Youjo Senki - Volume 7 - Chapter 6

[chapter] VI Excessive Triumph 

MAY 13, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL CAPITAL BERUN, IMPERIAL ARMY GENERAL STAFF OFFICE 

From: Imperial Army, Eastern Army Group Headquarters 

To: Imperial Army General Staff Office 

The attacking Federation Army has been repelled. 

We are currently making provisional estimations of achievements on the eastern front. 

Several divisions, including the main enemy forces, have been annihilated. 

We are continuing to pursue the enemy and capitalize on our gains. 

P.S. Arrange for transport of prisoners as soon as possible. 

“We won, huh?” 

“…We sure did.” 

The achievements of the Imperial Army were so massive that both the boulder and the willow could project calm. And if you questioned the outcome of the major maneuver battle on the eastern front, all you had to do was glance at the wall map. 

Certainly at one point, the pressure was on in the east and they were forced to retreat quite a ways. There was disarray in the frontline units, wandering supply lines, and finally confusion at Eastern Army Group Headquarters—they had to admit that there was plenty to improve on. 

Still, the results were there on the map. 

“…We can probably even count Moskva and the southern cities among the options of where to invade.” 

“In theory, Rudersdorf.” 

“So it’d be tricky?” 

That’s not even the half of it. Lieutenant General von Zettour winced and made himself clear to his esteemed friend. “Rebuilding the rail network is impossible. Even right now, we’re pushing the limits by sourcing supplies on the ground!” 

A maneuver battle, which involves invasion on a large scale, is constantly faced with the limits of logistics. 

If they were using interior lines strategy at home, procuring supplies would be easier. In their own, familiar country, they could’ve gotten backing from the self-governing provincial bodies and moved at full speed—that wasn’t just armchair theorizing. 

But in foreign lands, even the kindest group is made of strangers, like the Council for Self-Government. Just creating a strategic base in their hinterlands and invading openly hostile enemy territory was a logistics nightmare. 

Establishing a supply base that could sustain a major invasion was beyond the Empire’s national strength. 

“We’re really lucky we were able to capture entire enemy supply depots at their HQ. We’re just barely able to make it with what the Council for Self-Government provided plus what we’ve seized—it’s a miracle.” 

The secret to making ends meet all the time was simple—if you had the tactics from the old Art of War book that said to source your food in enemy territory. 

“What if that stopped?” 

“Then we’d really have to procure everything in enemy territory.” 

And Zettour didn’t even want to imagine that scenario. Seizing enemy matériel could still be called a military operation, but there was a subtle but critical difference between seizing enemy supplies in the field and coercing people to give them to you. 

“Specifically?” 

Since he was asked, he had to answer. 

“Organized looting.” 

“Looting? This isn’t the age of mercenaries. Are you serious, Zettour?” 

“I’m serious.” He nodded at Rudersdorf. “That’s where we’re at. At the very least, hmm, to keep up appearances… Formally, it would be requisitions in line with military law. But I wonder how far military scrip will get us in enemy territory.” 

“Right,” his old friend answered with a wince. Even he knew. Military scrip was about as reliable as a candle in the wind. Regardless of how it worked at home, in enemy territory, the only people who would trust it were those in the position of being forced to pretend to. 

“What’s the difference, even…between requisitioning with military scrip and looting?” 

“…So we’re demanding things that don’t exist, and that’s why we have to bend over backward. But we can’t very well give up on our operation because of supply issues.” 

“I’d sure like you to.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you, General von Zettour… We’re soldiers, remember.” 

Zettour emitted a sigh, and Rudersdorf tossed a question at him point-blank. 

“If, hypothetically, we were to carry out another advance under the current circumstances, what logistics measures would you take?” 

“…Negotiating the cease-fire is higher priority, isn’t it? With this outcome, even the Federation will have a hard time refusing to talk.” 

“Negotiation is only possible if the other party is on board. Have you forgotten?” 

Zettour was about to reply that he hadn’t forgotten, but then he realized what Rudersdorf was trying to say. “…I see. You think we need to plan for the possibility that they turn down negotiations?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Honestly, I’m not sure how likely that is. Colonel von Lergen’s report only just arrived, but…according to him, while there might be a battle over terms, a cease-fire agreement is only a matter of time.” 

“I read it. He reported that the Federation side was groping for the possibility of a cease-fire, right?” 

“Yes,” said Zettour, continuing. 

The terms they had come up with via Ildoa were simple. All armies would cease firing along the current demarcation line. Occupied territories would be considered under provisional control and possession would not change hands. 

But all demands for possession of regions the Empire effectively controlled before the war would be rejected. That would be a final solution. And then the Imperial Army would establish a demilitarized zone of a few kilometers around the border as a precaution. If necessary, there was leeway for occupation to guarantee security. 

They had also included the stipulation that residents of occupied territories would vote on where they felt they belonged. Though they would have to keep track of multiple nationalities, if this came through, securing the Empire would basically be a success. Counting the nominal reparations, you could say they got almost everything they wanted. 

“It’s true that we argued a lot about the residents voting. To put it another way…we beat them so soundly that they had to set aside their complaints for a moment and get the cease-fire in place…” 

“You don’t think it’s just something on the Federation side?” Rudersdorf couldn’t deny it but felt it could be for other reasons. 

Zettour rejoined, “Isn’t it more like the will of all the belligerent states? Even the Ildoans, seeing such a victory, will try to get on our side by wrapping up the negotiations.” 

