ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINE DAYS TILL I END MY SERVICE! FUCKIN' GLORY TO THE SPEARHEAD SQUADRON!
In the back of the weatherworn barracks' hangar, a countdown message was scrawled in big letters with colored chalk on a blackboard someone had picked up. Raising his eyes from the clipboard in his hands, Shin's gaze was met with this celebratory sentence. There would have been 119 days left, to be exact. Kujo had jotted this message down the day he joined the squadron and updated it every morning.
But Kujo'd died ten days ago.
Glancing briefly at the interrupted countdown message, Shin eventually shifted his attention back to the maintenance report on the clipboard he was holding. He'd been walking down the hangar lined with Juggernauts on standby, making his way to his own unit, which had just finished being serviced.
He had a Pyrope's bloodred eyes and an Onyx's jet-black hair. These two traits came from his noble, mixed, half-Aquila, half-Rubela blood and set him apart from the other Eighty-Six, who generally fell under the category of Colorata.
His calm expression, unbefitting his age, gave his handsome features a certain cold quality, and his slender build and pale features were characteristic of the old Empire's nobility.
Despite serving on the eastern front, which consisted mostly of forests, prairies, and strips of wetland, he wore a desert-camouflage uniform with shades of sandy brown and gray, which he'd gotten from the Republic's unsold stocks. There were no officers to rebuke him for it, so he kept his collar loose, with a sky-blue scarf wrapped around his neck peeping out of it.
The sound of machinery and the maintenance crew's shouts echoed loudly through the operating hangar, mixing with the cheers of a few of his comrades playing two-on-two basketball in the plaza in front of the hangar and a guitar strumming out a jingle from an old cartoon. Fellow squad member Kino, seated in his own unit's cockpit with its canopy open and reading a porno magazine, noticed Shin passing by and raised his hand in greeting.
Despite it being the front lines, on days without sorties, the base's personnel tended to become rather bored. Usually, they were required to patrol the contested zones every day, but they never did, as there was no need. Still, on paper and according to the reports they submitted to the Handlers, they should currently be in the middle of patrol.
Some of them who felt like going for a walk were out in the ruins of nearby cities, scavenging for materials. Everyone else was doing their chores (cooking, laundry, cleaning, or tending to the fields and the chickens at the back of the base) or otherwise just passing the time however they pleased.
The sound of rugged military boots approached him, and a thick voice shook the hangar with a roar that would make even a tank stop in its tracks.
"Shin! Shinei Nouzen! Ya fucked it all up again, ya little shit!"
Kino jumped out of the cockpit and scurried into the shadows like a startled cockroach while Shin patiently waited for the voice's owner to approach him.
"What's up?"
"Don't you 'What's up?' me, Undertaker! Fuckin' hell!"
The person who closed in on Shin like a crazed hellhound was a fifty-something-year-old member of the maintenance crew. His hair was a grizzled graying-ash color, and he wore sunglasses and oil-stained work clothes. It was Lev Aldrecht, the Spearhead squadron's maintenance division captain. Shin, who was about to turn sixteen this year, was considered a veteran among the soldiers on the battlefield, but Aldrecht went straight beyond veteran and into senior territory, being a survivor who'd served in the war nine years ago.
"Why d'ya gotta wreck your unit every friggin' time ya sortie?! The actuator and damper are rattlin' all over the place! I keep tellin' ya the suspension unit's weak, so why d'ya keep pushin' it like that?!"
"I'm sorry."
"You think yer apology's gonna fix this?! I ain't telling you to apologize—I'm telling you to change yer ways! That crazy fightin' style of yours is gonna get ya killed one day! We're outta spare parts, so I can't fix yer rig until we restock!"
"My spare?"
"Ah, yeah, the spare. We do have a spare, don't we? Gotta have one when the captain keeps trashing his rig left and right. Ya come to us for repairs three times more than any other Processor. D'ya think yer some kind of prince or somethin'?! Huh?!"
"The Republic abolished the class system in the revolution three hundred years ago."
"Son, I have half a mind to beat the piss outta you right now… Considerin' how fast ya trash your units, unless we getcha three rigs to ride in, there's no way we can keep up with repairs. When ya consider the amount of time till we get restocked compared to how often you guys sortie, there's no way we can keep up! Whaddaya expect me to do, pray real hard so yer rig doesn't break? Or maybe pray to the scrap-metal fairies to collect yer bits and pieces, huh?!"
"Didn't Fido retrieve Kujo's unit?"
Aldrecht fell silent at Shin's matter-of-fact tone.
"Well, yeah, I could take the parts I need from Kujo's rig…but I'd rather avoid cannibalizin' other units. I mean, are ya okay with that? I'd be puttin' parts from a unit that got someone killed in yer rig."
Shin tilted his head and knocked on his Juggernaut's—Undertaker's—armor with the back of his hand. Beneath the canopy was his Personal Mark, a headless skeleton carrying a shovel.
Aldrecht smirked bitterly.
"Yeah, too late for that, I suppose… Ain't that right, Undertaker?"
Nodding pensively, the aged mechanic looked at the spring fields spreading out beyond the open shutters. A cloudless sky stretched out overhead, its azure hues seeming as if they would consume any- and everything. The fields of blue cornflowers and the greenery of new leaves blanketed the plains with a mesmerizingly beautiful mosaic. This served as the grave marker for the skeletons of millions of Eighty-Six who'd died on the battlefield.
The Eighty-Six weren't buried in graves. There could be no graves when there were no casualties. Even collecting their remains was forbidden. Pigs masquerading as humans were denied the right to rest in peace, or even the right to mourn their dead comrades. This was the world their motherland fabricated nine years ago, the facade they maintained even now.
"I hear Kujo got blown to bits."
"Yeah."
A self-propelled mine—a badly made antipersonnel weapon consisting of a fuselage filled with explosives, with rod-shaped limbs and a spherical head, undetectable from afar by the naked eye. One had latched onto Kujo, who'd mistaken it for an injured soldier. It had been a nighttime battle, a mission to rescue another unit.
"That's good. Means he passed on."
"Probably."
Shin believed not in heaven or hell, but in someplace else that wasn't here. Somewhere they could go back to. Aldrecht laughed deeply.
"Kujo was lucky that in the end he got to be in the same unit as you… And so are they."
They could hear voices cheering excitedly outside as the ball rattled the torn net. The guitar's off-tune chorus echoed all the way back to the fields behind the barracks. Aldrecht knew this was a sight you couldn't find in any other squadron.
Sortie after sortie. Daily patrols in anticipation of a Legion attack. Suspense and fear gradually wore down the Processors' nerves as they lost more and more comrades with every passing battle. In such an extreme situation, where living to see the next morning was the best one could do, they didn't even have the luxury to consider amusement or a humane lifestyle. But that wasn't true for this squadron. Even if they did have to go on the offensive, they never had to worry about a surprise attack.
"…It's thanks to you they can live like this, Shin."
"But I still give you guys three times the amount of repair work compared to a normal Processor."
Aldrecht chuckled loudly. Shin gazed back into the pair of eyes looking at him bitterly from behind the sunglasses and shrugged.
