3: Water Pressure, Gravitational Pressure, Political Pressure

27 August, 1857 Hours (Local Time)

Sea near Republic of Perio

The Tuatha de Danaan had arrived a few dozen kilometers northeast of the Republic of Perio. The waves were peaceful, and the tropical coral reefs sparkled in the setting sun.

Below the water, a massive vessel moved, hugging the line between the burning red and the dusky darkness. It was like an image from a painting—one that symbolized looming misfortune. It had a black silhouette, like a knife, or like a shark. Its elegant curves belied the potential for slaughter and destruction. If any fish could take in the entirety of its form, it would have fled without a second’s thought.

Inside the de Danaan, preparations for battle were proceeding swiftly.

27 August, 1436 Hours (Greenwich Mean Time)

1st Briefing Room, Tuatha de Danaan

“Briefing commence!” Captain Gail McAllen declared to the chatting soldiers as he entered the room. There were 32 combatants in the briefing room in all. They were all wearing casual battledress; just before the operation itself, they would all change into their “going out clothes”—fatigues, flight suits, and AS operator uniforms.

Sousuke looked up from the book he was reading, and the other soldiers stopped their chatter. Kurz, sitting behind Sousuke, showed no such respect. He continued to talk in hushed tones to his nearby comrade, Corporal Yang Jun-kyu.

“Could you stop talking, please?” Captain McAllen asked pointedly.

“Yeah, sure.”

From the corner of the large LCD screen, Captain McAllen glared at his subordinate. An Australian, he was Major Kalinin’s aide, and he also held the SRT’s top call sign, Uruz-1. His expression, relaxed during the bingo tournament, was now drawn taut. “Everyone here?” he called out again. “The major will now go over the plan! Listen up!”

Major Kalinin walked past him to stand in front of the group. He looked down at the clipboard he was holding then began speaking, without any preface, “As you already know, a United States military facility has been occupied by an armed group.” His tone was completely neutral, as if he was reporting next week’s cleaning duties.

“A US Navy strike team has already tried and failed to take it back,” he went on. “As this is a special case, we’ll be using our more advanced technology to hold a rematch on their behalf. Our primary mission is suppression of enemy ASes and hostage rescue, as well as preventing the destruction of that crucial facility. Here’s the party venue,” he said, turning on the large screen. He put a disk into the slot in the side which brought up a 3D map of the island: It was a small, elliptical plot of land, with cliffs on the west side that sloped gradually to a sandy beach on the east. The US base took up the majority of its area.

“The chemical munitions disposal facility on Berildaob Island in the Republic of Perio... Its purpose is to neutralize aging chemical warheads and incinerate them. This means they hold stockpiles of sarin, tabun, soman, and other nerve gases—several hundred tons of them.”

Nearly everyone in the room looked distressed. They knew that even words like “toxic” didn’t begin to cover the threat those chemical weapons posed.

“The armed group in question call themselves the Green Salvation Army. Their stated objective is to drive the tourism industry out of Perio to save the coral reefs—on threat of unleashing the poison gas.”

“That’s crazy...”

“If they can’t protect it, put it out of its misery, huh?”

“There’s a bad joke, if I ever heard one...”

The various team members threw in their comments. Some even let out a low chuckle, reflecting a black sense of humor.

“What’s a dangerous facility like that doing in a tourist site like Perio, anyway?”

“The hazardous nature of such facilities make them a challenge to build on American soil,” Kalinin responded. “Public opinion, state elections, lobbyists, et cetera... it’s all politics. Not that I expect that to reassure you.”

“Typical...” The soldier who asked shrugged.

“At the same time, Perio was an American territory until recently,” he went on. “Even though it’s officially independent now, it’s still under US protection and economically and militarily at their mercy. They were essentially forced to accept the facility.”

Sousuke, quietly listening to his words, found it to be a familiar story. Poor countries and regions always drew the short straw on hosting military bases, landfills, nuclear plants—facilities that were often magnets for armed conflict by themselves.

Kalinin continued his speech. “Regardless, the site is dangerous, and we need to get the Green Salvation Army out of there. Let’s zoom in on the base itself.” He manipulated the screen to magnify the 3D image. There were several low buildings, residential facilities, and offices; a short runway and a heliport, but no harbor. In the middle of the CG model was one large facility built halfway into the hillside; this was the warehouse and disposal site for the chemical warheads. “The live chemical warheads are stored in an underground warehouse here. From the information we’ve received, the terrorists have a large number of bombs hooked up to that warehouse.”

“Then if they go off—” a soldier interjected.

“The force of the blast will carry catastrophic amounts of nerve gas into the upper atmosphere, from which it will travel downwind to the islands. It takes only one milligram of this gas to kill an adult human being; it could end all life in the Perio Archipelago in a day,” Kalinin said plainly.

A gloomy silence fell. Every soldier there seemed to have the same expression—their faces read: “I want to go back to Merida Island.”

“Therefore, we first need to disable the bombs,” Kalinin said, pressing onward. “Then we need to dispatch the enemy forces, while securing the American soldiers they’ve taken hostage.”

“He makes it sound so easy...”

“Talk about your crazy schemes...”

“Why is it always like this?” The soldiers grumbled to themselves.

Captain McAllen yelled over them. “Shut up! This is what you’re being paid for!” They fell back into a reluctant silence.

Kalinin continued his explanation as though nothing had happened. “The enemy forces include nine ASes and five autonomous triple-As.” The LCD screen switched to an image of one of the enemy arm slaves. Its armor was rounded; its silhouette resembled a person wearing a down vest. It was similar to an American-made M6, but it had a small periscope in place of a head. “These are the enemy ASes: Mistral IIs, made by France’s Giteau Co. They’re common throughout the Islamosphere and parts of South America, and despite their simple electronics, they’re tough little machines.”

Just then, a helicopter pilot raised a hand.

“Yes?”

“I have a question. These Mistral IIs... they’re still in use by proper militaries, aren’t they? How did these terrorists get their hands on so many?”

Kalinin paused. “In mid-July, a transport ship set to deliver them to the Indonesian Army went missing in the ocean near Sri Lanka. It was found sunk three days later, with the cargo and most of the crew missing.”

“Ah-ha...” said the pilot. Either the crew had been bought off, or they’d been in league with the terrorists from the start.

