JULY 15, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE INNER SEA FRONT
Currently, imperial submarines typically operate in packs.
Two subs are better than one. Three are better than two. It's all about the strength of numbers. These pack tactics were originally developed to interdict merchant shipping, but they work just fine against battleships.
When a sighting is reported, the hunt begins. The squadron succeeds in making contact.
"Message from a squadron mate. Enemy ship sighted!" "Got it on sonar!"
"What's the source of the sound?" "Definitely an enemy propeller."
"…It's so loud. This is… Wait. There's more than one… What class is this? It's hard to make out. But that's definitely a convoy."
"Prepare to launch torpedoes! Don't fall behind the others!" Everyone in the control room is focused and alert.
From Captain Barchet on down, the whole crew is doing impressive work.
Even Tanya, who is sitting in as a mere formality, can tell that these submariners are sharp.
A short while later, they must have reached a stopping point. Barchet approaches and provides a concise explanation. Then he hesitantly adds another comment.
"Colonel Degurechaff, er…the sun is about to go down." "Just before sunset—the perfect time to attack, I'd say."
"Normally, that would be the case. But"—he seems to be thinking and
voices his doubt—"due to the nature of the V-2, the reduced visibility of twilight is far from ideal. Should we avoid combat?"
He has a point.
On the other hand, it's only one point.
"You raise a valid issue, but the sea is vast. If we withdraw now, there's no guarantee we'll make contact again. On the contrary, I imagine it would be quite difficult."
"That's our job."
No offense to the captain who says we can rely on him, but I'm not one of those landlubbers who has no idea how submarines operate.
"I'm speaking from experience." "Oh?"
"Yes." Tanya nods. "Just a little bit. Most recently off the coast of Norden." After a polite disclaimer that the captain's consideration is highly appreciated, they get right to the point. "Submarines can only go so fast underwater. I know it's a lot to ask, but I'd like you to press on with the attack."
"Please don't make it sound as if we're tortoises."
"I don't mean to criticize you or your crew. I'm merely stating the facts. The problem of mobility isn't…one that can be solved through trying your best."
When she asks if she's mistaken, the captain winces. He probably wasn't expecting to get a lecture on submarine tactics from someone he'd pegged as a simple magic officer.
It's also true that they're pros.
I understand that talking like a know-it-all is bad form. But necessity is the mother of invention, the patron of mandatory innovation, and ultimately, the extremely hairy thing that is an order from a ranking officer.
"Either way, we have to do it. And right now, the chance is in front of us." Tanya wears a smirk. "There's no guarantee Lady Luck will let us grab her by the hair from behind. So we should just nail her in the face and snatch whatever we can by the fistful while we have the chance. Don't you agree, Captain?"
"It's as you say. No matter what it takes…we have to get the Southern Continent Expeditionary Corps home safely."
Parting with Barchet and his renewed determination, Tanya heaves an
exasperated sigh as she rejoins First Lieutenant Serebryakov, who has come along for the ride.
"Any updates, Colonel?"
"Prepare to sortie, Lieutenant. Time for the main event of any submarine operation."
The troops in the other submarines are probably feeling nervous, too. And that's why… She chuckles softly. "Don't worry. This won't be as rough as the V-1s. We'll be able to steer a bit."
Amid the noisy laughter, Tanya turns toward an approaching runner. "Colonel, we received a follow-up report."
The tense look on the face of the signaler who has brought the latest intel on the enemy's position sets off alarm bells.
What could it be about?
"Another sub reported in. They found a carrier." "A carrier? So there was one."
Suppressing a sigh, Tanya shakes her head. The submarine crew is probably happy to have such a fine quarry. Sadly, I would have preferred it if the aircraft carrier was absent.
"…If our aerial recon isn't accurate, that's a problem."
I get that fog of war is a very real issue. But for the air force to miss something that enormous is a pretty big fuckup.
Unfortunately, if it's there, we have to get rid of it. If we don't, things will get dangerous later on. We can't have an aircraft carrier preying on transport ships steaming back home.
"In a V-2, we should be able to handle it. In any case, we have no choice but to trust in the machines."
Anything made with tender love and care by that scientist must pack an absurd punch. As for safety, even bothering to think about it is pointless.
"We'll nail them with a coordinated strike. We're no longer in a situation where just hitting the battleships is enough. We need to nail them and the carrier at the same time."
Noting the need for flawless communication, Barchet approaches Tanya to plan, receiver in hand, and pounds his chest as if to say she can count on him.
"Between this and the other two subs we have twelve V-2s. What will you aim for?"
"Capital ships are the main targets. We'll send six at the battleships and four at the carrier. For the cruisers, two is good enough. In the worst case, we'll mop up the destroyers with torpedoes or mines."
The captain nods his understanding, and Tanya asks him to relay a message.
"After the crews eject, we'll hide in the water until the munitions detonate and then ascend to strike. We won't need you to pick us up. Please make sure everyone knows."
"Are you sure?"
He sounds worried, but Tanya waves a hand. "It'd be nice if you could be ready just in case, but…I don't want to make things difficult for you in these waters."
"Colonel, it's their job."
My adjutant cuts in with a cold comment. She's probably less annoyed and more simply speaking out of a sense of duty, but…Tanya nods.
"You're right, Lieutenant Serebryakov. But don't you think that to work together, both parties must be professional?"
Of course, this whole arrangement is predicated on the premise that we'll be carrying out the strike.
My adjutant backs down with a grimace; how bold she's gotten lately.
It's hard to find officers who will do whatever needs to be done, even if it's just because they feel compelled to show everyone else how it's really done.
I'm more than happy to watch over her continued growth and development.
Seemingly impressed by this exchange, Barchet salutes her. "I pray for your success."
"Don't pray for us, Captain Barchet. We're just off to do what must be done. Believe in us. If we fail, then you can pray to God, Buddha, the devil, or whoever else you prefer."
"…Apologies, Colonel."
"Hmm?" Tanya smiles faintly. "We're grateful for your kind words, nonetheless. Now then, this a good opportunity. Enjoy your front row seats and watch how the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion operates."
-x-X-x-
OFF THE COAST OF DAKAR, COMMONWEALTH HOME FLEET, SECOND SQUADRON (OPERATION AGREEMENT'S VANGUARD), T-13:25 TO OPERATION AGREEMENT (APPROXIMATELY 1900 HOURS LOCAL TIME)
This was an operation to chase down the enemy.
