Youjo Senki - Volume 1 - Chapter 5

[chapter] V The Primeval Battalion 

GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, CONFERENCE ROOM 1 

“We’ve finally curbed the deterioration of the situation on the western front.” 

Brigadier General von Zettour, who was in charge of the Service Corps, was in conference room 1 of the General Staff Office relaying a report that gave everyone the first cause for relief in a very long time. The dire situation in the Western theater had marginally improved. 

“We do, however, remain somewhat cornered overall.” 

A map on the wall of the conference room showed that the western army was still stubbornly holding out. Their failure to make the first move had allowed the François Republic to push back their lines, but at least the advance toward the Rhine industrial region had been stopped. Of course, the fighting strength of forces on the front lines was nearing the limit; the dogged resistance had left nearly every unit with casualties. They were on the cusp of resorting to prematurely scraping together new units and rushing them from the capital in piecemeal deployments. 

Slowly but surely, pressure was increasing along the whole line. Even some of the rear positions were within range of strikes by enemy mages. 

“The assembly and redeployment of the main forces of the Great Army is complete.” 

The Western Army Group had held out even longer than the national defense plan, Plan 315, imagined they could, and they’d succeeded in buying a decisive amount of time. It was just enough for the Empire to deploy the Great Army, its primary fighting force. The reorganization of the lines was proceeding apace. 

This entailed, of course, a large-scale redeployment from the north to the west, but the railroads were an even bigger bottleneck on mobility than they had feared. As a result, everything was behind schedule. That said, with the defensive wall of the Great Army, there was still time to reorganize. 

“…Although we’ve only just managed to make it in time.” 

But the faces of the General Staff did not look happy or relieved. They and Zettour were all aware of the problem facing them: the difficulty of responding quickly in the time they had. Time, time, time. It was one of the great, ever-present challenges in waging a war. 

Yes, the Great Army had been redeployed in time, but the General Staff recognized that the situation had gotten down to the wire. Though they had counted on moving their forces efficiently via interior lines, it was proving harder than anticipated. That meant they couldn’t hope for the strategic flexibility they had expected to have before the war began. 

The standing forces from Central were meant to compensate as relief forces, but the western front had shown that deploying such a small force would be like tossing a thimbleful of water at a raging fire. Even if they could respond quickly, numbers were a huge problem. 

“ The Service Corps has to recommend that we focus on developing a unit capable of rapid response.” 

“Operations concurs that we need a mobile force that can be used at will and that has a measure of firepower.” 

Essentially, they had to make the Great Army easy to move. That was the military’s unanimous opinion. They wanted to adjust the rail schedules to enable the smooth transport of troops on a vast scale. After all, the Empire’s strategy, focusing all their strength on one front to achieve victory there, would succeed or fail based on speed. 

But there was also a pronounced desire for a better quick reaction force, a reserve unit that could move quickly to address any situation, as Brigadier General von Zettour had calmly suggested and Brigadier General von Rudersdorf had seconded. It was critical to have a unit that could help fight fires when large-scale deployments would be unable to address a problem in time. 

“In addition, the Service Corps suggests we look into a national defense strategy predicated on the assumption of fighting a two-front war.” 

Zettour’s sudden additional suggestion was a reevaluation of where troops were most needed. That is, the risk that one front would fall apart while the other was achieving victory had become too great in recent years. There were many in the Service Corps , Zettour chief among them, who harbored doubts about the interior lines strategy, believing there were limits to how long they could pretend it was working. 

Wasn’t it time to change the military’s doctrines and prepare for a two-front war? They felt it was no longer feasible to have regional commands mainly focused on defense and use the venerable Great Army for offensive maneuvers. 

“I don’t have any objection to research as such, but…practically speaking, we must absolutely avoid the opening of a second front.” 

But the ironclad rule against dividing one’s forces had been constant in every era. Bring all your power to bear on one enemy, and once you’ve dealt with them, turn to the next foe. The General Staff saw this as the golden rule of their interior lines strategy. 

Above all, Rudersdorf and Operations had a hard time denying the effectiveness of overwhelming the enemy with an all-out frontal attack by concentrating their forces. 

“Operations agrees with building a shelter against every storm, but we need to prioritize finding a way to avoid a two-front war.” 

“It’ll be difficult, considering the Empire’s geopolitical situation, General von Rudersdorf.” 

“I can’t deny that. But what you’re proposing, in the worst-case scenario, would leave all our lines undermanned.” 

Gain partial superiority and employ the regional armies to buy time until overall victory can be achieved. It was a strategy born of the Empire’s history as a polity surrounded on all sides, as well as simple geopolitical necessity. If the nation was powerful enough to put up fierce fights on two separate fronts, this wouldn’t have been a problem to begin with. 

“And what if things don’t go so well? We have no choice but to shore up the regional armies until we can improve the functionality of our interior network.” 

Although the regional forces were decently sized, the Republican Army had nonetheless brought the ones in the west to the brink of destruction. The fact also loomed large that if the Great Army hadn’t arrived in time, the critical western industrial area would have fallen. The interior lines strategy hinged on the premise that one front could hold the line. 

Hence, Zettour and the Service Corps’ claim was not necessarily mistaken that their most pressing task was to strengthen their defense. 

“At present, a large-scale restructuring of military districts would be difficult. Does anyone have any other ideas?” 

Reorganizing military districts was a massive undertaking even in peacetime. Trying to reorganize commands while actively fighting a war was next to impossible. It was like trying to switch all the forwards and fullbacks around in the middle of a soccer game. The best you could hope for would be chaos. 

“In that case, I’d like to propose the creation of a quick reaction force. We need a unit with improved ability to theater-hop, one we can deploy when needed, where needed.” 

The idea of a quick reaction force was one some had been advocating for some time. There had always been those who wanted a unit on the scale of an army that could move fairly rapidly to wherever the fighting was. The Service Corps had been pulling for it recently, in particular, rallying around their deputy director, Zettour. 

“That’s something Operations can agree to. Depending on the scale, that is.” 

Operations, which had to deal with the practical employment of troops, was able to see eye to eye with the Service Corps, recognizing the need to improve their ability to react quickly. Up until now, the Great Army was intended to fill that role, but it had grown too large. Without the heroic fighting of the western army, the western industrial area would have been captured, and the Empire would be drafting provisions for peace talks. 

“On that point, the Service Corps suggests beefing up the reserves by strengthening Central troops. The prompt resistance from the Western and Central Army Groups was truly superb.” 

That was why Zettour was making his recommendations now. They had always avoided the step of creating a standing reserve that they could deploy in an emergency to the west on the grounds that it would leave soldiers idling, but with necessity closing in, no one could argue. 

“We would also have to consider the eastern and southern regional armies when conducting the reorganization.” 

“Absolutely. It’s not right for only the troops in the west to get all the medals.” 

“It’s skewing the war college’s admissions recommendations by achievement, and they’re getting more of the assignments to Central. I’m sure it irks the regional armies.” 

As with any organization, there would be a great many things for the Imperial Army to consider if it was going to do any restructuring. It was true that the Western Army Group had been getting an overwhelming number of decorations and bonuses because of their stalwart fighting. Budget limitations meant there were only so many awards to go around, and the other regional commands were getting the short end of the stick. It had already begun to warp the officer corps. Some officers were being surpassed by not only their own former classmates but also those who had started after them. Thanks to the flood of recommendations to the war college, the Eastern Army Group had grudgingly given up some of their slots to the west. 

“I wouldn’t underestimate the effect this is having.” 

“Indeed. Discontent is especially rife among the Eastern Army Group. They’re bearing the brunt of it.” 

As Personnel pointed out, this was not an ideal situation from a human resources perspective. Soldiers were being left behind while the Western and Northern Army Groups amassed achievements. Those who had once been treated so well for their crucial defense of the eastern border suddenly found themselves paid less, their ranks lowered. It was only natural for them to feel upset. Brilliant deeds in battle were all well and good, but the fear of being surpassed by juniors and peers was a significant worry, though it lurked below the surface. 

“The Eastern Army Group have had nothing to do with either the Entente Alliance or the Republic. They are holding down the eastern border, but people look down on them as freeloaders.” 

“Lack of combat experience is another problem. We need some kind of balance.” 

The soldiers’ feelings were an issue, but the real problem was the imbalance in combat experience. It wouldn’t do to fight the entire war with troops from the Western Army Group. They had to assume the troops in the east would engage at some point. It would be a waste to have them watch from the sidelines until a battle began in their region. 

Yet transferring large numbers of veterans from the west to train the men in the east was equally out of the question. 

“In other words, you want to create a unit with some degree of flexibility, drawing mainly from the Eastern Army Group?” 

In that case, the most realistic proposal would be to take a unit from the Eastern Army Group to form the quick reaction force. What Rudersdorf of Operations wanted to confirm with Personnel was whether they felt forces from the east should be used to form this new unit. 

It wouldn’t be real war experience, but it would be more beneficial than leaving them totally bereft of any sense of meaning to their fight. On top of lessening the burden on the Western Army Group, it was also liable to reduce the amount of squabbling over the budget. 

“So we’d like to attempt this on the scale of a division. Consider it an experiment in strategic mobility.” 

Even so, the suggestion would not go without debate. Zettour’s group was very interested in this experiment in rapid deployment, but matériel was limited. If people agreed to the idea but not to the scale, consensus would be hard to come by. They proposed experimenting on the division level in conjunction with the Railroad Department, but that was too much to ask during a war. It had revitalized interest in a quick reaction force, but the opposition was entrenched. 

“I’m against it. We only have two reserve divisions in the east.” 

In the eyes of Operations, the idea of pulling troops was out of the question given the limited number of reserves. 

“That’s too big a scale. Our defense in the east would be stretched too thin.” 

They took a lesson from the previous failure: During the reorganization of the Great Army, defenses in the west had become fragile. The whole reason the Western Army Group was in such a tough battle was that the assumptions of the national defense strategy had failed to prove accurate. Thus, although the Eastern Army Group was far from the main conflict, it would be dangerous to take too many troops away. 

After all, aside from stationary personnel, the Eastern Army Group had only a single army as a strategic reserve. It was only natural that there would be objections when they were already at the minimum possible number of reserve forces and the proposal was to take even more away. 

“What if we were to draw from both the eastern and southern armies?” 

“Maybe after the situation in the north is resolved.” 

They would gain some leeway after the Entente Alliance troops in the north had been mopped up. But as a practical issue, although the main Great Army force had crushed the main enemy force, it would take time to truly overwhelm them. To take units from the east and south at this point would be like putting the cart before the horse. It was completely unacceptable to create a rescue squad at the expense of weakening their national borders. 

“Then let’s just try one part of it. How about putting a battalion of mages under a Readiness Command at Central?” 

He appeared to be proposing a compromise, but in fact this was what the Service Corps had wanted all along. The idea of a quick reaction mage battalion had already been suggested by a group helmed by Zettour. 

“Your pet project? Very well, I agree.” 

A battalion-sized experiment didn’t leave much for Operations to object to. Their division was primarily concerned with tactics on the corps level; they could compensate for losing mages if it was just a battalion. 

And actually, they would even welcome having a battalion of mages they could flexibly deploy anywhere on the front lines. 

“You want to pull an entire battalion’s worth of mages?” 

“The eastern army should have the forces available. Anyway, a battalion of mages would be easier to transport by air. They’d be very easy to deploy.” 

Some were leery of drawing down the fighting power of the Eastern Army Group, but others pointed out how mobile they would be. A battalion of mages was thirty-six people. It would be easier to transport than a company of infantry. 

Even if a unit of thirty-six people needed forty-five days of regulation supplies, the logistical impact would be relatively low. If need be, the unit would even be able to move from the west to the east within a day. 

“Very well, then. We authorize the experimental creation of a mage battalion—under the direct command of the General Staff Office.” 

It was never an idea that would invite much objection. 

“We’ll pass on the idea of a Readiness Command for now, but let’s see how the unit performs.” 

The Readiness Command he had tried to squeak through had been too much to ask, but they had been permitted their experiment. The creation of a quick reaction mage battalion would almost certainly lead to the creation of a Readiness Command in the future. 

“All right, gentlemen, let’s proceed to the next order of business.” 

It looked like he would be able to keep his promise. Zettour surreptitiously sighed in relief. Then he switched gears and focused on the next issue. 

JUNE 23, UNIFIED YEAR 1967, LONDINIUM, WTN PRESSROOM 

The world war has many mysteries. 

Materials from the Empire, in particular, are full of questions, owing largely to the chaos of the final days of the conflict. Both sides are believed to have committed wrong, but everything is hidden behind a thick veil of secrecy to this day. I was part of the war, too, as an embedded reporter with World Today News . Like so many of my generation who were connected in some way with the great war, I want to know the truth. 

It isn’t about assigning blame. I just want to know what really happened. I teamed up with some like-minded friends, and together we decided to seek the truth. We pitched the WTN editorial staff on the idea of a documentary. 

I have to confess, even I didn’t know where to start. Luckily, though, I was able to gain the support of my friends and sympathetic superiors. 

Still, the question of how to begin remained. What was the truth of the war? Some argued that it might be different for each person, which left us directionless. Several documents were declassified, but rather than clarifying the big picture, they only raised even more questions. 

Initially, we focused on materials from the Commonwealth, which was relatively quick to declassify things. To start with, we tried researching the Dakar Incident from the latter half of the war. It was an action in the south considered by many to be a diversionary tactic. 

Famously, all seven of the ships in Commonwealth Navy’s Second Squadron, including Hood , its flagship, were sunk. How was that squadron sent to the bottom so suddenly? It had to be related to the reason the documents were classified. 

We hypothesized that false intelligence led the Empire to concentrate their intercepting forces at Dakar. In other words, the Commonwealth sacrificed Second Squadron to take the focus off a planned ambush of the Empire, who was expected to win the war. Perhaps that explains why the materials were classified. 

We theorized that some kind of plot was at work on the battlefield. I had heard rumors of dirty dealings during my time as a correspondent, enough to make me suspect that the documents would back up our idea. We rushed to read the declassified information, but our expectations were betrayed. 

“The worst day in the history of the Commonwealth Navy was caused by xxxxxxxxxxx.” 

Only that single sentence was declassified, and everyone who had anything to do with the army had clammed up and was refusing to comment. 

Serendipitously, it was around that time that an acquaintance of mine, a military historian, said something very interesting. He hinted that if I analyzed the battlefield rumors very carefully, I would find the truth. 

For example, the eleven-character code xxxxxxxxxxx could be found all over. He speculates that it was the code name of some high-ranking officer or spy. We dubbed it the Eleventh Goddess, after the figure on the tarot card, and began our investigation. 

