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Captain Laurent Bisset walked out of his tent and looked up at the sun with a smile. Another beautiful day in Germania. As an aerial mage, he couldn't ask for much more than clear weather and total dominance of the sky.

He hadn't felt nearly so confident when the occupation began, two months ago. At the time, there were those who thought that High Command's decision to send six full battalions of aerial mages to accompany the occupation force was excessive. Captain Bisset, having had a brief and extremely unpleasant experience of a combat encounter with the Devil of the Rhine, had worried that they might not be enough.

As it turned out, all of his worries had been for nothing. The only danger he faced in Germania came from those damned spies and partisans attacking from ambush and fading away into the civilian population. The skies had proven to be a surprisingly safe posting.

Safe, but not always pleasant. He schooled his expression into a neutral mask before setting out to find his subordinates and deliver the bad news. As he half expected, he found his company in the rec tent, gathered around a radio. A voice that had become all too familiar over the last month was coming from the speakers.

"If the Francois think they can intimidate us with military threats, they'd should watch out! One day our patience will run out, and then-"

With a click, Bisset turned off the broadcast. It was hard to believe that a terrifying foe had been reduced to such useless bluster. Almost sad.

He put such thoughts out of his mind as he considered how to break the news to his troops. Well, he'd never been a smooth talker. Best to give it to them straight.

"We've been put on watch duty tonight. Graveyard shift."

One unfortunate side effect of attaching so many aerial mages to this mission was that the General in charge was free to come up with frivolous ways of spending their time. The latest innovation had come about after the army had been relocated to its fortified camp. The General had declared that a company of aerial mages was to stay in the air throughout the night in order to keep watch and provide an immediate response to any Germanian aggression.

Bisset agreed with the General's suspicion that the Germanian government was behind all the trouble they'd been facing. He couldn't argue with the idea that the aerial mage corps should do its part to keep their comrades in arms safe. The value and necessity of the work didn't make it any less unpleasant to stand watch all night. Nor did it do anything to stop his troops from grumbling.

He ignored their complaints with the ease of long practice.

"Second Platoon will be circling the perimeter. Third Platoon will conduct ranging patrols farther out. First Platoon will be with me on overwatch."

Overwatch duty was the least physically tasking of the aerial watch options. It was also the least mentally engaging. Floating in one place all night wasn't anybody's idea of a good time.

"Another boring night and we can't even sleep through it."

The complaint came from Amelie Royer, a young woman who had enlisted the day she turned sixteen, almost a year ago. Missing out on the Great War had let her preserve a certain sense of idealism about military service, although the realities of occupation duty were gradually wearing away at her worldview. It saddened Bisset to see such a bright spark dimming over time, even if the current circumstances were far kinder than the old days on the Rhine front.

"At least the view is beautiful."

The scenery around them was quite nice, but Bisset knew that his other rookie's eyes wouldn't be spending much time on the landscape. Ah, to be young again. Bisset shared a long-suffering look with his lieutenant, a fellow veteran of the Rhine. Military regulations didn't strictly forbid fraternization within the ranks, but some soldiers needed a few reminders before the understood the idea of appropriate time and place.

"You can enjoy the view of the kitchen for the rest of the week," Bisset said, shaking his head. "You kids will learn to appreciate the value of a boring assignment some day."

The work of a soldier consisted of long stretches of boredom punctuated by brief moments of terror. Having experienced both, Bisset much preferred the boredom.

ooOoo

Clear skies and a moonless night. I couldn't ask for much more.

The Chancellor's Residence in Berun included a private rear courtyard that served quite nicely as a private aerial mage launching pad. I waited until night had thoroughly fallen before activating my Type 97 computation orb and rocketing up into the sky. I didn't waste any time savoring the feeling of flight. Being spotted on my way out would be quite troublesome.

Not that I was likely to be spotted. I was wearing a flight suit in solid black. My rifle had carefully had all of its exposed metal blacked out. My hair had been collected under a balaclava that also covered my face. Not a patch of bare skin was left to catch what little light there was. There were no magical detectors running this deep in Germanian territory, and I didn't think anybody could catch me with the naked eye. Still, better safe than sorry.

