Asleep at the proverbial wheel. It is sure to happen any day now. “How terrible,” I mutter, still in the operating post as I head off to shake the other men awake, splitting the task with First Lieutenant Serebryakov.
Maybe I should try shouting them awake this time. Although, at this point everyone is exhausted enough to sleep like a log even amid artillery fire, so it would probably be faster to just kick them out of their slumber instead. I sigh, accepting that most of the mages are too exhausted to even stand straight.
How long has it been since we descended on Baruch Bridge? Even our sense of time has grown unclear. With sustained, large-scale combat as our norm, our internal clocks have malfunctioned. “Damn it… I was prepared for fatigue, but I hadn’t expected it to be this bad,” I whisper softly, noticing an officer I vaguely recognize holding a pouch in his hand.
It is one of the mages we scraped together—a major, likely a veteran who has seen his share, though he is looking worse for wear. Despite this, there is a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, Colonel, look what I found. We may not have medics with us, but we sure do have medic pouches. Would you…would you like some?”
Although he is visibly exhausted, his voice sounds wired. Of course. I respond with a question of my own, finally understanding what is going on with the man.
“Amphetamines? Methamphetamines?”
“It looks like there’s tank chocolate, as well. ”
Though the offer is made with good intentions, this misplaced kindness is an unwelcome favor. Obviously, someone interested in living a long, healthy life like myself has no intention of taking that stuff.
If it comes down to eating seed rice to survive, I’d rather look for other fields to plow. Valuing Tanya’s future, I decide to forage for options other than self-sacrificial drugs.
“None for me. I prefer to be sober when I enter combat.”
A corner of my exhausted brain warns me that I am making it sound as if Tanya loves war, but lethargy, fatigue, and the mountains of work I face suddenly inspire uncharacteristic eloquence. “It’s true that war is not for the clear-eyed…but the use of drugs should be kept to a minimum and only to reduce pain. That is the most I can allow. We must be stingy with a resource as valuable as a mage.”
“If you’re worrying about the future right now, you’ve got luxurious tastes,” mutters the officer as he stumbles off. Well, I can see his point. It is a luxury to think about tomorrow when times are this hard.
Yes, of course. I’ve been living the high life all this time! I flag down some passing orderlies and issue instructions.
“You, distribute real coffee to all the mages. It’s just the Federation Army’s stores here at Baruch Bridge, so don’t be stingy about it.”
“Understood!” they shout as they rush off. Meanwhile, I fill my own mug to the brim with more coffee, pouring First Lieutenant Serebryakov a cup as well while I’m at it.
A dull, nondescript Federation-made mug, filled to the brim with what appears to be coffee brought in from the Commonwealth. I also toss in some maple syrup, likely from the Unified States or thereabouts, blend in a bit of milk, recently captured and thus not yet spoiled, as well as a touch of salt.
This luxuriously vomit-inducing, battlefield-ready coffee is now complete. “Visha, try this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s real coffee. With milk, syrup, and a little salt.”
“Thank you,” says the adjutant as she takes the mug and, upon sipping, sighs. “This is disgusting. Even if it is real coffee.”
“It really is,” I say, sipping my own mock café au lait as I contemplate the lunacy of war that forces me to consume genuine coffee in such an atrocious fashion. It is downright uncivilized.
When you consider how far the Imperial Army mages have sunk due to constant pressures of necessity and the need to maintain the status quo, forced to normalize even acts as wretched as this, how can one not keenly feel the death of culture? Although, if you see it as a tiny touch of luxury to help restore our humanity, then maybe this luxuriously vomit-inducing coffee isn’t so bad after all.
Coffee—yet another ideal reduced to new gross lows by the lack of military power in wartime. Sighing painfully, I assess my work.
“It does taste disgusting. Fitting for such a disgusting war.”
I just arranged for coffee to be distributed to boost morale, but if this is what we’re working with… I sigh.
“I don’t know if this is actually going to do much good.”
“What about alcohol, Colonel?”
“At this point, I suppose the men might as well drink if they want to. I could turn a blind eye to flying under the influence,” I say offhandedly, agreeing to loosen the rules—until I suddenly freeze.
Warning bells ring in my head. As a manager, my next thought is almost instinctual: Who will take responsibility? Flying while drunk could lead to an accident. Approving it is one thing, but if something happens, the responsibility will fall on someone’s shoulders.
Even if permission is given by word of mouth in enemy territory with no paper trail, there are still tallies to be made. To avoid liability…after a moment of hesitation, I reach a decision.
Tanya did just falsify orders the other day. Why worry about another liability, or two, or three?
“Wait. Somebody, bring me a law officer. Let’s make it official, in writing, that the restriction on flying while drunk is to be lifted only for a limited time under my authority. Do we have any legal specialists? Anyone will do.”
No one? Glancing around, I suddenly realize we dropped in with only mages and a small number of controllers. Obviously, no one’s dropping legal affairs into enemy territory.
“What was I thinking? Actually, at this point, it doesn’t matter. Did any of the mages here graduate from a law department?!”
“Remember, we’re talking about mages. Everyone here graduated from either a military academy or a magic training school!”
“But a few reserve officers must have graduated from a university, right? We don’t need a dedicated law officer. Even someone with an academic law background will do under the circumstances.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to find!” First Lieutenant Serebryakov shouts as I chase her from the room with strict orders to find someone immediately. Though, to be honest, I’m not even certain she will succeed.
In the end, she does. Unexpectedly, it seems Imperial mages come from a wide range of backgrounds. Because I ordered her to do it now, she checks the records of all members who landed with us at General Staff. Lo and behold, there is someone at Baruch Bridge who graduated from a law department, has practical training, and passed several exams. The mage is quickly dragged into my presence.
He is in the prime of his life—a captain, no less. He must have been called up, meaning he has private sector experience. A proper, sensible adult. Exactly the sort of person I’m looking for.