JANUARY 15, UNIFIED YEAR 1928, PROVISIONAL OPERATION CENTER
Placing your hands together in prayer does not make the world’s problems disappear.
For Tanya, the act of praying to one of her subordinates is the perfect opportunity to reflect and to take notice of her own lack of composure.
Perhaps that is why our two-company assault run comes to an end without issue. After returning to camp, I have hot water prepared, and distribute some of my precious store of real chocolate, taken from Ildoa, to command personnel. While nibbling on the chocolate with them, I soon get down to work, burying myself in a mountain of complicated but necessary paperwork.
We are at war, and in the middle of combat operations. Burying one’s head in paperwork at a time like this might seem like a form of escapism, but this paperwork is, in fact, ridiculously urgent.
After all, an army is still a kind of organization, the kind where the amount of administrative work increases dramatically with each operation or engagement.
Neglecting such administrative work would cause us to deteriorate into an organization destined for failure that cannot grasp the condition of its units, cannot keep supply lines open, and fails to issue effective orders in timely fashion.
For a proper modern army, triumph over paperwork is a necessary prerequisite to winning a war. At the present moment, however, I cannot deny that I am headed toward a decisive defeat on the administrative front.
To be blunt, the paperwork has reached peak saturation.
Even with Major Weiss, who returned to base separately, handling whatever he could; even with First Lieutenant Serebryakov assisting; even with all command staff on deck. I still have not caught up.
The reason for this failure is extremely simple: We do not have enough people. Unfortunately, this is a structural deficiency.
To begin with, most of the officers under Tanya’s command are mage battalion officers, because the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion was formed as a scaled-up battalion.
Naturally, Salamander Kampfgruppe has armored, artillery, and infantry officers as well… Significantly, however, while there are officers for each unit, not a single additional staff member has been assigned for joint oversight. It is the equivalent of working for an exploitative company that has set up a regional headquarters—one that brings together four separate branches—but then expects branch staff to step up and handle regional supervisory duties without hiring additional personnel, not even part-timers.
This Kampfgruppe, after all, is only a provisional unit, flexibly organized in response to emergency conditions and disbanded once necessary measures are completed. Permanent command capabilities would have contradicted our stated mission and were thus seen as unnecessary.
Besides, the overtime involved in running a Kampfgruppe-scale unit is considered part of the job for a commander of my rank. As Tanya has no plans to drown in this sea of overwork on her own, she has always assigned work to the other branch unit commanders at her discretion. This is how she has managed to endure her working conditions and swiftly process a wide variety of administrative tasks behind the scenes.
Now, however, comes the problem.
Captain Ahrens and his unit are off my roster at the moment due to tank maintenance. Captain Meybert, who is in charge of artillery, and First Lieutenant Tospan, who is in charge of infantry, are holding down base with the rest of the Kampfgruppe in my absence. As for magical officers on hand, First Lieutenant Grantz is away as well, currently delivering a message for me.
And yet we are expected to carry out direct command duties for a mage regiment as well as administer an entire mage division under these conditions. This is mission impossible.
It is not as if I can forcibly assign duties to the few magic officers present; after all, I have mobilized the units off the books according to orders given in General Zettour’s name. Only those already aware of and reconciled to the situation can be drafted as command personnel.
At the very least, as a matter of priority and to increase efficiency, I have delegated the majority of administrative work to the division’s various commanders. But with so many repeated sorties—where I am not only sending the men out to hammer enemy logistics but also going with them—it is only a matter of time until everything comes crashing down.
It has been twenty-four hours since the Federation began its offensive. Only twenty-four hours. And already I am reaching my limit.
There is only one hope. If First Lieutenant Grantz can explain things to General Zettour, and Zettour legitimizes and normalizes the situation, then all of this chaos will be swept away in a heartbeat.
I diligently sign document after document and prepare order after order, all in a bid to fend off catastrophe for as long as possible, putting off what can be postponed. Yet the work continues to mount.
Meanwhile, to get anything done, I have been forced to leave communications personnel with strict orders to ignore all appeals for mage troop support, without mercy.
In the end, coordination with the eastern army is not going smoothly, either. I need to play dumb, of course, but I also need to urge them to retreat.
Now that General Laudon is a goner, however, the eastern army is in chaos.
“Let’s see… Considering flight speed and time, we should be able to expect a report from Lieutenant Grantz any time now.”