Once I reached a comfortable altitude of six thousand meters I settled down and took a look around. It was peaceful, up so high. Looking down on the streetlights below, it was hard to believe that millions of people down there were anxiously waiting for me to solve their problems. Even this time of night, if I set down on any random street I'd soon be surrounded by people who recognized me and knew my name. Once that mob turned on me, there would be nowhere to hide.

I wasn't happy with my plans for the night, but there was a reason I'd made my decision. Taking a deep breath, I gave the sleeping city of Berun one final look before setting off to the west.

Night flying was surprisingly meditative. With nobody else around me and no landmarks down below I was left with nothing to do but enjoy the feeling of the wind in my hair, look at the stars up above, and think. The stars were amazingly clear this high up. My thoughts, unfortunately, were not.

War was a tremendous waste of human resources. That was one reason I was so adamant in pursuit of peace. Peaceful conditions also allowed for people to come together and make the sort of mutually beneficial trades that were the hallmark of capitalism. So I hated to do anything that might lead to war. On the other hand, a secure peace was based on universal respect for the rules. If people think they can just walk around and steal things with impunity, then there's no true peace at all.

I'd like to sit down with the Francois and figure out why they thought our borders didn't matter. Perhaps they could even shed some light on the thinking of the Legadonians from so long ago. They refused to talk, though, with things as they were. Accordingly, I would have to act to adjust the status quo.

The lights of a new city came into view below more or less as they were supposed to. I didn't have to make the whole flight to the Rhine by dead reckoning, thankfully. By following the string of human settlements on the Ruhr, I was able to keep track of where I was and my approximate distance from the Francois invasion force.

Things got a little more complicated when I came within a hundred kilometers of the Francois. First, I pushed the Type 97 hard for a burst of speed. Then I cut off the flow of mana and shifted over to my second orb of the evening, the Junghans Mark Three. While not as fraught as the third orb I would be using, the Mark Three came with its own set of difficulties. Most notably, that it was never meant for flight operations.

Thanks to a great deal of practice, I was able to squeeze out just enough force from the Mark Three to counteract the force of gravity. My small stature was a big help there, although bringing along my rifle had nearly overloaded my carrying capacity. That left very little usable force available to keep me moving, perhaps enough to accelerate to a brisk walk. The initial velocity from the Type 97 helped, putting me in the position of slowing down the loss of speed rather than making a futile attempt to accelerate. Even so, the last leg of the journey took longer than all the rest put together.

I stuck with it, trading height for velocity. The hassle of using the Mark Three paid off as I closed in on the enemy camp without prompting any response from the Francois. I could sense the air patrols, just as Elya had reported. A platoon circling the camp at a distance, another platoon working its way around the fence line, and a final platoon on static overwatch duty at the center of the camp.

I drifted to a halt at the center of the camp. I was three thousand meters above the ground and approximately three thousand meters beneath the overwatch platoon. So far, everything was going according to plan. I pulled the Type 95 from my pocket and hesitated.

The small size of the Type 95 belied the power hidden within. The device had been a marvel of engineering even before Being X stuck his nose into things. Four cores in the space usually reserved for one, astounding mana throughput, it really was impressive. It just hadn't worked. Once Being X intervened, of course, it had become quite reliable, even if the side effects were troubling. I hadn't used it in years, though. It should be fine.

"Are you there, Being X? It's been a while."

There was no response. Beneath me, the campfires dotting the Francois encampment continued to flicker away. Glancing around revealed no supernatural phenomena nearby. Well, provided one didn't count the fact that I was floating 10,000 feet above ground under my own power.

It had been years, but I could still clearly picture our last encounter in my mind. After being pushed to my limits, I had broken down and voluntarily asked that bastard for his help. When he came through and delivered an unprecedented level of power, I had also felt a sense of smug satisfaction. After that, I'd never seen hide nor hair of Being X. While I assumed he was still meddling with my life and laughing at my misfortune, that was all my own supposition.

It was puzzling. Was that one moment of weakness all that he had ever wanted? I was no theologian, but I had never heard of any religion that would be satisfied with such a paltry show of faith. Honestly, a being that put people in dangerous situations and then offered bargains purporting to bail them out... that usually wasn't a being on the positive side of the pantheon.

I had never really gotten the impression that Being X was either god or devil, though. He just didn't have the sort of temperament I expected from a transcendental being. Instead, he seemed more like an overworked employee blowing off steam by complaining about his job. Possessed of great personal power, perhaps, but ultimately still just a stressed-out salaryman.

