A two-pronged campaign. On the one hand, paperwork. On the other, destroying logistics in the Federation Army’s sphere of influence. It is a nightmare.
With these two fronts under my command—neither of which can be allowed to fail—I hunker down and clench my teeth as a good, free, and fair individual, cursing anything and everything under the sun.
But Tanya knows that this is the manifestation of good civil duty, something which no true liberal could help but praise. Her efficiency is truly marvelous.
In order to temporarily cut out the noise from Eastern Army Command, I have taken the drastic step, in General Zettour’s name, of ordering the eastern army to be silent. Of course, if what Tanya has done were exposed, noisy reprimands would be the least of my problems. Armed gendarmerie or mage troops would be pounding on command’s door with the butt of their guns before long—and not to exchange words.
In terms of organizational theory, Tanya’s actions are highly barbaric.
But if I am to survive the here and now, I do not have time to fret over such trivial concerns. After a very brief nap, my adjutant and I swallow some of the disgusting, muddy water that is meant to pass as coffee, the one redeeming quality being that it is hot. I bite loudly into a bar of chocolate, part of our aerial mage performance rations, as if biting off the head of someone who had just killed my parents.
A brief rest.
Lingering exhaustion.
I continue to lead my regiment in this state, thoroughly and mercilessly striking at enemy logistics in order to keep any supplies from reaching the Federation’s front line, which is still running roughshod over the Empire’s defense.
Interfering with supplies is, as one might expect, quite effective. Even in trench warfare, where the focus is on flesh-and-blood infantry, a fighting force will wither away without food to eat. Likewise, ammunition will deplete.
But interfering with supplies does not produce an immediate effect.
Under normal circumstances, a human being won’t die after a single day without food. They will feel hungry, of course, and one could argue that hungry troops do not live up to their full potential… But an army, ultimately, is a slave to necessity, to the point that a military is more than willing to fill its hungry troops’ stomachs with amphetamines to keep them marching through the snow.
And how humane, peace-loving, and altruistic was the Federation Army’s organizational culture to begin with? If anyone were to ask me, I would likely laugh in that person’s face. Whether the Empire or the Federation, based on what I have seen, all armies have a nasty habit of worshipping at the altar of necessity.
Naturally, a day or two of interfering with supplies is not going to stop the enemy in its tracks. As a result, although we are on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion due to constant and fierce battle, the cries (screams, really) for assistance from the front lines never cease. Not even when we collapse into our beds and plummet into unconsciousness. If anything, these cries have only grown more numerous.
“How can we abandon our fellow soldiers?!” Myopic shouts of protest rise from the lips of my heroic mages, directly echoing the front line’s cries for help.
“The front line is requesting support! We need to go to their aid! If we don’t have anyone to spare, why not just my unit?” And so on and so forth. I am already close to losing it when yet another company commander, from one of the detached forces, comes to me with another impassioned plea.
Here we are, on the brink of collapse, and this pea brain can’t even see the forest for the trees! Why is he wasting my time? I consider shooting him dead and appointing a different commander in his place.
In a fit of not rage, but reason, I weigh the potential time and emotional backlash, genuinely wondering whether making an example of this man and then suppressing the subsequent backlash would not, in fact, be the most efficient option.
We don’t have enough time. We don’t have enough manpower.
I freeze. Fortunately, before I can make any irreversible decisions, the reliable iron fist of Major Weiss enters to solve the issue for me.
It is extremely rare for one officer to strike another.
“You call yourself an officer?! Get your head on straight!” shouts Major Weiss, openly incensed as he punches this half-brained shithead right in the jaw.
While the others stare, frozen in astonishment, Weiss shoulders the unconscious company commander and tosses him outside.
“Lieutenant Commander, it seems the officer fainted from lack of sleep! I think he should be allowed to rest for a little while. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Hrm? Maybe he should rest six feet under instead.”
I laugh as Major Weiss’s face stiffens and assure him I’m just kidding. Tanya is not tactless enough to intentionally waste such a kind act from one of her subordinates.
“Smack him awake immediately; there is work to do. If he is in a condition to continue his command once he comes to, have him return to his duties. If not, pass command to the next in line and allow him to get as much rest as he needs. Make sure he knows his rest can be permanent, if need be.”
