The Most Beautiful Christmas Gift
"No, no, sir! It's… look up! Look at the sky!"
Veeeeeeeeeeng!!
The sound reached us almost at the same instant. It was nothing like the growl of tank engines — not a vibration crawling along the ground, but the roar of massive engines plunging down from above the grey, cloud-choked sky.
"Wha…?"
Hannah lifted her head and gazed into the sky, thick with swirling snow dust. Piercing through the ashen smoke and the falling snow, enormous birds of prey with deep green wings spread wide were descending upon us like messengers of Christmas itself.
Keeeeeeeeeeeen—!
A shriek that raised every hair on my spine. A metallic scream as if the sky itself were being torn apart swept across the ruins of Rosenheim, and every man — Imperial and Republican alike — threw back his head and stared upward.
No one could tear their eyes from the green spectacle plunging vertically through the snowfall.
Kugugugung! Kwaang!
The dropped 250-kilogram bombs landed squarely on the backs of Republican tanks parked amid the rubble. The steel monsters that had tormented us for three days flipped over helplessly in the white snowfield and bloomed into crimson flowers of flame.
Shuuuuuuung───!
The attack runs came one after another. The ground-attack aircraft swept over our heads at barely a few dozen meters' altitude — so low that the heat of their engines briefly brought feeling back to the tip of my nose.
Drurrrrrrrk—! Kwakwakwang!
A strafing barrage flipped the streets of Rosenheim inside out in an instant. Republican infantrymen taking their rest were shredded into lumps of meat before they could even scream. Above us, hot shell casings rained down mingled with the snow.
"……The Luftwaffe."
With someone's murmured awe, the master of the sky changed hands. Emblazoned on those wings gleamed the black Iron Cross.
"WAAAAAH!"
"It's the Air Force! The Air Force came!"
The soldiers cheered, waving their rifles. But the true spectacle came after.
Through the gap the attack aircraft had carved, more colossal shadows broke through the clouds. Too low, too slow, for bombers.
"Tr-, transport planes! Supplies! The presents are coming! Santa Claus is!! coming!!!"
What filled the sky above Rosenheim was a formation of massive transports. Boldly, they dropped their altitude, split open their bellies, and began to pour out countless parachutes.
Shuuuuu— pop. Pop.
Black specks fell from the sky like rain. White parachutes drifted down over the ruins of Rosenheim like dandelion seeds.
The most beautiful Christmas gift to descend upon a hellish battlefield.
Thud. Thud. Thud!
Right in front of the bakery where we were sheltering, a large wooden crate slammed down without fail atop a heap of piled snow.
Ku—ung!
Kurt burst through the snow like a madman, ripped the crate open, and screamed.
"Am-, ammunition! Rifle rounds, grenades…!"
"Medical supplies too! Bandages! Morphine!"
"Captain! Look at this, sir! It's real! It's not a dream!"
The soldiers clutched the supplies to their chests and burst into tears.
I staggered toward the crates. Inside were 88mm armor-piercing shells, packed full, their surfaces gleaming with a fresh coat of oil.
And beside it sat a single, elegantly wrapped box, tied with a needlessly luxurious red ribbon.
◆ Imperial Court Exclusive Roast — Eisenburg's Dawn ◆
"Heh…. He actually sent it."
On the lid, alongside the Imperial crest, a short message was inscribed.
To the Hero of the Empire, Captain Max Jäger.
Return before the coffee loses its flavor. — P.V.L.
I let out a hollow laugh and picked up the coffee box. I opened the tin and dumped the fragrant grounds straight into my mouth. Hot water would have been a luxury. The bitter, acrid powder scraped its way down my throat — but the aroma alone conjured the illusion of sitting in one of Eisenburg's finest cafés.
Call it what you will — it was unbearably sweet.
"Ugh…."
It felt as though my nervous system, mere moments from shutdown, was being forcibly jolted awake.
At the same moment, Hermann's laughter crackled through the radio.
The radio rang so loud I half-feared it would break.
"Excellent. Now we begin the counterattack."
"With pleasure!"
I set down the receiver and glared at the enemy lines ahead. The Republican positions had been turned to rubble by the bombardment, and they were floundering in full-blown panic.
Status Analysis.
Name: Rémond
Condition: Confused
Name: Just
Condition: Terrified
Name: Louis
Condition: PANIC STATE
Emotion: Frozen by the fear that the 7th Brigade cannot be killed
It was perfect timing.
"All personnel, to your positions."
Wiping the coffee grounds from my lips and the frozen blood from my face, I picked up my rifle once more.
"Let's give them a Christmas they'll never forget."
KWAAANG!
The 88mm anti-aircraft gun spat fire once more. Not the counterfeit rounds I had conjured, but genuine armor-piercing shells, precision-machined in the Imperial armories.
Kwajik!
"They punch through like tofu!"
Major Hermann's flak battery gleefully worked their triggers, hammering away. Now that even air superiority had changed hands, every last 88 was being turned against ground targets.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Infantry! Push the infantry in too!"
"WAAAAAH!"
"For the Empire!"
"Long live His Majesty the Emperor!"
Not only our own company — the surviving remnants came pouring out of rat holes in every direction.