Perhaps I should have felt more sympathy for a kindred spirit. But, well, the bottom line was that if Being X were an employee at my company I would have fired him long ago. Poorly managing your workload and blaming your own mistakes on the customer were cardinal sins in the business world. Not to mention that, considering some of the things he had said, I had serious doubts whether Being X could pass a drug test.

It was difficult to wrap my head around the actions of something like Being X. He had the power to pluck my soul from my body at the moment of death and send it to a completely different universe. He could make an impossibility like the Type 95 come into being. And yet he was almost pathetically eager for acknowledgement in the form of worship.

"You always made me spout off nonsense when I used this thing in order to inspire faith in others, right? I'll admit that word-of-mouth marketing is effective, but even I know that advertising has long developed more effective methods."

I was procrastinating. I could admit, if only to myself, that I was nervous. The Type 95 was a devastatingly powerful tool, but using it came with a correspondingly devastating cost.

I hadn't appreciated that cost back in the early days. Back then, I only thought it was a matter of mumbling a few prayers before using the orb to destroy all my enemies. I hadn't realized that the effects of the Type 95 built up in my body like a radioactive dose until I'd spent most of a month in a sort of fugue state during the 203rd's initial training.

Once I had that scare, I had backed way off on the use of the Type 95 in order to avoid the mental contamination. The only other time that I had made such heavy use of the orb was when we were severely pressed by that madwoman Mary Sue. I could understand the desire to win, but I could never forgive her for pushing me to the extent that I had been forced to plead with Being X for help. Large sections of the last few months of the war were still blurred out of my memory.

I hadn't used the Type 95 for years. Over half a decade, now. The corruption should have had a chance to fade away. It should be fine.

"I could expand the tax break received by the church. Or increase the funding going to the church-run orphanages."

I didn't like Being X. I didn't respect Being X. But what kind of a politician would I be if I could only strike bargains with those I liked or respected? Shuffling some money around in the budget would be a small price to pay for my mental integrity.

Unfortunately, there was no response.

"Hmm, why not both? Just take your curse off of this orb and we have a deal."

Being X remained stubbornly silent. For some reason, everybody seemed to be taking a hard line with me lately. I suppose I'll have to change yet another status quo if I want to bring Being X to the negotiating table. Hasn't he been stirring up wars and putting people in misery so that they'll pray for help? If I can bring about a state of peaceful relationship between nations, in a world where nobody has to worry about starving to death, let's see just how many people still bother praying then. I'd like to see how Being X likes that.

In the mean time, I can use the Type 95 under our previous arrangement. The last time I used it was a bit worrying, but I'd had years to recover from the mental contamination. I should be fine.

I took a deep breath and reached for the trigger hooked to my waistband. A wire connected it to a specially built radio devince strapped to my back. I flicked off the safety and squeezed four times. Long, short, long, short. There was no immediate indicator that anything had happened. On the radio spectrum, a commonly used Germanian civilian band should just have experienced four bursts of static.

The Francois shouldn't be able to pick any meaning out of that. Really, they shouldn't be aware of it at all. It was the kind of thing that would usually pass unnoticed unless somebody were specifically listening for it. Somebody like the team that had infiltrated the camp down below. I could feel a smile creep across my face as a pattern of lights sprang into view below.

Optical illusion spells were such versatile things. Useful for confusing the enemy or for conveying information to a friend. In this case, a red outline had been projected around the top of the command tent, while aerial mage barracks were outlined in orange, yellow, and green. Bright enough to be visible at 3000 meters, they hopefully wouldn't be immediately noticeable to anybody hanging out at 6000. Still, no reason to dilly dally.

Bracing myself, I cut the power to the Mark Three. I was long past any fear of falling. It was simple enough to maneuver myself to face my targets with my rifle at the ready before activating the Type 95. It should be fine.

The flow of mana was different with the Type 95. With other orbs the mana had to be poked and prodded, guided and forced into the proper forms. Under the power of the Type 95 mana barely had to be nudged before it would leap to hand, ready to enact the will of God on earth.

Falling freely through the air, I was wrapped in the arms of God's embrace and armed with the might of the Lord. It was enough to make me want to burst into song.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord"

I squeezed off four shots at the command tent and two each at the first three of the aerial mage barracks. Each struck home like the hammer of God. I paused briefly in my singing to reload.

