The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Vol. 9: Omnes una Manet Nox, page 1
Copyright
The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Vol. 9
Carlo Zen
Translation by Emily Balistrieri
Cover art by Shinobu Shinotsuki
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
YOJO SENKI Vol. 9 Omnes una Manet Nox
©Carlo Zen 2018
First published in Japan in 2018 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.
English translation © 2022 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Yen On
150 West 30th Street, 19th Floor
New York, NY 10001
Visit us at yenpress.com
facebook.com/yenpress
twitter.com/yenpress
yenpress.tumblr.com
instagram.com/yenpress
First Yen On Edition: January 2022
Yen On is an imprint of Yen Press, LLC.
The Yen On name and logo are trademarks of Yen Press, LLC.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Zen, Carlo, author. | Shinotsuki, Shinobu, illustrator. | Balistrieri, Emily, translator. | Steinbach, Kevin, translator.
Title: Saga of Tanya the evil / Carlo Zen ; illustration by Shinobu Shinotsuki ; translation by Emily Balistrieri, Kevin Steinbach
Other titles: Yōjo Senki. English
Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen ON, 2017–
Identifiers: LCCN 2017044721 | ISBN 9780316512442 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316512466 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316512480 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316560627 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316560696 (v. 5 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316560719 (v. 6 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316560740 (v. 7 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975310493 (v. 8 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975310868 (v. 9 : pbk.)
Classification: LCC PL878.E6 Y6513 2017 | DDC 895.63/6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017044721
ISBNs: 978-1-9753-1086-8 (paperback)
978-1-9753-1051-6 (ebook)
E3-20211221-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter I: Erosion
Chapter II: The Home Front
Chapter III: Necessity Is the Mother of Invention
Chapter IV: Love from Underwater
Chapter V: Sightseeing
Chapter VI: At Dusk
Appendixes: Mapped Outline of History
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
[chapter] I Erosion
JUNE 29, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL CAPITAL BERUN
Rail plus road makes railroad. Much like the Royal Road or the Roman highways of yore, these are the arteries of states. In the modern day, railroads are aortas of steel spanning vast distances, linking cities to cities, and of course, the fatherland to the war front.
The railroad is notable for connecting critical points and facilitating the movement of goods and citizens. More importantly, it organically binds otherwise disparate entities into a nation-state.
To the Empire, a land-based military powerhouse, there could be no better method of wartime transport than rail. Resilient and reliable infrastructure is the cornerstone of any war machine.
That is what makes the railroad the source of our power.
So to call imperial capital Berun’s front door, Central Station, the heart that pumps life through its network of tracks and trains might even be an understatement.
After all, the level of strain this system is regularly subjected to would be far too much for a body of flesh and blood. It can only be sustained by a heart of steel, arterial railways, and a densely populated core that runs on steam.
As far as Tanya can tell from her view through the window of the passenger car, which is slowly pulling into the station, there is no end to the stream of arriving trains, passengers jumping on or off them, and people bidding them farewell.
Though it doesn’t quite live up to the flowery language featured in the newspaper she just hurled at an empty seat in disgust…the scene certainly does speak to the “strength of the Empire.”
Most of the cargo being loaded must be military supplies. Succinct proof that this state, the Empire, is steadily sending supplies to the front lines and receiving them from the factories.
The view of the hustle and bustle outside the first-class window is the same as always.
“I guess…I made it back.”
The deeply emotional words escape Tanya’s lips in a quiet murmur.
…What a fortunate turn of events that she was able to leave the eastern front before the dry season arrived, bringing with it renewed major combat operations. Though fierce fighting continues unabated on the eastern front, the military is at least maintaining the bare minimum of sending units back for reorganization and rest.
This is why even the veteran Lergen Kampfgruppe has gotten a chance to return home for recuperation and resupply. Maybe Lieutenant General Zettour is looking out for us more than I thought.
As if. Tanya smiles wryly. “Our losses are too high to be ignored. And considering how much heavy equipment we need to replace, there’s nothing special about being rotated out.”
Some heavy equipment needs to be transported separately, so Captains Ahrens and Meybert are buried in shipping documentation and requisition forms—all evidence that the bureaucracy is steadily working on our reorganization in the home country.
Knowing that it means parting from the yells of the Federation soldiers, their unending assaults, and their bizarrely well-armored arsenal, even my warmongers must be happy to dig into some paperwork for a change.
A light knock on the door interrupts those thoughts. The one requesting entry is First Lieutenant Serebryakov.
“Colonel, we’ve arrived!”
