MID-JANUARY, UNIFIED YEAR 1927,
THE KINGDOM OF ILDOA, ARMY GENERAL HQ
The Imperial Army's successful counter to the Federation Army's offensive had modest yet significant effects on all fronts. Though the New Year had only just begun, the concerned parties were all busy running around coping with the results.
Arguably the first of the noteworthy actors was the Council for Self-Government. The group had been viewed as a puppet but turned out to be doing more than anyone had expected. In the context of Federation politics, it meant the separatists had formed strong bonds with the invading Imperial Army.
To Federation authorities, that was a bolt from the blue. Their propaganda broadcasts were conspicuously silent on the topic, which showed the whole world how shocking the news had been. It had been enough to render them speechless.
Meanwhile, the cooperation between the Council for Self-Government and the Imperial Army… had no small impact on other countries, as well. But was the Empire in such a tight spot that it was forced to compromise? Or was it, while focusing less on territorial ambitions and more on dividing and conquering, still in the mood for war? Interpretations varied.
People who could stay positive despite having no basis for it were happy.
Unfortunately, the principal belligerents, guessing it was the latter case, were quite worried.
This war had already been dragging on, and now it was turning into an unavoidable quagmire. The burden was incalculably enormous. You could try to look forward to the rewards of victory, but in a war that went this far, probably the only things remaining after the violent attrition would be the earth scattered with rubble.
A world war, to the principal belligerent countries, was a zero-sum game played out of pocket. And victory wasn't even guaranteed! Rarely did something worry people so much as an unclear outcome.
When under those circumstances, the Empire was fanning the separatist flames, you didn't have to be a utilitarian to bemoan the costs of the war.
We've hit our limit.
It was stranger to not hear anyone saying that.
Clearly, a limit had to be placed on the mounting losses at some point, and thinking rationally, this was a chance to bargain. Thus, one man came forward as a good, sincere peace broker.
His name was General Igor Gassman.
As long as balance was maintained, he was a good friend to the Empire as well as an intermediary for other countries; in other words, he was an ardent lover of peace as well as a philanthropist.
"General, the embassies of both the Commonwealth and the Unified States have accepted our proposal."
"Oh? Even with those terms?"
The moment he got the report from his affably smiling subordinate, Colonel Calandro, Gassman furrowed his brow in disgust and reached for a cigar.
If selling peace to the world went too smoothly, that could also cause issues for the middleman.
"…Sheesh, our ally is putting up a more valiant fight than I expected."
Even as a tentative proposal, the terms had been exorbitant. The best anyone could say was that they might become a first step toward negotiations.
Gassman didn't intend to spare any pains in mediation… But his true desire was to do everything possible to ensure that Ildoa's contributions couldn't be brushed off.
The Imperial Army overturned Gassman's prewar estimates of the power gap by offering a ferocious fight, blowing his careful calculations of interests to bits.
Let's be honest.
Though the Imperial Army was a beloved ally, the Kingdom of Ildoa would have appreciated it more if it would fight only as much as necessary.
"At this rate, we won't be able to gain much from mediating." His calculations swirled in the air along with his cigar smoke.
By simply being the ones to open up negotiations before the reconciliation summit, the Kingdom of Ildoa had been able to obtain tons of new aircrafts, computation orbs, and even loans with no interest or collateral.
"Well, peace would be best, of course," Gassman murmured and set aside ambitions for further profit. It wouldn't do to be too greedy. The key to negotiations was to stay modest and ensure an appropriate amount of gains.
"I'm glad to know that they're so interested in peace that they'll lend us an ear even if the terms we present are that outrageous. And? We were waiting on a final response from those hyenas in the Federation. What did they have to say?"
"I confirmed through our attache´, who said they have no problem."
Calandro's voice was brimming with the self-confidence of a member of their elite intelligence agency.
Contrary to his nice-guy exterior, he was an absolute realist, so the significance of his guarantee was enormous.
"No problem? Does that mean they have the evidence?"
"…The orders must have been given. The cells who had been reported to be causing trouble have ceased activities."
"Ohhh?" Gassman emitted an interested exclamation unconsciously.
That meant the Federation had worked very quickly to fulfill his simple request: The
Kingdom of Ildoa will volunteer to mediate, so silence the Ildoan radical left wing.
"Those whipped dogs."
"Better whipped than rioting."
"That's for sure. Not that we're any better with politicians running the army."
How prudent of Calandro to select a tactful silence. The natural way he shifted his eyes to the clock on the wall was perfectly attuned to his position.
Now, how should I interpret that, since he hasn't agreed or disagreed? No. Having thought that far, he switched gears.
"…So, Colonel, shall we do what we need to do?"
"It's quite a risk, I think. To be honest, the General Staff is warning that the Empire may react violently."
Calandro's anxiety wasn't unfounded.
What they were about to do was, well, it was likely to provoke a reaction along the lines of Now you've gone and done it. It was a dangerous gamble, and if they lost, furious imperials could very well be storming over their border soon.
Gassman couldn't write off that possibility, even if it had only a one-in-a-million chance of happening.
Yet, he spoke with confidence. "There's no problem, right, Colonel?" "But…"
"I'm sure the Imperial Army General Staff will respond immediately to such a sneak attack. They're talented enough that it should be easy for them. Most importantly, they have plenty of combat experience."
He had no doubt about that.
It was dangerous to assume that ideas proven in battle were superior, but discounting
them entirely was equally foolish.
The Imperial Army and its exacting General Staff operated on a fearsomely exacting standard.
Even Gassman, who prided himself on being more like a politician than a soldier, was in awe of his fellow military men in the Imperial Army—he had to respect them.
