"Whoa, this is... kinda plain."
"Yeah. Really plain."
The female line infantry chatted among themselves, clad in the new prototype uniforms. Their voices were light, unbothered, almost amused.
"Is this black? Or red?"
"Looks black to me."
"Hmm... but if you look close, doesn't it have a bit of purple in it? Maybe reddish-purple?"
The standard uniform of the 6th Special Task Brigade's female infantry had been changed to a deep, reddish-black. The trousers matched the jacket—a rarity in the Empire and its neighboring countries, where white pants remained the norm for line troops. That choice likely stemmed from practicality; dyeing thousands of trousers would cost too much.
In truth, the change had started from a petty bureaucratic complaint: "Women shouldn't be wearing the same uniforms as men."
Annoyed by the suggestion, I decided to roll with it. Fine then. I'll change it, you morons.
And just like that, a new uniform was born.
Honestly, petty politics like this were one of the Empire's many beloved traditions. It wasn't just the military—craftsmen's guilds, national churches, all of them indulged in pointless friction just like this.
I was still considering how to explain all that when Hannah raised her voice.
"Hey! Don't call it plain! This way, bloodstains won't show up, right?"
...Hannah. Please. There's a man standing right here.
The new uniform was designed to be a near-black shade, but pure black stood out too much on the battlefield. So instead, it leaned more toward a deep maroon. The dye just happened to be easy to acquire. Personally, though, it reminded me of the commuter train from my previous life—a color that always put me in a gloomy mood.
Wait... what was that train line called again? What station did I use the most?
The thought hit me like a cold wind. My memories of my previous life were fading. Not the factual ones—like scientific knowledge, that was still intact—but the daily, mundane memories were blurring bit by bit.
As I stood there lost in that uncomfortable realization, Hannah struck a pose with one hand on her hip and addressed the others.
"Didn't everyone complain about how white pants get stained too easily? That's why Staff Officer—"
"That's enough, Corporal Heiden."
At this rate, they'll start calling me some kind of bloodstain fetishist.
"I only acted on your suggestions," I told them evenly. "But the main objective was to lower visibility."
I addressed the female soldiers calmly.
"Dark colors are often called 'retreat colors.' They make things look smaller than they actually are. A soldier who appears smaller is more likely to be perceived as being farther away. In battle, that could mean the enemy hesitates to shoot, thinking their musket range won't reach."
Our female troops were already shorter than the male soldiers. Combined with these uniforms, they'd appear even farther away.
"To enhance that effect, we also removed those tall ceremonial caps. They were originally designed to make soldiers look bigger."
Back in my old world, they were called shakos. Stylish, maybe, but heavier than they looked. We replaced them with a lighter, modern design that reduced strain on the neck and preserved stamina for combat.
"Our goal is to confuse the enemy about our distance so we can engage them on more favorable terms."
Thanks to the visual trick, even at a distance of 50 meters, we'd still look like we were 60 meters away. At 60 meters, most enemy musketeers would hesitate—thinking the shot was still too far to hit.
And so, a women's line infantry unit had been born... wearing the color of an old railway.
"It's plain," Lieutenant Colonel Althea commented bluntly.
As the unit's Staff Officer, I replied.
"Even a flashy uniform only serves to intimidate. But we've seen plenty of that already, haven't we?"
"True. But does this make us stronger?"
I answered without hesitation.
"If winning wars was just about changing uniforms, we'd have peace by now. We're still deep in training."
But equipment reforms didn't stop there.
"We've submitted a request for new rifles. Once we receive them in sufficient numbers, we should be able to eliminate half a squad of enemy troops with a single preemptive volley."
"I see."
What I hadn't told anyone except the Lieutenant Colonel was that these weren't just standard rifles. They were rifled, and we'd be using acorn-shaped bullets—tripling both range and accuracy.
If the enemy advanced, assuming we were out of range, we could hit them at will. The war would become grotesquely one-sided.
At 50 meters—the effective range of a musket—nearly every shot would hit. After two or three volleys, the opposing unit would be decimated.
This one weapon could upend an entire century of warfare.
But if word got out, other nations would rush to produce their own. Line infantry in bright uniforms would become instant targets. A single mistake could lead to heaps of corpses in seconds.
And yet... this world wasn't ready. No Industrial Revolution. No modern logistics. If technology advanced too fast, civilization might not survive it.
That thought chilled me. So I made a quiet decision: I would limit its use. I'd aim for officers, signalmen, or specific threats—never full units.
"Our calculations show that if three of our squads engage with two and a half of theirs, we'll suffer fewer than half casualties, even if the enemy fights to the death."
"Are you serious?"
"In theory, yes."
In my old world, we had something called Lanchester's Law. It described how in firefights, even a small difference in troop strength can spiral into a huge advantage. Anyone who played strategy games would know it.
When I applied the math, this was the outcome.
Realistically, most enemies would retreat before total defeat. But we could still minimize our losses.
"If we cut them down to two squads before the firefight starts, we'll lose less than one squad ourselves. Reducing their numbers early is everything."
"I see," the Lieutenant Colonel murmured, her expression serious.
"Still, cavalry remains a threat. And artillery."
I nodded.
"Direct firefights are winnable in theory, but I'd rather rely on ambushes, raids, and long-range strikes. Let's pass the brunt of the damage onto other units where possible."
"Not a bad idea."
I wasn't trying to dump casualties on our allies. But the truth was... if someone had to take the hit, better them than us. War doesn't reward idealism.
Still, I added a warning:
"A single platoon, no matter how advanced, won't change the tide of a war. It should only be deployed when it can truly shift the balance."
"No need to say more," she replied. "It's my job to decide how to use them wisely."
With a sigh, Althea removed her cap.
"There's a lot to consider now. But with this, we can fight. You've done well, Second Lieutenant Krombelt."
"Just doing my duty," I replied.
Althea nodded in satisfaction.
Then, as if just remembering, she asked, "How's the rifle procurement going?"
Still worried about that, huh?
"It's slow," I admitted. "We're short on base cavalry rifles. They're not as common as standard infantry models, so there just aren't many suppliers to negotiate with."
In short, it's going to take time. The first batch is still far off...
Notes:
• Hannah - Hannah Heiden. Female. A Corporal in the 6th Special Task Brigade. Her appearance is tall with broad shoulders and a reverse triangle athletic build. She has a confident and assertive demeanor. Her relationship with Second Lieutenant Krombelts is initially formal but becomes more respectful after recognizing his rank. She is strong and capable, easily carrying heavy luggage.
• Althea - Colonel Althea Medelin. Female. Brigade Commander of the 6th Special Task Brigade. Young woman in her twenties with long black hair. Noble from the Medelin family, a rival to the Litreille clan. Professional and disciplined, yet approachable. Holds a high rank despite her age, indicating exceptional ability. Relationship: Superior to Euner Krombelts, welcomes him to the brigade.