The Devil of the Rhine 3

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APRIL 5, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE RHINE LINES

Life with shells from breakfast through brunch. Waking up to find your friend who was sleeping right next to you dead is a rarity that happens all the time in service on the forward-most line. If you relax in the trenches, you get burned. That’s why you have to smile, keep your mind sound, and watch out for your health. They say you can’t fight a war with a smile, but wars without smiles are dangerous.

If the troops lose the ability to smile, that’s a bad sign. Times like those, you need to make sure they aren’t drinking too much. If you don’t want to get sniped at, you have to give up cigarettes.

As that thought occurs to her, Tanya realizes with a start that she’d like to give herself a pat on the back for not wanting to drink even though they’ve confiscated so much alcohol. The only ones in the battalion who are getting enough drink and tobacco despite no rations are me and Lieutenant Serebryakov. Someone must care about us; we even get playing cards and candy.

Cocking her head, wondering whether girls are unexpectedly more suited to this type of warfare, Tanya is once again forcibly reminded how harsh life is in the trenches. Even the soldiers most loyal to their nations might turn traitorous if cards, one of their sole leisure activities, were taken away. There are tens of thousands stationed on the front lines in this delicate mental state.

Even on the most peaceful day in those trenches, the weather is rainy with a chance of shells. Apart from when we deal with snipers and harassing fire, we can just lie around in the damp and the mud, but we’re probably only able to get away with that because mages are so scarce.

Mages have leeway to take a quick break in the rear and get cleaned up. We’re worked that much harder when we get back, though, of course.

On sunny days, vision is good, and we fight huge, fierce battles where blood demands blood. In this world, the number of shells flying around has reached the point where a single division consumes one thousand tons in a day. How could they say, Artillery plows and the infantry advances? Sure, it’s half-true, but we can’t advance.

Anyhow, both matériel and men are being used as if they are worthless, and when Tanya steps back and thinks about it, it’s unusual; the more she thinks about it, the more she wants to frown. It’s such a huge waste that she can’t imagine a bigger one. Even I think human assets should be better taken care of.

Once the troops receive their red slips and get called up, it costs money to train, outfit, and feed them, but here’s this war where we’re going through them like they’re sold at bulk discount. Our meetings may not be with stockholders, but it’s a wonder we don’t get criticized.

We’re firing with such wild abandon I want to grill them for about an hour to see how much kickback they’re getting from Grupper for these shells.

Tanya doesn’t doubt the importance of a curtain of fire. Of course, she understands that without the views of her esteemed superiors.

But she has told them they should at least cut costs. The rear is such a mess that she has to sincerely wonder why there need to be seven or eight different standards for railway guns alone.

Never mind the 20 cm guns and whatnot. Why does there have to be so much variety among 80 cm railway guns used by thousands of men? As someone with rotten experiences with an engineer, I suspect the imperial engineers just made them because they wanted to. I wouldn’t put it past them.

Still, shouldn’t they be at least a tiny bit interested in mass production?

Anyhow, faced with this scene, I can see why the military-industrial complex prefers war.

So that’s why Japan was booming during World War I. Ditto regarding “special procurement” during the Korean War.

There’s no way sales don’t climb when you have consumers plowing through supplies at this tremendous rate. It’s a perfect example of supply and demand. The market is so attractive it almost makes me want to start up a private military company.

Ah, the heartlessness. If they’re going to waste us like this, they should at least raise our wages. They have the money to shoot these shells at the Republic like so much water, and those cost who knows how much a pop. They should give some thought to employee welfare. I’d like to receive more than just candy and snacks.

Tanya is lost in these utterly normal thoughts for an employee to have when Lieutenant Serebryakov interrupts her with an administrative notice.

“Major, we’ve received word that the fresh mages have arrived at group command. They say they’d like you to stop by to see about them…”

“Fresh mages? …Even if I wanted to replenish the battalion, we haven’t lost anyone.” Zero casualties. Tanya intends to be performing the most cost-effective management on the insane Rhine front, so she doesn’t understand the relationship between her battalion and new recruits. “Are you sure they weren’t stationed here by accident? Or did the message go to the wrong person?”

“Though it’s presumptuous, I did, er, check myself…and there’s no mistake, ma’am.”

I’m confused. I didn’t even request any replacements. But Lieutenant Serebryakov says she didn’t mishear, that she confirmed there is no misunderstanding. So Tanya has to think. Her adjutant understands that a battalion with no casualties doesn’t require replacements. Command understands this logic even better than Serebryakov, so it couldn’t be them.

On top of that, the battalion is already an augmented battalion. For a unit under a major’s command, that’s about as big as they get. And it’s difficult to imagine being promoted and receiving new personnel so suddenly under these circumstances.

The only logical inference to make is that we’re in for some trouble.

Why? I’m such good person, cost conscious, and a stickler for compliance. If Fate exists, I can guarantee she’s a jerk. Well, she’s probably in league with Being X.

“Uh, this isn’t for sure…it’s only a rumor…but I heard Command might want us to act as an instructor unit.”

“What? And where did you hear that?”

“Well, a classmate from the Cadet Corps is attached to Command as an observer on the Rhine. She’s in a different sector, but…in a personal letter, she said, ‘I heard you’re going to be a teacher. Nice work.’”

Hearing this plausible rumor through a random personal connection, Tanya finds herself asking for clarification.

“Lieutenant, your friend’s ears are a little too sharp. Not that it’s anything to be upset about.”

The duty to instruct recruits who aren’t used to the battlefield yet… It’s a bit late, but someone must have noticed the rate at which new troops fall. That’s all well and good, but how did they conclude that we should be the instructors?

“But an instructor unit? If that’s true… No, with the war going as it is, I doubt they’ll have us fall back to the rear. So they’re telling us to train rookies at the front?”

One of my men snorts as if he can’t believe it. Exactly. Fresh recruits on a battlefield are deadweight that can’t even be used to deflect incoming rounds. Honestly, they should be hauled off somewhere else.

I don’t want anyone in my way, and yet they assign me recruits to train? Frankly, I want to scream at them to come over to the front and see for themselves whether that is even possible.

