86—EIGHTY-SIX, Vol. 11: Dies Passionis

Someone finally believed in Dad.

The boy looked up at him, baffled, and then realized: Was it he who…?

Theo ended up nodding.

“I thought this might count as cheating, but I figured this little wouldn’t be too bad? An officer I used to work under ended up getting a lot of demands, so I had them slot you in as compensation.”

“So you got me on this train…?”

“Yep.” Theo smiled with another nod.

This boy was a memento of the captain who once fought with him and shared his Personal Mark of the laughing fox.

“Welcome to the Federacy… You’re going to be all right now.”

As the 1st Armored Division’s HQ personnel were setting up camp, Lena was in the tent that served as her makeshift command post, mulling over the retreat plan one more time.

She had Shin confirm the position of all the Legion’s units when they embarked, and she had it marked on a map, comparing the data to see if there were any possible problems in the retreat plan.

It was her role as commander to ensure the thousands of Reginleifs spread out widely along the four-hundred-kilometer route would retreat in an orderly, timely, and sequential manner.

Each of the four armored divisions, several dozen battalions, and hundreds of squadrons needed to know the route they would take and stand on alert in their designated combat zones, while also keeping in mind the order in which they’d go through maintenance, resupply, and rest.

Each battalion and squadron had gone over the operation plan before the mission in the Rüstkammer base, but the enemy’s deployment
and the progress of the evacuation were constantly changing, and each change had to be included into the operation plan.

Since this was a joint operation between the four armored divisions, Lena—the 1st Armored Division’s tactical commander—also had to keep the information spread among the 2nd to 4th Armored Division’s tactical commanders.

Still, she had it relatively easy because Shin’s ability gave them a general grasp of the enemy’s status. The Legion that were out on the offensive were currently still locked in combat in the other countries’ fronts, leaving few enemies within the Legion territories.

Lena couldn’t quite call this lucky, but for some odd reason, the Republic was only hit very lightly. Even though the Republic had the least soldiers and combat experience of all surviving countries, they took the least damage in the second large-scale offensive.

Vika and Grethe had said this, too, but this was strange and suspicious. If this was a trap and they were lured in, it was odd that the Legion hadn’t pounced on them yet. There must have been some kind of plan here.

We have to be careful…

The tent’s entrance flapped open. Marcel was back, and his expression was, for some reason, very fed up.

“Lena, just letting you know, but…we got a request from some evacuating officers to sneak in some luggage in the Federacy’s supply trucks. Could you check if this isn’t someone we should be pulling strings for?”

He then went out for a second and heaved in a few cardboard boxes. Another mound of requests. No one in the Republic was informed of Lena’s presence here, so they were probably addressed to Richard and his staff officers.

“…Read off the list of senders,” Lena said, moving her gaze back to the map.

Marcel indifferently started reading out the names in monotone. Once he was finished, Lena grinned.

“Second Lieutenant, I’m heartbroken to inform you that the retreat was so hurried that all these letters went missing.”

“That’s what I figured.” Marcel smirked, picking up on what she meant. “Roger that, ma’am.”

Fido, being the considerate, wise Scavenger that it was, brought a drum over, into which they could dump the letters. They carried the drum outside so they could light a campfire. Seeing Marcel leave, Lena sighed. Geez.

“The Federacy and the United Kingdom don’t have to go through this trouble…”

So why does the Republic need to be like this? I’m tired. I wanna go home.

But as that exhausted thought crossed her mind, she blinked. Go home…? The thought had occurred to her completely naturally, settling into her heart with no resistance.

…Oh. I see.

A smile played on her lips.

“…That’s right. I have to go back.”

She already had a home to return to. Not in the Republic, where she was born and raised, but rather….

The tent’s entrance flapped open again. This time, Shiden peeked into the tent.

“Your Majesty. A train just passed us by. We’re having free Scavengers set up a wall, so make sure you move before the next train comes. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Lena’s hands stopped. This was a three-day operation, so both commanders and soldiers were to alternate in their supply and break times. Lena’s own break time was during this evening, but…

“Is it that time already?”

The operation’s staff officer went into the tent next. He would be taking over Lena’s job while she was resting.