The results were startling. The Eleventh Goddess appeared in nearly all of the Empire’s major battles. The earliest instance we could find was from two years before the war. One country’s intelligence agency reported her in the area of a border dispute. That led us to hypothesize that it might have referred to an intelligence agent of some sort. 

But we noticed something odd. Some of those who had been on the front lines had a strange reaction to the name we picked. They claimed it was the worst joke they’d ever heard. 

Perhaps there was more than one meaning behind eleven x ’s, and they were all getting jumbled together? We took a tip from statistics and tried using context and location clues to deduce the most logical “xxxxxxxxxxx.” 

xxxxxxxxxxx came up most frequently in the Rhine Air Battle (sometimes considered the war’s deciding battle). It was feared as the most intense combat zone—“30 percent sky and 70 percent blood”—where mages patrolled the airspace. 

As luck would have it, my colleague Craig and I had been dispatched there by WTN , so we witnessed the scene. It had many names: “Rhine where the devils live,” “the graveyard of the Named,” “the battlefield where even silver rusts.” They all sound absurdly exaggerated and unrealistic during peacetime, but they’re true. I can say from personal experience that there was an honest to God devil on that battlefield. 

For example, say I meet a friendly mage in a bar and we get along famously. Just six hours later, he’s been turned into few scraps of meat and I’m attending his funeral. This wasn’t uncommon. It happened to me three times. 

An aerial mage officer I’d grown close to once said, “Humans cease to be human over there”—just before he was killed in battle. I can still remember it so vividly. That battlefield was a collection of every sort of human madness. 

The various reports about the battles on the Rhine Front remained behind a heavy veil of classified s. That must have been related to the rumors about what happened in that abnormal, blood-soaked world. 

In any event, the Eleventh Goddess was a supreme presence in the Rhine Air Battle. We became fixated on her. Despite knowing it is hopeless, we interviewed a number of people who were with the Imperial Army at the time, and as expected, all our investigation revealed was that the wall of need to know was far thicker than we imagined. One former member of the General Staff gave us a single word. 

He said he wanted us to make it public when we could no longer communicate with him. I wanted to ask what he meant, but when I tried contacting him about it, I never heard back. Let the record state that I haven’t been able to reach him to this day. 

Out of respect for the promise I made, I’m writing here the word that he told me on the condition of anonymity. 

V600. 

We’re going to get to the bottom of this mystery. We want to know what happened during that mad time. 

(Text by: Andrew, WTN special correspondent) 

KLÜGEL STRASSE, THIRD DISTRICT, ZOLKA CAFÉ 

Really, time spent on education at the war college is a luxury. For that reason, many subjects get covered only in a cursory way during a war, but by the same token, the curriculum becomes more practical. Some people even feel that’s an improvement. A track that normally takes two years to complete has been shaved down to less than one, but it’s more intense. As someone currently enrolled myself, I also find it an improvement. 

I would like to think my talents are in no way inferior to those of my classmates, but sitting side by side with so many future heroes makes me realize what a vast place the world is. Still, I feel lucky. 

My parents didn’t force me to be a soldier, but when I graduated from the military academy, they were as proud as if they’d done it themselves. I count meeting my wife, who I’m hardly worthy of, as my greatest happiness. 

My daughter, who was just born the other day, is utterly precious. 

Perhaps it was being a new father that made me to want to ask about something I’d never paid much attention to before. 

I was in a quiet café near Saint Gregorius Church. Just as I was told, a little girl has casually dropped her rifle and computation orb on the table and is ordering lunch. A member of the military police I know clued me in that she eats here every Sunday. 

His theory was that it was because there were no other cafés that happened to be next to churches you could enter with a weapon. 

“Captain Uger, what a surprise to see you here.” 

Suddenly, I find that First Lieutenant Degurechaff has followed the waiter’s gaze to me. She greets me with a perfect salute. I return it and approach her seat, ordering something or other from the waiter and pressing a tip into his hand to buy us a little time alone. This won’t be an easy conversation to have with so many people around. 

“Oh, er, I just heard you always eat here. Do you have a moment?” 

“Certainly. Please join me.” 

As she offers a chair, I notice how well she wears her uniform, not even a hint of affectation. Frankly, it suits her so well that if I saw her in civilian clothes, I wouldn’t recognize her. It makes more sense to call her a first lieutenant than an eleven-year-old. 

She doesn’t appear to have any personal belongings that weren’t given to her by the government. Perhaps we can include the newspaper spread across the table and the Londinium Times and WTN special issue filled with notes. Ah, yes. The war college did encourage us to learn the languages of surrounding countries. The Londinium Times and the WTN magazine from neutral zones are among the best materials that are easy to obtain. But maybe it’s a stretch to call them personal belongings. 

“Do you come here often, Captain?” 

She stops writing in the newspaper and looks at me. Though I doubt she intended it, a shiver runs down my spine. This small girl is one of the most distinguished of the Imperial Army’s mages, an Ace of Aces. Yet as a father with a daughter, there is something I have to know. 

“Miss Degurechaff, pardon a rude question, but why did you enlist?” 

“Huh?” 

I mulled over what to ask her but decided there was no point in dressing it up. That blunt question was the result, but now it sounds too simplistic, and she doesn’t understand what I was trying to ask. 

Never in a million years did I think I would ever see Lieutenant Degurechaff look perplexed. She’s said to wear an iron mask, but apparently she does have expressions. Not many of them, perhaps, but although it’s disrespectful to say so, I am relieved to find something human about her. 

“Er, please don’t think of it as a question from a captain. Just a curious fellow student.” I don’t want her to say what she thinks a superior officer wants to hear. I’m interested in how she truly feels. “With your talent, you must have any number of options. Why the military?” 

If she were nothing more than a talented mage, her choices would have been more limited. The army is hungry for capable mages and snaps up anyone with aptitude without much concern for age, so it wouldn’t have been terribly surprising if she had been conscripted despite her youth. If that were all, she would have been used as just another weapon. 

Still, there should have been time before they pulled her in. It’s worth noting that she got into the war college on merit alone. At a mere eleven years of age, she became a member of the honorable Twelve Knights of the war college, albeit the lowest-ranked one. If she had only magic affinity, she would have only been a weapon, but with her talent, she could have been a researcher or an engineer—anything at all. The Imperial University allows early entrance, and not only do they comp tuition for exceptional students, they even give stipends. Every path should have been open to her. 

“…My father was in the military.” 

“Was? So he’s… I’m sorry.” 

The word was sticks out to me, and I quickly realize the implication. It’s a common story. Death is never far from members of the Imperial Army. Anyone can die at any time. 

And each dead soldier has a household, the family they leave behind. 

“Please don’t let it trouble you. I’m hardly unique these days.” 

Lieutenant Degurechaff smiles, showing no sign of distress, as if to say she has already adjusted, but I can’t help thinking that having to understand so much at that age is tragic. Did she join the army for revenge? 

“There was no other way for an orphan like me. We have little choice in the world.” 

But her answer is one I never even imagined. 

“But you made it into the military academy. Surely that means you could have chosen a normal high school.” 

She has overcome so many hurdles, and at her age. I know some who would have been thrilled to support a wunderkind like her. Why did she say she had no choice? 

“Captain, if you’ll forgive my saying so, I think your family must have been quite well-off.” 

“Not really. Happy, yes, but ordinary.” 

My father was a mid-level bureaucrat, and my mother from an average household. We had no ties to any higher status. My grandfather on my father’s side was in the navy, so they were happy when I expressed interest in the armed services, but that was about it. 

What Lieutenant Degurechaff says next shocks me beyond words. 

“Ahh, I really envy you. An orphan simply has no options. All I could do was scrape by day to day.” 

In her mind, she seems to be going back to the times she went hungry. Though she doesn’t say anything, her whole body exudes an aura that tells how terrible her circumstances were. The atmosphere becomes heavy, and before I know it, my back has hit the back of my chair. I realize I’m being overwhelmed—by an eleven-year-old girl. 

“But if your father was in the military…surely, there must be a pension.” 

“Captain, I’m a bastard child who can’t even remember her mother’s face. If it weren’t for the orphanage, I would be dead in the streets right now.” 

One of the church orphanages. That explains a lot. Though she had a rough start, she was saved by the church. Is that why she’s so passionate about attending? Perhaps that’s why she prays so fervently. 

But even if that is true… 

“But—you know. How do I put this? You’re still a child. You should quit the military.” 

Even if there is no way she can leave in the middle of a war, she shouldn’t abandon other potential future paths. These creatures called soldiers are fundamentally idlers by necessity. And yet when the time comes, they have to be prepared to die. 

For a child to choose such a vocation is a tragedy. 

“…Captain Uger, do you doubt my ability?” she asks me with a pale face, telling me I’ve gone too far. I made the mistake, if unintentionally, of showing a soldier what amounts to pity. She may be young, but she has her pride and honor. 

“Absolutely not! I just can’t help feeling it’s wrong that a child like you should go to war.” 

It sounds like I’m trying to defend myself, but I mean it. Her eyes challenge me, but she is still a child, a little girl who should be protected. Who would want to send their daughter off to war? 

Just the thought of sending my newborn child to the battlefield nearly drives me mad. Surely Lieutenant Degurechaff’s father, who risked his life for the Empire, wouldn’t want this, either. As a father myself, I just know. 

“It’s my duty. So long as I’m a soldier, I can’t avoid it.” 

Her response is calm, an unfaltering declaration. She seems to embody what it means to be a soldier. This is no mere facade; it’s as if, with no other way to go, she has built her self-awareness around being a member of the military. 

Where is her true self? 

“Do you really mean that?” 

That is how I end up asking such a meaningless question. But she looks at me, and her gaze is so serious that I know she didn’t miss my intention. She could never have said what she did as a joke or a lie. 

What’s more, she has plenty of combat experience. Her statement wasn’t the empty rhetoric of someone who has never seen battle. It was an unshakable conviction coated in lead and gunsmoke. 

“Captain, is something wrong?” 

She must have suspected something from my worries. She probes, careful to remain polite. I find it almost unbearable. 

“My wife had a baby. I hear it’s a girl.” 

“That’s wonderful news.” 

She offers her congratulations, but out of politeness; she even seems somewhat sad. She speaks dispassionately, less out of love for a child and more because congratulations is what an auspicious event demands. It’s as if that world has nothing to do with her. 

“When I look at you, I can’t help but wonder if my daughter will go to war.” 

She has already opened up quite a bit. I even think she has shared her genuine feelings. But to my disappointment, I’m still running up against an impassable barrier of contradiction and uneasiness. “There’s something wrong with a society that sends cute little kids to battle, don’t you think?” I hardly know what I’m trying to say. I’m just giving voice to the emotions welling up inside me. 

I can see that she’s examining me. Honestly, I didn’t expect to lose myself to such an extent. But once the words are out, there’s no taking them back. After she observes me at length, Lieutenant Degurechaff replies deliberately, like a shrine maiden delivering a divine message. 

“Captain, you’re a sensible man. I suggest you resign.” 

It is as if our positions have been reversed. 

“I never know what you’re going to say next. How can you tell me to leave when it’s vitally important for us to put an end to this war so it doesn’t continue on into the next generation?” 

“You’re a man of sound judgment who knows the realities of the battlefield. Your resignation could in fact be an asset.” 

Think about it , she seems to say, clenching her little fist on the table to emphasize her point. You should leave. 

“I’m a soldier, too. I don’t know how to be anything else.” 

“No, Captain. You have a rational mind. Let me give you some advice as a fellow student: At least get to the rear before the real insanity breaks loose.” 

“They would never allow it.” 

This is war. The easy days of doing work behind a desk are over. And how can I shamefully withdraw on my own, leaving my friends, classmates, and brothers-in-arms? We vowed to fight together. I could never abandon them. 

“Captain, living is a battle in itself. You can fight to keep your daughter out of the fray.” 

“…I’ll think about it.” 

I have no counterargument. I oppose the idea, but I have no further way to express that. This eleven-year-old child has completely dumbfounded me. There are no words. 

“There isn’t much time. You should decide soon.” 

“You sound like a member of the General Staff.” 

“It’s the only education I’ve had.” 

I must not have been thinking straight. Telling a fellow student at the war college that they sound like a General Staff officer is meaningless. That’s precisely the type of role we’re being groomed for. 

If anything, what I said is a compliment—I have used that sentence in the most incorrect way possible. It makes me realize how profoundly shaken I am. 

“…I see. You’re right, of course.” 

You’re right. That’s all I can muster. I’m taken aback at how lost for words I am. 

“Oh, our food is here. Let’s eat together.” 

“…Yes, let’s.” 

When I meet Captain Uger at lunch, he seems agitated by the birth of his daughter. Well, I certainly agree with the notion that becoming a parent leads to major psychological changes. 

In any case, now Captain Uger will be dropping out of the promotion track at the war college. Whichever fascist advocated making your case when your opponent was emotionally vulnerable was a devilish genius. Captain Uger had enough tact not to protest the hit his reputation took when he requested a rear-line posting. With him out of the way, I can just barely make it into the top twelve of the college’s hundred students. Thanks to that I’ll be able to add von 19 to my name, even if for only a generation, and become a member of the General Staff. 

I’ll be able to take advantage of my experience at the war college to get a career. There will be trouble later if I rise too high, but if my rank is too low, I won’t be able to act freely. In that sense, getting “superior” ratings and earning the honorable appellation of Knight of the War College seems about right. It’s just a question of studying and getting along with instructors. 

Considering my fighting spirit has come into question, my current status seems appropriate. I’ll have to be a little more assertive. Luck won’t always be on my side, so I need to be careful. 

At least today I caught a break. I have Captain Uger wrapped around my little finger. And I’ve been invited to dinner at the General Staff Office tonight, so I’m sure something is up. The food in their cafeteria isn’t quite as good as the navy’s, but I’ve heard it’s all right. I’ll be looking forward to it. 

GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, DINING ROOM 1 (ARMY) 

While a couple of classmates from the war college were discussing their careers at a restaurant somewhere in town, a similar conversation was taking place over a meal at the General Staff Office’s dining room 1—granted, the latter was constrained by etiquette and tradition. 

At one point, the Imperial Army had constructed an extravagant dining room at the General Staff Office. No one much cared for it; soldiers considered it an absolute waste, and officers complained that it was inconvenient. But one word from the navy changed everybody’s tune. Someone commented, “The army sure knows how to waste resources—even in their dining halls.” 

The navy had a laugh, but the army responded by suggesting that there should be less excess in the construction of warships, saying they couldn’t understand people who went to war in “floating hotels.” 

Now the army was so united on the issue that any criticism of the banquet room was practically considered traitorous. Mealtime meetings would be held there just to prove that the army was using the place. Word that the opulent venue would be the site of another lunch meeting reached Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen just as he was setting his briefcase on his desk in Operations, back from his inspection tour of the northern and western fronts. He was accustomed to such conferences—it was the topic of discussion that troubled him. 

