Deus lo Vult

by Carlo Zen

  My two platoon mates were elites from Battalion C.

  “Corporal Kurst von Walhorf from Idal-Stein Battalion C, First Company!”

  “Corporal Harald von Vist, also from Idal-Stein Battalion C, First Company!”

  I gave my rank and name after the two Cadet Corps volunteers. I didn’t wish I had volunteered, exactly, but it was sort of a bummer to say I was drafted right after people who announced they had offered their services to their country. I couldn’t just not care like Elya; I wasn’t thick-skinned enough to just laugh it off. Oh, God, why must you torment me?

  “Corporal Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov from Idal-Stein Battalion D, Third Company.”

  You could say I felt a bit out of place as the only conscript. I mean, Corporals Kurst and Harald were volunteers from the same company. If we did things the usual way, that meant the two guys with experience working together would be buddies, and I’d get paired with the platoon leader.

  That was why I was thinking, as I reported, that it would be great if I didn’t get chewed out for being a slow, lazy draftee. So I was momentarily stunned by what the second lieutenant said next.

  “You have my respect for fulfilling your obligations, Corporal Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov. It’ll be tough, but do your best to survive.”

  Unexpected words of encouragement—and from an officer I was convinced was so cold, with those eyes more warlike than any I’d ever seen. For a second, I couldn’t understand what had happened and froze.

  Meanwhile…

  “Then, to the fellows who enlisted of your own free will: Since you volunteered, you better not die after Corporal Serebryakov and me.” Her calm tone hadn’t changed. She didn’t raise her voice. But the words she spoke with that emotionless expression were incredibly heavy. “First, I’ll make one thing clear. The Empire doesn’t have the time or resources to support inept officer candidates. In fact, doing so would be counterproductive.”

  She was different from all the drill sergeants. The way she talked, it was almost like she was a different species of imperial soldier. Her values ran counter to the ones that had been pounded into me since I had joined the army.

  “It’d be a different story if you were forced to serve against your will because the nation needed you, but you’re the ones who got in line to don the uniform of the fatherland, so contribute accordingly. If you’re too inept to do that, then die.”

  She must have said all she wanted to say to us speechless, frozen recruits. After telling the company commander that was all, she immediately kicked us outside because we were still just standing there. Before we knew it, though we’d only just arrived, we’d been hurled into the trenches and were getting showered with periodic “deliveries” from the Republican Army.

  What awaited us there was a reevaluation of our basic skills as mages. We learned that not only were we not earning our salaries, we were worse than garbage.

  Having been thus “straightened out,” Corporals Kurst and Harald became rebellious, but they weren’t disciplined outright—key word outright. After the company commander and the second lieutenant mentioned that they simply couldn’t take care of them on the front lines, the pair was assigned to the rear.

  After that introduction and a bit of action, I became Lieutenant Degurechaff’s buddy as the sole member of her platoon, and we flew together.

  Meanwhile, the two other cadets were transferred to a better position. They were double promoted and assigned to defend the company’s base in the rear. They could stay safe inside a pillbox as reserves and prepare for the counteroffensive. One thing I learned while flying, though, was that…for artillery, an immobile pillbox is nothing but a sturdy target.

  It was when we received orders to flank the Republican unit trying to breach the line while we were under suppressive fire by their supporting heavy artillery. Half in tears, thinking I would never make it out of there alive, I followed the senior members of the company, who were grinning as they charged. I saw a base get blown to smithereens while we got off without so much as a scratch.

  Weirdly, not only did barely any shells come our way, but also we didn’t suffer any real losses at all before we made contact. After experiencing this over and over, I realized that artillery needs to be used systematically.

  It made sense when I thought about it. Machine guns had a better chance of hitting aircraft than artillery. As long as you didn’t stumble upon an anti–air cannon position, the only things shooting aircraft were machine guns. Although mages were slower than planes, we were still too fast for the artillery to take their time aiming.

  It would probably be a different story if we assaulted a firing position or a pillbox and took heavy zoned fire. But we were taught that when fighting on our own territory, speed is everything. I was lucky enough to learn from Lieutenants Degurechaff and Schwarkopf that the more experienced you get as a mage, the more suspicious you get about defending a fixed position.

  In short, artillery is the god we should trust on the battlefield; it’s also the god we should never anger. You can’t survive unless you make this god your ally and learn how to avoid its iron hammer.

  Maybe that was why… My leader is a dyed-in-the-wool believer in firepower, the perfect embodiment of nonnegotiable mobile warfare, and then a mage. The only faith she has rests with artillery.

  Could soldiers, by nature a group of realists, believe in God? Her answer to the question was pretty interesting. When I wrote to Elya about it, she wrote back, “Then I am the war goddess in charge of divine will.” That answer was so like her, it made me smile. She had a way with words.

  We had eyes and ears, so the devout believers crouching on the front line, in the trenches, and in gun nests were promised the divine revelations of the artillery.