Imperial forces were trying to flee by night, but the task force would annihilate them in one blow and put an end to their operations on the southern continent. Unlike most of the deadlocked fronts, this battle seemed winnable.
In other words, they didn't expect much resistance.
How would the imperial poor excuse for a navy contend with the Commonwealth's fleet? Any child could tell how it would end. The Empire held an insurmountable number advantage in terms of both capital ships and lighter vessels.
How could a continental nation hope to compete with the world's greatest maritime power?
No one in the Commonwealth's fleet doubted for a moment that this battle was as good as won.
But once it began, everyone was screaming in shock. "What's going on?!"
It's like we cracked open the gates of hell! But the time for regrets had passed. The price for their negligence would be paid for with lives.
"The Hood! Mighty Hood is—!"
The shrieks of the sailors rang out. One look was all it took to realize what was going on. The roar reverberating across the battle zone, the rising smoke.
The horrifying sight was hard to look at.
They were watching the death throes of a once magnificent iron ship. The smoke pouring from its listing hull and the terrible noise indicated that it was too late to save the Hood.
The Hood. Mighty Hood…
Before the war, it was the largest ship fielded by any of the major powers and arguably the Commonwealth's best warship. The Mighty Hood was the
pride of the navy.
And it only took a single hit to sink her.
One hit and it's flotsam? Even after witnessing it with their own eyes, all the sailors wanted to scream that it couldn't be true.
It wasn't supposed to be like this! they cried, the captain proudly vowing to share his ship's fate while the crew didn't even have time to writhe in agony.
But at the same time, these elites, though grieving, persevered and set themselves to work. As soon as they realized the Hood had been torpedoed, the rest of the fleet broke formation and began performing evasive maneuvers.
These course changes were carried out with as much speed and discipline as anyone could hope for.
Exceedingly prompt decision-making, the quickest reaction imaginable, and motions so orderly that the entire squadron even broke formation in perfect sync.
But the sailors' determined steering proved futile. "Th-the Ark Royale!"
A quivering shriek announced the cruel fate that had befallen the ship. "What is it? Report in!"
"Th-the Ark Royale's been hit!"
A thunderous roar accompanied the plume of water that shot up next to the aircraft carrier. Even from the deck of the destroyer farthest away from the center of the fleet, there was no way to mistake what was happening.
As the sailors looked on, dumbfounded, the carrier rapidly began to list. Was it due to the impact? Planes that had been trying to take off from the Ark Royale's deck collided and burst into flames. Not enough time passed for anyone to even feel shock.
"Shit!"
The marine mages and crew who succeeded in making a swift escape tried to put out the fires breaking out, but the conflagration only grew.
"Watch the water's surface! Look for the torpedo wakes!"
Over the cacophony of other orders, the captain of the destroyer bellowed with grim resolve.
"If you have to, get in the line of fire to stop them! Don't let them get any more hits in!"
The escort ships couldn't allow any more torpedoes to get through. To save the crew of the Hood.
To save the Ark Royale.
With enemy subs lurking nearby, they couldn't even halt to render aid. With rage and impatience blazing in their breast, all the sailors were unconsciously gritting their teeth.
But a moment later, the crew of Commonwealth destroyer Bermuda found themselves cursing God with every ounce of their being.
Right in front of them, the cruiser Yliastral was running at full speed. But then there was an awful sound. The dreaded plume of water rose up. "Yliastral! The Yliastral!"
The already disappearing hull had been split in two. There was no chance of saving the ship. To avoid being pulled under by the sinking ship, the Bermuda was forced to change course.
At the same time, the captain assumed command and did everything in his power to shield the foundering ship. At last, the tenacious efforts of the sonar operators bore fruit.
"I'm getting something! It's…propulsion?! I hear one enemy sub—No, two?! Wait, there's more! It's a hunting pack!"
"Change course! Hurry! It's time to put a stop to all this!" "Aye-aye, sir!"
"We won't let them leave here in one piece! Prepare for anti-sub combat!
Make those bastards pay!"
The Commonwealth light cruisers and destroyers responded without delay. They collectively decided that even if it impaired their sonars, the priority was preventing more torpedo attacks.
In order to swiftly silence the submarines, they brought out the hedgehog, which would scatter multiple submunitions. It was a new weapon that had just been issued to the fleet.
These had been developed specifically to send those cheeky imperial subs to the bottom of the ocean.
The weapon made area denial operations with depth charges possible and gave the destroyers confidence that they had the tactical advantage.
"Don't lose track of them! Have Lewis and Victor nail them, too!"
The thirst for revenge and the duty to protect their fellow sailors. Those feelings drove the crews to the limit. Sailors raced across gangways and
through tight corridors, desperate to make every second count as the noncommissioned officers shouted themselves hoarse urging them on.
They had been trained well, and it showed. These soldiers were as devoted to their fatherland as any human could possibly be.
Sadly…
Because their efforts were the best anti-submarine maneuver, they backfired.
The dedicated submarine hunters, a mix of destroyers and light cruisers, had spread their munitions on their decks. The instant they began to fire into the water…
This was the moment the devils in the water had been waiting for. Disaster clinging to the backs of the torpedoes.
The Commonwealth's most dreaded enemy rose out of the sea. "E-enemy mages, port side! They're coming in quick!"
The lookout's quaking shout was too late. What would happen if the hedgehogs and other explosives out in the open were hit with an explosion formula?
"Shit! All hands, brace for—!"
The warning wasn't fast enough. Having made their abrupt appearance, the mages calmly deployed their formulas. As they cast their spells, the captain in command lost consciousness right as his flesh failed him.
"The Bermuda's been blown up?!"
Her keel was visible in the flash of the roaring explosion. That brief glimpse was more than enough for her consort ships to understand what had happened. The rapid sinking of the Bermuda had been caused by the detonation of the depth charges and torpedoes that filled the decks and hulls of destroyers.
But how?
The cause was plain to see—secondary explosions. The weapons that should have given them the edge were working against them instead.
But how?
For a moment, it was utterly incomprehensible to the crew of the remaining ships. What brought them back to their senses was the screams of a lookout.
"Mages?! Imperial mages!"
Ahhh, those sons of bitches.
By this point, everyone knew exactly what had happened.
The commanders of the fleet's remnants understood perfectly—and cursed the heavens. They had been distracted by the torpedo attack, and now a marine mage unit was wreaking havoc.