“I’m against it. I absolutely oppose.” 

His eyes had nearly popped out of his head when he opened the letter. He would never accept this. Obsessed to distraction, he had gotten little work done in the morning and hardly touched his food. As the lone voice of opposition among the high-ranking officers at the table, he fought fiercely to defend his position. 

“Colonel von Lergen, I very much respect your opinion, but you must be more objective.” 

Unfortunately, his immediate superior, Brigadier General von Rudersdorf, deputy director of operations in the General Staff, did not support his perspective. After all, this was part of the tactical improvements he had been waiting for. He couldn’t be expected to give up so easily. But to Lergen, who had seen the situation on the ground with his own eyes, the proposal was too dangerous. 

“Giving her command of the quick response battalion is out of the question. She’s the kind who won’t stop advancing until everyone is dead. You’d be throwing your mages away!” 

First Lieutenant von Degurechaff had been promoted to captain upon graduation from the war college. He had been afraid of this, but there was still time to change things. He had let his guard down, thinking she could still possibly be put in Technology or the instructor unit. He never imagined that the brass would create an experimental battalion under her direct command. 

Oh my God! That would be nothing short of a nightmare. She’s too dangerous. That paper showcases her true nature. 

“Yes, we’ve heard your objections, but the instructors at the war college say she loves her soldiers.” 

It was true that some of the teachers at the academy supported Lergen’s view. They said she was a bit too fond of combat. 

But the instructors at the war college thought differently. They said that even under in the harshest conditions during the staff trip, she looked out for troops and avoided losses. Their conclusion was that she couldn’t have done what she did without meaning it. That carried a decisive weight in the General Staff, which was made up of war college grads. 

“She has a lust for battle, but she still retains her right mind and avoids any type of loss.” In sum, they had judged her character to be superior. 

“Don’t you think you’re overly captive to your prejudices?” 

“With all due respect, have you not seen the reports from her days at the academy?” 

Unwilling to give in, he had found the most damning documents about her and submitted them for consideration. But Lergen himself was a staffer who had graduated from the war college. He knew without thinking whose judgment would count for more. It was the way of the military to trust those who were closest to you. 

“Ultimately, I believe we can say she has matured through education. The war college reported no issues.” 

If she had been the cause of any trouble at the war college, her evaluations would have been poor. But instead she graduated with honors and was selected as a knight. She was flawless. 

“Her behavior isn’t the result of education—it’s who she really is! We can’t possibly entrust a battalion to her!” 

He at least had to make his opposition known. He couldn’t run away from his duty as a soldier, even if it damaged his career. If she was given a battalion, it was possible that its members would all die by her hands before even encountering the enemy. As a soldier, he couldn’t allow it. 

“If nothing else, she’s too young, and her rank is too low!” 

“Lieutenant von Degurechaff’s promotion to captain has already been decided. She shouldn’t be stuck commanding a company; she’s worthy of a battalion.” 

“The Empire can’t afford to let a capable soldier languish. You should know that.” 

The higher-ups had already made their decision. Once Lergen heard Rudersdorf arguing their point, he knew he was finished. This was to help solve the urgent problem of quick response. The brass was prepared to look the other way if the problems were minor. 

“Then she should be returned to the instructor unit or sent to do research. She’s a child. Do you not know how innocently cruel children can be?” 

He tried taking a different tack. The General Staff traditionally welcomed debate, in the belief that a variety of viewpoints reduced errors. 

“Colonel von Lergen, we’ll hear you out. But this matter has already been decided.” 

“It’s the General Staff’s decision. I believe you know what that means.” 

Conversely, once the debate was over, no further dissent was tolerated. They encouraged thorough discussion, but once policy was decided, they sought to carry it out with a united front and no hitches. Failure to fall into line meant being expelled from the General Staff. 

“…Do excuse me, sir.” 

So essentially, they’ve already decided? Lergen’s shoulders slumped. There had never been a day that the General Staff aiguillette looked so repugnant to him, but he could control himself. In fact, in principle, it was unthinkable that he would harry Central like this. Still, his sense of unease persisted. 

“All right. A new battalion will be formed under Captain von Degurechaff, as planned.” 

“Prepare a promotion to major and orders regarding the battalion command to be issued once assembly of the unit is complete.” 

“That’s that. Let’s move on to the next subject.” 

…Will this really be all right? 

“Well, seeing is believing.” 

That’s Tanya’s honest reaction to the food sitting on the plate the orderly puts in front of her. 

She knows it goes by the name schlachtplatte . She doesn’t dislike the stuff, and it’s a braised dish, which is hard to come by on the battlefield. Of course, the heat ruins all the vitamin C, which also tends to be in short supply in the trenches; only in the rear can such an extravagant dish be enjoyed. 

This dining room is also used by those returning from the front, and she appreciates the idea of offering menu items you can only get back here. One could argue it was a way of showing that they were getting by with the same amount of resources as were allocated to the front and not just partying. 

That much is all well and good. 

The problem is the pork, which tastes not so much sour as it does like a block of salt. On top of that, it’s undercooked. She can only marvel at how bad it is; if it didn’t come with potatoes, she would have simply thrown it in the trash. 

To add insult to injury, the bread they served was K-Brot. 20 Apparently, they do it for promotion and popularization purposes, but frankly, the navy’s rye bread has better flavor and nutritional value. She would have liked to demand that they just serve the wheat and potatoes separately, like normal. 

If she went to the navy cafeteria, she could get better food, she’s sure, despite the fact that both places are operating on the same budget. 

The reason is simple. The army would never say a word about it, but it’s an open secret that because they spent too much money furnishing their dining room, they now have to budget to make up for it. Plus, unlike the navy, the army seems content with subpar food, a situation which does not inspire the creativity of the chefs—not to mention the frequent turnover in cook staff means there’s no chance for skill to develop. 

Supposedly, they are able to get this K-Brot because it is the cheapest, least popular kind. The food at the army banquet room at the General Staff Office doesn’t even measure up to the offerings in the navy’s gun rooms, let alone the wardrooms of which it is so proud. She’s simply astonished at the army’s staunch refusal to accept the navy’s point about their budget squandering. Are they trying to beat the Commonwealth in a contest for world’s worst food? Even haggis would be better. 

No one would ever eat this out of personal preference. 

“What do you think, Captain? It’s the General Staff Office special.” 

No, she wouldn’t come here out of personal preference, but an invitation from Colonel von Kordel from General Staff Personnel and Brigadier General von Zettour from the Service Corps can’t be refused. 

“To be frank, sir, I can’t help but be impressed—especially the way it reminds me the battlefield is everywhere.” 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! A fine answer, don’t you think, General von Zettour?” 

She has to take care to remain polite in her response to Zettour’s question while revealing her true feelings. She knows soldiers are expected to put up with poor food, but isn’t this taking it a little far? 

They seem to like her response quite a bit, though. Even Kordel is smiling in amusement. “Perhaps we should call this place the Perpetual Battlefield Café,” he muses. “Your attitude is commendable, Captain, but please don’t hold back.” 

“Oh no, I’ve had my fill. Please don’t mind me.” 

Apparently, they aren’t here for the flavor, either. 

“Are you sure? You’re a growing girl—you need to eat.” 

“I’m always doing my best to eat, sir, but I have a small stomach.” 

The comment comes from Zettour, whose position means he can use—and is stuck using—the General Staff Office banquet room. He probably ribs the new General Staff appointees in the same way. Tanya knows that some of the war college instructors like to joke a bit now and then. 

But that’s only until the meal is finished. 

Kordel tells the orderly clearing their dishes to bring coffee and then leave them be for a while; that’s when the real talk begins. 

“All right, let’s get down to business. Oh, and belated congratulations on your promotion, Captain von Degurechaff.” 

It was Kordel himself who authorized her to be promoted to captain immediately upon graduation from the war college. Now he seems to be making an obvious point of congratulating her. 

“Thank you, Colonel.” 

Tanya was forced to sit in a higher chair because of her stature, but even when she straightens her back, she has to look up to see his face. Still, she expresses her gratitude in a clear voice that is the exact stereotype of what a commissioned officer should sound like. 

She knows that in the large organization known as the military, examples are meant to be followed. 

And in fact, the colonel from Personnel, whom she has never met before, is giving her a wide, familiar smile. He’s only doing it because he’s supposed to, but courtesy is never meaningless. At the very least, it’s a tool you can use to probe your opponent’s vulnerabilities during negotiations. 

She speaks grandly, despite the total disinterest she feels. The promotion papers have already been issued. 

She knows already, without the colonel’s kind congratulations. Just like she knows that the really important matter is the one they are about to discuss. 

“Now, we didn’t call you here just to say well done on your promotion. There’s also the question of your assignment.” 

Yes. Her path after graduation. The ultimate fate of war college graduates is decided not by the instructor superintendent but by the General Staff—that is, personnel decisions are made by a small, tight clique. Naturally, if you get on their bad side, you can expect to pay for it, but the reverse is also true. 

“We’ll take your wishes into consideration to the extent possible.” 

“I appreciate that.” 

Kordel says they will consider her wishes, but the message is that they will pretend to listen to her. People from Personnel don’t usually give completely one-sided orders. Still, no matter how friendly they act, you can’t let down your guard. Tanya knows well that these people live in a world of kind artifices. Well, she will just have to respond superficially herself. 

“But I’m a soldier. Wherever I am ordered to go, I’ll humbly accept.” 

It’s a hollow remark. Saying she will humbly accept any posting is better than rocking the boat. Of course, she also has to take care not to draw the short straw. 

“That’s good to hear. Here are the papers that have come for you.” 

The colonel seems satisfied with her response. He carefully pulls out a sheaf of personnel request forms and hands them to her. They are all from frontline units, all desperately in need of both mages and officers, but she does see some units reorganizing in the rear among them. She seems to be very much in demand. Of course, she has no doubt that if she plays her hand wrong, all her choices will vanish, and she’ll be sent to the worst possible place. 

“Oh, and there’s one from the General Staff Office, too.” 

The final form he holds out to her simply says that General Staff asked for her to be posted there. 

“In light of your achievements, Personnel won’t force anything on you. Choose whichever you like.” 

“So I have my pick? It’s a tough decision.” 

Really, it only looks like I have a choice. The General Staff Office makes the personnel decisions. I guess it was nice of them to let me know how many offers I got. 

She isn’t stupid enough not to come when the General Staff calls. There’s no way to refuse. 

“I can imagine…” 

The colonel solemnly urges her to give it plenty of thought. It’s all a charade, but he looks every inch an experienced military man offering advice to an eager young person trying to decide the next step in her career. He’s a fine actor. Well, she already knew from the moment he started humoring her terrible performance that this was a third-rate script with an obvious outcome. 

“…However, there’s no such thing as an easy job, in any era.” 

“Sir.” 

She remains bolt upright as she replies. He is busy, too. Apparently he doesn’t have time to go along with this poorly written drama for too long. 

“I don’t know what the General Staff Office wants with you. I can only tell you I wish you the best of luck.” 

“I’m touched, Colonel.” 

The best of luck. A personal expression. The message contains his own goodwill toward her. Something makes him esteem her highly. 

In other words, it’s a lie that he doesn’t know what they want; she should assume he does. She wants to ask if he has any information, and before she knows it, she finds herself cocking her head like the child she is. 

In response, the colonel nods as if he understands, and gets to his feet. “Very sorry I can’t stay for dessert, but I must be on my way.” 

“Thank you for your time, Colonel von Kordel, I’ll see you later.” 

The colonel hurries out of the banquet as if the discussion is over. Following him with his eyes, Zettour calls over an adjutant he has kept waiting nearby. Taking the stack of papers he is handed, he comes to the most important matter he has called her here to discuss. 

“Let’s talk about you, Captain. And let’s be practical. You’re going to be assigned to the General Staff. I won’t be your direct superior, but I want you to basically consider yourself to be working for me.” 

“Yes, sir. Looking forward to it.” 

It’s a calm, matter-of-fact conversation. But even Zettour, who has served for much of his life, would never have dreamed he would see the day when a child of eleven became his subordinate. 

Even he had expected her to have a harder time fitting in at the war college. But she had the talent to be chosen as a knight, and given her combat experience, age became less of an issue. 

The head of this small captain contains notions that have taught them the foolishness of judging a situation on sight. Normally, that alone would be disturbing. It’s so unusual to see such outstanding ability from someone so young. 

He doesn’t know whether they should praise her original ideas or call her insane. 

But can they use her as a commissioned officer? That’s the only question in which Zettour and the General Staff are interested. If they can use her, there is nothing further to discuss. 

“Very good.” 

She doesn’t even seem hesitant about taking charge of a battalion even though she has never led a company. That suggests that she suspected this appointment was on its way. 

He’s heard from the war college librarians in the military history archive that she was researching battalion-scale maneuvers. She never would have thought to be so ready if she weren’t completely confident. In that sense, Captain von Degurechaff, sitting before him, had become a battalion commander even before the orders came down. 

“Captain, the General Staff intends to give you a battalion as soon as possible.” 

To be perfectly honest, it is understandable if she’s eager. A battalion of mages means a certain amount of authority and combat capability that’s still small enough to be fairly mobile. Many of the instructors said that she seemed to see herself as most suited for the front lines, and he can see now that they are right. They said that although she valued the lives of her troops, her combat style was bold and aggressive. 

So she is both an ambitious field officer and an excellent mage. Surely she’s willing to take some troops and do her thing on the forward-most line. 

“I’m honored, sir.” 

But Zettour hopes there will be a larger role to play for the handful of mage officers who graduated from the war college. In a sense, he even sees this as an excellent opportunity. 

“Good. However, the battalion you’ll be given will be a newly assembled unit of mages.” 

“Newly assembled, sir?” 

“It’s just the way the organization works. Get ready—it’s not going to be easy.” 

She will have to organize them, train them, and establish her authority over them. Without the assistance of some older hands, each of those tasks will be difficult. People create organizations, but organizations don’t create people. 

Thus, those who are capable of organizing things are considered pillars of the Imperial Army. That’s why they are making her take on a battalion now that they’ve succeeded in putting it together. 

“That being the case, tomorrow or the next day you’ll also receive orders as a formation officer.” 

They say you should set a thief to catch a thief, and he figures he will take advantage of every system he can. That’s understandable—it will take some doing to give a captain who has never led a company a battalion of mages. 

The “formation officer” position, for example, is a relic from the Middle Ages, when mercenaries were integrated into the regular army. All you had to do to merit the title was be an officer, no company-commander experience necessary. It’s a way of giving someone oversight of several mercenary units. It is also a system left over from three hundred years ago, but since it hasn’t been abolished, it’s still valid. 

