by Carlo Zen
…Against the enemy armor under normal circumstances, the imperial guns were as good as useless.
He had read it in reports. But seeing it had a different level of impact.
The scene of enemy tanks fighting on unfazed despite direct hits by the main guns of imperial tanks was difficult to accept all at once… Even if he understood it with his brain, the sight left him shocked.
“Lieutenant Grantz, are those the new types you were speaking of? How often are you clashing with them? Your best estimate is fine.”
“They’re all over the place. We’ve taken out so many, yet here we are.” Grantz spoke calmly; though his expression said he was fed up with the situation, there were also signs that he had gotten used to it.
“…I understand rationally…and I realize it’s a bit late, but I’m reminded how different things feel.”
Several years ago, 50-70 mm cannons were deemed overpowered and not maneuverable enough, so 37 mm had been recommended for a tank’s main gun.
And what about now?!
They would have to start considering 80 mm, 100 mm, or even higher as the new standard!
“So the tanks are evolving like dinosaurs now?”
Could the infantry, cavalry, plus artillery and the small number of mages they had be put to practical use or not? The war General von Zettour had been taught as a first lieutenant was filled with more mystery and honor.
“Things have changed.”
Statistical warfare, after all, took an extreme view of humans as interchangeable parts in an intricate, organic violence that moved the machinery of war.
The way the imperial infantry and tanks coordinated to take on the unbelievable dinosaurs of enemy tanks as they roared was a scene that Zettour would have laughed off as something out of an SF novel before the war.
“New enemies! It’s a unit of Federation tanks!”
“Federation reserves?!”
“At eleven o’clock, too! Enemy tanks!”
The situation reports coming in over the radio were not good. The Imperial Army was just barely managing to blast the enemy tanks, but they were so sturdy, it was taking an awfully long time. There were no signs they would be wiped out anytime soon. The pace of destruction was too slow.
At this rate, a breakthrough was a dream within a dream.
Even if they wanted to force a maneuver battle, the impact would be too limited. They had no choice but to bypass the defenses here, but doing so right in front of the enemy would basically invite them to cut their communication lines.
They could advance like an amoeba, but if there were creeps on their tail, they wouldn’t get anywhere. Everyone knew the advance would be nearly impossible, but they should have at least had some legs. Their speed, however, suffered a greater decline than Zettour had been relying on, and the enemies blocking their path were frustratingly powerful.
If the B Group staffers had been reluctant because they could sense this on some instinctual level, then they had a point. Though sadly, it was only a point and nothing more.
Weakened and facing this caliber of enemy…
How much longer can our army keep up this confrontation?
“…Shit. There’s not enough sand in our hourglass. How do we add more?”
If he wouldn’t have had the habit of soliloquizing in the car since normal times, the comment would have surely been a distressed shriek. The tactics of putting up brave fronts and toughing things out are all in how you use them. A pinch of salt can hide that something is missing…but if the dish is all salt and nothing else, it’s inedible.
In other words, the current situation was awfully salty.
“…The situation is more fluid than I thought. It truly pains me that the data we’ve accumulated can’t be trusted.”
It couldn’t be helped, but this is why he didn’t like war. In the rear, they seemed to be too fond of it; he couldn’t keep up.
Ironically, Hans von Zettour, deputy chief of the Service Corps, felt more depressed the more he thought about the rear. He had grown so used to the air on the front lines that he wasn’t sure he would remain sane when he returned to the capital.
“More troops! Friendlies are headed this way!”
Someone shouted that they were saved.
It was lucky that the mechanized infantry arrived just in time to counter the enemy reinforcements. Though it was a borderline piecemeal commitment, this augmentation of force would give them more of a fighting chance.
“On the ground! Quick, get ready for combat!”
“Anti-tank commander, hit those tanks!”
The shouts of officers commissioned and not filled the air, and the soldiers who jumped out of the trucks rapidly joined the battle line. The situation was improving. At least, the imperial forces had been strengthened.
Although in exchange, their attack had slowed.
“General, please!”
In response to the pleading voice, Zettour, who (if forced to say so) wasn’t exactly eager to die, smiled. At this stage, there wasn’t much good holding his ground could do.
If the infantry was mixing it up in combat, then it made sense that he should be running the base.
“All right, all right, I have no intention of being unreasonable. I suppose I’ll go with you, Commander Cramm.”
A grunt wouldn’t have felt out of place as he leaped from the vehicle, and he stumbled as he landed and nearly fell over. He had been polishing his butt on a chair in the General Staff Office for a long time, and it shocked him how much his physical strength as a field officer had deteriorated.
Back in the day, he could have led an infantry charge. He could have fought hand to hand. He was probably that capable up until he became a lieutenant colonel. But now he was hit with the bitter realization that regardless of what he wanted to do, his body wouldn’t be able to keep up.