“Back to the subject at hand. We can fight these French ASes with the standard equipment and tactics, same for the anti-air cannons. But there’s one enemy AS that will demand the strictest caution.” Kalinin swapped out the image on the screen.

It was now a picture of the “one enemy AS,” and Sousuke gulped slightly when he saw it. Kurz, behind him, let out a small groan. As if noticing their reactions, Mao glanced back from a seat some distance away. The other members of the squad frowned at the unfamiliar machine.

That was it—the same machine he’d fought four months ago. It was red instead of silver, and the shape of the head was slightly different. But there was no doubt about it—it was back. Of course, its operator at the time—Gauron—was dead now, but Sousuke had remained haunted by visions of the dangerous man’s specter roaming about the base.

“This one machine took out an entire US special forces squadron,” Kalinin was saying. “It’s unclear what country it belongs to, but it’s third-generation, like the M9. It’s powered by a palladium reactor, so it’s amazingly quiet—and while rudimentary, we believe it also has an ECS capable of invisibility mode. That’s probably why it’s painted red.”

An ECS was a stealth device capable of hiding a machine from various parts of the electromagnetic spectrum, such as radar and infrared. Mithril’s cutting-edge ECSes could even cloak the visible light spectrum, but technologically speaking, it was harder to mask the shorter-wavelength side of it—violet, for example. Longer-wavelength colors like red were comparatively easier to hide.

“In other words,” said one of the soldiers, “it’s like our machines—good for sneaking around and surprise attacks?”

“That’s right. Use your ECCSes.” The ECCS was the ECS counter-sensor.

“This machine is also mounted with a special device that renders normal attacks ineffective. If you run into this AS,” Kalinin looked around at those assembled, “try to avoid a direct engagement. In other words, run.”

The group was baffled by this.

“Run? No way!”

“It’s a counterinsurgency mission.”

“Why bother even having the raid at all?”

A chorus halfway between genuine and sarcastic complaints rose up, and the room was soon plunged into chaos. Captain McAllen shouted “Be quiet!” again, but it was less effective this time.

Just then, Kurz looked up at the ceiling and raised his voice irritably. “Do you guys wanna die or something?” His voice wasn’t as loud as McAllen’s, but for some reason, his words seemed to carry. All present turned questioning gazes to Kurz. “The major’s right. That thing’s dangerous. You’ve never seen anything like it. Not even 57mm shells will work on it. It basically cheats.”

“Oh? Does it use the Force, like Darth Vader?” one incorrigible member of the squad asked.

Kurz glared at him. “Yeah, that’s right. It uses the Force.”

“Sounds rough. We’d better see Yoda about some training.” The team member laughed. Kurz didn’t.

“You all seem to be laboring under a misunderstanding,” Kalinin said after waiting patiently for things to quiet down. “When I tell you to run, that is neither advice, nor a request. It’s an order. Anyone who ignores it will be severely punished. That is, assuming you survive.”

The room fell silent again.

“We’re assigning this AS the name ‘Venom,’” he continued. “It’s extremely dangerous, and we must dispose of it to finish our mission. Thus, the task of engaging and destroying the Venom will be left to Sergeant Sagara.” The other soldiers looked over at Sousuke for the first time.

Sousuke wasn’t particularly surprised; he was expecting to be pitted against it. “With the Arbalest, you mean?” he asked, as if in confirmation.

“Yes,” Kalinin confirmed. “If you encounter the Venom, you’re to assist the others in withdrawing. Keep it locked down with coordinated attacks and melee, and keep it completely occupied. That’s our only path to victory.”

“And if I fail?”

Meeting Sousuke’s gaze head on, Kalinin responded evenly, “Then the mission fails. The Venom will destroy all of your allies.”

Sousuke fell silent, as if the weight of everyone else in this room had been placed on his shoulders. He’d faced the possibility of death in countless missions before now, but it had always meant his death alone, as a single combatant. If he’d made a mistake, he’d have been the only one to die. Of course, that was no laughing matter—but the point was, he bore no more responsibility than any other member of the team. He was a mere mercenary, a supporting character; just one more notch on the death tally.

At least, he had been. That had all seemed to have changed that day—the day he met the Arbalest and Chidori Kaname. The existence of that AS, and of that girl, meant that failure was no longer an option for him.

I can’t afford to lose, he realized. I can’t afford to make any mistakes. I’m not even allowed to die... The pressure was horrifying. Yet Sousuke simply gazed at the floor with his usual sullen expression, and responded, quietly, “Understood.”

“Good. Do your duty as an NCO.” Their operations commander turned back to the group. “Deployment will be aquatic, retrieval by helicopter. We’ll be sending six ASes divided into three teams: strike team, sniper team, and bomb disposal team. And I have good news for the bomb disposal team, regarding your infiltration route. This concludes the mission outline; the captain will explain the details. McAllen?”

“Sir.” Kalinin stepped back and McAllen stepped forward.

“First, the makeup of the AS teams! Strike team will be me and Sagara. Sniper team will be Weber and Nguyen. Bomb squad will be Mao and Dunnigan. The rest of the SRT will stand by in the helicopter as commanders for infantry squads! In addition, radio frequencies will be—”

27 August, 1621 Hours (Greenwich Mean Time)

Main Hangar, Tuatha de Danaan

After the briefing, Sousuke headed for the main hangar for a discussion with the head engineer.

The ARX-7 Arbalest had been painted dark gray overnight. It was a pure stopgap measure; its white armor stood out too much for a stealth mission, so they were covering it up with the same dark gray paint used for the M9s.

Like the M9s, the Arbalest had a human-like silhouette. It had flexible joints and long, slender limbs. At the same time, it had power—it brought to mind the image of an agile, yet strong, warrior. The shape of the head was also strange; below the keen eyes of its dual sensors sat a hardpoint for holding a weapon. It gave the Arbalest a distinctive face, like a ninja with a scroll in its mouth from some old period piece. There were two feather-like attachments on each of its shoulders—heat sinks that helped with cooling. You could also affix subcapacitors of a similar shape, or even weapons to them.