“It’s all in the realm of possibility in the end.” 

“So we should prepare for the worst case?” 

“You have another idea, General von Zettour?” 

I see. Zettour nodded at Rudersdorf’s comment and pondered in silence for a time. He did the math in his head, looked over all the available supplies they had, consolidated the reports from the field, and groped for a possibility. 

But it was true that even amid all those inquiries, he couldn’t keep the thought from bubbling up in the back of his mind: After such a thorough victory, there’s no way negotiations won’t work out. 

The remnants of the Republic could expect support from the Commonwealth. 

The Commonwealth could expect support from the Federation and the Unified States. 

But public opinion in the Unified States wasn’t up for joining the war. All the Unified States had contributed so far was lend-lease and voluntary soldiers. Of course, both of those things were extremely problematic, but they didn’t add up to the presence of the Federation, which had actually joined the war. 

Ultimately, the Federation Army’s overwhelming matériel superiority must have been the pillar supporting the other states’ will to fight. 

And the Empire had just crushed it in the east. Not only that, but it must have shocked and awed everyone nearby. 

With that, diplomatic resolution should be possible. 

Zettour was steeped in those thoughts when the phone rang, bringing him back to himself. A call on the direct line? The timing means… 

“This is Lieutenant General von Zettour… Understood.” 

“Good news?” 

Zettour’s old friend asked, clearly invested, and he nodded. “An emergency meeting of Supreme Command.” 

“Oh? And what does Supreme Command say?” 

“They’re considering the terms. Now the details will get decided… We’ll finally have a path to ending this.” It’s just a little further. Filled with that emotion, he murmured, “The joy of harvesting the seeds you’ve sown. Such are the blessings of Heimat.” 

They had fought for their fatherland. With their honor, with pride in their breasts, they left the bones of their fellow soldiers behind and still leveled their guns. Their predecessors and ancestors must have protected their homeland in the same way, as would their descendants. 

And that’s why the present existed, an inheritance of the past. 

“Well done, General von Rudersdorf. It’s only a matter of time before you’re made marshal.” 

And it seemed permissible to bask in the strange feeling of having fulfilled one’s duty. Which is why Zettour found himself offering his colleague more extravagant praise than ever before. 

“I’m happy to hear you say that, but I’m merely a deputy.” 

“It’s obvious who was running things, though. Your achievements brought about these results. I don’t think the Empire is so corrupt that it would pretend not to notice such astounding achievements.” 

“I’m grateful for your glowing evaluation. I think it’s your specialty, but…I’m pretty sure there’s such a thing in this world as appearances…” 

“You mean it’ll go in order of length of service? Still, though. Still.” Come on, now. Zettour smiled gently. “Friend, you’ve done it. Be proud.” 

“I suppose I owe some thanks.” 

“To me? To the troops?” 

“That should be obvious.” He laughed, which was a relief. “To the troops.” 

“Yeah… They really pulled it off.” 

Which is why… Zettour shut his eyes for a moment and made a mental vow. I have to end it this time, no matter what it takes. 

It was a happy daydream. It was extravagant, but he could believe in it. He felt that things really would be brighter going forward. 

Let’s admit it, though. 

No, let’s admit he was forced to admit it. 

It isn’t only wishful thinking but negligence. 

THE SAME DAY, IN THE AFTERNOON, IMPERIAL CAPITAL BERUN, LIAISON CONFERENCE ROOM, SUPREME COMMAND MEETING 

Lieutenant General von Zettour, who was participating in the Supreme Command meeting, stiffened at the unexpected response to his summarization of the negotiations that had happened via Ildoa at the post-victory course-of-action meeting and his presentation of the terms. 

Though most of their eyes were exhausted, the civil servants wore well-tailored suits. Just like military officers, they were intelligent, knowledgeable cogs of the state… That is, they should have “understood.” 

Should have… 

But what swirled in the meeting room was a violent emotion. 

“Don’t give us that drivel!” 

The bureaucrats stood and pounded on the table, expressing their feelings openly. 

“Are you serious, sir?!” 

“These are good terms?! Is that what you’re telling us?!” 

Though rattled, Zettour confirmed. “With all due respect, indeed they are. I understand that these are the best terms available under the circumstances, and I support them.” 

“General von Zettour! You still call yourself a man of the Empire?!” 

“Of course.” 

The room filled with furious voices wondering why. For the one getting the looks of murderous hatred, it wasn’t a terribly comfortable atmosphere. 

“How are we supposed to make peace with terms like these?!” 

“…You say terms like these as if it’s a bad thing.” As if he was a teacher dealing with dense students, Zettour spat back and corrected them. These were the results after they made every effort. “But these are the best terms we’re able to secure. If from here we go to a cease-fire agreement and peace talks, the terms will be realistic and likely to go through. Listen.” He stared around the room and snapped at the disgruntled civil servants. “Our troops fought with all their might to get us these conditions! At least that’s how I see it.” 

“Excuse me, General von Zettour, but these—these terms—are the best you could get?!” 

He scoffed, as if to say, Yes, they are. 

The possibility of a cease-fire and the debate over terms that would lead to peace were both secured only by bending over backward to make the best use of imperial military power—really getting the impossible done. They had won them by forcing the other side to see reason through victory in combat, but it wasn’t enough? The light thud on the table was him nearly pounding his fist. 

It had been an unconscious motion. But the others must have taken it as a provocation. They confronted him irately. 

