The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Vol. 7: Ut Sementem Feceris, ita Metes Read online

  This violation of my consciousness, my very dignity as a person, encroached upon by something that shouldn’t exist…

  It’s an atrocity that begs the questions What is morality? What is justice? Tanya has no choice but to experience the horror of her mouth moving of its own accord as the seconds pass.

  How humiliating it is for the words coming out of your mouth to betray your mind. Still, it is a sacrifice willingly offered up in exchange for victory.

  “And so we muster our courage, and though the path is thorny, we shall overcome.”

  The spell is four layers of explosion formulas cast in parallel. That means the mana required and the speed at which the effects will manifest are four times greater than usual. With one casting, Tanya has the ability to lay down suppressive fire equal to an augmented company.

  This must be what people mean when they say their brains are fried from overexertion.

  “There are the promised laurels—house of glory, a world peaceful and pure.”

  Despite the fact that it feels like her consciousness is one false move from slipping away…Tanya’s attack manages to engulf the ascending enemy mages in a ball of fire and instantly knock several out of the sky.

  More than enough for an opening salvo.

  Even the Federation Army, notorious for its disregard of casualties, is nothing more than a collection of human beings. They flinch when they get shot, and when their pals get roasted medium well right in front of them, they’re bound to shrink away, even if they don’t realize it.

  “Follow the battalion commander!”

  Right as the enemy is wasting their precious momentum by hesitating, Major Weiss makes his move.

  “Permission for my unit to close with the enemy?”

  “May the Lord protect you…! Do it!”

  As soon as Tanya nods in response to his succinct suggestion, her soldiers set off. The company responds with tremendous speed, assuming strike formation. Their impressive maneuvers are pulled off with the practiced ease of professionals, their technique fit for print in textbooks.

  Tanya’s unit is brimming with Named mages, veterans of the eastern front. Or perhaps they should simply be called “warmongers”? These soldiers have enough combat experience to easily seize the initiative from the enemy, making a mockery of their opponents for faltering on the battlefield.

  Weiss’s single company, scattering optical decoys as they go, plunges with great ferocity toward what must be close to a regiment of enemy aerial mages.

  At first glance, it looks like they’re throwing away their advantage in altitude. Really, though, they’re simply going with the best option available. The probability of scoring a fatal hit on a mage moving at high speed is miniscule. Not to mention that humans freeze up when confronted with the unexpected. It’s a simple matter to trap the Federation mages who thought they were coming to pursue us as we fled.

  When the targets are sitting ducks who have stopped moving, success is all but certain. It’s times like this that exemplify how dogs of war are excellent hunting hounds. They can sniff out an enemy’s weakness and bite down hard.

  A unit’s morale is a finicky thing. Suddenly ending up on the receiving end when you’re supposed to be attacking is especially bad for it.

  Any flagging can make even the most powerful army fragile.

  But then again, in an organization as unbalanced as the Federation Army, maybe the number of veterans is low.

  “That Godless rabble… Ah shit, is the language region of my brain contaminated again?” Tanya quietly laments the glitch. The battlefield has no intention of affording her even that modest luxury.

  “Rusted Silver!”

  “Shit! Shit!”

  “Today, you die! If nothing else, I’m taking you down!”

  Multiple sights are trained on me. There are even some optical sights mixed in with the targeting sights. It shows just how eager the Federation mages are to kill a notorious enemy.

  Their decision to pick off the commander first is a sound one. Cut off the head and the body will die. Only an ignorant fool with a bizarre sense of romanticism would curse them as cowards.

  After taking a moment to consider the opposing forces, Tanya can’t help but bark a dry laugh. The Federation Army has really honed its skills.

  “Man, these guys are really a handful. They should just be ground down in the lageri by some other Commies instead of bothering us.”

  Switching to the Type 95 often makes it hard to avoid processor overload. With little other choice, I take full advantage of the device’s four cores and promptly open fire.

  “May Good News reach every corner of every land.”

  Who would spontaneously burst into praises for the world and want to fill it with the glory of the Lord? There’s a saying that goes, “You can’t fight a war without losing your sanity,” and it’s absolutely correct.

  So many formulas manifest that it almost seems like I’m taking my frustrations out on the enemy. On the opposite end of my aim are hunks of meat shrieking at the top of their lungs.

  That’s when a sudden thought crosses Tanya’s mind.

  “I’ll hammer the glory of the Lord directly into them!”

  Tanya’s adrenaline-addled mind, purified by the creepy holy relic, goes berserk as she follows after Weiss’s unit.

  “Company, on me! I’m not about to let Weiss beat my score!”

  She charges headlong into the engagement.

  By the time the wisdom of her actions comes into question, it’s safer to follow through without hesitation now that the course has been decided.

  The enemy is trying their best to deal with Weiss’s company. Their effort is commendable, but what will happen when another company appears at their flank?

  “Damn, it’s the curse of the witch hag!”

  Cries of an enemy caught by surprise and the clashing of mages engaging in hand-to-hand combat—nothing could sound sweeter.

  “Hmm?”

  At the same time, there’s an unmistakable sense that something is off.