These distinctive parts and sharp-looking form gave the machine an air of the divine; it was as if just touching it would be blasphemy. That was the first impression that most people got... and it wasn’t actually wrong. The equipment of that inscrutable device known as the “lambda driver” really did make the Arbalest a kind of mystical presence.

According to the engineer who looked after it, the lambda driver was comprised of three major components:

The first was a device called the TAROS, which connected to the cockpit. This was short for “transfer and response omni-sphere,” but no one knew what it meant, including the engineer herself. What she did understand, if vaguely, was that it picked up pulses from the pilot’s nervous system and converted them into special kinds of electric signals, which in turn activated certain functions in the machine.

The second was a small module, about the size of a mini-fridge, that formed the lambda driver’s core. Inside it was apparently a cylinder of laser-like rainbow light, but she had no idea what function it served. Activating it seemed to consume a massive amount of power in an instant, which was why the machine carried spare capacitors. This module was directly connected to the machine’s AI, Al, but no matter how many times she analyzed the software, she couldn’t figure out the nature of their connection.

The last was the skeleton that served as the machine’s framework. It was fundamentally identical to the M9’s, made of a titanium alloy and ceramic composite, but its core had been infused with a strange material. Delicate crystals wove together in complex patterns like nerves, changing their arrangements when hit with an electrical current. But once again, what function that served was a mystery to her.

In other words, it was a cascade of things she didn’t understand.

Whenever the AI Al was booted up, the display insisted, “Sergeant Sagara’s presence required to activate lambda driver.” It didn’t reject other operators, exactly; the lambda driver simply wouldn’t activate for them. All attempts to delete the requirement had failed; formatting Al didn’t work, either. Any other methods they’d tried to strong-arm it simply caused Al to display an error message and lock up.

“And that’s basically it. I give up,” the young chief engineer, Lieutenant Nora Lemming, said as she threw up her hands lightly. “All I can say is that this machine ‘amplifies mental energy’ or something like that... not that I’m a fan of that woo-woo sort of thing.”

“What happened to the person who made it?” Sousuke’s tight frown became tighter as he looked up at the Arbalest.

“I was told that he died,” the lieutenant said carefully. “The only one who knows more about the lambda driver than me is the captain. But even she mainly seems to know about the TAROS...”

“I see...”

“So we can’t actually build another of this thing. Thankfully, we had some spares, so we managed to fix the arm you shot off... but if you lose your left arm again, we’ll have to start subbing in M9 parts.”

“I’ll be careful,” Sousuke promised.

“But don’t worry. You’ve successfully managed to activate it twice in a real fight. I think you have a gift.”

“A... gift?”

“Yes. A wonderful gift, given by God. So have faith in yourself, Sergeant Sagara.” the lieutenant said with a smile.

27 August, 1655 Hours (Greenwich Mean Time)

Galley, Tuatha de Danaan

Despite how interesting the place was, after a day, Kaname inevitably ran out of new things to see; the boat’s scenery became monotonous, and she had nothing to occupy herself with. Sousuke and the others had vanished off to some meeting or another, and she had barely seen Tessa since that morning. She stopped by the control room, but the other girl was talking with the guy who’d led Kaname’s welcome yesterday, and she didn’t do more than glance at her and wave.

Kaname was bored and wanted to go home. Apparently the boat would finish its job and be back in base in about two days. Kaname was told that if she wanted, a helicopter could take her and Sousuke back to base earlier, and they could head back to Tokyo from there... but that, too, would have to wait until their “job”—the mission—was finished. Thus, she’d have to find some way to kill time here until tomorrow.

Left with no other option, she’d chosen to head to the galley and help the cook. She chopped furiously through a mountain of onions, followed by carrots then potatoes. The work seemed endless, which made it a perfect distraction.

“You’re good at that, you know?” the young cook (one of the few Japanese people on the ship) said, seeming genuinely impressed with her knife skills.

“Why, thank you,” Kaname agreed.

“You know how to use an oven, too,” the cook observed. “Why not quit school and join our crew? I’ll teach you the secrets of deep-sea cooking.”

“Not my bag, thanks,” she laughed.

Just then, an announcement came over the speakers. “This is your captain.” It was Tessa’s voice. “We will soon be entering the area of operations. There will be no hostile vessels on or in the water during this mission, and this vessel is not expected to engage in active combat. We will, as usual, remain in the shadows—which should not be difficult given the power of this vessel and the skill of all aboard. Be precise and cautious and do your jobs, as you always do. May God watch over us all.” She could be heard clearing her throat, and then, “Now, proceed to secondary battle stations. That is all.” The message ended. A bell telling them to take battle stations—likely electronic, though it sounded just like a real one—rang out. From the galley, Kaname could see a handful of crewmembers, who had been relaxing in the mess, quickly spring to life and run out to take their posts.

“Ahh, here we go,” the cook muttered.

With faint trepidation, Kaname asked, “Are they going to fight?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” the cook reassured her. “The boat itself won’t engage; just the members of the SRT.”

“SRT?” she questioned.

“The special response team. You know, like Sergeant Sagara.”

Sousuke is going to go fight, then. The thought sent a new wave of anxiety flooding over her. She’d seen him fight in the past, and they’d certainly been through a lot together... but she’d never been in quite this situation before. Going to fight—something about the future tense made it all feel more real. “Hey... I gotta go, okay?”

“Huh?”

Kaname ran out of the galley, leaving the startled cook staring after her. She fought her way past crewmen rushing to their battle stations, down the hall to the duty room where Sousuke and the others slept. It was already empty. Her next few guesses also turned up nothing, so she ran to the hangar and... “Ah...”

Sousuke was standing in front of his AS—it was already armed for bear—conversing with a jumpsuit-clad woman. He was dressed in his black AS operator’s outfit, holding a clipboard-like tablet. A little ways away, Kurz and Mao were hanging out with an East Asian combatant whose name she didn’t know.

“Kaname?” Kurz was the first to notice her. “Where’s the fire, huh? Oh... I get it, you ran all this way to bring me a good luck charm. It never fails! A locket with a girl’s pubic—glugh!” Kurz doubled over abruptly from an elbow to the solar plexus.

Mao, the guilty party, was rubbing her temples. “If only I knew why you were like this...” She redirected her attention. “So, how can we help you, Kaname?”