"But, Colonel Calandro, our safety is guaranteed by the excellence of the Imperial Army. Did you see how the Council for Self-Government was established on the Federation lines? The Imperial Army General Staff is a perfect mass of raison d'e´tat. They're not reckless enough to go looking for another front in this war."
An outstanding military would naturally act to avoid ending up in a crude explosion. With its famous iron discipline, the Imperial Army could be trusted to behave accordingly.
"We should be able to avoid any accidents. That makes this a done deal. The Imperial Army clearly prefers to stay home, as evidenced by its interior lines strategy." To Gassman, it was inevitable. "They may actually be open to hearing our mediation plan."
Acting not on emotions but reason.
Even if the Empire came to the table reluctantly, he expected them to come. Then the Kingdom of Ildoa would be able to host their dear friends as an intermediary.
"Rather than shedding blood in war, we should all sweat together in peace talks."
"…That in itself makes sense, sir, but…" Calandro's perplexed eyes asked the unstated question, Will it really work?
Gassman waved him off with a faint smile. "Don't worry! These days you can't reasonably hope to expand your territory relying on political marriage anymore."
Bloody armed conflict came at a cost.
For the Kingdom of Ildoa, which had been carefully observing the total war from the sidelines, that was out of the question. Neutral countries were in the unique position of being forced to witness the madness of uncommonly costly battles.
Anyone with normal sensibilities would be on the lookout for an exit. That much was self-evident.
"The best thing a lucky country can do is accept its allotment of peace. What unfortunate reason could there be to go sticking your neck into such a foolish pursuit as war?"
The Imperial Army seemed impossibly huge from the perspective of the Ildoan ground forces.
And haven't we even started recruiting some women in addition to the men, so we can mobilize more troops?
To someone like Gassman, who had been fighting the government about the budget, it was clear at a glance.
World war meant only outrageous expenditures and madness.
Just a few years of it reduced a nation to tatters. The reconstruction would take an unfathomably long time. Would it even be finished after infants of today grew into adults decades later?
"Excessive pride is unreasonable! If everyone wants something so badly, then we should sell it, even if it is profiteering! Let's give them some common ground."
"General, do the warring countries even want peace?"
"Who would want to keep fighting such a wasteful war?! I think it's only logical that even if it's a bit of a—no, a fairly hard sell, that peace will indeed sell."
He gave the natural answer in a natural way.
To Gassman, it was as self-evident as the fact that one plus one is two. He would even call it axiomatic.
"So does that make us the messengers of peace?"
"Quite right! Let's wedge the imperials' mouths open with some piping hot pizza and pasta and hear what they have to say!"
"Don't they say it's important to have manners between friends?" Calandro made a sour expression as he offered this frank advice. It was stereotypical of him, as an intelligence officer, to so prudently envision the worst case, but how far would his caution extend?
"Oh, we can just call it the manners of warriors." Gassman broke into a liberal-minded smile and shrugged at the worrywart colonel. "Colonel Calandro, your anxiety is all for nothing. Those guys in the Empire, politics runs so deep in their veins that they'd keep smiling even if they're furious on the inside."
"Either way, I'm the one who'll have to deal with them once they're angry…"
"I'll expect great things from your heroic struggle, then. Will that be all?" Gassman moved to end their conversation, but he noticed Calandro's gaze still fixed on him, looking worried. "You're really against it, huh?"
"…May I ask you something, as an intelligence officer?" "Of course." Gassman nodded generously.
Looking at him questioningly, Calandro must have hesitated for just a brief time. His eyes glanced away momentarily before he spoke. "To tell the truth… yes, to tell you the truth… I have to wonder if you're provoking the Empire on purpose." His anxiety seeped into his hard voice. "I'm holding the lives of the troops in my hands, so please answer this properly for me." His tone was earnest.
Though Calandro was an intelligence officer with a desk job in the rear, he was a man who knew combat.
Gassman's only response was to smile wryly as he answered, "Sheesh, what little trust you have in me. I don't deny that this project of mine will stir things up… but regardless, it won't come to war."
It was true that his plan of carrying out unscheduled field maneuvers on a large scale with the troops urgently mobilized at the Ildoa Empire border was an extreme move.
"Shall I tell you why before you ask?"
Calandro wasn't the only one shooting him skeptical looks.
Mobilizing when the Empire needed every man it could get while its entire army was swamped in a battle of attrition on the eastern front would be "provocative" even with the most generous estimation—to the point that General Calderoni and other commanders long stationed on the border with the Empire were making noise about it.
"Neither we nor the Empire wants to fight. So why would there be war…? To cut to the chase, this will only be a demonstration. Even if we were planning on starting a war, that would probably happen the next time, not this time."
"I beg your pardon, General, but you're a military politician."
And? Gassman asked with his eyes, and Calandro looked straight back at him as he answered.
"Aren't you perhaps discounting the fact that the human mind often deviates from reason in combat?"
It must have been a question stemming from experience in battle. And in reality, Calandro was one of the rare Ildoan soldiers who had served in small-scale conflicts in the colonies. Even Gassman, who had a long career on paper, wasn't averse to admitting there was much to learn from him.
Still, Gassman had experience himself, as well. He saw himself as an old warrior who had taken up arms and fought in the colonies during his younger days. Though he had gone on to pursue a career in administration, he clearly styled himself as a soldier whose heart would always be on the battlefield.
"I'm used to getting called a politician in military uniform. But I do wear the same uniform as you."
