by Carlo Zen
Lieutenant Colonel Drake is another fellow struggling to meet the Intelligence agency’s unreasonable demands, so I’m sure that’s real sympathy I detect in his voice.
I wish I brought him a bottle of something.
“It really has been nothing but trouble. I don’t know how they plan deployments these days, but to think they would hurl me at my age into the evil nest of Communists to serve as a liaison!”
When Drake flicks his eyes, it’s clearly meant as a warning. But there’s no reason to worry. This is the Federation, and the Federation is providing the garrison space and everything else they need. The troops stationed here are probably being treated to the latest facilities available. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are speakers in the walls, recorders in the phones, and a listening gadget or two stashed in the ashtrays, too. On the contrary, it would be stranger to think the whole place isn’t bugged. It’s not really an issue of common sense.
The Federation’s Communist Party’s secret police are diligent to the point of borderline paranoia. That makes them a huge pain in the neck.
“Wouldn’t you like some insight into what the higher-ups are thinking about now?”
“Are you sure you should be telling me?”
“I’m aware we have an audience, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
If it’s already out in the open, then might as well go for it. I shrug.
“Truth is, the home country’s feelings about the Federation are genuine.”
“That’s surprising. I thought lots of people in the home country were conservative.”
“Not much has changed. But even so, some people are praising the progress of Communism with all their hearts, and many people are extolling the party’s wisdom; yes, especially the advances brought to farming villages by the party’s agricultural policy—there are even comments that the developments are unbelievable.”
“In other words?”
“Communism is just as ‘fascinating’ as ever.”
Anyone from the Commonwealth would frown at high praise expressed like that. Who can say whether colonials would understand, but anyone from the home country would have no trouble reading between the lines. Any bona fide gentleman of the Commonwealth would be at risk of choking on the sarcasm and bile loaded in that statement.
Drake seems to be holding back a laugh as I clap him on the shoulder and invite him for a walk.
“I don’t mind letting our hosts hear indoors, but why not use this chance to take in the scenery as we talk?”
“Yes, why not? Let’s have a stroll.”
Drake readily agrees to the idea and takes the lead; we wander outside on the pretext of me inspecting the outdoor positions.
But there turn out to be hardworking ears outside, too. Well, I anticipated that my presence would draw some attention.
I fully expected there would be some people tailing us. But even so, it’s eerie to be stared at so much from all directions.
As a seasoned Intelligence agent, I’m simply stunned by the brazen surveillance state. Everything vividly speaks to the Federation’s true nature.
These people are our allies, though…
I feel like I should commit to memory their most prominent trait: their distrust of those from capitalist states, even during wartime.
At the end of the day, the current friendly relationship between the Commonwealth and the Federation is…merely an alliance of convenience. Peeking beneath the thin ice, I imagine it would be quite easy to find a river of suspicion.
You can’t let your guard down against what might be flowing beneath the surface. Wincing inwardly, I dare to step forward. Though nothing is stable, the dirt at least is what it appears to be.
What gets built upon the dirt can be one measure of that—which is why I dislike this sad wasteland of blackened earth. Though my family’s country house is modest, we’re proud of it. I miss the garden there.
Ah, but I’m a public servant, so I should be focusing on work.
“Colonel Drake, I have some news that will put you in an even worse mood. According to the latest intelligence, the Imperial Army is using its current momentum to prepare a major offensive.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’ve no doubt. It looks like the participating formations have already been announced. They seem to be splitting the eastern front into sectors: The A Front is the southern offensive, and the B Front is everything else. The A Group will attack while the B Group guards their flank.”
If you picture the geography of the Federation in your head, the explanation is simple. The enemy has gathered an unusual number of troops below us—that is, to the south. The intel was confirmed by deciphering and analyzing intercepted communications. It’s most likely an accurate prediction.
“It’s basic—easy to understand, right?”
“How likely is it that the Federation is able to hold in the south?”
“Good question.” I nod, acting calmer than I feel. “It’s not hopelessly unlikely, but it’s not terribly hopeful, either. The situation is a bit delicate.”
People often misunderstand this point. While knowing the enemy’s situation is a terrific advantage, it’s only an advantage. Just because you succeeded in obtaining intelligence doesn’t mean you can automatically parlay that into a surefire plan to overwhelm the enemy.
On the contrary, there’s some difficulty in knowing. For example, if you received the uniquely accurate forecast that one hundred trained lions are about to rush you, how would you feel?
“The A Group is apparently comprised of armor, mages, self-propelled guns, and other highly mobile combat elements. If we can find a way to stop them, the outcome might start to look very different, but in a battle of maneuver warfare on a flat field, the Federation’s defending forces might be in trouble.”
“So an urban battle would give them better chances…?”
