86 Eighty-Six

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.”