  With the contribution of the observers, we could call for fire to break up an enemy charge or a bombardment, depending on the crisis. It reminded me of Elya, smiling about her easy job where she could hang out and drink tea. But she was always the nurturing, helpful type, so I was sure her sense of responsibility kicked in and she was hard at work.

  Right before we went on an airborne assault, what the company wished for most of all was supporting fire from the artillery. Whenever we received orders to counterattack the Republican Army breaking through our defensive line, we attacked its flank in sync with the artillery’s fire to break up the offensive.

  I was used to battle now. My only job as a newbie was to follow Lieutenant Degurechaff as she raced ahead. Ideally, we were supposed to be partners, but our commander laughed and said I still needed more training.

  “Ohhhh, praise be to God. His name is Artillery! That’s about right. Isn’t it a wonderful sound?”

  First Lieutenant Schwarkopf beamed, praising the artillery as their shells rained down with perfect timing. Our taste in music seems a tad different—I’m only just able to get through these intense bombardments without the sound freaking me out.

  “Yes, it is God of the Battlefield! God has answered our radio requests!”

  “Artillery, Artillery! Thou art our friend! Thou art our savior!”

  The ones carrying on, relaxing their scary frowns, were the intense but dependable old hands from First Platoon. Although their opinion that artillery was our savior was a little dramatic, I was learning that it wasn’t entirely wrong. We may have been a counterattacking unit, but half of our job was to contain the enemy so the artillery could finish them off.

  If we just surrounded them—the rabble, an advancing unit, a defensive unit, or even enemy artillery—the artillery would naturally destroy everything. Witnessing it just once was enough to make you want to pray. Dear God, please grant me artillery support.

  The artillery prep prior to an assault was always reassuring for inconsolably fearful hearts. One time our support ran late, so our battalion-sized unit, containing various different mage companies, had to go at it with an enemy echelon15…and a bunch of things I don’t really want to remember happened.
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br />   On that note, when there was enough support and enough space between the front and the rear, the weight of combat would grow lighter. Yes, looks like I’ll survive again.

  As Tanya gazes at the enemy unit through her binoculars, shells plow the earth right where they were meant to, turning people into fertilizer. In other words, this is the correct way of waging war—taking organic life and rendering it past tense through the use of ammunitions.

  “The concentrated fire of a 120 mm really is a spectacular sight, sir. Amen.”

  “Truly, Lieutenant. Must be the teamwork between a talented observer and the artillery. They wasted no time before firing for effect.”

  People in any situation find it easier to remain calm as long as things go smoothly, and apparently those on the battlefield are no exception. The edifying teachings of the Chicago school say that all things can be measured using economics, but it’s tricky to measure and quantify the effects on health when things go according to plan. When everything is on track, with redundancy limited and no additional costs incurred, it’s just wonderful.

  The situation unfolding before the 205th Assault Mage Company is a perfect example. Just as First Lieutenant Schwarkopf had said, the artillery is performing admirably. They must be coordinating quite closely—the way they transition from establishing a calibrating shot to firing for effect in only a few shells shows magnificent skill.

  Thanks to that, by the time the company arrives at their attack position, the enemy army is collapsing under the artillery’s thorough barrage. Normally there would be a chance of retaliatory fire and an artillery duel, but it seems the enemy guns are busy with the suppressive fire from our forward position.

  “Lucky us. Our corps level artillery blew up the enemy troops with 120 mm shells, and we just have to mop up the surviving remnants.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  It was just as Schwarkopf said—the company is in luck. For Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff, it’s a great day for a war. All we need to do is take out the decimated enemy infantry on a battlefield they already have the advantage on—a simple, convenient mission.

  “It’s almost time. Company, prepare to attack. We’re gonna hunt down the ones the artillery missed.”

  And so, following her commander’s orders, Tanya shoulders her rifle loaded with formula-imbued bullets, grabs her computation orb, and prepares for the assault.

  The company is on standby and aware they’ll be charging, but right before they leave, even experienced veterans can’t help but get anxious. The nervous swallows are a familiar sound in the trenches, distinctly audible over even the shells exploding nearby.

  “Let’s go to work. If only every time could be this much fun!”

  For Tanya, being able to fight against the dregs of infantry ravaged by artillery fire under the lead of a competent officer like Schwarkopf is great—well, relatively. People don’t fight wars because they want to.

  Ask if she considers herself happy, and you’d learn everything you needed from the string of expletives directed at Being X for hurling such a young, innocent child onto this random battlefield. Still, she has to be objective, so it isn’t a mistake to welcome a less awful situation.

  “Lieutenant, don’t be a picky eater, or you’ll never grow any taller.”

  “Commander Schwarkopf, I rather like having a smaller surface area, since it makes me less likely to get shot.”

  “…You win, Lieutenant. That’s the best excuse for being a picky eater I’ve ever heard.”

  For Schwarkopf, who is waiting for the right moment to launch the strike, the banter with Degurechaff is opportune. You don’t have to look back at history to know that commanders at all levels consider managing pre-assault stress part of making the job go smoothly.

