“You’re changing my assigned squadron…?”
The golden wallpaper, streaked with dark-red stripes, gave the division commander’s office a profound, dignified atmosphere. Lena blinked her silver eyes, her gaze fixed on the notice of personnel change she’d received from the division commander seated behind the antiquated desk, Commodore Karlstahl.
Squadron reorganizations and, by extension, changes of a Handler’s assigned squadron actually happened fairly often. As they participated in battle after battle, squadrons gradually took increased losses to the point where continued combat became impossible. As such, squadrons were routinely integrated into one another, reorganized, abolished, and formed anew. Even transfers owing to the complete obliteration of a squadron were common, albeit a circumstance Lena had neither experienced personally nor had any desire to.
The Legion were simply that strong.
Having developed them with full ferocity and technological superiority, the militant Giadian Empire spared no expense when outfitting the Legion with the most advanced weapons and allowing them the utmost mobility possible, as well as capacity for autonomous thought so advanced it was hard to believe it was a product of this age’s technology. On top of that, since they were truly unmanned drones, the Legion never tired, never disobeyed orders, and never knew fear. And no matter how many were destroyed, fully automated production and repair factories lay scattered across the depths of their territories, rolling out new units like the black smoke spewing from their chimneys.
Contrary to what the civilians believed, the Juggernaut was far inferior to the Legion in terms of performance, and the idea of getting out of a fight with the Legion with minor losses was unthinkable. Even if the Republic did inflict great damage on the Legion, they always returned in equal numbers, and the most the Republic could do was maintain a defensive line.
However, the squadron Lena was currently in charge of hadn’t suffered that many losses.
Karlstahl’s scarred cheeks slackened into a smile. His beard gave off a feeling of gentle dignity, and his frame was tall and broad-shouldered.
“Your squadron isn’t getting reorganized or integrated. The truth is another squadron’s Handler recently resigned, and we need to elect a replacement Handler from another squadron as quickly as possible.”
“Is it a defensive unit for some important location?”
Which would mean it was a unit that couldn’t remain on standby until a replacement Handler was found.
“Indeed. It’s the eastern front’s first ward’s first defensive squadron, also known as the Spearhead squadron. It’s a unit that consists of veterans from the eastern front… You could call it an elite unit.”
That made Lena’s beautiful features contort into a frown. The first ward was certainly an important location; it was an imperative defensive position where the Legion’s advance was the fiercest. And the first defensive squadron was a significant unit that was single-handedly responsible for the first ward’s defense. The duties placed on it, such as night patrol and serving as support, were entirely different compared to the second, third, and fourth squadrons, which served as backup in case the first wasn’t able to sortie.
“I think this is too much responsibility to place on a novice like me, sir…”
Karlstahl smiled wryly.
“Is that something a talented, aspiring officer who was the youngest and first to be promoted to major out of ninety-one alumni should say? Being too modest can buy you others’ ire, Lena.”
“I-I’m sorry, Uncle Jérôme.”
Karlstahl referred to Lena by her first name, and she responded by lowering her head in a manner unlike that of a subordinate. Karlstahl had been best friends with Lena’s late father, who had fought alongside him nine years ago as part of the now demolished Republic Armed Forces. The two were among its sole survivors. He would come to visit often when Lena was small and play with her, and after her father’s passing, he helped arrange the funeral, as well as support Lena and her family in various ways.
“I’ll be frank with you… We don’t have any other candidates for the Spearhead squadron’s Handler.”
“Didn’t you say they were an elite unit? I would think being put in charge of that would be a great honor for any Republic soldier.”
Not all Handlers took their jobs seriously, however. Some would watch television or play video games in the command room or leave it unattended altogether. Others would give their Processors terrible orders or not provide them information at all and watch as they died, as if it were just some movie. Others would place bets with their colleagues on whose squadron would get wiped out first. Lena knew that, of course. If anything, those who took their jobs seriously were the stark minority, but that was beside the point.
“Ah, well, it is an elite unit, but…”
Karlstahl seemed hesitant for a second.
