by Carlo Zen
Rules are not meant to be broken---they're meant to be exploited and wriggled out of.
That the commander on the ground rejected my proposal is regrettable. But nothing about that limits what operations I can undertake.
Following the usual procedure...no matter how much authority we have to act on our own as a unit reporting directly to the General Staff, attacking Brest Naval Base probably wouldn't be allowed.
But now, when we're in the middle of suppressing them, it's possible to broaden the interpretation of what discretionary powers are granted a unit serving in the war. Even if the base commander protests to the General Staff, the General Staff won't publicly rebuke me.
Of course, getting a stern warning below the surface can't be taken lightly, but either way, at that point, what's done is done.
The fact that I can secure the freedom to act now, at this do-or-die moment, makes me happy.
If I succeed, I'm plenty capable of handling whatever comes next. In order to think about the future, I have to eradicate the pathogen in front of me.
"...Commander, from Group Command."
But unhappily, in comes orders from Group Command. Inadvertently scowling at the radio operator who had the misfortune to be the messenger was a mistake on my part.
With an apology, Tanya takes the message and skims it.
It's some simple advice about her conduct. That is, a gentle warning to Simmer down, from Group Command. Though her unit is nominally independent, that's their request.
From the position of someone who has to comply whenever possible, it feels like interference.
Normally, even Tanya would step down at this point. That's how forceful the stance is. But under the current circumstances, she simply can't.
"Tell them I understand and respect their request," she instructs, wording her brief response carefully. As long as they can't deny that she's understanding and respecting the request, it's hard to imagine they'll contact her again. I'm not lying per se. She scrutinizes her words again, making sure they're not problematic.
Yes, all I have to do is understand and respect the request and then act anyway.
Luckily, perhaps it should be said, by the time someone clever at Group Command realizes what we're up to, the V-1s will have struck Brest. There'll be nothing they can do to stop us, then.
But Tanya realizes her predictions were a bit optimistic. I'm not a fan of the fact that the efforts to hold her back are so serious. It means some department has its eye on her.
It will only take a little longer, but there's no telling what will happen during that short time.
"Seems like they're going to bother us. Let's push up the launch schedule."
So Major Tanya von Degurechaff makes an executive decision to hurry.
Considering the risks, she resolves to move up the launch schedule. It took no time for her to decide that it was more important to prioritize going faster than humanly possible over securing perfect conditions.
Normally, the itinerary would be decided upon checking the weather forecast and analyzing enemy movements, but all that has been omitted. They'll get a rough outline of the situation over the wireless, and that's it. She's decided on the shortest attack route. That will use the least fuel, which should give them the secondary effect of a bigger bang when the V-1s hit the enemy ships.
Either way, she's going with speed over polish.
Luckily, the engineers really are engineers. The way they briskly perform all necessary tasks provides a glimpse of the high caliber of technological support the Empire is so proud of.
I'm genuinely thankful to have these precision machines properly serviced.
It's only a little longer now.
No, we can go in just a few more minutes.
Should I order everyone to board?
Just as Tanya is thinking to act, she sees a soldier from the communications facility racing toward her. It's the same soldier who had come with the warning from Group Command earlier. Tanya wonders if it's some other notice, but her expression gradually stiffens.
It's the same radio operator from before, but he's changed color. He's running so earnestly, and that look in his eyes says he has something to tell her...
She realizes at that point that he's frantic to get some message to her.
"...Ahh, damn it."
So Tanya has no choice but to grumble to the heavens.
It's not as if she believes in intuition, but she gathers that this will be bad news. She immediately looks over the unit, but it will be a tiny bit longer before they can launch.
How fatal even an infinitesimal delay can prove in combat!
It's only a few minutes' difference, but it's enough for whatever that soldier is going to say to come out of his mouth.
It's too late to wish she could have gotten them moving a bit sooner; she regrets it from the bottom of her heart, but the giant mistake has already been made. She abruptly considers knocking the messenger unconscious, but there's no way she could do that with so many people watching, so she discards the idea immediately.
Panicking isn't going to improve the situation one bit. Is this what it feels like the moment before you get executed? In any case, this is the height of bad luck.
"Commander! Special orders from the General Staff!"
Ahh, I don't want to hear them. I don't want to hear anything. He doesn't even have to say a word for me to know it's lousy news.
Agh, can't you be a little more considerate?! You could have done your job just a little slower!
...I know quite well that my emotions are wailing irrationally. Just moments ago, I was admiring him for his loyalty as a soldier. It wouldn't really be fair to take that back right afterward.
Still.
Tanya can't help the urge to throttle him.
"The cease-fire has been declared! This is from the General Staff with the highest priority to all units!"
"The cease-fire? They declared the cease-fire?!"
Before she can stop him, Lieutenant Weiss asks the messenger again, thanks to which all the others hear the news. Now there's no way we can launch the attack claiming we didn't hear.
