86 - Volume 11 - Chapter 13

10.12

D-DAY PLUS ELEVEN

The Strike Package marched along the four-hundred-kilometer-long high-speed railway extending from Berledephadel City in the Federacy to the former Ilex city terminal, deployed as a long, thin defensive unit. They moved like a thread spread along the high-speed rail’s north and south tracks, being reeled back gradually along the Federacy’s retreat route.

Alternating between advance and retreat was the basics of military movement. The unit at the back of the line paused to resume combat, and while they stopped, the rest of the units retreated to a certain point.

Once they received word that the rest of their allies had reached their retreat point, the unit left behind fell back, and another unit took their place and stayed behind to stall the Legion and take over the fighting. Once those fell back, they regrouped with the other units forming the defensive line, continuing their retreat that way.

The first to retreat and return to Federacy territory were the logistical support unit and the slow-footed infantry unit. Next were the fast Reginleifs and the Scavengers following them. As they did, they regrouped with the Vánagandrs, which stayed behind at important spots as they offered the most defensive capabilities and firepower. They linked up, picked them up, and retreated through the autumn night quickly and smoothly.

This was all thanks to the armored divisions’ tactical commanders, Lena included, and the staff officers. They gathered the countless reports coming in from each squadron along the defensive line, putting them in order and of course sharing them among the different divisions, which allowed them to adjust their orders and give further instructions.

Vika and Frederica were informed of the change in plans and had to get out of bed despite the late hour, the former aiding in the organization and sharing of information and the latter assisting recon along the retreat route. Frederica’s role as an Esper was one thing, but when it came to organizing and sharing information, Lena was informed between reports that Zashya and Olivia were on standby, helping take over that front. Vika told her to not worry about their fatigue and work them to the bone if need be.

For armored weapons to travel despite their great weight or otherwise perform combat maneuvers, they needed constant resupplies. So each unit took turns stepping off the defensive line to receive energy packs and ammunition from the Scavengers, as well as give the Processors some minimal time to eat and rest. It fell to Lena and the others to plan the order in which the units stepped off, so there wouldn’t be any delays or holes in the defensive line. So the Strike Package as a whole could function like a singular life-form that stretched the vast four-hundred-kilometer line.

Thankfully, the Legion’s main force was still stalled in the Federacy’s and United Kingdom’s main lines, meaning there were very few units they could relegate to get in the way of the Strike Package’s retreat. And since the Reginleifs were faster than most Legion types barring the Grauwolf, they were able to shake off a majority of the Legion units around the Republic.

But the biggest achievement was that the last refugee trains were able to go on their way without any interruption. The burning train ahead was able to reach the Republic on time without damaging the rails. The last train ended up losing a little speed since it was loaded with more people than originally planned, but it was still moving fast enough to retreat along with the Reginleifs.

Let her at least save them. Let them all get away, Lena thought as she gazed at the white brightness of the dawning sky.

<< Did you think >>

<< that you would be able to escape us?>>>

As the pitiful white pigs fled, leaving behind their comrades to die, they couldn’t flee the vigilant gaze of the Rabe flying in the sky. And the Shepherds, watching over them through its information, whispered such.

As all the Legion under its command clamored in the Eighty-Third Sector, a single lily bloomed between the broken flagstones of the Ilex city terminal plaza. Its seeds must have flown in from somewhere, and it had survived the massacre earlier without being crushed or burned away. It was a wild lily, small and short, different from the taller ones grown in greenhouses. And yet with the bladelike legs of the Dinosauria next to it, it modestly hung its head, leaning against them.

Its snow-colored glossy petals were now stained red with the blood spilled earlier. Like a holy woman once proud of her pure-white colors, now dirtied with the crimson of her true sins and haughtiness and hanging her head in shame.

Did you think we would allow it?

That we would allow you hated sinners, who took pride in your pure-white colors, to escape?

That we’d allow our former comrades—who despite being Eighty-Six like us, despite being the same as us—to protect the white pigs, to live on while forgetting the blood of their spilled comrades crying out from this very ground?

<<Did you think we, the Eighty-Six, would allow this?>>

“…Ugh.” She heaved a sigh.