“Yes.” Major Weiss nods briefly, scurrying from the room. I turn back to my documents and maps, truly grateful for the major.
The eastern army’s defensive line is already beginning to crumble. The Federation Army’s bombardment against our scrambling defensive plans and the enemy’s overwhelming shock power have reduced the embankments to rubble, with their first echelon already surging like black water into the Empire’s sphere of influence.
Importantly, however, the flood is contained to the retention ponds for now.
The Empire’s defensive line does not have much depth. Its retention capabilities are limited. It is only a matter of time until the line is swept away in the flood. Common sense suggests that if the defensive line is not reformed in time, we will be on the verge of a great collapse.
But if no more water is allowed to flow in for now, this flood might still be controlled.
If we can prevent the enemy’s second echelon from advancing, if we can sabotage supplies intended for the first echelon, then, at least for now, the defensive line will be able to regroup after pulling back.
“For now, for now, for now…,” I repeat three times—three wishes—before suppressing a sigh.
Aware that my mind is growing clouded, I take a bite of chocolate for a change of pace, which brings me back to myself slightly. Now all I need is this bit of my adjutant’s coffee to feel fully human again.
This whole ordeal would be much more civilized if I could just spend a little more time relaxing over chocolate and coffee…but unfortunately, these are precious commodities. If our rate of consumption increases any further, our stock will dwindle to nothing. Where will that leave us then?
Well, if I make a request to Colonel Uger, he could probably arrange for more, although supplies would be unlikely to arrive before the eastern army’s sickly condition can be confirmed.
Time, time, time. Why are there only twenty-four hours in the day?
I stare at the roads on the map laid out before me, while continuing to lament the many absurdities and contradictions of this world, before exhaling with finality. Like the earthly attachments that tie us to this world, neither the imperial nor the Federation army can free themselves from highways and railroads. This means that both armies are fully aware of which roads serve as supply chokepoints.
Therefore, it is safe to assume that the Federation Army expects the possibility of a large aerial mage force targeting those locations. Although the Federation itself may have hidden its eyes behind the blindfold of ideology, the Federation Army wears the spectacles of pragmatism and, most assuredly, it is clear-sighted.
That is too bad. If only the Federation Communist Party would apply a little more effort to getting in the Federation Army’s way. That is the problem with commies. Not that I expect much from the Reds, but they are never useful when you need them.
“I’d prefer a surprise attack. But I guess an assault is unavoidable,” I mutter, resigning myself. Our approach is decided.
Although brief, the mages being sent out have been allotted rest and a hot meal. The medic has even managed to scrounge together some fuel for a makeshift sauna to be enjoyed by a portion of the troops.
Naturally, the commanders go last.
A senseless pretense, perhaps, but war is already the height of poor sense. Before setting out again, I look each of the company commanders and leaders in the eye, making sure they are clear on what needs to be done. This is no time to screw up.
Having inspected the unit closely, like a cat licking its cub, I get right to the point.
“Everyone, it’s time to work. You know the drill. Follow me.”
There are no fierce exhortations. Sometimes, clearly demonstrating what needs to be done can be far more eloquent than an entire litany of encouragement.
Therefore, I banish my exhaustion and take the lead.
Which, of course, is why my troops lift off after me.
It is why they follow.
Why they do not shoot Tanya in the back.
After all, the role being imposed on the mages now is a truly awful one.
“The mages! Where the hell are they?” “We need support! We’re surrounded! The entire battalion is surrounded!” “We have visual confirmation of friendly planes down! Please, where is the mage support?! Even just a platoon?!” “A battalion of enemy armor is rapidly approaching our withdrawing artillery! Please, there must be someone nearby! Send anyone! Stop them!” “Emergency! Emergency! We need support! Two companies of heavy armor are approaching our position! If we don’t receive help…!”
The reception today is outstanding. We are picking up the laments of our fellow soldiers, loud and clear. Previously, we had been frustrated, unable to hear anything due to the Federation Army’s electronic warfare. Now the exact opposite is true.
Devastation. No other word could so perfectly sum up what is happening down on the ground. Listening to the cries of “help me, help me” are eating up the men inside as they maintain radio silence in the name of necessity.
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