium for some sightseeing are used to rain mixed with plasma. If they get hit over enemy land, the best they can hope for when they fall is to be captured. If they don’t fall well, it’s either getting lynched or receiving a joyous double promotion on impact.
And since mages are considered “fighting power” even once they’re downed, if they don’t do a hell of a job of surrendering, they’ll be quickly crushed by the militia rushing to the scene. Ever since that tragic truth was confirmed, imperial mages have loathed being shot down in enemy territory.
And among the units covering the west, the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion reporting directly to the General Staff—universally recognized as the elites of the elite—is no exception.
“This area is clear! All units, gather up! Regroup!”
The battalion commander, Major Tanya von Degurechaff, is also such an excellent aerial mage in her own right that she’s listed among the Named. After a fight with an enemy unit, she raises her voice to call her troops together.
“Fairy 01 to all units! Report your losses.”
“Major, the battalion has finished regrouping. No one’s missing. Only a few light shot wounds; they won’t interfere with further combat.”
Good. Nodding at Vice Commander Captain Weiss’s report, Tanya continues with a call to start heading back. “Let’s go back while we have the energy! Watch out for any creeps following us home!”
“Roger that.”
“Back on the Rhine front, we only had to fly a few minutes to be accommodated by friendly troops, but…now we have the Dodobird Strait below us. I’m no good at long-distance swimming, and I don’t feel like paddling home through waters swarming with enemy ships and planes.”
Captain Weiss nods as if he understands. As he flies off to directly supervise the watch at the rear, Tanya glances at her subordinates First Lieutenants Grantz and Serebryakov and thinks to herself, In terms of ability, Grantz isn’t bad…but unfortunately the group that joined us on the Rhine doesn’t have anti-ship combat experience.
It would be more convenient to have my adjutant nearby. But Tanya accepts unavoidable reality. A safe return route is more important than a little discomfort.
“Lieutenant Serebryakov, I’m leaving the unit to you. Lead ’em home.”
“Y-yes, ma’am! Understood.”
“Vice Commander! Be careful out there in the rear!”
“Never fear, Commander! I am a radical heterosexualist, and I am prepared to die for my beliefs!”
“Faith is all well and good, but we’re warriors of God… Er, never mind.”
“Are you tired, Major?”
“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant Serebryakov. We’re going back to base. I don’t want to hang around after a force recon mission that ended in an aerial annihilation battle and get creeps sent after us.”
“Understood.”
“…I can’t believe I actually said that,” she spits, full of hatred. To Tanya von Degurechaff, the world is just too absurd—hence her desire to keep at least her mind resolutely noble.
Yet, the minimum line, my mind, won’t do what I want it to. Having my mind manipulated is an intolerable torment. I am myself. I am the only one who can stop someone else from interfering with my will.
“I… Me? Of all people? I nearly praised Being X. Shit, how long are you going to undermine humans before you’re happy?”
That’s why this is so unforgivable. If I relax, my psychological contamination can cause me to praise Being X as God. On the battlefield, where the abnormality of war becomes normal, my psyche is corroded by the Elinium Type 95 against my will.
But Tanya’s melancholy is forcibly booted out of her brain by Weiss’s message over the wireless. “Fairy 02 to Fairy 01! We’ve got silhouettes approaching from six o’clock! Judging from the speed and altitude, they’re fighter planes! They’re coming in at full speed!”
The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is mid-withdrawal. An aerial unit rapidly approaches from behind. Like the pieces of a puzzle snapping into place, Tanya’s thoughts are overwritten with those of an anti–air unit commander.
No matter what they do, aerial mages are slower than aircraft. Trying to outrun or outclimb a plane as a human, you are fundamentally doomed to lose. The only area in which mages are superior is tricky 3-D maneuvers.
“01 to all units! Drop altitude! Hug the surface of the water! Give me some perfect 3-D maneuvers! In the worst case, you can dive into the sea and ambush them! Prepare to dump your heavy gear—”
“C-Commander! Please wait!” Weiss interrupts Tanya’s orders to drop down and cast off heavy gear, sounding somewhat frantic. “We’ve received confirmation that the formation approaching from six o’clock is a friendly air force unit on their way back to base!”
“Fairy 01, roger. Everyone, it’s as you heard. No need to drop your gear. Let’s head back together.”
Tanya was wondering what was going on, but when the confirmation comes back, it’s unexpectedly good news. Glancing at the formation coming into view, she sees that they must have ID’d her battalion as well.
The formation that had been coming in at full combat speed, as if to engage, banks to show off the identification marks on its hazy, camouflaged wings and moves smoothly into a route flying parallel to the mages.
“Friendlies? Until I saw your identification signal, I was scared half to death you were enemy marine mages on patrol. Don’t do that to me—my heart can’t take it.”
“This is Fairy 01. Your cold remarks are about to make me cry. We were afraid we had some hungry wolves on our asses!”
“Ha-ha-ha! You guys, afraid? Was that supposed to be a joke, Fairy 01? This is Mosquito 01. We’re happy to meet up with elites like yourselves again.”
The two commanders greet each other over the wireless per battlefield etiquette. But partway through, Tanya realizes that she remembers Mosquito 01’s unit.
The Rhine is where Tanya has spent the most time. Because of that, though it’s only a matter of having overlapping mission areas, she’s familiar with units in the west. The connection between units who were uprooted and mobilized to respond to the Republic’s sneak attack is particularly strong.
“Mosquito 01, you say? Then we haven’t been together since the Rhine, huh?”
If she remembers correctly, they’re part of the Western Army Group’s 103rd Fighter Wing. As one of the people pressed into responding, Tanya remembers nearly all the units on the battlefield at the time, if only their names. This one, she recalls, had been praised multiple times during the Empire and Republic’s fierce battle for air supremacy.
And given the speed and formation with which they were approaching when her batt
alion assumed they were enemies, they must have maintained their level of discipline from that time. There are many tough old hands on the western front, to be sure.
“What a coincidence. But with this difference in altitude… Oh, but you guys always could fly at this height, huh? I wondered if maybe we should fly lower and support you.”
“No need to worry.”
An aerial mage flying fairly fast goes about a fighter plane’s cruising speed. Tanya’s not averse to hurrying home, so she has her unit reorganize themselves for the way back. After that, nothing particularly notable happens. Once she’s taken care of post-arrival meetings and reminded her subordinates to turn in their combat documents, Tanya glances up at the clock on the wall and nods.
Grantz is fretting and moaning over his paperwork, while Weiss and Serebryakov get through theirs efficiently. I suppose I should have the two who have finished do something else.
“Captain Weiss, Lieutenant Serebryakov! Let’s thank our friends who accompanied us on that pleasant ramble today. I want the two of you to go pop in on the Western Army Group’s 103rd Fighter Wing. Use some battalion funds to arrange a modest gift.”
“Understood. Are you coming along, Major?”
“Sorry, but I’ve got a commanders meeting. Apparently, we’ve sighted a Unified States mage unit, so there’s an urgent joint playbook conference.”
After all, we were sent here as a combat skills research unit. Tanya winces. When someone new comes on the scene, the way we do combat needs to be reexamined. A person with experience on all fronts is handy to have around.
When people like what you do and have high expectations, you have no choice but to work hard.
“We’re a special verification unit, part instructor unit, part combat unit. We report directly to the General Staff, so of course they run us around according to their convenience.”
“I have no doubt. Very well, Lieutenant Serebryakov and I will take charge of diplomacy with the 103rd Fighter Wing. We’ll try to hear a bit about how their battles went, as well.”
“Great. Oh, what will you do with the rest of your work?”