“Yes, it is, Colonel Milizé… It’s my shift. Please transfer command authorities to me.”

The autumn sun set early, and under its golden rays, Shiden’s newly reformed Brísingamen squadron and part of the Spearhead squadron,
who served as Lena’s HQ personnel, entered their break time and had an early dinner.

This schedule was set up to accommodate for Shin, who would be serving as recon during nighttime, so as to prevent any raids. There were still no signs of any incoming Legion attacks, giving them the freedom to light a fire. And so rather than relying on the combat rations’ heating agent, Shiden and her new squadron all sat around a simple stove.

The 1st Armored Division was in charge of securing the ninety-kilometer range between the Gran Mur and the point three hundred kilometers away from the Federacy, phase line Cancer. They left the protection of the Ilex city terminal, Point Sacra, to the expedition’s forces and were in the central camp outside the Gran Mur.

Lena was able to get there by moving while hiding behind the Scavengers’ shadow. Feeling the rays of the setting sun and the autumn wind against her, Shiden continued to watch the evacuation trains and transport trucks sail in the distance.

The evacuation of the Republic’s company officers had been completed and moved to noncommissioned officers and their families. Soldiers in Prussian-blue uniforms were atop the train, screaming out complaints and probably thinking no one could see their faces.

A few of the Eighty-Six squad members regarded them with obscene hand gestures, though the soldiers probably couldn’t see them, either. Tohru, who’d brought a stuffed toy piggy, sentenced it to hanging from his Reginleif’s gun barrel.

The Republic’s twenty-two varieties of combat rations had some new flavors added recently, and so Shiden’s group was dining on dishes they hadn’t had before. Fortunately, or perhaps not so much so, Kurena ended up getting one of the new dishes.

“What’s tofu and miso soup?”

“…Can you even call this soup? It’s more like miso juice.”

When it came to combat rations, most main dishes called soup ended up being closer to juice.

“Soup, juice, I don’t care; what even is this?”

Fido went around, picking up trash like the rations’ laminated packs
as Shin and Dustin came back with a fresh set of clothes. They’d had water splashed on them before dinner. They joined the circle, and while Dustin sat next to Anju, who handed him his ration, Raiden was the one to hand Shin his.

Shiden watched it, a bit taken aback.

What are you, his wife? And don’t sulk just because you’re late, Lena. Sit next to him.

Shin got a ration of meatballs with gravy. He was about to add some hot sauce, mistaking it for tomato sauce, only for Raiden to stop him.

Seriously, are you actually his wife?

With Lena finally sitting next to him, Shiden looked at her, flush, and shrugged.

“…It’s all good so long as it keeps her from thinking about the Republic.”

Besides, Shiden got the chance to splash Shin with water, so she was in an extra-good mood.

Michihi’s 3rd Armored Battalion was deployed near phase line Taurus, and from where they were standing, they could only see the very peak of the Gran Mur in the distance. Michihi and the Lycaon squadron were currently resupplying their units, so they’d be ready and on time to change places with the unit currently patrolling.

Sitting around the stove’s fire, they ate an assortment of rations and light pastries, the most popular of which was the fruitcake. As Michihi chewed on it, she asked:

“Speaking of, are all the Bleachers gone now?”

It was the middle of the night.

Despite it being before rising time, Lena got out of the simple bed in her tent and stepped out into the campsite. The HQ company’s camp offered a view of the imposing walls that once separated the Republic’s
interior from the battlefield. One could also get a glance at the Ilex city terminal’s evacuation through the cracks in the walls.

The soldiers’ evacuation had ended early into the night, and it was finally the civilians’ turn. Even now, right before the date changed, the place was packed with people dressed in assorted outfits, forming a disorderly mass.

Thankfully, as far as Lena could see, there was no real trouble to speak of. The evacuation was proceeding well—according to plan.

“The evacuation’s going smoother than expected,” Lena said aloud.

“Is it? That’s nice,”
Annette, who stayed behind in Rüstkammer, said through the Para-RAID.
“Because they started making trouble as soon as they got off on our side. Both the officers who came early and are basically kicking back now—and angry civilians who just showed up. They’re saying their refugee sector is too close to the battlefield and they’re scared to stay there.”

