In his evaluations, the Imperial Army’s personnel bureau had always described General Hans von Zettour as the “academic” type. Of course, this was the bureau’s polite way of sugarcoating its assessment.
Incidentally, the opposite of “academic” was “highly courageous.”
By imperial personnel standards, this was quite a scathing assessment. After all, even the opposite end of the spectrum implied that there was little else worth mentioning of merit. Highly courageous? Weren’t all officers meant to be courageous? Even an average personnel evaluation, in reality, carried a strong hint of censure, containing the nuance that the person has no other exceptional qualities and therefore should be watched closely.
Meanwhile, the highest accolades were virtually acrimonious. Highly courageous? Then where are his medals? If he is so courageous, then why is he still alive?
Regardless, to the General Staff officers on the receiving end, these personnel evaluations—merciless, unsympathetic assessments of a person’s whole character that followed the strict standards of the front line—were nauseatingly severe.
In the end, the General Staff’s assessment standards were based on the premise that human beings have limits and were designed to coolly assess how a person comported themselves when up against those limits. They were unflinching evaluations of the degree to which an individual could face reality under high-stress conditions, where mental faculties are often bent to the breaking point.
It was the army’s tradition since its founding; those who created the Imperial Army must have known that the human grip on reality was fragile.
That was why both the military academy and war college were so ridiculously strict, pushing officers to their very limits. It was meant to quickly thin out the weak before their true colors betrayed them in combat, when it was too late.
But human intellect had its limits. Even the Imperial Army’s forefathers, despite their foresight, would have never dreamed that their progeny in later years would deteriorate into such myopic fools.
These forefathers may not have been perfect, but they were at least fanatical realists. They must have been proud then, lying in their graves, to know that at least one person with the right training had been left in the right place, to know there was a worthy successor working in the General Staff, a senior officer capable of functioning well under extreme stress.
✦ ✦ ✦
It occurred to Colonel Uger that he would likely never forget this moment.
It had all been a coincidence.
General Zettour had just directed the colonel, his adjutant, to “send a telegram to ascertain the degree of confusion in the chain of command in the East.” The colonel had just finished arranging for the telegram to be sent and was on his way back when it all happened.
The security staff seemed to be arguing with someone. Finding this strange, he glanced in the guards’ direction…only to find a magic officer whose face he recognized, pleading somewhat pathetically for Uger to intercede with General Zettour on his behalf.
The officer who rushed forward, claiming to be First Lieutenant Grantz, held out an envelope containing a small scrap of paper. Despite its size, the note’s contents were momentous.
It read, I have taken arbitrary action. However, the main force needed to be saved. Please confirm the details with my messenger. I do this regardless of the punishment.
Though the message’s meaning was ambiguous, it was clearly alarming. Had it been written by a stranger, Colonel Uger would have simply laughed it off. Even if written by someone else he knew, he might have dismissed it with a chuckle. But knowing who sent the message, Colonel Uger was more than willing to intercede on First Lieutenant Grantz’s behalf.
After all, this was arbitrary action—reported after the fact—taken by Degurechaff.
Naturally, after learning that a staff officer had taken arbitrary action, the ordinary thing to do would be to escalate the matter up the chain. And, naturally, Colonel Uger was an ordinary man.
Colonel Uger had an instinctive feeling that, between two equals at the pinnacle of their professions as staff officers, the meaning of this would be perfectly clear… A fine enough display of instinct on his part.
However, as General Zettour snatched the note from Uger’s hand and glanced at its contents, the emotion that appeared on his face in that moment was indescribable. Uger knew instinctively that it was an emotion beyond description, and he chose to forget it, letting it vanish.
Unfortunately, some things are impossible to forget.
“Colonel Uger.”
His voice shook. Or was it flat and hollow? He sounded scared. Or did he sound overjoyed?
“Bring Lieutenant Grantz here immediately.”
Uger remembered what General Zettour’s voice sounded like when he gave that order. He distinctly remembered every word. And yet, Uger was unsure.
His brain failed to understand the general’s tone.
Uger hesitated, unable to find the right words to describe it. It was only later, after the fact, that he would realize he must remain silent on the matter for the rest of his life.
