The Battle Chronicle of St. Gloriana Girls' Academy

Stories

## Illustrations

## Episode One: The Young Ladies Assembled in the Garden of Black Tea

In the quiet forest aboard the academy ship, the deep bass of a Bedford twin six-cylinder engine rolled out—the Churchill. An opposed engine made by pairing two inline-sixes is a distinctly British arrangement, and its output is the genuine article.

After it came the note of the AEC inline-six carried by the famous red London double-deckers—the Matilda II, using the same type of engine as the London buses of the day. Set beside the Bedford, the sound is far lighter. Against that, the metallic scrape of track on ground is the noisier of the two.

The infantry tanks in which Britain takes pride gallop today as well, elegant and splendid, through the forest of the academy ship.

As if at a fleet review, the column never loses its dressing. They advance at an infantry tank’s maximum speed on the sole condition that the black tea the crews hold as dear as life itself does not spill. That is the British manner.

However urgent the moment, even in a storm of fire they never yield to panic, but charge the objective with a steady will. In a school such as this, there is no student who would show the unsightly fluster of being thrown into disorder.

Heirs to the fine tradition of their British partner school, they are one of the houses of long history and standing upon the way of sensha-dō.

Widely known as one of the few aristocratic girls’ academies in the country, it has even counted royalty and foreign nobility among its students.

Regrettably, though, they are often stopped short on the road by a perennial champion such as Kuromorimine…

## Episode Two

The students of St. Gloriana stared, all attention, at the match board on the great screen in the hall.

As the broadcast went on, newly drawn school names appeared one by one upon the bracket. Seeing the name of the opposing school, everyone let out a breath.

“Our opponent is BC Freedom Academy.”

At Orange Pekoe’s report, Darjeeling gave a slight nod.

“Oarai’s turn hasn’t come yet?”

“Does it weigh on you?”

“A little.”

Six blanks remained. If Oarai’s opponent were Yogurt Academy, then once they had finished with BC Freedom, their next opponent would very likely be Oarai.

Of course, in Darjeeling’s mind—no, in the thinking of every student of the Garden of Black Tea—the possibility that St. Gloriana might lose to BC Freedom did not exist. This was not pride. It was a fair judgment made from the standpoint of strength: the conclusion of a cool British analysis.

Just then, cheers and cries of dismay crossed in the hall.

“What was that?”

“Kuromorimine’s opponent is settled. Hmm. It seems to be Chi-Ha-Tan.”

“Then the cry just now must have come from Chi-Ha-Tan.”

Assam looked up toward the section where the Chi-Ha-Tan students stood. It looked like one great mass of brown. But what met the eye, against expectation, was the Chi-Ha-Tan students shouting banzai.

“Eh? What are they so pleased about?”

“I understand that school’s way of thinking less and less…”

Orange Pekoe said she was as puzzled as Assam.

“The cry just now seems to have come from some other school in Block B.”

The four strong schools assigned to the upper bracket are split evenly to either side…

## Episode Three

The hall’s huge screen showed that of Saunders’s ten tanks, nine had been sent into the forest to encircle Oarai.

At this bold use of force, the spectators cheered in excitement. In the section where Saunders’s cheering squad sat, especially, a military band struck up a rousing march while the cheerleaders flourished the pom-poms in their hands.

Music and cheering were so loud that even Darjeeling and her company, far from the stands, could hear them.

“Well then. What do they mean to do next?”

Darjeeling studied the fight with interest.

To cut off the Panzer IV’s way out of the forest, two Shermans closed in from the outside.

“They’re completely surrounded.”

Unease rose on Orange Pekoe’s face.

“Yes. Drop speed even a little, and they’ll be caught in a pincer at once.”

Suddenly the Panzer IV, accelerating to the head of the column, ignored the enemy’s fire and kept gaining speed, forcing a passage through the gap between the Shermans. Perhaps startled by that momentum, the Shermans did not draw the space between them tight, and the Panzer IV went through.

Orange Pekoe, who had held her breath without thinking, let it out at last. Darjeeling lifted her cup with elegance and took a sip of black tea.

“Darjeeling, a note from Gelin.”

In the lull, Assam passed a document forward from behind.

“Gelin? What is it?”

The paper opened quietly. Inside was the result of the match between Yogurt and Waffle.