  Schwarkopf’s 205th Assault Mage Company may have been veterans of the Rhine Front, but even they still tense up the moment before an attack. So when the light joke relaxes everyone to some extent, the lieutenant chooses that moment to move them out. He alerts the artillery units that they’re launching the assault.

  Once he gets the go-ahead from Control, the operation is go.

  “Okay, everyone. Don’t let picky Lieutenant Degurechaff hog all the good stuff!”

  Thanking God that the company is able to remain calm and chuckle in the face of the enemy, First Lieutenant Schwarkopf roars with his well-trained voice, “Charge! On me!”

  Everyone soars from their assault positions and rushes the enemy troops at a reckless speed.

  To unprotected infantry, rapidly approaching mages are a threat just as serious as artillery. Mages have protective films and defensive shells, so a few shots aren’t enough to take them down. On top of that, they have no trouble unleashing firepower more intense than heavy weaponry. They are truly tough opponents.

  There are a limited number of ways to effectively counter those dreadful mages. One is grenades. If you’re lucky, a mage will come into range—and that’s it. The best way is to intercept them with a concentrated barrage of fire. Apart from that, infantry units don’t have many options.

  So from the perspective of the enemy army, whose command structure is already in disarray due to the shelling, even an undermanned company of only about ten mages is a terrifying threat. They probably already have direct support mages to fight fire with fire, but even mages have a hard time on the receiving end of artillery shells.

  Lucky for the imperial company, unlucky for the Republican Army, the Empire’s 120 mm guns connected with the flying Republican mages, turning them into mincemeat and littering the ground.

  “Make sure to target enemy commanders and communications first!”

  Isn’t that obvious? Tanya thinks to herself, targeting a group of soldiers who seem to be carrying the distinctive backpack-style radios. Like the other company members, she uses an explosion formula to greet their uninvited Republican guests with the warm, welcoming embrace of fire and steel.

  Judging from the sporadic return fire, resistance is weak. At most, there’s only a handful of isolated soldiers shooting at random. The majority have already given up and turned tail, so all we have to do is sweep through.

  Normally, potential enemy reinforcements would be a concern, but this time a mixed group containing another artillery unit and mobile strike team have already taken care of them; the current mission is just mopping up the remaining infantry.

  That gives Tanya enough leeway to keep a close eye on Corporal Serebryakov’s combat performance, whereas before she was only able to make sure her subordinate was still behind her. Even under rifle fire, she never drops her defensive shell. Her maneuvers are still textbook, but compared to a month ago, she moves like a totally different mage. That amount of progress isn’t half-bad.

  I can’t help but recall Lieutenant Schwarkopf’s comment that this is a combat exercise, using the beat-up dregs of their collapsing enemy as targets. Actual combat really is the best training.

  “And just think, not so long ago they were turning green and puking everywhere. It’s amazing what you can do with a bit of training.”

  Never underestimate human potential. Remembering that lesson once again, Tanya can’t help but ponder the sacredness of human dignity and free will.

  For that reason, she pities the Republican soldiers. What an outdated mess their HQ must be to have ordered them to charge into so much iron. It was demonstrated to the whole world ten years ago during a conflict in the Far East between the Federation and the Dominion that iron dominates flesh.

  This is the horrifying thing about people who lack initiative. No initiative basically necessitates lost potential, so it’s a sad irony that they took human resources that probably did have initiative—an abundance of human capital—and exported them to the Empire as mincemeat.

  It was to the point where I wanted to ask if they maybe shouldn’t rethink a bit and recognize the value of human capital according to the market principle.

  Unfortunately, everyone in the world is bo
und by contracts. As an imperial soldier, the relationship between Tanya and the Republican invaders is kill or be killed. It’s fine and good for every country’s propaganda to praise the noble act of dying for one’s fatherland, but I really wish people would understand the utterly obvious flip side—that they have to kill their fatherland’s enemies, too.

  In terms of precious human resources wasted, there’s no greater crime than war, laments Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff, having just robbed several young people of their futures with a magic formula.

  Things just never turn out how you’d like, she thinks to herself as her formulas mercilessly turn the fleeing Republican Army soldiers into organic debris. The only word for it is wasteful. Even though it isn’t her own country, Tanya can’t escape the feeling that something is wrong with squandering so many trained youths. Aha, I see why “extravagance is the enemy.” Of course one of the ironies of history, in a sense, is that a certain country adopted that slogan and then wasted their human resources. Perhaps there will always be inept leaders frittering away the lives of their most promising patriots.

  “Geez, maybe I should focus a little more on the battlefield.”

  “Artillery plows, mages descend, and the infantry advances.” I remembered learning that on a nice afternoon, when I would rather have been sunbathing than struggling to stay awake in a lecture on the history of warfare. But when exactly that was, I didn’t know…

  Back in the Cadet Corps, the lessons seemed so ordinary as I sleepily listened, but once they became real life, it was horrible. Lieutenant Degurechaff had this disheartened look on her face, but she still unleashed a swift, merciless storm of destruction. I was half-impressed at her superhuman abilities and half simply stunned; it was all I could do just to fly after her, but she managed to handle even the enemies coming after me without taking a single hit.