"I swear, you little shit… Thought I finally got you to crack a joke, and that's what you come up with."
"I really do feel sorry, even if I can't act on that apology."
"Ya damn idiot. Makin' sure you kids come back alive is the maintenance team's job. Long as we can make sure that happens, we don't give a rat's ass about what happens to the units, and we'll do whatever we gotta do to get 'em back in workin' order."
Having said that in one go, Aldrecht turned to look the other way. He was apparently embarrassed.
"Oh, right. I heard yer Handler got changed again. What's the new one like?"
There was a pause.
"…Yeah."
"The hell d'ya mean by 'Yeah,' ya blockhead?"
Shin had changed Handlers so often that telling them apart was difficult, and Processors weren't supposed to be that aware of their Handler's existence to begin with. That was just how much they neglected their jobs. And once enough Eintagsfliege got deployed, the radar and data transmissions stopped functioning, so it became impossible to maintain command from a distant base. That was why Processors didn't rely on Handlers and didn't really care much if they were present or not.
In the end, a Handler's job boiled down to monitoring the Processors. Thanks to the collar known as the Para-RAID, no matter the place or time, they could always know every word that came out of a Processor's mouth. The only job expected of the Handlers was to serve as a suppressant that kept the Eighty-Six's rebellious intentions in check.
Shin opened his mouth to speak, recalling the few exchanges he'd had with her this week. The first thing that came to mind was…
"My paperwork's increased. I guess I'll have to start faking my patrol reports every day now."
"…Yer probably the only one with balls big enough to keep sendin' the same report ya fabricated five years ago every time just because they don't actually read 'em, Shin."
He didn't even bother changing the date or location, and since he hadn't gone on patrol since, the content was all random nonsense. Shin was honestly surprised no one had noticed after all this time.
'It seems you accidently sent me the wrong file…'
When she'd gently pointed that out with her voice like a clear silver bell, Shin couldn't help but sigh a bit. She had laughed calmly, saying he "could be surprisingly careless sometimes" in a tone filled with friendliness and genuine goodwill.
She Resonated the day she got appointed and said she wanted to continue these exchanges, so she'll be syncing up with us daily. Unusual for a Republic soldier."
"So she's a decent person, huh? …Must be hard to live like that. Poor thing."
Shin was in total agreement, which was why he chose to say nothing. Justice and ideals carried no weight in this world, no matter how much you tried to will them into reality—
"…Hmm."
Shin suddenly shifted his gaze off into the distance, beyond the spring fields, as if he'd just heard something call for him.
___________
"Ta-daa! This is what they really mean by 'the godforsaken pigs who live outside the Gran Mule'!"
"That's in bad taste, Haruto."
They were in the barracks' kitchen. Theo, whose hobby was drawing, cut down his squad mate's joke as he kept watch over a boiling pot of berry jam while jotting something down in his sketchbook. He had a Jade's golden hair and emerald eyes and, despite turning sixteen this year, had a small, slender stature. Having dropped a large boar's carcass at the back garden's side entrance, Haruto, who was a Rubis, lowered his hands, which he spread out jokingly, and scratched his head. He'd gone hunting in the nearby forest, even though it wasn't his turn today.
"Yeah, can't get the punch line down right. You were supposed to laugh just now."
"It made me nauseous instead, to be frank. But still, I gotta hand it to ya…"
Putting his sketchbook aside, Theo fixed his gaze on the game Haruto had brought. He'd likely hauled it in with his Juggernaut, but carrying such a monstrously large boar all on his own had probably still required a lot of effort.
"Amazing. That's one hell of a catch."
Haruto laughed happily, pleased with the compliment.
"Isn't it, though?! We're having barbecue tonight, after all! Where did Raiden wander off to? And Anju, too. I gotta trade cooking duties today."
"Yeah, out of everyone, Shin's in charge of that today. Raiden's in 'town,' gathering materials, and Anju's got laundry duty today. The rest of the girls went with her."
"Haruto's gaze suddenly fixed on Theo.
"Wait. When did that happen?"
"I think right after breakfast?"
"And it's almost noon now."
"That's right."
"..."
Even if they had to do the whole base's laundry, it wouldn't take six of them all morning to get it all done. And their washhouse was on the riverbank. Plus, today was a hot, clear spring day. Haruto suddenly became excited.
"It means they're bathing! The riverbank is heaven on earth right now, you know?!"
"I should probably tell you this before they really do send you to heaven, but they're all armed!"
Haruto stiffened in place. Theo sighed, stirring the pot with a bamboo ladle. Seeing the pot had finally boiled down, he put out the fire. Just as he placed the lid, he felt the Para-RAID activate. When he first enlisted, a RAID Device had been implanted in the back of his neck, along with an ear-cuff-shaped data tag that listed other targets he could Resonate with. Then came the rush of illusory heat that signified the activation of these two devices. Theo pressed his finger against the ear cuff and switched on the signal transmission.
"Activate. Ah."
Theo's Jade eyes became colder when he realized who had just contacted him. He exchanged glances with Haruto, whose smile disappeared the moment he pressed his own ear cuff, and spoke to the person who'd Resonated with them.
"Shin… What happened?"
___________
The squadron did their laundry on the banks of a river that was always bustling with water despite its small size. It was near that river's banks that the female squadron members were playing in the water, frolicking and splashing with one another.
"What are you doing, Kaie? Don't just stand there—come in already!"
Seeing her friend loitering a short distance away and fidgeting, Kurena stopped the game of tag and called to her. She had short-bobbed, chestnut-colored Agate hair and catlike Topaz eyes. She'd removed the top of her field uniform and tied it around her waist, exposing her olive-drab tank top—and the curvy figure beneath it—to the sun, but since everyone else was wearing the same outfit, she didn't feel embarrassed.
"N-nah, I just… Y'know, I just thought this outfit was sorta embarrassing…"
Despite her boyish mannerisms, Kaie, the black-haired, black-eyed, petite Orienta, was unmistakably still a girl. She seemed quite bothered by the way her wet tank top clung to her skin, her face crimson. Her ponytail, long enough to look like it could fit on the back of a knight's helmet, clung to her skin and entwined all the way down her neck and into her cleavage. It was, admittedly, a rather alluring sight.
"I mean… Is it really okay…? Playing around in the water without calling the others— Appfuu!"
Anju, who had been rinsing her long silvery-blue hair until now, scooped up water with both hands and splashed it at Kaie. She hadn't taken off her uniform top but had unzipped it all the way down below her navel. A rather daring display, given her modest nature. As her hair color suggested, she had thick Adularia blood, but her pale-blue Celesta eyes were inherited from her great-grandmother's grandmother. This alone would mark her as an Eighty-Six by the Republic, which placed utmost importance on purity of blood.
"Lighten up, Kaie. It's fine; we finished the laundry already."
The other girls joined in as well.
"I mean, Shin knew about this when he gave us the okay to come here, didn't he?"
"Oh yeah. He said today was gonna be hotter than usual, and then he actually smiled a bit, which was unusual."
"It's times like this that that stone-faced captain of ours can actually be pretty cool."
She then swiftly turned her gaze to Kurena and smiled apologetically.