As long as it is good on paper, no one will complain. Of course, it’s possible that’s because no one knows what a formation officer is. 

“‘Formation officer’? Isn’t that a rather antiquated title?” 

But Tanya is a sharp one. She recognizes that it’s outdated. No doubt she will soon realize that this is a way of using existing systems to cover for what he wants to push through. 

I can count on this one. She’s so outstanding that if she were a man, I would be happy to marry my granddaughter to her. She is so reliable, in fact, that it’s all too easy to lose sight of the fact that the soldier before him is just a little girl. 

“It’s difficult to give a battalion to a captain. When you succeed in assembling the unit, I’ll try to swing a promotion to major for you.” 

Perhaps he shouldn’t really say that. But she will probably work harder if he can convince her that he is on her side. Creating a battalion from scratch is a lot of work. It would be advantageous if she knew she didn’t have to be on guard against the Service Corps. 

“…So for all intents and purposes, I’m a battalion commander?” 

“You just worry about doing the job. I’ll handle your assignment and promotion.” 

Apparently, she hasn’t forgotten that she once said she wanted a battalion. She, a first lieutenant, to a brigadier general. There is no question that she is uncommonly determined and confident. And her abilities are the real thing. 

She is that rare person who can be both a mage and a commanding officer. He will put her to good use, even if that means enduring the slings and arrows of the other departments. 

“May I say something that is liable to provoke antipathy?” 

The expression on her face is innocent, but she is being cautious enough to ask. Something liable to provoke antipathy? She’s already done that. Though the rumor that she’s getting a battalion after appealing directly to the brass hasn’t gotten around yet, she sticks out due to her rapid rise through the ranks. But if she is acknowledging the unrest, it means she understands the reality and is asking for help. 

“It’s a bit late to be worried, isn’t it? What is it? Tell me.” 

“I’ll have full authority over the formation of the unit?” 

“As I said, we’ll do all we can to ensure you get the people and the equipment you want.” 

The reply to her question is clear. She can do as she likes. If necessary, the Service Corps is prepared to support her. They even got Personnel on board to some extent, as evidenced by Kordel’s presence at the meeting. 

That was the agreement from the start. Measures are in place to accommodate her preferences for personnel and gear as much as possible. 

“You can organize the unit however you like. Just keep it under forty-eight members.” 

He is being considerate; in a sense, it’s a way of apologizing for making her build a battalion from the ground up. The sweetest part of the deal is the size of the unit. He has procured the budget for an augmented battalion. He got an exception made, given that this was an experimental unit. 

“Forty-eight people? An augmented battalion. Thank you, sir.” 

“It only makes sense that our quick reaction battalion should be augmented. I was able to wrangle the budget for it on the grounds that it would be a brand-new unit.” 

All he had to do was whisper, Can you even use an underfunded quick reaction force? and Operations agreed to support the project. Although he suspects he also had no small help from Rudersdorf, who respected his aims. 

But above all, it was practical considerations that swayed Rudersdorf’s decision. A single unit near at hand that can be easily used is far more valuable than multiple forces stationed far away. Anyone would agree. 

“The only restriction is that you can’t draw people from the Western or Northern Army Groups. That part is nonnegotiable.” 

The only limiting factor is where the personnel can come from. It won’t do to have her plucking elite soldiers off the front lines. That’s partly out of consideration for the regional commands and Operations, but it also means that the core members of the new unit will be people without battle experience. 

It’ll be a good opportunity for the various regional armies to share their experience. All the better if a little goodwill between the armies allows their pipelines to be reorganized. It would benefit the Empire in all sorts of ways. 

“We decided to make it a battalion of aerial mages to match your own specialty.” 

That goes without saying. The orders to create a unit of aerial mages have been practically issued already; it’s just a matter of time. Captain von Degurechaff seems to know that as well and says nothing. Well, dispensing with idle chatter is certainly efficient. 

“Who will I report to?” 

She asks exactly what she wants to know. It would be so much easier if I could just say, “Readiness Command,” but he can only offer a pained smile. 

It certainly is necessary for a commander to think about who they’re serving under. Her analytical approach shows how qualified she is. She is asking in earnest, not sarcastically. 

“Since yours will be a quick reaction force, you’ll be under the direct command of the General Staff. Your formation code will be in the V600s. Any special requests?” 

“Not particularly. Please pick whatever is appropriate.” 

Zero hesitation. Not much interest in codes or ornamentation, then? Although she does seem to understand the necessity of having them, in terms of identifying the unit. 

“Then you’ll be 601. Basically speaking, you have no superior officer. Be glad. You’re reporting directly to General Staff.” 

“Everything’s coming up roses.” 

“Yes, indeed. Anyone would be jealous.” 

Being a battalion commander is popularly considered the best job—still able to go into battle as a commander and possessing a great degree of autonomy. Basically, it allows the leader to fight their own war. It’s an enjoyable job for those skilled enough to do it. 

Reporting directly to the General Staff makes things even better, since much of the annoying bureaucratic tape gets removed. 

“How much time do I have to organize the unit?” 

“The sooner you can do it, the better, but there’s no set deadline.” 

“I see. Then I’ll consider my selections carefully.” 

As for where they’ll be stationed, the north and west don’t really have the wherewithal to accommodate them because of their proximity to the main fight, while the south and east tend to be sticky politically. Most likely they’ll be fairly removed from those areas, somewhere in between them. Even if his aides would be handling the details instead of him, he can guess that much. 

“I imagine you’ll be based somewhere in the southeast.” 

“Understood, sir.” 

As far as possible from where the fighting is heaviest. In other words, they’re giving her a wink that means she has as much time as she needs to train her subordinates. The smirk on Tanya’s face reminds Zettour of some unpleasant rumors he’s heard about her. Supposedly, her criteria for selecting subordinates are overly strict. 

“A word of warning, Captain. You have a reputation for being a bit too choosy with your candidates.” 

Appearing to lack the strength and talent to cultivate subordinates is a big minus. It’s a given in the military that you don’t get to choose your colleagues. You simply have to make the best of the situation you are given. 

If you can’t, then no matter how distinguished you are as an individual, you will fail as an officer and as a soldier. At best, you will be considered a lone wolf and find yourself without a friend to turn to within the organization. The packs will defeat you with their numerical advantage. 

“I don’t doubt your abilities, but it’s not an especially good reputation to have. I suggest you be careful.” 

“Thank you for your concern.” 

She has the composure to take criticism in stride. That’s encouraging. He suspects she already has an idea of who she wants in the unit. 

“Well, you earned this through your own efforts. You should be proud.” 

“Pride goeth before destruction, sir. I try to stay humble.” 

“Great. I think that attitude will serve you well.” 

Most importantly, this girl doesn’t let promotions and special privileges go to her head. She is relaxed and open; no matter how much favor she receives, she won’t lose herself in it but only work that much harder. She is truly a rare officer. Maybe you could even call her noble. Nobility has, in truth, always been a way of acting, not just a bloodline. The von isn’t everything. If the way a person comports themselves is aristocratic, then blood doesn’t matter. 

“I expect the papers to come through tomorrow. Stay in your quarters tonight.” 

“You’ve thought of everything.” 

I detect a hint of annoyance. Well, it’s understandable; her rank seems to change every day. 

“Just a gesture of apology on my part. Pay it no mind.” 

“No, thank you very much.” 

“I have high hopes for you, Captain. I wish you great success.” 

She will be granted an experimental unit. It’s a serious responsibility, and he really is expecting a great deal of her. Indeed, he hopes his experiment will bear fruit. 

V600. 

There is no record of that formation code anywhere. With the exception of a classified handful, the materials made public after the war contain every code. Yet there is no V600 series. 

The numbering system of the Imperial Army starts with the Central Forces with codes in the V000s. If all the regional armies were added together, that still only accounts for codes up to the V400s. The only exception we could think of might be a unit under Central Technology. But the materials that were made public only go from the V000s to the V500s. 

Some experts point out the possibility that V600 was the code given to a special experimental unit in order to maintain an especially high level of secrecy. The fierce technological race that took place during the Great War resulted in a much more advanced world than before the conflict. Winning that race required utmost secrecy. Perhaps they set up a unit outside the normal numbering system so no one would know about it. 

That suggestion was worth thinking about. Ender’s team got right to work making a list of people who seemed likely to be involved in such a project. At the same time, my own team started working through the documents from the Imperial Army’s Technology Division. We hit upon an engineer attached to Central. 

We were able to obtain a chance to speak with him in person. His name was Adelheid von Schugel, and he was chief engineer. He headed the project that produced the Elinium Arms Type 97 Assault Computation Orb in the middle of the war, which was hailed as a masterpiece. 

We heard the devout Mr. Schugel attended mass every Sunday morning without fail. Thanks to the offices of the priest of the church he attends, we were able to get an interview. Luckily, he allowed us to visit, although we would be closely monitored. 

Mr. Schugel was a man of intellect, as we heard. “It is my joy to welcome visitors from afar on a day I’ve prayed to God. It must be what the Lord wishes,” he murmured, showing great hospitality to us considering we were intruding on the Sabbath. 

Honestly, it caught me off guard. I was expecting an imperial engineer to be more difficult. I confessed my narrow-mindedness in doubting such a gentle person as Mr. Schugel, and asked for his forgiveness. 

“You’ve seen the error of your ways. All things happen according to his will.” 

He accepted my apology with a smile, and immediately after that we asked him about the V600 unit. But the moment we mentioned it, the military police officer who must have been there to referee the interview prevented Mr. Schugel from answering. There was something there. We were sure of it. 

But Mr. Schugel, with a wry smile at the MP, said something completely unexpected. 

“The unit code V600 doesn’t exist. But go through the records, gentlemen. Journalists need to know their history.” 

He was smiling wryly when he gave us that baffling reply; we decided V600 must refer not to a unit but something else, and we continued our investigation on that basis. The key was his hint about studying history. 

A unit code that didn’t seem to exist? No. It really didn’t exist. We agonized over it for close to a month before a specialist in military organization put an end to our suffering. 

A colleague from the foreign desk introduced us to him, and he recognized our mistake immediately. 

“A V number?” he said. “That’s a formation code.” 

In the Imperial Army system, unit formation was handled by the Service Corps, and Operations actually made use of the troops. The important point here is that the people doing the organizing and the people doing the deploying were in different departments. Normally, the latter would simply take over the numbers under which the former had assembled a unit. 

For example, say the Service Corps created unit V101 with the intention of replenishing the central forces. Operations would put it to work as the 101st Task Force. But if it wasn’t clear where a unit was assigned, they would pick a code that wasn’t normally used in order to avoid misunderstandings. So obviously, the formation code V600 could exist even if no unit in the six hundreds did. 

That’s what confused us. We’d been chasing a six-hundred-unit ghost of our own creation. I hope you’ll laugh at us. We thought we had figured out the truth, but look where it got us. 

We made an impromptu decision to head for the beer hall to collect information, and I record only that we spent the entire day there. (Sadly, we weren’t able to expense the trip.) 

Now I understood. The wise Mr. Schugel thought we were onto something. His one mistake was thinking I’d done enough studying to understand his cryptic advice. 

But now we were getting somewhere, we were sure. For some reason, we all had terrible headaches, but we started poring over the unit formation paperwork left behind by the Service Corps section of the Imperial Army General Staff Office. And we had no trouble finding what we were looking for. 

Among all those neatly organized files, there was only one with the number six hundred, as if it were begging to be found. But it was practically empty. There was just one simple memo: 

Attn: Service Corps, Imperial Army General Staff Office 

We guide him always, abandon him never, go where there is no path, never yielding, forever on the battlefield. Everything we do, we do for victory. We seek mages for the worst battlefields, the smallest rewards, days darkened by a forest of swords and hails of bullets, and constant danger with no guarantee of survival. To those who return go the glory and the honor. 

General Staff Office 601st Formation Committee 

But what was the unit code that went with formation code 601? Unfortunately, the file contained only that single piece of paper. The highly charged prose was unusual, though; normally the Imperial Army loathed anything that smacked of literary rhetoric. 

Anyone who saw it would remember it. Having made up our minds about that, we began questioning mages who were in the army at the time. With the very first one we spoke to, we hit the jackpot. But what he told us was deeply disappointing. 

“Oh yeah, that’s famous. About the propaganda unit, right? The people who actually applied came back pretty ticked off.” 

“A propaganda unit?” 

“Right. The public relations department wanted a unit that would ‘convey the justice and nobility of the Empire’ or whatever.” 

“Hmm, we haven’t seen any materials that mention propaganda.” 

“Well of course you haven’t. If people knew they were using a big unit of aerial mages just for propaganda, there would’ve been trouble.” 

“I’m sorry, what are you trying to say?” 

“I heard there was a storm of complaints from the Service Corps and the front lines, and they scrapped the whole thing. It’s a pretty well-known story, as I recall.” 

Incredulous, we spoke to several other former imperial mages. We half hoped they’d deny it and half hoped, in resignation, that they’d say, Oh yes, I heard about that. 

But—and I don’t know whether this is a cruel trick of fate or a happy accident—the truth turned out to be somewhat different. Several mages gave us strong alternate accounts. 

“Yes, I heard of that. They failed to come to an agreement on the idea of a Readiness Command, and that was the result.” 

“Wasn’t it a propaganda unit?” 

“Nah, that was just a lie. I heard V600 was the code they gave to the quick reaction force.” 

“Quick reaction force?” 

“Yes, they wanted a unit that could get around faster than the Great Army, but I guess it didn’t work out.” 

That was from a former soldier who served in the central army. 

“I think V600 was just a convenient way of referring to the combined Western and Eastern Army Groups.” 

“Did you hear anything about it being a quick reaction force or propaganda?” 

“Those were just bluffs. Happens a lot in wartime, you know.” 

“So what kind of unit was V600?” 

“The short version is that it was a reorganization of the western and eastern armies after they took a beating in the early phases of the war.” 

“A reorganization?” 

“Right. It was easier than dissolving them.” 

“So what about the other rumors?” 

“What I heard was that they were bluffs from Intelligence. To make the enemy worry that they were creating a brand-new elite unit.” 

This from a former member of the Northern Army Group. 

In addition to those things, we heard every kind of speculation, from the utterly plausible to the nearly absurd. We joked with each other that we could compile an encyclopedia of battlefield rumors—but it left us unsure what to do next. The more we investigated, the more new factors bubbled up. I know they say there’s no single truth, but this was ridiculous. We were completely lost. 

What is correct? I decided to start with that question. We had heard a lot of different things, but something was bothering me. I tried doing a statistical analysis of the accounts we amassed. Sometimes they agreed, and sometimes they contradicted one another. That meant there had to be some seed of truth in the rumors, but they took on a life of their own; now it was possible we might never learn what really happened. 