That had to be it.
They were painfully aware of how powerful this tactic was. After all, imperials had done it over and over up north.
It had become so familiar that it made them sick. The Commonwealth forces had even tried to beat the imperials at their own game by deploying marine mages from their own submarines during the invasion of the former Entente Alliance.
But they had unconsciously let their guard down, convinced that no surface fleet could possibly best them. And that was what led to this disaster. The fleet's officers were far from inept; they had a firm grasp of the situation—it was a real goddamn mess. Normally, fighter planes and marine
mages would prevent the enemy from even getting close. "All hands, battle stations! Fire at will!"
The destroyer Lewis instantly opened up with everything it had at the ready.
"Dump everything flammable! Launch all the hedgehogs!"
Destroyer Victor had finished loading its hedgehogs and launched all the charges at the approximate position of the enemy subs. They were dumping their munitions as quickly as they could, but a moment later, both of them were instantaneously incapacitated by secondary explosions.
"Lewis and Victor are done for!"
They had carried out their duty to the bitter end.
Even if it was only a short time, by getting the majority of the imperial forces to concentrate on the pair of destroyers, the other ships in their formation were granted a brief respite that felt disturbingly like a suspended sentence.
"Change course! Full speed ahead!"
Still dumping anything even remotely explosive, the ships that managed to adopt an evasive posture were lucky to still be afloat. Unfortunately, a disastrous storm was closing them.
Unfair? Yes, it was.
The vanguard including the warships and aircraft carrier that had been
almost completely wiped out at the start of the engagement. It would have been one thing if they had been attacked by a powerful enemy fleet and given the enemy as good as they got. But losing to a few torpedoes and a couple lousy mages?
"…How is this happening?!"
No one would've blamed the officers for staring at the heavens and offering up every bad word in the book. To all those from the Commonwealth, this seemed like a bad dream.
If this is a dream, I want to wake up right now.
But these were navy officers who embodied the John Bull spirit. In their hearts, they lamented their terrible fate. But the only thing that came out of their mouths was a steady stream of orders to keep their sailors alert and moving.
"Dump the spare torpedoes and depth charges before we get blown up, too! Hurry!"
They had to do everything they could to survive. The remains of the fleet didn't rest, either. For the destroyers, it was terribly shameful, but they threw all flammables, including their depth charges, overboard.
"Keep firing! There are only a few enemies!"
"Call up the marine mages! The carrier needs help! Assist with damage control!"
They somehow managed to continue struggling.
From the looks of it, there was less than a company of mages attacking.
Logically, they should have been able to handle them.
Maybe a dozen enemies. That was all.
A handful of imperials taking on a full squadron of the Royal Navy? This was a terrible joke.
If only they hadn't gotten so close, the fleet's defense net could have repelled them or at least kept them at bay to some extent… Of course, that came with the assumption that their own marine mage unit was not being swallowed up in the massive fire that broke out on the aircraft carrier.
Though they had been steadily increasing the volume of fire, the density of any individual ship's fusillade was lacking.
All the sailors knew it. Something is better than nothing. Clinging to that thought like a prayer, after firing a hail of bullets, they even got creative and put up a smoke screen to hide themselves.
But the scales of battle were merciless.
Once tipped, they wouldn't go back; they seemed to sneer at the people's efforts.
"Vi-Vincent is—!"
Though there may not have been even a company's worth of mages, Vincent was not spared under their concentrated fire. She was just barely staying afloat, but after being engulfed in a ball of flames, she was permanently out of the fight.
That it hadn't been knocked out by a secondary explosion was evidence that their decision to jettison as many explosives as possible was the correct one. Surely the imperial mages had intended to detonate any torpedoes or depth charges on board. The moment Vincent burst into flames, the shooting stopped…but realizing that she wasn't going to blow on her own, they resumed the attack.
Sadly, that was all their efforts achieved.
Perhaps it was simply the powerlessness of a ship that couldn't counterattack? Vincent's future was not very bright.
Seeming to have understood the boat's condition, the enemy mages shifted the focus of their fire to the waterline. Once a hole was opened in her hull, the situation dramatically worsened due to unchecked flooding.
The villains finished their wicked deed in an instant.
Then they mercilessly went after the rest of the Commonwealth vessels. "…Enemy mages rapidly approaching!"
Yes, I bet they are. The captain ground his teeth slightly. Having judged that Vincent was no longer a threat and abandoning their attempts to set off secondary explosions, it was obvious what the imperial mages would do next.
Even when some marine mages belatedly emerged from the listing Ark Royale, their attempts to fend off the enemy were futile. No, it was worse than that!
The formulas they deployed only brought withering fire on their positions.
Even for the elite marine mages, fighting back while surrounded by incoming fire and explosions was beyond them.
To their enemy, it was divine assistance. In exchange for providing the slightest support, they were forced down ever so easily.
And the fate of the final destroyer, firing all its anti–air cannons, was
about to be decided. "Here they come!"
"Shit, shit! They're so fucking quick!"
If sophistication has an aesthetic, it is surely cruel beauty. The sharp curve traced by the enemy mages was supremely polished. Before the gasping audience below, they took a pristine strike formation that would have been fascinating to observe if the circumstances had been different.
And they did it so naturally; anyone watching knew the grim reaper was about to swing his scythe.
-x-X-x-
[Image]
-x-X-x-
Yes, this is it.
This is where we die.
They had no choice but to face reality. The end was bearing down on them. "You devils…!"
It was just as someone let that slip as if to curse the heavens.
There they were, the final attack about to begin at any moment. But then suddenly, the imperial brutes scattered, their formation thrown into disarray.
An instant later, the world was bathed in blinding light.
The vision of the grim reaper that emerged from the careful choreography was dashed, and the death that seemed unavoidable was suddenly blown away.
A work of God? Was it a miracle? No, no, no.
"Reinforcements! It's reinforcements from the main fleet!"
As the communications officer did his happy job of delivering the good news, the world filled with light. It was a hail of optical sniping formulas raining down on the imperial aerial mage unit.
"They came!" "We're saved!" "Oh my God!"
May good news always be so.
It was less a welling up of joy and more an explosion of emotion.
Everyone still alive went wild at the sight of reinforcements.
Not enemies but allies! Allied aerial mages had come to support them!
They had changed in an instant. Just a moment ago, these sailors had been hurling every curse word known to man at God in heaven, but now they praised his glory as if born again.