"Ah, sorry for not catching on, Kurena… Both you and Shin don't have any duties right now, so we should have probably thought of some excuse to leave you two alone."
"Wh-wh-wh-what are you saying?! I-it's not like that at all!"
"I don't get what you see in him. You can never tell what's going through his head."
"I keep telling you, I don't see anything in him. It's not like that!"
"By the way, what do you think about him, Kaie?"
"Who, Shin? He's pretty cute. I'm totally into the 'silent and stoic' thing he's got goin' on."
"Wh-what the—? Kaie?!"
Kaie had to stifle a laugh at Kurena's panicked expression. She was too obvious.
"Right, right, I get it. If none of you have your sights on him, maybe I can go in for the kill tonight. It's an eastern tradition, you know… A girl sneaks into a guy's room in the dead of night and…"
"K-Kaie?! I—I, uh, don't get me wrong, I don't feel anything for Shin, but I don't think that's such a good idea! You should stick to those, uh, you know, yamato nadeshiko etiquettes and stuff! So I mean, you get it, right…?"
The girls all smirked, watching Kurena become increasingly flustered by the second.
"""""Kurena, you're so cute!!!"""""
Realizing she'd been baited, Kurena cried out in frustration.
"You bullies!"
"Ah, there's the Kurena pout!"
The thicket next to them rustled, and suddenly, their squad mate Daiya popped out of it. Daiya had blond hair and blue eyes, as was typical of the Sapphira.
He was also, incidentally, a boy.
"""""Kyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"""""
"Gyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
Being bombarded by both the powerful ultrasonic weapon all women were blessed with at birth and a barrage of every possible solid object within arm's reach, Daiya retreated to the relative safety of the other side of the thicket.
"Hey, what the hell?! Who just threw their gun at me?! Those things are loaded! Are you out of your damn minds?!"
"""""Kyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"""""
"Gyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
Taking a clear hit from the girls' second wave of carpet-bombing, Daiya fell completely silent. The other girls gave Anju a backward glance while fixing their disheveled clothes as she approached Daiya.
"So what did you come here for, Daiya?"
"It'd heal my broken bones if you'd ask Are you okay? in a cute voice right about now, Anju."
"Oh my, are you okay, Daiya, darling."
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Forgive me. I'll never ask for that again—just please stop talking in monotone with that expressionless look on your face. I'm gonna cry."
Having zipped her uniform all the way up to its fastener, Kaie looked up, confirming the other girls had fixed their outfits as well.
"You can come out now, Daiya. What happened?"
"Oh, right. The thing is, I started working as a messenger today."
Apparently, he had a message for them. Kurena pouted, still hugging the top of her uniform with her arms to cover her curvy figure.
"You could have just used the Para-RAID. Why come all the way here for that?"
"I mean, syncing into a bunch of girls gossiping would be awkward for everyone, wouldn't it? You wouldn't want me to sync in and catch you saying something like Hey girls, I wuv Shin! would you?"
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-wha—?!"
Hearing Daiya imitate her in a sickeningly cute tone she would never actually use, Kurena went red all the way up to her ears. Meanwhile, all the other girls (except for Kaie) began chattering.
"Can't say I agree with what you did, but that judgment is more or less accurate."
"I mean, we'd think it was hilarious, but poor Kurena would probably bury herself alive."
"That's pretty much what happened, isn't it?"
"Wait—I've got it. We should trick her into saying it next time and have Shin sync in while she does. That'll be a spectacle!"
"Kurena's reaction would be the only interesting part about it. Shin wouldn't even move a muscle, with that iron mask of a face."
"I—I never said that! Cut that out!"
"""""Kurena, you're so cute!!!"""""
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, you bullies!!!"
At the sound of everyone present (Daiya included) doting on her, Kurena screamed in desperation.
Her shoulders still shaking as she laughed, Kaie looked over at Daiya.
"No, but really, what's the message?"
Daiya's expression went blank at the question.
"Yeah. It's from Shin."
At those words, the girls' expressions tensed immediately.
___________
Man shall not live on bread alone.
These words had been spoken by some patronizing messiah thousands of years ago, but Raiden thought there might be some wisdom in them after all. Life needed things like candy or coffee—or even less tangible things like games and music—to truly feel fulfilling. The Republic's white pigs who threw them into this hell didn't feel the need to give their livestock anything more than the bare minimum of food to keep them alive. If you took that sentence and examined it from another perspective, it meant that, quality of life aside, people could not live without food to eat.
"All righty then, Fido. Here's a little test for you."
They frequented the ruins of some nameless city when scavenging for preserved foods, overgrown vegetables, livestock that had gone feral, or abandoned commodities. In a square littered with rubble, the squadron's vice captain, Raiden, took a can of synthesized rations they'd received from the base's production plant and placed it on the concrete next to a piece of preserved bread he'd found in the city hall's emergency storage.
He wore an unkempt field uniform over his sinewy limbs, and his reddish-black hair, evidence of his pureblood Eisen heritage, was trimmed short, while his expression and features had a wild, sharp aspect to them.
He was facing a familiar Scavenger. This clumsy drone, which accompanied Juggernauts on the battlefield and supplied them with replacement energy packs and ammunition, had a square, angular body and ran on four legs. Fido leaned over, its lens-based optical sensor fixedly observing the objects set in front of it.
"Which one's trash and which one's food?"
"Pi."
Fido immediately extended a crane arm and flicked the synthetic ration away. Watching the white lump roll away, Raiden took a bite from the bread. Even a damn drone can tell this synthetic glob is trash. What were the white pigs thinking, trying to pass this off as food?"
Internment camps and bases all had production plants and automated factories attached to them, so they could produce all the commodities they would need on their own. Adjustment of the production rates and power were all provided from the other side via underground cables.
It was a needlessly elaborate, large-scale feeding system, which meant the Republic spared no expense so long as it meant they didn't have to actually have contact with their so-called pigs. The food and goods produced by the factory were truly the bare essentials, and despite being called food, the rations they got every day looked like plastic explosives for some reason. And it went without saying that they tasted like crap.
So if they wanted to eat anything remotely decent, they had to scour ruins left behind nine years ago, like this one, for food and provisions. Thankfully, this squadron didn't have to worry about doing patrols, meaning they had ample time and energy packs to hunt through these ruins, with the Juggernauts handling the heavy lifting.
"All right, Fido, today's provision objective is anything that's not like that garbage. Gather as much food as you find and haul it back home."
"Pi."
Fido loudly imitated Raiden, who rose from his squat, and began gathering whatever useful items it could find. From pieces of Juggernaut wreckage to fragments of used shells, it picked up anything that could be recycled and used again and loaded it into a container that it would later haul back to base. That was one of the jobs the Scavengers were made to do.
Incidentally, Scavenger was not the true designation for these machines but rather the nickname they were given. After all, they would pick parts off crushed Juggernauts—and even other Scavengers that fell in combat—and scour the battlefields for scrap even when there weren't any engagements going on. None of the Processors referred to them by their official name, choosing more blatantly to call them Scavengers—cannibalizing waste pickers. They were both trusty companions who saved them from having to worry about running out of ammo or energy and, at the same time, mechanical vultures that greedily devoured the remains of their fallen brethren.