I could have tried to charge up a single shot with enough power to take out most of the camp. I wasn't sure exactly of the highest yield possible with the Type 95, but surely the power of God is limitless. The problem was that channeling such power through a flawed mortal vessel took quite a bit of time, time the Francois might use to interrupt my plans. It would also light up magical sensors clear to Parisee.

One of today's objectives was to leave at least a little ambiguity as to what had happened. Fortunately, the Type 95 was more than capable of firing off artillery grade spells as quickly as I could pull the trigger.

"He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored"

I put two shots on each of the next five sleeping tents. I had worked my way through the orange targets by that point and was starting on the yellow. As I fired off the last shot and paused to reload I saw a volley of explosions consume a few of the green tents. Weiss's team had completed their first round of artillery spells. While they couldn't maintain my rate of fire I was still grateful for their efforts. We each had our own role to play in God's plan.

"He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword"

Another five tents went up like firecrackers. Much to my surprise, the Francois aerial mages on the ground had yet to throw themselves into battle. I had hoped to cause confusion by taking out the command tent, but I hadn't dared to hope that it would be so effective. It was almost as if the Francois never practiced the proper response to a surprise nighttime artillery bombardment.

"His truth is marching on"

I took out two more tents. As I was drawing a bead on the third, a second volley from the men on the ground blew it to pieces before I could pull the trigger. It appeared we had met in the middle, as planned. I was also starting to draw uncomfortably close to the ground below.

According to the plan I should cut off power to the Type 95. My role as a direct combatant was largely complete. Neuman's company should have finished off the airplanes stationed on the temporary landing strip, while Koenig's company should have taken down the artillery pieces attached to the 32nd corps. Both of them would then move to at least mission kill the enemy tank battalion parked in the camp. Meanwhile, Visha's company would have taken off after the first explosion to hunt enemy aerial mages out of the sky. Weiss's company was more than capable of finishing off any aerial mages down below who had survived my bombardment.

And yet... everything would go so much more smoothly if I continued forward with the Type 95. With God by my side, who could dare stand against me? Sweeping aside the enemy force would be as simple as pie. We could even press on to Francois proper in order to demonstrate God's disapproval of their behavior. Our cause was just.

I started to activate a flight spell, but hesitated. Previous experience had shown that making plans while using the Type 95 didn't tend to end well. God's might would shield me from the consequences, but I couldn't say the same for my men. Leading them into a deathtrap would be a poor way to reward their faith.

I sighed, and cut the power to the Type 95. Parisee wouldn't burn tonight. Maybe next time.

I was able to activate the Type 97 and spin up a flight spell and defensive screen without any conscious thought. Which was good, because my mind was focused on one question: Why? Why did it turn out like this? I quite the Type 95 cold turkey and didn't use it for years, but the mental corruption hadn't faded one bit. I had been about a half second away from leading the whole country on a murderous crusade. If I hadn't come up with a plan that so tightly constrained the use of the Type 95 I would already be on my way to Parisee.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a bullet that ricocheted off my defensive screen. Right, the team on overwatch. Man, I might not be drawing a salary for this any more, but it was still embarrassing to be caught lollygagging while the battle was still going on.

I darted back away from my previous position, leaving an illusory duplicate behind to take my place. I took a moment to assess the situation. I was floating a couple hundred meters from the ground. In theory an infantry soldier could take a potshot at me, but on a dark night with their camp in chaos it was incredibly unlikely. My real foe was the platoon of aerial mages that had just reached the outer edge of practical engagement range at a thousand meters above me and a hundred meters or so north of me, closing in fast. It was actually a little impressive that they had managed to wing me from that distance.

I continued to drift backwards. Now that I looked more closely, the members of the platoon actually weren't maintaining unit cohesion very well. Two of the mages had charged out in front of the other two, opening a gap between the two pairs. I added a little bit of back and forth sway to my retreat. It was a subtle thing, but my gut instinct from watching their reactions was that the two trailing mages were the more experienced flyers. I suppose the two newbies might have lost their tempers and decided to charge in while their seniors were more cautious.