And what's wrong with that? Those are perfectly good Commonwealth values.
As for the imperial mages…they were quickly turning around, scurrying away with their tails between their legs. Imagining their indignation at having their fun interrupted made the Commonwealth sailors feel a little better despite their bitter defeat.
The losses were huge. Too painful to think about.
But that was precisely why someone from the Commonwealth would sneer at their enemy in this situation. Too bad for you!
-x-X-x-
THE SAME DAY, THE 203RD AERIAL MAGE BATTALION
Talk about missing the finishing touches.
We were so close to literally annihilating them! Instead, we made a glaring error.
We pulled off a high-risk attack against the enemy fleet in the V-2s!
What's wrong with wanting to collect dividends?!
Our chances were so slim, yet we made it happen—our strike force bloodied their battleship, their carrier, and even the cruiser and destroyer escorts! We were so close to a perfect shutout!
We absolutely deserved to go home with a trophy in our hands!
Yet, at the very last moment, we took a horrible hit out of nowhere. The shock was like finding out the boy who was supposed to bring around dessert had disappeared partway through the meal.
Well, hold on. Let's reframe this in a more positive light. We did get to eat the main dish.
We devoured the fleet served up by the General Staff that appeared along the escape route. We did our job perfectly. As long as General von Romel isn't running late…the withdrawal shouldn't run into any problems.
And he wouldn't mess up a tactical move. Surely, they'll manage to withdraw safely. And even if something did happen, so what?
If someone is late, that's their own fault.
The basics of being an adult in society are absolutes in the military. If you're late, you get left behind. That's a fundamental principle of acting in a group with no room for doubt.
Which is why to Tanya, the appearance of the tardy Commonwealth mages who still manage to barge their way in is utterly absurd.
Since the unit scattered the moment we came under attack, we didn't suffer any real damage. But I'd like to demand compensation for the severe
impact on my mental state!
They always get in our way at the very last second! If you're going to be late, just don't show up at all!
"It's a brigade-sized group of mages! They're coming at us fast!" "Tsk! Time's up!"
The high-level coordination necessary to be able to break formation at the drop of a hat. The organizational power it takes to maintain unit cohesion even under what is essentially a surprise attack. These two things speak to the outstanding quality of my unit. And that unit, the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, would very much like to avoid being outnumbered.
Especially in a battle over water. If it's possible to avoid, then I want to avoid it.
"Colonel! How about just two more ships!"
"Time is more valuable! Don't be greedy! We're pulling out!"
Tanya calls for them to pack it up, but Major Weiss's battle lust is so great that he can't seem to suppress his desire to go after the prey right before their eyes.
"It won't take much at all if we do it right now! Please let us go!" He wails that he can take them out with just a few formulas.
How serious is he? Well, he could probably pull it off. The only issue is that I don't care about that at this point.
With enemy reinforcements closing in, the rules of the game have changed. Before their arrival, wiping the ships out would have been optimal but… these assholes.
Tanya clicks her tongue and shakes her head. As a pro, I can separate emotions from needs…because I understand what times like these call for.
"Give it up, Major. We're pulling out!" "…Understood!"
Weiss is a veteran, so he doesn't protest more than once. It's important to know the time and place.
"All units, retreat! I'll allow you to fire some parting shots at the enemy mages, but that's all!"
Tanya formally calls for a retreat and simultaneously green-lights a snap harassment attack to bloody the pursuing enemies.
At the point she decides to bully their chasers, the objective becomes to slow them down as much as possible.
"Hold on! Before you start firing—I prohibit shooting at any ships as of this moment!"
"What?!"
"Major, if we sink all the ships, those enraged idiots will ram us in the ass!"
Am I the only one who thinks around here? I heave a sigh. Damn it, Weiss. Even after all I said, you were going to attack them the moment you got the chance, weren't you?
Right as Tanya opens her mouth to chew him out, a different voice comes over the radio.
"Major, if there are ships left, the Commonwealth forces will pick up any drifters. If the mages are too busy with rescue duty, they won't be able to follow us!"
Nice, Visha! Tanya's face relaxes in happiness.
My advisor always knows what I'm thinking. She really is still a top- notch assistant.
"What she said, Weiss! Make good use of the injured troops! They'll need someone to take care of them and somewhere to take refuge!"
With the combined power of Tanya and her adjutant's comments, Weiss immediately catches on. He points at an enemy destroyer and then gazes at some soldiers in the water and brandishes an evil sneer.
"…You're more of a humanitarian than I would have thought, Colonel." "I'm a humanitarian through and through."
The blank looks from my vice commander and adjutant must be symptoms of the poison of war. After all, who can deny that Tanya is a firm believer in humanitarianism?
As long as it doesn't impinge on my own safety, I'm all for being humane. "Isn't it wonderful to love your fellow man? Enemies and allies alike
should value life more highly."
There is at least a brigade's worth of rapidly approaching Commonwealth marine mages. It'll be impossible to link up with the submarine with them on our tails. Actually, it'll be hard enough to just shake them off and get away cleanly.
Normally, that's how it would play out. But it seems like we're in luck.
That's because the enemy mages have a whole pile of people who need their help right away. As of this moment, the limping destroyer is significant.
It can rescue the crew flailing in the water.
And the Commonwealth mages won't forsake the people who need their help.
"The sun's going down! Clear out! Well done, troops!" """Understood!"""
The way that ship's listing, I doubt it'll last much longer, but the carrier is still nominally afloat, so that should be enough to keep them from pursuing us too closely. In order to save the crew, the mages will have no choice but to focus on the rescue over giving chase.
"Check your navigation! I don't want anyone getting lost!"
The sun is about to go down, so the timing is perfect. Once the sun sets, searching and retrieving the people who've gone overboard will be much more difficult. But…if the marine mages quit chasing us now, they'll still have enough time. This is the crux of my plan.
Night isn't a great time for chasing down your enemy, and they're quickly running out of time to save their fellow troops. It's one or the other. The Commonwealth isn't the Federation—can they really ignore humanity in a case like this?
Tanya knows the answer to that. Respect for human life! So wonderful and humane!
From the perspective of logically avoiding combat, surely anyone would do the same. Even Tanya would use rescuing allies as an excuse to avoid combat.
No one loses; it's a win-win.
In other words, the delightful equilibrium Mr. Nash so enjoyed is responsible for bringing about a modest peace in a wartime setting.