Fido was a Scavenger that had been following and obeying Shin for around five years now. It was apparently part of one of Shin's old units—and one of the only two survivors of a battle that wiped everyone else out, the other survivor being Shin. Shin apparently hauled Fido, the only machine that wasn't completely destroyed, back to base, and they'd been together ever since.
It was unthinkable that a waste-gathering machine would have the capacity to feel something as complicated as gratitude, even if it did have some penchant for autonomous learning. But Fido appeared to have designated Shin as the target of highest priority when it came to restocking and followed him no matter how many times Shin changed units, always remaining at his side on every sortie. It was the kind of loyalty one couldn't expect out of other, less accommodating Scavengers.
Judging by its model number, Fido was from early in the war, when Scavengers had only just been introduced to the battlefield. Having been in operation for as long as it had, Fido had likely learned a great deal more than its brethren had. And seeing it follow him around loyally as it did, Shin decided to name it Fido. The kind of name one might give a dog, like Whitey or Lucky… The guy definitely had a few screws loose.
"Pi."
"Hmm?"
Raiden turned to find Fido, which had been following in his footsteps, suddenly at a halt. Tracing the gaze of its optical sensor, Raiden spotted a discolored, crumbling skeletal corpse resting beneath a large tree that grew in a flower bed lying in the shadow of the wreckage.
"…Oh."
Realizing that was why the Scavenger had called him, Raiden approached the corpse. Its uniform was crumbling, and the assault rifle it held in its hands had turned red from rust. The fact that a dog tag was dangling from the body's collarbone made it clear it wasn't an Eighty-Six. This was probably a soldier of the Republic Armed Forces who had died nine years ago.
Fido, staying a short distance behind Raiden, beeped at him again. It was the inquisitive beep that asked whether it should bring something back. For times without combat, Shin had taught Fido to prioritize the collection of the belongings of those who fell in battle, since the white pigs had deliberately forbidden the retrieval of their corpses.
Raiden shook his head.
"Nah, it's okay… This guy's already got a damn good grave."
Raiden knew this tree. It was a sakura: a cherry blossom tree. It was common in the continent's east, its flowers flourishing brilliantly during the spring. Earlier this spring, the whole base had visited the sakura trees on the main road here at Kaie's suggestion. The sight of the fluttering petals reflected in the pale moonlight in the dead of night was so beautiful, it evoked the image of the afterlife.
There was no point in burying this soldier in the cold, dark earth when he had his own pillow of cherry blossoms from which to look up at the sakura tree. This might be the corpse of an Alba, but it was still the remains of a soldier who'd died on the battlefield. Treating him like a pig wouldn't feel right.
After offering a silent prayer for the departed soul, Raiden raised his head. An illusory heat tingled from his ear cuff.
"Hunting party, do you read?"
"Theo? What is it?"
The voice was clear, as if he'd been standing right next to him. The Resonance was aimed at everyone exploring the ruins, but Raiden answered on the group's behalf.
"Change of forecast. There's a shower coming."
Raiden's eyes narrowed grimly. As he looked up in the direction of the Legion's territory, even his keen eyes could just barely make out the subtle shade of a few silvery sparkles that had begun spreading out in the sky. A swarm of flying Legion, the shape and size of butterflies, that absorbed and deflected electromagnetic waves and rays of visible light—the Eintagsfliege. They were the cornerstone of the Legion offensive, spreading out before an attack to confuse and jam radars and communications, masking the full brunt of the enemy force.
"When?"
"About two hours from now. Apparently, the force closest to us regroupedwith another that was behind them. They're probably restocking. They should advance on us as soon as they're finished."
While close, the Legion were still out of sight, and at this point, no radar would be able to detect the enemy forces. And yet, Theo—or rather, the person whose words he was relaying—described the situation as if he were seeing it with his own eyes.
"Roger that. We'll be back soon. —Chise, Kuroto. You heard that, right? Regroup at the entrance to route twelve."
"Roger."
"There's no Shepherd this time, either, so they'll probably just try to brute force us. It depends on their route, of course, but if we ambush them near point 304, we should be able to mop them up in one go."
Theo spoke with discernible traces of a smile. Raiden made his way to his unit, which was waiting for him a short distance from there, giving orders to the rest of the hunting party all the while. His lips also curled into a ferocious smile.
"So it's just a bunch of Sheep. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel."
It would by no means be an easy fight, but Sheep that only followed simple tactics were far, far easier to defeat than an army led by a Shepherd. Knowing ahead of time that there were no terribly dangerous enemies coming was a huge relief. Seriously, our Reaper really is— But that was where Raiden's thoughts ground to a halt. The boy grimaced.
How did the red-eyed Reaper feel about this, really, as he wandered the battlefield in search of his lost head?
___________
By the time Raiden and the rest of the hunting party returned to base, the other seventeen units were already set to launch. Theo waited in front of his own unit near the hangar's entrance, greeting them with a smile like a mischievous cat.
"You're laaaate, Raiden. I almost thought you stepped on a land mine on the way here."
"Shut it—I'm not late. And don't joke about mines. It's still too soon."
"Ah… Sorry."
Kujo had gotten blown up by a self-propelled mine. In the two months since this squadron was formed, he was the third casualty. The rate at which Processors died was exceptionally high. One hundred thousand enlisted yearly, but within a year, less than a thousand remained.
They were still better off than their parents, who had to throw themselves headfirst into the fight. It's said that back during the days when the only strategy they had was to charge at the Legion with archaic rocket launchers or explosives in hand, each squadron would lose half its troops within a day. Compared to that, this squadron's losses were not as devastating, but they were still on the front lines. There wasn't a single battle without losses. Death was the only thing that came equally—and suddenly—to all.
"We're all here, right? At attention."
Called by that quiet yet surprisingly clear voice, everyone straightened their backs. Before anyone knew it, silently and solemnly as the midnight moon, Shin stood in front of the first ward's map, scribbling important notes onto an operation map in a transparent file. His features were as pale as ever, and he wore his iconic camouflage clothes and the rank insignia on his shoulders that marked him as a captain. That blue scarf, which he wore even now, was only one reason for his ominous alias, as if the Reaper were trying to cover the spot where his head once rested…
"I'll explain the situation."
The faces of all in attendance were reflected in the cold red eyes of this squad captain, who bore the name Reaper.
___________
Finishing that concise but extremely clear briefing—that detailed everything from the enemy's numbers, to their routes, down to the tactics they should employ—the Processors all boarded their Juggernauts. They were all child soldiers from their mid to late teens, the youth still obvious in their features and physiques.
Inserting the last few parts they needed into the canopy, twenty-one armored weapon systems awakened from their brief slumber: the Piloted Autonomous Unmanned Polypedal Armored Weapons, M1A4 Juggernauts. Four long, jointed legs. A small, organic-looking torso, reminiscent of a chrysalis, its armor colored whitish brown like the color of old bones. It was equipped with a grappling sub-arm, a heavy machine gun, a set of a wire and an anchor, and an arm-mounted 57 mm smoothbore gun.