Let’s just hope he gets through quickly. Perhaps I should have gone myself. I am so overwhelmed, I barely know what I am saying, but there’s no getting back to running operations until I get through all this damn paperwork.
And we need to get back to it now. This version of AirLand Battle is so dispersed that it makes the Cold War look focused. But to get back to operations, Tanya needs to ask for the impossible from all sides.
As I rub my dry eyes, I realize my fingers are shaking. I must have been clutching my pen too hard. Both my eyes and my hands are on their last legs.
Realizing that pushing myself any further right now will be inefficient, I announce my departure to my second-in-command and adjutant.
“Weiss, I’m sorry, but I am going to take a short nap. Just fifteen minutes. You two should rest in shifts as well. Serebryakov, if you don’t mind, please have chocolate and coffee ready for Weiss and me when we awaken.”
Leaving the rest to my subordinates, who nod in understanding, I shuffle off to my bedroom like a zombie and collapse onto my poor excuse for a kip. There is neither a mattress nor a bed, not even a sleeping bag right now, just a pile of hay. Fortunately, however, someone has at least dried it out for me.
A dry, warm haven in this universe of sludge. A luxury, at present. Here on the battlefield, this kip smells as civilized as a full suite of amenities.
My consciousness plummets. In the next moment, however, just as my mind should be sinking into the straw, I am forcibly dragged back to reality by external stimuli.
“Huh?”
My foggy brain protests at how heavy I feel, urging me to embrace sleep, but I realize a hand is shaking my shoulder, grappling with my half-asleep consciousness.
“Ah…? Is it time already?”
I turn my eyes toward the clock and realize that almost no time has passed since I decided to take a rest. I then turn my eyes toward whoever has awoken me.
I see my adjutant standing there, an apologetic look on her face.
“Colonel Degurechaff… Umm…”
“What is it?”
“The telephone. Can you speak? I can bring the receiver.”
“The telephone…? What? Oh, the telephone.”
Whatever it is, it must be important for her to bring it to my attention at a time like this—especially since she is bringing it to me directly rather than letting Major Weiss handle it.
I immediately rouse myself, realizing this is not a call I can avoid.
“I’ll take it. Bring me the phone.”
I hurry from my makeshift bed back to the command center, clear my sleepy throat, pick up the receiver, and attempt to greet the person on the line in a presentable tone.
“Yes, hello, this is…”
“Hello, hello, Colonel Degurechaff! How have you been? I think I am beginning to feel my age, sadly. I just can’t seem to find inspiration these days.”
The voice sounds laid-back, even a bit scatterbrained. But even over radio or telephone, even having just woken up, it is a voice I could never mistake.
“D-Doctor?”
“Indeed, indeed, you do remember me! Good, good, that should make things easier.”
Honestly, I wonder how I could ever forget him.
“Perhaps you might tell me what you’re calling about?” I say perfunctorily, my voice completely devoid of grumpiness. This is less a triumph of self-control—the minimum expected of a civilized person—and more a matter of sheer surprise.
Although, who wouldn’t feel a bit discombobulated after being woken up by a voice like the doctor’s? This is the very same madman who once shoved a self-destructing orb into Tanya’s hands and later yelled at her over the radio for not using it right.
“Yes, yes, that reminds me.” While I am still trying to kickstart my brain, the man on the other end plods ahead at his own pace. “You must be very busy over there. We both know the value of good faith, but I imagine if we keep this operational line tied up too long with our chatter, someone is bound to lose patience with our indiscretion.”
“Ha-ha, yes, there could always be someone big and scary listening in. Your concern is much appreciated, however.”
“Of course, of course, but it is nice to take the time to catch up every now and again, is it not?”
I don’t understand. Why am I making small talk with the doctor all of a sudden? And at the cost of nap time—one of the most precious commodities in the middle of a battlefield.
“Doctor?”
“Yes, I, too, am growing old. At my age, hearing about what old friends are up to brings my old bones some peace of mind. When one finds oneself running all over the place for work all the time, one soon finds oneself with no time for anything more than cordialities.”
“Your company is widely sought.”
“Perhaps. But one always wants to know that one’s acquaintances are doing well. One always wants to do a good turn. Speaking of which, that reminds me of why I called. That young first lieutenant of yours, he is here now on holiday, I believe?”