"…I said too much." The anger radiating from Gassman's every word wasn't something an armchair general could emit. Faced with that steely glare, Calandro swiftly elected to make a tactical withdrawal. "I hope you'll forgive me for my rudeness, General. My deepest apologies." His attitude as he bowed was pitch-perfect, and the angle his head lowered, magnificent.
The moment Gassman found himself thinking, This doesn't really suit such a cheerful guy, he shrugged with a chuckle. "You got me. That made me laugh."
No matter how accomplished an enemy general might've been, a friendly general who surrounded himself with yes-men would always be far more frightening. Gassman was glad to be the kind of person who allowed counterarguments.
"Your analysis is sound. I'll accept your apology and let this be water under the bridge." "I appreciate it, sir."
"No worries. Besides… I have insurance. Even if the Empire does come out swinging, we should be able to pick up the telltale signs of movement and changes in their position."
Calandro must have apologized because he realized he had crossed a line… but that kind of consideration was unnecessary. Conspirators preferred someone rude who knew how to handle themselves over a polite idiot—because anyone plotting a conspiracy had to be a realist.
"Understood… It may not be much, but I'll do what I can, General."
And that's why I count on intelligence officers like you. His unstated feelings must have gotten through. The eyes looking at him now contained a dependable force of will.
"It's in your hands now." Gassman encouraged him.
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AROUND THE SAME TIME,
IMPERIAL ARMY GENERAL STAFF OFFICE WAR ROOM
No General Staff Office meeting room looked any better than the rest.
They were places where high-ranking officers wearing the staffer braid stood scowling, clustered around a large map covered in scribbles of data.
And that held true for the Imperial Army's offices as well.
Good staff officers all ended up resembling one another in some way. They were stubborn, competitive, and hard workers who spared no pains.
It was precisely for that honor and spirit that they were praised, This is the heart of the
great and fearsome Imperial Army, which belongs to the Reich, crown of the world. Here are enshrined wisdom and forethought, and so on.
Setting aside their elegant exterior created for show, staff officers were quite an uncouth bunch.
The reality was a pile of geniuses basically wringing their brains out, writhing around in the fog of war as they faced a mountain of documents while they desperately groped for a solution.
That said, usually a standard—meaning the minimum—of decorum was just barely maintained. Shouting back and forth could only be a sign of danger.
"Ildoa is mobilizing?!"
Restraint went out the window as voices barked. Shrieks that went up like shots from signal guns invited a storm into the General Staff Office, immediately turning the place into a typhoon.
"There wasn't any advance notice?!"
"This isn't part of their regular exercise schedule!" "Which units are on the move?!"
"You're saying it's an unannounced mobilization exercise?!"
The notice from the Kingdom of Ildoa, that it was commencing a large-scale mobilization exercise with the goal of assembling their forces by February 1, threw the Imperial Army General Staff into hellish agony.
It was officially a mobilization exercise, so after the troops were gathered, they would supposedly do field exercises for a few weeks before being released, but all of this was news to the staff officers.
The shouts of This is absurd! crisscrossing the room were a reflection of their disgraceful, panicked state.
In a nutshell: They were traumatized.
"Are we going to get hit in the flank again?!"
"Of all the—! What has Intelligence been doing?!"
The Imperial Army General Staff previously misinterpreted the François Republic's intentions. Everyone remembered what it was like to get their flank shredded by an opponent they didn't expect to enter the fight.
Even when they won, no one understood better than the staff officers what thin ice they had been on. With their previous failure lighting a fire beneath them, it was impossible to stay calm when examining the situation to the south.
Did they trick us?
The staffers did have a sense that they were focusing too much on the east… leading them to get the worst sort of premonitions in the backs of their minds, like conspiracy theories, and that scared them even more, so it turned into a vicious cycle.
It was shameful behavior, unbecoming of Imperial Army staff officers.
"I can't bear to watch this," uttered one officer's esteemed friend as he took the cigar out of his mouth and ground it into the ashtray.
"Shut up! Do the lot of you want to be sent back to war college?!"
It was a single shout. Facing the gaggle of dumbfounded officers, Lieutenant General von Zettour pounded the map and barked again.
"What are you staff officers here for?! Is that braid a decoration?!"
His eyes shone a palpably sharp glare on the staffers. The moment the normally fearless officers came to their senses, a burst of laughter echoed throughout the tense room.
"…Boy, Zettour, you beat me at my own game. You know I look forward to chewing out useless youngsters!" Lieutenant General von Rudersdorf laughed as if to say how ridiculous it was. But though his tone was gentle, his words were harsh. "Now then, it's time for work. Let's include the Ildoan Army's movements in our assessments of their situation and see what's what." Having said that much, he suddenly seemed to notice something. "So? Why don't we have any intel on the situation?"
With that one comment, the Operations staffers finally began to move.
Once they had been told what to do, the training hammered into their brains kicked in, enabling them to fulfill their duties.
"We're extracting our officer ASAP. The leader of the Ildoan army is General Igor Gassman."
"General Gassman?"
"Not General Calderoni from the northern area?"
The personnel choice caused both Zettour and Rudersdorf to question the reasoning. The name was unfamiliar enough that a few people chimed in with questions, confused.
Those in the field of operations probably hadn't ever heard of the man. Rudersdorf cocked his head with a Huh? and he was only the first in a line of confused expressions.
But of course they had never heard of him.
Even Zettour couldn't recall the name immediately. After rummaging in his memories, the guy he finally came up with seemed less like a soldier and more like a politician who had merely donned a uniform.
-x-X-x-
[Image]
-x-X-x-
"If I remember correctly, General Igor Gassman is part of the administration… He's served mostly at Ildoan central command and has barely been out in the field at all, right?"