“Um, ah... I’m not really... I just...” Kaname dissembled. She wasn’t sure what she had come here for, either. She glanced in Sousuke’s direction and saw him still talking shop with the engineer; he hadn’t noticed Kaname’s presence at all. He looked extremely focused and probably wasn’t about to come over for a chat.

“I get it. It’s not safe for you to be here, though. The ASes will be walking around just before we deploy.”

“R-Right...”

“We’re getting ready for battle right now,” Mao finished gently. “So, sorry to ask, but... you know?” Kaname caught her meaning; she was politely telling her to leave.

Swallowing a faint feeling of alienation, she nodded. “Right... sorry to be in the way.” Kaname didn’t have any choice but to turn around and go. She got as far as the hangar door, then looked back one more time.

Mao was pressing her hands together in apology, while Kurz waved to her casually. Sousuke still hadn’t noticed her. So far away, his back to her... He seemed like the most distant person in the world.

I mean... it’s not like it’s the last time I’m ever going to see him... Kaname thought, and then let out a sigh.

27 August, 1750 Hours (Greenwich Mean Time)

Tuatha de Danaan, 15 Miles Northeast of Berildaob Island, Perio Archipelago

Her subordinates’ voices chorused through the control room as the deployment drew near:

“Current depth, 80. Speed, three knots. EMFC, all green.”

“Turtle-1, depth ten... five... hold.”

“Sonar, no vessels detected above.”

“Contact on ESM, US Navy cruisers. Analyzing now...”

“Current, four knots from northwest. There’s a faint breeze on the surface.”

“Uruz-1, I’ve entered the first airtight chamber.”

“Uruz-7, AS entry to second airtight chamber complete.”

“ESM analysis complete. Bearing 0-8-0, Arleigh Burke-class. Bearing 0-7-9, Ticonderoga-class. Estimate range at least 30 miles each.”

“Starboard, first ATC technician. Closure of interior hatches complete. Pressure secured.”

“Port, second ATC technician. Closure of interior hatches complete. Pressure secured. Ready to flood any time.”

The reports poured in to Tessa, who paid each of them the necessary amount of attention while swiftly dishing out orders of her own. “Good,” she said. “Flood ATCs one through six.”

“Aye, ma’am. Flood ATCs one through six,” Mardukas responded.

This time, the ASes would deploy from the water. They’d swim unnoticed to the destination island then launch a surprise attack. The submarine had three AS-sized airlocks on either side of the hangar from which the M9s and the ARX-7 could exit; they were currently housing Captain McAllen and his AS team. All she had to do now was open the hatches.

“All right...” Tessa ran her final checks then scanned the ocean surface. She took control of a turtle with a small joystick and manipulated its optical sensors. For a very brief time, she had the floating robot deploy a small periscope; as she swiveled it 360 degrees, the things it saw came through, crystal clear, on her captain’s screen.

She could see the sea at night. This far from any light pollution, the sky was clear and beautiful. All around the horizon, stars glittered in bountiful color. It was a breathtaking sight.

A foolish notion flitted through her mind. What if she canceled the operation and surfaced the boat? Then, what if they all went topside and breathed in the fresh air, while she and he gazed up at those stars together, for real? It was a wonderful thought.

“Captain?” Mardukas asked.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Tessa switched her screen to night vision mode, and checked for local ships and aircraft. All clear; now for the dispatch. She glanced at the status board on the front screen. It gave the current state of the airlocks, with corresponding diagrams and labels.

2nd ATC—■/ARX-7 (Uruz-7)

Don’t worry. He’s good at what he does. And... Mao and Kurz and the others are with him, aren’t they? Teletha Testarossa set aside her thoughts, took in a deep breath, and gave the order. “All AS hatches, open.”

“Aye, ma’am. All AS hatches, open!”

Sousuke felt a jolt and heard a muffled gurgle as the second hatch opened. Water began to pour in all around his machine; his night vision sensors showed green ocean filling in all around him.

The Arbalest was currently equipped with an underwater pack: a unit clasped around its torso which carried an oxygen tank, ballast, and high-powered pump-jets. In an emergency, it could also unfold into a hydrofoil to let the machine skate across the water’s surface at high speeds. The Arbalest and the M9s weren’t designed to be fully watertight, so their dive depth was limited to about 40 meters; for most operations, though, that was more than enough.

Okay... he thought before cranking up the output of his pump-jets to sail his machine out of the airlock. The hatch closed immediately behind him. The M9s deploying from the other hatches trailed streams of tiny bubbles as they overtook the Arbalest.

A laugh came over the radio. “Okay, bring on the resort-hopping!” It was Kurz’s voice, and Sousuke could see one of the M9s spinning around in the water.

“Don’t mess around, idiot!”

“Aw, but—”

“Don’t ‘but’ me! Darn it... Let’s go!” the call came from Captain McAllen’s M9 just before it started on the move. The Arbalest and four M9s followed after, holding watertight containers carrying their weapons in both hands. They formed a neat column—a kind of formation—and swam forward at a depth of 30 meters, picking up speed as they went. Behind them, the de Danaan’s bow began to tilt downward as it left to dive to even greater depths.

That’s right, Sousuke realized in that moment, I never said anything to Chidori...

They spent about twenty minutes swimming. The ocean was pitch black, but the sea floor below was just visible to their night vision sensors. That hadn’t been the case just a few minutes ago—the increasing shallowness signified that they were getting closer to land. They could see tropical fish swimming in and out among some scraggly rocks nearby; their colors would probably be dazzling in the light of day.

“Sousuke?” Mao asked over the radio. She wasn’t using the mission channel.

“Yes?”

“You seem a little worked up... Are you?”

The sudden question caught Sousuke off guard. It took him a moment to respond. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to hide it,” she said reassuringly. “Nobody else uses this channel.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he protested. “I—”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “You didn’t even notice Kaname before, did you?”

“Before? When?”

Mao made a noise of bemusement. “See? You’re not even looking at the world around you. You’re worried about what the major said, right? About that Venom thing.”

“Well... of course I am,” he said stiffly. “If I make one mistake, everyone on the team will die. It’s natural that I should keep in mind the importance of—”

“Don’t do that,” Mao said, cutting him off. “You need to not sweat that stuff.”

