And it was just such a royal capital that Gassman and the Ildoan Army had now recaptured, something they were—perhaps unfortunately—receiving high praise for. But consider the reality, however infuriating that might make some feel. Gassman calmly began to assess the facts.
The Empire had surrendered a large consuming region only after fierce fighting, then leisurely retreated north. To add insult to injury, they had used the hardships of the people as an excuse to transfer an additional, large population of refugees from the north to the south as they withdrew. Most shrewdly of all, they had carried it all out in an extremely courteous manner.
When the Imperial Army dumped these refugees onto Ildoa’s doorstep, the Federation showered them with great volumes of foodstuffs and even luxury goods, giving the impression that they were motivated by entirely humanitarian concerns. If one did not know that these supplies had come from Ildoa’s very own stores, then the contrast between the two sides—the Imperial Army providing refugees with a warm meal while the Ildoan Army greeted them coldly with empty arms—might seem like night and day. There was no telling how far their intentions went, but that bastard, Zettour, was clearly aiming to sow division in Ildoa.
The dedicated trains and special allowances for the refugees were only the beginning. The Imperial Army had even arranged lodging, putting on the perfect front of providing food, shelter, and care to every poor soul caught in this tragedy, sharing what little love and comfort they had. From Gassman’s point of view, the whole act seemed blatant.
But how many people were going to realize that these resources had originally been stolen from Ildoa?
It was all a farce. The Empire had handed over the capital in response to Ildoa’s counterattack only after draining the cupboards dry by distributing the capital’s grain stores to the general population.
Still, though. Still…
It would not do now for people to say that life had worsened in the wake of the liberating army compared to the occupying force. The Alliance Army needed to be seen by the Ildoan people as liberators.
Therefore, while it might deviate from expectations, instead of pursuing the enemy, the Ildoan Army was now forced to focus on the transport of daily necessities. Meanwhile, the Imperial Army in the north had reconstituted itself using equipment captured from the Ildoan Army and was once again fully nourished on stolen foodstuffs!
General Zettour was carrying out a strange kind of war. Strange, yes, but beneath the unassuming surface lay a cold and calculating malice. He was a clever rogue with a careful smile, perhaps. Exactly what the political imbeciles of the Imperial Army, who believed force solved all things, needed right now.
“Whether it is Zettour or the Empire, I have to hand it to them. They are all infuriatingly good at waging war.”
The Alliance had played them in Ildoa.
Meanwhile, when the cat is away, the mice will play. Believing in this adage, the Federation had attempted to deliver a straightforward, conventional blow in the East, but in yet another mind-boggling turn of events, the Empire had completely turned the tables on them. Gassman had no idea what had happened or how, but at some point, Zettour had made his move. The whole ordeal was unthinkable.
In other words, pondered General Gassman, beginning to reach a conclusion:
“The important point is not to fight Zettour. Zettour has nothing against Ildoa, after all. We could always just leave things as they are and assume all is quiet on the Ildoan front. However…”
General Gassman understood the implications of what he was saying, whether he liked it or not. If the Ildoan Army fought, they would have to face Zettour. But if they didn’t fight, that fact would hang over them after the war—likely coming back to bite Ildoa in the ass later.
Was it that the Alliance took its shared commitment to shedding blood together seriously? Or was it just a simple fact of human nature that no one likes to see their neighbors get a leg up on them? Either way, if Ildoa was to end up in a better position and avoid being side-eyed as a former ally of the Empire, Gassman was going to have to start sparing a thought for what would happen once the war was over.
“To fight, or not to fight? That is the question.”
But both answers came with their own problems.
Like the innocent party in a traffic accident, Ildoa had been pulled into this war against its will. But make no mistake, they were a party to it now.
Naturally, they had to keep the eyes of the other warring nations in mind as they decided how to behave. They didn’t want to end up like the Entente Alliance or the Free Republic, did they?