Beaming as she delivers her report, Tanya’s adjutant looks incredibly happy for some reason. Maybe it would be more accurate to say she’s carefree?
“Home at last.”
“Yes, it’s been so long since we were last in the capital. We finally made it back.”
Her subordinate’s voice is cheerful, but Tanya clearly isn’t in a good enough mood to smile back.
“This homecoming has its own share of issues. The temperature difference between the front lines and the rear may drive me insane.” Tanya points meaningfully at the newspaper she just cast aside as she continues. “When I read this, I didn’t get it at all.”
“…True, things have become a bit complicated.”
“Lieutenant, it is a form of kindness to call these people out for what they really are—idiots. I don’t know who censored this, but apparently the folks in the rear have no idea what the real world is like.”
While aboard the capital-bound train carrying us away from the east, some part of my mind had been blinded by the abstract idea of safety in the rear despite the weight of what Zettour had shared.
It was only after glancing through the newspaper being sold on the train that it became depressingly clear that I needed to revise my expectations.
“I can’t believe the nonsense running rampant in the rear. It’s staggering.”
We’ve been stuck playing with the Commies in a salient on the forward-most lines, so I suppose an information gap reminiscent of Urashima Taro was unavoidable.
“On the front lines, so far removed from civilization, there’s no ready access to periodicals or news. But reading one now makes me feel like I’m going insane. Did the war break me, or did those in the rear lose their minds at some point while I wasn’t looking? What do you think?”
“…Ah…ha-ha-ha-ha.”
“How can anyone be talking about the superiority of the Imperial Army in the east with a straight face? According to this reporter, we’re enjoying three hot meals of meat and hearty soup every day on the eastern front… Where the hell was I when that happened?”
Surely even my wincing adjutant understands. Censorship only allows the officially sanctioned version of events to be reported.
“Maybe we should invite the censors for a tour. I wouldn’t mind letting them see what our meals are like for a day.”
It’ll be nothing but trouble unless they start facing reality.
Of course, Tanya doesn’t need anyone to tell her that wartime newspapers are hopelessly biased and packed to the gills with propaganda.
Moreover, I’ve known since long ago that they generally end up being excessively patriotic or hopelessly pro-war due to the naïveté of censors. Even though it’s been a while since I’ve gotten my hands on a newspa
I thought I would simply have to read between the lines. To anyone with a bit of sense, the truth should be self-evident.
Except it wasn’t.
If it were an article with an unacceptable tone, that would’ve been unpleasant but still tolerable. How to interpret the truth is a matter of an individual’s conscience and intelligence, after all. Freedom of thought must be respected.
That’s all fine and good.
If that was it, there wouldn’t be any problem at all.
The description of meals made the whole article sound like a report from HQ. When even descriptions of imperial achievements and the overall state of the war litter the page with half-truths, I want to groan regardless of who may be watching.
The moment the paper landed in my hands, I nearly ripped it apart in anger but instead hurled it at my puzzled subordinate and called the orderly on duty to demand, “Either you bring hot soup and meat for all my troops, or you round up every newspaper on this train for me.” The natural response was a mountain of papers.
In other words, there would be no grand meal forthcoming. Upon amassing every newspaper on the train, anyone observing Tanya would probably describe her expression as a fearsome scowl. What a perfect face for disembarking in the supposedly pleasant rear.
“Lieutenant, propaganda is supposed to persuade others, no?”
“Ummm, yes.”
“Well, it appears that somewhere along the way, the propagandists started believing their own made-up material. This is what it means to be beyond saving.”
The idea of cultivating a spirit of perseverance to support the war effort isn’t a bad idea in and of itself. But anyone returning from the front is almost guaranteed to have a thing or two to say after reading articles that claim they were fed three hot meals a day and all the meat they could eat.
“Haaah.” A heavy sigh escapes Tanya as she rises from her seat.
“…Sorry to bore you with my complaints.”
“No, the disparity between the mood on the front and in the rear is very palpable… I understand how you feel, ma’am.”
Between the polite smile and the way she replied, Tanya’s adjutant really knows how to get along with people. In other words, she’s capable…but not everyone is the same.
Tanya’s subordinates are human, too. That is say, they are unique individuals. Even war nuts come in different flavors. Maybe that’s why…
“Ah,” she says, remembering something. “My life would be much easier if everyone were as sharp as you, Lieutenant. Make sure everyone in the Kampfgruppe is properly briefed before they go on leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Just as Tanya is replying—“Good”—she hears a cheer go up from outside the car. The soldiers must be excited setting foot in the homeland for the first time in ages.
I understand that feeling very well.