“I’d like to know what you think! We can’t understand if you remain silent!” 

But conversely, Zettour found himself beginning to regain composure in the face of their anger. 

It was just like war. There was no reason he had to get all riled up and play by their rules. 

Being able to choose meant having the initiative. Defense didn’t necessarily equate to losing it. 

Having considered various tactics, his brain suggested the approach of waiting for his opponents to wear themselves out. They may have been feisty, but being feisty only meant consuming energy. 

“I’m fairly certain I’ve answered all these questions.” 

“…But those are your thoughts, General von Zettour. We want to know what the army thinks!” 

Ironically, the more agitated the others got, the calmer he grew. Though he knew it was a bad habit of his, Zettour had too much pride to talk with fools. 

He snapped at them that they must know. 

“So?” 

“Well, this is strange. Does the opinion of the deputy chief of the Service Corps really not count as the general opinion of the army?” 

He must have used a tone for talking with idiots. The men didn’t even hide their displeasure as they averted their eyes, and Zettour sighed. 

“…General von Rudersdorf! You’re the same rank. What do you think about this?” 

“Honestly, I agree with what General von Zettour has pointed out.” 

“…Of all the—! But that victory was so massive!” 

And it was indeed a great victory they had won in the east. It was the kind of victory that all soldiers dream of being involved in. 

But perhaps the barking civil servants didn’t understand that the General Staff knew quite well what that win was worth. Figuring that they wouldn’t get it if he stayed silent, Zettour spoke up. “Yes. And it’s precisely because we achieved such a victory that we were able to nail down these terms.” 

The remark got him doused in looks from around the room that said, Surely you must be joking. If looks applied physical pressure, he would have been skewered. Well! What cold, sharp glares. 

I anticipated some degree of resistance, but this is beyond what I imagined. Zettour couldn’t help but wince. 

“Don’t you understand the position the Empire is in?!” 

He was reminded of the Oriental saying about teaching Buddhist sutras. When it came to the numbers, given that he had access to military secrets and everything else, there had to be only a handful of people who understood the situation better than he did. 

“I’m fairly certain I have a detailed grasp on the Empire’s position.” His comment came mixed with a puff of purple smoke and a faint, bitter grin. That was the expert Lieutenant General von Zettour’s true intention, his true feeling, and his regret. 

If I didn’t know, I’d be able to say something more optimistic… 

“I believe I have a solid understanding of the current wartime strength of the state as presented by Supreme Command, including matériel distribution and human resources.” 

He was in charge of logistics, the Service Corps member responsible for the matériel mobilization plan, and he had a background in Operations. 

The confidence that of all those in the room, he was the one with the best understanding of the situation ended up making him say, “Is there some sort of secret I don’t know? If not, then my answer to your question doesn’t change. There are no better terms in our current situation than these.” 

“If you’re aware of our situation, that makes this simple. I beg your pardon, but revise your opinion. General von Zettour, with all due respect, the military is too focused on the present.” 

“And?” 

“The losses the Empire has sustained, including those of national wealth, are too great.” 

“I don’t see what you’re getting at.” 

“You don’t? That’s strange…” 

The civil servants heaved fed-up sighs and began arguing all together. 

“We have to regain those losses somewhere. That thought doesn’t occur to you? Unless we get reparations, the Empire is—” 

“I know what happens then,” Zettour interrupted. 

They had wasted a fortune on this war and gotten almost nothing in return. And their young male workforce had gone extinct. Each shell that Zettour, as one involved in matériel mobilization, sent to the front lines was made by women and the elderly. Schoolchildren were producing daily necessities in the factories while prisoners worked the fields. 

“I suppose the state goes bankrupt. In the worst case, the apparatus is also in danger and—though I say this with the understanding that it’s a dreadful scenario—the imperial family might even be at risk.” 

“If you know all that, then—!” 

They could tell him to do something all they wanted, but it wasn’t a soldier’s job. 

“With all due respect, I’m a military man.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I swore loyalty to the emperor and the state to defend our fatherland from external threat. So it’s self-evident, then, that the army shouldn’t interfere in domestic affairs.” 

In short, the army shouldn’t overstep its designated authority. That was a central principle that, as a career soldier, Zettour believed absolutely. 

War, at its foundation, is an extension of politics. Military matters could never be superior to politics. If that was the case, it would usher in a nightmare of the state being driven not by grand strategy but solely by military strategy. The Imperial Army was the state’s violence machine; it wasn’t supposed to be the state itself. 

“General von Zettour, I object! You have no qualms about letting the state’s finances collapse? This is a serious matter!” 

“Finances? Whatever about them? Are you so frightened of a gentle decline that you’d rush us straight into poverty?” 

“Money, money, money! Money is everything! Do you not realize what it’s like in a state that could go bankrupt?! Listen!” the officer of the Ministry of the Treasury argued. It was clear from the tense looks on their faces that they were not fooling around. “We have a mountain of credit in bonds! You can’t trust scraps of paper that aren’t backed by anything! How would we pay back the government bonds?!” 

Are you serious? he thought. If they truly feared the state going bankrupt over waging war…that was absurd. 

“I realize it’s an extreme opinion, but if we need more scraps of paper, we can just print more.” 

Lieutenant General von Zettour was a military man. The tools of his trade were guns and its losses, soldiers. In other words, humans. The youths of the country would die. 

…He wouldn’t allow anything to take priority over them. 