Lena cocked her head curiously. Annette was waiting in their home base, meaning she was far from the refugee sector. And the army wouldn’t just leak information to an unrelated base.

“How did you hear about that?”

“Theo told me. He got sent over because there aren’t enough people to handle the clerk work in the refugee sector. Plus, you remember how he wanted to get his comrade’s kid over here on an early train. So his commander told him to go pick him up and help them out along the way.”

“Oh… But close to the battlefield? Their refugee sector was set up dozens of kilometers away from the fighting.”

The Federacy, of course, prioritized defending its own civilians first, so to accept the Republic’s refugees, they’d prepared refugee sectors along the border with the combat territories. But even so, they were still farther and safer from the Wulfsrin population’s refugee areas, since they were treated as actual reserves.

From a humanitarian standpoint, this wasn’t done out of discrimination toward the Vargus and the Wulfsrin. It was simply because, unlike them, the Republic refugees were civilians without any combat training, and they’d just get in the way if left on the battlefield.

“Yeah, but still. The Federacy’s been fighting on the western front day and night, and you can probably see the lights from afar during night combat, right? They’re saying it scares them. And if this was before the large-scale offensive, maybe they wouldn’t have been that scared.”

Scared of battle and the Legion themselves. The possibility of these metallic ghosts killing them or even waging war against them wasn’t realistic for the Republic. At least, it hadn’t been until the large-scale offensive.

“Are you all right on that front? It’s night right now, and your forces are smaller, but the citizens must be scared of the Reginleifs. Plus, all the soldiers ran off on them. They must be panicking.”

“Yes, well…” Lena trailed off, gazing at the Ilex terminal, which was visible a few kilometers away from behind the cracks in the Gran Mur.

The night air was crisp and cold, and the autumn skies shone so clearly that it looked like they might fall at any second. But the murmuring heard from the distance did have some anxiety to it, though she couldn’t hear any shouting or cursing.

“It looks like that’s not really the case. They’re very anxious, and there’s the occasional argument, but overall, they’re evacuating without making a fuss. We thought they might be more opposed to the evacuation itself… Like, if you want us to evacuate, beg for it. You know the citizens always know how to insist on their rights, like they did in the large-scale offensive…”

There were a few lighting stands prepared for the night evacuations, and they lit up the plaza before the terminal brightly. In the distance, one could make out the reliable silhouettes of patrolling Vánagandrs. Plus, there hadn’t been any combat with the Legion in this area since the evacuation began.

This was an evacuation from encroaching war, and yet there was no sign of fighting. Only a clear, silent starry night.

“I figured they’d say things like that, but…come to think of it, anyone who might say that probably already died in the large-scale offensive.”

Since the Republic had abolished the royalty in an armed revolution,
it placed more restrictions on its military than most other countries. One such restriction limited the authority to declare martial law. No matter what happened, the army wasn’t allowed to overturn the constitution, meaning the army couldn’t violate the civilians’ freedom under any circumstances. And with that law as their crutch, some people refused to evacuate during the first large-scale offensive.

They all died.

On top of that, neither the army nor Lena had the time or presence of mind to go around asking people to evacuate, and the Eighty-Six had no desire to evacuate those people, either. So they had to leave them behind on the battlefield.

“That’s probably true, come to think of it. Everyone got so scared, they froze up or were so confused that they could only run in circles. They all ended up dying, so the only ones left alive are the ones who are smart enough to run when you tell them to. And someone walked up and told them they’ll help them get to safety, so they know to just shut up and take it.”

Of course, some people ran and died just the same. That was just what the large-scale offensive was like. Indiscriminate in its death and equal in choosing its victims. What one thought or did in their life made little to no difference.

If nothing else, the Legion didn’t care at all for what the victims they crushed to bits thought, did, or said.

“But it really is weird. I’m surprised that those guys who kept causing trouble with their nonsense— What did you call them again? Bleachers? I’m surprised they didn’t pull anything.”

“Yes. Colonel Wenzel, Shin, and me were worried they might try something.”

