How to end the war was one thing the Commonwealth always kept in mind—the balance of power on the continent was all to guarantee their own nation’s safety.
The thick of war was precisely when strategic perspectives were most required. For the people of the Commonwealth, this was as obvious as could be; hence, their warmakers tended to look down upon the Empire—who had a habit of forgetting this perspective—as “amateurs.”
According to Major General Habergram, this was a valid assessment. In the end, while military force was no more than a tool, the imperials had a tendency to conflate military and national strategy, making them incapable of doing anything well other than fighting wars.
That is not to say that military force is not also very important. Without force, both theory and justice cannot help but be crushed by violence. The kind of person who would punch a devout prince—a prince who shuns military force—in the face is not the sort of person to be circumspect about doing so. But might itself does not make right.
To ensure national security, both justice and might are integral.
Additionally, if military strength serves the national interest, then perversely, the state might very well act to serve military strength in turn.
“It is often the case that strength leads to disaster. The imperials are the kind of fools who believe an army alone is enough to protect the Empire.”
In the hands of an amateur, even the most storied blade will only injure its wielder in the end.
Thus, when hearing of Imperial Army victories on the battlefield, most in the Commonwealth took the news with a grain of salt, believing that recovery was still possible. Even after hearing that the Federation’s strategic offensive, Rising Dawn, had failed, Habergram, though surprised, was not worried.
However, nothing lasts forever.
“Excuse me, Major General Habergram. A telegram has arrived from Magick. According to the analysis group, it is a matter of top priority.”
The fact that the Commonwealth had cracked the Empire’s encryption was one of their most carefully guarded secrets. The efforts that had gone into ensuring confidentiality almost bordered on paranoia, so much so that the young major from intelligence who had just delivered the document actually believed “Magick” to be a high-ranking officer in the Imperial Army.
When it came to information warfare—given the strange obfuscations and unusual developments the Empire displayed—the fact that the Commonwealth had cracked their code was kept secret among secrets.
After taking the missive, opening it, and reading its contents, Habergram could not help but shout out loud, “What, now?!”
The contents were more than enough to merit being marked as urgent after decoding. The telegram detailed a tour by the emperor, with attendant arrangements.
On top of that, an urgently marked postscript read, Regarding the Council for Self-Government, recognize autonomy and begin transfer of various administrative powers and arrangements for the formation of anti-Federation alliances.
“I-is Zettour some kind of devil? Perhaps he is even someone after our own heart.”
After their victory on the battlefield, the Empire had granted autonomy to the Council for Self-Government. It was a fearsome play that tipped the scales of the council—which were still vacillating between a desire to hold on to their homeland and fear of what might happen if the Federation won—much closer to the Empire’s side.
In the very instant that the Empire had emerged as the favored horse, they had bound the Council for Self-Government to the Empire’s fate.
“Why, this is almost entirely a fraud. War, diplomacy, and strategy alike—if that monster was so capable of this all along, why did he not do it from the start?!”
Almost everything out of Habergram’s mouth at that moment was a complaint, but they were also his frank and unvarnished feelings.
“If the Empire had someone as talented and insightful as Zettour in their ranks, they should have used him from the beginning and avoided such a great war! Indeed, why pull something like this now—after all this time, and at a moment like this?!”
Why wait until it was already too late? This, of course, was also a complaint, but Habergram knew there was no use grumbling about it now. He couldn’t help but lament, “The man challenges the very definition of the word genius!”
Geniuses, however, were only individuals. An individual, however great, was not an organization. An organization could crush an individual through sheer effort.
“Things will likely drag out in the East longer than we imagined. Perhaps the reports from observers were not as reliable as assumed.”
No—on that point Major General Habergram shook his head, rejecting the thought. The officers dispatched were a select group. Furthermore, the attachés to the Federation embassy, with their experience in volunteer coalition forces, were handling the Federation officials well.
Their grasp of actual Federation Army conditions and their reporting on the scale of the offensive were surely accurate. Although it was speculation, Habergram had no choice but to assume that the warnings—that the Federation Army had been on the verge of grasping a strategic victory—were well-founded.
Habergram sighed at the stark reality that now lay before him. “It looks like Zettour really did turn everything around in the eleventh hour.”
Habergram was forced to groan once more.
If asked for an official report, the Commonwealth Intelligence Agency could state decisively that there were no signs the Imperial Army had become aware of the Federation’s Rising Dawn strategic offensive in advance.
Magick was quite clear on that point, vouching that the Empire had been complacent, assuming spring, at the earliest. Hence, expectations had initially been high that the Federation’s unpredictable Rising Dawn operation, implemented while the Empire’s armored units had been uprooted to Ildoa, would blow the Eastern Imperial Army, which was left exposed in both posture and awareness, completely out of the water.
“Yes, that is what should have happened…”
But what was the reality? Habergram swallowed back the bitter taste that rose in his mouth. The reality was that, for whatever reason, Zettour had won. Goliath ought to have been felled over the course of less than a month, yet they still stood, healthy and hale.
If every transmission from the eastern army, Imperial General Staff, and even Zettour himself had indicated spring as the worst-case scenario, the Empire should have been taken by surprise. And yet, somehow, the side with inferior numbers managed to seize the initiative, respond immediately and appropriately, and successfully wage a dramatic defensive battle. As a result, Rising Dawn ended in a swing and a miss, leaving the Empire’s field army as alive and well as ever.
Any way you looked at it, the outcome seemed almost too favorable for the Empire—the absolute best that could have happened for them, in the sense that nothing more could have been hoped for. What if…, thought Habergram, beginning to toy with a dreadful possibility…
“What if this had been Zettour’s intention all along?”
Nothing in Magick had caught their attention, but would it really have been possible to prepare a response to such a large-scale strategic offensive without at least some sign of it showing up in communications?
“Perhaps it was an independent decision on the ground…? No, that would be preposterous.”
Could a counterattack have been carried out adequately, without faltering or hesitation, entirely through the impromptu decision-making and ingenuity of people on the ground? It was more likely that Zettour had somehow planned everything, although that chance also seemed close to zero…as nothing had shown up with Magick.
“Meaning, assuming they are still unaware of Magick, Zettour really must not have known about the attack…”
As soon as the words left his mouth, a cold shiver ran down Habergram’s back.
Could it be?
“Have they…somehow worked out that we have cracked their code?”
Habergram began quickly glancing over the classified document in his hand. The collection of already decoded telegrams showed plainly that the Empire was still using the same code as before. These had to be real telegrams. However—could they be decoys? All of them?
“That’s not possible. A portion of units, for a limited time, perhaps. But for all of their communications, over such a scale, to be deceptions…”
Yes. It would be like knowing your opponent had seen your hand but continuing to play the game anyway.
“Perhaps they took notice when General Rudersdorf was shot down. Could the imperials have been pulling the wool over our eyes this whole time in order to manipulate our strategic decisions?”
If so…if that was the case… Jumping at shadows was par for the course in information warfare, but right now, Major General Habergram felt as if he were trapped in a spiderweb.
“We have cracked the Empire’s code. And they have not noticed. At least, they shouldn’t have.”
If the Imperial Army had noticed, surely they would have changed their code by now. Thinking logically, it seemed as if the enemy must still be confident in the security of its code.
Yes. It seemed as if.
Habergram’s paranoia was soon banished by the voice of a cipher officer, who burst into the room, red in the face.
“Are you telling me…,” responded Habergram in astonishment, “that a one-time code was used for the initial response to Rising Dawn, and that the Imperial Army put those orders into action immediately?”