“Sure, sure, I’m sure the mint will just print more! So? What denomination of marks would you like?” 

“States may have fallen into decline due to inflation, but that’s better than the people losing fundamental belief in the Reich. We should just take pride in ourselves and deal with it.” 

“Neither of those should be hanging in the balance!” 

Everyone’s eyes were on him, pleading. 

…Is it possible that they…understand what they’re saying? 

No, it wouldn’t make sense for them not to. They must understand. Zettour revised his thought. Even members of the imperial family had died. That was the nature of this war, which wore on despite the mountains of dead. It was rarer for a subject of the Empire to not have lost someone close. 

Which was precisely why Zettour couldn’t comprehend these people. They’re saying not to let those sacrifices be in vain but then also to keep fighting, knowing that that would entail further sacrifices? 

“If one more win will earn us better terms, we should win just once more! We need to secure the critical payment that will allow the state to survive!” 

“What exactly do you take the military for?! I won’t have you mistaking this national struggle as an opportunity to gamble!” Zettour snorted, saying it was out of the question. 

In response, the officer of the treasury shouted back with a crumpled face, not even trying to hide his tears. “It’s a reasonable request based on carrying out our national policy! Do you mean to tarnish our reputation?!” 

“Have you ever heard of ‘cutting your losses’?!” 

“And for that, you’d leave your family destitute?! We can still win! We should be able to negotiate more advantageous terms!” 

They were getting nowhere. 

That is, they were going in circles. 

“You’re saying we should cling to wishful thinking and continue the war? As the one in charge of the Service Corps, I absolutely cannot have you assuming our forces have energy to burn.” 

“After all the resources it’s eaten up, you’re saying our army is a paper tiger?!” 

Even showered in criticisms of the giant, unsustainable consumption machine the Imperial Army had become, all Zettour could do was crack a wry smile. 

“If our opponent cries uncle, we should be able to expect better terms, right?! In order to rebuild, we must get them, no matter what it takes!” 

As Zettour icily watched the murmuring group, he reached the end of his rope. Upon a casual scan of the room, he suddenly hit upon a terrifying truth that nearly made his eyes swim. Whenever the red-faced civil servants shouted, most of the silent attendees were bobbing their heads in agreement! 

Agreement? Agreement?! 

They identify with that nonsense, of all things?! 

“…Apparently, generals know war, but not how to finance it. Take the occupied territories, for example. The Federation’s resources are within hailing distance.” 

Having been asked, What do you think about that? he had no choice but to answer. Suddenly, though, he found himself as terrified as an infantryman who had fallen behind and gotten separated from his unit in enemy territory. 

“Beg your pardon, but are you saying that if we conquer them, we’ll be self-sufficient?” 

“Exactly. If we go forward with that system—” 

The civil servant seemed to say they had a good chance, but Zettour saw where he was going with it and interrupted. “Sorry,” he barked, “but I will not have us waging war according to wishful thinking.” 

Let’s admit it. There was some huge disagreement here. Which was why he had to drive his point home. 

“It’s pie in the sky. Even if we went back to negotiate further, if the situation was different, what we’d have to do to get terms like these would—” 

“If we pile up victories, the enemy’s attitude is sure to change!” 

…Victory, victory, victory! 

These addicts and their omnipotent cure-all, victory! 

Unable to hold back the true feelings he wanted to spew, Zettour nearly groaned in spite of himself. He was keenly aware now of why his predecessors had warned that the only thing more dangerous than a major defeat was a major victory, and it utterly horrified him. 

Are they just arbitrarily convinced that we can still win? The atmosphere made him want to scream, Are you serious?! 

“Excuse me, may I say something?” 

“Go ahead, General von Rudersdorf.” 

It was his esteemed friend, who had been silent beside him, who chimed in. Having muscled his way into the conversation, he gave a straightforward summary of the situation. 

“It’s fine for you all to criticize General von Zettour. But this setting requires a composed debate. Why don’t we review where we’re at?” 

“Very well, General von Rudersdorf. How do you see things? Since you’re the one in charge of Operations, I’d very much like to hear your thoughts.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you. But it would help if you’d specify exactly what you want to know. I can give you a clear answer rather than an outline.” 

“All right, then.” The civil servant nodded. “Do you believe that the Empire cannot hope to win any further?” 

“Hmm.” Zettour and the others watched as Rudersdorf put a cigar in his mouth. As everyone in the meeting room stared, he boldly puffed away. 

Finally, the gazes urging him to continue were enough that he slowly opened his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke. 

“Frankly, it would probably be difficult. Look,” he said, repositioning his cigar, and the civil servants were quick to shoot questions back at him. 

“Difficult?” 

“Indeed. Extremely difficult.” 

“But you’re not calling it impossible.” 

A slight disturbance. An almost imperceptible aberration. The only one who noticed him furrow his brow as if to say, That’s not a very nice thing to ask was Zettour. 

To a soldier, there was no question more loathed than the one that had just been slung at him. 

“…Would the army declare right here that it couldn’t win? How could we do that to the imperial family and their subjects?” 

He refused to answer in a roundabout way. Having said just that, he busied himself with his cigar once more. 

But to anyone who knew the ways of these creatures, military men, the answer was too clear. Zettour’s old friend was as good as admitting the limits of the army. He was probably using his cigar to disguise his sighs. A cigar was the optimal tool for holding one’s tongue. 