But in the end, they didn’t do anything. It was almost anticlimactic. This time, the Strike Package wasn’t greeted by banners full of their bigoted nonsense. According to Grethe, the blame for the catastrophe that was the second large-scale offensive and the subsequent evacuation was pinned entirely on the Bleachers, and as such, they lost their standing within the Republic.

Except that Ms. Primevére, the Bleachers’ head figure, was seen evacuating on the first train along with the government officials. And Lena saw, from within the cockpit of Saki’s Grimalkin, how that woman kept directing annoyed, hateful glares at the Reginleifs passing by.

She saw her lips mouth the words
How dare you…

“…Keep an eye on the people managing the refugee sectors,” Lena said.

“Roger that. I’ll let Theo know, too, and of course remind the Federacy through the legit channels. I’ll start with the head of research first.”

“I’m counting on you.”

“Yeah. You be careful over there, all right?”

The Para-RAID turned off, and Lena took a deep breath.

“—I thought the official time to wake up was only fifteen minutes ago.”

Hearing the faint sound of grass crunching under approaching footsteps, she turned around to find Shin standing there. He looked at his tactical commander—who’d gotten out of bed ahead of time and walked around camp unguarded—with a bothered, blaming sort of look.

“Well, I just woke up early. And it was only thirty minutes, Shin. Besides, what are you doing up now?”

“I went to sleep before everyone else.”

For the duration of this three-day mission, Shin was to fundamentally not participate in combat. Instead, he was charged with remaining on recon duty and keeping an eye on the Legion’s movements.

In order to guard the relief expedition’s retreat route, the Strike Package’s combat units had to maintain a certain distance. And to keep the Reginleifs’ mobility up, they couldn’t afford to simply wait for the Legion to launch attacks.

They’d need to watch for indications of any of the Legion units dotting the territories moving in and crush them as soon they advanced. The Strike Package’s basic strategy in this mission was to destroy the enemy as quickly as possible, so as to not allow the Legion a chance to group up and cooperate.

And to that end, Shin would have to be in charge of tracking the
enemy across this large area. So out of consideration for the fact that he’d be spending three days deep in the Legion territories, constantly exposed to their screams, Raiden and the rest had forced him into his bed and told him to get some sleep whenever he could afford it.

“But the time aside, don’t walk around the battlefield alone. There’s no sign of any Legion units in the area moving in on us, but—”

He then trailed off, his sanguine eyes settling on what was behind Lena.

“…You came to see the Gran Mur?” he asked.

“Yes. I thought it might be my last chance to see it.”

Shin paused for thought and then said, “I know we’re in the middle of an operation right now, but…if it gets too hard for you…”

Lena cracked a light, slightly pained smile.

“Thank you… Well, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. Fawn on you for a bit.”

Fido approached them, turning its flank over to serve as a bench in what was perhaps its show of consideration. Lena sat down and patted the spot next to hers, spurring Shin to take a seat. Feeling his slightly higher body heat next to hers, she reclined against him and placed her head on his shoulder.

Shin said nothing, simply being there for her, and Lena didn’t say anything, either. His body was slightly hot, and it felt like she was slowly melting into him, like the borders between them were blending together.

“—I did want to return to this country,” she suddenly said.

Shin didn’t reply, and she continued, the words leaving her lips. It was like the warmth of the boy next to her temporarily did away with the sentiments and the pain. She spoke like it would help her hold on until the operation ended and they returned to the Federacy.

“I’m not fine with this. I’m sad. I wanted to come back to this country. When I came to the Federacy, I didn’t think it would really just disappear. Mother is dead, and our mansion is gone, but…I thought someday, when the war ended, I’d return here.”

“…Right.” Shin nodded, his crimson eyes fixed on the distant sky.
“It might sound like I’m just saying it to comfort you, but…let’s come here again sometime. All of us, together.”

She looked up, finding Shin’s eyes were fixed on the sky. Like he was gazing at the distant night sky of the First Sector, which she’d wished they could watch together.

“Seeing as we can’t keep that promise to watch the fireworks at Palace Lune.”