“Times like this, I sure am envious of the young.” Grumbling as he took up his gun, he looked out over the area he was sure the troops would take up according to infantry combat fundamentals, and it felt like he hadn’t lost his touch; he was relieved that his senses as a commander hadn’t dulled. If he failed to understand what was intended by the movements of Commander Cramm and the others as they got out of their vehicles, he would have been a relic of an officer.
Luckily, he could tell what the troops were trying to do based on their position. But there were still some things that made his eyes pop.
One of them was the anti-tank guns all gathered together.
“Huh, that’s a rare way to use them…”
“General?”
“Lieutenant Grantz, shouldn’t the anti-tank guns…?” He was glad he didn’t finish saying, …be attached to each infantry unit as a tight escort? The response to the enemy tanks closing in before his eyes answered his question.
“Infantry, don’t approach the enemy soldiers! All guns, hit that Federation tank that’s sticking out!”
The young commander ordered all the anti-tank guns to fire, and a dozen or so muzzles targeted a single tank. With local firepower superiority, or perhaps simply artillery large-enough caliber to be called heavy, it seemed possible to destroy the enemy tank, even from a distance.
“Concentrated anti-tank fire, entrusting local authority to the commanders… I see. There’s certainly no reason we need to fight these things foolishly fair in a one-on-one bout of mortal combat, so that’s the right way to do it.”
…Although this is also evidence that without that strategy, we’d have little hope of combating the enemy tanks. Not so long ago, it was taught that tanks could be destroyed by a close-quarters mage or even infantry assault, but now that seemed rather impossible.
Which is why Zettour asked his field commentator his view with great interest. “Lieutenant Grantz, is that way of operating the anti-tank guns standard on the eastern front?”
“Not so much in our Kampfgruppe. Usually, they aren’t necessary because of our substantial mage power, so they’re often assigne
d to assist the infantry against nonmotorized vehicles. But in units where the mage and mechanized forces can’t incapacitate the enemy’s armored forces and they don’t have enough firepower, we’re seeing concentrated fire as a stop-gap solution.”
“So a desperate measure, then. But it’s effective.”
Necessity is the mother of invention. Technologies and procedures come into existence when they are needed. And on the battlefield where your life depends on it, creativity probably accelerates without much regard for appearances.
The battlefield was full of surprises. The moment Zettour nodded in fascination, an excited cheer next to them hit his ears.
“…Aerial mages!”
“They came!”
“Best timing ever!”
“Ready signal flares! Send ’em up!”
“Over here, mages!”
He looked up in response to the soldiers’ exultant shouts to see three formations. The charge of an aerial mage battalion? …That was proof B Group was running properly.
If the aerial fleet was supporting them, it meant that at least this operation wasn’t Cramm’s division operating on its own.
“That’s a weight off. So the units in the east are still functioning…”
The comment he let slip out without thinking was how he actually felt. Returning to himself, he winced… Good grief. To think the day would come when I’d be anxious about our troops in action. He couldn’t very well say that. Which was why he had to swallow his honest feelings.
To gloss over that conflict, Zettour looked up at the sky and praised the incoming mage reinforcements. “Isn’t it fantastic to get a mage battalion as backup? Now that I’ve experienced being rescued by them, I understand how amazing it feels for the troops.”
It wasn’t the same as banking to wave, but they had their act so together that they barrel-rolled as a friend-or-foe response to the signal flares. Zettour felt keenly what a latecomer layman he was in the field of aerial magic.
It was difficult to avoid preconceived notions, subjective impressions, and misunderstandings.
Actually…one case in point was his utter surprise at the fact that aerial mages in the east were able to fight. Maybe he had just seen too many troops from the east get fooled by optical deception formulas during the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion screening process.
No… There Zettour decided to suspend his internal judgment. They’d been fighting this war for years. Anyone who had survived this long would have acquired the minimal know-how even if they didn’t want to.
“That’s a costly tuition, Experience. Couldn’t you lower your rates a bit?”
That said, though greedy, there was no denying that it was a fantastic teacher. No one could claim the effects of its education were anything less than outstanding. It was right that he absorb what lessons and wisdom were available while he was in the field.
In particular…he was the opposite of an expert in the realm of aerial magic. He had to admit that he lacked the knowledge to understand simply by witnessing the action; luckily, though, he had a teacher besides Experience with him this time.
This is a great opportunity, so I should ask for his unreserved opinion, thought Zettour as he asked for some commentary. “Lieutenant Grantz, how do you see the situation?”
“Huh?”
Zettour continued his inquiry, pointing to the scene before them. “I want your opinion as an expert.”
“Oh? I’m at your service, sir.”
The young first lieutenant next to him answered in earnest. Even if Zettour was inspecting his conduct, there wasn’t a single flaw, but the attitude felt out of place on the front line.
How was he so calm in the tense frontline atmosphere?
“Give me your unflinching appraisal of their performance.”
“You want an evaluation of the aerial mages’ combat, sir? It’d be better if Colonel von Degurechaff were here; I’m not qualified as a combat instructor.”
It was fine to be cautious, but that was for in the rear.