But just as I’m thinking that, First Lieutenant Weiss yells it himself. “Unbelievable. I guess they think we can babysit while fighting a war!”

They all start shouting with no way to vent their indignation. Well, they’re honest guys. And as one who’s spent time shivering in a trench, I can sympathize.

“So we’re supposed to keep the shells off them? Have you ever heard something so stupid?”

“Well, umm, everyone was a new recruit once…”

Still, Lieutenant Serebryakov’s cautiously stated comment is correct. Watching after panicking newbies is a bona fide pain in the ass, but we were all new once. Going a step further, Tanya’s already fought on the Rhine while babysitting once before.

Maybe it’s because she has that experience that the brass is pushing it on her again.

“Yeah, it’s true. I taught you on the Rhine, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Major, I’ve come this far thanks to you.”

Considering that, contrary to my expectations, I managed to find a useful subordinate, maybe we just have to do our best and see if we can dig up someone good.

“This might be rude, but the major’s training seemed pretty harsh. I can’t believe you…”

“What’s that, Lieutenant Weiss? If you have something to say, go ahead and say it.”

“Never mind—excuse me!”

From the looks on my bickering subordinates’ faces, it seems like they’ll take care of the recruits. And it’s an order, after all. Tanya unwillingly braces herself. Resigned, she has to force herself to accept the task.

The reason she still can’t think positive is that she knows reality.

They’re throwing new recruits into a world where you’ll go crazy if you can’t endure the misery of suppressive shellfire. She’ll want to pull her hair out the day an untrained newbie makes a scene in the trenches or the lodgings at base. At least if it’s at the base, she can shove them on the medical staff in the rear, but if they panic on the front lines, we won’t have time for that. I won’t know what to do.

More importantly, panic is contagious. If one handsome newbie’s face crumples into a teary mess, and then the brave ones who’ve been enduring everything start making a fuss, I won’t be able to control it. If someone pukes everywhere, it’ll start an unacceptable chain of nausea for everyone. In a worst-case scenario, I’ll have no choice but to produce silence with a shovel.18

Shovels are fantastic for rookie education—we can bury their waste products, shut them up, and, if necessary, bury them as well. They’re useful no matter where you are—trench, base, or graveyard.

“Well, that’s fine. Gentlemen, if that’s our duty, we have no choice but to do it.” That said, orders are orders, and it’s not as if this one has been issued yet. It’s important to confirm these things. “Anyhow, first let’s inquire with Command. If it’s the truth, it’ll be tough, but we’ll just have to do it. We’ll give it our all!”

If I ask for confirmation on the rumor, I’ll learn whether I want to do this or not. If it’s true that we’ll be rearing greenhorns, then we’ll have to do it in a way that doesn’t break our backs. Tanya braces herself. We can’t be expected to hold their hands every step of the way.

Of course, I know that wasting precious human resources is a folly to be avoided. Which is also why I think I’d like to do this only as long as it doesn’t put too much of a burden on me.

“This is Major von Degurechaff. About the new mages…”

So Tanya hazards a simple guess and receives confirmation right away.

In a nutshell, the mission we’ve been given is to break the newbies in. From the phone conversation, Tanya makes a fairly certain guess that her unit will be training them.

Then the first thing to do is have them observe the firing line as soon as possible. I’ll just be glad that the battalion shouldn’t get thrown into anywhere actually dangerous.

The front lines will teach them reality far better than a million words of explanation. Apparently, my troops agree.

All right, I need to plan a training schedule is what I should have been thinking.

Yes, what I should have been thinking.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the Rhine front!”

The fresh recruits were sent over more efficiently than I expected. Tanya was thoroughly at a loss as she gave them a word of welcome. When Command does something promptly, things are not normal. It’s an anomaly, and you need to prepare yourself for the worst.

In the army, not having to worry about Command’s mess of administrative procedures is the kind of aberration that should put you on guard. Supplies get held up, reinforcements are delayed, but they’ll send trouble over right away. In other words, Command being efficient is bad news.

Which is why even Tanya wants to rip her hair out over the group of newbies they’ve pushed on her. Even though she knows it isn’t becoming, she gets cranky and frowns.

She braced herself, but…why are these replacement personnel so utterly green? Lieutenant Weiss and the others all groan as they look over the careers of the recruits they’ve been assigned.

They aren’t here for retraining or changing arms—they’re literally a slab of fresh newbie meat. We’re being given raw recruits, whose only use is fodder for the meat grinder, and being told, Don’t mince them! Evolve them into fighting chunks of steak!

“I’m your instructor, Magic Major von Degurechaff.”

If this was what was going to happen I should have never gotten assigned to the instructor unit at Central. Tech Research wasn’t a proper workplace, either, and the Elinium Type 95 is one more reason my head hurts. I guess I haven’t been able to take proper advantage of my promotion opportunities. I just end up with more and more unfortunate connections. Tanya can’t help but lament her circumstances.

“As you know, the Rhine is hell. It’s a graveyard, so to speak.”

She smiles weakly, thinking how it won’t do for all the fresh meat to drop like flies, and describes the battlefield to them in frank terms as a warning. It would be better if they had received a little more training that’s actually useful for their situation; soldiers who don’t understand are deadweight. Then again, on second thought, that’s exactly why someone thought of making them a proper fighting force with this training mission.

“To break it down further, this is the wonderful Rhine front, where the Republican Army will throw periodic welcome parties for any useless bodies who deserve to be disposed of, and you can get promoted two ranks in no time at all.”

Still, the high rate of attrition on the Rhine lines can only be lamented. It’s a fundamental problem. I’m only a major, but all the superior officers here when I arrived were busy getting their posthumous double promotions or, if they were lucky, getting transferred or sent to the rear.

Before I knew it, as a major, I was closer to the top of the command structure than the bottom.

Oh, competition is so fierce in the Rhine lines labor market it’ll make you pale. What would Darwin say if he saw this? Is this the ultimate progression of the theory of evolution? Or is it a desolate place where the theory of evolution breaks down? It’s definitely a fascinating question.

“So anyone who wants to be a hero should go play with some snipers.”

Any time you spend talking to idiots who don’t listen is for nothing, and having them hang around using supplies is a waste.