They might not know how far into the future that might be. But even so…

“So let’s go see the southern seas. Let’s go watch the noctilucas light up the water in the Fleet Countries. And the diamond dust and aurora in the United Kingdom.”

The magnificent winter of the white-clad goddess. Or the lakes and the glory of the Alliance. Or the cities of the far-west countries, which might still be peaceful. Or the southern countries they’d never seen before that lay past the wyrm’s roost.

The whole world that waited for them beyond the battlefield.

The two of them, together. Or with everyone else.

Lena finally managed a smile.

“…Yes. We did promise.”

Two years ago, before they knew each other’s faces.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t given up yet. Yes, let’s come here again someday. For sure.”

“Then maybe you should say you’ll be coming back. Kaie told me once that putting something into words can make it happen.”

“Right. Then—”

Lena rose to her feet and got off Fido, standing before the Gran Mur. She spoke her oath with her back to the fortress walls, the opposite of how she’d stood
back then
.

“—I’ll come back someday for sure. To this place, where I first met you, Shin.”

There was an odd pause for a moment there. Shin looked up at her, as if to say
Oh, right
.

“—You forgot?!” Lena exclaimed. “I thought you came here because you remembered!”

“No, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t recognize it because the flowers that bloomed here at the time were different—”

“Jerk!”

When Shin saw her sulk, his expression became almost amusingly panicked. It made Lena laugh out loud, at which point Shin realized he was being teased.

“…Isn’t that a little too mean?”

“Nope!”

Fido let out a protesting “
Pi,
” trying to back Shin up.

Based on the report of the 1st Armored Division, the evacuation of the Republic’s civilians was going smoothly. Since Siri’s 2nd Armored Division was deployed around where the Eighty-Sixth Sector used to be, from which they could see neither the Gran Mur nor the Federacy’s front line, they could only guess at the situation.

But they did, of course, know how things were going regardless. They guarded the high-speed railway tracks and had seen dozens of trains pass by on the way to the Republic and just as many on their way back to the Federacy.

Eighteen hours had passed since the evacuation began. Fifty-four hours remained, and a fourth of the operation’s total time had passed. And since the evacuation was going smoothly, the evacuation rate likewise stood at 25 percent or so.

But that aside.

“There’s nowhere else to hide in the area, so we had to come here, but…going in here does feel bad,” Siri griped to himself within Baldanders’s cockpit.

Baldanders and the Razor Edge squadron’s units were all lying in wait in the ruins of an Eighty-Six internment camp. Much like the southern camp Siri had stayed in, it was a row of simple black facilities
guarded by a needlessly sturdy wire fence. It’d been long since anyone occupied this place, but the ground was still empty of any weeds or flowers, just like it was back then. No rabbits or deer would wander in here for fear of being hunted down and devoured.

This desolate, savage sight was one that was all too familiar to him. A sight he wished he could forget.

The only part missing from this camp was the antipersonnel minefield surrounding it. Those alone had been dug up during last year’s large-scale offensive and weren’t there to impede Siri and the rest anymore. It felt terribly ironic.

Siri’s 2nd Armored Division was placed in charge of the strip between phase line Cancer—the three-hundred-kilometer point from the Federacy—and phase line Libra—the two-hundred-ten-kilometer point. The most outer patrol line of the high-speed railway and the retreat route.

Shin’s ability could accurately detect the Legion’s movements, but depending on conditions, they could possibly outsmart him. They couldn’t afford not to have the Reginleifs spread out and patrol. And on top of that, they couldn’t rely on Shin’s power for the whole three-day operation. It would be too taxing on him.

The 4th Armored Division was in charge of guarding the area between phase line Chiron—the closest one to the Federacy—and Pisces. To that end, he’d remained Resonated with Suiu, who was building her defensive line near his, and she replied to him through the Para-RAID in a teasing manner.

“Scared ghosts might pop out or something? I guess the camps do feel like the kind of place ghosts would haunt.”

Siri scoffed at her words.

“Don’t say ghosts; Nouzen might laugh at you. And you’re hiding in the old Empire’s farmland ruins, right? A ghost boar or cow might come floating at you.”