"Correct, sir."
This general was such an inconspicuous figure that until the officer riffling through documents confirmed his existence, Zettour wasn't even sure he was real. Some soldiers were like that. The sort that were adept at running a tight ship internally, more suited to administrative work than battle.
The fact that they lacked information about him even though he was a general from the army of an allied country was headache inducing. And if not even the specialists in the rear like Zettour could recall him immediately, that was even worse.
"Let's make sure to get some material on General Gassman later. Speaking for Operations, I'd like to know the chain of command of the mobilized Ildoan forces."
Zettour had been sinking into thought, but he snapped back to the present at the sound of Rudersdorf's voice.
That was the decisiveness befitting a member of Operations, Zettour supposed. That approach of doing whatever possible with what they knew at the moment was the continuation of a fine tradition emphasizing flexible handling of any situation.
"…Will this General Gassman be leading the troops himself? Or will General Calderoni on the ground there direct the exercises?"
"According to the detailed report, General Calderoni has been tapped as chief aide-de- camp and appointed a senator, so he's been summoned to the Senate."
"Go on." Rudersdorf nodded, and the officers from Operations gave briefly summarized reports.
"It seems that this time General Gassman, who was appointed as the general director of the exercises, will be conducting an inspection himself. Apparently, they would also like to invite allied officers to attend via our attache´ in Ildoa."
"…Let's forget, for the moment, that the general's come from the more administrative side of things. We need to find out what's happening with the mobilization. Do we
know how many units are involved?" "Yes, here you go."
Finally, the printout came around.
It was a report that the attache´ at the embassy must have sent in a huge hurry. Whoever typed it probably started the moment the first call came in. Zettour was impressed by how concise it was.
Ildoa has issued mobilization orders
Scale, four hundred, battalions, notification received Commander, General Igor Gassman
Details as soon as the connection can be maintained
Envisioning the worst-case scenario of the communication lines being cut, the attache´ had typed out the most important info, even if it had to be in drips and drabs. They had done an admirable job.
The first report of the mobilization exercise of approximately four hundred battalions for urgent deployment to Ildoa's northern area was plenty. And they would probably be able to expect further details. If there was a problem, it was that interpreting the information was difficult.
"How many divisions is that?"
"About twenty-five divisions of our size, I think."
"In other words, Ildoa is mobilizing almost the maximum number of troops they can muster during peacetime?" Rudersdorf's question was emblematic of a certain issue.
Imperial Army officers weren't terribly familiar with the units of the Royal Ildoan Army, so they had no choice but to take a little time to grasp the numbers.
"If it's that many, well, we can think of something. We can't conclude that Ildoa will actually invade, but let's consider defensive measures."
"Understood."
As an operations specialist, you would probably consider how to react based on that judgment. That was fine and well, but there was no need to limit themselves to crisis management. Zettour chimed in out of a sense of duty.
"Try making a request to Ildoa asking that they cancel it. I doubt they actually will, but… we need to object, if only as a formality. Make sure the text is impeccably calm and courteous. Actually"—he paused to twist his mouth into a bit of a sneer—"feigned politeness is fine. Emphasize the friendship and camaraderie between the two countries."
"Yes, sir." The staffers nodded, and he knew there wouldn't be any issues if he left it to them.
It was important to protest up front. Even if the objection didn't change anything, they would go on record as having made it. At least one simple problem had been solved.
The real issue was what to do in a worst-case scenario.
"I think we should alert the Southern Army Group and the Southern Continent Expeditionary Army Corps at once."
An Operations officer was making a defensive proposal.
It wasn't a bad idea, but there was one thing Zettour didn't like about it. For some reason, he started to think, but then his mind was occupied by the Kingdom of Ildoa's principle geopolitical feature.
Their military was an equal balance of army and navy. To put it another way, this wasn't a country that could fight with its army alone. If it really meant to go to war, it would be gathering its main forces, including the naval fleet.
If they were truly intending to fight, that would be a matter of course.
"What's Ildoa's navy doing? I want to know where their capital ships are." He tried to ask with as much composure as possible, but the significance of the question was enormous.
"No sign of them massing."
"Also no changes to the regularly scheduled exercises. Our naval forces are also hurrying to confirm this, but we haven't seen any transfers that would indicate any imminent combat maneuvers."
The moment the officers in charge of naval intelligence gave their reports in even tones, Zettour was able to release the tension in his shoulders. The relief was practically indescribable.
At the very least, from what he could tell, it didn't seem like Ildoa intended to start a fight. As far as the fleet movements had been confirmed, they seemed to be scattered in territorial waters or on convoy duty in a peacetime or neutral stance.
The chances that the Kingdom of Ildoa would come out swinging with the soldiers it had mobilized were next to none.
Even so, Zettour asked another question to make extra sure. "How are pharmaceutical company stocks?"
"No major fluctuations have been detected in Ildoa."
That's strange, thought Zettour with a doubtful look on his face. A large-scale mobilization was usually accompanied by a spike in medicine consumption.
Modern warfare entailed a huge waste of human life.
In order to minimize that waste as much as possible, it was necessary to prepare a stock of all sorts of medical products. Much like ammunition, if medical supplies didn't make it to the battlefield in time, they were useless.
"Check in the Unified States and other third-party countries right away. They could be importing."
"Right away, sir."
Even if it wasn't a real invasion but merely a bluff—or perhaps precisely because it was a bluff—it was common to buy a large amount of medical products to stockpile as part of the ruse.
I just don't know what to think… was Zettour's honest take on the matter.