"Eat your fill and die, you bastards!"
Ratatatatatata!
"Retreat! Fall back!"
Republican soldiers in a panic scrambled to turn tail and run — but there were Imperial troops at their backs as well.
A cold voice through the radio. It was Seraphina.
"Welcome, Major. Herd them our way — we'll make a sandwich of them."
I commanded while watching the Minimap.
"Gunter! Take 1st Squad and seal off the alley on the right! Drive them into the central square!"
"Yes, sir! We'll slaughter the lot of them!"
The rat trap had become a colossal grinding machine. Gunfire crackled anew across the city, and screams echoed through the streets.
And then, the decisive moment.
Kugugugugu….
A vibration that shook the very earth rose from behind our lines. I squinted toward the horizon.
Across the white snowfield, a great army of steel flew the black Iron Cross banner. The Imperial 1st Armored Division — the elite mechanized force known as the Emperor's Own Guard had arrived.
"We didn't even need to step forward, it seems."
I let out a dry chuckle. Soon the massive column of steel swept past our company.
Or — it only seemed to sweep past.
KEEEEEEN!
The lead tank ground to a halt. The dozens of tanks following it, as if on cue, all cut their engines in unison.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The hatches of countless tanks opened at once. Emerging from them were tank commanders in immaculate dress uniforms — the elites of the Imperial 1st Armored Division, so proud and pristine it bordered on arrogance, without a single stain of oil on their uniforms.
They looked down at us. At us — the gutter rats caked in sewer filth, smeared in blood, trembling blankly where we stood.
But what filled their eyes was not contempt.
"All units! Right face!"
Someone's command split the ruins apart.
"Present arms to the heroes who defended the Empire!"
Snap—!
Hundreds of tank commanders raised their hands in unison. A salute so mechanically precise it sent chills down the spine — proof that the legendary title of Emperor's Own Guard was no idle boast.
And that salute was aimed solely at us.
At us, the heroes of Rosenheim, who had been thrown into the battlefield without so much as a moment's respite, who had ground three days and nights out of our very lives to hold it.
Soon, the door of the command armored car opened.
What stepped down was a two-star general. The commander of the 1st Armored Division — and without hesitation, he planted his boots directly onto the ground of Rosenheim, where mud and fragments of corpses lay strewn.
Thud. Thud.
He walked right up to me, slowly sweeping his gaze over me and the company soldiers sprawled at my feet as if to commit them to memory. Then, very slowly, he raised his hand in salute.
"Forgive us for being late."
He spoke with utter sincerity.
"By His Majesty the Emperor's command, I have come to receive the Hero of the Empire."
…So the day would come when a general saluted me. Incredible.
But I smirked and returned a half-hearted salute on wobbling legs.
"Never mind the hero business — just give us more coffee. It must be precious stuff, because there wasn't nearly enough of it."
At my quip, the general's expression twisted strangely for a moment — and then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! So this is what a hero looks like!"
He gripped my shoulder tightly.
"That's right, lad. Worry no more — leave the cleanup to us. It wouldn't do to run the Hero of the Empire into the ground, now would it?"
"That's a relief to hear…."
With those words, the general climbed back into his armored car.
"All forces! Advance! Let the revenge for Rosenheim begin!"
The tanks, their hatches now sealed, surged forward as one.
KWAAAAANG!
There was not a flicker of hesitation in their movement. The tanks poured their main guns and machine cannons into every pile of rubble, every building, every trench where Republican soldiers might be hiding as they rolled on.
Bang! Kwakwabang!
An avalanche of overwhelming firepower. However superior the Republic's technology and tactics might have been to the Empire's, there was no holding this back. The enemy was already shredded ragged by our resistance and the surprise air strike — and their opponent now was a fresh, elite Imperial armored division at full strength.
"Fire! FIRE!"
"GYAAAAH!"
Here and there, sporadic resistance stopped an Imperial tank or two — but it was nowhere near enough to turn the tide. It was like watching a colossal tidal wave sweep away a mound of garbage.
Inside the Minimap, the seething mass of red dots began to vanish like an ebbing tide.
"Ah….."
The instant I saw it, the tension drained out of me like a snapped cord.
Skill Strong Mind is currently active.
Skill Strong Mind is forcibly maintaining consciousness.
Skill Strong Mind is suppressing physical pain.
Skill Strong Mind is preventing shock.
Strong Mind flooded my vision with noisy alerts. But it was nowhere near enough to keep me on my feet. This was a skill that hardened the mind, not one that turned me into a superhuman.
"Hnnk…."
Every pain I had been ignoring burst through the dam all at once. The backlash of forcing open my mana circuits, of pushing Material Conversion to its absolute limit — and beyond that, frostbitten toes, shrapnel-scraped wounds, the scream of a brain that hadn't slept for days on end.
My legs gave out. My vision spun, and the world tilted. The white snowfield touched my cheek like a soft bed. The fact that snow which should have been freezing felt warm told me just how far gone I truly was.
"KYAAAAH! Captain, no—!!"
Hannah's scream was the last thing I remembered.
With a faint smile, I closed my eyes.
…Not a bad Christmas, all things considered.