But he had witnessed it all—the embodiment of Imperial Army ideals in the flesh; the deputy director of operations, an unwavering force capable of discerning the one clear course of action amidst a sea of complexity.
“Colonel Uger…! I have an urgent addition! Cancel the orders I asked to be sent! Cancel them in their entirety!”
“General?”
“Quickly, stop that order from being sent! They should still be encrypting the message, correct? There is still time. Go now. Make sure nothing is sent; do it yourself. And bring First Lieutenant Grantz here. Confirm the orders are stopped yourself, and as soon as all associated documents are destroyed, report back to me.”
General Zettour had only ordered him to send the telegram a moment ago. However, from what he understood, an order had appeared in General Zettour’s name that he had certainly not sent. The telegram was an inquiry meant to clarify the situation.
“B-but, you just said…”
“Colonel Uger. Carry out my order. You understand what I’ve asked, correct?” said the general, his tone brooking no discussion.
Uger pushed his growing doubts aside to focus on his duty as an adjutant general, one capable of fully understanding and executing his superior’s intentions.
“Y-yes, sir, immediately!”
Excusing himself, Colonel Uger quickly hurried away. It would be faster to go directly, seeing as the room was nearby, than to try to manage things over the phone.
Along the way, he quickly shouted to the waiting First Lieutenant Grantz and the guards, “Yes, General Zettour wishes to see him after all,” before rushing off to the communications room.
Colonel Uger’s feelings were complicated; although he had set his doubts aside for now, they lingered. A message for the General Staff from a young officer with the Salamander Kampfgruppe? A young officer under his old friend Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff’s command? This was unprecedented.
And now, for everything to be turned upside down like this, all because of a single scrap of paper.
What was happening in the East…? What if…?
But no, the Degurechaff that Uger knew would never do anything of the sort…would she?
Question after question bubbled up in Uger’s mind, burying the good colonel in a sea of doubt. These doubts threatened to make him hesitate, to flounder, to sink—but no, Colonel Uger was too dedicated and competent, too faithful and polished as an organizational man, to allow such a thing to happen.
In a sense, Uger was the ideal adjutant. He prioritized General Zettour’s wishes to the letter.
“This is Adjutant General Uger! Hold all communications! I want you to hold all communications!”
Uger burst into the bustling communications room and shouted for the officers to hold the telegram, which was still in the process of being encrypted.
Between his staff officer aiguillettes, his position as adjutant general to a deputy chief, and, most of all, his long history of service with the General Staff, an outburst from Colonel Uger carried significant weight.
“Halt all telegrams being sent in General Zettour’s name! Give me all encrypted items and communication records and anything that hasn’t been sent.”
Uger indicated that he was going to destroy the items. The young major on duty looked shocked, mentioning protocol.
“Permission must be received from the officer in charge, Brigadier General Collier, before disposing of records…,” he objected.
Of course the major was right. However, considering that General Zettour’s order was to “confirm the orders are stopped yourself, and as soon as all associated documents are destroyed, report back to me,” Uger had no choice. The obvious implication was that Colonel Uger was to involve as few others in this as possible.
Thus, his course of action was clear. Even if the responsible person was a brigadier general, it was better for that person not to know.
“This is the general’s prerogative. I’m sorry, but mention of this to anyone outside this room is strictly prohibited.”
Uger was asking for the impossible. He knew that. But in his current position, he had no choice but to insist.
“Colonel Uger, I’m sorry, but even on your authority as a colonel…”
“Major, excuse me, this is not a discussion. It is a directive.”
Necessity has a way of making the outrageous commonplace.
“I am borrowing your phone, Major.”
After a brief word with the exchange operator, Colonel Uger thrust the receiver back toward the officer on duty.
“Here, you may speak to the general directly about the matter.”
“Me?”
Colonel Uger visibly grimaced in response to the major’s stare of disbelief. He understood how the major felt. Unfortunately, however, Colonel Uger was not the type to make jokes.
He pointed toward the phone, urging the major not to keep someone so important waiting. By all means, talk to the general if that is what’ll convince you.
Looking pale, the officer on duty timidly reached for the receiver, almost as if he were picking up a live hand grenade—shock and awe awaited him on the other end of the line.
“This is General Hans von Zettour. You wished for confirmation?”