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Most citizens of the Allied Kingdom, if pressed, would admit to a certain distaste for Tanya von Degurechaff. This could largely be put down to the vague sense of unease that traditionally arose whenever a major continental nation stumbled into competent leadership. Commander Ian Flemons, of the Office of Naval Intelligence, was one of the few in Albion who bore a personal, albeit petty, grudge against the Germanian Chancellor.

Flemons had been too young to enlist at the outset of the Great War. He hadn't turned 18 until after the fall of Parisee, and his visit to the recruiting office had taken place while Degurechaff was busy kicking the Frogs around in the Southern Continent. He'd been as surprised as anybody when the standard battery of tests had revealed that he was a Class B mage.

His test results, together with his academic grades, had opened up new doors to him, of which he found intelligence gathering to be the most enticing. It might not have quite the thrill of open magical combat, but it was exciting in its own way and offered the opportunity for one man to make a difference in the fate of nations.

He had put in a good effort during the war, and been promoted accordingly. His magical skills had come in handy during the excitement of the liberation of the Francois Republic. After the war he'd been rewarded with a posting in the Caribbean, liaising with his American counterparts during their fleet exercises and with a series of women during their tropical vacations.

Then Degurechaff was elected Chancellor. Some clever silly decided that Flemons would possess some sort of insight into her character due to his magical abilities, and so he was transferred back home to manage Naval Intelligence's Germania Desk. In the process, he'd traded in the tropical sun for a desk in a dreary office in a dreary building on a dreary street. To top things off, he had very few successes to his name despite years of trying.

It had been a frustrating experience, especially as he'd cut his teeth running rings around the Imperials during the war. He had a good feeling about today, though. He was hoping he would finally get some solid intelligence on the Germanian naval building program. His first attempt had fizzled out when the welder he'd bribed had been fired after getting into a bar fight. His second attempt had been stymied when his local handler had been kicked out of the country over a technical problem with his visa. His third attempt, well, the news should be in the envelope on his desk.

Flemons opened the envelope carefully, only a slight trembling in his hands betraying his impatience. He skimmed over the letter inside, and then couldn't help but punch his desk in frustration. Unfortunately, his outburst was enough to bring his boss wandering over.

"Why the long face, number seven?"

Rear Admiral John Godby, the head of the Office of Naval Intelligence. His hair might be more white than grey, but his eyes were still sharp. He was a bulldog when he latched on to an idea, never letting go until he had seen it through to his satisfaction. That was all well and good when he was picking away at a flaw in the enemy's plans. Unfortunately, he brought a similar disposition to his interpersonal relations.

When Flemons had first joined the office, Godby had introduced him as "my new seventh in command." He was so pleased with his own wit that he continued to use the nickname no matter how Flemons rose in rank or seniority. Still, there was no future in telling your superior he was being an arse, so Flemons bit back his first response and focused on answering the question.

"Our latest run at those shipyards ended in a jail cell, I'm afraid," he said.

"They're putting an espionage case through the courts?" Godby asked. He sounded surprised, as well he should. Most nations preferred not to air their dirty laundry in open court.

"Not exactly," Flemons replied, handing over the letter for Godby to read.

Flemons's agent had been rousted by the local bobbies and convicted of being a Peeping Tom on the testimony of a local girl. It seemed the Germanians had developed a sense of humor to go along with their surprising competence in counter-espionage.

"Well, I daresay we've exhausted Jerry's patience," Godby said. "Let's put that project on the back burner for now."

"Just as well," Flemons replied. "I was about ready to try sneaking over there myself."

"Save that nonsense for the penny dreadfuls," Godby said. "We know well enough what they're building, there's no need to see it with our own eyes just yet."

Flemons nodded, though not without some reluctance. The Germanian foreign office had sent over sketches of the ships they were building, complete with estimated dimensions and final displacement. It was more than they were obligated to do under the treaty, which naturally raised suspicions. Flemons wanted to get some first hand pictures that weren't laundered through the Germanians, just to see what they were up to. He consoled himself with the thought that they'd inevitably get a look at the ships once they were put to sea.

"After everything I heard from the old guard," Flemons said, "I didn't expect the Germanians to be so on top of things."