…Thus Zettour, who had become a much heavier smoker than he was before the war, understood Rudersdorf so well, it made him sick. 

It was good of you to go that far. He could spare no mental praise for Rudersdorf’s bravery and resolve. The ones who had sacrificed so much for this victory were the troops. The General Staff was thoroughly aware of how they had piled up dead in the east to wrench this victory from the Federation. They didn’t need the civil servants to tell them. The Imperial Army General Staff wasn’t so far removed from reality that they could ignore the mountain of promising young people’s corpses forming on the forward-most line. 

The results of the war weren’t yet decided. Why would a soldier irresponsibly announce that they couldn’t win? After all the military expenses, human resources, and hardships forced on the home front, it wasn’t acceptable for the army to flinch before the fog of war and say victory was impossible. 

…If they realized at some point that there really was no way to win, maybe then they could say it. But there were possibilities remaining. Which was why Rudersdorf, in charge of Operations, couldn’t spout nonsense like We can’t win, even by mistake, yet he still hinted at their limits. 

“…Do I make myself clear?” 

Rudersdorf was asking, between the lines, for their understanding. 

“General von Rudersdorf, General von Zettour. I’m asking you officially: Can that be said to be the consensus of the General Staff—and the army?” 

It was a question they could answer immediately. 

““Of course,”” they answered, nodding in perfect synchronization. 

Now the debate must be settled. With that optimistic outlook, the tension started, just slightly, to leave his shoulders. 

They needed a plan for reducing the burdens on the home front, and there was the whole process of getting from a cease-fire to peace. Even if there were heaps of things to do… 

“…So you’re saying that even if it would be a challenge, there’s still a chance we could win?” 

Wait. The gears of Zettour’s mind stopped turning after hearing that incomprehensible absurdity. Even if it would be a challenge, there’s still a chance we could win? 

“We’ve heard what the army thinks about the situation. But further victories would be possible if the home front took the necessary measures, correct?” 

“Please wait. What are you talking about?” 

“General von Zettour, a question… Is it possible that if we agree to these terms in the negations via the Kingdom of Ildoa, we’ll appear weak-kneed to our opponents?” 

“…What did you say?” 

The reply to Zettour’s blank question was cutthroat. “I just wonder if we aren’t making it look like we’re rushing to negotiate. If our enemies think we aren’t able to continue fighting the war, we won’t be in a very strong bargaining position.” 

Someone else added a comment. Someone from the Ministry of the Interior, perhaps? 

“I’ll be frank. Do you have a solid grasp of trends in public opinion and sentiment? We can’t accept a cease-fire and peace with these terms. And Ildoa’s plan for the cease-fire is only temporary. It’s not clear if it would even lead to peace or not!” 

Zettour saw a man in a well-tailored suit stand up to follow the other speaker. One of those Foreign Office poseurs? 

“While the military cease-fire negotiations may be within the army’s purview, the official cease-fire and peace talks are the realm of diplomacy. Which means, as a matter of course, that jurisdiction should be handled by we of the Foreign Office. Isn’t it overstepping your authority for the army to exercise power as it pleases in this matter?” 

How come you can’t even understand that much? is what most of the people in the room seemed to be thinking as they attacked him. 

The stern looks he was getting! 

He was nearly thinking it was the sort of glare you’d give your enemies but then stopped himself. 

Maybe not the sort of. 

“We hope for peace just as much as you. But it must come along with right and acceptable reparations. If justice isn’t done…the hearts of the people won’t be satisfied.” 

“You’re prioritizing that over the restoration of peace?!” Zettour was about to yell, You must be kidding! but was interrupted by innumerable scowls. 

“The time for prioritizing an unjust peace ended when the war began!” 

“Sacrifices must be properly compensated!” 

“We can’t compromise so much! The Ildoan proposal is too easygoing!” 

The refutations Zettour was about to deliver were forestalled as if they were treason, and he was censured. It was so absurd that he would have wanted to laugh the response off as an emotional argument were this not a meeting of Supreme Command with none other than the group of people who handled all the practical matters in the Empire. 

…But not being able to laugh it off made it serious by necessity. 

“Supreme Command does not interfere in military orders as a rule. But certainly it has the right to exercise its abilities to make a request regarding national strategy.” 

“…And that is?” 

He couldn’t very well scream, Please don’t! Zettour had to face his fate, like a commander who realized the battle was lost. 

“With all due respect, we’d like the army to win better terms.” 

“…Am I meant to interpret that as the administration’s official opinion?” 

“To be accurate, it’s the will of the people and a valid request the imperial family agrees with. As such, we’d like the army to follow through on that goal.” 

From an institutional perspective, they were correct. As for the military perspective, for the longest time, Supreme Command was merely an organization that approved of the General Staff’s decisions. But the actual authority to decide lay unmistakably with Supreme Command. Even Zettour had no way to object. 

If he couldn’t express his dismay, and arguing back wasn’t allowed, then he would have to remain silent. 

But what does one person’s silence mean? Just as he was about to crack a self-deprecating sneer, someone ventured to speak. 

“…Fine. You’re telling us to win?” 

Shut your mouth, Rudersdorf!! he wanted to scream. 

Maybe he should have. But having been rendered speechless, Zettour couldn’t even muster a wordless cry to stop him. 

“We’ll show you a victory… As long as you give us what we need, the army will win as many times as you want.” 