If the major pharmaceutical companies in the Kingdom of Ildoa weren't experiencing high demand, then was the country procuring supplies in secret?
If they were cooperating with another party so deeply that it made such a deal possible… then Ildoa could grow into a threat in the long run.
"Report back as soon as you find out. I don't care what time it is," Zettour told his subordinate and then fell silent.
Even if he was interested in the stock prices as supplementary information, he knew that the intel they had was enough to interpret the most pressing matters.
Military affairs could never be free of logistics. Any army that didn't take logistical issues into consideration was an army that its supply team would give up on. If Zettour ever had to be a general of an organization like that, the unbearable shame would surely drive him to bite a gun barrel.
"…But I guess the conclusion doesn't change."
As a hard-boiled realist… upon considering several different possible motives for Ildoa's abrupt exercises, Zettour decided they were intended to be a demonstration. Though he didn't realize it at the time, he had interpreted the kingdom's actions almost exactly as Gassman hoped the Empire would.
"It's most likely exercises as we've been told," he said with purpose, "but we can't simply stand by and watch."
"It's a tricky situation."
It sure is. The pair exchanged tired smiles. Rudersdorf, who had chimed in, seemed to grasp the nature of the problem.
Ultimately, it wasn't an issue of whether the Kingdom of Ildoa meant to invade or not. They had demonstrated quite clearly that their forces were capable of it. That was enough for Zettour's brain, trained to act with the worst scenario in mind, to sound the alarm.
Ildoa is a potential threat.
And potential threats had to be prepared for.
This simple conclusion just seemed so ridiculous. While hoping that the defense units they stationed in the south would end up doing nothing, it would probably still be necessary to draw troops off from the shattered remains of the Great Army deployed in the east.
The outlook on the war with the Federation would require substantial revisions. When he glanced at the Operations man, Rudersdorf's red face was practically exploding. He seemed to be struggling to suppress his anger.
"…If we can stick it to those macaroni bastards, I don't care what it costs." If they had been at dinner, Rudersdorf probably would have been stabbing his fork into his pasta, even if it was poor manners. His angry, hostile outburst was a straightforward expression of the general mood in the office.
"I agree completely. Allow me to point out something wonderful," Zettour replied in spite of himself.
"What's that?"
"Those dear macaroni bastards are our precious allies. And if I may add one more thing, they're our friends who control the supply lines to the Southern Continent Expeditionary Army Corps." He continued, "Do you understand?" knowing how obvious it was. He still had to say it. "At least formally, they're a wonderful allied army."
It wasn't hard to memorize things he didn't believe. Zettour modestly offered his opinion. "For now, that is… And I think it would be logical, militarily, to hope that they continue to be."
"Nrgh…"
"Considering the strategic environment, we have no choice." The Empire's situation was, in a word, a deadlock.
It wasn't supposed to be this way, everyone groaned. Everything that happened leading up to the war had been a series of unexpected events.
Theoretically, there should have been a way out of the encirclement. It was possible that the Empire could break out by smashing the Entente Alliance to the north and Dacia to the south. But did their victories on either of those fronts accomplish
anything? The answer to this rhetorical question was clear.
They had plunged into all-out war, but what was the result? It hadn't contributed one bit to the improvement of their national security like they had anticipated with their existing theories. The best thing to do at this point was to not make any more enemies.
"Putting our personal tastes aside, I really have to wonder whether squashing those flies down south might not just be all pain and no gain."
"Wouldn't it be worth the effort to protect our tender nether regions?"
"It's true that we'd have to do something if they were aiming for that, but…" Zettour made an honest admission of his feelings before the other staff officers. "If they're not going to start a fight of their own accord, then it's less costly for us to simply leave them alone. I don't want to get buried in more occupation admin work. And I'd like to avoid tying troops down defending even more captured territory."
It was precisely because he was the head of the Service Corps, which was treated like a bunch of gofers, that he had to bring up this reality despite knowing his counterpart in Operations wouldn't like it. The burden of occupied territory put a strain on the Imperial Army's administrative arm.
Occupying land meant stationing soldiers on it. Taking troops who could be used on campaigns and instead scattering them across former enemy territory was as good as taking them out of the action.
"The bottom line is that this will inevitably turn into a quagmire if we gain more territory with no peace."
The Imperial Army didn't have infinite soldiers. Only by using them with extreme efficiency was it possible to maintain national security. The essence of interior lines strategy was mobility.
They had to recognize that the two-step process of annihilating the enemy army and convincing their leader to surrender didn't work in a total war scenario.
Before, when the enemy suffered so many casualties that they were no longer able to defend their capital, they would have been forced to consider peace; national security strategies were created under the assumption that if once the enemy military faltered, all that was left was to march on their capital.
Even Zettour had to admit that the idea of threatening the capitals of their enemies was practically a dream.
A case in point was the mistake they made against the Republic.
The Empire had planned a thorough destruction of the enemy field army in order to end the war. It whispered, Open sesame; spun the revolving door; and achieved the utter annihilation of their opponents.
Yes, they had pulled it off perfectly.
The instrument of violence that was the Imperial Army achieved the utter obliteration of the instrument of violence known as the Republican Army and boasted, We are the Reich, crown of the world.
Given the context, it could be argued that the army had fulfilled its duty. Yet there was a truth that everyone had to accept.
Victory on the western front hadn't ended the war. And so they then dispatched troops to the southern continent, clashed with the Commonwealth, and as if to top it off, got sucked into a quagmire in the east with the Communist Federation.
"…War is hard," Zettour murmured in a dried-up voice, clenching the butt of his cigar in his teeth. That was his impression as one of the people in charge of coming up with war plans, who had been involved in drafting numerous operations.