The best thing they can do is go make an enemy sniper use up a bullet. If I can get rid of idiots and tire out enemy snipers at the same time, it’s not a bad deal.

“The rest of you. Do your best not to get in the way.”

Well, if they follow instructions they should at least be able to act as bullet repellant.

“Okay, gentlemen, we’ll probably only be together a short while, but let’s all get along.”

Guess that’s about it. Now then, time to work as much as I get paid to.

Shovels are great. Shovels are the quintessence of civilization.

With a shovel, you can dig a hole just deep enough to hide yourself. Or if you gather a bunch of people with them, you can dig a fine trench.

If you change your viewpoint just a little, you can even dig a tunnel. You can smash a sturdy enemy trench with mining tactics (not that they get used often).

A shovel is a good friend to any and every type of soldier. And a shovel is the best gear for a close-quarters fight in a trench.

Longer than a bayonet, simpler to handle than a rifle, sturdier than any other tool. Not only that, but they are extremely cheap to make, so they’re perfect for mass-producing. Plus, I don’t have to worry much about damaging my mind.

This is it, the ideal piece of equipment. This is the point humanity was meant to reach. Civilization has developed the shovel as its implement.

Above all, it doesn’t rely on magic, so it’s optimal for stealth kills. With a shovel, it’s possible to educate numbskulls who are dependent on magic scanning— Klang! We can say it’s an indispensable item for nighttime raids. Of course, it’s an excellent general-purpose tool at any time of day.

“The shovel is truly an implement born of civilization,” Tanya murmurs, leading a unit to wish good evening to the enemy with their shovels. On this nighttime outing, they get all muddy as they crawl over the ground on their bellies. Her objective is clear—it’s part of the new recruit education she has undertaken.

Tanya has no problem forcing them to wriggle through this morass if she can beat into them that the only ones who can dress nicely on the Rhine are dumbasses or corpses of heroes being sent to the rear. She doesn’t want to, but when it’s an order, she has no choice. And so, she’s reluctantly crawling at the head of the group, biting her lip.

If it were possible, she would want to go back this instant, but she’s advancing across no-man’s-land. Since the snipers have given up their day off and are going for the perfect attendance award, she and her troop, clad in the gray camouflage of the trench dress code, drag themselves inch by inch toward the enemy camp.

Sneaking forward, jumpy as a mouse, with a heavy steel helmet on your head is the height of humiliation. What torture that we can do nothing but sneak like this covered in mud! This place is utterly insanitary; the putrid reek of the unrecovered corpses of both sides has completely numbed my nose. Agh, how extraordinarily disgusting! Though conditions are severe enough that I lament as such, work is work. I curse the fruitlessness of this 3D (dirty, dangerous, and demeaning) labor from the bottom of my heart.

…Why are the higher-ups always asking for the impossible?

To find out how all this started, we have to go back several hours to the beginning.

Whether you see it as a comedy or a tragedy will depend on your point of view. The incident does, however, become the momentum for marked improvements in the Imperial Army’s chain of command and communications channels.

“I’d like to hear your opinion on improving field battle capabilities.” The Operations staffer attached to Command who had come to visit Tanya that day handed her a circulating notice. On it were the loss rates of new soldiers stationed on the Rhine lines as replacements, separated by arm of service. What jumped out at her when she scanned the page was how high the numbers were. You could say the Empire’s new soldiers were literally dropping like flies.

As a frontline officer, she put the notice on her desk and sat down with a sigh. These are what the rates will be if you have to deploy new recruits with not enough training or experience.

“If I may be blunt, this is surely due to insufficient training and accelerated education. I should think that instead of learning how to march in formation, they need to be trained how to lie in a trench. Aside from that, perhaps they should also be baptized in the most difficult parts of trench warfare under conditions that minimize casualties.”

“They certainly have a ways to go to be useful, but…we can’t very well stand them up in front of the machine guns, either.”

Seeing the important colonel sigh, bring his coffee to his lips, and grimace, Tanya’s face stiffened. On the forward-most line, there’s no way to provide adequate hospitality. She had given Lieutenant Serebryakov strict orders to make it the best cup of coffee she could, but there probably hadn’t been enough fuel to boil the chalk out. The colonel had drunk some, so she did, too, but it tasted awfully tainted.

“…You don’t like it, sir?”

That said, she showed him what it was like on the front lines by implying that that’s just how it tastes there.

“I don’t mean to nag you about conditions on the front, but…this is horrible. It reminds me of the dining room at the central General Staff Office.”

“They must have better luck with water there, though. This is the firing line,” Tanya murmured, staring sadly into her butchered coffee, oozing a bit of helplessness. Even the taste of these luxury items wasn’t the same on the front. They were in another world, removed from daily civilian life. It would be no easy task to throw in new recruits with only accelerated training and get them acclimated.

“You’re saying we should give them a taste of this experience in the rear?”

“If possible, they should be informed of the realities of the trenches so as to shatter their illusions about war. The numbskulls who want to be heroes end up killing not only themselves but their fellow soldiers.”

The newbies who try to pull off heroics in the trenches really are numbskulls. If one of them succumbs to the rush of adrenaline and does something reckless or makes a futile charge, at least the damage can be minimized to affect just him, but oftentimes they have the nerve to involve others.

On top of that, though you can’t really blame them for a physiological phenomenon, I’m also really sick of them polluting the trenches with all varieties of incontinence and creating hotbeds for every type of infectious disease.

“That’s why, with these young ones, I just…” Tanya groaned, burying her head in her hands. “…Hmm? What was that, sir?”

“Oh, I just thought it was strange, given how young you are, Major.”

“The one with infant military careers are useless. Of course, I’m sure it’s a different story if they can manage to survive two months on the Rhine.”

“Ahh, no…uh, forget I said anything. Let’s get back to the topic at hand.”

I wasn’t really sure why the colonel was mincing words. The whims of superior officers don’t always make sense. Tanya politely did as she was told and switched to their main topic without asking anything further.

Tanya’s age might be strange from an objective perspective, but subjectively, she could only think of years of service, similar to the way someone would say how long they’d been working at a company.