“What?” Sousuke was confused. “I would think you, of all people...” McAllen was heading up this particular operation, but Mao often assumed the leadership role for their smaller three-man team. She was a very responsible person, so it was strange to hear her say something like that.

“Oh, come on,” she sighed. “If I ran myself ragged over everything like you’re doing now, I’d be screwing up constantly. You can’t let yourself focus on what’s riding on your performance. You need to tell yourself ‘it’ll all work out,’ or else the pressure’s going to break you.”

“But...”

“So it’s not enough to protect Kaname; you want to protect us, too?”

Sousuke gulped and struggled for an answer.

Mao let out a small laugh in response. “The concern is appreciated, but I’ll pass. Kurz and McAllen and the others would say the same thing.”

Sousuke probably would too, in their position. They weren’t just any soldiers; they were hand-picked elites, capable of protecting themselves. He knew that. They wouldn’t take unnecessary risks, and if they were in danger, they knew how to get clear. In other words, she was right.

“You’re right,” he said eventually. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Attaboy. Talk to you later.” Mao closed her channel.

But... Sousuke found himself thinking less than a minute later. But normal ASes don’t stand a chance against that thing. It took out twelve American machines all by itself. It was an unshakable fact. If I lose, it’s all over. No matter how he tried, he just couldn’t get that thought out of his mind.

Soon after, orders came through on the mission channel:

“Uruz-1 to squad. We’ve just passed the third waypoint; this is where we split into our three teams. Got it?”

After passing the waypoint, the six machines would move to their respective stations: the infiltration team would disable the bombs on the chemical weapons, the suppression team would make landfall and attack the base directly, and the sniper team would back up the land team and keep an eye on the island as a whole. Thus, the counterinsurgency would kick off with attacks from three directions—from underground, from the beach, and from outside enemy shooting range.

“Uruz-2, roger.”

“Uruz-6, roger.”

“Uruz-7, roger.”

“Uruz-10, roger.”

“Uruz-12, roger.”

After each unit gave its response, they dispersed, in teams of two, to their designated areas.

The infiltration team consisted of Mao and Sergeant Dunnigan. Dunnigan was born in the American South—Louisiana—and he’d started out as a paratrooper with the US Army. There were signs of premature aging in his appearance, even though he couldn’t be much older than Mao, but he was in amazing shape, with a musculature that let him lift a 100-kilogram barbell effortlessly. Not only was he an AS operator, but he was also an expert with explosives, which was probably why he’d been chosen for this team. The first stage of their job would be to go on ahead of the other four, infiltrate the place where the chemical weapons were being held, and disable the bombs reportedly planted there.

They’d be infiltrating from underground. The western side of the island terminated in a low cliff, and there was an old tunnel under the waterline. It had been dug out over fifty years ago to serve as a secret dock and submarine port for the old Japanese Imperial Navy. The passage of time and countless earthquakes since had collapsed and submerged it, and it had proceeded to fall out of memory for everyone, including the current US Armed Forces.

The deepest part of the tunnel was separated from the storage facility by a rock wall about two meters thick. Their plan was to open a hole with a drill, use a fiberscope to look around inside the storehouse, then blow through. After that, they would bust in and take out the detonators.

“Approaching land now,” Dunnigan said. “Time to cut the jets.”

“Yeah, I hear you...” Mao replied. The pump-jets on their backpacks died down, and the flow of tiny bubbles ceased. Instead, they used the AS-sized flippers attached to the M9s’ feet to proceed onward at a depth of five meters.

Dunnigan’s swimming technique was so perfect, it was hard to believe he’d come out of a land fighting force. She’d heard he had plenty of live combat experience; that he’d been through several dangerous missions during his time in the Army; that he’d earned multiple Purple Hearts and Bronze Stars. He was the polar opposite of Mao, who’d been dishonorably discharged from the Marines without a single notable accomplishment to her name.

That wasn’t the reason, but she and Dunnigan weren’t especially close. He’d come to them from Mithril’s South Atlantic Battle Group, the Neimheadh, only two months prior, and while she knew he was a skilled combatant, she still didn’t know much about him as a person.

As they got to within a mile of the island, Dunnigan began grumbling. “Such a crock of shit...”

“What is?” she asked.

“This dumbass mission. Sending us out into the back end of nowhere... Couldn’t they get someone else?”

Mao groaned. “Stop complaining. No one can handle this stuff but us.”

“Who even gives a rat’s ass? What are the bombs gonna do if they go off? I mean, other than wiping out the piss-poor locals...”

Mao couldn’t believe her ears. “Dunnigan?”

“Hey, I’m just joking around. Don’t take it so personal, Chinese,” he said with a chuckle.

Mao responded, voice firm, unwilling to just let it go. “That’s not something to joke about while we’re on a mission. And my name isn’t ‘Chinese.’ It’s Melissa Mao.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled. “Well, unclench already. I’ll do my job. You can count on it.”

“I certainly hope so...” she muttered.

Once they were in the vicinity of the island, the two machines let the current carry them to the western shore. Thanks to HF sonar and GPS data, they immediately found their destination: the sunken tunnel.

Its entrance was blocked by crumbled concrete and rocks; there wasn’t even enough space for a person to slip through. Fortunately, such an obstacle was no match for an M9, and at night, with the waves high, there was no risk of the enemy catching them at work. The greater risk, in fact, was the possibility of an enemy trap.

If it was clear the enemy already knew about this route, they’d have to call off the operation. They’d back off and withdraw, and warn their other allies to return in secret. They’d have to scrap their existing plan and figure out another way to go about it.

An outside observer might find this idea agonizing, but it was better than trying to ram an unworkable plan though—A typical special operation was a much more mundane, patient endeavor than what was typically depicted in the movies. Fortunately, it didn’t seem that would be necessary this time.

Mao used the full range of her M9’s sensors to scan for danger, slowly and carefully, but found no sign of traps or surveillance in the tunnel.

“We’re good to go?” Dunnigan asked.

“Affirmative,” Mao responded. “I’m positive we’re safe.”

“In we go, then. C’mon.”

The two machines pushed the rocks aside and entered the tunnel. They couldn’t keep up radio contact while underground, so they left a wired relay device at the tunnel entrance.