They were continually faced with circumstances they never anticipated. Of course, they weren't foolish enough to cling so hard to theories that they lost sight of the fog of war.
But Zettour, a veteran general of the Imperial Army, was confused. The reports from the field were strange. He couldn't quite get a feel for what was happening.
"That's an awfully trite conclusion to reach after piling up so many corpses and blowing through our nation's budget."
It was only natural that his old friend would make such a biting comment. Zettour couldn't deny the accusation. He straightened up a bit and remarked solemnly, "The truth is often unremarkable."
"For example?"
"Rudersdorf, you make too little of thought and contemplation. Even a commonplace phrase can hold deeper meaning."
Human beings aren't perfect. Having participated in war, at times observing, at times leading, Zettour had reached that commonplace conclusion.
"This isn't a circular argument—that's just how people are. We can't fall into the trap of idealism, wishing for how we think things should be, but rather we must look at reality, see them for what they are."
Someone like a devout preacher might crow that God had great intentions for every premise given to humans… but Zettour thought that was laughably absurd.
This is pitiful even for me, he thought as he spoke in an aggravated tone. "It's impossible to put too much faith in intellect and reason. We have to think with that premise in mind."
It irritated him that the people around him were nodding—"Ohhh." It's contradictory if I do say so myself, he felt like scoffing. Luckily, it should probably be said, his time for dwelling on that went out the window when his esteemed friend asked a question.
"General von Zettour, it's a bit much, but I'd like to ask a favor of you." "Which is?"
"Could you reserve a case of cigars for me? There are so many leeches lately. They pester me on the front lines when I'm observing, too—I can't stand it."
"You mean you want to burn the bloodsuckers to death? Well, I get the feeling, but…" I understand that you're stressed. Zettour winced.
There may have been a lull in the east, but there was no telling what would happen with the mobilization at the border with Ildoa… It was like the Kingdom of Ildoa had stabbed them in the back.
It was only natural that Operations had been thrown into confusion. Zettour understood so well, it made him sick.
"Unfortunately, I'm turning down your request. Make do with this." Zettour tossed him a cigar, then lit his own and puffed a couple of times. "We need to look at things from multiple angles."
"What?"
"Even your leeches. For example, in the field of medicine, there are ways to make good use of leeches. Didn't you know that?"
"You can use those things?"
Zettour responded to his skepticism firmly. "There is such a thing as medicinal leeches. So even bloodsucking has its uses."
"You're saying to let them suck my lifeblood?"
"I heard that sometimes that's the way to get healthy." He spoke a little forcefully and the other man understood.
"Well, the more you know! You have my thanks. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to ask you one more thing."
"Anything at all."
"Are people actually happy to be treated with leeches?"
"Hmm, that's one thing I can't say for sure. I'm a career soldier, as you see. I know nothing about medicine."
It was a roundabout way to refuse to comment.
Zettour didn't need Rudersdorf to point that out to him—he'd been mulling it over himself for some time now. Honestly, there were probably no living things who would be happy to have their blood sucked.
He didn't even need to ask himself whether public opinion in the Empire would welcome this move from Ildoa.
"…Then I really would like you to have a cigar ready…"
"Let's make plans to consider it later."
Having just barely made it through the conversation, they both sighed. Strategic plotting against Ildoa was a political taboo for the Imperial Army.
Of course, in terms of a plan itself, they did have one.
Steps for opening hostilities, victory, and peace via border defense reinforced by the Great Army.
In other words, an interior lines strategy. With its head stuck in the vexing swamp of the east, the Empire had no hope of carrying out such a thing.
It was terribly likely that it was necessary to consider a just-in-case scenario. "So which units should we recall?"
"I've already identified which of the units scattered in every direction can be moved."
"…This is it?" Rudersdorf complained with a glance at the estimate, and Zettour shrugged.
"You know most of our combat units were sent to the east. The tactical forces are your jurisdiction, so you must already understand."
"It's not enough—it's not anywhere near enough. Please do something."
"Do you flee the scene of a fire just because there aren't enough firefighters? Things are finite; it's a fact of life."
It's not possible to get something from nothing, but they also wouldn't get anywhere unless they had something to work with. Zettour and Rudersdorf's testy conversation made their task terribly clear.
"I can't take responsibility for the defense of the southern border like this. It might be better to just pull troops from the southern continent."
"And let the Free Republic have its way? Do you have any idea how many weapons will find their way into the partisans' hands if we do that?"
"Then it's simple. Give me troops, Zettour." They were going in circles.
They were both quite aware that their respective positions were unreasonable.
For top officers inhabiting the General Staff Office, this conversation was incredibly basic. You could even say it was lacking in intelligence.
But Zettour had to respond. He had to.
"We already drafted any young people we could mobilize early. Or are you saying we should call up another year ahead of time? Seventeen-year-old draftees! What splendid youthfulness they'll bring!"
"You'd have me send in troops that green? That would be plenty if you want to show the world the extent of our ineptitude."
Zettour spat self-deprecating remarks, and Rudersdorf had to sigh in disgust—their resource situation was getting that desperate.
The Imperial Army had no reserves to rely on.
What little population of working age available to call upon had already been sent into industry or onto the battlefield. They were wringing out any manpower they could. They couldn't meet ends even when they mobilized the young people ahead of schedule.
The Imperial Army couldn't avoid its shortage of soldiers, a physical limit. "Griping is pointless. Let's turn our attention back to work."
"How irritating this is." Rudersdorf grumbled and then said, "General von Zettour, treat this as an official inquiry: If you were going to draw troops off, where would you take them from?"