“Yes, sir. At present, we can’t hope for large-scale mobile battles. All we can have them do is hole up in the trenches and maybe shoot their guns.”

Anyhow, Tanya’s idea about the loss rates, that they would improve a bit once the soldiers acclimated, was a violently realistic one—i.e., that’s just how it goes in total war, where you’re in a competition to literally grind up human resources. Even if it made sense to be concerned about high losses, she thinks they’re overly worried about the effect such losses might have on the lines. To Tanya, you can afford to overlook losses that aren’t big enough to affect the ability of the organization to continue fighting.

To put it another way, if they were dropping as fast as they were in All Quiet on the Western Front, things would be pretty much like the title of the movie—all quiet.

Even if divisions attacked by night, like in the Russo-Japanese War, it would be a cinch to repel them with machine guns and mage support. Well, we would have to be practical and expect casualties within some permissible range, since the newbies would still be learning the ropes.

After all, I wasn’t the one who’d be dying. Not that I wanted them to die if we could help it.

“Indeed. It is difficult to imagine a large-scale mobile battle breaking out. You’re probably correct that we should focus our instruction on other areas, but…”

Ultimately, the colonel didn’t say anything that negated what Tanya had said.

What came through in his anguished reply were the emotions he couldn’t shake, the feeling of wrongness and hatred for this way of fighting that involved sending so many young to die.

“…neither can we ignore the damage being done in these smaller engagements. The problem is that even if the losses are small, they pile up. Worst of all, morale will start to flag.”

“But if an engagement is small, it shouldn’t be resulting in too many losses.”

Wait a minute. Tanya seemed to be the only one present who thought those losses were within the permissible range. Compared to the rate of casualties in World War I, these little scuffles were adorable. But a normal person wouldn’t usually use deaths in World War I as the yardstick even if they were aware of it, and if they weren’t, they would undoubtedly shiver at the inconceivable numbers.

“At most, a harassing raid would only kill the ones who would die anyhow, so that doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

A serious raid would be too high risk, so the most the enemy can do is take a company of infantry for a sneak attack. The limit for mages would be a battalion-sized harassing attack. If that’s all, the casualties the imperial side could expect wouldn’t be unsuitably high.

Speaking in extremes, of course. With that thought, Tanya drained her awful coffee and reached for a mint candy as a palate cleanser.

The large gap in experience between veterans and newbies can only be explained by how much actual combat they’ve been through. My unit’s rate of loss was far and away the lowest, but the replacements from other units were starting to get injured, albeit gradually. The soldiers who got their first taste of combat in the easy Dacian War were lucky. If your first time is this rough, it must take a long time to get used to it.

“Major von Degurechaff, don’t you think with your instruction and direction the loss rate could be lowered?”

“If you order me to do it, I’ll do my utmost, but ultimately our only option for these first-time combatants is to teach them step-by-step.”

On a battlefield with snipers, pointing at a moron who got shot is far more persuasive than telling them, Don’t stick your head out! While trenches diminish the effectiveness of field guns, concentrated fire from large-caliber heavy artillery reduces even reinforced concrete to rubble, so don’t all hide in the same place! They’ll understand well enough if you make them recover the bodies of the poor radio operators who suffocated when they were buried alive in a pillbox.

Take writing the alphabet, for example. If you don’t go A-B-C step-by-step and actually teach how to write it, there’s no point. When that occurred to her, Tanya realized her battalion still hadn’t experienced some things on the Rhine, either.

The obstacle of trenches certainly changed the way night battles were fought. They changed the way guard duty was performed as well, and the replacement troops were definitely not used to it. Newbies and veterans alike had to deal with warnings being given at the drop of a hat. And maybe this was compounded by the mages not having much opportunity to be in the trenches during the day.

“That said, it seems to be as you say. From what I’ve seen, I agree that we should be able to improve a bit more,” said Tanya upon reflection.

In other words, she needed to educate the fresh recruits under the assumption they were unfamiliar with the trenches. The change in environment and premises requires retraining.

“Yes, that’s right. Their combat in environments where they can’t rely on magic is particularly unbearable to watch.”

Tanya nodded in response to the colonel’s observation. The mages were trained under the assumption they’d be deploying both protective films and defensive shells, so they really did suck at stealth combat. The shameful sight of newbies unconsciously protecting themselves and then getting targeted by the enemy annoyed her.

“It’s true that even though they’re under strict orders not to use magic in the trenches, there are too many examples of people leaking signals without realizing and getting picked up by the enemy.”

Having said that, it really started to hit home. Oh, right, there was also an incident where a whole unit got blown away because some numbskull gave away their position while they were getting ready…

There had been an inquiry, but did anyone attempt to reevaluate replacement training as a result? Aha, it really is an issue when one person’s mistake multiplies the damage. Having jumped to that conclusion through logic incomprehensible to others, she was touched, thinking it was good that the higher-ups cared about improving the situation.

“You’re worried about even the small-scale battles with recruits this under-trained?”

Right, Heinrich’s Law. There is always the risk that letting small errors go will lead to getting majorly burned. And Murphy’s Law teaches us about the dangers of ignoring the possibility of failure. Humans are numbskulls. If there is a way to fail, someone will figure out how to do it at some point.

In that case… Tanya, shocked at her own pride, felt her heart stop. The higher-ups must be apprehensive about the shaky new recruits not for some baseless reason but because they’ve discovered some risk that officers across the front have been carelessly overlooking.

How perceptive. I need to hand it to them, from an HR perspective. There’s no guarantee that these issues won’t worsen if things develop into a massive battle, so if there are even small ways to improve, we have to work at them.

“That’s exactly the issue. Large-scale engagements notwithstanding, these smaller skirmishes…”

Even if the current assumption is that a large-scale battle won’t break out… The Operations staffer emphasized that even the present human losses couldn’t be ignored and felt (as a decent person would) that this level of harm, this mass production of corpses, was wrong somehow.

Meanwhile, Tanya nodded—quite right—at everything the colonel said but nevertheless took no particular issue with the losses as such. Rather, she thought the biggest problem was that many of their units were inferior due to being formed mainly with replacements.

Certainly, even if the chance of a large-scale fight was negligible, they were currently leaving open the possibility of failure and piling up small errors.