Well, I was always happy to introduce new aerial mages to the battlefield. I began shaping a spell while I picked out my target. One of the two newbies was pulling ahead of the other. She-I could just make out the flicker of long hair flapping in the wind at this distance-wasn't even trying to take evasive action, instead focusing entirely on closing the gap and trying to duplicate the success of that first shot. Classic rookie mistake.

I pulled the trigger as she closed within 700 meters. The bullet shot out, carrying along with it two layers of magic. The outer layer was a magical drill bit that would punch a small hole in most forms of magical defense. The inner layer was an explosive formula primed to go off on impact. The spell took a while to set up and interacted poorly with tracking spells, but if you were confident in your aim there was nothing better for taking out a fortified target.

She may have sensed danger at the last second. Or I was a little unlucky. Or, I suppose, my aim may not have been honed to quite the usual razor's edge after years of peace. In any event, the shot punched through her shield and took her in the shoulder. At the very least, I could see that her arm had been blasted free of her body, and I'd wager the explosion did a number on her internal organs as well. Add on top of that the dangers of going into shock at this distance from the ground and I figured I could at least count her out of the rest of this battle.

The other newbie didn't falter in the face of danger, instead redoubling his efforts to close in on me. The two more experienced mages both slowed down. I fired another explosive shot their way in order to encourage their hesitation. They showed some respect for my ability by slowing down and engaging in evasive maneuvers, opening up the gap even further. I smiled and abandoned my slow retreat, instead launching myself forward at top speed. A few bullets whizzed by over my head as the change in direction threw off my target's aim, and then I was in close.

The experience of aerial melee combat is difficult to describe to somebody who's never done it. It's one of those fields where it's tough to build up experience, too. Everything happens very, very fast and a single mistake will leave you very, very dead. I have more melee kills to my name than most, and even I still feel my heart start beating fast when I close in on an enemy at a combined velocity that nears the speed of sound. It's the ultimate commitment by a pair of aerial mages to the idea that only one person is walking away from the fight.

The newbie didn't even try to disguise his intentions. He was headed straight toward me, bayonet ready like the lance of an old time mounted knight. He showed no interest in self-preservation, apparently willing to sacrifice his own life if it was the cost of taking me out. Was he mindless with panic? Coolly analytical and eager to take out an enemy leader? Simply untrained in more sophisticated melee tactics? It would forever remain a mystery.

At the very last instant I twitched to the side and slashed out with my rifle, projecting out a mage blade. Given our relative speeds his defensive shell shattered like glass. I hardly felt any resistance as his head was separated from his shoulders, eyes still widening in surprise.

The two more cautious aerial mages had split up after I took a potshot at them, perhaps intending to flank me while I focused on my charging foe. With my sudden change of direction I was now well within range of one of them, while the other was too far away to bother me for the moment. I fired an explosive spell set to explode ahead of the closer opponent's line of travel while I angled my flight to further close the distance.

He slowed down and immediately began to climb over the expanding fireball. A natural response. Humans instinctively understand the value of high ground and aerial mages know better than most that altitude is safety. Unfortunately for my opponent, a predictable reaction on the battlefield is never safe.

By anticipating his maneuver, I was able to line up nicely on his tail. As soon as he had committed to the climb I started pulling the trigger. I couldn't just toss out artillery spells like firecrackers when I wasn't using the Type 95, but I could at least put a mild piercing effect on each bullet. The first three shots sparked off of an increasingly shaky looking defensive screen, while the fourth shattered it entirely. The next three shots took him in the chest. The effect wasn't as spectacular without an explosive spell attached, but aerial mages need their internal organs just like everybody else. I went ahead and emptied my magazine just to make sure. I'd seen entirely too many near death heroics during the war.

I spun out the usual set of defensive decoys and surveyed the battlefield while I reloaded. No further aerial mages had come boiling up from the ground. Looked like our sneak attack was more successful than I had dared to hope. Either that or they were tied up with Weiss's men. Or laying low in order to hit us once we let down our guard. Well, I'd find out soon enough. In the meantime, I still had the last member of the platoon to deal with.

He had positioned himself right on the edge of engagement range. He was close enough for harassing fire, but far enough away that it would be difficult for me to close in and do any real damage. Looked like I was dealing with a veteran, all right.

I darted forward. He moved back, laying down a barrage of fire in my path. I stopped and reversed course. He did so as well, unwilling to let me completely disengage. I could feel a smile tugging at the corner of my lips as we started the familiar dance.