It felt like a microcosm of the war itself. Much has been said about the conflict, and everyone understands that it was an awful tragedy, but the truth of it, what really happened, remains unclear. 

V600 and the Eleventh Goddess spurred our confusion. 

But could they also have been the very heart of the war? 

(Andrew, WTN special correspondent) 

GENERAL STAFF HEADQUARTERS, FORMATION SECTION 

An office with a sign that reads “G ENERAL S TAFF O FFICE, S ERVICE C ORPS, F ORMATION S ECTION, 601 ST F ORMATION C OMMITTEE ” has been set up in a corner of the General Staff Office to deal with the creation of a new unit. And the office’s primary occupant, Captain Tanya von Degurechaff, is confronted with the mysteries of the world, truly at wit’s end. 

The cause of this is the mountain of application forms that greeted her when she sat down in her made-to-order chair and looked at her desk. The huge volume might make some sense if she were recruiting fresh graduates; the General Staff paid well, so if an open call went out for new alums, even she would have considered applying. 

But that isn’t what this is. Although she sometimes senses that her feelings don’t quite match up with other people’s, this came completely out of left field. Figuring there must have been some mistake, she picks up the guidelines that were distributed to all the regional armies and goes over it word by word, but there are no errors anywhere. 

We guide him always, abandon him never, go where there is no path, never yielding, forever on the battlefield. Everything we do, we do for victory. We seek mages for the worst battlefields, the smallest rewards, days darkened by a forest of swords and hails of bullets, and constant danger with no guarantee of survival. To those who return go the glory and the honor. 

They will be constantly thrown onto the front lines, and the last to fall back in a retreat. It’s a declaration of a perpetual battlefield where they will have to force their way into the enemy lines even when it seems impossible, with neither surrender nor retreat as options. And for taking on the toughest battles, she wrote honestly, there would be minimal reward. Surely, she had more than fulfilled her duty of explanation. She even wrote about forests of swords and hails of bullets—the fact that if applicants let down their guard for even one second, they would be dead. The notice did say that those who survived would be granted medals or whatnot, but that’s practically the same as saying they would get nothing at all. 

No matter how she looks at it, it’s as good as saying, Please join me on a one-way tour of Hell, thank you very much . Common sense told her that no one would respond to such a call. 

She certainly wouldn’t have answered it, and she was sure most soldiers wouldn’t, either. That way, she could have stalled for time on the grounds that there weren’t enough volunteers. Just a few days earlier, she was marveling that the Service Corps had allowed such an outrageous call for applicants to go out at all. 

Mages enjoy top treatment as elites; there was no way they would respond to these ridiculous requirements. It was like sending a want ad to Wall Street that read, “Must work uncompensated overtime; no workers’ comp; must be able to work weekends and holidays; low pay; no health insurance. Upon business success, employees are guaranteed a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. (Chances of success are extremely slim.)” No one would expect any economists or traders to respond to that. 

When Tanya sent out the brutal job description, she had counted on killing at least three months gathering volunteers. And yet here she is, confronted with massive piles of papers that tell her there are enthusiastic applicants from every regional army. It hasn’t even been a week yet. 

“Why did this happen…?” she groans to herself, burying her head in her hands on top of her desk. When she established this office, she requested minimal help from the Service Corps on the naive assumption that the number of volunteers would be small enough that she could handle everything herself—a move she now deeply regrets. 

It’s disappointing that her plan hasn’t worked out, but the bigger problem is the mountain of applications so large that no one could possibly deal with it alone. She fancies herself adept at paperwork, but even she has limits. Unfortunately, it won’t be a simple matter to obtain the additional personnel she needs. 

In a sense, it’s a failure of strategy. Improving the situation with makeshift tricks will not be easy. Part of her wants to know what in the world happened to common sense, but regardless, she has to admit that her assumption was seriously flawed. Yes, Mage Captain Tanya von Degurechaff, formation officer of the General Staff Office’s 601st Formation Unit, confronted harsh reality and lost. 

To begin with, being entrusted with the General Staff Office’s far-reaching plan for the experimental creation of a quick reaction mage battalion was unexpected. For Tanya’s part, she had simply hoped to gain some insider knowledge by showing her talent to Brigadier General von Zettour by reporting her reading of the situation. Now she’s suddenly found the brass giving her a battalion to do with as she liked. 

There were many times she nearly screamed, I don’t understand! She had murmured the empty words: As a soldier, nothing could make me happier than to be a part of this , but deep down, the situation made no sense to her. 

The magnitude of what the organization did for her, this powerful backing, is incredible. This situation is like those unbelievable sights that make people doubt their eyes. It’s so unsettling, she has the urge to put a rifle to someone’s head and pull the trigger just to check if this is reality. 

After all, even if her permission to ignore the army’s hierarchy to form her unit is only nominal, she has a practically free hand. And the unit she’s forming is an augmented battalion. To top it all off, she can set her own deadline. 

Tanya is at wit’s end, mulling anxiously over all of it, when she catches sight of the phone on her desk and remembers something the busy-ness drove clear out of her head: She has an adjutant. Yes, she’s pretty sure she was given an adjutant. Finally recalling that fact, she has an epiphany— can’t I use an adjutant as a secretary? —and picks up the phone. 

“Adjutant, adjutant!” 

A week has passed since the little office was established in a corner of the General Staff Office. The moment Tanya remembers her adjutant, she picks up the phone and calls for the officer. Her head is completely occupied with thoughts of how badly she needs more people to help work through the mountain of paperwork. If possible, she wants a dozen of those commissioned military police officers, the nagging ones who never miss a detail. 

“You called, Captain?” 

Hmm? It’s the voice of a young woman, one she remembers. 

It makes her pause, but her brain is completely devoted to paperwork. She responds to the voice from the door half-heartedly, without even looking up. But this lady is reporting in for the first time. I should at least look her in the eye. When she raises her head and sees a familiar face looking back at her, she realizes her own features are cramping into a startled expression, like a pigeon hit by a peashooter. It’s not part of her usual repertoire. 

“It’s been a long time, Captain von Degurechaff. Second Lieutenant Viktoriya Ivanova Serebryakov, reporting for duty.” 

The woman snapping off a perfect salute in front of her was one of the first subordinates Tanya ever had. As she returns the gesture, Tanya checks the rank insignia on Serebryakov’s shoulder and sees she is indeed a second lieutenant. She must have completed the accelerated officer training program and been promoted. After reaching this conclusion, Tanya finally lowers her arm. 

“It sure has, Lieutenant Serebryakov. Oh, belated congratulations on your promotion.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” 

It’s a mild surprise to meet such an unexpected person in such an unexpected place. 

“So you’re my adjutant?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

I see, so the higher-ups are being awfully considerate. Assigning an adjutant of the same gender was already quite thoughtful. She isn’t planning on having her handle any personal matters anyhow, but she appreciates the thought that a woman would make things easier on her, even if the gesture is somewhat unnecessary. 

In any event, Tanya was merely hoping for a competent adjutant. She’s more than happy to have miscalculated. With an adjutant who is not only competent but also warrants a measure of trust, work will go much smoother. She’s capable, so luckily I can work her hard. 

“Okay, Lieutenant. I’m sorry for the trouble, but I need you to go tell the commander of the guard that I want to borrow a few MPs.” 

Really, she wants a phone line directly to the military police office, but for some reason phones that can reach outside lines aren’t allowed at personal desks in the Army General Staff Office. Maybe it is about maintaining secrecy, but it’s tiresome; maybe they just don’t want to bother putting in a switchboard. 

“Understood, Captain. How many MPs should I ask for?” 

“However many are available, but I’d like a dozen if possible.” 

“Got it. I’ll contact them right away.” 

The interaction went so smoothly that Tanya feels a smile tug at her cheeks. She’s annoyed by the amount of work she has to do, but having a useful subordinate will reduce her burden quite a bit. Of course, she can’t really say that until they have assembled some manpower. In any case, she has to deal with the fact that there are too many volunteers. 

She takes a breath and gives the list a determined second look. Closer inspection reveals that, for some reason, it includes applicants from the western and northern armies, even though she was instructed to choose applicants from forces that are not currently engaged. Given the work involved in sorting through all these applications, it’s probably an administrative error. Thinking along those lines, she hits on the idea that the way to fix the problem is to reissue the call for volunteers. 

Her plan is to consider all the applications void on bureaucratic grounds, and put out a new notice. 

“Right, I’ll have to go see the brigadier general right away.” 

She starts counting her chickens, thinking how just protesting the number of administrative mistakes will buy her plenty of time. But she only gets halfway to her feet before she realizes she is being too hasty. 

Wait, wait. You haven’t thought this through. 

She originally put the call out on the assumption that no one would respond. The urgent demand for combat potential and strict requirements would mean she had to scrutinize those few applications, which was supposed to buy her time. But then a huge number of people applied. There is a real danger of being accused of taking too much time on the mountain of paperwork if she gets too picky. 

So Tanya reconsiders. It would be smarter to form the unit as soon as possible, and then try to drag out their training as long as I can to turn them into a sturdy human shield. For her own safety, the more time she has to prepare the subordinates who will protect her the better. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see the applications from the west and north. At the end of my “strict screening,” I’ll decide to let them off this time—lucky them! They were probably forced to volunteer, anyway; they would be just as happy getting passed over and not sent to vicious battlefields where no one in their right mind would want to go. In other words, the best outcome they could hope for was not to be chosen. Overlooking them would surely count as secret good deeds. 

I can actually take advantage of the fact that there are so many applicants. She’ll put up hurdles to ensure she creates the best possible unit. It’ll end up taking a while to form but still retain a high level of quality. If she’s lucky, she can waste all sorts of time. At worst, she can expect those who survive the selection process to make reliable shields. This isn’t half bad. 

Yes. Having come this far, I should focus on damage control. I want to avoid making any stupid Concorde-esque decisions. 

Damage control means reducing losses—in other words, not rocking the boat. If she can just do that, there will be no problems. I’ll set the standards so high that they’ll send even evil deities fleeing. 

That’s the sort of idea that occurs to someone who’s in a bit of a panic. 

IMPERIAL ARMY GENERAL STAFF AFFILIATED AGENCY, RECEPTION ROOM 7 

“First Lieutenant Aisha Schulbertz, reporting for duty.” 

“First Lieutenant Crane Barhalm, reporting for duty.” 

Two young officers arrived at the capital, summoned from the eastern army. The 601st Formation Committee base had been set up in the suburbs of the city, and they arrived at eleven o’clock sharp, just as instructed. A new elite mage unit was being formed. The applicants had been told to introduce themselves, and the ambitious pair, eager to do their duty, announced their names and ranks with spirit. 

“Thank you for coming. I’m Colonel Gregorio von Turner, head of the 601st Formation Committee.” 

He eyed them over the desk in front of him as if he could see through to their souls, and his battle-hardened aura made the two first lieutenants straighten up unconsciously. 

The colonel’s gaze froze them in place, but then he nodded as if in acceptance. 

“I’m sure you’ve both been informed of the day’s schedule, but there’s been a last-minute change of plans.” 

Even in the academy, changes in schedules and objectives were commonplace. 

No doubt they’re looking for flexibility. After reaching that conclusion, the two lieutenants focused their full attention on the colonel so as not to miss a word. 

“Scrap what you were told about reporting to Training Ground Seven by 1400 today. The two of you should head for the Sixth Aerial Combat Unit’s headquarters on the double.” 

On the double. They figured that was the important part. It had to be a test of how quickly they could respond to urgent orders. 

“Furthermore, this goes without saying, but you’re both required to maintain confidentiality with regard to the selection process.” 

A duty of confidentiality, that makes sense , they thought. They began reconsidering how they could travel given they had to maintain secrecy. The city limits were a no-fly zone, but they could probably use regular transportation. Basically, that meant a military vehicle—ideally, one associated with Command or the military police. 

“I warn you, if there is any question about your ability to maintain secrecy, you’ll find yourselves returned instantly to your original unit with a note on your record.” 

“Sir!” they both replied. 

He had hardly needed to warn them. They quickly withdrew and began conferring with each other. 

“The Sixth Aerial Combat Unit’s headquarters? Sorry, but do you know where that is?” 

“Yeah, no problem. I’m pretty sure they’re stationed at the Auksburg air base.” 

Barhalm had never heard of the unit or its headquarters, but luckily, Schulbertz knew it. Auksburg air base was located on the outskirts of the imperial capital. As she recalled, it was home to a transport unit capable of handling a large-scale mission. No doubt an elite unit would want some connection with the air force. And a base on the outskirts of the city would make the most sense from the perspective of maintaining secrecy. 

“So it’s on the outskirts, then? How are we going to get out there? I wonder if we can requisition a military vehicle somewhere.” 

The reasoning was simple to understand, even for a couple of young first lieutenants. But that left them with the challenge of how to obtain a military vehicle. Sadly, they were currently attached to the eastern army. The y had absolutely no authority to give orders to other units, leaving them with limited transportation options. And given the confidentiality stipulation, if they showed up at the base in a civilian taxi or the like, they wou ld no doubt be turned away. 

“The MP unit attached to General Staff should have vehicles. Maybe they can lend us an extra.” Thinking quickly, Schulbertz came up with the idea when she saw an approaching MP salute at them. She trotted over, confirming the officer was with the unit attached to the General Staff. She was sure they would have a vehicle of some kind, and since it would come from the General Staff, there would be no issues with secrecy, either. 

“Sergeant, could I trouble you for a vehicle?” 

“Of course, Lieutenant. No trouble at all.” 

The response came just as soon as she asked. Pleased with the efficiency, the pair said their thanks. The MPs saw them off with proper salutes, but the moment the car was out of sight, they all sighed in disappointment. 

Their assignment was to see off those who had been tricked and would be flown back to their bases—but there were just so many of them. 

“What’s this, the fourteenth pair?” he mused. Man, that’s a lot. 

“How many more are there today? I think I heard five.” 

They had already been asked for a vehicle fourteen times—and that was just that day. Their superiors had ordered them to march around in a visible way. If there were only one or two, they could have chalked it up to bad luck, but with this many, the intentions of the examiner were showing. 

“Oh man. I thought at least four pairs would pass.” 

Could they really not notice they were being tricked and sent back to their units? Those two earnest young officers would undoubtedly be put on a transport departing Auksburg and heading back east. 

“Looks like Third Platoon was right.” 

Third Platoon had bet that no one would pass. First Platoon had bet on four pairs passing. Incidentally, Second Platoon, which had banked on at least half passing, was already out of the running. Please, somebody pass… 

Thinking of the bottles they stood to lose, the MPs prayed fervently for the applicants’ success. They weren’t terribly religious, but they felt like leaning on God. No disciple is so pious as a gambler. 