The sniper team consisted of Kurz and Corporal Nguyen. Nguyen came out of the Vietnamese Army; he had long experience in jungle warfare and considerable skills in knife combat. He also knew a lot about AS firearms, both Eastern and Western. He had a lean frame and olive skin, and despite his hollow cheeks and somewhat sickly appearance, he wasn’t someone you wanted to cross; his affinity for knives had made him as sharp-eyed as a hawk.

Nguyen, like Dunnigan, had transferred to the squad two months ago. They hadn’t run too many operations together, but he seemed like a reliable workhorse type; he also had a sense of humor.

“Uruz-6 here,” Kurz said. “We’re almost to the sniper point. Time to set depth to zero.”

“Yeah, I see it. Just make sure your ass doesn’t stick out of the water,” Nguyen responded, and adjusted his M9’s position.

The sniper team had arrived in the sea four kilometers west of Berildaob Island. It was shallow there, with a water depth of only four meters—enough that an M9 could stand with its upper torso out of the water. It was from here that they’d pick off the enemy ASes and anti-aircraft artillery around the occupied base. The American M6s couldn’t be effective at this range, but the M9s had the equipment and fire control systems to make it possible.

“Got any PFZs in mind?” Nguyen asked, inquiring about their attack targets.

“Nah, why bother?” Kurz shrugged. “I’ll shoot the guys on the right, you shoot the guys on the left. Simple, right?”

“You sure about that?” Nguyen checked again.

“Sure, I’m sure.”

The two began their preparations. Kurz’s machine staked out a position 100 meters away from Nguyen’s then opened the weapons container it had been carrying. Kurz would be using a 76mm sniper cannon; it was about as powerful as you could get, as far as stand-alone AS artillery went. It was also tops for accuracy and came with independent optical and self-diagnostic sensors, as well as a trajectory calculation computer.

Nguyen’s machine came armed with an eight-round surface-to-surface missile launcher. It fired a modified version of the Hellfire air-to-surface missiles that were frequently used by combat helicopters. They were precise, powerful, and used smokeless rocket motors that made them harder for the enemy to spot.

“Here’s hoping the infiltration team can handle this...” Kurz whispered.

Nguyen snorted on the other end of the line. “If they screw up, I’m out of here. They’re not paying me enough to have a shootout in a gas cloud.”

“No kidding,” Kurz laughed.

Nguyen continued his grumbling. “Mithril’s got great equipment and they pay well, but I hate all the niggling crap that comes with their missions. Guarding hostages, watching for chemical weapons... the whole thing gives me an ulcer. You get what I’m saying?”

“Eh, if running out guns blazing was all the job took, they wouldn’t pay us the big bucks.” The delicate demands of their missions was what justified their equipment and salaries. Even Kurz, with all his constant complaints, knew that much.

“But Kurz, we’re mercenaries. Killers for hire. Fighting our client’s enemies is one thing, but risking our lives for all this other stuff... it’s kind of a violation of contract, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I never read the contract.”

Nguyen groaned. “Are you kidding me? We might be in a rotten business, but it’s still a business, y’know?”

“I just don’t see how it’s that big a deal.”

“Fine, forget it. If I decide it’s not worth it, I’ll just find a new job.”

“Find a new job, huh?” Kurz responded absently. He was too worried about Sousuke to pay much mind to Nguyen’s idle talk. That AS... the Arbalest. He’d been wondering for a while why the operator had to be Sousuke, when both McAllen and Mao seemed like a better fit. Protecting Kaname, operating prototypes... wasn’t it a little cruel, putting all that responsibility onto one kid’s shoulders?

He’s wound up tight enough as it is... Kurz was well aware of Sousuke’s innate earnestness, and his sense of responsibility. He honestly liked that about him (though he’d never, ever admit it). But was it possible those traits could play against him in this case?

Well, no big... Kurz reassured himself. If that “Venom” thing showed its face, his sniper cannon would have some things to say about it. Even if the 76mm rounds didn’t land a decisive blow, he could at least make it easier for Sousuke to do his thing. Under the water, Kurz waited for the battle to start.

Sousuke and Captain McAllen were serving as the strike team. The second Mao and Dunnigan disabled the bombs, Kurz and Nguyen would kick off their long-range attacks. Sousuke and McAllen would rush onto land at top speed and sweep through what was left, while Mao’s team came up from the storehouse to assist. Once the AS battle began in earnest, the de Danaan would surface; helicopters full of infantry would take off, then fly in to occupy the base. That was the plan in a nutshell.

Sousuke’s Arbalest and McAllen’s M9 were already within 600 meters of the beach. This was far closer than a gas turbine-powered M6 could get unnoticed, but even their highly advanced machines would be spotted by the enemy if the water got any shallower. While the de Danaan could use its ECS even when surfaced, the M9s and the Arbalest had to be fully out of the water to use theirs.

The Arbalest poked its head above water to get a read on the current state of the island; the night vision mode employed by its dual sensors showed Sousuke a base surrounded by a fence. Illuminated by bright lights, it was a squat structure that openly bore the scars of the battle it had just been through.

Sousuke remained silent. He could see one of the enemy’s anti-aircraft artillery: a turret with two machine cannons mounted on tank treads. The Arbalest’s AI ran an automatic analysis and displayed detailed information on the weapon.

It was a 2S6M Tunguska, a self-propelled surface-to-air cannon made in the USSR. Despite the “surface-to-air” label, it was also a tremendous threat to ASes—it would shower them with 30mm shells the minute it realized they were there.

There was also an enemy AS walking toward the beach in front of the base on patrol. It cast a searchlight over the ocean, coming and going repeatedly over certain places. The AS was one of the French-made Mistral IIs described in the briefing: a squat humanoid form with no head, and its main sensors mounted in the crotch. The Mistral IIs had superior armor to the Soviet Rk-92 Savages and greater firing precision. Mithril’s machines might be more advanced, but Mistrals were nothing to sneeze at if you encountered them in large numbers.

Sousuke knew that there had to be more than those two machines, but the buildings and terrain produced natural blind spots that prevented him from tracking their locations. He saw no sign of that AS—the Venom—either.

On the beach, he could see the abandoned husk of a burnt-out AS; it was one of the American Dark Bushnells. It stretched one arm up toward the night sky, while its body was twisted, as if in agony. It was tragic to think of those men in their second-generation M6s coming ashore, unaware that within minutes, they’d be up against an opponent that could outfight even cutting-edge M9s.