Its overall silhouette resembled that of a prowling spider, but the two grappling arms and its brandished main battery were reminiscent of a scorpion's tail and pincers. The Eighty-Six's closest companion, as well as their final resting place.
Having chosen the shadows of a crumbling church in the city ruins as his hiding spot for the ambush, Shin opened his eyes within his Juggernaut's cramped cockpit. They designated the main street as the kill zone and deployed each platoon's units in such a way that their lines of fire wouldn't intersect.
Shin's first platoon and Kaie's fourth platoon served as vanguard and suppressing fire, respectively, and were spread out along the main street's left and right sides. Daiya's fifth platoon handled explosive munitions, and Kurena's sixth platoon handled sniping, blocking the street's edge with their Juggernauts.
Even without looking at the optical screens, Shin could sense the enemy force's size and formation. A Juggernaut's cockpit was similar to a jet fighter's, filled with a multitude of switches, LCD screens, and two control sticks to the left and right. The biggest difference was that instead of a bulletproof glass windshield, the Juggernaut's cockpit was enclosed by an armored canopy, so the pilot couldn't see outside the unit. To compensate for that, the cockpit was equipped with three screens and a holo-window that provided all sorts of data, but those did little to elevate the cockpit's dark, claustrophobic feel.
The enemy unit employed a textbook diamond formation, as they had expected—a typical offensive formation, with the scouting party taking the rear while the other four parties each formed a vertex. Though the Legion had them outnumbered and outmatched in terms of performance, their tactics were simple and easy to predict.
Numerical superiority losing to strategic maneuvering was an elementary concept…but that logic didn't hold up so easily against this enemy. This was an army with a size that did the name Legion justice. And yet, this was business as usual for the Processors. Situations like these, where a small force had to beat the odds and defeat an overwhelmingly larger army, situations that would be seen as reckless and futile from the very beginning, were the kinds of battles the Eighty-Six regularly fought through.
Suddenly, a passage from the Bible someone had read to him in the past surfaced from the depths of his memory. Someone. The last time he'd seen and heard that person was painted over in his memories, so he couldn't quite remember. All he remembered were the words:
—And He asked him, What is your name?
___________
Hearing what Shin whispered through the Para-RAID, which caught even the slightest of noises, Raiden sat up in his cockpit, having thrown his legs over the console earlier. Since he was hiding in the rubble, his main screen was dyed over by the concrete's gray, and his radar screen was set to passive. Since it wasn't in his mother tongue, the Republic's language, he didn't understand what Shin had said. Dicit ei Legio nomen mihi—
That was all he could make out.
Theo spoke up with an irritated tone.
"Shin, did you just quote the Bible? That's creepy, dude. And that's, like, the worst possible quote you could have picked, too."
"What did he say?"
"The messiah, like, asked the devil or a demon for his name, and the answer he got was 'I am Legion, for we are many.'"
Raiden fell silent. Definitely the wrong thing to say in this situation.
It was then that someone else synced into the Para-RAID.
"Handler One to all units. I'm sorry for being late—I got delayed."
A lovely voice, ringing like a silver bell, reached his ears through the Sensory Resonance. It was the new Handler who got assigned to them after the old one quit because he feared the Reaper. Judging from the voice, it was a girl roughly their age.
"The enemy forces are approaching. We should intercept them at point 208—"
"Undertaker to Handler One. We have the enemy's position confirmed. We've already deployed at point 204."
Shin responded plainly, and Raiden could hear a gulp on the other side of the Resonance.
"That was fast… Good job, Undertaker."
The Handler seemed genuinely impressed with Shin, but Raiden wasn't surprised. Shin and the rest of this squadron's Processors all had Personal Names. A Personal Name was a sort of title given to veterans. Most Processors used call signs that were a combination of their platoon's name and a number during operations. Only veterans who had survived for a year through the horrors of the battlefield and conquered that 0.01 survival rate received that title.
They were those who had the talent and character the majority of Processors lacked, and most importantly of all, they possessed the devil's luck that allowed them to survive and refine those qualities. The monsters blessed by the devil or the Reaper. The kind of people who never died or even seemed capable of doing so. Those who had returned from death's door time and time again, overcoming impossible odds without batting an eye, only ever sparing a passing glance for their myriad fallen comrades.
A Personal Name symbolized the respect and awe the other Processors felt for these veterans. The minimal respect they could offer to the heroes who reached the peaks others never could—and awe for those demons of war who could fight while stepping over the remains of both their comrades and their foes. All members of the Spearhead squadron were distinguished Name Bearers with four to six years of combat experience, making them the most seasoned and experienced of all Processors. They would do fine, even without this little princess to command them from her castle.
But at the same time, Raiden was a little impressed. Point 208 would be the optimal spot to station in if they were detected by the Legion. She'd specified that point despite being appointed to their squadron for only a week. It seemed there was more to this young lady than her good nature.
A warning alarm blared. Their legs' oscillation sensors detected something. A holo-window popped up and zoomed in. Ahead lay a light slope at the end of the main street lined from the sides by wreckage. A black silhouette suddenly covered the sunlight streaming down from the slope's peak, and the next moment, their view was filled with the color of steel.
They're here.
Their radar screens suddenly filled with red blips indicating hostile units. An army of mechanical demons marched toward them, threatening to paint over the ruins' gray with their color. The Legion marched in an orderly line, leaving gaps of fifty to one hundred meters between one another. The lightest units, the Scout-type Ameise, moved with a silence that betrayed their weight of over ten tons, the overlapping noise of their movement, like bones rubbing against one another, coalescing into what sounded like the rustling of leaves.
It was an otherworldly, awe-inspiring sight.
The complex sensors on the bottom of their torsos and the 7.56 mm antipersonnel machine guns on their shoulders swerved to and fro as they marched along, scuttling on their three pairs of legs. The Ameise had an angular form, reminiscent of a carnivorous fish.
Carrying a 57 mm anti-tank multiple-rocket launcher on its back, with light reflecting menacingly off the high-frequency blades protruding from its front legs, the Dragoon-type Grauwolf had the ferocious appearance of a six-legged shark.
With their fifty-ton tank frames carried on eight jointed legs, the Tank-type Löwe advanced proudly, their oppressive 120 mm smoothbore turrets gazing ahead.
The Electronic Disruption types—the Eintagsfliege that were deployed in the sky—cast a long shadow over the battlefield as their clouds blotted out the sun. They showered the ground with silver scalelike particles that resembled powdered snow, which regenerated the micromachines that served as both the Legion's lifeblood and their nervous system.
The Ameise platoon entered the kill zone. It drew near the first platoon that lay in ambush and passed them by without noticing. Led by their vanguard, the rest of the units passed them one by one, until eventually the Löwe, who stood at the rear, had entered the encirclement—
And that was that. They had entered the cage.
"Open fire."
At Shin's order, all units fixed their sights on the targets they'd been appointed and pulled the trigger.
The fourth platoon began gunning down the vanguard, while the first platoon bombarded the back line. The Ameise's relatively frail armor and the Löwe's lightly guarded rears were shot clean through, and the units collapsed, still and unmoving. The other Juggernauts opened fire, piercing through the Legion's remaining forces, which immediately shifted to battle positions.