Ildoa was an independent actor in both name and reality. The last thing they wanted was to find themselves downgraded to being a participant in name only.
A sovereign nation should not expect its interests to be mercifully attended to by its allies, but rather should assert itself as an equal partner whose opinion must be consulted. The only ones going to put Ildoa’s national interests first were Ildoa itself. That much was obvious, wasn’t it?
Therefore, if possible, Ildoa needed to ensure that it remained equal in substance to the Commonwealth, the Federation, and the Unified States as a pillar of the Alliance. However, this is where General Gassman encountered a contradiction.
If Ildoa threw itself fully into the war, the war would throw itself fully into Ildoa. Their land would be torn apart. For instance, if the full might of the Alliance were to come together to fight to reclaim northern Ildoa, they would leave only a burnt-out wasteland behind afterward.
On top of that, Ildoa would likely be expected to spill its blood first. Not many people were going to be happy with the idea of spilling Ildoan blood in exchange for favor, only to be left with carnage in the end.
This was the problem when war intrudes on your own backyard.
“I truly envy our friends on the new continent. It doesn’t matter how bad things get over there, it is still just a fire burning on another shore.”
Ideally, Ildoa would have squeezed out every bit of profit they could from the sidelines of this war, but the current situation was no longer so accommodating.
“I, too would like to get back the remainder of Ildoa we have not yet recovered. But doing so by staging total war on our own land comes at a high cost.”
The total war mindset had not yet taken hold in General Gassman’s head. As someone who understood the mobilization of supplies, he also knew how terrible it could be when war started to become an end unto itself. In that sense, there was still plenty of exceptional decency and good sense to be found even in this cauldron of strife.
On this point, for better or worse, General Gassman remained calm and coolheaded. Though he hoped to recapture northern Ildoa, he also wanted to minimize the cost insofar as possible.
“That said, we obviously need to shape things to our liking here as well.”
To win or to perish—while the Empire’s and the Federation’s extreme fixation on total war felt like the height of madness to someone like General Gassman, he could understand the logic when it came to reasons of state. With that mentality, he was able to work out what might be called a brilliant, though for him completely mundane, conclusion.
“If the Imperial Army retreats, the recapture of northern Ildoa will occur naturally. In other words, it would be foolish and crude to rush in too quickly just to stub our own toes.”
While staring at the map and considering the placement of imperial forces alongside the military and political situations of the Alliance countries, several interesting perspectives began to emerge—what might be better called political rather than tactical workarounds.
It was true: General Gassman was not particularly skilled at war. However, he was far more adept at politics than the imperials were. As a result, once he decided to reject the enemy’s preferred stage and made the strategically proper decision to deliver a powerful blow on Ildoa’s own terms, a powerful, secret strike against the Empire began to fade naturally into focus.
One of the three colonels he was waiting for appeared, and General Gassman quickly initiated discussion.
“Colonel Mikel, Colonel Drake, Colonel Calandro, I have something I wish to speak to you three about.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, smiling as he continued, though his next words had nothing at all to do with social pleasantries.
“Colonel Mikel, you are not interested in defecting to Ildoa by any chance, are you? Bring your unit of Federation mages along with you, and I could arrange for the whole thing, under my authority, as early as tomorrow.”
Just like that, General Gassman had lobbed a bomb into the room. The astonished Colonel Drake quite literally changed color, and even Colonel Calandro, who was staring at the general intently, seemed perplexed. The person in the room whom the offer actually concerned—Colonel Mikel—simply shook his head softly. His face remained eminently calm.
“We have family back in our hometowns—both myself and my men.”
“Of course,” said General Gassman, unable to hide his disappointment. With a sigh, he moved on to the main topic of conversation.
“Well then, as there is nothing more to it, shall we get down to our wicked plan to eliminate the enemy of the world? What would you three say to making the Empire our plaything?
“After all,” Gassman said with a portentous smile, “it is almost time we begin thinking about how this war will end.”