Tanya heaves a mental sigh.
I've been missing peace for too long. If I don't survive this war, I'll miss the chance to collect unearned income and live off royalties. This is the time to work hard for the sake of my future.
Apparently, once you manage a decent withdrawal, the luxury of idly complaining becomes available again. This must be a symptom of feeling more at ease.
Charging in on the V-2, breaking away from a brigade of enemy marine mages… Having done all that and put it behind me, it's no wonder I'm feeling relaxed. That being said, negligence is the greatest enemy, so I
suppose that means right now is the most dangerous moment of all.
Realizing the need to keep my troops on guard, I casually call out to everyone in the unit.
"Good work, everybody! But don't forget to keep an eye on our rear! The mission's not over till we return to base safely. Don't let your guard down on our way home!"
"""Yes, ma'am!"""
Everyone responds in the affirmative.
If there's anything to complain about, it's that they all sound a bit fatigued.
…There's not much to be done about that. Though they're flying in formation at cruising speed, this is post-combat, and it takes extra attention to fly over water. If we miss the rendezvous with the submarines, we could end up stranded over the vast sea. There's necessarily an added layer of tension compared to the eastern front, where anyone could land at their own discretion.
Including the fact that this is post-combat, I'm impressed they're doing so well. I guess it really was worth investing in human capital all this time. Wise investments bring about unbelievably huge returns.
At first, I thought they would merely serve as a decent meat wall, but…I think I can feel tears in my eyes. My battalion has become an indispensable part of my toolset. They're like a well-tuned piano. An instrument familiar to your hands is an optimal weapon for creating new possibilities.
Only a fool among fools would squander such a precious resource. And I have absolutely no intention of being a fool. I decide to count my investment as money spent on insurance that isn't coming back while carefully maintaining formation.
As a result, it's a brilliant whiff.
The question is whether to view it as a waste or as a necessary expense. Surely, it's an expense. Having a margin of safety doesn't mean cutting costs unconditionally. Rather, expenditure on personnel merely warming their seats should be decreased. Well, in this case, even the seat warmers have been thrown into the meat grinder, since the Empire is in a state of total war…
Hmph. Tanya sniffs and shifts her train of thought.
No sign of anyone following us this far. We arrive at the meeting point without any hitches.
To Tanya, that is rightly a great achievement.
The simple fool who thought solving problems makes him capable frequently scoffs at the wise man who prevents the problems from happening.
But it's obvious who the truly clever one is. There is no better victory than no battle at all.
Soon enough, the battalion arrives at the designated meeting spot at the appointed time and sends up three flares. It's a moment that makes your heart freeze. It's fine if your allies are nearby, but if there are enemies…is what's on everyone's minds as they keep watch in all directions with bated breath.
Luckily, a single boat peeks out of the water.
The lookout who jumps onto the deck sends up the agreed-upon signal flare. There's no mistake. I order my troops to respond and exhale lightly. It's hard to make out the silhouette, but it's a friendly submarine.
We can assume the danger of becoming lost at sea has passed. "…Huh? Is that…?"
"What is it, Major?"
"It looks like a different boat from the one we came in on."
For a moment, Tanya isn't sure whether to be impressed or dismayed.
Honestly, she's surprised Weiss can tell what type it is in this evening light. He must have seriously sharp eyes. His ability as a lookout is praiseworthy. But he loses major points for lacking a sense of how fast a submarine can go.
"…You think a sub could meet back up with us at their speed? C'mon, Major."
Under Tanya's disappointed gaze, Weiss blushes for a moment so clearly that it's visible even in the darkening twilight. Well, that just means he's self- aware.
"But praise where praise is due. You've got good eyes, Major." "…I'll try to get my brain to match."
An awfully tame response. This is less an error than a simple lack of experience.
"We have many problems with knowledge and experience. The responsibility doesn't fall entirely on you personally. Just understand the dangers of narrow-minded thinking."
…Given how fast aerial mages are, there's no way a sub operating that started at the same location could somehow get ahead of them and pick them back up.
"Major Weiss, take this opportunity to bother some of the sailors and study up. It's not a bad idea to learn some things about the sea given the state of the war."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good man." She ends the conversation and tells her subordinates to remove their hats if they have them.
"Wave your caps! Caps!"
"Do you think they can see us?"
Her adjutant, interjecting, has a point. Considering the limited amount of light at this time of day, it's possible they can't.
"You mean you can't conduct yourself with good manners unless someone is watching? Do you need me to reeducate you?"
"P-please have mercy."
"I'm only joking, Lieutenant Serebryakov. But do show the proper respect to your fellow soldiers."
"Understood."
It's hard to tell if my adjutant is serious or not. She's a bit of a mystery woman. Troublingly, that's true even though they've been together for so long. People truly are difficult to understand.
Kicking trivial side thoughts out of my head, I speak up again. "Are our asses safe? If we bring perverts aboard the submarine, it'll take more than a written apology to make amends." I crack a joke with a smile. "I don't want to get chewed out for forcing our fellow troops to share tight quarters with a bunch of deviants."
"How could we possibly apologize enough if we brought stalkers aboard our sub?" My adjutant laughs, catching my drift, and we manage to begin our descent in a lighthearted mood. Below, a navy officer waits with a lantern. Is that the duty officer? Look at this guy, giving us light out here where we could be discovered by the enemy at any moment.
Tanya bobs her head out of respect for his bravery and good spirits. "Allow me to greet you on behalf of the crew. Welcome to U-091."
"Thanks. I'm Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff with the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion under the Lergen Kampfgruppe. This is my second-in- command, Major Weiss."
We exchange brief greetings. Formalities are actually pretty handy for making it easier to interact with people you're meeting for the first time.
"We've been careful not to let any creeps tail us, but I can't say for sure that there are none. I hope you understand."
Adding in a light joke, I share the one worrisome issue. Proper communication is always something we should strive for. The duty officer nods in understanding.
"Understood. You can trust us to keep an eye out. Please come aboard. Although if you'd like to enjoy a cigarette or some fresh air outside, you're welcome to."
"…Oh? I was sure we'd be under way as soon as we were aboard."
A submarine floating on the surface is a sitting duck. Even if night is on its way, is it really a good idea to drift along on the surface when enemy forces may be prowling around?
Apparently, the duty officer is thinking the same thing. "About that, I don't know the details. But we've been ordered to sail on the surface. And, Colonel…er, I'm terribly sorry, but the captain has asked to see you immediately…"
"What? Er, I mean, understood."