“The only one laughing at people here is you, Siri. Besides, even back when I was in one of the old Juggernauts, Banshee could at least handle animals.”

The Republic’s topography mostly consisted of plains, meaning that
outside the cities and forests, much of its land was made up of vast fields and farmland. As small as a Reginleif was, it was still a Feldreß and couldn’t very well hide in open fields.

Preferring not to stay in the open, where the Legion would easily detect him, Siri decided to hide in the internment camp, where his unit could lay low. Suiu was in the old Empire’s border with the Republic, which was of a similar topography, and had the same concerns.

Incidentally, Banshee was Suiu’s Personal Name, as well as her Reginleif’s call sign.

“The old Juggernauts couldn’t beat a Grauwolf, to say nothing of a Löwe.”

“It’s honestly a miracle we survived. Did the Republic really think they could beat the Legion with those things…?”

They exchanged wry smiles and then both returned to their vigilant gaze. It was a clear, moonless autumn night, with the light of the bright stars casting shadows on the ruins’ darkness. They couldn’t feel it in the Reginleif’s sealed cockpit, but the air of these slumbering fields was probably crisp and pleasant to the touch.

Siri felt an unforgettable bitterness surge up in his heart as his Reginleif, shaped like a skeletal corpse, lay hidden in the shadows of this desolate carcass of a ruin. His eyes were fixed on the starry night sky.

A ghost. Some faint part of him pondered that ghosts really could emerge right now. The ghosts of the untold scores of Eighty-Six who’d died trapped here. And they’d emerge not as friends, but as ghosts who resented the living.

I mean…we never saved them.

Back in the internment camps, those who tried to escape were shot dead or otherwise blown to bits by the mines. Some were thrown into the minefields by the soldiers, their idea of a bad joke or justice. He still remembered the sight of a young girl, trapped, unable to move and sobbing between the corpses of her siblings.

He couldn’t save her. Young Siri looked away, fearful he might draw the Republic soldiers’ attention. He could only look on, shaking, as the girl was helplessly blown up by the mines next.

He saw children even younger than her snatched by the soldiers only to be sold inside the walls for pocket money. Even when he was eventually cast out into the battlefield, one of his female squad mates drew the soldiers’ attention. Rumor had it she was sold off to some rich man in the First Sector.

He heard stories about one internment camp that was altogether abandoned, only for its entire population to starve to death, because its people had developed some kind of nasty infectious disease. There were rumors of another internment camp where people were hunted down for human experimentation.

The human experimentation turned out to be true. Just earlier, his squad mates, who were spread out around the camp, told him about a strange facility full of cages and operating tables. Apparently, it’d still been in use up until just before last year’s large-scale offensive. That was what they’d told him, their voices clearly choked up with nausea.

So if any of those countless dead Eighty-Six’s souls lingered on here, still abandoned in this internment camp…they’d surely resent Siri and the rest, who still lived, had left them to die here, and were for some reason protecting the Republic’s white pigs now…

“…Maybe they should come out,” Siri told himself quietly. “Let them.”

“Hmm? Did you say something, Siri?”
Siri keenly picked up on his whisper.

“No…,” Siri shook his head and replied.

But just as he was about to say it was nothing—

“Undertaker to all units.”

—a new Para-RAID target joined the Resonance. Shin. Siri immediately shifted gears with a snap. He moved from his alert state, where he still remained somewhat calm so as to preserve energy and keep his outlook bright for a prolonged patrol, to the keen state of mind of battle, where all his nerves were primed and ready.

“Legion offensive activity detected from a point one hundred fifty kilometers northwest of our departure point from the Federacy, Point
Zodiacs. This isn’t a Legion formation but a singular unit presumed to be an unidentified Morpho. All Strike Package units and squadrons are to spread out and remain wary of enemy artillery fire.”

Considering 800 mm shells weighed several tonnes, the Reginleif’s 88 mm turret couldn’t hope to shoot them down. Shin’s orders prioritized minimizing damage, but even knowing this, Siri withstood the urge to click his tongue.

“…Roger that.”