Explosions and thunderous blasts rocked the battlefield.
Pieces of scrap metal and silver micromachine blood sprayed into the air, with black flames consuming the background. And at that moment, twenty-one Juggernauts withdrew from their positions. Some left their covers and continued firing; others ran from cover to cover, unloading bullets from the flanks and rear onto the Legion that attempted to shoot down their escorts. By the time that ended, the first Juggernauts had already taken cover and begun shooting at the flanks of other Legion.
___________
Juggernauts were hopeless, poorly constructed combat machines. Their flimsy armor was made from an aluminum alloy that was easily penetrated by machine-gun fire, their maneuverability was only slightly superior to that of a treadmill tank, and their main batteries were far too weak to contend with the Löwe. There either wasn't enough time or wasn't enough technological know-how to properly develop a cruise-control program for the Juggernaut's fragile quadruped legs (as cruise-control programs required more complex programming the more legs they had). But either way, the ground pressure on the legs was extremely significant. This made the Juggernauts on the eastern front, which was abundant with wetlands and soft ground, trip often.
No one could expect, even in their wildest dreams, to see these machines hop or roll around, let alone fly like the giant robots one saw in movies and cartoons. If the Juggernaut had any comparison, the Processors, wearing crooked smiles all the while, would say it was akin to a moving coffin.
The lightly armed Juggernaut, even if it could face the Ameise in battle, had no hope of beating the Grauwolf or the Löwe head-on. The Processors' common strategy was to engage them with multiple units and, by taking advantage of terrain and cover, shoot them through their weak points or in their vulnerable backs. These were the tactics handed down to them by their predecessors—the Eighty-Six who'd died on this land—and developed over many battles and countless sacrifices.
The Spearhead squadron had fought in accordance with these tactics for years and had grown accustomed to them by now. They had fundamentally no need for communications within the platoons, as each unit carried out its procedures without conflicting with its comrades.
And besides… Raiden's lips curled into a brazen smile.
They had the Reaper protecting them.
___________
A Juggernaut bearing the Personal Mark of a headless skeleton—Undertaker—ran along the shadows of the ruins of a collapsed building, evading the enemies' lines of fire but never allowing them out of its sights. He gunned the Legion down skillfully, downing Scout types and Dragoon types, at times even circling around the Tank types and firing at their vulnerable weak points, while also drawing out their escorts and downing them.
Disrupting the enemy forces' coordination was Shin's job. Serving a vanguard role, he was a point man who was exceptionally skilled in close-quarters combat even among other vanguard. This was both his role within the squadron and the fighting style he was most proficient in. Just as his title implied, he was a reaper who decided who among his foes died first.
As he rushed through the battlefield, his cold gaze, which marked targets for certain death, suddenly wavered. Ah, you won't come out this time, either, will you? That meaningless, momentary thought was swallowed by the black smoke of his rifle as he pulled the trigger again. As he locked his cold gaze on his next target, he instructed his escorts scattered throughout the city on how to most efficiently slaughter the enemy.
"—Third platoon. Aggravate the platoons you're fighting and retreat southeast. Fifth platoon, stay where you are. Open fire as the enemy forces enter the kill zone and take them out."
"Black Dog (Daiya), roger that… Snow Witch (Anju), if you're gonna reload, do it right now."
"Laughing Fox (Theo) here. I'm reloading, too. Don't go shooting in this direction, Black Dog!"
"Falke (Haruto). Direction 270, distance 400. Hostiles are coming through the buildings and heading here."
"Roooooger that. Fafnir (Kino), give me a hand."
The sound of gunshots from afar shook the rubble. A group of Grauwolf types attempted to ambush them with an astounding technique—running vertically along the building walls—but they were reduced to scrap by machine-gun fire just as they attempted to lunge at the Juggernauts.
Shin looked around, attempting to identify his next target, but his gaze suddenly shifted as he noticed something.
"All units, cease fire and spread out."
It was a sudden order, but all the units followed it unflinchingly. No one asked the stupid question of why. Because there was one more type of Legion, one that would rear its ugly head whenever other Legion had their backs against the wall—
A high-pitched, shrill screech filled the air, followed by artillery shells, apparently launched from a great distance, which began landing and bursting across the battlefield. Charred-black soil swelled up and burst. It was artillery support from the 155 mm self-propelled shell-cannon-type Legion, the Long-Range Gunner-type Skorpion.
Shin's support computer reverse calculated the shells' trajectories and specified the firing position to be thirty kilometers east-northeast from their current position. This was useless information, though, as they didn't have any long-range ordnance available to them. The enemy had Long-Range Observer Units spread out to pinpoint where its rounds fell, but they would have to discern where they were among all the enemies on the field and from how the enemy units were spread out—
"Handler One to all units. Transmitting the Long-Range Observer Units' coordinates right now. There are three potential targets. Please confirm and eliminate them."
Shin lifted his gaze, noting three points lighting up on his digital map. Comparing it with the enemy positions he had perceived, he gave his orders to the marksman hiding in the buildings nearby.
"Gunslinger (Kurena), four units in direction 030, distance 1200."
"Roger. On it."
"Handler One, using directional lasers to transfer data runs the risk of exposing our position. Transfer all information during operations orally only."
"Ah… I'm sorry."
"The next Observer Unit should be coming out soon. We're counting on you to pinpoint it."
He could sense a smile blossoming on her face from the other side of the Resonance.
"Of course!"
He knit his brows at the cheer in the Handler girl's voice—but hearing the proximity alert wail amid the jumble of shouts, Shin shifted his attention back to the battlefield.
___________
Unmindful of his own forces' losses—a tactic he could employ only in a battle against true drones—Raiden rushed through the battlefield, evading bombardment as he sought his next target. The fire lines that dotted the battlefield were still mainly those of the enemy. Getting hit by a single machine-gun bullet would mean a fatal injury, and all it would take was one tank shell to blow him to smithereens. Sneaking through the ruins as he rushed from one cover to the next, he discovered that someone had already beaten him to this spot.
It was Undertaker. Having run out of ammo, he was being restocked by a Scavenger—Fido, of course.
"Are you really gonna need this much ammo?"
"Like shooting fish in a barrel, right? May as well have fun while we're at it."
Apparently, he had heard his exchange with Theo. What a wiseass.
"…But there are definitely more Tank types than I thought. They must have regrouped with them while they were restocking."
He'd spoken as if this were as simple as forgetting your umbrella at home on a rainy day. Raiden couldn't remember ever seeing Shin lose his composure. This guy probably wouldn't change his expression even at the hour of his own death and would stay that way even after.
"Having so few places to take cover is becoming a problem. They'll analyze our movement patterns at this rate. We have to whittle them down before that happens."
Fido's crane arm finished exchanging the last magazine in the container. Restock complete. Undertaker rose to his feet.
"I'll handle the Löwe. I'll leave everyone else and give command over the support to you."
"Roger that. Undertaker… Ol' Aldrecht's gonna give you hell again."
He could sense a faint smile on the other side.
Undertaker leaped out of the ruins. Skillfully maneuvering between lines of fire, the Juggernaut rushed at a group of four Tank types at maximum speed. It was an act that went beyond just reckless, a rush anyone would deem as nothing more than suicide. The Handler girl cried out in what was probably a scream of terror.