An hour passed. Dawn came. The underground infiltration team should have disabled the bombs by now, but there was no visible change in the base.

The Venom was still nowhere to be seen. Was it undergoing maintenance in the hangar? Was it hiding somewhere, cloaked with its ECS? Or... was it under the ocean, creeping toward them right now? What if it had ambushed Mao’s team? What if it was attacking Kurz’s? These unfounded questions flitted in and out of Sousuke’s mind. He felt like a nervous wreck.

“Sergeant Sagara,” came a call from the M9 beside him; McAllen’s.

“Sir?”

“I’ve been taking part in AS operations for nine years now.”

Sousuke waited curiously.

“So... you know. I’ve seen good machines and bad ones. And from what I’ve seen, that’s a pretty good machine you’re in right now. Just put in your usual effort, and you’ll be fine. This is business as usual. Got it?” Maybe McAllen was trying to show concern. He always seemed like such a nagging, stuffy man, but that, too, came from a strong sense of responsibility as a commander in the field.

“Yes, Captain, sir.” But despite his acknowledgment, Sousuke couldn’t fully purge from his mind the image of that mauled M6, lapped by the waves.

Not long after, he heard a muffled explosion from the direction of the base; it sounded like it had come from under the storehouse. For a second, he thought that the bombs attached to the chemical weapons had gone off... but that wasn’t it; it was smaller in scale. Black smoke began to rise from the building’s entrance, and the enemy soldiers on patrol began shouting to each other.

It’s begun... Sousuke flipped the voice command switch on his stick. “Al. Power level to military.”

《Roger. GPL, military. Output increasing. 20... 30...》The machine’s AI, Al, spoke to him in a deep male voice. The generator’s output, which he’d been keeping at minimum, began to slowly rise.

“Uruz-2 here! We’ve taken out the detonators! I repeat, we’ve taken out the detonators! Proceeding above ground now!” Mao’s report put an end to their communications blackout. They must have successfully disarmed the bombs.

“Uruz-6, ready to roll any time.”

“Uruz-10, what he said.” These reports came from Kurz and Nguyen of the sniper team.

《60... 70... 80...》The generator’s power surged through the body of the Arbalest. Sparks of electricity crackled from the joints with a pale blue glow. Its electromagnetic muscles creaked and its body trembled.《90... 95... 100!》

Time to go. Sousuke took in a deep breath, and then—

“Uruz-1 to all units. Hunting season is open. Attack!”

“Roger.” Sousuke pulled the throttle trigger on his left stick as hard as he could. The aquatic pack’s pump-jets burst to maximum output. A geyser erupted behind him, as if from an explosion. The force of it jolted his body. His machine burst to the surface, kicking up plumes of water as it streaked toward land.

Accelerate. Accelerate. The knots reading on his speedometer continued to rise, and the machine vibrated wildly. The Arbalest skated closer to the beach, tearing through the waves. 150 meters. 100 meters...

The patrolling Mistral II noticed and took aim with its rifle. Object on course. Straight ahead. Unable to dodge, he thought. Silently, he set the Arbalest’s head-mounted machine guns to full automatic; he poured on 12.7mm rounds at a rate of a hundred per second. They sparked off the enemy machine’s durable armor, but it still hunched over, reflexively, to shield its sensors. The act bought him a few seconds; it was more than enough.

The Arbalest hit the beach at full speed and leaped low across the ground. Sand went flying as it rolled, carried by momentum to slam straight into the opposing machine. There was a powerful crash, and the Arbalest and the Mistral II collapsed in a tangle of mechanical limbs.

The enemy machine quickly sat up and thrust its monomolecular cutter bayonet at the Arbalest, but the Arbalest had already pressed a shot cannon into its side; it fired. The point-blank 57mm shell sent the Mistral II flying back, nearly bisected at the waist. Oil sprayed from the wound for just a second before it hit the ground, spitting fire.

That’s one... That first kill reawakened Sousuke’s soldier’s instincts.

There were more explosions coming from the base—Kurz’s sniping and Nguyen’s missiles. McAllen had also successfully made landfall; he used an anti-tank dagger to take out the artillery then pulled a carbine from his back and went on the hunt.

Sousuke righted his machine immediately and ejected the aquatic pack clasped over his machine’s torso. The explosive bolts activated and broke it in two. He leaped the Arbalest at a newly-arrived Mistral II.

Aim. Fire. Dodge. Search. Aim again.

That’s right. This is my body. It’s just like always. Nothing has changed.

Fight. Defeat. Destroy.

Cut. Strike. Slice. Burn. Crush.

It’s so easy... Sousuke realized. The Venom was nothing; just another mission objective, no matter what name they gave it. His job was to destroy it by any means necessary. Forget about protecting others, he reminded himself. That’s all that matters.

He would lodge his teeth into the Venom’s windpipe until the breathing stopped. Come out and face me...

Same Timeframe, 30 Meter Depth, Central Control Room, Tuatha de Danaan

“It’s started. M9 ADMs are signaling that hostilities have begun!” the combat intelligence officer said, with a hint of nerves.

“All of them?” Tessa asked from the captain’s chair.

“Affirmative, ma’am.”

“Then it’s time to surface,” she decided. “Raise all ECS masts; MBT to standard blow.”

Mardukas balked at that order. It wasn’t the mention of ECS masts that gave him pause; those were the devices used to cloak the de Danaan from enemy radar while it was surfaced, so their use was entirely expected. It was the mention of “standard blow” that shocked him.

When a submarine surfaced, to gain buoyancy, it had to set the MBT—the main ballast tanks—to blow. There were several ways to do that; the de Danaan had a special method called “silent blow” that took more time, but let them maintain a lower profile to ships around them. Conversely, standard blow let them surface quickly, but the rapid expulsion of water generated noise, which made them easier to detect.

“What’s the matter, Mardukas-san?” Tessa inquired.

“Standard... blow? You’re certain, ma’am?”

“We have little time to lose.”

“Ma’am,” he said after a pause. “Forgive me. Prepare to surface!” Mardukas pressed the switch for the diving alarm, and a synthetic siren sound blared out all over the ship.