Zettour immediately shot a look at Rudersdorf, but it didn’t reach him. As the civil servants, nodding in satisfaction, reported various details and the conversation went back and forth, Zettour alone was depressed. 

How? Why? 

THE SAME DAY, IMPERIAL EMBASSY IN ILDOA 

News of a victory is always good. Especially when it comes with optimal timing. It permeates every corner of the body, naturally warming the limbs. In the sense of that familiar comfort, it is every bit as good as alcohol. 

Like a good tequila or perhaps scotch. 

As news of the victory spread throughout the Empire, all the imperial subjects at the embassy in Ildoa shared the same excitement. 

The military attaché to Ildoa, Colonel von Lergen, shook his head. In the pursuit of accuracy, we should probably revise: These people, who were involved directly in diplomatic negotiations, were more ecstatic than most. The embassy was such a madhouse, they were downing fine wine like college kids. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t have the will to moderate themselves. They understood the word restraint. They were adults with both age and standing. They were well aware of how bad it looked to lose control in front of others. 

Yet here they were, sloshed. 

The drinks were just too delicious. 

Ildoa had mediated the negotiations between parties who refused to back down, not even hiding the fact that they were playing both sides. The representatives from the Empire, exhausted in both mind and body, had intended to simply enjoy a social drink, but before they knew it, they were mentally and physically overdoing it. 

They were so sure the balance had tipped in their direction that they celebrated. 

They really did it. 

Lergen himself was one of those who cheered from the pit of his stomach. 

News of a victory—it could only be divine assistance! 

He was so moved, he nearly shed tears in spite of himself—they had done such a good job. Before he knew it, he was reaching for a bottle he’d been treasuring for years. Not only had he been keeping it since before the war started, but these days, you couldn’t even get a reliable supply of this Commonwealth spirit in neutral countries. 

When he undid the tight seal and pulled out the cork, he was greeted with a smell that was appropriately rich for the bottle’s age. 

Even just taking ice from the embassy’s refrigerator and preparing to pour his drink into an Ildoan cut-glass tumbler was thrilling. 

When, after carefully pouring, he was savoring the relatively mild—for 40 percent—experience, that warm font of energy permeated his heart. 

“Delicious.” 

The quiet comment expressed his deepest feelings. Whether it was from an enemy country or not, a good drink was a good drink. He had long forgotten this flavor. 

“I can really taste it. Words can’t describe how indebted I am to the troops for this chance to drink something so nice.” 

Alcohol in his system made him chatty—especially when he was drinking mature spirits to celebrate a victory. It intoxicated him more than usual. 

But decidedly not in a bad way. 

It was a lightness that banished his anxiety about the future as well as his frustration. The feeling spreading through his body was accompanied even by a kindness like that of an old friend. The cool, melodious clink of the ice in his glass, too, was exquisite. It was like looking up at a clear blue sky. 

Above all, this atmosphere! 

Today I can even tip one down the hatch in the attaché office and no one will question it! 

“Oh, Colonel von Lergen. You have good taste.” 

The one who spoke to him was the usually serious ambassador. But today there was a mood he couldn’t hide written all over his face. 

“If it isn’t our ambassador! And you, sir? What’s that bottle you have? If memory serves, that’s the X-brand stuff the Foreign Office was keeping under lock and key for diplomatic use!” 

Even under blockade, etiquette had to be maintained, or they would lose face. Lergen had been surprised to learn that part of the job of diplomats stationed abroad was to acquire wine. 

“Ha-ha-ha! Right you are. It’s a valuable bottle I smuggled back through a neutral country in my diplomat bag, but there’s no being stingy today! I’m going all out!” 

Apparently, the ambassador, who should be the one rebuking those getting out of line, had given instructions to hold a victory celebration and was in such high spirits, he was popping the corks on bottles of wine he had bought to send back to the home country for diplomatic use. 

“Come, come, Colonel. Please have some. I hope you’ll propose a toast to the Imperial Army’s fierce fighting.” 

“Well, if you insist…” 

Normally, every bottle was strictly accounted for. But just for today, there were no rules. He expressed his gratitude for the glass, filled to the brim, and admired the richness of the red liquid. 

He had completely forgotten the scent of the real thing. 

“To victory and the hard fight!” 

“To our brothers-in-arms and their self-sacrifice!” 

“Glory to the fatherland!” 

What grand words to raise in cheers. 

“God is with us!” 

The moment the fixed wording left his lips, the possibility that it was actually grace came to Lergen’s mind. The future of the fatherland would begin now. So maybe, he couldn’t help but think. Perhaps pragmatists like him should be praising the Lord, too: May it be so. 

So it was that among all the deeply moved men, he, too, engaged in congratulatory remarks. 

“May the Empire reign always!” 

“““Hooray!!!””” 

Their arms around one another, the men in full dress boomed “Prosit!” and it must have thundered even outside the embassy. 

Well, let them hear it. 

It was a shout of the Empire’s triumph. A laurel from the heart bestowed on the heroes of the eastern front, the defenders of the fatherland, our Reich. You could call it a joyful song. 

Let us raise our voices out of love for the Empire! 

Give in to the intoxication and belt it out—let it resound throughout this foreign land! 

Perhaps it’s not a respectable way for an officer to unwind. Even so, why should I hesitate? 

Who could not celebrate their nation’s victory in words? Any human who has sworn loyalty to their country as a soldier is surely compelled to applaud its success. 

“C-Colonel von Lergen?” 