I could have just charged in, tanked whatever he threw at me, and gone for the quick kill. It probably would have worked. But I hadn't maintained my long and successful track record of not dying by taking risks like that. It's funny how probabilities work. A sporting event with a 3-to-1 favorite was so lopsided as not to be worth watching, but if you think about it, the odds of the underdog winning are the same as flipping a coin and seeing tails twice in a row. If I embraced that kind of risk and kept flipping coin after coin, it wouldn't take too long before something went wrong. Better to take things slow and steady and make sure of the result.

He was good. He spotted decoys as quickly as I could make them, and his flying was crisp and under control. I was a little rusty. As I'd often lamented to Visha, for all the practice we put in, we weren't actually trying to kill each other during training. Still, though, I was the better flyer. My turns were a little sharper, acceleration a little quicker, shots a little more on target. As the fight wore on, things began to tilt more and more in my favor.

Just as I was reminding myself not to take anything for granted, a sudden volley of fire rained down on him, shattering the last of his defensive screen. At the same time, Visha came swooping in from above, slashing him open from shoulder to hip. She glanced back over her shoulder to confirm the kill before continuing her flight until she stood in front of me in mid-air, throwing a textbook salute.

How embarrassing. Even as I'd been congratulating myself for getting back in the swing of things, I'd allowed my focus on the battlefield to narrow to a dangerous extent. I'd also messed around for long enough that my subordinates had felt the need to come in and clean up my assignment.

Well, no reason I couldn't adopt my usual approach in awkward situations: ignore it and hope it goes away. At least Visha wasn't the type to revel in somebody else's mistakes.

I waved down Visha's salute. Really, we weren't in the military any more. "Any trouble with the other patrols?"

"No ma'am."

I decided against correcting her terminology and instead focused my efforts on a communication spell. "Team leaders, report in."

"Team one," Weiss's voice came through loud and clear, "no problems, but I need some time to confirm phase one is complete."

So there were no active enemy mages, but Weiss hadn't been able to confirm all the kills. Considering all the explosive magic we'd been throwing around, that was reasonable.

"Team two," Neuman said, "no problems, phase one complete."

"Team three," Koenig said, "no problems, phase one complete."

Good. There was no need to worry about enemy airplanes, tanks, or artillery. The "disarm" portion of Operation Disarm and Disperse was a success.

Below us, the camp was a mess. With the commanding officers dead and large sections of the task force blown up, it was natural for a bit of panic to set in. Still, those troops down there were professional soldiers. They'd get themselves sorted out eventually. If we let them.

"Team two, team three, form up and follow team four as we move to phase two," I said. "Team one, take your time finishing up phase one. You'll be the reserve."

I received a round of acknowledgements before looking up to catch Visha's eye as I cut the communication spell. "Can you take the lead in driving off this rabble?"

"Yes ma'am!"

She was downright giddy at being let off the leash. I guess you can take the girl out of the Rhine front but you can't take the Rhine front out of the girl. It was understandable. Juicy targets like this didn't come along every day. While the enemy had us massively outnumbered, a mass of infantry troops hardly posed a threat to experienced aerial mages. The abortive Dacian invasion had shown that much. Things only grew more lopsided at night, when a mage could effectively vanish by flying fifty feet up in the air. Of course, such a small team could hardly kill an entire infantry corps, but I expected they would be more than capable of putting the enemy to flight.

"All right, I'll leave it to you. I have an errand to run," I said. "Don't stay out too late. Remember, we have that budget meeting in the morning."

"Yes, ma'am."

A noticeable drop in enthusiasm that time. Sometimes I felt a little guilty for dragging Visha into this. I'd promised her a simple scam, a secure do-nothing job. Instead, she'd been roped into the position of Deputy Chancellor and forced to deal with nearly as much paperwork as me. It was a classic bait and switch. On the other hand, I could be honest enough about myself to admit that I was too petty to let her live on easy street while I was dragged into a position of responsibility.

Anyways, today's operation was the first step towards ending all of that nonsense. After this, the Francois should be willing to show up to the bargaining table so I could finally surrender properly.

ooOoo

General Heinz Ziegler had put in time on the front lines, bunking far forward long after his rank would have permitted him to seek a rear line posting. Accordingly, when he woke up in the middle of the night and wasn't sure why, his immediate response was to sit up and grab his pistol off the nightstand. When he opened his eyes and saw an unfamiliar figure in his room, he brought the pistol to bear.