“We expect it to fire in coordination with enemy armored units in the vicinity. I’ll inform you on any movements I detect, but all units are to remain vigilant. Also, we’ve requested the Federacy to use their special artillery unit to eliminate the Morpho, so there’s no need for us to worry about counterattacking.”

“—Roger that. 8th Special Artillery Regiment, commencing firing sequence.”

On the western front, on a point twenty kilometers away from the Saentis-Historics line. That gigantic bird imposingly crept out of a concrete tunnel and onto the requisitioned railways.

In place of the dainty legs of a fowl, it had countless wheels that screeched and shrieked metallically as they moved its weight. In place of its lustrous turquoise body was an undyed, exposed metal black chassis. Spreading on both its sides were not graceful wings, but two spades meant to serve as recoil absorbers, placed there to compensate for the double track they didn’t have time to complete. The long barrel of the railgun evoked the image of beautiful plumage.

Its overall height was twelve meters tall. Its weight exceeded three thousand tonnes. The same type of weapon as the Morpho that initially threatened all of humankind’s confirmed countries: a railway artillery loaded with a railgun.

This was a high-caliber railgun built as the successor unit to the prototype railgun introduced the month prior, the Trauerschwan. It was
created, much like the Trauerschwan itself, as part of the Federacy’s plan to develop a countermeasure to the Morpho. In other words, this gun’s
minimal
requirements were firepower capable of being able to sink a one-thousand-four-hundred-tonne target, as well as a long range exceeding four hundred kilometers.

So inevitably, while it wasn’t quite a match for the Morpho yet, it was a gigantic turret capable of propelling very large shells at high speeds, which meant it was so large that moving it between points became a major issue. And since it was a weapon of the Federacy that prioritized defending its land first and foremost, the solution suggested for that problem was to use the railway tracks spread out around the country. They were, after all, meant for mass transportation to begin with.

And so ironically enough, the Federacy came to develop its prototype, the Trauerschwan, as a railway gun, much like the Morpho it was meant to oppose. However, its first battlefield ended up being the distant Theocracy. It was brought to the fold much sooner than expected—and in what was certainly a reckless play. In that battle, it had legs attached to it, forcing it to walk.

But this was its original form, the one it was meant to take: a railway gun. Albeit a hurriedly constructed railway gun, dispatched to accommodate for the front lines having fallen back.

The spades fixed in place. The shells loaded into their chamber. The enemy coordinates, which were transmitted by the Strike Package, were input. Confirming that the artillery crew had completed all preparations to fire and evacuated to a semibasement moat, the regimental commander raised their voice. Ferrying and deploying a weapon as large as this railway gun required an entire regiment of personnel.

The moats were made of reinforced concrete to both withstand the shock waves of their own railgun’s fire and offer some minimal degree of defense from the enemy railgun’s counterattacks.

The fire-control officer placed their hand on the wired firing device and looked up at the commander with a tense expression. The commander nodded.

“Mk. 2 Trauerschwan—Kampf Pfau, fire!”

The Legion had deprived humankind of aerial superiority through their Eintagsfliege and Stachelschwein, and despite this, they were careful enough to equip their precious Morpho with antiair guns and a wide-area radar system, so as to defend them from cruise missiles and suicide bombing from UAVs.

<>

With its thirty-meter-long barrel fixed on its estimated target’s coordinates, the Morpho was momentarily distracted by the warning from its radar. This was one Legion unit made intelligent by incorporating a dead human’s neural network—a Shepherd, as the humans called them. Much like many of the Shepherds, it was inhabited by the personality of one of the humans who’d died in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, a commander unit of this army of ghosts.

“He”—identifier Nidhogg—perfectly retained its memories and personality, while at the same time, he’d been driven mad by the instincts of a murder machine. By now, there was no trace of the man he used to be.

With the coldness of a mechanical monster, he estimated the threat level of the enemy targeting him. Its estimated firing position was two hundred kilometers southwest, and its shots’ velocity was rapid. It seemed to be an enemy railgun.

However…

<>

…its large-area radar perceived the trajectory of the enemy projectiles, and Nidhogg wasn’t in their direct path. They would miss without so much as brushing against him. There was no need to evade—to stop firing.

