I Won’t Let the Execution Battalion Die, ~Even If the Empire Falls, We Want to Survive~ - Chapter 18: Something Creeping Closer ⑤

For a while after that, I was assigned internal duties and wrestled with paperwork at Imperial Ceremonial Battalion headquarters. Since I’d originally worked here as a clerical NCO, these were all familiar tasks. My previous life had been similar too.

The lack of computers and email was somewhat tough, but the looser deadlines because of it were helpful. Even urgent documents had deadlines like the day after tomorrow.

Everything being handwritten was troublesome, but the slow pace of individual cases was good.

“Lieutenant, you look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Second Lieutenant Crimine, who had come to visit my office, said this, so I stretched while remaining seated.

“We’re an execution unit but don’t have to kill anyone. Plus the pay is the same. Isn’t it great?”

I thought I’d given a perfectly normal response, but Second Lieutenant Crimine tilted her head.

“Wouldn’t executing someone be easier than doing paperwork?”

“Don’t say scary things.”

I thought this wasn’t her fault but rather this world’s fault for taking life so lightly. Execution viewing was entertainment, after all.

Second Lieutenant Crimine peered at my desk.

“What documents were you working on?”

“A report that someone somewhere was executed for reasons I don’t understand. I’m formatting it for submission to the imperial court.”

When we had free time, we were sometimes drafted for capital security and executed thieves by hanging them, so looking at the battalion as a whole, we killed someone almost daily.

Robbery was a death sentence for a first offense, and pickpocketing or burglary could be death sentences for repeat offenses, so executions were extremely frequent. Yet crime didn’t decrease at all, which was impressive in its own way.

It probably meant poverty was that widespread.

“Why don’t we sometimes do firing squads jointly with the Second Company?”

Please don’t kill people with the casual feeling of a workplace volleyball tournament.

But since this also served as shooting practice and was encouraged by the imperial court, Second Lieutenant Crimine wasn’t saying anything wrong.

“I like shooting guns, but cleaning the barrel and washing the uniform afterward…”

“It’s a black uniform, so nobody cares about gunpowder stains. You’re quite the clean freak, Lieutenant.”

Black powder’s main ingredient was saltpeter—potassium nitrate—but didn’t that have adverse effects on clothing? It also contained sulfur and charcoal, so I worried and washed it.

I set down my pen and looked up at Second Lieutenant Crimine.

“By the way, have you learned anything new about the ‘Yuo Nevilnel’ matter?”

“The battalion commander inquired with Lord Fumazov for us, but he doesn’t know who used that name. In the north, they apparently don’t even know the Nevilnel family existed.”

“Yeah, that figures.”

In a world without even newspapers, let alone television, even people living in the same empire were in completely different worlds if they were from different regions. They knew nothing about each other.

I tapped the report on my desk with my fingertip.

“Maybe reports submitted to the imperial court were switched somewhere. I could rewrite reports like this one, and you could replace the reports I wrote.”

“Just saying ‘I’ll submit this for you’ and taking it would work.”

“Exactly. Too many unknowns.”

In this case, I didn’t even know if the mastermind was pro-imperial or anti-imperial. Multiple conspiracies might be intertwined, or misunderstandings and confusion might be complicating the situation.

I could speculate based on available information, but I’d learned about those dangers at officer school too.

“Unlike desk exercises, actual battlefields have parts of uncertainty you can’t see. The same goes for outside battlefields. If you judge based only on visible parts, you’ll be tripped up by invisible parts.”

“Ah, I learned that. What was it called?”

“[Fog of war], Second Lieutenant Crimine. General Guspentarf’s [Operational Theory].”

Since the exact same term existed in my previous life, I remembered being somewhat impressed during officer school lectures.

In my previous life, who coined “fog of war”… who was it?

It probably wasn’t Moltke, and Jomini never said anything like that. I cannot recall any other likely figures in detail, as if a fog had settled over my memory.

Since thinking about it was pointless, I decided to remember only this world’s knowledge.

“We underlings don’t understand anything even when caught up in conspiracies. We must accept not knowing and get used to acting while not knowing.”

“I don’t understand but I understand.”

“Yeah.”

I was also becoming unsure whether I understood or didn’t understand.

Standing from my chair, I gazed out the window.

“People fear the unknown and try to make it known. But we should most fear mistaking the unknown for the known.”

“I haven’t heard that before. Whose words are those?”

I tapped my chest with my fingertip.

“Mine.”

“Oh.”

Still rude as ever…

I didn’t fear death much partly because death wasn’t unknown to me. After all, I’d experienced it once.

If reincarnation happened, death wasn’t the end, and if I stayed dead, that wouldn’t be bad either. Life was troublesome, after all.

“The point is that underlings like you and me pondering things is pointless. The battalion commander will think of something eventually.”

“She knows various things we don’t know.”

Orthodox Empire field-grade officers were military executives who could access various classified information—completely different from company-grade officers like us.

Not limited to the Ceremonial Battalion, most imperial officers were ordered to retire as captains. Only about ten percent could be promoted to major.

After all, while there were countless platoons to assign to second lieutenants and first lieutenants, the battalions that majors commanded were formed by gathering nine to sixteen of those platoons. So not many majors were needed.

The reason the Imperial Ceremonial Battalion could call itself a “battalion” even nominally was that battalion-scale organization was necessary for field-grade officer placement.

That made Major Gehenbach—the battalion commander—a special existence, and we placed deep trust in her. Many officers would kill even the emperor if the battalion commander ordered it. My colleague Lieutenant Meinen had been like that too.

“So I’ll manipulate paperwork here and collect my salary until the battalion commander gives orders.”

“Such low aspirations…”

“That’s rude to say to a soldier faithful to his duties.”

This girl immediately bad-mouthed me, so I couldn’t let my guard down.

Just then the door was knocked and an NCO from the company called out:

“Lieutenant Fonkt, are you in?”

“Yeah, don’t mind me, come in.”

The NCO saluted and looked at me and Second Lieutenant Crimine.

“Ah, perfect timing. The battalion commander orders both of you to come to her office immediately.”

“Got it, thanks.”

I wonder what this is about?