IMPERIAL ARMY GENERAL STAFF AFFILIATED AGENCY, RECEPTION ROOM 7, TWO DAYS LATER 

“You’re saying that V601 was just propaganda all along?!” 

A young second lieutenant was shouting in protest, spittle flying at this outrage. His clenched fist looked ready to pound the desk any moment. He had rushed there in hopes of helping the Western Army Group, which were still hard-pressed, only to discover that the eastern army was being given a propaganda assignment? 

Everything about his body language made it clear that he thought this was ridiculous. 

“Calm down, Lieutenant. Believe me, I wish I could tell you otherwise.” The major facing him bowed his head apologetically. Yes, a major was effectively apologizing to a second lieutenant. He was equally concerned about the situation. But even if he couldn’t say the words I’m sorry to the second lieutenant, he could express it sincerely through his attitude. 

“…So you’re telling me to just keep my mouth shut and go home?” 

“Unfortunately. I’m thrilled at your eagerness. If there’s ever an opportunity, I hope you’ll volunteer.” 

The major sounded genuinely sympathetic. Maybe something in his voice reached the young officer, because he relaxed his fist, gave a perfect salute, and bowed upon exiting. 

“By your leave, sir.” 

No sooner had the lieutenant closed the door than the image of the major wavered and then disappeared. At the same time, chairs that had been concealed with optical formulas appeared. The young second lieutenant never had the slightest idea that he was being watched while he was saying his impassioned piece. And that was why the observers were heaving deep, defeated sighs. 

“This really makes me want us to work out optical formula countermeasures already,” spat a commissioned officer bitterly. He was one of several who had appeared where there was only a wall a moment before. They had been watching the same monotonous third-rate production all day, and they weren’t happy about it. 

In the test they were observing, morons prattled on without noticing the deception, unfortunately. Their frustration was understandable. 

The whole thing hinged on a simple gimmick: the creation of a false 3-D image using optical types. They would project the image of a nonexistent person behind a desk in a corner of the room, then just fix up the rest of the room with camouflage and optical formulas to hide any weirdness. It was merely a matter of finagling the interior design to conceal the strange placement of the desk in the corner. 

Once that was done, it looked like the desk was in the center of the room, although it did make the room seem rather small. In the remaining hidden space sat the high-ranking officers, watching everything with obvious displeasure. The second lieutenant had been so sincere, only to have his ambitions betrayed. He had been putting on a one-man show for the distinguished panel of assessors. 

Their conclusion was that being a mage didn’t guarantee cognitive ability, even on a more fundamental level than common sense. The lieutenant had provided a vivid demonstration of this shortcoming and served as an apt example of the eastern army’s lack of battle experience. That would be well and good if the subject of the test were the enemy army, but no general staff would be pleased to see how inept their own forces were. 

“Right? Although you can hardly blame them for having tunnel vision.” 

Captain von Degurechaff shrugged. The members of the eastern army had been openly angered by her annoyed look until just days before, but now their faces were pale. 

This was the test to select the members of her elite unit. The fact that almost no one from the east had managed to pass was whipping up a storm of anger. 

She said exactly what she thought: “Incompetent, pitiful, lazy, arrogant, unprepared, mentally disabled, inattentive, no powers of observation—the worst kind of freeloader.” And her conclusion was “all mages of the Eastern Army Group require reeducation”? 

This was no laughing matter, at least not according to the staffers who came in high dudgeon from the eastern army to the General Staff Office. And yet what they found when they arrived was this pitiful spectacle. 

“Rather than tell you about it, I think it would be quicker if I showed you,” Captain von Degurechaff had said, cordially inviting officers who sympathized with the complainers to be proctors. The test was simple: If the subject could see through the basic optical trick, they passed. If not, they didn’t. 

The image projected in front of the applicants had no physical form. That could be concealed somewhat by placing it behind a desk, but after watching it all day even the non-mages began to notice something was off. First and foremost, the 3-D image was only pretending to move its mouth when it spoke. 

Its synthetic voice, created by Captain von Degurechaff, was spouting fictitious nonsense from the side. If one listened very closely, it was possible to tell that the sound wasn’t coming from the front. 

Once the trick was revealed, it was irritatingly simple, but almost everyone was taken in by it. The majority of the applicants went to the air force base as they were told and were shipped right back to their units. 

By all appearances, the eastern army was not likely to get off without an admonition. In fact, it was quite certain. The ranking officers from the regional field armies who had come to protest ended up bearing the brunt of the General Staff members’ critical glares. 

“I see now. We came to investigate when you kept failing people, but now we understand.” 

When Brigadier General von Zettour, deputy director of the Service Corps, turned to the men from the eastern army, his eyes were cold. What the hell have you been doing over there? they seemed to demand. 

Deception using optical formulas was hardly new. It was even listed in mage textbooks as being especially effective against the Republican Army’s disciplined fire. Not only that, but since the Republican Army often used optical formulas on the battlefield, countering them was considered a basic part of every mage’s skill set. The fact that the candidates in this test failed to demonstrate even this elementary ability said something about the level of their training. 

“Didn’t only about half the troops from Central figure it out, even though they’ve got combat experience?” 

“The problem is that almost none of the troops from the east could.” 

As the brass whispered their criticisms, one member of the eastern contingent felt compelled to defend his army and cautiously spoke up. 

“If you’ll excuse me, might this not be a question of skill rather than experience?” 

His indirect question was whether the situation had been brought about by Captain von Degurechaff’s extraordinary abilities. At the very least, the eastern army was aware that mages with the Silver Wings Assault Badge were a tiny minority. Hence, it was possible to wonder if the gulf was one of not combat experience but prowess. 

“It’s a simple illusion created with an optical formula. Such formulas are frequently used as decoys on the battlefield.” 

But Captain von Degurechaff’s matter-of-fact answer said it all. This statement was coming from someone who had survived an entire company’s fire discipline using optical deception. It carried an immense weight. And there was no changing the fact that nearly half the troops from Central who had previously seen action on the western front didn’t get tricked. 

“You just saw them getting manipulated like puppets by something that doesn’t exist, a little bent light. Surely you understand why I don’t want them in my unit.” 

“So what are the overall results for the eastern army?” 

“Twenty-seven out of twenty-nine pairs were tricked by the illusion and returned to their units.” 

A nearby assistant read the report dispassionately, and even though they had spent all day watching this comedy of errors, the observers sighed. 

Staff from the Service Corps were already fretting about the fact that they might actually need to reeducate the regional armies. Serious doubts had arisen as to whether they could fight a war if the troops were so easily deceived. 

“Even with the five pairs out of ten from the central army that passed, that’s still only enough for a company.” 

A mere twelve people passed the initial screening, which was conducted in pairs. Even if she took every one of them, she would only have enough for a company. Just 25 percent of her goal. 

“At the moment, I’m hoping for better from the remaining sixty-five pairs in the eastern and southern armies.” 

Her tone wasn’t entirely pessimistic, but her eyes said she didn’t expect much. 

“Well, this pass ratio won’t do.” 

The verdict negated any optimism. It was as bad for those who heard it as for the one who said it. The commissioned officers from the eastern army slumped in resignation. None of them would have hoped that his unit would be branded inept, but reality was harsh. The mages of the Eastern Army Group could look forward to some cold treatment for the foreseeable future. 

“Could you lower your admission standards…?” 

“I would have to at least get people who could be useful after retraining. It would take time to assemble.” 

The openly despairing officers from the Service Corps suggested reevaluating the schedule. More than a few people were glaring at the easterners, silently asking how the hell they had been training. In any event, loosening the standards for admission would inevitably entail more time to set up the unit. 

The unit’s training period, which was the trickiest part, would have to lengthen dramatically. Calm acceptance of the fact would have been unusual. Bringing veterans together was one thing; training fresh recruits from square one was something else entirely. If the disparity between the members’ abilities was too great, it could hinder their operations. Everyone in a unit had to be brought to a uniform level. 

In other words, even if they founded the unit on the company Captain von Degurechaff had picked out so far, molding it into a real fighting force would take time. 

“How much time, exactly?” 

“About a month.” 

Ironically, it was a word from Captain von Degurechaff that saved the eastern army personnel from their predicament. When she said “a month,” all attention suddenly gathered on her, the easterners completely forgotten. Selecting and retraining a unit normally took a terribly long time. 

Yet she made this bold claim in front of an assembly of high-ranking officers as if it were no big deal. 

She was saying that given a month, she could whip even these useless bumblers into shape. 

If any other captain had said such a thing, people would think he was either a liar or an idiot. It took two years to train new recruits. No matter how experienced she was as a mage, it was madness to say this would take only a month. 

The words on the tips of everyone’s tongues were: Impossible! It can’t be done. Totally unrealistic. 

But the air around Captain von Degurechaff prevented anyone from giving voice to those thoughts. Just watch me , she seemed to say. If she hadn’t already demonstrated the ability to back it up, the amount of self-confidence she was showing would have been conceited. 

Each of the officers there found themselves completely overawed by a girl young enough to be their granddaughter. So powerful and authoritative was her presence that the issue of grilling the Eastern Army Group was temporarily shelved. 

“Go right ahead, then. Reeducate them—and be a little rough if you have to.” 

General von Zettour might have been the only person in the room to have anticipated this scenario. He smirked. A little rough. That was his way of saying she could do whatever she wanted as long as no one died. 

“Sir.” 

Captain von Degurechaff was wearing a smile much like that of her superior. It was a savage expression, like that of a vampire with its prey in its grasp—or of a cat playing with a mouse. 

“Send today’s minutes to the instructor unit as well. I want to have them retrain the southern and eastern armies.” 

And they were efficient. General von Zettour gave the command almost as an afterthought, but it indicated he had no intention of letting the matter of regional army quality rest. Rather, he intended to thoroughly correct the problem. 

“This does not bode well. Going forward, we need to make sure everyone is on the same page with regard to training.” 

IMPERIAL TERRITORY, ALPEN MOUNTAINS, ZUGSPITZE TRAINING GROUNDS 

“O Lord, show me the way to guide my sheep.” 

Eight thousand feet. A height that shatters everything we thought we knew about being aerial mages. The voice that rings out is serious. Anyone who had the slightest thought of resisting has had it trained out of them. Now we are like obedient sheep, driving our half-dead bodies to fly onward. No, we are forced to. I’m partly focused on the tightness in my lungs as I gasp for oxygen, but I still retain just enough concentration to control my orb. This all started—if my fuzzy, rather unreliable sense of time is correct—something like five days ago. 

“I’m going to give you all a choice. Either shoot me down, or enjoy your training.” 

Our bodies exhausted, we were sleeping like the dead. At least we had beds, which was better than my time on the Rhine lines. I thought maybe this was a kinder side of Captain von Degurechaff, but after I let down my guard and went to sleep, I was woken up by a magical assault that blew the entire barracks away. We immediately grabbed our orbs and trowels and put up our defensive shells. When we crawled out of the wreckage, we were met with Captain von Degurechaff’s fierce grin. I had gotten used to that smile on the Rhine battle lines, but to encounter it first thing upon waking up was worse for my heart than one of Elya’s pranks. 

The bayonet of the captain’s rifle looked as happy as a vampire on the hunt. It seemed to be waiting impatiently for some mage to carelessly pass out in front of her; despite the darkness of the night, it glimmered in the moonlight. She fully intended to attack when she saw an opening, if the vast amount of magical energy in the computation orb she wore was any indication. 

“Have I got your attention? For the next week, all of you will be conducting mobility exercises here on training ground B-113.” 

Three points were marked on the maps we had been given. According to the outline of the exercise, as soon as it began, we would move as quickly as possible to the first point. The time limit was forty-eight hours. 

It didn’t matter how we got there—what mattered was that we not fail. Marching was basic; we did plenty of drilling in the Cadet Corps. I could have done without the observer-assisted shelling and magically guided fire bombarding us whenever our mana signals were detected. 

It was extremely difficult to march while concealing the signal a mage produced. I was no exception, even though I had gained some experience with it on the Rhine lines. After all, our barracks had been blown to smithereens. Our only remaining possessions were whatever we had on us when we hastily used our defensive formulas. We barely even had any water. And now we had to march without relying on magic? An actual battle would have been easier. It made me want to cry. 

But when we somehow made it to the second waypoint, we received orders to begin an optical interception. Word was the artillery had too much free time on their hands, so the training program was being changed. 

“Everyone, I’m quite happy to see that not one of you has dropped out.” 

The moment we saw the captain with a rare ear-to-ear smile, we all felt a mysterious chill run down our spines. I knew that smile meant something even worse was coming and cursed God in spite of myself. No, c’mon! 

Her expression said something like, You haven’t had enough yet? I didn’t realize you were such a tough bunch, or Seems like I can make this a bit harder. Curse you, God. 

We had no choice but to come to terms with the fact that she would be “kind” enough to step up the training regimen according to our ability. 

“You’re all so good at this, you’ve left the artillery with ammunition to spare.” 

The rest goes without saying. The captain, still grinning, hurled me and all her other subordinates into a pit of despair. 

“You wouldn’t want them to feel left out, would you? I think you should play with the artillery.” She immediately shot an infrared beam using a formula. A training round flew down the line of fire, straight for us—an attack from the artillery against our assembly point. 

It was an artillery barrage against a fixed point. An attack so simple it couldn’t not hit. You’re all so very capable. Even I’m proud of you. How could she say such things…? 

“Really quite splendid. Granted, this is training, but you’ve still done well evading the artillery’s guided fire. As pleased as I am, it won’t do for you to go without some anti-artillery training, will it? Training means being ready for anything. So as part of this joint exercise between you and the guns, you’re going to defend this foothold as practice. This is a defensive battle. You have fifteen minutes to prepare your position. Oh, don’t look so worried. They don’t have too many training rounds. I assume they’ll run out after firing for about thirty-six hours.” 

She was as terrifying as she was adorable. Her tone was so sunny, it sounded like she was announcing picnic plans. An instant later, I was rushing to prepare an entrenchment, practically crying. I never dreamed there might be a day a trowel would seem so important to me. 

“All right, everyone. If you don’t want to die, intercept. Additionally, if you wander off the route, I will personally conduct a magical bombardment against you.” 

That was when I started to think I really was going to die. Looking back on it now, it shouldn’t have surprised me to find that there were reduced-load rounds to “wake us up” mixed in with the training shells. This was Captain von Degurechaff, after all. She was true to her word. If you don’t want to die was no idle threat. 

The artillery opened fire. I thought I was ready, but part of me couldn’t help wondering how I’d gotten here. 

“O Lord, protect thy servants. Show us thy glory and power.” 