  “Is it just me or are they absolute shit at close-quarters combat?”

  The enemy response is…well, to put it bluntly, they’re weak. The Federation mages who had been weathering attacks as a cohesive group up until moments ago have completely abandoned discipline and organization.

  Unless their will to fight is completely devastated, units don’t usually fall apart so quickly. But these guys came charging even when we were right on top of them. It’s hard to imagine them folding like this.

  “Compared to when we were fighting at a distance, the difference in skill feels rather stark… No, wait a minute… Could it be?” Tanya grins in satisfaction. “Were these soldiers grown too hastily? I get it now!”

  Yes, relatively speaking, most aerial mage battles are medium-to long-range shoot-outs. Given that, it’s understandable if the focus training becomes lopsided. Especially if time is limited.

  Even the Federation can’t raise head counts without resorting to drastic measures, leaving them few chances to teach their recruits how to fight as a unit in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Ha-ha-ha! This is great! It’s an all-you-can-kill buffet!”

  Have the courage to be disliked.

  A good rule to live by, no? Pretty soon we won’t be able to make fun of compulsory moral education anymore.

  “Virtues should be taken seriously! Let’s cut them down!”

  Armchair theorists say that close-quarters combat in a battle between aerial mages is “absurd.” On that point, Tanya agrees that it’s so high-risk as to be irrational.

  But even back in the days when artillery reigned supreme, soldiers still expected to fight hand to hand with shovels more often than not. Whatever the reason for the Federation Army’s miscalculation that there would be zero close-quarters engagements, Tanya is happy.

  “How is this happening?!”

  The Federation mages’ shrieks are incomprehensible, but simply looking a
t their faces makes it clear what they’re thinking. Hooray for nonverbal communication, I guess.

  With a sneer big enough for her opponents to see, Tanya concisely sums up the cause of their defeat. “We’re more devout and more experienced. On what basis did you think you could win?”

  Only an amateur would believe it’s enough to simply swing wildly and hope that they land a hit. The basic principle of close-quarters combat is simple. Cut the enemy away one at a time and beat them down with an advantage in kinetic energy.

  Essentially: You believe in what’s certain, prepare for the worst, and then pray you hit… Pray? No, you don’t need to pray. I wouldn’t consider it healthy to put all your efforts into something as unproductive as praying.

  This is no good. Tanya shakes her head again and carves into the enemy soldiers as they buckle in despair.

  It’s the same as the difference between kendo and kenjutsu. Unlike a bamboo practice sword, a magic blade cuts when it makes contact. These mages, barely better than the rawest recruits, can’t seem to understand that.

  Most humans can’t remain calm after sustaining injuries. The timid who try to avoid getting hurt at all instead of focusing on preventing only fatal wounds are nothing more than easy prey.

  Cowardice is a good thing. Especially for soldiers. It’s far better to be cowardly than recklessly brave. Of course, there’s no saving anyone who forgets the caveat of “as long as you can still move when facing the enemy.”

  “It’s like sheep to the slaughter. If only every battlefield could be this considerate.”

  In such a target-rich environment where I can easily raise my score, it’s a fine thing to devote myself to work. The time off and bonuses that come with a high number of aerial victories are plenty attractive.

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha! What will you cling to, atheists? Your party? Your ideology?”

  Even the Type 95’s contamination of my mind is a negligible risk when weighed against the prospect of glorious leave. Well, maybe I’m underestimating it a little bit.

  Still, in a juicy situation like this where I have a good shot at earning a just reward for my labors, a chance to crush totalitarians, and an opportunity to easily rack up military achievements, it’s practically impossible to come up with a sensible argument against not indulging. After all, I can satisfy the capitalist and liberal in me while simultaneously meeting my need for self-preservation all at once.

  Accordingly, Tanya continues ripping through the enemy forces with high spirits that border on intoxication.

  “God is with us! To think that I would live to see the day I make such fools out of Communists! Come, then! Show me how you squirm!”

  This extremely close-quarters combat is basically a dogfight. We keep chasing one another’s tails. In this delightful pseudo-pincer, sometimes Tanya gets to pounce on an enemy from the rear, while other times she gets to skewer the idiots distracted by Weiss and his unit; every now and then, she opens up at point-blank range to blow away the guys taking the time to aim at her men.

  Just as things start heating up, her wonderful parade gets rained on—by a short phrase uttered by an enemy soldier.

  “Oh God…”

  Tanya may have mastered only the most basic parts of the Federation language during her officer training, but there’s no mistaking those words.

  Is it the curse of the Elinium Type 95?

  I can hear that prayer awfully clearly.

  “Ahhh, shit.”

  Well, it’s ruined.

  Those three words say it all.

  “A Communist looking to God of all things?!”

  Is the Communist Party badge that you wear even on your army uniform nothing but a decoration?! The urge to scream is overwhelming.

  It’s treachery.

  This is as good as betraying the values of their revolution. Frowning in open disappointment, Tanya barks, “A bit late for that, isn’t it, atheist?”

  Is the intensity of the glare that soldier shoots back just for show? Must they cling to something that doesn’t even exist?

