WeTried Translations
Translator: Coughing Baby
Editor: Coughing Baby
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 294: The Real and the Fake (4)
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Bang! KABOOOOM!
Air raids rained down on the Western Allied Forces advancing into the Empire, while artillery fire crashed in from the ground.
Rumble!
The Imperial Army's offensive intensified. Since dawn, it had begun moving with striking aggression.
They came in battalions and companies, each from a different direction.
One battalion struck the front immediately after a barrage. Another attacked the flank in the gap. One company pretended to attack, then fell back to sow confusion.
An army whose field commanders acted independently, judged for themselves, and moved like a living organism.
The Allied officers could not respond. At some point, communications had been cut off.
Rumble! KABOOOM!
The air raids did not stop. The sky, covered in dust and smoke, had become so murky it seemed that had always been its color.
The Empire's damned sky.
"What about support from our side?"
General Leber, commander of the Allied Forces, looked up at the sky from the entrance to the bunker.
Imperial bomber formations cruised overhead, but there were no interceptors. The fighter aircraft developed by Prozen and Hailand were nowhere to be seen.
Had enemy fighters shot them down?
"We don't know. Communications are down."
The telephone lines had abruptly been cut the previous night, and their radios could not reach their homeland.
They had no way of knowing whether support and supplies were coming, or whether their homeland even knew their situation.
Even the scouting parties they regularly sent out had vanished.
An unknown "hand" had completely swallowed their rear.
"..."
Leber stood before the map.
The remaining choice was obvious. Gather their forces at one point, concentrate them, and break through.
The question was which way.
Ahead lay the port. It was a vital Imperial stronghold, but even if they managed to seize it, it would become a graveyard if their supplies were cut off.
Behind them was Prozen. All communication with the rear had been cut, and they had no idea what situation awaited them there, but they could still return home.
Bang!
"The bridge closest to the Prozen border."
Leber pressed a finger to the map. Rail Bridge B, one of the bridges tanks could cross.
"A and C will be diversions. Send a mortar platoon and one battalion to each. They only need to make noise. The main force will withdraw across Rail Bridge B at 23:00 tonight."
"...Who will remain as the rear guard?"
KABOOOM!
The adjutant asked amid the thunder of bombardment. It was a heavy question. Retreat required sacrifice too.
"..."
Leber did not answer. Instead, Leber signed the order.
Some unit would be sacrificed without even knowing it. No soldier believed they would die, and no commander could say aloud that they would.
"Send this order to all units."
General Leber, commander of the Allied Forces, ordered the retreat.
They would turn back along the road they had come.
...
After crossing the marshland, Schweitzer began advancing into Bolska's urban center. He ground down everyone in his path and did not stop for even a minute.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The tank tracks had already crossed the Bolska plains. The Bolska National Army tried to oppose the tanks with its remaining forces, but most of its main force was tied down at the Genson border.
Thus, the forces Schweitzer encountered consisted only of reserve infantry, police, cavalry, and a handful of tanks.
It was easy. Simple.
"That was weak."
Schweitzer faced the division of some nameless old general.
The battle ended in thirty minutes.
"...Hey. What the fuck are they saying?"
Schweitzer asked his adjutant while looking at the prisoner.
"Uh..."
"Nie poddam się! Psy cesarskie!"
"...Hey! Is there anyone back there who speaks Volskan?!"
"Zdrajcy! Zapłacicie za to!"
The Bolska bastards' language sounded like some alien tongue.
"Ah, fuck. I forgot."
Schweitzer scratched his head. He learned one more thing from this battle.
For overseas campaigns, you really needed someone who knew the local language.
Why had it not been inconvenient in Zerpha...? After thinking about it for a moment, he remembered Maximilian.
That knight could speak Bolska and Zerpan just fine. The more he thought about it, the smarter that bastard seemed.
"Nie zgnieciecie mnie! Volska nie umiera!"
"What the fuck are they going on about?"
Schweitzer frowned and pressed his pistol to the old general's temple.
"Shut up."
"...Psy!"
The old general spat instead. Schweitzer held the prisoner's gaze for a moment.
"Cover their mouth and drag them along."
Schweitzer returned the pistol to its holster.
Maximilian did not much like the execution of prisoners, and it did not suit Schweitzer's own sense of aesthetics either.
"Advance."
They advanced again.
The tank force stopped just before the Bolska capital.
The city came into view. Spires rising between the rivers, flags in the squares. The troops in the suburbs had already built barricades, but they were unfinished.