Actually, after having this pointed out to her, her most serious concern was the very real (if sporadic) instances where one person’s error had caused catastrophic damage—too much. She worried that newbies who couldn’t function without relying on magic could be a major component of failure on a high-risk mission.

“You were on an operation in Norden where you couldn’t rely on magic, right? I imagine you have a handle on the gist of it.”

“As you say, sir. I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t been thinking about it, but I’ll keep it in mind when I’m teaching.”

The idea of requesting error-prevention measures indicates, in a way, healthy operation of the organization. In civilian life, trouble can usually be dealt with by firing the person who made the mistake. In the army, however, one person’s mistake can mean everyone dies. One for all. All for one. It’s a truly wise saying. If one person fails, everyone dies, and if everyone else messes up, one person’s fierce fight won’t be enough to win in the end.

“About that…”

I appreciate that instruction is happening, but it’s far from enough. The issue really is lack of actual combat experience. The colonel was enthusiastic, thinking that he’d gotten her to understand his opinion. Thus, he and Tanya entered a strange misunderstanding without realizing the incongruity of their views because they saw only their agreement that something needed to be done.

“Yes, what is it, sir?”

“Can you give them some experience?”

What they needed more than protected experience in a large operation was thorough repetition and review in small-scale battles. That is what Tanya believed, so although she didn’t want to, she resolved to go on a non-magic raid.

Yes, combat experience should be gained alongside a well-trained unit with extraordinarily low loss rates. Experience trumps schooling.

“Sir! Experience, yes.”

There was no point in training corpses. There was no telling on the ground when the chance would arise to do a large-scale mobile battle or breakthrough or difficult operation like an infiltration attack. As long as that was the case, troops should be kept trained up so they could respond to orders at any time; Tanya kicked herself for her careless neglect.

I didn’t want losses in my unit, and I figured if I put the newbies out to pasture, the battlefield would turn them into master soldiers, but that was the wrong way to go about it.

“Yeah, if there’s a chance to train them in the trenches for a while, I’d like to have them fight with your troops.”

It was true that having her battalion go to the trenches with the new recruits as an instructor unit would reinforce the front. The Empire sure gets all they can out of their people. The shocking truth had just started dawning on Tanya that in the abnormality of war she had lapsed into irrationality and laziness. This is why war is bad, she thought. War numbs humanity and reason and drives you crazy with rotten fantasies.

When that thought crossed her mind, she had been on the verge of resisting, saying, You’re telling me to leave the rear and throw myself into the trenches? And not only that but take a bunch of deadweight with me and train them? She was terrified to see how tainted her own thoughts were. Even though I know that being hasty and shortsighted is most likely to cause a failure, once I experienced it, I got a good taste of how easy it is to fall into that trap.

“Understood! I’ll do my best to instruct the unit.”

“Great. I’ll prepare the written orders immediately. Sorry for the pressure, but we’re counting on you.”

“Yes, sir. Leave it to me! I’ll have results to show in no time.”

And so, neither of them realized there was a definite contradiction in their views, and Tanya moved ahead with carrying out her orders.

Taking her time to enjoy her dinner, she has the company commanders under her prepare for a night battle and confer with the leader of the recruits. She also points out to her batman that the potatoes are inexcusably old. When he replies that the supply unit is bringing canned goods as a top priority, she is forced to reluctantly back down…because she senses her superiors are focused on logistics network maintenance and efficiency.

The light railway is handling about as much traffic as it can take, so they’re probably prioritizing canned goods since those keep for a long time and can be transported according to a preset plan. In other words, I shouldn’t expect raw vegetables or fresh meat or fish anytime soon. The calories, at least, should be up to regulations. Still… When she hits upon that prospect, she has to accept the reality that her already simple table will become even drearier.

Well, I guess the only ones who get to expect decent meals at war are the navy. Or maybe just the submarine squads—I’ve heard they get treated well. Of course, everything else about their situation is the worst…

Basically, they’re beginning to prioritize ease of transport, and that makes sense to her. She certainly can’t argue against it, so with nothing else to do, she lays down her sword on the food issue and continues her meeting.

That’s how essential close cooperation and maintaining leadership will be in the upcoming operation. After all, discipline in a normal mage battalion night battle would be managed via magic. But if they were to cast interference formulas in the middle of no-man’s-land, they’d be detected; no individual radios will be distributed, either. Fighting a night battle under these conditions with fresh recruits is incredibly reckless.

Operation Eagle Claw heading for Iran probably had a higher chance of succeeding.

So should we split into autonomous platoons for the raid? Just one imperial mage platoon is said to have firepower equal to a company of regular infantry. Well, practically speaking, an infantry company and a mage platoon really can probably deliver the same amount of damage.

Plus, it’s a night battle. If we hit them with that much firepower under the veil of darkness, we can probably expect widespread confusion. But then to continue fighting, we’ll have to rely on magic. That means the second we cast interference formulas, it’s possible that the enemy retreats and the whole area gets bombarded indiscriminately.

Well, or we could just take checking machine-gun fire.

So should we infiltrate as companies? It’s realistic but on a whole new scale of difficulty. It’s not a bad idea to have each group perform a feint and then attack from four totally different locations. But sending in all four companies would mean that even as an augmented battalion, we wouldn’t have any muscle in reserve. I want to stay in the rear under the pretext of commanding the reserves, so I can’t accept that plan.

I will take the most highly trained First Company. Having all the other companies perform the raid would be best for me, but my subordinates are advocating for a plan where First Company is the main attacking force. They want to go without reserves and have the others feint.

The objective of our night battle is the abduction of enemy soldiers, which is relatively less difficult. Basically, we’ll invite enemy sentries from a warning trench to be friends for Intelligence to chat with.

“In other words, you all want to avoid engaging as much as possible.”

“Yes, Commander. Honestly, it’ll be impossible to fight with those recruits along.”

…I suppose it is important to avoid combat. My orders are simple. “Give them night battle experience.” Period.

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Or endeavor to understand one another in an advanced, civilized manner. To that end, a bit of nocturnal hiking to invite enemy soldiers over isn’t so bad.