  The letdown is unbearable.

  “Gott mit uns!”

  I joke right as I’m about to blow the enemy’s head off, thinking idly that maybe I should have readied a pickelhaube as a prop for my obscure gag.

  “All right, Rusted Silver. I’ll admit you’re strong…but I swore loyalty to my motherland, too! Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’m taking you with me!”

  The Federation mage, who approaches while yelling something or other, makes the sign of the cross as Tanya looks on. The moment’s been ruined.

  I came here expecting Commies, but they’re not even proper Commies.

  Liars.

  Traitors.

  “Wake up and smell the logic. Sins must be atoned for!”

  As she vents her utter disappointment, Tanya soon realizes that the sounds of combat have stopped.

  In the end, war is governed by an impartial equation. Some may call it cruel, but that’s mostly a matter of personal opinion.

  The strong are the ones who win. Even the Fair Trade Commission, which forbids monopolies, doesn’t regulate combat.

  Hooray for free markets, Tanya nearly grumbles, only to put a hand to her head instead.

  “…Ow. That really hurts…”

  I guess I can’t overuse the Type 95 while upholding my will and expect zero side effects. Apparently, Being X has never heard of safety standards.

  No wonder he has believers who would sincerely follow the saying “If your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and throw it away.”

  That’s heartbreaking for a learned individualist like me. As a civilized person, I’d very much like to find a civilized solution.

  “02 to 01, we’ve got almost complete control of the airspace.”

  “01, copy that. Well done.”

  Oh right. She remembers to add something.

  “Your attack was brilliant.”

  “…They were much weaker in close-quarters combat than expected. I thought it would take a bit more effort than that.”

  “Indeed. I’m sure the Federation Army has their own struggles. They must be working a lot harder than they expected.”

  War is also about balance. That said, there’s a limit to how long both sides can keep ignoring the screams and betting in the face of such losses. It would be stranger if no one went out of business.

  Tanya shakes her head. Though they’ve defeated the enemy, that was merely the most immediate threat. The problem is what comes next.

  “We may be tired, but our losses are within acceptable range. That said, I do wonder if there is any point to defending this airspace.”

  “I believe that’s spot-on, but it doesn’t do much for our motivation.”

  “True. Still, even if it’s a pointless thing for you to hear, how can I help it?”

  The only time a commander fills their officers’ heads with propaganda is when the end draws near. Having nothing but blind faith that there must be a way forward is proof of incompetence.

  “A tactical victory is utterly meaningless on its own. At best, we’ll get medals. From the perspective of the individual worker, maybe that’s not such a bad thing…”

  If work isn’t incentivized, efficiency plummets. Some people try to use the magic word rewarding, but all they’ll end up with is not much different from a pointlessly inflated balloon.

  The slightest disturbance will cause it to pop, which is useless.

  As long as you’re a cog in an organization, using others and being used as a cog yourself makes sense. But even if cogs are replaceable, anyone who neglects to perform maintenance is a half-wit who lacks cost awareness.

  For Tanya, who boasts extremely good sense, it’s obvious that she should supply her subordinates with natural motivation by keeping them informed of the significance and results of their work.

  This is the essence of a manager’s reason to exist. Human resources must be used with care and wasting resources is unconditi
onally bad.

  “02, our present status is meaningless. We’re withdrawing!”

  “02, roger. Are you sure?”

  “The premise that the General Staff based our deployment on has fallen apart. They have bigger issues than worrying about us acting on our own discretion.”

  …That’s the truth.

  “There’s nothing else for us to do here.”

  With a fed-up expression, Tanya strengthens her defensive shell. The moment we reduce our altitude the slightest bit, an obnoxiously dense curtain of anti–air fire will strafe at us from the ground.

  If caught by surprise, even an aerial mage isn’t safe from getting shot down.

  Maintaining current altitude is an option, but the difficulty of performing recon over an enemy position became clear during deployments on the Rhine. While our losses have been minimal, once fatigue accumulates, accidents only get more and more likely. And the point on the map that a few days ago was supposedly the Imperial Army’s front line is now this mess.

  Better to pull out before we get burned.

  “All units, urgent from 01.” Tanya swallows her sigh and relays her orders over the radio. “I’m suspending the recon-in-force mission the General Staff assigned to us. We’re moving out immediately. Once we’re clear of this airspace, I want the commanders of each unit to gather for a midair meeting.”

  Amid a chorus of Yes, ma’ams, the unit circles above the enemy hard point in a perfect display of synchronization meant to provoke the onlookers below before flying away in splendid formation.

  Now, then… Tanya waves to her vice commander flying nearby. “Major Weiss, where’s the nearest bakery company?”

  “Somewhere within a few kilometers, but I don’t know for sure.”

  The emergency midair meeting of imperial magic officers held near the front lines is to discuss bread. In response to her vice commander’s expression that seems to ask, How should we proceed? Tanya responds with a knowing look on her face.

  “At the moment, I don’t care where we go. Our highest priority is to locate a hot meal. Let’s link up with a logistics unit retreating alongside a load of high-calorie food.”

  “Then, according to the map, shouldn’t we follow the highway?”