“It’s the Spearhead squadron’s captain unit, Personal Name: Undertaker. He has something of, shall we say, a history.”
Undertaker. What an odd name.
“The Handlers who know him seem to call him the Reaper and are all frightened of him… It seems he has a tendency to…break his Handlers.”
“Huh?”
Lena replied in surprise despite herself. If it had been the other way around, that wouldn’t have been so odd, but a Processor breaking a Handler?
How?
“Are you sure this isn’t some kind of ghost story, sir?”
“I guarantee you I haven’t had the luxury to call my subordinates over to discuss gossip, my dear… It’s a fact that an unusually high number of Handlers who were in charge of Undertaker’s squadrons have put in requests to change their assignments or requested to resign from service altogether. Some have requested transfers immediately after their first sortie, and while we’re unsure as to whether it’s related, some have committed suicide after resigning.”
“Suicide, sir…?”
“It’s rather hard to believe, but…they claimed they could ‘hear the ghosts’ voices’ and were haunted by them even after retiring from service.”
“…”
It didn’t sound like anything but a ghost story, after all. Karlstahl cocked his head, anxiously trying to discern what Lena was thinking.
“If you’re against the idea, feel free to refuse, Lena. You can stay in command of your current squadron, and as I’ve said, Spearhead is a gathering of veterans. From what I hear, Resonating with them during sorties isn’t advised, so we could very well leave command to those on the field and provide minimal monitoring—”
Lena pursed her lips tensely.
“I’ll do it. I’ll put all my efforts into serving as the Spearhead squadron’s commanding officer.”
Protecting the motherland was a Republic citizen’s duty and pride. Being put in charge of a unit that stood as the vanguard of the war effort was all she could ask for, and letting this opportunity pass by was unacceptable.
Karlstahl smiled at her fondly. Really, this girl is simply too much…
“You can do the absolute minimum. There’s no need to do anything unnecessary… And also, refrain from interacting with the Processors too much.”
“Knowing one’s subordinates is part of a commanding officer’s duties. So long as they don’t reject me, I will make every effort to interact with them.”
“Good grief…”
Karlstahl sighed with a gentle smile. He opened the desk’s drawer and retrieved a bundle of documents.
“And while we’re on the subject of fault finding, I’ve got something else to say. For heaven’s sake, stop recording the number of casualties in your reports. There are officially no people on the battlefield, so we can’t accept documents regarding data that doesn’t exist… Even if you try to protest like this, there’s no one who will take this matter to heart anymore.”
“Be that as it may, I cannot simply ignore this… There’s no basis for confining the Colorata anymore.”
The Empire of Giad took the continent by storm with their army of Legion. But for some reason, it seemed to have fallen into ruin four years ago. The Empire transmissions the Republic was able to intercept in between waves of Eintagsfliege jamming suddenly ceased, and they had been unable to intercept them since. It was uncertain why the Empire fell; did the Legion turn against them, or was there some other reason? Whatever the case, one fact was abundantly clear: The Empire had certainly fallen.
The Eighty-Six were detained for being “progeny of the Empire,” but now that the Empire was gone, there was no justification for their continued internment. However, having tasted the perks of their blatant discrimination, the Republic’s civilians were loath to change their ways. Trampling others granted them the illusion of superiority, and having a group to oppress made them feel like they were the victors. Having been trapped, humiliated, and thrust into a state of emergency by the Empire and its superior weaponry, this was merely a form of escapism that allowed them to delude themselves, rather than confront the issue.
“Being tolerant of such wrongs is tantamount to supporting them. Doing this isn’t something that should be allowed in the—”
“Lena.”
That gentle invocation made Lena hold her tongue.
“Your pursuit of ideals is a bit too spirited, regardless of whether the ideals are your own or someone else’s. Ideals are precious precisely because they are unreachable.”
“…But…”
Karlstahl’s silver eyes wavered with bittersweet nostalgia.
“You really do take after Václav… Now then, Major Vladilena Milizé. I hereby appoint you to the role of commanding officer for the eastern front’s first ward’s first defensive squadron, effective as of today. I expect you to do your finest.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”