Not only would I not accomplish much on my own, I'd be shot for breaking the cease-fire.
"Commander, please halt the sortie at once!"
There's no misunderstanding that scream.
"It's a cease-fire! Please halt the sortie at once!"
He's raising his voice to tell me to stop.
Yeah, I hear you. Tanya waves in response. As long as this is your job, I should respect you for doing it. He's an ideal soldier; all noncoms should be so faithful to their duties.
But Tanya refuses to accept this news. She's come this far with her solo action plan, resigned to some kind of punishment---because she knows that this is the last chance for the Empire to avoid defeat.
Now. If we don't act now, we'll have no way to make it in time. Major Tanya von Degurechaff knows this horrifying truth. If we get Dunkirked, victory will slip away to a place beyond the Empire's reach.
So we have to do it now. If we don't, we probably can't save the Empire.
At the same time, she knows. If they sortie, she'll be the one responsible for violating the cease-fire.
If she could find some way out of that, things might have been different. But now that she has been clearly instructed to halt the sortie due to a cease-fire, she's left with no room for fuzzy arguments.
Which is why Tanya's expression is extremely conflicted. She can see that if they don't go now, catastrophe and ruin will eventually befall the Empire. It's inevitable.
But to go means her personal downfall. That is equally inevitable.
In other words, for an extremely simple reason, she is unable to sortie. But not sortieing could mean the slow death of a collapse awaits. It's painful; she can see the chance to completely obliterate that possibility right in front of her, but she has to let it go.
And so.
Erupting angrily, she cru
mples to the runway with no regard for who might be listening and bitterly spits in an almost despairing tone, "...Ngh. Shit, shit, shit! Abort! Abort the sortie!"
[chapter] IV How to Use Victory
JULY 10, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, BREST UNDER IMPERIAL MILITARY GOVERNANCE
"Reporting in!" Second Lieutenant Grantz runs over and delivers the words the moment he arrives in a tone that is kept crisp out of a sense of duty despite the tension.
First Lieutenant Weiss gathers from his expression that preparations are complete and promptly straightens up and faces him, feeling quite tense himself.
"Lieutenant Weiss, all battalion members are present!"
"Thanks, Lieutenant Grantz. Any logistical delays?"
"None at all, sir! We're fully equipped with both provisions and gear!"
That meant everything was ready. It was such a significant report, but it went not to Major von Degurechaff but the second-in-command, of all people.
He made his judgment upon receiving it.
Considering how important the matter was, the commander herself should have made the call, but the senior officer at the moment was First Lieutenant Weiss.
The duty and the tension of being in command... Above all, the immeasurable anxiety of assuming the position instead of Major von Degurechaff... She told me I might be promoted before the year is out. The world is a strange place.
"...Sir?"
"Ah, it's nothing, Lieutenant."
But now was no time to hesitate. This moment called for his decisive judgment as commander. He knew as an officer that throwing cold water on this strained, expectant mood would be an unforgivable error. What his duty required of him now was to carry out his responsibility.
"Company leaders, report your status!" he cried.
Though he was endeavoring to maintain the composure of a pro, he couldn't hold back his anticipation entirely.
"All units present. Type one battle stations manned!"
In response to the roared order, a report of readiness.
"What's your status?"
The voice indicated the start of a battle was near.
"Beer, check! Wine, check!"
The response was proud.
"Meat, fish, check, check!"
Their extra rations were so generous that it seemed like the food and drink was challenging them to finish it off. The battalion's full fighting power was unsparingly committed to cleaning out all the items they'd swiped and stashed.
"Ocean, check!"
And Weiss had unwavering confidence that he had chosen the right spot for it.
"Great, troops, this operation is go!"
Clear water, blue sky, and the refreshing sunshine of early summer... The grills and cooking tables were equipped with mountains of many varieties of meat. Naturally, cases of bottled beer had been delivered by the cooler. There was even wine and champagne from who knew where.
On this day, the elite mages of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion were resolved to devote their bodies and souls to enjoying the beach.
Everything had been for this day.
"To victory!"
"To my brothers-in-arms!"
"To the Reich!"
"""Cheers!"""
Three toasts and a hearty shout.
With that, the men dropped all formalities for this day only. Beer-drinking contests ensued. Champagne corks flew. Then shoulder to shoulder, they all sang "We Are the Reich, Crown of the World."
Their voices thundered from the pit of their stomachs to fill the Republican vacation spot. The beach was the best chance to sing uninterrupted odes to the sweet, ice-cold nectar of victory in their hands.
"To the Empire," they cried and downed their beers. They would take full advantage of this opportunity to sing praises. Several soldiers took their shovels to the sand and began to play, never mind that they were grown men; soon, platoons were pitted against one another in digging competitions. Others jumped straight into the water, while others still made a beeline for the grills with a shout of "First, the meat!"