No, it’s not bad. Well, it’s not good, either. I guess things can’t be declared simply good or bad.

“I’m concerned about speed. More than anything, this’ll demand a swift withdrawal.” Without thinking, I’ve already voiced a worry. Well, as the one in charge, I have to consider and prepare for all eventualities.

I can’t get away with saying, Oops, I didn’t think about that.

If I say it’s possible and fail, I’ll be laughed at. If I say it’s impossible, I’ll be reprimanded as inept.

I’m compelled to raise concerns; we need to think seriously about this. Any resisting enemy soldiers won’t be killed but knocked out. Well, that’s easy for a mage to do. We get a lot of practical experience on how to leave people neither dead nor alive in the military academy and basic training. The venerable Daigongen and Zusho come in surprisingly handy.

We’re up against soldiers instead of farmers, but in terms of governing theory, the result is the same. Well, no, I’m actually much more comfortable doing it to civilians.

We could also tap them lightly with the flat side of a shovel. If you swing a shovel sideways, it slices, but if you hit with the flat, that’s one down. They really are convenient—so much so that I’d almost like to have all the recruits participate armed only with shovels.

But what do we do once we capture our guests? If the warning trench sends out an alert, our only options will be to fight or run. As long as our objective is to take prisoners, fighting is pointless. When all you’ve got is the muscle of a group on force recon, dealing with the counterattacking unit in a trench fight is a completely futile battle of attrition. And if we were to miss our chance to pull out, we would literally die in vain. That’s why after we achieve our appointed objective, there’s no reason to stick around.

When your work is done, there’s nothing better than going straight home.

Which is why we can prioritize speed without fretting over the mana signals we’ll have been concealing up to then and go literally flying out of there with flight formulas. There is no better way to let your mana signal loose and hightail it away from the battle lines than a flight formula. Hooray for flight formulas.

We’ll have to run for our lives for a couple minutes, but if we can’t get away, we’ll get blown up in a hail of SOS fire.

Well, another way to look at it is that as long as whatever gets us makes a clean hit, we won’t have to suffer.

That said, everyone wants to enjoy life.

Even suicidal people aren’t born in such a passionate state of despair over their existence that they want to kill themselves. If they are able to believe in the future, humans all have the wonderful potential to build a bright, peaceful tomorrow. Humans are irreplaceable; we’re all unique.

At least, I don’t know about other people, but I have no substitute. That’s why I want to survive, no matter what it takes. No, I will survive. To that end, I’ll even praise the devil as God for those couple minutes to go full throttle.

I’m saying that we’ll keep an eye out for each other as we withdraw, but I’m definitely not stopping. Falling behind means being taken prisoner if you’re lucky or death in battle if you’re not.

“…Well, seems like you’re appropriately nervous.”

Apparently, all my subordinates have screws loose. I mentioned a concern, so why are they talking about “appropriately nervous”? Was it a mistake to gather a bunch of war addicts when I formed my unit?

I want to take a little space. I hunt for someone with some other—some normal—opinion. When I scan my troops, I see Lieutenant Serebryakov raising her hand.

“Major, the last few minutes are the dangerous part, although we do have to give the new recruits support on our way over as well.”

This is a much more sensible viewpoint. We’ll be fine on the approach unless someone makes a sound or some numbskull gives off a mana signal.

“Lieutenant, you and I have seen enough newbies screwing up on the Rhine to make you sick. You can handle them, right?”

“…If need be. But, Major, I’m going to do my best to cover for them so that won’t be necessary.”

“Hmm. Well, let’s go over the opinions we’ve presented.”

Let’s round up the most sensible conclusions we have.

1. Do all we can to avoid combat.

Peace is best, of course. No reason to oppose that.

2. Send the strongest unit.

This is irritating, but in terms of military sense, I can’t argue with it. Accepted for its prudence.

3. If we don’t get discovered, the approach is possible. Withdrawing will be dangerous.

These are the points we collected. It’s probably the safest plan. That is, if we arrange for a steady advance and a swift withdrawal, I guess we shouldn’t have any problems. And if the troops make a mess of it, they’ll have officers and NCOs with plenty of Rhine experience to back them up. Lieutenant Serebryakov and the others who have come up through the ranks will probably do a proper job of that.

“Good. I’ll notify them of the plan.”

Now, which of the fresh mages will I take on our first picnic?

Dinner was potatoes. And a little bit of fresh meat. Everything else was canned. Mages are usually treated well, and I’m even an officer, but this is what I get. This is still the rear base, so I’m told it’s on the good side; I wonder what the situation is on the front line. I hear the Great Army is putting pressure on the enemy lines, but Logistics is probably still struggling.

With those things on his mind, Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz, who had finally just been commissioned, ate his food quickly like soldiers do. The meal was better than the rations at the field exercise grounds.

At least it satisfied his appetite, and his tongue didn’t reject it. But even if the food was better, he’d actually been feeling depressed for a few days. After all, he was being sent to the district with the fiercest fighting.

No, when he left the academy, he even trembled with excitement at being sent to the Rhine sometimes. He even thought he’d rack up brilliant exploits and become a hero.

But that enthusiasm withered the closer the military train got to the Rhine district on the way to the front.

What he saw were shell craters and burned, blistered things. Everything in his field of vision was gray. All of it, scorched fields. By the time the pungent odor began invading his nose, his spirit was deflated. And the thunder of a large gun, maybe an imperial railway gun, intensified his worries.

Before he knew it, he and the others were restlessly glancing around, noticing that many of their fellows wore the same anxious faces.

During that journey, one of the few ways to pass the time was sharing rumors. As he’d heard, the old stagers either slept, played cards, or spread rumors. Grantz dozed now and then, otherwise chatting as the train rocked along. He heard some rumors he knew of, too.

For example, one legend at the academy said a second-class student had once murmured that Cadet Degurechaff was more terrifying than the battlefield. She certainly is scary. Such were the thoughts running through his mind as he presented himself at Rhine Command.

When he arrived, he heard he would be attached to an instructor unit, which was a relief.

According to Command, he’d be retrained as a replacement before getting his assignment, so the first thing to do was get used to the front lines.

Maybe I can do this! It was several days ago that he had thought that.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the Rhine front!”