Except for the captain, who had deployed an almost divinely powerful defensive shell, everyone was tripping over themselves to repel the incoming rounds. Judging by the distance, we had several minutes to intercept them. We had to observe carefully to find the shells on trajectories we could shoot down, and then knock them out of the sky. Easy enough to say, but horribly draining to do. 

I think there were seventy-two trainees in total. That was two battalions’ worth, but when it came to making observations and setting up a dense shield, we weren’t very good at dealing with artillery. And anything we let through would mean immediate, major losses. 

The pounding was so relentless it seemed like every battery in the area had been mobilized. If we hadn’t realized we needed to pick out the live rounds mixed in with the training ones, we really would all have been killed. The shelling continued intermittently throughout the night, driving us to despair with our exhaustion and limited vision. The worst thing was that even if you did your own job, if your teammate failed to do theirs, you could be blown away along with them. And yet, if you focused only on strengthening your own defenses, someone else could get killed. All we could do was trust our teammates, and those who failed were mercilessly culled. We’d been thrown into an extreme situation that was just like the front lines. In the end, we barely slept at all. 

When the thirty-six hours were finally up, the captain pointed to the radio, looking apologetic. “The artillery says they still have more ammo.” 

The next moment, we heard the familiar sound of something flying through the air toward us. It was very simple: The artillery had begun another salvo. But it came at a moment when we had relaxed slightly. We’d been hanging on by the skin of our teeth, and now we were shaken. My instincts screamed self-preservation, but the price was too high to pay. 

We saw once again how happily the captain did what she said she would do. In the end, the barrage didn’t last very long, but by that point the number of candidates had dropped to sixty. We set off for the third location on the map. The terms were relatively straightforward: Just go. There were no conditions besides the time limit. In other words, we had as good as no information at all. 

“Move carefully.” 

With only that advice to go on, I imagined the worst. On the lookout because who knew what might happen, we marched on, trembling in fear. Once in a while, an armed bomber company would fly a search overhead, but all we had to do was stay out of sight. For some reason, we spotted military Dobermans roaming around, but we just had to avoid them, too. Of course, everything was avoidable. 

Her warning left us paranoid; there had to be something. But as if to mock us, we never encountered any malicious traps. It really was just a march. Of course, the time limit was enough to make us wonder if a bunch of exhausted mages could make it, even at full tilt. 

When we reached the third waypoint, utterly spent, Captain von Degurechaff was there waiting for us with a grin on her face. It was time for resistance to interrogation training. 

And then, after we had survived interrogation, we were thrown into the Alpen Mountains. It was a nightmare I wish I could forget. I was crying out in a voice no young woman should ever have to make, convinced I was going to die, while the captain marched beside me unfazed. Was she an agent of the devil or of God? It had to be one or the other. 

Ahh, I can’t believe I have an ally more horrible than the enemy. She’s not human. I would bet my life on it. Me and a few others saw it once. During training, one of our teammates dropped like he was dead. The captain gave him a good kick, and before we knew it, he was back on his feet. I had been staring into the abyss of death myself. 

But I saw something else, splat on the ground with a broken leg after an avalanche in the Alpen Mountains at 7,200 feet. I’m sure no one would believe me if I told them, but I saw it. 

“You amateur. How does it feel to be a moron who slows down her team because she can’t even dodge an avalanche?” 

The captain heaped abuse on me. But I know. I saw it: She charged into the avalanche to save me. 

Even after my friends told me that she tossed my busted body aside like a used rag, I believe. She is definitely a good commander, even if I’m not sure about her as a human being. Of course, we all laugh and bad-mouth her. 

I think we’ve all gone crazy. Perhaps the captain’s madness is contagious. But God gave me a revelation that we would save the Empire. Be a leader among the apostles who will protect this holy nation. 

What an absolutely insane world. If the captain is an apostle of God, then only the devil can possibly exist. No, we can sense that the mythical gods are beings who have their own circumstances. Doctrine is for the gods. It’s not like the gods exist for our sake. 

Even so, we don’t know everything. 

It isn’t possible to create elites in just a month. Yeah, all you need is a little common sense to know that. 

But I said I would do it in front of a group of high-ranking officers. There’s no taking it back. 

Under normal circumstances, failure would be a major problem. It would damage my career, maybe even lead to a punitive posting to the front lines. But if I can lead them to the conclusion that the candidates were such low quality that even I couldn’t teach them anything, the reverse will be true. 

I’m guessing they would want to cover things up, try to pretend none of it ever happened. The Service Corps has authorized me to go to extremes. If I train them as mercilessly as I can, push them to their absolute limits, they will surely give up. 

Then this will end with everyone else getting called gutless quitters. I’ll come through unscathed. 

Hence, I’ll borrow training methods from every special unit known to military history. The American-style stuff includes water acclimation training, but we’ll do even harder altitude acclimation training. I’ll make them give me all they have. 

When that phase is over, next will be the infamous Hell Week. A total of four hours of sleep in four days. It’s a cruel method, but when you push people to the breaking point, you find out what they’re made of. Mages are capable of compartmentalizing, but there are limits. I’m doing this for a just cause, purging any fools who value themselves over their comrades. 

I’m not eager to abuse my subordinates, of course. I’m not so weak-minded as to take pleasure in meaningless violence. Every vicious act will have meaning and a rationale, or I won’t commit it. 

That’s why I welcome dropping out at any time. In fact, I wish they would hurry up and quit! I’m sure they want to escape this pressure, so they should choose to leave! Anyone who makes it through Hell Week goes straight into a week of SERE. It’ll be a packed schedule of resistance to interrogation and survival training. 

After that they’ll have nearly gone insane, so I’m sure they’ll give up, but I have a perfect plan for any war-crazy nuts who manage to hang in there. 

They’ll be dead from Hell Week and SERE, but I’ll throw them out on a long-distance, no-magic march through the Alpen Mountains for a week. 

Of course, only the absolute minimum sleep and rest will be allowed. I’m basing it on the worst battle conditions on record. How about half water rations? They won’t be allowed to carry food, of course. And using their computation orbs will be an instant fail. They’ll only be allowed to use a knife—one for every two people. 

Perhaps it makes sense if I explain it as a General Staff trip, only harder and more elaborate. Anyone who can’t cross the steep Alpen Mountains in seven days is out. And that’s quite a challenge even for someone who is in good health and properly outfitted. 

If anyone makes it under these conditions, I must be cursed. But all I have to do is mercilessly fail anyone who makes the slightest error. Then things should turn out more or less the way I want. 

And just in case they don’t, I’ve prepared foolproof insurance. 

Let me be clear: I don’t want to have to resort to this. It’s not my intention. There’s just no other way that’s quite so certain. 

So, yes, I overcame my anguish and put this insurance in place. 

I’ve made the new mass-production prototype developed by the mad scientist at Elinium Arms standard-issue equipment. Yes, that walking disaster, Chief Engineer Adelheid von Schugel. It’s an early mass-production version of the Elinium Arms Type 97 Assault Computation Orb he’s been working on. 

I’m confident that we can expect accountability problems from that infuriating man. 

Yes, there was a time I thought all that. So why, then? Is life just cursed? Or are the possibilities for humanity just endless? Maybe it’s important to have faith. 

But please remember, we must completely divest ourselves of wishful thinking. An experiential approach is always instructive. 

Please remember. Many of your failures are your own fault. And often, by the time you realize it, it’s too late. 

Suddenly, I find myself standing on a raised platform. Maybe I’m half-asleep, because just as I’m thinking maybe I should curse my own morning-hating body and its unexpectedly low blood pressure, another irresistible wave of sleepiness assaults Tanya. But then her ears catch snatches of what her mouth is saying. 

“As of today, you graduate from being worthless maggots. From this day forward, you are imperial mages. Wherever you go, from now until the moment you bite the dust, you will be bound as fellow soldiers—the members of the army are both your brothers and your brothers-in-arms. Next, you’ll be heading to the battlefield. Some of you will never return. But remember this: Every imperial soldier dies. We exist to die. But the Empire is eternal. That means you, too, are eternal! And so the Empire expects you to put up a never-ending fight.” 

… Why do I have to say all this? 

I don’t remember saying any of that stuff, but something remains in my memory as if I did. Before and after that is fuzzy. Unfortunately, Tanya has to admit that she has lost parts of her memory, perhaps because she activated the Elinium Type 95 during training. That is exactly why she hates it. 

Captain Tanya von Degurechaff, who isn’t getting any taller even though she should be growing and has trouble with equipment sizes, can’t avoid feeling conscious of her height issue—especially when she is surrounded by battle-hardened women mages (rare as they were) with great bodies. 

Good grief. I may be a knowledge worker, but my white-collar job required a certain amount of physical strength. I do pay attention to my diet, knowing that healthy work begins with a wholesome lifestyle, but nothing seems to come of it. Well, not that I would expect to get taller eating K-Brot. 

In other words, if as an individual I want to avoid wasting my efforts, I have to grow up. That’s what brought me to the military doctor, to find out why I wasn’t growing even though I should have been. It’s true: Before I knew it, I was even asking the doctor what I should do to get taller. 

The military doctor advised me that my growth was stunted because of balance issues between my muscles and training. If I addressed that, got plenty of sleep, and ate well, I would grow, she said. The smile she gave me left me suspicious. 

Immediately after, I was seized by an impulse to take my rifle and blow my head off to get rid of those memories. 

She was an awfully chubby doctor, for a woman. May disaster befall the General Staff, who choose the worst times to be considerate. Was this woman showing me, me of all people, sympathy as a fellow woman? Irritatingly, all of this started when I was accused of resisting the form of oppression known as faith because I was a man. I didn’t think it was possible, but was I brainwashed to want to mature as a woman? 

No, it’s very dangerous to come to conclusions based solely on circumstantial evidence. It’s true that I suffered much unpleasantness because of the Elinium Type 95, but I’m pretty sure the thought control is limited to when it’s active. 

Looking at my records, I can’t verify any ongoing manipulation of my thinking. But I do have the sense that something very unpleasant is developing. Devils! Do you—all of you—mean to trifle with my identity as a freedom-loving individual? 

…The next thing I know, there’s a rosary I have no memory of around my neck. 

The Holy Mother? Yes, like you see in churches. I understand. I’ve often seen the sisters handing them out. But I only ever watched. 

…Stop fleeing and face reality. 

Why do I have this unfamiliar rosary? For that matter, when did I start losing my memory? 

This is bad. I really can’t trust my memories. For something I got from a church, this thing looks awfully well used. You could say it has a sense of history around it, a presence. 

To be blunt, it seems like the sort of thing that—in my world—the church would keep as a holy relic. To the point where I want it as far away from me as soon as possible. If I had my wish, I would donate it somewhere. Anywhere. 

…This kind of thing starts to get terribly heavy hanging around your neck. 

I know I trained those candidates. It’s also true that I intended to pass no one at all on the pretext of a difficult selection process. My memories of that month are clear. But something—something is wrong. 

“Maybe my mistake was unconsciously activating it at eight thousand feet.” 

Yes, my critical error was activating the Elinium Type 95 to go higher. Maybe I should consider the possibility that spiritual corruption can build up. Rather than just manipulating my mouth for a short time, maybe it accumulates in the body like lead does. 

“Get tested for spiritual corruption? But on what grounds?” 

The military facility that performs our physicals is researching the effects of magic technology on thought. If I can trust them, they announced at a meeting of the Society for RTI Technology that they could tell if someone was having their thoughts influenced. Maybe I should get tested now, while I can still make sane judgments. 

But the problem is finding a reason. If I’m seen as a commander with mental problems, it will threaten not only my future career but also my entire life. Women administrators are not uncommon, but in the Empire where gender equality still has a ways to go, their qualifications are always questioned. Any sort of apparent problem would not be good for someone who wants to do white-collar work. 

My fretful agonizing is interrupted by a deferential knock at the door. It’s Visha, who’s starting to get used to being my adjutant, and from the look on her face I smell trouble. I immediately abandon my less urgent thoughts and switch gears to focus on work. 

“Captain, a message from the General Staff Office.” 

“Thanks. Do they need a response in a hurry?” 

If it’s some pointless errand, I want to take my time with it, if possible. 

“Yes, ma’am. There’s someone waiting for you.” 

“What?” 

After taking a glance, I snatch up a pen and read the military telegram more closely. 

It’s from the General Staff. I’m being ordered to finish assembling my unit and deploy immediately to a base in the southeast. Top priority. 

“Captain von Degurechaff? Is something the matter?” 

“…It’s too soon. It’s still way too soon. Lieutenant, get the General Staff Office on the phone.” 

I order the uncertain second lieutenant to ring the General Staff. But at that moment, as if they expected me to do that, a high-ranking staff officer appears. No, they definitely knew, which is why they sent him from the General Staff Office to talk to a mere captain like me. 

“That won’t be necessary, Major von Degurechaff.” 

“Er, Colonel von Lergen. I didn’t know you were here.” 

It’s my acquaintance, Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen. He’s sensible and a good soldier who is against sending children to the front lines. 

“Yes. Congratulations on your promotion, Major. I’ve come as an envoy. I expect you have a lot of questions.” 

The lieutenant colonel delivers this unofficial announcement as though it is already settled. I’m not unhappy to know I’ve been promoted, but I smell trouble. A high-ranking official would normally never come from the General Staff Office just to deliver the promotion papers for a simple battalion commander. 

“…Thank you for your concern. Lieutenant, leave us.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Excuse me.” 

I immediately dismiss all third parties, including my adjutant. I want the room to be as private as possible when we get down to business. My promotion… I suspect the battalion would intuit what it means. To put it another way, the battalion has to get ready for combat. Can I buy some time by saying the unit lacks discipline or hasn’t gelled yet? 

“Okay, Colonel. What’s going on here?” 

After I completed initial formation of the unit at Central, the plan was deployment to a base in the southeast. I know that depending on the state of the war, there’s a nonzero possibility of going north or west, but these orders are to immediately move to the southeast. 

Standard operating procedure is to give at least six months for the creation of a unit. It’s altogether unclear to me why they should think my unit would be ready so much sooner. 

“You’ve got your forty-eight people. The brass considers the unit formed.” 

“Yes, it’s ‘formed,’ but it isn’t a unit yet.” 

Amateurs often fail to realize that finalizing the members and becoming a unit aren’t the same thing. To make an effective fighting force, you have to take a certain amount of time to establish a chain of command and ensure everyone can work together; otherwise, it’s only a unit in numerical terms. Politician-soldiers aside, this is the General Staff’s job, so I would expect them to understand. 

That only makes it all the more terrifying. I have to wonder what would make them feel they have to force this, when they understand how unrealistic it is. 