<>

The large-caliber railgun the Federacy developed as a countermeasure to the Morpho was still in its prototype stages. One month ago, they repurposed a prototype meant for lab testing into the Trauerschwan, deploying it in live combat. After analyzing the assorted data obtained
from that battle, they immediately used this feedback to spot any crucial flaws that required improvement, implementing them into the next prototype’s design, and began production.

However, they couldn’t possibly resolve every single flaw that came up in a mere month. Its slow automatic reload mechanism and incomplete fire-control system were still just as slow and incomplete as they were last month.

Still, with the Legion introducing more of the Morpho and its improved versions, as well as the front lines all falling back, the Federacy was left with little means to counterattack. They needed a railgun with a similar range, capable of stopping the enemy railguns. And yet they didn’t have nearly enough time to properly develop its automatic reload and fire-control systems.

But one day, during a meeting in a technical research institute, someone came to a realization, despite their mind being addled by sleep deprivation and unease; they only needed to change their perspective.

All they needed to do was render the enemy railgun inoperable. And the Trauerschwan was already capable of the minimal requirement of shooting and destroying a target hundreds of kilometers away. This meant they didn’t necessarily need to complete the automatic reload and fire-control systems.

They just needed to make sure they hit their target.

“First shot fired. Proceed to prepare
second and third shots
!”

The Kampf Pfau’s automatic firing device was incomplete. These shells couldn’t be loaded by hand, and using a crane to do it required a great deal of time and attention. And despite this, the regiment commander continued to order his men to fire in fast succession. And the gunners unquestioningly, without so much as confirming if the first shot hit its mark, continued to fine-tune the sights, changing the guns’ angle.

Yes, there was no need to pay any mind to the question of whether they hit their mark.
Not with the Kampf Pfau.
They
never expected
for the first shot to hit.

“Yes, sir. Preparing to fire first, second, and third shots!”

The rails trembled with a thundering rumble. A heat daze hung over the unit—but not over the pair of rails that’d fired the first shot. This improved railgun model, standing on the rails in all its heavy metallic glory, was equipped with twelve sets of elongated barrels, lined up against the sky like dorsal fins.

If its firing accuracy was bad, they needed only compensate for that with sheer numbers. If their loading speed was slow, they needed only load multiple cannons ahead of time.

The Kampf Pfau.

With its barrels lined up like the beautiful tail features of a peacock. And much like a peacock pecking a viper to death, it would defeat the enemy railgun. And this ferocity crowned this unit with the name of this bird, identified with a guardian god of the Federacy said to have once smote an evil dragon from a distant land.

“Second muzzle, followed by the third muzzle—fire!”

Ignoring the approaching enemy shells, the Morpho continued its preparations to fire. Its cooling wings opened, and liquid metal began to seep between its spear-like barrel. It assumed firing position, like a viper raising its head in preparation to bite.

<>

But that moment.

His radar picked up a salvo of shells hurtling toward him with the same velocity of the earlier enemy shot, but each of them with a slightly different trajectory.

<>

And one of their predicted trajectories triggered an alert. The alert spurred the Morpho to dodge, its Liquid Micromachine nervous system running rapidly, but there was no avoiding the hit—because doing so would expose it to a hit from another shell.

So instead—

<>

Its instincts as a combat machine did not fear death. He coldly, calmly prioritized completing his mission. Blue lightning crackled through his barrel. The first enemy shell he’d detected finally impacted. As predicted, the first shell missed him by a large margin, striking a faraway hill and blasting the trees on it to bits.

But then came the second, third, and fourth shots. It was an unguided, long-distance circular-error-probability barrage, but since the barrage was so wide, it closed in on the coordinates it had aimed at—on the Morpho’s vicinity—scattered like a cage.

The second shot shattered the rails, one of which went flying and impacted one of his antiair autocannons.

The third shot skirted right past his barrel, crashing right behind him and boring a massive hole into the ground.

The fourth shot missed him entirely, crashing into the crowd of the Edelfalter attending to him.

<>

And then.

The fifth long-distance shell ruthlessly skewered the gigantic dragon’s flank, like a spear thrown by a mighty hero.