If the devil exists, it has to be our instructor, the commander of the 203rd Aerial Mage Assault Battalion, the legendary Major von Degurechaff.

The way she smiled. The way she looked at us like we were maggots. The way she seemed thirsty for blood.

I’d believe she had tried to kill a rebellious underclassman or crack his skull open. If I screw up on the battlefield, she’ll definitely kill me. That’s how threatened I felt by the instructor who just had to also be my advisor.

…I wanna cry.

Out of all the replacements, I was the only one who had been through the academy. In other words, everyone either didn’t know the rumor that she was a demon in the guise of a little girl or laughed it off. The ones who figured they could handle war if that little kid could were on the safer side.

Just the thought of what the ones who underestimated her might do made my stomach hurt. I’ve never hated the words collective responsibility so much.

Tonight, I’m off duty. I should go to bed early. It happened just as I thought that.

We were summoned. The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion was ordered to appear in the briefing room, grouped by platoon, within three minutes.

“Hurry up! Run!”

I urged my platoon, who had been finishing dinner; raced over to the briefing room; and just barely made it at two minutes and fifty-one seconds. No other platoons had arrived yet. Well, no, in ran Seventh Platoon; they’d been competing with those of us in Fourth Platoon. That second, the three minutes were up.

And the next second, the superior officers broke into broad grins and went to go get the tardy platoons. Did the others even feel bad for being late?

In any case, we all assembled quickly. And our smiling battalion commander announced a night picnic plan. Not that it involved anything like a picnic.

“Unfortunately, gentlemen, I think that aside from Fourth and Seventh Platoons, you deserve penalties.”

This was the major who had once said during a speech at the academy that deadweight should be killed. I pitied the groups who hadn’t been able to make it in three minutes because I figured they would be thrown into hell, but that wasn’t right.

“In order to teach you the importance of haste, I’m sending you to the trenches. Since you don’t seem to understand when I tell you, you’ll experience firsthand what happens to slowpokes.”

They’d actually be buried in the depths of hell. The shocked mages were immediately assigned to the warning trench. The warning trench on the front lines of the district with the worst fighting… They would be what are commonly called “canaries,” the first to get attacked on the forward-most line. The mortality rate was naturally the highest; it was a position where you couldn’t rest for even a moment.

By the way, they’re called canaries after the caged birds that are taken into mines. The comparison is made because of the criticism that the raison d’être of anyone in this post is to stop responding.

But I shouldn’t have been relieved.

“Now then, you fine, punctual fellows, I have a reward.”

She looked at us one by one as if she was going to tell us something wonderful. My platoon mates next to me seemed to be expecting a reward, but I wasn’t.

I had a really bad feeling.

“You get a little amity-building recreation. We’ll go on a picnic, make a toast, and invite some new friends to come back with us. I guess you can call it a party.”

As soon as she said that, someone handed us a pamphlet that said Field Trip Guide. Picnic procedure?

“First, equip hand grenades and your shovel; then ready your rifle and computation orb. Dress in night camo for CQB. By the way, if you use your computation orb or rifle without permission, you’ll be shot or beaten to death. Republican soldiers are people, too. That means you can make friends with them”?

Then why did we have to knock them out with shovels?

“…In ancient times, people made friends by talking with their fists”?

“Civilized people of the present use the implement born of civilization, the shovel…”?

This is crazy. No one said it aloud, but it was the look on everyone’s faces. This was a nighttime mission to abduct enemy soldiers—a so-called intelligence-gathering mission but extremely dangerous nonetheless. If we were going to drag enemies back with us, it went without saying that we would have to approach the enemy trenches.

Basically, we had to sneak up to the enemy position—where machine guns, all types of heavy artillery, infantry guns, snipers, and tons of soldiers were waiting—and abduct enemies out of the warning trench, which was the place that was on highest alert.

“…We’re gonna die.”

It was from there that things would get really intense. “After using your shovels to mingle with lots of friends, let’s invite some to our house. But I think all our friends will try to keep us from leaving in various ways. The field trip lasts until you shake them off and make it home”?

“Incidentally, I’m not too worried about you punctual fellows, but one thing…” She beamed. Oh God, please save us. “If you’re too slow, we’re leaving you behind. Yes, anyone who wants a quick double promotion can stay out there. We wouldn’t want to hinder your success in life.”

She said the same sort of thing when I first met her. I didn’t realize it was word for word the truth!

Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz realized he was shaking.

My survival instinct was screaming. I wanted to avoid the war, the combat, the killing. I was hesitating.

But one glance from Major von Degurechaff was enough to subjugate that instinct. She was far more terrifying. We sallied forth like lambs being herded by a sheepdog. No one raised so much as a groan. We advanced under the cover of night, crawling in silence.

The commander was the first to strike. We heard the thudding of her shovel followed by the grunts of several people. We whacked the enemy soldiers caught with their guard down, too, as if our lives depended on it.

How much time passed after that?

It felt like the experience lasted a lifetime, but in reality, it was only a few dozen seconds.

It was a short moment. During that tiny amount of time, all the enemy soldiers in the specified area of the warning trench were either incapacitated or deep in a sleep they would never wake up from.

I could still feel the shock of the shovel impact in my hand; it was different from the recoil of shooting like we were taught at the academy. That particular feeling, the sensation of crushing something, was still impressed upon my body.

If I had been left like that, I wonder what would have happened to me.

“It’s time. Company, carry the prisoners. Newbies, you’re support. In thirty seconds, the magic ban is lifted. We’re flying outta here. Sync your watches—three, two, one, start.”

But the orders delivered in a calm, unruffled whisper brought me back to reality. Combined with my training, they slowly got my body moving. That’s what I had been drilled for. My training saved me.

As instructed, thirty seconds later I started up my computation orb at full throttle and took off.

We really hightailed it back to our own defensive lines. It only took a few minutes. All we had to do was fly—simple. But it was horrible. My heart raced with every artillery shot. It hurt to breathe.

I was so terrified I hardly felt like myself anymore.

When we climbed up high to avoid being shot accidentally and set a safe course for the rear base, all the stress left my body at once, and weariness washed over me.