Drake seems to realize the situation is unfavorable, and his expression darkens as he groans. “It’ll be a bloodbath either way. Contesting control over the cities in the south will be hell. It’s awful… We’re taking youths with their whole lives still ahead of them and turning them into meat pies.” Drake has the black humor typical of an officer who has seen his share of horrors on the front line. “How depressing. If only there was even one piece of good news…”
“…Oh, right. I forgot—there is one thing that might count as good news.”
“Anything to lighten the weight is welcome…but the south is in a precarious position. I’d be especially happy if it was something to do with that.”
I nod to let him know it is indeed related.
It’s become crystal clear that there are signs of an impending Imperial Army offensive, but behind that lies a glimmer of hope.
“We’ve received political intel that says opposition to the imperial family and the government has intensified. The rumors say that the A and B Group formations reflect an internal conflict.”
“It may only be hearsay, but if the enemy is even slightly disordered, that’s great.”
“Then rejoice. Apparently, things really have gotten quite complicated for our friends in the Empire.”
“Ohhh?” Drake seems to find that interesting and lets out what seems like a subconscious whistle.
Frankly, I also welcome anything that might throw a wrench into the imperial war machine.
“Supposedly, a rift has formed between the Imperial Army General Staff and the imperial government. And I also hear that a supply officer in the General Staff who fell out of favor was driven away and forced into the B Group.”
“Honestly, that sounds fishy. It’s not just something like a lizard cutting off its tail?”
Though Drake’s healthy skepticism is admirable, what the Empire’s leadership cut off happens to be one of their most important assets.
“If we must labor under the lizard analogy, it’d be like cutting off the brains, not the tail. Though the head of the General Staff and the central office tried to pro
tect the man in question, they were unsuccessful. The deputy director of the Service Corps is getting a ‘promotion’ to ‘coordinator’ of B Group.”
“A promotion from the General Staff? Which general is that?”
“The handful of a military administrator Lieutenant General von Zettour. The specialists in the home country heard it was likely he would be leaving the General Staff and are already shouting for joy.”
After listening to my news, Drake seems to fall into thought for a little while, but then he finally nods as if something clicked. “…He’s certainly high up enough that I’ve heard of him before. Is Zettour really such a capable fellow?”
“He is—terrifyingly capable.” I nod frankly.
It’s too bad I can’t explain where I’d gotten the intel. All the reliable info we have shows that this Lieutenant General von Zettour of the Imperial Army is a military man of pure evil.
His skill at continuing to provide logistical support during the Imperial Army’s rapid advances always surpassed our predictions. His maintenance of the supply network, the establishment of the Council for Self-Government, and even his procurement of cold-weather gear for the eastern front—everything we learned from the encoded messages we intercepted indicates he’s a diligent worker who readily adapts when the situation calls for it.
That’s why it’s such great news that he’s been promoted away from Central.
“Just between us, whether or not he handles the A Group’s logistics will make a huge difference in our chances to protect the resource-rich south. The analysts are already anticipating an easier time.”
Just as they’re about to launch a huge offensive, the military administrator who heads up logistics and supplies has been let go. That’s the biggest sign of discord within the Empire.
When operating a large organization, skillfully managing human resources is what decides success or failure.
Has the Empire forgotten that? Maybe their streak of victories has made them cocky.
“Chaos in the enemy supply network on the eastern front isn’t bad news, but may I add something?”
“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Drake quietly voices his doubt. “You’re saying a military administrator has been assigned to this B Group operating on the eastern front. But the enemies we can see are currently establishing defensive lines.”
“What of it?”
“That could very well be a sign that the enemy wants a defensive battle! I can’t see B Group continuing to build up their defensive positions and interpret it as a good sign.”
In my head, I agreed with Drake’s keen insight: It’s a valid worry. A competent military administrator could function as expert organizational support. B Group having such an officer who could organize the logistical network can affect even the preparedness of their defenses in a big way.
Given the circumstances, it would be a huge problem if the Imperial Army improves its supply situation or strengthens its relationship with the Council for Self-Government.
Then I flash a wry grin. From what I’ve gathered from the Imperial Army intel, Zettour is tragically being exiled to the countryside and nothing more.
He still has his rank, but one glance at the position makes it clear his new job is a mere formality… This is a bit of an extreme comparison, but it’s basically the same as a King of Arms1 in the home country.
“As a part of the Intelligence agency, I can promise you one thing: He’s not coming out here with any authority. This next bit is somewhat speculation, but what we’re hearing is that his new position is an empty title.”
“That’s confirmed?”
“…Personally, I believe it’s as good as fact. If I say anything else, we’ll start running into issues of how information is evaluated, and classified intel will be involved. But I do believe it’s true.”
The broken enemy code—that is, the magic—made it clear that the lieutenant general wouldn’t be assuming command of B Group. It’s unfortunate that I can’t tell Drake the source, but the reports are genuine.
Zettour’s role will consist of only inspections, maybe providing some support as an advisor at most. During peacetime, it might have sounded important, but during a war, the role of a high-ranking officer with no command authority is limited.