He wasn't the only one with experience outfoxing the Empire. Everyone else that he had spoken to for advice upon being given his new assignment had been confident that he would have no trouble pulling the wool over Jerry's eyes.

"Well, some will say-oh, thank you love," Godby said, interrupting himself as the office secretary, Claire Blanchet, came around with tea.

"Of course, Admiral," she said with a smile. "Commander?"

"Yes, please," Flemons said, gratefully accepting a cup, prepared as always to match his tastes.

Miss Blanchet was a lovely girl with a sterling background and a winning way about her. She had turned down Flemons's advances with such a deft hand that by the end he'd been half convinced it was his own idea not to pursue an office romance. He and Godsby fell silent for a moment as they watched her saunter back to her work station by the front door.

Godby shook his head and turned back to face Flemons, who for his part was forcibly returning his attention to the frustrating dilemma of why he couldn't get one over on the Germanians.

"Now, some will say Jerry saves all his creativity for battlefield tactics, and there's some truth in it," Godby said. "Pluck a teenager off the streets in Berun, and odds are he can lead a rifle team on a flanking counterattack, just like the General Staff drew it up. Introduce that young hero to a pretty girl from Parisee, and in six weeks she'll be running his life. Probably carrying on an affair the poor bastard will never discover."

Flemons thought back to some of the girls he'd met while on station in Parisee. He thought two weeks was a more reasonable estimate.

"That said, in a nation of tens of millions of people," Godby continued, "you have to expect that a few of them break the mold."

"So the right person just got promoted?" Flemons asked. It seemed like pretty rotten luck for such a thing to happen just as he took the job.

"No, my boy," Godby said, chuckling, "she was elected."

Flemons couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. He knew Degurechaff was no fool, but if ever there was someone whose genius was limited to the battlefield, it was her. Sure, she had the feel for a good turn of phrase-he'd had to read every one of her speeches that was published in the Germanian Workers' Party rag-but he'd never seen any evidence that she was a subtle thinker.

"I forgot, you're so young," Godby said. "You weren't here for the illusion gap excitement."

"The illusion gap?"

"It was when we finally got hold of good recordings of the 203rd in combat. Bloody terrifying," Godby said, shaking his head. "We'd known about the speed and power, though reading a report is quite different from seeing it with your own eyes. The real kicker were the illusions. Three times out of four, any shot that actually hit the 203rd was just hitting a projected decoy."

Flemons frowned. "Aren't illusions a basic technique?"

He recalled learning how to create optical illusions during his first week with a computation orb. He'd gotten the hang of it quickly, then put the skill away in favor of learning far more vital spellwork like aerial maneuvering and protective shields.

"You sound like the inquiry board," Godby said. "It's simple enough to summon something up on the ground to amuse the lads or impress a girl. Flying through the air in the middle of a dogfight and spinning out an image that will trick the enemy is another matter entirely."

Flemons nodded, acknowledging the point. Come to think of it, during his limited experience in combat he had been quite occupied with flying through the air, keeping himself alive, and trying to shoot the enemy. He hadn't had much thought to spare for anything beyond the basics.

"Degurechaff's clever, then."

"The steel nerve of a soldier and a con man's eye for a mark," Godby said. "That's Degurechaff, and that's the people who work for her."

"What am I supposed to do, then?"

"Just keep plugging away. If the shipyard's sealed up tight, maybe we can get a peek at some airfields," Godby said, shrugging. "Nobody's perfect."

Flemons nodded, resolving to take another look over the publicly available information he had collected from Germania. There ought to be some kind of clue, a lead that would let him sniff out something she was trying to keep hidden. However smart Degurechaff might be, she couldn't be watching over the whole country all the time. His past failures were his own fault, for thinking that his old tricks would keep working forever.

"I told those stuffed shirts when she was elected. We couldn't keep doing things the way we did when we were always up against some von or other who got the job on his family connections," Godby said. "Nobody listened, and now that we can't just read her mail there's a panic any time she does anything. I might just put in for early retirement if I have to sit through one more meeting about Dacia."

"Dacia?" Flemons asked. He remembered that Degurechaff had visited the country, but the only thing that had come of it was a rather innocuous trade deal.