…How could the major just calmly sing a hymn?

Today, after completing her morning exercises and eating breakfast, Major von Degurechaff reaches for her pen as if she’s made up her mind.

In the rear base, the mail can get through. Naturally, it’s possible to send a letter if necessary.

It’s military mail, so sometimes there are delays, but in general, things can be sent and received like any normal letter.

Of course, someone like her with no relatives doesn’t have any personal letters to write.

She only ever writes on official business or unofficial business.

What she’s writing this time is official. That said, in a rare case, she takes out her stationery hesitantly, and her pen moves over the paper awkwardly.

She’s already written a pile of these documents. She just accepts that they’re work and gets them done. But today the tip of her pen feels heavy.

Well, it would be stranger if a person could write it without trouble.

To the dear family of Warrant Officer Anluk E. Kahteijanen,

I am Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff, his superior officer.

I regret to inform you that your one and only young Anluk E. Kahteijanen is being discharged with a disability.

He became abruptly ill during an operation, and the surgeon has judged that it would be difficult for him to endure lengthy military service.

His recovery will most likely require a long recuperation period at home or in a military hospital.

The Personnel Division has agreed to go ahead with this treatment plan.

Please speak with him and ensure he has a restful convalescence.

And please forgive us for returning your child in such a condition.

He is an outstanding mage, our irreplaceable brother-in-arms, brave and trusted by all.

We are deeply saddened to no longer have Anluk E. Kahteijanen in our ranks.

Small consolation though it must be, I recommended him for the Field Service Badge First Class and the Disability Medal, both of which were approved.

I hope he makes a full recovery.

Sincerely,

[xxx] Unit Commander, Imperial Army Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff

…To think the day would come when I’d lose a man to some bad potatoes. Apparently, the legendary remark from an American Thunderbolt pilot that even a veteran can’t beat food poisoning wasn’t a joke.

So those potatoes really were rotten after all. Tanya puts away her pen, irritated by the worsening logistics situation.

Sending a letter to the family when something happens to a subordinate is the superior officer’s responsibility, and I’m not against writing…but food poisoning from potatoes? Tanya has finished the letter, but she has complicated feelings about the incident and can’t get over it.

He had eaten, participated in a night raid, and shocked me upon our return by throwing up and complaining of an awful stomachache. I was dumbfounded. A veteran writhing about like that, I was sure he had to have been hit by an NBC weapon. Those work even on mages. I hurriedly cast a medical formula, but it only eased the pain. Protective films provide comprehensive NBC coverage, and I remember we were on the verge of panicking that some new weapon not on that list had been developed.

When the surgeon rushed over and examined him, we were finally able to sigh in relief. In other words, it was just sudden, acute food poisoning. And it only hit unlucky Anluk E. Kahteijanen.

He was a good mage, damn it. I never thought I would send someone away from the front like this.

But it’s really great that Personnel treated his condition as a disability. This way, he gets his pension, and his honor as a soldier remains intact. And I, as an officer, won’t have the blemish on my record of a dishonorable subordinate.

I mean, you can only really laugh at an officer who loses a man to bad potatoes. Who would have thought I had a guy in my unit who would be taken out by his own stomach…? Nah, it’s not even funny.

The Republican bombardments come as always, shaking our position like clockwork, but I must feel oddly reflective on this auspicious day because I sent a man to the rear for a difficult-to-verbalize reason.

That said, what we learned from this lesson was promptly applied. As such, this morning’s breakfast was bacon, hard biscuits, and ersatz coffee. The vegetable soup featuring the guilty potatoes was hastily disposed of. Personally, I worry about my diet being unbalanced without vegetables, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

I had someone go to get supplies first thing this morning, so I figure maybe we’ll get a chance to eat canned vegetables with lunch. And well, even if we are on a battlefield, we can’t escape falling into routines, and I’m a bit sick of it. It’d be great if we could get a meal that’s not part of the rotation.

Aside from these things, our daily battles in the trenches take place in the world of All Quiet on the Western Front. We basically repeat the same pattern day after day. The only novelty to keep my attention is whether the recruits training on the front lines are doing well or not.

Well, I only put them in yesterday. Tanya expects that after a week’s baptism of war in the trenches she’ll find out whether they’re usable or not.

If not, all she has to do is send them back and apply for their retraining.

So although she regrets war’s brand of tunnel vision, she devotes herself to instructing her troops. First, just as her boss said, she gave them the most difficult test first; despite the risks, she reluctantly took them on a night battle, but to her surprise and delight, they only lost two.

Though she’d told everyone they were leaving in thirty seconds, that pair couldn’t keep up and were blown away in an artillery barrage, a fact confirmed by one of her subordinates. That was all. Apart from that, the newbies all followed instructions, and no one went insane. As Tanya mulls over the recruits’ misfortune to be blown up together in their two-man cell, she finds herself in a somewhat philosophical mood and begins to wonder about the role of luck in food poisoning.

In any case, she’s doing what she needs to do.

But actually, even though she’s doing what she needs to do, she sometimes gets doubtful looks.

For instance, she reported in, “I’M INSTRUCTING THEM ACCORDING TO YOUR ORDERS.”

And the response she received was “ROGER. GOOD LUCK.”

But then when they went on the night raid and lost only two men, the higher-ups told her to be more careful next time. She began wondering if maybe they wanted her to do it with zero losses.

But this is a battlefield, she argued, and we went on a high-risk operation. Losing two newbies under those circumstances is not bad.

But when it comes to luck, it seems Tanya has to admit that she needs to take certain things into account.

Still, she finds it lamentable that just because they don’t want any losses and her unit got unlucky, the blame is laid on her as the commander who was present.

I know history repeats in little ways, from private companies to the Yankee military. For example, when that guy MacArthur ordered his subordinate Eisenhower to plan a parade and then insisted he had no memory of it—there are a number of rotten incidents like that throughout time.

Still, Tanya is feeling really sad. Ahh, I might start to cry. I mean, I’m a girl, you know!

…??

When her thoughts stray, she suddenly realizes she feels off.

Her mind floods with the horror of psychological contamination.

She runs off in search of some kind of help as if her life depends on it.

A doctor! I need to see a doctor!