“It doesn’t have to be an official examination. You can curse them out or gush about how great they’re doing, either way. Or simply give me running commentary.”
“General? What exactly do you mean?”
“You’ve never listened to that sort of thing on the radio? Sometimes, I’d like it if someone could comment on the battle while I observe, too.”
“…The thought never crossed my mind.”
This straitlaced youngster was apparently quite strict with himself. He was confronting this god-awful war with too much sincerity.
War leads to destruction.
Even officers need only deal with war itself; if they tried to confront the meaning of it, they were more than likely to get in over their heads. An officer without leisure would have an inflexible mind. An inflexible mind is a fragile mind. If they can’t protect themselves except by stiffening up, then they’re really in trouble.
“I won’t say it’s wrong to take things seriously, Lieutenant, but you might want to reconsider your way of thinking.”
“I-I’m not sure I understand, sir?”
“You seem to be overly concerned with a lot of things. As far as I can tell, you’re a decent officer. On the battlefield, everything breaks down. Yet, you’re maintaining your sanity. So save the thinking for when you get back to the rear.”
Shells, explosions, screaming, and all the stenches assaulting our noses… How many dialogues in human history have taken place in a setting like this? Zettour found some small amusement in it.
On a battlefield where, just beyond our position, our tanks and anti-tank guns are clashing with enemy tanks, I’m taking it awfully easy. He chuckled to himself and continued, “Worrying is a luxury—because it takes time to worry. So if you flip that, what I’m saying is: Don’t worry when you don’t have the time for it. Overthinking is the same.”
There’s no reason to keep going down the same path until it’s too late. Zettour remembered the context and cracked a wry smile. This guy was a member of Colonel von Degurechaff’s unit.
Anyhow, a superior is a superior. Since she was the type to be demanding of even lower-ranked officers, Don’t think about anything might have been a bit of a harsh request.
“It must be tough to work so closely with her… Well, I’m just an old man droning on. Feel free to forget what I said.”
Re-collecting himself, Zettour lightly wiped his binoculars and pointed toward the imperial mages. They’d gone off on a tangent, but he still wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to hear a critique by someone in the field.
“Let’s back up a bit, Lieutenant. What do you think of that aerial mage unit of ours?”
“If we’re talking strictly about skills, then they’re passable. Their surface attack patterns aren’t bad, either.”
Lieutenant Grantz was beating around the bush. Though he wasn’t disparaging them, the way he spoke was less praise than withholding judgment. Frankly, the nuance was close to completely negative.
“That’s not very high praise. How come?”
“Their tactics are too rigid… Well, that might be an exaggeration. But there’s evidence that they drilled only certain movements.”
“What kind of evidence?”
Grantz closed his mouth for a moment to think.
“…In situations where I would use different approaches, they keep repeating the same patterns.”
“Instead of choosing the optimal method on the fly, they select one of a limited roster?”
“Yes, sir,” said Grantz with a nod. “Their movements are a bit clumsy, and overall, their maneuvers are too predictable. It’s probably due to being drilled in only those things during their accelerated education.”
So the same as the aerial battles in the west, then. There was no room to breathe anywhere. That was why they wanted to hurry and at least increase the head count.
As a result, they were finding ways to make good use of under-trained troops�
��or that was the idealistic hope anyway. In actuality, the abilities of an aerial mage company now were a far cry from prewar units. Frankly, the issue of education duration was too big.
Though the types of missions were diversifying, fully trained soldiers and officers had been scarce for a while now. Reaching head count through shortened, accelerated training due to lack of personnel only made the issue more complicated.
The gap between the abilities of the Imperial Army the operation drafters assumed and the current Imperial Army’s abilities was growing too large to gloss over. It was getting so severe that soon there would be nothing they could do to solve it, to the point that headache-inducing risks were involved.
“…If it’s all right with you, I’d like to ask you what you think the results would be if we had the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion and those mages fight a mock battle.”
“There wouldn’t be any point to fighting with even numbers. We would win with half or even a third of our personnel.”
Grantz’s immediate reply was the type of comment to be laughed off as overconfidence—under normal circumstances. But on the battlefield, under their protection, Zettour could understand that it was the literal truth.
“Wow.” He was wholeheartedly impressed. He had grasped mentally how talented his playing pieces were…but seeing it was a whole new dimension of moving. “Then how about if mages of ours went up against Federation aerial mages?”
“I don’t think it would be a bad battle. With identical numbers, they could probably fight evenly or maybe a little better. I definitely don’t think they would be inferior.”
“…Even or better? You’re sure about that?” Zettour’s confusion and unease slipped right from his mouth. The idea that imperial aerial mages would have to struggle against Federation mages was absurd.
“Yes, based on the level of the Federation troops we’ve fought so far, I think so. As long as it’s not the rumored guard mages, we wouldn’t have to worry about a one-sided trampling.”
The lieutenant reassured Zettour not to worry, but he was misunderstanding the situation.