"I'd like to deny it, but there's probably no choice but the east." "What makes you say that?"
"We just fought off their limited offensive. That's more than enough for a while. Optimistically speaking, we should be able to expect a lull in the fighting."
"So the risk to the east is within acceptable bounds?"
When the Operations man began to grumble, Zettour cut him off and offered his opinion, well aware it was only a tentative idea.
"I can't give you what I don't have, but if Operations can accept the risk in the east, I think we could make it work. And… I could take a handful from the Dacia and Norden fronts. There's also the eastern units resting after rotating off the front line. How about sending them down to the south?"
If they bent over backward a little bit, this plan to station troops defensively was doable. Having grasped the Operations man's paradigm, Zettour planned to push through a plan that entailed minimal overexertion.
The staff officer Zettour's judgment was sound, on the whole. But apparently, Rudersdorf still felt something was missing.
"A delaying defense would be possible like that, but it'd be great to have some mobile reserves."
"I've already offered you all I can. The best I could do for mobile reserves is a newly formed brigade or maybe a division."
"That won't cut it. This is for fighting fires! The existence of backup fighting power makes a huge difference."
Rudersdorf was stubborn as he demanded troops with his eyes: Cough them up.
Perhaps it would be proper to praise his strong will.
Or perhaps his lack of cooperation should be lamented. But anyone who could confidently declare exactly what they needed would be able to avoid the folly of holding back and then heading off on a mission they had no hope of accomplishing.
"Let's quit beating around the bush. What do you want?"
In all truth, when a request was believable in its necessity, Zettour had no choice but to compromise.
"Give me your Salamander Kampfgruppe."
"Non, nein, no, iie, nicht. That about does it, I think?" "I'm sure you could give it to me."
Zettour wasn't one to put up with such brusque requests. That said, it was only because he and Rudersdorf were old friends that restraint could be cast off so completely.
"I can't."
"…Do you have a reason why? I heard they were being treated like guests in the east since they're directly under our jurisdiction."
"Just the other day, they had to rush to defend the village where the Council for Self- Government is located. Did you not read the report? I don't understand why the decision to keep a fighting unit who so accurately grasps Central's will at ground zero gets so little respect. And besides," continued Zettour. "That's a test unit. It's a Kampfgruppe experiment. I'm fairly certain employing it in the east is best."
If you threw a research model or prototype into an actual battle before properly testing it just because it was performing well and busted it up, what were you left with?
"I don't deny that, but Operations would like to hear from some people with experience on the front lines out there. It would be a good opportunity to learn what it's really like in the field as a Kampfgruppe."
That's a great excuse, but… Zettour sighed. Lately, his rate of sighs and complaints had gone up again—to the point that he couldn't help but notice it with irritation.
"You just don't want to have to apologize to the guys in the east as much." "You're not wrong."
You Operations bastards! How much easier it would be if he could just say that. These guys were always taking the initiative to think from someone else's point of view and then doing exactly what they wouldn't like.
It was exceedingly frustrating for Zettour to not know whether to praise Rudersdorf as the manifestation of the ideal staff officer or honestly lament what a pain in the ass he was.
"I'm warning you in advance that depending on the situation, I'll transfer them as needed. And if they are returned under that condition, they'll serve as strategic reserves again."
"All right, it's a deal," Rudersdorf responded instantaneously. "That means eighteen divisions and an armored division. Plus two units of mobile reserves. Add that to the Southern Army Group's border patrol and we have the minimum of what we need." Rudersdorf must have been truly worried. His relief was genuine as he uttered a "sheesh" and let his shoulders drop. "It's roughly the same number as Ildoa is mobilizing. That said, if they get serious, they could shift to a general mobilization and outnumber us."
"They won't go that far. Ildoa wouldn't bother playing both sides like this if that was their plan."
"You never know! People from the southern countries are full of passion, but it's not so uncommon for these fiery people to be crafty strategists in their own right."
"True." Zettour winced. You could call Rudersdorf himself a prime example, maybe. Though he was a man of formidable vitality and stubbornness to match his stony exterior, it was through his cleverness that he made his mark on the battlefield as an Operations expert.
"So your brain does work in a pinch." "What was that, Zettour?"
"Nothing. So who shall we send to observe?" "Do you want to go?"
Though it was for only a moment, saying he wasn't tempted would have been a lie.
Zettour had a lot of experience in the field of operations, too, so there was no way the thought of marching into a potential enemy's territory and checking things out didn't make him curious.
He was also confident that he could get an understanding of the situation. Even an objective appraisal would say he could do a great job if he went.
But Zettour unhesitatingly dismissed the temptation from his mind. "I can't abandon my duties regarding the reassignment of troops from the east and domestic negotiations. We're still making adjustments in the manufacturing plan."
Being an unsung hero meant dull, unending work that no one would really notice. Slacking off at the top wouldn't be a good example for their subordinates.
The spirit of a commander leading from the front was a constant. It held true both in the field and in the rear. The last thing he wanted to do was be counted among those fools who thought being a commander meant kicking back.
"What about you, Rudersdorf?"
"I'll have to leave my pasta-eating, sightseeing trip for another time. Though I'm curious about what sorts of exercises the Ildoan Army will get up to."
"Me too." Zettour nodded and suggested an alternative. "Then we'll just have to choose some elites. My people will send a team."
"Oh?"
"Northern Ildoa is a mountainous region. I just figure they could learn a lot about operating deep in the mountains from our ally."
It would be instructive in not only a purely tactical sense but also in terms of military geography.