"Undertaker?! What are you—?"
One of the Löwe shifted its turret's bearing and fired. Undertaker swung his unit nimbly to the side, successfully avoiding the shell."
Another shot. Another miss. One bombardment, and another, and another, and another—
Slipping through a barrage of 120 mm shells capable of reducing both man and weapon to dust, Undertaker continued closing in on the Löwe. This wasn't a feat he would be able to perform by merely looking at the turret's bearing. Relying on nothing more than intuition cultivated by experience, the headless skeleton crept toward it using this nightmarishly difficult maneuver. The Tank type shifted its entire frame toward him, as if losing its temper. It rushed him with explosive speed, its eight legs—lethal weapons in their own rights—kicking up the earth in their wake.
There was no sound to its footsteps as it dashed forward with the massive weight of its steel frame behind him. Going from a state of stasis straight to maximum speed in an instant, the Löwe pressed on Undertaker in the blink of an eye. It was the absurd, unfair mobility granted by powerful shock absorbers and linear accelerators. Eight mechanical legs pressed against the earth and sprang forward. It intended to crush him. Right now—
In the next moment, Undertaker was airborne.
Leaping horizontally, he dodged the Löwe's attack. Changing his bearing in midair, he leaped up again as soon as he landed. Clinging to the Legion's frame, Undertaker used the Löwe's legs' joints to gain footing as he rapidly scuttled up to the top of the turret. Spreading its legs in an extreme posture that caused it to lurch forward, Undertaker thrust his gun-mounted arm at the turret's steel-blue armor. Aiming at the point where the Löwe's armor was the thinnest—the top of the turret—
Undertaker fired.
A high-speed anti-armor explosive round, designed to travel eight thousand meters per second, that had its minimal-detonation-range setting disabled penetrated the armor, reducing the Löwe's interior to ash with a fiery blast. By the time he had leaped from the smoking, crumbling remains of the Löwe, Undertaker had already set his sights on another target. Slipping through the barrage of bullets fired his way by the other Löwe's coaxial machine gun in short leaps, Undertaker retracted one of his legs and slashed with his grappling arm—
One of the grappling arm's available weapons was a high-frequency blade. No one but Shin would use it, however, since despite how powerful it was, its range was far too small to be effective. The second Tank type collapsed, and Shin pumped another shell into its vulnerable turret.
Using the downed unit as a shield, Shin blocked a shot from a third Löwe. Taking advantage of the moment the flames blocked the Tank type's sensors, Shin fired his wire anchor at the roof of a nearby structure, using it to rapidly ascend. He then landed on the third unit's turret as it desperately swerved to and fro, searching for its lost target, and shot it down point-blank.
"…"
Raiden could feel the Handler was shocked beyond words on the other side of the Resonance. If whoever had developed this aluminum coffin were to see this, he'd no doubt faint from sheer shock. Raiden squinted at the sight of this superhuman feat. The Juggernaut was never built for this kind of fighting style. It was a rush job lacking mobility, armor, and firepower and was planned to be a suicide weapon that could just barely shoot, at best. A single unit beating a Tank class—let alone several in succession—was inconceivable.
But of course, the price for such maneuvering was steep. Pushing a Juggernaut, which was brittle even at the best of times, to the limits of its mobility meant that by the time the battle ended, it would have all but broken down. And while the Tank class served as the spear's edge of the Legion offensive, there were still other units escorting them, and they would swarm the downed Undertaker.
To that extent, it eased the load on Raiden and the others as they engaged everyone but the Tank-class units. But even if it did ultimately hasten the battle's end, it was still honestly nothing short of a miracle that Undertaker hadn't died yet. But he was the sort of monster who'd survived for five years by fighting with these methods.
Raiden always thought that Shin was too good for this war.
He had fought alongside him for three years. For three years, Raiden had served as Shin's vice captain, meaning that for all this time, he was always his number two. But even though he was also a Name Bearer, Raiden could never hope to pull off these kinds of stunts. He could never stand on equal footing with him. This headless Reaper was, without any exaggeration, a hero of unmatched talent when it came to battle. He didn't just have the devil's luck when it came to surviving, though. With enough time and the right equipment, he could no doubt be the key to annihilating every last Legion off the face of the continent. That was simply how unparalleled his ability was.
But while he was lucky when it came to surviving conflict, he had rotten luck in other places. He had the misfortune of being born into the wrong era and during the worst possible bloody war. Had he been born in the distant past, in the age of knights, he would no doubt have ended up being the protagonist of some myth that would have been sung of by later generations, and his life would have ended with a hero's death on a battlefield where humans fought other humans. But such a dream was merely that: a dream.
Their fate was to die in an unknown corner of a battlefield, discarded like tools that had been used up, stripped of their rights and human dignity, without a grave to rest in or a name, or an honor to etch onto their nonexistent tombstones. Just like their millions of brethren who'd died on the battlefield, the most they could do was entrust their skeletons to one another.
The fog of Eintagsfliege cleared, and sunlight shone down on them once again. The remaining Legion began retreating, assisted by the cover of the Skorpion types' bombardment. These cold, heartless autonomous weapons never went mad with vengeance, no matter how many of their comrades were destroyed. Once their casualties passed a certain threshold, they merely concluded that their objective could not be achieved and swiftly ceased all hostilities in order to retreat as quickly as possible.
The setting sun's rays accentuated the silhouette of Undertaker, who stood among the wreckage of the Löwe. It was a beautiful, awe-inspiring sight, like the moonlight reflecting off the edge of an old sword.
___________
On days when one didn't have to go on night assaults or do night-patrol duty, the few hours between dinner and lights out were free time. Having finished tidying up after dinner, Anju made her way back from pouring everyone coffee, only to find them holding a sharpshooting tournament in front of the hangar.
"That's one shot on King Bear and two shots on Sir Rabbit! Haruto's total score is seven points!"
"Aaah, I missed two shots, dammit! Man, using handguns just doesn't feel right…"
"Whoa there, we've got Fido coming in with a challenge! How will Kino's skills fare in comparison?!"
"C'mon, you can't be serious… Ugh! I can't catch a break! Next! Next person!"
"Oh, it's my turn? Hmm… Kaie Taniya, rising to the challenge!"
"Right, that's two points!"
"Whoa, that's all five shots dead center. Not bad, Raiden."
"Oof, there's no way. That's crazy."
"You cheeky little…! C'mon, Kurena! Show them the miracle of a real sharpshooter!"
"Okay, I'm gonna blow you guys away. Fido, don't just line them up. Throw 'em!"
"""Whoooooooaaa!"""
"Damn, Fido's feeling sadistic today. Now it's putting them in a tower shape. Cranking up the difficulty, huh?"
"C'mon. It's your turn, Shin."
"Mm."
"…Holy crap. He just cleared it in one try! It's almost no fun when you keep doing that every time."
Using the empty cans from that day's cooking duty as targets, they all fired with their personal guns. Instead of targets, Theo scribbled cute animals on the cans with a marker, and Fido picked up the fallen cans and reorganized them in the shape of a tower or a pyramid. Watching that boisterous sight, Anju smiled warmly.