"Degurechaff's pulled out all the stops to secure a military alliance, and it looks like she'll get it," Godby said. "The question is why."

After reading a steady diet of Degurechaff's speeches over the last year, Flemons had an answer ready to hand.

"Part of her grand anti-communist alliance?"

Godby waved his hand dismissively. "That's what she'll say. It's nonsense, of course. She knows better than anyone just what Dacia's military is worth in a fight."

"She could build them up," Flemons said. The records they'd captured after the war had shown she'd done well enough building the 203rd up from nothing. She wouldn't be giving the Dacian troops the same level of personal attention, of course, but the woman understood how to train soldiers.

"Building up her own army would be faster and cheaper. And it would be her own army in the end," Godby said. "There's the notion that she wants the port, but she wouldn't be able to get any warships through the strait."

"Not unless she intends on taking it by force," Flemons said, then paused for a moment in thought. "Though that seems a bit much, even for her."

"Precisely," Godby said. "Personally, I think she wants to secure the oil."

"Not much of a supply in Dacia, is there?"

He didn't have the figures immediately to hand, but he knew that the Dacian oil fields weren't a patch on the Americans'. Perhaps their productivity could be increased with new technology, but that seemed like rather a lot of trouble for Germania to go through when they could instead just buy more oil from elsewhere.

"No, but right now Germania gets substantially all of her oil from the Unified States," Godby said. "If someone were to impose a blockade, even a small bit of oil transported over land would let them keep the lights on."

Flemons frowned. What Godby was saying had some truth to it, but it just didn't fit with everything else Degurechaff had done. In all of her public statements, the woman had hardly said a word about the Allied Kingdom. She'd curse the Francois all day and night, but she was largely silent about the nation whose late entry into the Great War had doomed the Empire. Even when she'd acted against the Allied Kingdom's preferences, as with the Osterrian plebiscite, she hadn't actually acted until Albion had withdrawn its objection. Was all of that a massive bluff, with her true motive standing revealed by her alliance with Dacia? Not impossible, but it seemed unlikely.

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a map of the continent. He spread it out on his desk and spent a moment tracing over the borders with his eyes.

"You know," he said, "if she thinks she has the rest of the Empire in her back pocket, Dacia would be the next place to expand."

Godby frowned, looking over the map from his side of the desk.

"Quite right," he said. "Start with some financial aid, then send in military advisors, and one way or another it turns out your puppet is running the country."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Flemons said.

Godby favored him with a wry smile.

"Yes, well. I suppose your theory is as good as any. Write it up in a memo, and I'll send it around," he said. "Make sure you hold on to a copy in case you turn out to be right."

Flemons held in a sigh. Perhaps in a few years he would have a new feather in his cap. For the moment, though, he was going to be working another late night.

Shortly after returning from Legadonia, I was dragged out of Berun on a more pleasant diplomatic mission. The inaugural class of our new aerial mage academy was graduating. Somebody had to give an inspiring speech. Visha insisted that I was the only one who could do it. She was far too biased to be trusted, of course, but I was happy for the excuse to get out of the office.

After a pleasant trip out to the countryside, I found myself standing on a stage looking at a crowd of young mages who were hanging on my every word. It felt like I was giving a mission briefing to the 203rd, back before they became routine.

I glanced to the side. Visha was standing next to me, wearing the unadorned flight suit that had served as her uniform while she was training the cadets. I was dressed similarly, in the hope that I would be able to get some flying in after the event. It was fun, on our way in, to watch as the students spotted Visha, started in recognition, and scampered out of her way. Usually I was the one who provoked that reaction.

I pitched my voice to make sure it wouldn't carry beyond the stage. "Did all of the remedial students make it through your training?"

"Yes," Visha said, her voice a little emotional. "There were a few close calls, but they all pulled through."

As expected, Visha had put in a heroic effort in order to give her students the best possible chance to succeed. It was hard to believe she was the same person as the little corporal who had to tag along behind me just to survive on the Rhine. At some point along the line, she'd grown up.

"That's a relief," I said. It would have broken her heart to have had to flunk out a student and deny them the chance to learn from experience the way that she had.

