Yes, this was fear.
The longer Grantz stared into the eyes of the general—who still gave off the impression of a good-natured old man—the more the fear welled up inside him. To First Lieutenant Grantz, General Zettour was an object of extreme reverence, yet shrewd to the point of trepidation. In comparison, a fiendish senior officer like Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff, prone to fits of stormy passion, seemed like an angel.
“Lieutenant Grantz. Please, have a seat,” said the general, his manner warm, friendly, kind. But to First Lieutenant Grantz, it felt like being asked to take a seat in an electric chair.
“Let’s enjoy a little chat.”
As Grantz reluctantly sat down, General Zettour took a seat across from him. Grantz felt as if he wanted to jump out of his skin.
“I would like you to take a look at the map. Yes, here.”
Grantz was used to seeing maps of the Eastern Front for strategic purposes. While the paper used by the General Staff was of higher quality than that of his unit, the map itself was largely the same.
“As you can see, the information included here is no more than what we believe to be correct, based on what we in the Empire have grasped from the rear. Bluntly speaking, it is visualized confusion. There are differences, I imagine, compared to what you have seen?”
“Y-yes, sir. Based on what I know of the situation, there are discrepancies in several places.”
“Of course,” murmured General Zettour, stroking his jaw with a gentle expression. “It is difficult to grasp conditions from the rear, far from the front lines as we are. Unfortunate, isn’t it?” the general added, but Grantz could only reply with a stiff, awkward smile. “The only thing we can do from here is establish broad policies. If we do not lend an ear to voices from the front…I worry that could lead to crucial mistakes.”
Even the highest levels of decision-making must listen to feedback from those on the ground. It was an evidently sound argument.
“Lieutenant Grantz, I would like to ask you something.”
Ask away—just make it about anyone else but me! thought Grantz.
“Of course, what is it?”
“Do you have any experience with combat drops…?”
“Y-yes, we’ve carried out a few since Norden.”
“Good,” the General nodded in satisfaction. He thought for a moment before eventually rubbing his chin in curiosity and turning his eyes toward Grantz. “It may be a silly question to ask of someone with so much experience in decapitation strikes, but may I ask one more thing?”
Grantz nodded. “Of course.”
“Just to confirm,” continued General Zettour, his attitude still as laid-back as if he were asking about breakfast, “the mage battalions currently on regular deployment in the East…possess adequate skill to rout a regiment of Federation infantry. Correct?”
“Yes, sir. Even a mage battalion at about sixty percent strength, I think, would be enough to respond to turn back a Federation infantry regiment.”
“I see,” said the superior officer, folding his arms and looking up toward the ceiling as if choosing his words. After a pause, the general seemed to make up his mind and began speaking again. “In terms of using an aerial mage division to destroy enemy logistics…it was Colonel Degurechaff’s assessment that a mage division would be enough to cause havoc in the enemy’s rear lines, yes?”
“Yes, the Colonel, my commander, gave my orders under that assumption.”
General Zettour grunted softly before falling into silence. He almost seemed to be sleeping, completely still, like a statue frozen in place. It was perhaps several minutes—or maybe only seconds—before the general lifted his head in apparent realization and opened his eyes.
“Give me a moment, Lieutenant… Please, make yourself at ease.”
General Zettour stood up and folded his arms behind his back. He began pacing about the room as if deep in thought.
“Umm… General…?”
“I need to think for a moment, understand?”
“Huh?”
“I see I need to make myself clearer,” the general continued, displeased. “Be quiet. That is an order.”
Perfectly clear, indeed. First Lieutenant Grantz clamped his lips shut. An idle tongue is the devil’s plaything, after all.
I’m just furniture, I’m just furniture, he repeated internally, staying as silent as he could. He was trapped in this room with the irritable general—a man whose concerns were far from ordinary. Grantz focused on letting the general’s strange mutterings pass through one ear and out the other.
“It’s not enough, it’s not enough, it’s just not enough…”
Suppose Grantz were to listen, to accidentally catch a word or two of what the general said? Not enough? What wasn’t enough—the men? The time? The opportunity? Grantz had no idea. So why did he have such a bad feeling about this?
“The cat may already be out of the bag when it comes to our decapitation tactics. But it is likely only our decapitation strikes they are aware of, and not the true value of our fundamental ability to project combat power. In which case…”
In which case…?
No, enough! Grantz did not want to hear more!
“Hrm…?”
Just then, the tone in General Zettour’s voice changed ever so slightly—from disjointed and grumbling to vaguely excited and alive.
“Yes, yes…”
General Zettour nodded slightly, even tracing his lips with his fingers.
“Yes, of course, yes. This will do.”
He clapped his hands together suddenly in what could only be interpreted as delight.
“Lieutenant Grantz, you have permission to speak again. But why do you look so grim? A smile is a thing to be cherished! Relax, there is no need to be so tense. Now, I have some questions for you.”