It was a lavish dinner. They grilled the wild boar they'd caught and served it with gooseberry sauce gathered in hoards from the forest.
There was also a side salad made from vegetables from the back garden and a creamy soup concocted from canned milk and mushrooms. It was a bit too lavish to eat in the dining room, so they carried a table outside, and since the people on cooking duty wouldn't be able to handle it on their own, everyone pitched in to help.
It was fun, and it was because they all did it together. Seeing everyone like this made her happy.
Not even bothering to check whether he hit the empty cans, Shin distanced himself from the commotion and began flipping through a book. Anju placed a mug of coffee in front of him.
"Great job today."
His only response was to briefly glance at her before returning his eyes to the book. Leaving the tray full of coffee mugs with Daiya, who had noticed them and approached her, Anju pulled out a chair opposite Shin and sat down. She peeked at the thick book Shin was reading and smiled at the lovely sight of the white-socked black kitten they kept in the barracks toying with the pages.
"Is it interesting?"
"Not particularly."
Perhaps realizing his answer was probably too curt, Shin paused and then opened his mouth to speak again.
"Focusing on something makes it so I don't hear it as loudly."
"…I see," Anju said, a pained smile on her lips.
This was the one thing they couldn't comfort him through.
"Thank you. You always—"
Suddenly, an illusory heat tingled from her RAID Device.
"Handler One to all units. Are you free right now?"
The Handler girl's voice rang out. Ever since her appointment a week ago, she'd diligently chimed in every night after dinner for a short exchange.
"No problems on our side, Handler One. Good job today."
Shin answered on everyone's behalf. Peculiarly enough, the kitten had tried batting the pages just as Shin was trying to read, so he'd lifted the book up with the cat dangling from it. Everyone else, all of whom had been partying a moment earlier, hurriedly removed the bullets from their handguns and placed them in their holsters. The Eighty-Six weren't allowed to carry small firearms, for the sake of preventing an insurrection. There were never any inspections, and just about every squadron had procured them from nearby abandoned villages and military installations.
"Yes, amazing job on your side as well, Undertaker… Were you playing some kind of game? Pardon me if I interrupted you."
"We were just killing time. There's no need to worry about it."
Anyone who didn't want to participate in these talks was free to cut the connection, as the Handler told them on her first day. Shin spoke as he watched several of the squad mates immediately cut the connection and boldly return to a knife-throwing contest. Raiden, Theo, Kaie, and a few others sat down next to him, sipping coffee from their mugs.
"Are you sure? It sounded like you were having fun…over there."
They could feel the Handler sit up in her chair, invoking the feeling that she was looking straight at them.
"Undertaker, I have a few complaints for you today."
It felt more like a diligent class president's rebuke than a commanding officer's dressing down. Shin continued sipping his coffee, undisturbed, showing that he didn't take anything the Handler from the other side of the wall had to say particularly seriously.
"About what?"
"The platoon's battle logs. You sending me the wrong ones wasn't a mistake. When I tried reading through them…they were all the same report."
Shin raised his eyes slightly.
"Wait, are you saying you went through all of them?"
"All the ones since you were appointed Spearhead's captain."
"…The hell? You were still doing that?"
Shin ignored the surprised reaction of Raiden, who was unable to contain his astonishment.
"I don't know what you hope to gain from knowing what happens on the field. These reports seem pointless to me."
"Analyzing the Legion's tactics and formations is a Handler's job."
Having said this curtly, the Handler softened her tone.
"I understand you neglected to send them since no one was bothering to read them. That was negligence on our part, so I do not count this against you. But please submit them properly from here on out, because I will be reading them."
What a bother. Shin opened his mouth to speak with that thought on his mind.
"I can't write or read very well."
"The balls on you, I swear…"
Ignoring Daiya's whisper, Shin returned to flipping through the book's pages. The Handler, of course, didn't know that since she wasn't there. Embarrassment mixed into her voice as she realized that many Processors placed in the internment camps at a young age never got a proper education.
"O-oh, I'm sorry… But in that case, it's even more important that you get yourself used to writing. Think of the reports as practice. I'm sure it'll help you."
"Will it, now?"
"…"
The Handler was clearly dejected. Theo snorted, as if to say that he could read if nothing else, and threw the knife he held, knocking down a can bearing a drawing of a cute piggy princess. Kaie tilted her head quizzically, still holding her mug in both hands.
"But it is useful to you, Undertaker. Your hobby is reading, after all. Isn't that thing you're reading now a philosophy book? It looks really complicated to me."
A heavy silence hung on the other side of the Resonance.
"Undertaker?"
Her words were as soft-spoken as earlier, and there was probably even a smile on her face, but there was a strange sort of pressure to her voice.
"...…Fine, I understand."
"Please send me reports on all your patrols so far, okay? And the combat reports, too. All of them."
"…Will the mission recorder's data files do?"
"No. Handwritten reports, please."
Shin clicked his tongue. Kaie, who had peeked in on what was going on, gasped in surprise, her ponytail jolting up. She brought her hands together and bowed her head in apology, but Shin waved his head as if to say she hadn't forced him to do it.
The Handler sighed with a "Good grief" and then suddenly remembered why she still hadn't finished the transmission. Holding back her anger, she continued earnestly.
"If we analyze operational data, we may be able to come up with countermeasures against the Legion. And your data is even more important, because you're seasoned veterans. It would lower the rate of casualties across all fronts and help you, too, so please do cooperate with me on this matter."
"…"
Shin said nothing, and the Handler girl fell sadly silent. She then spoke up cheerily, attempting to break the strained atmosphere.
"By the way, the dates on those documents were pretty old. Did you receive them from someone? Or have you been sending them since back then?"
"Yeah, this doofus has been sending these phony reports since way back when, Handler One. He's been doing that since before I met him."
Raiden joined in on the conversation teasingly. They could feel the Handler blink with a puzzled expression.
"Were you acquainted with Undertaker before you joined this squadron, Wehrwolf?"
Kaie shrugged her shoulders.
"Most of us are like that. Black Dog (Daiya) and Snow Witch (Anju) have been in the same unit since enlisting, and I joined the same year as Falke (Haruto). Laughing Fox (Theo) and Gunslinger (Kurena) were in Undertaker's (Shin's) and Wehrwolf's (Raiden's) unit for two years… And I think you two met two years ago, too?"
"Three years."
Raiden answered, and the Handler fell silent for a moment.
"How long has it been since you were drafted?"
"Four years for all of us, I think. Oh, Undertaker's been here the longest. Five years."
Cheer mingled into the Handler's voice once more.
"In that case, you've almost completed your service, Undertaker. Have you put any thought into what you'll do once you're discharged? Anywhere you'd like to go? Anything you'd like to see?"
Everyone's gaze fixed on Shin. Still not lifting his eyes from the page, he replied curtly.
"Not really. I never thought about it too much."
"O-oh, I see… But I think you should start putting some thought into it. You might find something you want to do. I think that would be nice."
Shin smiled weakly. The kitten, who was dozing on his lap, twitched its ears and looked up at him.
"Yes, maybe it would."