I pulled my attention back to the crowd in front of me and stepped to the front of the stage. It had been a little while since I'd had to rile up a live audience, but I still remembered the gist of it. First, speak from the diaphragm. Second, flattery.

"Congratulations!" I announced. "With these wings, you are no longer cadets. You are now aerial mages serving the Germanian Republic!"

I held up the aerial mage badge that graduates from the training course would be entitled to wear on their uniforms, a simple design in silver depicting a pair of wings supporting a computation orb. Training had been made much more rigorous, so it was only fair to award some kind of recognition to those who passed. As expected, my grandstanding brought a round of applause from the crowd.

"You have experienced the best training in the world. You will be issued the best computation orb in the world," I continued. "Those of you who go on to become officers will command the best mages in the world. All of you will have the privilege of flying alongside the best mages in the world."

That elicited another enthusiastic cheer. Everybody loved being flattered. I could have kept going in the same vein, but considering that these mages had volunteered to serve in the armed forces, I thought I owed them some honest warnings. It wouldn't do to have any of them claiming they had been recruited under false circumstances.

"Sadly, nothing is free in this world," I said. "Much has been given to you. Much will be expected from you."

They seemed to interpret this as just another lead in to a talk about how terrific they were. I couldn't help but smile at the naivete.

"You will take on the most difficult missions. You will fight in the most dangerous conditions," I said. "Your reward for a job well done will be another mission, just as perilous as the last. Once war begins, you will no longer be permitted to quit. You certainly won't be allowed to die, not while you're useful to the war effort."

It felt like just yesterday that I had been roped into the military through the combination of my inborn talent and the Empire's policy of conscription. While I still felt that I had been put in a situation that violated my fundamental human rights, after taking some time to reflect I thought I could have gotten over my frustration much more easily if we had just won the stupid war.

"You will fight in every theater of conflict. You will win. Your talents will be taken for granted," I continued. "Your advice will be ignored. Your superiors will expect your tactical excellence to overcome their strategic blunders."

The crowd looked more uneasy than excited, now. I may have been a little too honest. Glancing to the side, I saw the look Visha was giving me. Yes, I had definitely been too honest. That's the problem with public speaking, once you get your momentum going there's no telling where you'll wind up.

I cleared my throat and made sure the bitterness was gone from my tone when I continued.

"Of course, I hope it won't come to that," I said. "My job, after all, is to ensure peace, or failing that to provide a manageable war."

If I could somehow line up a war in which the Francois Republic was alone against us and a few allies, even a pacifist like myself would be happy to sign up for the one-sided romp. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the world would certainly gang up on us, again, should such a situation arise. Setting aside such flights of fancy, the more disturbing problem was that while I could attempt to create a situation where no rational opponent would declare war, other countries were under no obligation to act rationally.

"However, it only takes one willing participant to start a war. There's no telling what the future will bring," I continued. "Should you be called upon to defend Germania, remember this: you may be willing to die for your homeland. You may be happy to die for your friends. Your job, though, isn't to die for your country: it's to make some other poor son of a bitch die for his."

The single most important thing to consider in any battle is your own survival. Of course, you have to balance the immediate need to survive contact with the enemy against the need to survive any post combat inquiries, but that's just common sense. For some reason, the core component of my battlefield ethos was the one thing my subordinates never adopted for themselves. The new recruits, for example, just laughed at my comment, apparently confident in their own immortality.

As a battalion commander I had benefited from having so many gung-ho subordinates who were willing to get between me and the enemy. Now that I was a little further removed from the battlefield I was worried about the potential drain on human resources. Unfortunately, there was only so much I could do.

"Magic is not the most powerful tool in the nation's arsenal. It is, however, the most versatile. Almost every military mission can be carried out more effectively with the addition of aerial mages to the order of battle," I said. "While aerial mages are a small percentage of the troops marching under Germania's banner, you are a vital component of the military as a whole. Your performance will have an outsized influence on the fate of the nation."

If the recruits weren't going to take my advice to heart, then it was time to wrap this speech up. Naturally, that called for a return to flattery.

"The Empire's aerial mage program was ended by the Treaty of Triano," I continued. I paused for a moment to let the hissing die down. "Today, you become the foundation for an entirely new aerial mage force. The future of the corps is on your shoulders! The future of the country depends on the corps! I'll be counting on you."