He’ll have rank but with none of the power that should go with it. I almost want to pity him.
“It’s not bad news, but for those of us who actually have to face off against B Group, it’s still a question mark.”
I nod awkwardly in response to Drake’s shrug. I would have liked to bring some better news, but…that’s the best I could come up with.
“The rest is all awful news or top secret, sorry.”
“No, no, please give my regards to General Habergram. Of course, I’d have even more regard for him if he’d get certain girls out of my hair.”
The emotion coloring his voice when he said that was exhaustion. I can even detect a genuine cry for help in his tired expression.
Drake isn’t the type of officer to whine, so he must really be at his wit’s end. It must be First Lieutenant Sue. Or at least I think that’s her name? He seems to be having a hard time with the volunteer mages who have been deployed as a political and diplomatic necessity vis-à-vis the relationship between the Commonwealth and the Unified States as well as the Entente Alliance.
I feel for him, but Drake, like me, is a poor servant of the state who must fulfill His Majesty’s and the homeland’s every request.
“I wholeheartedly sympathize. Alas, I can’t help you with that. You’ll have to ask not General Habergram but his superior.”
“Even a man of your position can’t help, Mr. Johnson?”
It’s terribly regrettable, but that is correct.
Anything involving the volunteer mage units isn’t a matter of Intelligence or military rationale but an issue for the absurdly sublime dimension of diplomacy or perhaps even circumstances of the state.
All the colonel can do is nod in silence.
“Reality can be quite harsh… I’ll do my best.”
“Sorry, Colonel Drake. At least let me present you with this souvenir. I tangled with the Federation customs agent to smuggle in a bottle of scotch from the home country.”
“You have my gratitude. I’ll be sure to savor it.”
“I hope it will be of some consolation to you during your backwater tour of duty. All right, sooner or later I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
THE SAME DAY, IMPERIAL CAPITAL BERUN, CENTRAL STATION
The platform area at the imperial capital’s Central Station was brimming with activity as usual, echoing with the intertwining harmony that arose from the sounds of human activity coming from the diverse crowd mixing with the mechanical clamor of the military and civilian trains stopping and departing with every passing minute.
Ever since the start of the war, transport of people and goods by rail had only—and rapidly—expanded. Anyone who tracked the movement of matériel in the Empire would have considered this much traffic as undeniable proof.
This space was both a symbol of modernity and the pulse of the Empire. It was natural, then, that people in military uniform bound for their assignments as a matter of national necessity shook hands and, though loath to part, boarded their trains to begin their journeys.
High-ranking officers were no exception.
“General von Zettour, congratulations on your promotion to inspector of B Group.”
“Are you congratulating me on a demotion? I’ll respond to that forced compliment with forced gratitude.”
The old brothers-in-arms Lieutenant General von Zettour and Lieutenant General von Rudersdorf shook hands and winced as they joked.
“…Zettour, you really got the short end of the stick.”
“It can’t be helped. I was the one who defied Supreme Command.”
Zettour, who in the realm of grand strategy was lower ranking, had snapped at his higher-ups.
The imperial family, the people, the government—no matter what you want to call it, ultimately, a military person was considered subordinate to the wishes of the state. Obedience to legitimate orders was treated as the soul of discipline. There could be no exceptions.
Supreme Command was the master, and Zettour was the servant.
“Honestly, I was prepared to lose my position as deputy director of the Service Corps. What actually happened instead was almost anticlimactic.”
“Hmph, the only one who sees it that way is you. That’s downright impudent coming from someone being sent away.”
“But since my job in the east is a concurrent post and they’re leaving my seat open, they must have some sympathy.”
Rejecting the wishes of the state was essentially rebellion.
By toeing such a dangerous line, he knew that the worst case would be complete dismissal from the service. In that sense, the relief he expressed to Rudersdorf was genuine.
They must have preserved his position out of some kind of compassion.
Keeping all his achievements in mind, they must have been willing to let him off with exile to the east. Bureaucracy is an agglomeration of cold-blooded organizers, but it can still be considerate enough to treat human resources with care.
Apparently, Rudersdorf had a different impression from Zettour, though.
“…The issue is the lack of parity!” he spat, shaking his head. “You and I both opposed them. So what’s this all about? Don’t tell me you don’t know, Zettour!”
Supreme Command’s feelings were revealed in their punishments. On the surface, there was no difference in how they treated Rudersdorf versus Zettour…but in practice, there was a giant chasm.
“I lose out on my promotion, but I stay in my current position. Meanwhile, you’re sent to the east. I don’t mean to speak poorly of going to the front, but to be sent without any authority? While ensuring you’ll have no role in the rear? They’re freezing you out.”
“I’m choosing to think of it as if I’ve been given a vacation.”
“You never change. But, Zettour, I’m warning you… The higher-ups—no, the whole government has its eye on you.”