Getting upset with the guy just doing his job is a waste of time. He fulfilled his duty as messenger. Whether you like the message or not, you have to acknowledge that the person did their job.
"Thanks. I'll go to greet him right away."
Tanya respectfully enters the submarine and then stops short. It wouldn't be bad to bring the unit in and jump straight into bed, but…safe sleep requires someone to stand on guard.
Even an ordinary night would call for someone to stand watch to make sure it's safe. Safety is the bare minimum prerequisite.
"…If it's no inconvenience to you, how about if I have someone from my unit stand on watch with magic detection?"
"Well, maritime observation is usually done navy-style…"
"Of course, we understand. You're free to use them how you like. They won't get in the way."
Keeping watch for enemies at night is a complicated affair even for veteran lookouts. And a regular submarine lookout probably isn't as used to this sort of mission as a torpedo attack squadron that has been trained specifically for night action.
On that point, aerial mages with night combat experience from the eastern
front can probably do a decent job at something approaching detecting approaching enemies.
"If we need to do an emergency dive and they're moving too slow, you can just kick them overboard. Though they're trained to dive into trenches, so I doubt they'd be that sluggish."
"Are you sure? The help would definitely be appreciated."
"It's only natural to lend you a hand since we're your guests. Don't give it another thought."
Cooperation. A great human behavior based on shared interests. Tanya wants to sleep safely, and the submarine wants to navigate safely. Of course the 203rd would offer to help out.
"Major Weiss, I'm leaving the task of helping the crew keep watch to you. Three shifts are probably sufficient, but consult the crew as necessary to come up with a working plan. And this goes without saying, but do everything you can to not be a burden to them. Oh, and consider their orders to be from me. Do everything you can to make their lives easier."
"Yes, ma'am! Understood. I'll do whatever's needed."
An energetic reply. To think he has so much vim and vigor after that major fight.
Officers who have been around since the start of the war really are handy. No matter where you look in the Empire, they're probably hard to come by these days. Of course, that's exactly why the dear General Staff says they can't get us replacements…
"You might be left behind in an emergency dive!"
"No worries—we won't be late. Anyhow, I'm off to assist the navy members, ma'am."
I nod and crawl down the hatch.
At the same time, a wave of odor hits my nose; though I'm not used to it, this smell is hardly unfamiliar. Machine oil, sweat, and something stagnant. The air in a submarine is always unique like that.
Even though my nose is accustomed to the eastern front, this distinct cocktail of smells can't be easily brushed off. The hesitation I feel must be shared by my tough troops. Naturally, fully grown men are often bumping their heads on something or other inside the subs, which is also rather embarrassing.
Tanya is smaller than any sailor, so she can move through the interior with
ease. After hurrying to the control room, she arrives before the captain, who is wearing a perplexed look on his face.
At this point, I'm used to career soldiers who are unsure how to react to my small frame, but if he was already perplexed before I arrived, then the cause is something else. The natural inference is that it must have to do with the reason I was summoned. Not that it's necessarily bad news.
So what in the world is it?
Though I have many questions, the first thing to do is be sociable.
I glance at his rank insignia and decide to speak first. He's the captain, after all, so it's only natural for Tanya to pay respects first.
"I'm the commander of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion under the Lergen Kampfgruppe, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff. Since we're operating as a detachment, I'm the senior officer."
"I'm the captain of U-091, Major Otto von Elm."
"It's good to meet you, Captain. We appreciate the lift. Please don't worry about us."
The height difference is usually a bit much for a firm handshake, but Elm is rather small himself, which might be partly why he's a submariner. Of course, he's still bigger than Tanya.
"To get straight to it… That was magnificent, Colonel."
"You mean the battle? From the sound of it, some people from our side were watching?"
"Yes." The captain nods almost excitedly. "Barchet was practically going mad. Ah, excuse me. We joined up at the same time, you see. He was more elated than I've ever heard him before, and we received the report of your amazing results."
In response to the captain's admiration, Tanya promptly gives him a smile. Times like this, in a submarine, being short isn't so bad. I have enough room to spread my arms and casually chuckle while saying that we didn't do anything special. "We were only able to get such good results thanks to the support of the submarine squadron. All we did was hop on the bus Major Barchet was driving to go shopping."
With no mother ship to carry us, no success would've been possible. It's the same logic as a carrier strike group. You need a proper carrier and carrier-based aircraft before either can operate in any meaningful way.
"That said…it's true we were forced to get quite creative."
"I've heard the new weapon is really something."
"Something is right. I mean…" I wince before continuing with "… between you and me, we got used to doing tank desants on the eastern front, and even that was more comfortable."
A tank desant is basically using a tank as a bus. From a mental health standpoint, it's definitely better than taking a ride in a torpedo.
"I have no interest in riding one of those. But wow, necessity really is the mother of invention, huh?"
"It sure is. If there's a next time, I've decided I'll launch Major Barchet by force if necessary and take over the sub in his place."
"…Luckily, though we're in the zeros, we don't have any V-2s on board.
That means we can all be happy."
Elm's remark is an apt one. The most happiness for the most people. This is an outcome that all of us can be satisfied with. There is nothing better than being equipped with no V-series weapons.
The captain and I nod at each other, getting along famously. But apparently, this is surprising to Elm.
"Ah, I was nervous that you might be a stiff aerial mage. I'm glad it seems like we can get along."
"Hmm?"
"What is it, Colonel?"
There's not much to really say, but…after hesitating, Tanya opens her mouth to reply. "I think aerial mages in general are fairly flexible—not to mention a bunch of jokesters who can screw around with the best of the submariners."
I'm surprised. On the entire spectrum of the imperial forces, aerial mages probably play fast and loose with regulations more than most. No one deviates from their orders, of course, but we're the type to act within the full limits of the rules.
"The officers of my battalion like talking about their feats of bravery, but they hesitate to reveal their shame. Captain, if you could refrain from asking, that would be great."
"I suppose most of the mages I've met have been from the rear. You've taught me that front liners are a different breed. It's cramped here in the sub, but I hope it'll give us a chance to get to know each other better."
They exchange courtesies, and Tanya shifts the now nicely warmed up
atmosphere toward work.
"Now then, it's nice to be social, but what's the current situation?"