There was a moment's pause before the newly minted aerial mages broke into enthusiastic applause. Yes, it was an easy crowd. Yes, they were obligated by our social positions to cheer. Yes, they were largely celebrating their own accomplishments. Still, I felt a warm glow as I basked in the moment. After all, everybody likes being flattered.

The glow had largely faded by the end of the ensuing ceremony, as the graduates came up one by one to receive their aerial mage badges. After spending so much time in politics, though, I didn't have any trouble keeping a smile on my face as I pinned silver wings on mage after mage. Finally, I finished with the last one and the new graduates were released to do what they had no doubt been eagerly awaiting this whole time: head out to party amongst themselves without any adult supervision.

Following the graduation ceremony, the new aerial mages were being given a week off. After that, officer training would begin for the fifty or so who had chosen that path, while the remaining half of the class would be in for more specialized practical training. Most of this group would be learning the ins and outs of marine magery. In an emergency, we could throw some wings together and expect the young officers to pick up the skill of leadership in the field, but we were aiming for a gentler, staged approach.

As for what they'd get up to over the next week, well, there were some things an intelligent superior officer didn't want to know.

I was more drained than I had expected. I begged off from the proffered tour of the academy and retreated to my temporary quarters. Visha had been given a small house on campus to use when she took on a teaching role, so it was simple enough to commandeer a bedroom and reproduce our usual living arrangement. Visha was even kind enough to requisition our dinner from the commissary.

Dinner was quiet. I didn't have much to say. Visha, who usually chattered enough for the both of us, kept biting her tongue and looking at me like a kicked puppy. There was a time when that would have worried me, but I'd learned over the years to let her work through her emotions on her own. Doing anything else would just leave me confused, at best.

She finally broke her silence when she returned to the table after putting away the dishes. "The war was hard for you."

I scoffed. That sort of attitude was understandable, if annoying, back when I was twelve. For Visha's protective instincts to reappear after all this time was a surprise.

"It was hard for everybody."

"You were always so confident," she said, eyes sparkling. "I never realized the weight of the burden on your shoulders."

Honestly, I had always found the burden of command to be overstated. Yes, if I screwed up and my incompetence got my subordinates killed, it would be a permanent mark against me. On the other hand, if my commander screwed up and got me killed, I'd be dead. A moment's thought showed which situation was the true burden. If anything, Visha had more of a claim for sympathy after I'd ordered her into combat over and over again. She didn't even have the Type 95 backing her up.

"I wouldn't have been much of a commander," I said, "if my subordinates could see me worry."

Visha smiled, though her expression was still suspiciously sympathetic.

"Was it like that the whole time?"

I paused for a moment to think. This whole can of worms had been opened up by the momentary weakness that had prompted me to reveal some of the bitterness lodged in my heart. Looking back, though, while the early years of the war had been dangerous, I had largely been satisfied with the war's progression. I had only started to sour on the Empire later, as things dragged on.

"After we'd been in the Southern Continent for a while," I said, "I began to doubt whether anybody in the Empire had a plan for ending the war."

"I remember you used to complain about how the war was going sometimes, but I never knew that it bothered you so much."

"Of course not," I said. If I had been such a blatant malcontent that Visha had noticed, somebody would certainly have had me court-martialed and executed in order to set an example. "Our job was to fight, not to second guess our superiors."

"In the end, though," Visha said, trailing off with a sigh.

"Yes," I said. "I hope I can spare those recruits from that kind of incompetence, at least."

My basic approach was similar to that of the Empire's General Staff: figure out a way to win the war, and surrender as soon as winning is impossible. The difference was that I didn't intend to play the role of the idiot on top of the chain who insisted on winning at all costs and refused to accept the inevitable. If the country ended up in an unwinnable war despite my best efforts, I planned to surrender as soon as my own personal comfort and safety could be assured.

"Just that much," Visha said. She seemed to be thinking back to my earlier speech. "You think they'll be forced to fight?"

Despite her naive appearance, Visha was clever in her own way. She'd be truly formidable if she didn't let her own emotions color her ability to analyze what other people were thinking.