“A Yogurt victory, as expected. But their new vehicle…?”

“Yogurt’s new tank…”

## Episode Four

“Still, this P40 they call a secret weapon—is it really so formidable a tank? All those rivets. Ought one to call the design new, or old?”

To Darjeeling’s confident remark, Orange Pekoe tipped her head and offered her own view.

Darjeeling smiled with meaning. “Stronger than Oarai’s Panzer IV. That would be the fairer way to put it.”

“Mm. True enough. On the figures it ought to sit between the Panzer IV and the Sherman, shouldn’t it? That sloped frontal armor—hit it with a Matilda’s two-pounder, and it may truly be hard to punch through.”

“On the way of sensha-dō, an excellent commander and crew, paired with a tank whose performance will bear showing, multiply the richness of one’s tactics.”

“An excellent commander?”

“Yes. It is not only Oarai. Anzio, too, after losing their opening match three years running, at last beat Maginot with strength of that kind.”

“I haven’t read the match report yet. How did Anzio and Maginot actually fight?”

“Maginot was as ever: heavies and lights combined in a formation that prizes defense. Anzio disturbed them with a tankette raid, then closed to hand-to-hand and broke the enemy flag tank. That was the whole of it.”

Darjeeling explained the battle. Neither side had brought anything very new. That Anzio could win across a gap in strength like that—was it good luck, or a misstep by Maginot? Orange Pekoe could not help thinking so.

“Maginot and Anzio both fought about as they do every year, didn’t they?”

“Maginot goes without saying. As for Anzio, though the lineup has…”

## Episode Five

On paper the difference in vehicle speed is not so great, but for sensha-dō tanks that are almost always on the move, that gap cannot be taken lightly. The faster side finds the enemy sooner, makes contact sooner, and takes the better firing position. In every respect the advantage lies with speed.

More than that: speed matters, but acceleration and burst of power matter more. Suppose a tank can reach sixty at its maximum, yet needs an hour to get there. That is meaningless.

Even if top speed is a little lower, strong acceleration still shows well in mobility, so every school prizes improvement on that point, and the mechanics labor at it without pause.

Sensha-dō does not require a vehicle to run for long. At the extreme, it need only run for the time it is on the field. So the tanks that enter are, like racing machines, worked until the engine’s power is pressed to the limit.

Lightening the load is part of the work of gaining speed. A Churchill VII carries eighty rounds; as a rule they take only half, since in an actual match it is nearly impossible to fire them all away.

A full fuel load is 692 liters, about five hundred kilograms in weight. That is a certain mass, certainly, and yet almost no school will cut the fuel any further.

Even so, it must be said that schools in the past did reduce both ammunition and fuel to a very hard limit for the sake of weight. Halfway through a match the tank ran dry and stalled, or ran out of shells…

## Final Episode

Darjeeling glanced at her watch, took up the radio handset, and raised her right hand, circling her index finger. At the signal, Orange Pekoe inclined her head to show she understood, and switched the channel so the transmission would reach every vehicle.

“This is Anna Maria. How stand the preparations for afternoon tea?”

The tanks reported to Darjeeling one after another.

“The sandwiches and the cucumbers are gone.”

“The scones are not baked yet.”

“The cream is ready. No trouble at any time.”

“The cake is finished.”

“The jelly is done as well.”

“Ham, egg, and cheese are prepared.”

“There isn’t enough almond paste.”

“The cream puffs haven’t risen yet.”

When every report was in, Darjeeling gave the next order. “Understood. The guests will be here at once. Do not let the preparations slacken.”

“Understood!”

“There. It is time for a pleasant tea.”

Darjeeling hung up in high spirits. Orange Pekoe looked at her, a little surprised. “Lady Darjeeling, I was thinking of it again before the match. Is there any point to a cipher as odd as this?”

“Heh. Even if someone is listening in, they won’t make out the meaning.”

Darjeeling was thoroughly pleased with herself, but Orange Pekoe still threw cold water on it. “No… I think anyone could understand that much.”

Assam said, coolly, “A cipher can be made more complex, of course. But if you do not disguise it as an ordinary transmission, and instead say something wholly different, then it has no point.”

Still fixed on the sight, Assam spoke the knowledge she had learned in Section 6 of the Intelligence Processing Faculty.

Darjeeling, much interested, turned her head…