Elm nods as if to say, Of course, and offers a slight shrug. "Honestly, it's very difficult for me to say definitively. There's a bit of a challenge, or you could call it a strange request…"
"If you'll excuse me, Captain, I'm not in the mood for wordplay. Would you get to the point?"
"You're quite right. Perhaps it would be quickest for you to take a look." As he speaks, he hands her a securely sealed communications envelope.
How thorough—there's even a document for her to confirm. This is awfully dramatic.
"It's direct from the home country, Colonel."
"How elaborate. I should sign here to confirm receipt?" "Yes, thank you."
Upon signing and getting the confirmation document out of the way, I crack open the seal on the envelope and look over what is inside.
"…Ohhh?"
There is certainly no way to keep anything top secret in a space as necessarily intimate as a submarine, but I had planned to at least try… The moment I read the text, however, that idea goes right out the window.
"Oh-ho! This sure is something!" The writing is crystal clear.
Nevertheless, for an order from the General Staff, it's awfully roundabout. Surprisingly, it's also pleasant.
You're really ordering me, and the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, to do that of all things? It's a terrific mission that words like challenge or strange request can't describe.
"Laughable, don't you think, Colonel?"
"It seems the General Staff has a sense of humor, too. Right up there with the Commonwealth. Is that why the General Staff Office's dining room has always been so horrible?"
"With all due respect, I sympathize with the army."
Lost for words, Tanya nods in silence. It's precisely because she knows how good the navy eats that even magic officer Tanya can only smile bitterly while recalling how bad the food is for the infantry.
…Well, at least we get treated to good meals at sea is the only consoling
thought I can muster.
"Excuse me, Captain. May I confer with my subordinate outside for a moment?"
"Of course, Colonel. Go right ahead."
Hup—I climb up the steel ladder to the bridge to poke the officer helping keep watch. "Major Weiss, can I borrow you for a moment?"
"Yes, ma'am. What is it?"
When he lowers his binoculars, I wave the message from the envelope as if he would understand as soon as he laid eyes on it.
"Special orders from the home country."
"Special orders?" It's probably natural for the face of an officer who has just been launched into the thick of a Commonwealth fleet aboard a V-2 to stiffen in response.
"I know exactly how you feel but relax. We've been instructed to go 'sightseeing' in Ildoa… The submarine will apparently enter port 'as soon as possible.'"
I say that all with a smile only to be met with a blank, vacant stare from my vice commander. So that's what he looks like when he's caught off guard. Chuckling to myself, I thrust the document at him.
Having taken it with both hands and quickly read over it, this seasoned aerial mage is more confused than he has ever been.
"C-Colonel? What does…s-sightseeing mean?" "It means sightseeing."
My vice commander is usually so grave and steady, but…at this point his entire body is showing his utter disbelief, so I guess he's more expressive than I thought.
"A-as in not a military sense?"
"Of course not." Tanya shakes her head. "Like the telegram says, we'll be docking with the submarine. It even says that Major Elm and the rest of U- 091's crew should get spruced up in at least semiformal dress, right?"
"Honestly, I don't understand how this is an order."
"…We're supposed to openly enjoy our leave in our ally's country and pay our respects to the attaché at the embassy. Surely that qualifies as military duty."
No matter how you read it, this is nothing more than a peaceful sightseeing mission. It's the type of formality soldiers would perform during
peacetime. Absolutely wonderful! "But we're at war!"
I get what my exasperated vice commander is trying to say. There's a war on—we're a far cry from peacetime. Such sophisticated etiquette is nothing more than mere pretension on the battlefield.
You could say it's the area the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, a combat unit, is most unfamiliar with.
"…But it's an order. It even adds this detail: 'As soon as your business is concluded, return to Empire via Ildoan state rail.' It sounds as if everything has been set up for us."
In other words, the embassy has arranged a luxury vacation for us. Not only does it come with meals and travel expenses paid, but the hotel is included, too! You can't hope for treatment that good unless you become a member of parliament.
A trip abroad on public money? I really am blessed. Given the timing, not even the emperor himself can enjoy such extravagance. That's some decent employee welfare.
"…I am, uh, having a hard time comprehending it."
"I'm sure you do." I nod in agreement. "I mean, one minute we're launched at an enemy warship in a V-2, and the next we're off on a sightseeing trip in an untrustworthy allied country on taxpayer money."
There really are some strange developments in this world. In one direction, extreme black, while in the other, pure white. Though as a public servant, I feel that the gray bits in between are plenty gray.
If you have common sense, a bit of confusion now and then is utterly normal. Tanya is a good boss filled with empathy, so she understands Weiss's feelings naturally.
"Will Ildoa even let us in? From what I'm told…"
"Major Weiss, you've been steeping in war on the eastern front for too long."
He's a good subordinate, but he must have left his brain on the battlefield. That will be hard to fix. I know that giving guidance to outstanding individuals is a profitable investment, but…with cost performance in mind, I worry about the future.
"Common sense, Major! Use your common sense!"
I give my blank-faced vice commander a light kick in the leg and sigh.
There's no point in worrying whether Ildoa might chase allied soldiers off. It's incredibly simple. The Empire has no options, but it's not as if Ildoa enjoys a great deal of choice, either.
That's how games work. There are rules.
"When retaliating, everything should be proportional. It's an extremely simple principle. Don't forget it, Major."
"Ma'am?"
It's the most basic of basic game theory logic.
When dealing with another party who is hesitant and too tolerant, any state is liable to become infinitely selfish. Why would you show consideration for someone who demonstrates a willingness to let anything go?
In that vein, the Empire will be a slight pain in the ass, and Ildoa will have no choice but to go along quietly.
Of course, it'll go differently if Ildoa feels like starting a war that very day…but as long as Colonel Lergen's guess isn't completely off, Ildoa will decide to remain neutral—meaning it'll have to welcome the Imperial Army Goodwill Tour Group with bouquets and smiles.
In other words…
"We're just teaching them a lesson for their poor manners. They'll realize it's a happy thing because it will bring us to a deal. Doing this might actually be the key to upholding world peace… At least, as long as both parties remain rational."
Rationality versus emotions. We're entering the realm of behavioral economics now. "Haaah," I sigh as I stare out at the great big ocean.
The view doesn't particularly soothe my heart, but it would be a lie to say that I don't feel jealous when I think that since nature is ruled by the laws of physics, it might actually be quite rational.
Considering what a tragedy lobotomies ended up being, it's clear that humans have no choice but to learn to get along with their emotions.