“Hmm? Oh, from the on-duty group. You poor fellows. I had the kitchen make something for you. Was there not enough to go around?” 

“No, it’s…for your ears only, sir. May I ask you to come with me?” 

The deferential mood implied that was no small matter. Though Lergen was riding rather high on their victory, it wasn’t hard to detect the urgency once he composed himself. 

“Let’s go.” 

He apologized for causing extra work for the duty officer as he took him into the empty corridor. Even in one’s own embassy, there could be ears that shouldn’t be listening. 

The duty officer scanned the area, seeming awfully nervous. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s from the General Staff.” 

“…Hmm? You mean…the results of the Supreme Command meeting?” 

“Yes, it appears to be. I thought I should inform you…” 

The duty officer seemed concerned as to whether it had really been worth interrupting his superior’s celebration, but Lergen reassured him with a sincere smile. “Thank you. That was the right decision.” 

It was a message from the home country. 

And so soon—he was impressed. The timely classified message had his heart pounding with anticipation. 

“I suppose I should read this in my office. Excuse me.” 

Moved that the home country would reach a conclusion about the negotiations so immediately, Lergen went back to his office. 

It was hard to keep from grinning. What a sap I am, he thought, before realizing that there wasn’t actually any rule keeping him from expressing his joy. Maybe if he was actually in the middle of negotiations, but in his current situation, it was only natural that the entire range of emotions be allowed. 

“…Ha-ha-ha. It’s been so long…” …since I’ve smiled so freely. He grinned wryly and hurried on. In one hand, he carried his glass of aged wine, and in the other, the encoded message that, based on when it came in, would probably illuminate how they planned to end the war. 

If he didn’t use the book in the safe in his room, he wouldn’t be able to read it. 

Though the signal itself was also encoded, if they were monitored long enough, there was a risk of the enemy deciphering it. In light of that, they exchanged messages written in a very specific way, which had to be compared to a cipher only Lergen and the General Staff possessed in order to make any sense. 

I’m so excited to decode it, thought Lergen as he stepped lightly toward his room. 

With the flush of the drinks still in his cheeks, his heart pounded in a way it never had before as he pulled the codebook out of his safe. 

The pleasant buzz he felt wasn’t only the alcohol. 

What man would be able to contain himself? He’d had the honor of participating in the saving of his nation’s destiny. Why wouldn’t he be thrilled? 

“Okay, okay. Here’s the important part. I sure hope there’s a coherent plan for how to end the war…” 

Elated, he lined up the book and the telegram next to each other. Then he worked his quill pen for a time to decode it. When he reached a part that decoded as “victory on the eastern front,” he flipped through the codebook, knowing what came next would be what he had been waiting for. 

“…? Huh?” 

Unexpectedly confused, he drained his glass like a pick-me-up and poured out a little more. 

“Ohhh, how silly of me… I must have made a mistake somewhere.” 

His first thought was that he had gotten a bit too drunk. He smiled wryly at the glass in his hand and shook his head. It seemed he had made a terrible reading error. 

“So this is… And this… Huh? No, but…” 

His blood vessels, warmed with spirits, contracted as if he’d been showered in close-range cannon fire. 

Without even realizing he had dropped his glass, Lergen stared at the telegram in horror. 

“…What?” 

After reviewing each word, each punctuation mark, closely, taking care not to miss any lines, he was still confused. It’s not a misreading? 

Couldn’t it be? Please? 

Or am I just not comprehending it correctly? Maybe…not? 

He frantically reread it, but the content remained mercilessly unwavering. 

An encoded telegram followed a template in official language that left no room for misunderstandings. There were no errors of reading, comprehension, or composition. The one who drafted it had to have been an outstanding officer. He had certainly done his job polishing this official document. 

“Regarding the victory on the eastern front, we see fit to renegotiate and press for much greater concessions.” 

He wanted it to be a joke. 

That’s how he felt as he abruptly read the text aloud without thinking, but his brain still stubbornly refused to understand. 

Well, he got it; he just didn’t want to. 

If he understood it, if he accepted it… 

“‘R-regarding the victory on the eastern front, we see fit to renegotiate and press for much greater concessions’?!” 

This wasn’t a message to confirm the adoption of the proposal that Lergen had struggled so hard to pull together. You could say it was bad news that the home country didn’t accept, and it was. 

Actually, he thought he had been prepared for potential bad news from the outset. But this? This wasn’t one of the scenarios he’d had in mind. The worst case is always the horror you can’t predict. 

“…B-but I negotiated all…all of this…” 

They didn’t even consider all the friction and the struggling it had taken to reach this result. 

“R…r-r-renegotiate? Go back to the drawing board?” 

Is this really the home country’s, Supreme Command’s, the Empire’s intention? When we worked so hard to reach a patch of common ground, and things were only just starting to take shape, at long last? 

He groaned softly. 

How? 

Why? 

The stupidity. 

Lamenting in intricate layers that refused to form into proper speech, Lergen turned his bloodshot eyes back to the telegram. 

He felt he had gotten everything he could get. 

But it’s not enough?! 

You’re saying it’s still not enough?! 

“…I never imagined the day would come that I’d understand how Colonel von Degurechaff feels.” 

It wasn’t a surprise that he respected her. 

She was an outstanding magic officer. 

She was the complete package as an officer, a soldier, and a modern intellectual, so that much made sense. She may have been warped, but he couldn’t deny his respect for her. 