Perhaps it was because we had come too quickly.
"Look at those idiots."
Schweitzer simply found it funny.
"Fire first."
BOOM!
A few shells blew the front of the barricade to pieces, clearing a path for the tanks.
"Move in."
"...General."
The adjutant spoke cautiously. High command had strictly forbidden war crimes.
"It's fine, you bastard."
Schweitzer waved a hand.
"Destroy buildings, not people."
He pointed somewhere, and a shell was fired.
Bang!
The top of the clock tower in the square disappeared.
"The manual is in Gennen."
The way Maximilian had suppressed Gennen was practically a classic now.
No casualties, making a city surrender through the intimidation of military force alone.
Violence was most frightening when it lurked nearby. Being hit was always less frightening than waiting to be hit.
"Advance!"
Schweitzer drove his tanks into the heart of Bolska.
Bang! Bang! Boom!
They smashed only those who resisted and the structures around them. The civilians were left where they were.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Bolska's city center shook with noise. Citizens' faces filled every window.
At its center, Schweitzer took out a cigarette and put it between his lips.
Their emotions washed over him. Fear, sorrow, resignation.
His body trembled at the thrill of it all.
"Quite the welcome."
Schweitzer chuckled and exhaled smoke.
Before long, the Imperial Army would reach Bolska's presidential palace.
...
Colonel Kai Han, commander of an independent brigade of the Frontline Imperial Guard, advanced into Yursled.
Even before Bresla Fortress was destroyed by the knights, Kai Han had already gone around the southern end of the fortress line and reached the Yursled interior.
Kai Han combined Schweitzer's blitzkrieg with characteristic caution and concentrated firepower.
Every tactic differed according to a commander's disposition and character.
Schweitzer loved light tanks. Their light weight allowed for ingenious strategies.
Kai Han, meanwhile, used heavier tanks. The Baste, called one of Aternum's finest products.
Using tactics suited to it, Kai Han completely smashed one point on the front with overwhelming firepower, then drove into the enemy's depths.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Kai Han pushed through the enemy lines beyond the fortress and advanced.
Kai Han had departed far later than the other units, but when Yursled's capital came into view...
"...Colonel, a radio message from Imperial Guard Headquarters. They say the independent brigade is to immediately join forces at the Bresla front."
Kai Han smiled faintly. Their intentions were too obvious.
They had struggled that much over a mere fortress, and now they were trying to stop me to steal the credit.
Kai Han answered briefly.
"What did you say? The reception is bad. I couldn't make that out."
"...That is indeed the case."
The adjutant understood.
Above us stood "him." A name sufficient to ignore the irrationality of allies who did not even feel like allies, allies more burdensome than enemies.
"Continue the advance."
"Yes!"
At Kai Han's command, the tanks started moving again.
* * *
[ Bolska Capital Falls ]
[ Bresla Fortress Line Collapses, Reports Pour In: "They Came Down from the Sky" ]
[ Western Allied Forces Proceeding with Planned Redeployment... ]
Countless urgent reports arrived in Prozen.
Bolska, whose capital had been attacked, collapsed without properly fighting even a single battle. A day after Bresla Fortress was breached, Yursled found the outskirts of its capital surrounded. The sudden upheaval seemed to have driven the Prozen government into near panic.
"...The Allied Forces that advanced into the Empire have been isolated. Communications are cut off."
Jean Pierre lowered his head as Foreign Minister Duvall spoke.
"Yursled and Bolska will be occupied by the Empire."
"..."
The battlefield.
Jean Pierre closed his eyes and thought of the distant horizon. He recalled its shape.
An army that opened three fronts at once, yet maneuvered with such precision and accuracy that it seemed prepared in advance.
The control and restraint to appoint the right person to the right place, win every battle, and still minimize civilian casualties.
Even while wielding the greatest violence, it never wished to lose its aristocratic dignity.
His fingerprints covered all of it. His clean traces remained across all three battlefields.
"He has returned."
"...He?"
Duvall asked. Jean Pierre rested a hand on the window frame.
The murky, sinking horizon. The darkness of night slowly approaching from the east.
"The Imperial Army's headquarters is probably..."
Within the pale darkness, the image of a knight in uniform appeared.
The face Jean Pierre had encountered in person at the Imperial museum and the Prozen Exhibition surfaced in his mind.
Behind a beauty anyone could love hid the malice and destruction that would burn the continent...
"Maximilian Ebenholtz."
The Empire's most dangerous "genuine article" had returned to us.