"Unfortunately, yes. I will do my best to make attacking us a clearly unreasonable choice," I said. "But I can't stop other nations from doing something unreasonable."

I certainly wasn't going to attack anybody, but appeasement worked both ways. Just as I had been able to get away with flouting the Treaty of Triano without sparking another world war, I could hardly expect the rest of the world to jump in to protect Germania if one of our neighbors tried to expand at our expense. All I could do was build up a military and a web of alliances that would make any such invasion a losing proposition.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't want to send those young recruits off to war," Visha said. Apparently I hadn't done as well as I had thought in keeping my frustration out of my voice.

"Of course not," I replied.

If we went to war, we might lose. It would be a horrible stain on my record. Not to mention that I could even be in personal danger. I wouldn't put it past either the Rus or the Francois to put me through a show trial for some supposed crime against humanity. Savages.

We fell into a more comfortable silence. After a moment, Visha stood up and busied herself brewing our post-dinner coffee. I vaguely remembered studies from my previous life claiming that caffeine could stunt your growth. Even if that held true in this world of magic, that die had been cast long ago. I gratefully accepted my cup and blew across it before taking a sip.

"Those new recruits did seem young," I remarked. "I could almost smell their mother's milk."

Visha nodded. "It's a little strange, isn't it? Now we're actually older than the new recruits."

During the war, we had generally measured age by years of combat experience, rather than date of birth. Though others might have looked askance at the habit, I still thought it had made perfect sense.

Now, though, we were significantly older than most of the recruits by any measure. At twenty-four, I came in just under the age limit for new aerial mages. Visha would have been ineligible to enlist if not for her previous service.

Though I'd never really paid attention to it, at twenty-eight Visha was no longer a young girl. I probably hadn't noticed because she still looked closer to twenty than to thirty. Sometimes I suspected that heavy use of magical physical enhancement had some side effects. In any event, now that I thought about it, in this day and age it was surprising that she wasn't more focused on marriage.

"Well, it had to happen eventually," I said. "By the way, whatever happened to that man you were dating during the war?"

There had been a time, when the 203rd was suddenly called back from leave, that Visha had appeared in front of the troops with her makeup on. It had stuck in my mind because I had always felt a little guilty about interrupting her date. Obviously, that relationship hadn't worked out in the end. If it had ended badly, it might have soured her on marriage altogether.

"What?" Visha asked, her face going red. "I told you back then, you misunderstood."

She always got flustered when I asked about her personal life. I had always kept my distance when we were in the military. It was probably still bad form to pry, considering that I was technically her boss, but I didn't feel too guilty about it now that we were outside of the strict military chain of command. Besides, teasing her was fun.

"You say that," I said, "but you're blushing."

"I am not!" she protested, blushing harder. "Back then, I was called back from meeting with Elya."

Oh. Oh! No wonder she was so upset.

"I see," I said. "Well, I suppose that explains why neither of you is married."

Visha nodded, relaxing for an instant, then went stiff. "That's not right at all!"

Of course, in this day and age she would want to keep their love a secret. Germania was a relatively progressive country, but some things were still beyond what polite society would tolerate. Still, I didn't want Visha to feel like she had to hide that part of herself from me.

"I can understand why you'd want to keep things secret," I said, "but I support your relationship."

Visha didn't respond right away. Instead she paused and took a deep breath. I could almost hear her counting to ten in her head.

"That's kind of you, but there is no relationship," she said, completely calm. "Elya and I are friends. That's all."

I looked carefully into her eyes, and saw nothing but sincerity within. It seemed that I had misunderstood. How strange. Usually I had a pretty good read on people, especially after knowing them for a long time.

Well, nobody's perfect. This was still a fine opportunity for gossip.

"All right, all right," I said, raising my hands for a moment in mock surrender. "So, is there somebody you've had your eye on?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

Perhaps she was worried that I might think she was shirking her duties if she admitted to thoughts of romance.

"I know I can be a demanding boss," I said, "but if you need the chance to win over your true love I don't mind giving you some personal time."

"That," she said, stumbling over the words in her haste to get them out, "isn't necessary."

She was blushing again for some reason. It had been twenty four years since Being X had forced me into this new body, and I still didn't understand women.