At the same time, the mother AI’s voice rang out.《Surface! Surface! Surface!》

“Standard low pressure blow!”

“Standard low pressure blow, aye. Initiate low pressure blow, all MBT!”

“Raise all ECS masts! Activate electromagnetic camouflage!”

“ECS masts, aye! First, rising! Second, rising! Third...”

《Surface! Surface! Surface!》

“Flight control room, helicopter squads. Start engines!”

“Gebo 3, 4, 5, 6! Start engines!” All at once, the transport helicopters in the hangar began to rev up their multi-thousand horsepower turboshaft engines.

Wreathed in foam, the giant boat began to raise its bow. The floor trembled with a low rumble. The submarine had had enough of holding its breath; it was now letting out a roar.

“Wh-What’s going on?” Shocked by the sudden vibration and noise, Kaname clamped down the boiling pot of curry.

“The boat is rising to the surface,” the cook responded. Likewise, he was holding a stack of dishes to keep them from falling.

“Why? Is there some kind of problem?”

“I’m not sure. We don’t usually surface with all this noise... Something could have happened to the SRT.”

“To... Sousuke?” she asked hesitantly.

“Sergeant Sagara?” The cook shrugged. “I couldn’t say. It also might not mean anything.”

“I see...” Kaname looked up at the kitchen’s ceiling, nervously. Sousuke... Will he be okay?

28 August, 0405 Hours (Local Time)

Berildaob Island, Perio Archipelago

Bathed in the glow of the rising sun, two Mistral IIs appeared beyond the flames. They broke away from each other at high speeds, then closed in on him while laying down alternating shots of cover fire.

A run-of-the-mill operator would try to dodge the shots and get some distance, but not Sousuke; his Arbalest stopped running and knelt down in place. The enemy was trying to lock down his attacks, he knew; all their rapid movement and wild fire was just a buildup to their next move, to stop and take careful aim. That’s right, he thought. Come after me...

The enemies’ fire hit the ground around the Arbalest, sending up bits of asphalt and puffs of white smoke. A trilling alarm from the AI warned him that it was dangerous to stand still.

“Shut up,” he muttered. He readied his machine’s shot cannon in both hands, took careful aim, and fired. The shot sent one of the enemies reeling back. Shards of metal went flying, and the Mistral II slammed into the ground. Its severed right leg spun through the air and landed on an abandoned jeep, crushing it.

Sousuke fired again. The second machine fell, bounced into a somersault, and exploded. His shotcannon was out of ammo. He wanted to change clips, but there was already another enemy machine bearing down on him.

Sousuke rolled the Arbalest forward to skillfully dodge its shots. As it sprang back to its feet, the enemy machine cast its rifle aside and drew a melee weapon that resembled a long-handled hammer. It came in range in a second. The hammer swung down. As Sousuke’s machine just managed to dodge, the hammer hit the ground and exploded.

A HEAT hammer? Sousuke instantly identified the weapon, even as the blast poured over him and he drew his machine back. A HEAT hammer—it resembled a long-handled hammer, but the head was filled with a powerful shaped charge. Their disposability made them cheap and easy to produce, while still packing enough power to destroy a tank in one hit.

The Mistral II tossed the spent shaft aside, and pulled out another HEAT hammer. This one it swung sideways; the Arbalest dodged it by a hair. Sousuke grabbed the enemy’s shoulder with his machine’s left hand; he fixed the shotcannon to the hardpoint on the Arbalest’s head—sticking it “in its mouth”—and used its free right hand to draw a monomolecular cutter.

Impact. The two machines slammed into each other; the knife-like cutter plunged into the Mistral II’s chest. There was an ear-piercing scream as the enemy machine trembled from the force. Sousuke ignored it as he moved the monomolecular cutter, smoothly tearing the enemy’s control system to shreds. That made four.

He pulled out the knife. The Mistral II fell to its knees, and then collapsed forward, its wound sparking and smoking. Sousuke replaced his shotcannon’s clip, then propelled his machine forward with leopard-like agility, searching for more enemies.

Where? Where is it? Where is the Venom? The Arbalest’s head moved back and forth. The ECCS on its forehead was on full blast, emitting radar waves to catch any trace of nearby enemies. Over the radio, he heard reports from various allied machines:

“Uruz-6. We’ve taken out all targets visible from here. Bring on some more!”

“Uruz-12. We’re topside. Barracks B secured and locked down; one enemy infantry dead, two injured. Hostages all safe.”

“Uruz-10. All confirmed surface-to-air artillery destroyed.”

“Uruz-2. Barracks A secured and locked down. Twenty-three hostages located, all safe. Four enemy infantry subdued with tasers.”

It was going pretty smoothly. Most of the enemy ASes were destroyed, the enemy soldiers were captured, and the base personnel had been rescued, safe under the protection of Mao and Dunnigan. But that most crucial element—the red machine—was still missing.

“Uruz-1 to squad. I’ve had no sign of the Venom yet. Anyone seen it? Even the slightest trace. Report.”

“Negative” was the universal reply to the commander’s call. But just then—

“No, affirmative. It’s... is this supposed to be a joke?” Mao said.

“What is it, Uruz-2—” McAllen’s response cut off in a gasp.

“What the...?” Dunnigan also let out a groan of disbelief.

The reason for their confusion was immediately clear. The red AS—the Venom—was in plain sight, standing atop of the tallest building of the facility, to the northeast. Its ECS wasn’t even engaged.

What’s its game? Sousuke wondered.

The diamond-shaped head. The oversized frame. The jagged silhouette. And... the red monoeye. Like a poison dart frog in humanoid form—that was the kind of sharp, dangerous aura that wreathed this new AS.

The Venom turned its head languidly, lording over the flame-wreathed base. There was a large Gatling gun in its hand; a hard-to-wield but insanely powerful weapon.

“Greetings, Mithril friends...” came a voice from its external speakers. Sousuke recognized it, and his heart sank in his chest.

“It’s been so very long. How I’ve missed you... Particularly you, Kashim. Or is it Sagara-kun these days?”

“Ga...” Gauron. Even before he could say the full name, the enemy cut him off, mockingly.

“Right-o! It’s me.” With great effort, the red AS readied its heavy weapon.