“Sounds like everyone has deboarded. We should also get a move on.”
Tanya is an officer returning from the front lines, so her personal effects are in her officer’s luggage, while any loot that might have counted as a souvenir from the eastern front is packed with the rest of the Kampfgruppe’s gear.
Meaning all there is left to do is grab her bag.
Then, ignoring the step, which is a bit high given her height, Tanya jumps down to the platform, solidly planting her feet on home soil.
The beloved fatherland.
The safe rear.
It’s what everyone longs for.
Of course, Tanya is no exception. Every day away felt like a thousand years, and she even saw this moment in her dreams.
“Excuse me, are you part of the Lergen Kampfgruppe? Er, can you direct me to an officer?”
“Hrm? You’re not part of the General Staff, are you?”
“I’m with the Reichsbahn… May I have a word?”
“I’m leaving it in your hands, Lieutenant.”
Letting my adjutant handle it, I once again fall deep into thought. I’ve been distracted by the idea of three hot meals, but too many other things require my attention. Yet, on the eastern front, the all-too-crucial free time had been in desperately short supply.
Readiness is born from redundancy. To achieve maximum performance, one must pursue both efficiency and redundancy.
It’s precisely because I don’t have to worry about an enemy attack that I can think clearly.
Of course, I’m not advancing a worthwhile project, or doing human resource planning with an eye on a hopeful future, or even brainstorming a corporate-branding strategy that will contribute to society—no, I’m spending all my time pondering an utterly unproductive war.
What a waste of intellectual labor. The fact that it’s unavoidable is especially loathsome.
It’s simple enough to start a war. Any fool can do it by firing a single bullet.
Just look at Sarajevo.
Even a wise man can be killed as the result of mindless stupidity. And the fool responsible rarely cares what the consequences are. It’s precisely because they’re so brain-dead that they’re capable of pulling the trigger in the first place.
People with unshakable convictions have dreamed of steeling themselves and reluctantly starting a just war since time immemorial. An idiot too certain of their righteousness and drunk on their personal brand of justice is sure to cause an awful lot of trouble for the world.
It’s simple really—a rat race between dimwits acting like buffoons and the cleaners who have to go in and mop up the mess they leave behind.
Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff stands on the military platform in the imperial capital with only one thought on her mind: When a person becomes convinced they are the only sane person left, what sort of diaper should they have on hand?
This isn’t childcare or a nursery. Why should I have to worry about this sort of thing? Despite the outward frown, when I recall the anxiety I felt about socks on the eastern front, I resign myself to the notion that work will always creep in unexpected directions.
“…Well, damn, this is pessimistic even for me.”
I manage to avoid sighing in front of the troops, but I’ve been bottling up so many worries that I’m almost convinced my mind is experiencing global warming. At least I don’t have to worry about getting hit with a carbon tax.
Shaking her head and looking up, Tanya notices her adjutant coming back. Personnel who move with such urgency are hard to find.
But the report she hurriedly brings back isn’t a good one.
“Colonel, the General Staff dispatched trucks for us, but…apparently they’re running late.”
“What?” Tanya reverts her partially furrowed brow. “Ah, never mind. Thanks, Lieutenant. We can wait here, then.”
Needless to say, tardiness is inexcusable. Being on time is essential to the smooth operation of any enterprise. And in the military, it’s practically law. But this is the General Staff we’re talking about. Presumably, there’s a reason they’re behind schedule.
Snapping at the people who are hard at work won’t change anything.
Anyone who blames the messenger for bad news is either stupid, inept, or irresponsible—in any case, they’re fools fit for the firing squad.
Putting that aside, it’s time to get down to business.
“Lieutenant, see if the Reichsbahn has somewhere specific they’d like us to wait. We’re a large group. If we stay on the platform, we’ll be in the way.”
“Yes, ma’am. Shall I also proceed with sending our cargo along?”
“Fine by me. And if necessary, start making arrangements for granting the troops leave, too. That includes issuing the relevant paperwork.”
Time shouldn’t be wasted. We have to do what we can when we can.
“Most of it probably has to go through the General Staff, but let’s at least confirm with the Reichsbahn that there are seats for people traveling home. It’s one thing to say there’s enough space; it’s another to actually know if we’ll be able to fit our people on the trains.”
“Then I’ll look into the long-distance trains first.”
“Hmm. For now, we can probably have the soldiers apply themselves. If it’s for leave, even the ones who hate paperwork will probably fill out the forms correctly.”
I want time off, too. I need to turn in my own request.
If Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff hands them to Colonel Lergen, and the application is approved in his name, even she should be able to secure some form of vacation.