What shocked Lergen was his irritated remark that he sympathized with her complaints and confusion. 

“…Why can’t they just put up with it?!” 

It was a scream. 

It was a lament. 

And it was a wail. 

“Why can’t they just accept things this way?!” 

The Empire had invested too much iron and blood in this war. It was reaching the point that practically anyone with common sense could see that any more conflict was meaningless. These days had been nightmares—far too many precious lives, far too much capital, had melted away in an instant. 

…And the light of a solution was gleaming only half a step in front of them. 

“How am I supposed to get them to agree to these conditions?!” 

It was right there. He had been transferred from the forward-most line in the east to the neutral country of Ildoa and waited anxiously for news of the victory for this chance! 

It was because he had caught a whiff of the lingering scent of normalcy, which his home country had lost, in Ildoa, that he could claim it was worth swallowing the country’s high price for mediation, some dissatisfaction withstanding. 

He understood how abnormal the war situation the Empire faced was whether he wanted to or not. Muster everything the nation had to offer and scatter it across the barren swamp-like earth? 

What good would that do? 

He wasn’t afraid to die for his fatherland, for his Heimat. But how many soldiers were they planning on sacrificing to fight over the Federation mud? 

Lergen felt so ill that the ground seemed to sway. Dizzy, he leaned against the chair next to him. 

The telegram’s message was clear. 

We, the Imperial Army, were victorious on the eastern front. During negotiations, we defeated the Federation so thoroughly that the world gasped; it was both a tactical and operational victory. From a purely military perspective, it could probably be celebrated as a strategic victory as well. 

The Imperial Army is now in a position to carry out fine attacks on the Federation’s major cities. 

So now is the time to settle the discussion. That’s what Lergen thought, and it should have been a vision that not only those in the embassy but anyone in the army who had a grasp of the situation could share. 

After getting a good look at the general situation on the eastern front, even a child could tell that they couldn’t continue winning for long. You didn’t have to be a monster of a little girl to understand that. 

It was simple arithmetic. 

The Imperial Army had committed millions of people to the eastern front, and there still weren’t enough. Just try expanding the lines as things stand. Even if they entrusted some of the military districts to local security organizations such as the Council for Self-Government, they could stretch only so far. 

There were the vast occupied territories on the map—entirely too vast. 

The Empire as a state didn’t have the strength to maintain them, and the Imperial Army didn’t have a plan. 

“The General Staff knows that, but they still weren’t able to stop them?” 

Was it the civil servants? Or some nonsense spouted by noble-born officers who were elite in rank only? Either way was no good. 

Lergen’s mouth twisted into a frown, and he couldn’t help but utter curses. 

This message, already difficult to comprehend, and its clamoring insistence that they could keep going was the product of something growing too large. 

This is what you’re telling me? I’m supposed to just renegotiate at the drop of a hat?! 

“Generals von Zettour and von Rudersdorf agreed to this?” 

Well, they probably had no choice. 

The Imperial Army had won. 

No, they must have taken a chance. Under the circumstances, the usual methods wouldn’t have been enough to move the lines eastward in a major way. 

…Saying there was no gamble would be a lie. 

“Ha-ha-ha…it makes me laugh. So did you win your bet? Or did you win the game but lose the match?” 

He knew this was going a bit far, but he thought it anyhow: It would be better if we had lost in the east. That was absolutely not the sort of thing an active-duty officer could say. 

Stunned, clenching that absurd telegram, he couldn’t help but agonize. “We won on the eastern front. We won, so what’s going on? What exactly are these seeds we’ve sown?” 

MAY 14, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, EASTERN FRONT, IMPERIAL ARMY, SALAMANDER KAMPFGRUPPE GARRISON 

Apparently, the flow of a river really can make people sentimental. 

Victory in battle, upcoming prospects—for Tanya, who has hope for a bright future and is leisurely enjoying plundered coffee with a splendid view of the water, it’s a fantastic morning. 

Holding our current position until further orders come from the home country essentially means throwing ourselves into the usual building projects. Looking around, it’s the familiar scene of infantry digging foxholes, field engineers running communications cables, and anyone not busy with anything else filling sandbags. 

So why does it look so radiant? 

“…The seed of a dream where the people can hope for self-government, a buffer zone between the Empire and the Federation, a friendly neutral space. It’s probably safe to feel pretty good about the future.” With that quiet remark, her predictions cause her cheeks to relax into a smile. 

When Tanya first joined the army, she had a pessimistic attitude, since there was no choice but to join. But look at her now, a proud member of a victorious nation. 

No, that’s not it. Tanya shakes her head. Not yet. It hasn’t been decided yet. How shameless it would be to count her chickens before they hatch. 

But still… 

“Diplomatic negotiations, cease-fire, peace. Each step will be difficult to pull off—that hasn’t changed. But this victory was huge. If we can win in the west and in the east…” It would be a rare example of a successful two-front war. Tanya chuckles at the thought. 

Dealing a severe blow to the nation’s primary enemy and securing even better terms than expected when imposing peace would…not be bad. 

That’s a logical deduction. Rational analysis makes her confident that’s how it will go. 

And since she has no idea what is going on far to the west, she can innocently go on believing. 

Because she is ignorant, she continues smiling hopefully. “The Empire has sown its seeds. Ahhh, I can’t wait for the harvest. I’m not a fan of the source text, but as you sow, so shall you reap.” 

(The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Volume 7: Ut Sementum Feceris, ita Metes, fin)