Their ally was kindly inviting them to the exercises. Dispatching a studious group of officers would surely be handy later.
"I agree. From Operations, I'll send Colonel von Lergen. I'm sure he'll see what there is to see."
"What about his work in Operations?"
"That's no problem. It's about time for him to become a regimental commander anyhow."
"…I feel like I have to say, 'Under these circumstances?'" "You're right, but, well, this is a good chance for him."
"Hmm… ," Zettour murmured and shook his head. Does Operations intend to leave operations in the south up to Colonel von Lergen?
The kind of guy who was a balanced bureaucrat but could also hold his own under fire was certainly valuable.
"All right, gentlemen. Make it happen."
-x-X-x-
LATE JANUARY, UNIFIED YEAR 1927,
IMPERIAL ARMY'S FRONTLINE AREA IN THE EAST, SALAMANDER KAMPFGRUPPE'S GARRISON
"W-we're being reassigned to the capital?"
Aware of how foolish she sounds, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff rereads the General Staff's orders.
Since her unit serves directly under the General Staff, it's not that surprising to get a sudden notification like this. She's well aware that they can circumvent the regional army group's headquarters to redeploy the unit.
The issue is the destination.
They're going from the front line to a staging area built around a railroad station near the capital. It's actually so close to the capital, you can say they're being transferred to a garrison near Berun.
Was this message decoded correctly? It's no surprise they wonder if there was some mistake. Even the guys who weren't normally skeptical had to be suspicious.
Tanya gets the signaler to make sure there aren't any decoding errors, but it's a waste of effort. There are no mistakes on their end.
The duty officer wondered the same thing as Tanya. They say the message was double-
checked before they even brought it to her.
So Tanya acts as though the orders she has are real.
She summons the chief officers of the Kampfgruppe. It doesn't take long for them to assemble, and she relays the orders.
The looks on the older hands' faces say it's hard for them to believe, but she thrusts the truth at them with instructions to pull back. Before long, word arrives that the Eastern Army Group has a train for them, and things are busy.
This is the second time they've managed to escape the quagmire of the east.
Tanya had braced herself for a bunch of unpleasantness, but the contact they receive is kept so businesslike, she's caught off guard.
Not that businesslike is a bad thing. In fact, she prefers it that way. "Colonel, is something wrong?"
"No, I'm glad we aren't having any issues." Though she harbors absurd doubts, she feigns composure as she dismisses her subordinate's question. As long as it doesn't sound like she's trying to convince herself. "Thanks to the Council for Self- Government, we have heated train cars. Maybe our new friends are more trustworthy than we thought."
If the Imperial Army can use the Federation standard rail network, that's great news for its strategic mobility.
It's pretty obvious, but the cars are fit for the climate here, too. We can expect better insulation and cold-proofing than in imperial trains.
Best of all, our risk of being attacked by partisans will drop. Improved safety and security on the road will do a lot to decrease the strategic burden. As a commander in the field, it's a relief to hear.
Praise be to Zettour and his great idea to wash his hands of administration in the occupied territories and allow the separatists to establish their own puppetlike government.
Tanya shakes her head, and having quickly reviewed what needs to be done, she gives orders.
"Where's my runner?" "Here, ma'am!"
"Tell Lieutenant Tospan to start moving the infantry." "Yes, ma'am!" He races off, the very definition of nimble.
Watching the young orderly go, Tanya murmurs to herself, "I don't get it. What are the higher-ups thinking?"
Despite the bitter cold, the Salamander Kampfgruppe is surviving the winter. The infantry have gotten used to the freezing east and the snowdrifts.
If need be, they can play tag with Federation ski commandos. They've adapted, and you could even say they now have perfect control over the battlefield environment.
The road to get here was long indeed.
Making arrangements for cold-weather gear, paying attention to our nutrition, just barely getting the supplies we need—it was a difficult period.
At the end of a great deal of toil and strife, we finally had the necessary equipment. We no longer have to worry about socks.
And it's not only the gear that improved—what's inside did, too.
Even Lieutenant Tospan, whom I considered emblematic of utter uselessness, is no exception. Even with that thick skull of his, he's managed to improve when it comes to routine work.
All the officers have been infused anew with camaraderie.
Which is why Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff has to wonder…
"…Considering the current situation in the east, there is leeway to call us back for reassignment. I understand that it's possible. But what's the reason? What would
cause them to pull us out?"
The Salamander Kampfgruppe is the strategic reserve that has kept its energy up the best.
We're first-string fighters—you could even call us a precious asset.
I could understand if we were being deployed urgently to the east, but why would we be rushed away?
"We only just repelled the Federation's limited offensive. Honestly, I never imagined we would be pulled out now."
The battle lines are still unstable.
Though things are calming down in the rear regions, the Federation Army's infiltration raids never end. The Salamander Kampfgruppe can even be sent out in the snow, making it quite handy to have around.
Tanya can't think of any reason to pull them out now. Of course, the difference in intel held by HQ versus those in the field is undeniable.
"I don't get it. You're telling me the higher-ups have some good reason for this?" The words I don't get it are repeated.
That's how crucial this is to Tanya.
Pulling staff out of a busy shop is a bad move unless there are awfully pressing circumstances.
"I'm sure they're not even giving us a break…"
We ended up going straight from the southern continent to the Federation, after all. "That was awful."
Is the same thing going to happen again?
Either way, we should be prepared to not get a proper rest. Going in expecting the
worst is probably slightly better for your mental health.
"Supposedly, they want to talk to us. Is it really okay to believe that we'll only be ordered to serve as the opposing force in military exercises?"
-x-X-x-