* * *
The Western Allied Forces were isolated.
The rail bridge they had chosen was destroyed as if their plan had already been seen through, and every other route was the same.
The Empire had no intention of allowing our retreat. From somewhere above, it watched the front and grasped all of our movements.
"..."
In the tent, where neither retreat nor advance was possible, only time passed as they continued to deliberate.
They deliberated countless times. Again, and again.
Yet no other plan came to mind.
To save our many soldiers, only one choice remained.
"Colonel Moran."
At last, General Leber called for the adjutant.
"Take it."
Leber handed a pure white flag to the staff officer who had been with Leber for so long.
"...General."
No soldier could fail to understand its meaning.
"Inform the Empire of our intention to surrender."
"...Yes."
The staff officer finally left the tent. Every other officer knew there was no other way, so they saw Moran off in silence.
Afterward, they waited for Moran to return.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
They heard only the sound of the clock's second hand.
Fortunately, Moran, carrying the white flag, was not shot by the Imperial Army. Before long, Moran returned to the tent and relayed the Imperial Army's response to Leber.
"...Let's go."
Leber left the tent with senior staff and several war correspondents.
Under the gaze of young soldiers, Leber walked toward the Imperial Army's outpost behind the white flag.
"Verstahl. Wehrn ablekt."
"Fyrt sie zum Befehlzelt."
"Haltet die Leitung ofn!"
Hearing the Empire's incomprehensible language, they reached the Imperial Army's encampment.
An Imperial general officer sat at a table there.
"I am Leber, commander of the Allied Forces and the Prozen Second Army. I have come to offer our surrender."
A Prozen interpreter translated Leber's words.
"These are our conditions."
Leber handed over the surrender document. But the other side did not even read the paper, merely spitting out sharp words.
"You crossed into the Empire as you pleased and stirred everything up. Now you want to be treated like gentlemen?"
The interpreter conveyed the words.
"...I acknowledge defeat. Guarantee the lives of our soldiers and our honor as soldiers."
They spoke through the interpreter, but the Imperial general officer sat with a crooked posture. So did the staff officers under the general's command.
They seemed openly hostile toward the Allied Forces themselves.
Then.
An unfamiliar officer entered the tent. The officer first whispered into the Imperial general's ear. The general immediately straightened.
"...Understood."
The general rose as if yielding the seat. The other officers quickly put their caps back on, as though to show respect.
Swish.
Then the tent flap was pulled aside, and someone walked in.
Leber and the Allied staff looked at the figure.
A man wearing a helmet.
"Good to meet you, General Leber."
The man spoke. Leber was briefly taken aback, and the interpreter hesitated.
The man's Prozen accent, formality, and cadence were all those of Prozen's upper class.
"You have come to offer your surrender. You have walked a long way."
Apparently, this man was responsible for the front.
"...That is correct."
Leber thought about it.
For the Empire, annihilating them was not a good choice. No, it would be the worst choice.
If the Empire refused surrender and massacred them, it would give Prozen and Hailand a suitable pretext. Even armies that might surrender later would resist desperately.
"Hm."
The knight looked over the Allied Forces' surrender document.
Leber and the staff, meanwhile, carefully watched for the knight's reaction. They cautiously read the atmosphere of the room.
"..."
The Imperial general officer, who had been arrogant moments before, stood against the wall without moving. The staff officers under the general's command did not move a finger either.
Rustle. Rustle.
Only the sound of turning pages filled the silence. It felt as though all the air and gravity in the room were focused on this knight.
His helmet hid his face, but his very presence revealed that he was someone important.
"Oh, right."
Then the knight noticed the Allied side's stares.
As if realizing a mistake, he smiled faintly and suddenly raised a hand to his helmet.
Click.
His face was revealed.
"..."
"..."
"..."
At that moment, the breaths of Leber, the staff, and the journalists stopped.
For a moment, they were seized by a strange feeling.
"My apologies. I came in such a hurry that I had not taken off my helmet."
In the light streaming through the gaps in the tent, his blond hair shone white like crystal.
Beneath it, clear golden eyes quietly watched Leber.
"..."
There was not the slightest trace of fatigue on the knight's face, though he had spent the night on the battlefield. Instead, the smile on his lips was gentle, as if he were greeting guests.
"..."
While they stood dumbly, unable to say anything...
"I am Maximilian Ebenholtz."
He gave his name.
His appearance was nothing like the image Prozen and Hailand's newspapers had portrayed until now.
It was like a work of art.
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