Everyone there was right and truly intoxicated---on victory, on the joy of surviving, and on the sense of accomplishment they got from carrying out their duty.
AT THE SAME TIME, IMPERIAL ARMY BREST BASE
Reading the message her adjutant handed her, she rubs her temples and groans. Then, clinging to the overly optimistic hope that her conclusion will change upon a second reading, Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff of the Imperial Army, General Staff officer, looks at it again.
But it doesn't matter how far between the lines she reads. After all, it's clearly an official notice from the General Staff.
"...Sorry, Lieutenant Serebryakov, I'm going out for a moment."
So with a word to her adjutant, Tanya puts her cap on in annoyance, slowly rises, and heads for the residential building adjacent to battalion HQ.
Looking up, she sees fair skies, in contrast with her mood.
"It's almost summer, huh...?"
It isn't too hot yet, but summer is probably near. Tanya was the one who cleared First Lieutenant Weiss and the others to take leave and go on vacation. It was also she who approved expenses from the battalion's coffers, as a recognition of her subordinates' services, for them to spend a day having a barbecue at the beach.
That's...well, it's fine.
They're just officers serving in the field. It's only natural that they should have the right to taste the sweet nectar of victory. And Tanya is not at all averse to respecting the rights of others. She knows it's unforgivable for a superior to take advantage of their subordinates simply because they are subordinate and infringe on their rights.
So Tanya doesn't blame the troops for celebrating their victory. It's fine. They gave their all from the positions they were in.
The problem, laments Tanya, just barely holding back her hellish rage and looking to the heavens, is that the same optimism has tainted the brass. It's hopeless.
Her pent-up anger and distrust completely exploded with this congratulatory message from the General Staff. A personal congrats would be one thing, but this was an official statement from the General Staff, of all people, aimed at the entire army and naively praising our "great victory," of all things.
The moment she understood, she had a hard time reining in her emotions. With her scant remaining self-control, she avoided a total explosion on the spot, but she was literally seething with anger.
The moment she closes the door, she hurls her cap to the floor and screams her true feelings. "Shit! The sweet nectar of victory?! We missed our chance to end this war! You may know how to win, but you don't understand how to use it!"
With the coolheaded corner of her mind, Tanya understands that telling everyone to piss off is pointless. That's why she has enough sense to get it all out in her room where she doesn't have to worry about anyone overhearing.
But once she is in her room, she can't hold it back: How stupid must the General Staff be to get so giddy over this "great victory" when the war isn't even over yet?! What are they thinking? She curses them as the urge takes her.
"This can't be possible! Why isn't the General Staff putting this victory to good use?! Why?! Supreme High Command isn't even doing negotiations! Are they not interested in ending the war?!"
A war is broken into multiple stages. Yes, the officers and men carried out their duty fine as far as the front lines; they were able to contribute to this great victory. As such, they should be allowed to celebrate. They have that right.
But if the General Staff, meant to be directing the war, and the organization above it, Supreme High Command, are getting all excited about winning and breaking into the celebratory wine...
That's negligence.
That's a mistake.
No, more than that, it's evil. It's a criminal lack of action.
"Shit! Why is this happening? How did the General Staff suddenly get so...?"
How did they suddenly get so dim-witted?!
In any case, pra
ctically pulling her hair out over this mess, Tanya turns on the alcohol burner in her room to boil some water and reaches for her mill.
She carefully grinds the fine arabica coffee beans she acquired immediately after the capture of Parisii and readies a drip filter. Then, with the water at the right temperature, she lets the bloom form on top of the grounds before meticulously pouring and transferring the results into a mug. Finally, she takes a deep breath, seeking peace of mind in the fragrance, and relaxes.
"The General Staff doesn't understand the situation. But why is that?"
Her question is genuine. Why did this happen? The Imperial Army is bunch of sticklers for efficiency who make sure even lower-ranking officers are well versed in planning and drafting operations. At the war college, they hammered in how to not only cope with encounters under unknown circumstances and make snap decisions but also plan as far as possible to minimize the fog of war, among other things.
"...I just can't understand it. What happened?"
Which is why, having regained composure, albeit temporarily, Tanya cannot fathom why the General Staff is so high on victory.
The General Staff was supposedly of particularly rational officers, even considering the makeup of the Imperial Army at large. Probability theory doesn't seem to allow that every last one of them would lose their minds at the same time.
How is it, then, that they're all wasted on the wine of victory?
"Yeah, I really just don't get this change in the higher-ups. Agh, well, a picture is worth a thousand words. I guess I have no choice but to go over there in person."
So she makes up her mind as she finishes off her coffee. There is nothing for her to do but go ask them herself.
Luckily, the battalion is not currently on rapid response standby. It's not ideal for a commander to leave their unit, but no one should object to her visiting the General Staff for a few days.
In that case, thinks Tanya, time is a finite resource, so I can't waste it. Once she decides on a course of action, all that's left is to promptly act.
