Major Weiss’s face registers indescribable relief, bewilderment, and hesitation.
“The Federation Army is lucky. This means our armor won’t be able to make much headway.”
Only a few high-level officers understand this isn’t the truth. Both Major Weiss and I know it well. The Empire has no reserves anymore.
The excuse of “tank running gear can’t make it through the mud” is just that—an excuse. The muddy season usually comes at the end of February, but these early signs provide the perfect pretext to halt our advance.
“If only it hadn’t been such a warm winter. The higher-ups must be so upset.”
“Yes, I’m sure they are beside themselves.”
We both understand.
The truth is, the Empire was the one originally looking forward to the muddy season. During the mud season, equipment sinks, and the Federation is expected to abandon its offensive. It is the Empire that is saved by the mud.
This is not something that can be said out loud, but it is the situation we find ourselves in. Either way, it is a wonderful pretext for abandoning our counterattack. Consequently, the three mage divisions that boldly dropped into enemy chokepoints—the vanguard of our counteroffensive—can now retreat. Due to nature’s vagaries, the armored units will not arrive in time, so there is no reason for the mage divisions to continue holding these positions. They can go home now.
Of course, the mages know full well that the worsening road conditions are merely a pretext. The ground is still solid, but there’s no need to say that out loud.
“As regrettable as it is, it looks like our role here is finished…”
“Yes. Due to environmental pressures, the aerial mage divisions have been ordered to help consolidate the front line instead.”
“Indeed! After accomplishing their goals and returning to their prescribed roles, the triumphant troops can now be transferred to more localized positions!”
Just like the daihon’ei happyou of Imperial Japan, we are the ones who must resort to burlesque now. What a wonderful world, so full of surprises.
In any case, Tanya stares at Major Weiss as she speaks, every word rich with distilled emotion.
“We must redeploy back to the front line. Triumphantly, of course.”
“Sorry? Colonel?”
Tanya is well-versed in history. She knows how later generations would mock the Japanese Imperial Headquarters’ use of the phrase “transferred.” Half-hearted vanity is inescapable in this world. If I understand General Zettour correctly, he intends for our departure to appear as bold and fearless as possible. He would probably send the mages straight back into the lion’s den if he thought it might help prevent the Empire from being seen as having exhausted its forces.
Making our exit appear majestic and triumphant is one way to ensure our spine remains intact.
“The mage divisions must spread more violence. We are being transferred. Let us vent our remaining rage upon the battlefield as we go.”
“Doesn’t that seem reckless, considering how depleted we are?”
“All the same, Major…”
I harbor no illusions about the state we are in. Our current status can be summed up in two words: black and blue.
“I doubt even Visha will rise and shine without a good kick. I just tossed her into her bed a moment ago. The level of exhaustion among the mages is extensive.”
However, calculating from a bird’s-eye view, I am confident that this is what rationality demands.
“It can’t look as if we are running when we take our leave.”
“Because it would expose that our army is exhausted?”
“Precisely,” I agree.
“Even if this is just fabricated heroism…we must show the world that, against the Federation, it is the Imperial mages who are the threat. Which is why we must make a triumphant return.”
“But…that will involve paying an incredible sacrifice.”
“Necessity can justify any sacrifice, however great.”
The look in my second-in-command’s eyes seems uncertain. I nod; this is what total war means—to control the narrative.
The Imperial mages conduct themselves as expected. We bombard the airwaves with chatter, making it clear that friendly forces have only abandoned their pursuit due to environmental circumstances, and that this change is beyond our control.
An Imperial Army Victory Tour! A leisurely, long-distance evacuation through the air by three whole mage divisions. We make a show of it as we retreat, attacking any Federation units we encounter, collecting imperial stragglers, commandeering enemy runways, and staging simple banquets in enemy territory.
This is an evacuation, but to the outside world, it appears as a bold and triumphant return.
We even hold a public wine tasting via radio with what we’ve stolen from enemy forces, ensuring the world has a front-row seat to the rambunctiousness of the Imperial mages.
It is not over yet. We continue to flaunt our courage and fortitude. We patrol the skies for more notches to add to our belts. We obliterate any Federation mages we encounter as if they were made of paper. We publicize how alive and well we are as we decimate the Federation’s railways.
The world does not yet know that this is the last vain hurrah of what remains of the Imperial mages. And because they do not know it, it becomes a myth—a legend of how the great and powerful Empire took its revenge, in classic imperial fashion, against the Federation.
It is precisely because this narrative is an illusion that word spreads so widely.
JANUARY 30, UNIFIED YEAR 1928, EASTERN ARMY OFFICERS’ HALL
Those responsible for spinning this legend return in glorious triumph.
After returning triumphantly and receiving congratulations, basking in the limelight, the magic officers faithfully turn their eyes to what they desire most in this world.
Sleep.
We have been dying for it. We sleep, jump from our beds to eat, and then sleep once more.
Recovering our strength in the gloriously named Officers’ Hall, two magic officers, the world-renowned pride of the Empire, lift their heads like zombies from rustic bedding. It is Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff and her adjutant.
“Phew, I’m so tired.”
“Yes, I’m so tired as well. As tired as can be. This time…,” my adjutant murmurs in an exhausted voice, “…was quite the experience. We’ve been through plenty of airborne drops before, but something about this one… It was a little too intense. I think I might be developing an allergy to airborne operations.”
“Why, Visha! An allergy, you say? You should hurry and report that to one of the medical officers before it gets any worse. I’m sure they’ll write you a prescription for it.”
“Oh? What kind of prescription?” asks the adjutant blankly.
“A prescription for a backup parachute, of course. That should help you get over your fear of the sky.”
“A parachute? I’m an aerial mage, in case you forgot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lieutenant. Didn’t you read the instructions? Drops are supposed to be made with parachutes.”
Grinning, Visha and I stand. Sadly, we know that, while we sleep, the work continues to build up.