"Being unable to trust Ildoa makes me want to bring the iron hammer down on them."
"Cut it out, Major." "Colonel?"
It's not like I don't understand how you feel, but…considering the situation the Imperial Army is in, that's the last thing we can afford to do.
I wave a hand to silence my subordinate and then heave a huge sigh.
This must be what people mean when they say they want to burst into tears.
There's just absolutely nothing I can do. Everyone and their grandmother have abandoned logic and placed undue emphasis on emotions. Even a field officer I trained with tender, loving care and have flown alongside time and time again is no exception.
I don't know how tightly the General Staff is gripping the reins on this one, but will the home country remain prudent with its policies toward Ildoa? "…Major Weiss. It's true that for people in the field like us, an insincere friend is more of a headache than a blatant enemy. But on the national strategy
level, it's the other way around." "What do you mean?"
"Even an insincere friend is a friend. You can strike a deal with them. All you can exchange with enemies is bullets."
Reduce the number of enemies. That's basic strategy.
True enemies can only be killed, but with insincere friends, you can at least pretend to be pals.
Of course, on the front lines those kinds of people are an absolute pain in the ass. As a field commander, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff, mostly concerned with the tactical layer of war, wouldn't hesitate to eliminate them all.
But on the strategic level, the wise thing to do is shake hands, even if reluctantly, and "take appropriate action." It's the shift in perspective that a change in stance brings.
"Friendship requires mutual trust. Mischief deserves a thumping, of course. It has to be proportional, though. It's never good to go overboard."
"But shouldn't we teach them a lesson so that they never betray us again?" "That's already too much, Major."
Excessive retaliation isn't what we're after at all. If we're seen even once as incapable of hashing out a deal, they'll never want to negotiate or cooperate ever again.
"I'm sure that's what the executives in the General Staff were thinking when we blew the Entente Alliance away."
The simple thought that a spanking would do the trick. And look where that got us. This is no laughing matter.
I grumble, "Considering that's how we got to this point, I don't think it's such a bad idea to learn some restraint."
"…Forgive me."
"No, it's good to hear how you feel about it. After all…" I shrug slightly before continuing with "…my own experiences are fairly biased. The army, the General Staff, and the battlefield. I don't really have much of a sense for the rear or peacetime."
"Honestly, sentiment in the rear is too hard for soldiers to understand."
I nod. His complaint isn't difficult to fathom. "That said, the logic and thinking of the army and the political reasoning is comparatively easy to grasp."
Considering the Empire's relationship with Ildoa, appropriate retaliation might actually be beneficial in maintaining the weak alliance.
It's not a problem of ethics but of power.
"Now then, as the home country has ordered, we're off on a fun sightseeing trip. How often does a chance like this come along? Let's savor the bonds of friendship we share with our ally. Maybe we'll even be invited to dinner!"
Having said that much, I suddenly realize something. Dinner. Dinner might actually be a thing.
"…Crap."
I have nothing to wear. "Colonel?"
"Major, sorry to burden you, but if you happen to see Lieutenant Serebryakov—ah no, never mind. Continue keeping watch."
"Yes, ma'am. Understood."
I'm pretty sure regulations stipulate exceedingly formal dress for official dinners. I'm sure the men who serve under me can get clothes tailored to their size via the attaché at the embassy…but for someone my height…
Did someone prepare me formal wear when we were deployed?
Even if it's a single sub, the fact that we're being told to sail right into the port means we're not "escaping" but actually supposed to arrive in a dignified manner. That's clearly what the higher-ups want. Given that the idea is to harass Ildoa for their "strictly neutral" stance, haggard troops showing up in ratty uniforms is decidedly not the impression we want to make.
There's probably no sense in worrying about how we'll look in photographs. I doubt we'll end up in mass media, since we can impose a media blackout under the guise of protecting state secrets.
But the Empire does have to look good for the Ildoan reception personnel.
And a good chunk of a person's impression is looks. We can't underestimate the visual factor.
I doubt we can get made-to-order three-piece suits, but we'll want something at least that formal. I don't want to be the kind of barbarian who can't even follow the dress code for state functions.
As I nimbly clamber down the ladder from the bridge, I'm burning with impatience to consult my adjutant about clothes. It'll be fine if she can arrange something, but I wonder if she can.
"…Thoughtfulness and manners, huh? Man, to think I'd be worrying about formal wear and how to behave in the rear. Seems like it's going to be a sightseeing trip with lots of things to worry about."
When it comes to the unfamiliar, it always pays to have a plan.
This is a totally different ball game from the eastern front… Wait. I freeze in the submarine corridor as if I just bit down on a lemon. Paying no attention to the sailors warily passing by, I go over something in my head, trembling all the while.
Formal wear and the rear and When it comes to the unfamiliar…totally different?
Well, those are probably allowable as far as mumbles from a frontline officer go.
For those who are broken by time spent on the front lines, those who have surrendered their body and soul to the war, surely sometimes they give voice to strange thoughts.
But me?
Market-loving, peace- and civilization-valuing me?
The fact that I, of all people, feel like dressing up in the ideal rear environment of peaceful Ildoa is something to be worried about?
This is highly abnormal.
If this weren't a cramped submarine and I weren't in a position that requires me to mind my reputation and how I come off to the troops, I would have eschewed appearances and rushed to the nearest mental health clinic.
This should not be a thing.
"…Am I that far gone?"
For a salaryman, riding a packed train with the basic gear of a suit and a necktie is an everyday occurrence. Never mind how uncomfortable the packed trains are—if I can't even put on a tie, would I be able to commute…?
If putting on dress wear is really such a hardship, then that means… "…What the hell?"
I've had no subjective symptoms, but could it be that the battlefield has finally poisoned me? This is why I hate war so much.
If we don't get this over with soon, I may actually go insane.
Remaining sane in a mad world is easier said than done. If I'm not careful, my body may survive the war without my mind. I need both to stay healthy.
If I survive but wind up non compos mentis and praising Being X…talk about putting the cart before the horse.
Freedom requires both a mind and a body. I have to survive.
I can't give in to this crazy, broken, utterly bizarre world.
I'm going to live—I'm going to live and celebrate the triumph of reason.
I swear to defend tomorrow, the future, as well as my freedom and dignity until this is all over.
Thus, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff quietly declares her heartfelt determination.
"We have to win. Absolutely. No matter what it takes."