Three things happened at approximately the same time. First, he realized that the unidentified intruder was seated calmly next to his bed. She was even smiling. Second, he realized that the gun felt lighter than usual. Finally, he lowered the useless pistol to his side.

The intruder, whom he belatedly recognized as Chancellor Tanya von Degurechaff, held up his pistol's missing magazine for him to see. "I like your instincts, General."

She chuckled before tossing the magazine over. He slotted it home and set the pistol back on his nightstand. Even if the nighttime intruder wasn't the Germanian head of government, picking a melee fight with an aerial mage was a fancy way of committing suicide.

And the Chancellor certainly looked the part of the aerial mage today, Ziegler noticed, as he took the time to look her over. It was funny, how you could listen to her talk about fiscal policy on the radio or see her smile and wave on the newsreels, and somehow it made you forget that she was the deadliest human being on the planet. Her current outfit certainly wasn't something she'd wear to a political rally: a pitch black flight suit redolent of gunsmoke and blood. It was probably the smell that had woken him up in the first place.

"How are you enjoying your command, General?"

There was a time when being given command of the largest Germanian field army in existence would have meant a great deal. These days, it was something of a joke. Especially when he was ordered to station himself one town over from the Francois occupation force, his twenty-five thousand men little more than a glorified speed bump to the foreign invaders.

"Does anyone enjoy being a political plaything?"

He understood the logic of it. The Francois would hesitate to march on the capital if they knew it meant shedding too much blood. Still, it was hard to be enthusiastic about a mission that showed the brass was willing to trade his men's lives in exchange for a useful headline. Ordinarily he would have been more polite in his response to the Chancellor, but she did break into his room to start the conversation.

"You'll like your new orders, then," she replied.

"Oh?"

"You'll receive word soon that the 32nd corps has been put to flight," she said. "All you have to do is take your men and round up as many of them as you can."

"The 32nd corps..."

"I'm sorry, it sounds too intimidating when I say it like that," she said. "I should say that after their artillery, aircraft, and tanks have been smashed to bits, a mob of nearly 20,000 Francois citizens is attempting to flee by running across the country."

"What about their aerial mages?"

She just smiled at him without saying a word. Ziegler's instincts were screaming at him that there were things he was better off not knowing. Still, he couldn't help his curiosity.

"How is this possible?"

"A group of concerned citizens, disgusted by the atrocities of the Francois, got their hands on some army surplus equipment and routed the invaders from Germanian soil," she said. "At least, that's what the newspapers will say."

It was clear she would say no more on the matter. He could speculate, but there were more practical matters to consider.

"Is it war, then?"

"Monsieur Mirande didn't see fit to declare war when he dispatched the 32nd, and neither will I," she said, then shrugged. "Of course, if negotiations break down, I probably won't be finishing out my term."

Ziegler's eyes widened as his shock at the frank admission made him take in the entire situation with new eyes. The flight suit that would look like a costume on any other politician, that the Chancellor wore as naturally as breathing. The rifle, with signs of recent use, slung over her shoulder with the same unconscious ease that an ordinary woman would show in carrying her purse.

General Heinz Ziegler was depressingly familiar with politicians who saw the nation's military as a tool. A tool to serve the nation's interest, sometimes, but also as a tool to deliver political glory or paper over political mistakes. Never before had he imagined, let alone witnessed, a politician willing to share the burden of the troops. Willing to fight and die on the front lines, if it came down to it.

It might not be the most practical attitude to take, but Ziegler could still feel the emotion stirring in his breast. The patriotism and camaraderie that he had felt back when he first joined the army, buried for so long under routine and cynicism, broke free once more to see the light of day.

"What can I do to help?"

"Every soldier you capture improves our bargaining position," she said. "All you need to do is carry out your mission. Leave the rest to me."

With that, she stood and turned to leave.

Chancellor Degurechaff was a petite woman. She often made light of the fact in her campaign speeches, claiming that her slight stature had made her a more difficult target for the enemy during the war. As he watched her leave the room, though, some trick of the light made her back seem broad enough to shelter the entire nation.