“Troops, equipment, no problem. The General Staff is very pleased with how efficient you’ve been.” 

“Very funny, Colonel. We’re practically a training battalion—we’re still working on unit solidarity, practical training, and basic consensus among commanders.” 

“So you’re saying your unit has some operational limitations?” 

“Of course. I’d need at least half a year to bring them together.” 

It’s a given, but turning an organization into an organism takes time. Getting everyone to know one another and building the requisite relationships demands at least six months. Even if that weren’t a concern, these troops absolutely need remedial combat training. 

“You completed initial training in just a month. The higher-ups think they can put your unit on the front lines tomorrow.” 

“May I inquire if they’re out of their minds? A unit that has been formed and a unit that can fight are two completely different things.” 

Two fully manned units may look identical on paper, but one may be fresh out of basic, while the other has combat experience and all the supplies and rest they need. The difference would be enormous. To create a well-trained, coherent organization, time is essential. 

“Even if training proceeds quickly after formation, it takes time to get troops disciplined. Everyone knows that.” 

“So we can’t send them into battle the minute they’re assembled? You know, the higher-ups only think they can do this because you’re commanding.” 

That’s no answer. It doesn’t even make sense. 

“They’re more than welcome to send me into battle alone.” I can say that because I know they won’t do it. It’s unthinkable to reassign a commander in the middle of creating a unit, so I don’t hesitate to come on strong. “If they want the battalion to display its power in battle, that’s a different matter, as I believe they well know.” 

It is absolutely ridiculous for them to treat what amounts to a bunch of fresh graduates like they can be instantly combat ready. It’s as if they are admitting that not only can we not spare the time to train the unit but also that there are no usable veterans. In other words, the disease has been revealed as terminal. 

“…Major. The Imperial Army is under a lot of pressure.” 

“So you’re going to throw an unprepared mage battalion into combat?” 

“Most of the Great Army’s mages were drawn off to the west, so the north is in a precarious position.” 

Currently, most of our mages are deployed to the west, precisely because a large number of the Great Army’s mages were transferred there. Still, more than a few remain in the other regional forces. The Entente Alliance is in its death throes, anyway. The Northern Army Group can easily handle it alone. 

Which is precisely why I want to know what’s so urgent in the southeast, far from the front lines. Accelerating our timetable just to stick us in the back seems as foolish as ruining a bottle of wine that would increase in value with age or failing to properly store cheese. 

“That’s why I don’t understand, sir. Why the southeast?” 

If they said the north needed reinforcements, I would understand it was because they were shorthanded. Things would be crystal clear. But now they’re saying they’re shorthanded, yet they’re sending us in the opposite direction of the fighting. It doesn’t make much sense to me. 

“It’s what the General Staff decided.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“There are military secrets involved. Work on your combat capability in the southeast until you receive further orders.” 

So he’s not going to explain the politics behind the decision. In that case, all I can do is guess, but it’s probably a waste of time. I can only bear in mind the bottom line, which is that a unit under the direct control of General Staff has to be sent to the southeast for some reason. 

“If it’s combat capability you want, sir, I suggest you use a fully trained unit.” 

“I presume you’re already above average.” 

“Colonel von Lergen, I feel compelled by the duties of my office to inform you that it is too soon to deploy this unit and that doing so could hinder their preparations to fight in a useful way.” 

My remark is also an attempt to probe. Any battalion commander worth their salt will naturally complain about being deprived of the necessary time to get their unit ready. 

“Your warning is duly noted, but don’t expect this decision to be overturned.” 

What I get back from him is a bureaucratic response. If the hard edge in his voice speaks to the higher-ups’ resolve, it unquestionably indicates that the decision is set in stone. 

“Understood, sir.” 

So I stand down. But they could have handled this with some paperwork or written orders. Why go so far as to send someone? I can’t shake the question. I find the answer in a murmur from Colonel von Lergen, almost to himself, as he starts to pack up his belongings now that his work as an envoy is apparently done. 

“Oh, take this as a word of advice from someone who has lived a little bit longer than you: Since you’ll be going to the southeast anyway, why not take the time to learn Dacian?” 

“Huh? Dacian, sir?” 

“There’s never anything to lose by learning a new language, especially for us soldiers.” 

That is true as far as it goes. But why Dacian specifically? There are two possibilities: Dacia is becoming either an ally or an enemy. If the Dacians are going to join us, we’ll have to be able to communicate with them. And if they are going to fight us, it will be useful in gathering intelligence. 

“If I can find the time, I’ll try picking it up. Thank you for the advice, sir.” 

“Not at all. Congratulations again on your promotion, Battalion Commander von Degurechaff.” 

SEPTEMBER 24, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, RANSYLVANIA REGION, TURAO COUNTY, IMPERIAL ARMY FIELD MANEUVER AREA 

Only a few days after the battalion is ordered to their new base, they undergo the inspection that will conclude the initial selection phase. 

Due to the tense war situation, the deployment plan was bulldozed through, which pushed the inspection up. The high-ranking General Staff officers are concerned about unit discipline because of how hastily the members were thrown together, but their expectations are betrayed in the best possible way. That day, a sight they never could have imagined leaves them gaping in amazement. 

“You numbskulls. Get your asses in gear and go higher!” 

“It’s only eight thousand feet! You wimps. Can’t you hear me?” 

For some time now, an even, emotionless voice has been coming over the radio. It’s hard to believe, but it’s the voice of a child—a little girl. The glow of her mana blinks ominously, showing her willingness to mercilessly shoot down anyone who dared to fly lower. 

“You can’t? Fine. Then die. Die right this minute. If you die, the resources we’re wasting on you can go to your fellow soldiers.” 

If anyone dared to complain, they would be the target of a serious barrage formula. Anyone who lowered their altitude without either blacking out or using up their mana first would surely be shot out of the sky. It’s an absurd pronouncement, and the mages don’t expect her to follow through, but they soon learn that seeing is believing. 

“Okay, be a sport and either die or go higher.” 

Today is another day that defies precedent. 

The Republican Army mages can reach eight thousand, so we should aim for ten. 

So murmurs Major von Degurechaff before ordering her unit to “immediately” ascend at full speed while the inspectors look on. Normally, trying to fight anywhere over six thousand feet is considered suicidal. But she nonchalantly orders her unit up to eight thousand. 

It seems crazy, but she was serious when she said she would turn this band of inept soldiers into elites in just one month. She wasn’t exaggerating. She did it. She whipped them till they bled, but they were elite. 

“What do you think, Colonel von Lergen?” 

When Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen had expressed his desire to inspect the 601st Formation Unit, Major von Degurechaff had agreed quite readily, as if to say it was no problem at all. 

And indeed, there are no problems. At least, no one has died in training so far. And the mage battalion they see before them is, as promised, quite powerful. 

“It’s superb.” 

Truly, superb is all there was to say. Taking the troops to their absolute limits was a stroke of genius. She kept them hovering between life and death, squeezing every last drop of ability out of them. 

The inspectors heard that her program involved dramatically increasing soldiers’ capabilities via what amounted to fear of imminent death. And it certainly made sense that spending an entire month hounded by a simulated terror of the great beyond would lead to a jump in ability, though you couldn’t help feeling bad for the tormented soldiers. 

“How can they go above eight thousand without oxygen tanks?” 

The technology officers in attendance are shocked for a different reason. Granted, this is training, but they make the approach to eight thousand so calmly. It has to be Major von Degurechaff. They wouldn’t be surprised to see her flying at twelve thousand feet. But it is significant that she’s able to get her troops to fly so high. 

“Oh, it’s quite simple.” This confident answer comes from the military police officer who is their guide. He sounds like he’s chatting over a cup of tea. “I heard they’re continually using a formula that generates pure oxygen.” 

It takes a second for that to sink in. Continually? In other words, the formula is constantly used. 

“Two perpetually active formulas…?” 

“Yes. It seems that was the absolute minimum required of them.” 

The MP is not an engineer, so he doesn’t realize how revolutionary that is in the field. 

The engineers from the General Staff Office, however, are amazed. A furor breaks out among them, some even whispering that it’s completely ridiculous. Yes. The simultaneous activation of multiple magical formulas is, in theory, possible. 

The researchers have even performed some successful experiments. But the creation of a computation orb that allows for parallel sustained formulas that can also handle combat usage has proven difficult. Where in the world did she get such a thing? 

“Where the hell did she get a computation orb that can put up with that kind of stress?” 

It hasn’t been officially supplied to the military yet. They don’t know who made the prototype, but it’s clear she has some serious connections. They can only marvel. 

Well, she is an exceptionally gifted soldier. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some arms manufacturer asked her to test out a new device. And indeed, that’s what had happened. 

“She commandeered the first of batch of Elinium Arms’s mass-production model.” 

Oh, right —it’s a bit anticlimactic. She did work in tech development there at one point. It must have been a connection from those days. 

But Elinium Arms is full of secret projects. It wouldn’t have been possible for her to get something from them without the implicit consent of the General Staff’s Procurement Department or possibly even the Service Corps Division. Otherwise the MP probably would be fighting her to the death. 

“I told you not to make your maneuvers too repetitive! Why don’t you realize what easy targets you are?!” 

The members of the battalion are struggling to maintain stable flight at eight thousand feet. Major von Degurechaff rises above them, still scoffing at them. Her breathtakingly fluid movements make everyone realize what it means to be a Named. Compared to the tortoise-slow trainees, Major von Degurechaff flies swift as a swallow. 

“Very good. All that’s left is combat.” 

“E-erratic evasive maneuvers! Now!” 

“…I don’t believe it. They can perform evasive maneuvers even while sustaining formulas in parallel?” 

The exercise unfolding before them is basically just the battalion mages darting around. It looks as if they’re playing a game of tag, and at first glance, you would wonder if it’s possible to even be that pathetic. 

But for someone with the right expertise, this is a parade of the incredible. They have already realized the stable activation of parallel formulas, which should have been technically impossible. A computation orb that can handle that and erratic evasive maneuvers—nearly the same thing as combat maneuvers—is like a dream. 

But there’s more. Several of the mages have proactively deployed optical decoys to evade enemy fire. 

“They’re making decoys, too!” 

In other words, they have enough spare resources to create an optical decoy even during evasive action. 

The decoys appear quite deceptive yet rapidly deployable. Several even seem to be taking autonomous action. Truly amazing performance. And all this from something that was standardized for mass production. 

“Elinium’s new model is beyond anything we imagined.” 

This has to be the next thing we adopt. No one would say otherwise when presented with this spectacle. At the very least, reliability isn’t an issue; this unit is practically conducting the endurance test. 

Cost is the only hurdle, but even that would decrease quite a bit once the orb was being mass produced. 

“I want the documentation from Elinium Arms.” 

“I’ll put in the request, Colonel.” 

Lergen leaves that to his adjutant and looks up to the trails in the sky. Truly amazing aerial maneuvers. The trails are so beautiful he could practically get lost in them. Sometimes talent and humanity show up in inverse proportions, huh? He’s annoyed to find the thought, which reveals his own unkindness, prove his point. 

“This is an excellent opportunity. Show the inspectors your worth.” 

“Major von Degurechaff, don’t you think you’re going a bit far?” 

A basic doubt appears in his mind as she spurs her troops on over the radio. They say she hates losses. If that’s true, then this exercise is borderline. It’s certainly too much in terms of cultivating people who can be used. 

“No, we’re still well within accepted parameters. Please observe the results of allowing me to pick my people and purge them of their incompetence.” 

But her answer only deepens his doubt. Why? The ideas of “picking” and “purging” were exactly what she was talking about in her speech at the military academy. She had said, “It is our duty to defend the Imperial Army from the plague called incompetence.” She isn’t developing her people so much as abandoning those who aren’t useful. 

“People have limits. I heard half your candidates didn’t make it.” 

Why? 

“I was able to secure the numbers for an augmented battalion. I don’t have any problems yet in terms of human resources.” 

“I see. Very well. Continue. Sorry to have bothered you.” 

Argh, damn it. So that’s it. Yes, I see. Resources? Human resources? Is that what you call our soldiers? 

Are soldiers just replaceable parts to you? 

Now I understand what felt wrong. She’s treating people like numbers. That’s not so unusual among staffers, but she has unconsciously started counting people as resources. Well then, she’s perfectly logical. She’s calculating the most efficient use of what is available to her. 

“It all makes sense now. Yes, you must have written it.” 

I was sure I had heard of total war and world war before. The source of it was right beside me. That’s why all of this seemed so familiar. 

The madness of numbers. The world has succumbed to insanity. Has everything truly gone crazy? 

I picked a bad time to become a soldier. This war broke out in an era full of horrible people. If some shitty God even exists, I’m sure he’s in league with the devil right now. 

“Sheesh, I don’t know if it’s her who’s crazy or the world.” 

He can’t help but think the scene before him says it all. How terrifying to see her true nature laid bare. She is a monster. 

The sighs from the General Staff members could be impressed or apprehensive, but their whisperings and ruminations die down in the face of a single report from the border. 

“Emergency. An army-sized Dacian unit is violating the border. They appear to be heading for Herelmannstadt.” 

Dacia, army, border, violate. He doesn’t want to think about it, but when the words line up, their meaning is hideously clear. The report that came from the border like a scream meant war—with yet another country. 

“The inspection is suspended! Suspended! All troops, reassemble immediately. I say again, all troops, reassemble immediately!” The air was full of shouting commanders’ voices. 

“The inspection of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is hereby suspended! Put me through to Border Command!” 

Staffers are running around shouting into radios and telephones to be connected to this and get information about that. The proceedings are abandoned. Everyone is moving at top speed, not caring about the mud spattering their dress uniforms. 

Those who don’t have battle stations because they are there as observers head aimlessly back to the Command Post. Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen is among them. Even moving briskly, surrounded by the cacophony, he finds a chill running up his spine. 

“World war. Could something so ridiculous…” 

…really happen? he is about to say, when he is interrupted by Major von Degurechaff, who shows up at the Command Post a bit later. 

“I absolutely agree, Colonel. Why should the Empire have to take on the entire world?” It seemed she arrived after her own subordinates simply because they had longer legs. As if irritated at her short stature, she stomps her booted feet and fairly spits in indignation, “Those stupid Dacians. I’m sure they’re doing it for the sake of world or whatever. They’re just dying for us to burn them to the ground. Who knew international cooperation could be so awful?” 

She is angry at world war itself. She’s furious and assuming that it’s coming. 

It is absolutely absurd, but Major Tanya von Degurechaff is indignant about the insane future she’s envisioning, one in which the Empire will be up against the entire world. 

“Fine. Come at us, you pigs. Or perhaps I should say—we’ll give you a fight!” 

O God… Is this…? Is this what you wanted? 

(The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Volume 1: Deus lo Vult, Fin)