Lena looked dumbfounded. She’d already gotten the report from the 4th Armored Division’s tactical commander, who was guarding this combat zone. So she was prepared for this.

A group of people was blocking the area around the high-speed railway—their retreat route. They were dotted around and along the rails over a distance of some five hundred meters. They all stood there, frozen, unorganized, and looking lost and helpless. These were the Republic civilians who had boarded the last train to the Republic, train 192.

Their train had stopped in place. The rails ahead of it, starting ten odd meters away and stretching far into the horizon, were all blown off. According to the report, all the rails for several dozen meters ahead had been destroyed in a large range.

Destroyed by bombardment.

“Skorpion units… When we’ve come this far…!”

There were only fifty kilometers left until they exited the Legion territories—so close to making it out. It seemed moving closer to Federacy territories was actually working against them. Since the Legion were fighting the Federacy, their units were all concentrated on the front lines, where they were locked in a stalemate.

When they were traveling in the territories, where the Legion forces were all scattered unevenly across, the Strike Package was capable of detecting signs of Legion aggression and launching preemptive attacks. But now that they were near the front lines, where the Legion were spread thick, the sheer number of Legion made that task significantly difficult.

What’s more, Shin’s ability could perceive the Legion’s position and numbers, but he couldn’t distinguish between different Legion types. So with a corps-size force—swarming with over a hundred thousand Legion units—facing the Federacy, he would have a hard time telling which Legion were armored units trying to break through defensive lines and which were artillery units.

And even if he could tell which units were Skorpion types, he had no way of telling where they were aiming at. And once an unguided explosive shell was fired, there was no shooting it down.

As a tactical commander and a group leader, Suiu was frustrated about missing this, but this wasn’t the 4th Armored Division’s blunder. They were aware the enemy had artillery units and that they were entering a potentially dangerous zone. But the Skorpion types fighting against the Federacy’s artillery units some seventy kilometers away suddenly changed bearing and fired a concentrated barrage at the area the 4th Armored Division was supposed to defend. And so each squadron spread out to minimize damages.

But not only were they unable to move, they were also protecting dozens of kilometers’ worth of railway track, which were easy to aim at and hard to defend. So they failed to protect the high-speed railway.

With their explosion and the shrapnel they scattered, 155 mm shells were lethal weapons with a vast-blast radius of forty-five meters. Their effect on armored units was limited, but they boasted enough force to destroy half-built concrete walls and fortifications. The feeble metallic rails, without any cover to protect them, were helpless before them.

Looking around the ground, which had been plowed in a straight line by the high-caliber bombardment coming from afar, with bent metallic rails thrust into the shrubbery here and there, Shin spoke, unable to mask his bitterness.

“We can probably assume they were waiting for us to come this far… They fired a volley from seventy kilometers away to the rails without any test-firing. They hit the rails without missing a single shot for a few dozen kilometers, but the evacuation train didn’t take any damage.”

“Yes.” Lena nodded, holding back the urge to shudder.

Indeed, all they’d destroyed were the rails. Trains could only move along their tracks and had no way of avoiding incoming attacks save for adjusting their speed. But not only did the Legion’s bombardment not hit them, it also didn’t even derail the train by making it go off the rails because it couldn’t brake.

They attacked the rails accurately, confident that they wouldn’t need to destroy the train. And they didn’t require any test-firing, either—they had gathered the firing data beforehand and used base-bleed shots to extend their range to seventy kilometers away.

They hid among the countless Legion so the Strike Package wouldn’t be able to take precautions against them, and they allowed them to escape unperturbed until they were on the cusp of the Federacy’s territory.

They likely matched their timing with recon from the sky and destroyed the rails near the Federacy’s territory to prevent them from sending another train to rescue the refugees.

They’d gone that far.

“They prepared base-bleed missiles to increase their range by another thirty kilometers and fired at the Federacy until right before they aimed at us so we wouldn’t pick up on their attack. They probably did see the train but intentionally avoided it. If they went to so much trouble just to stall the Republic civilians without killing them—”

She turned around to look. Shin nodded bitterly.

“—Yes. Some of the Legion in the Republic’s vicinity are starting to move. There’s about ten thousand of them, a little more. Based on their speed, I’d say they’re Grauwolf types, followed by an armored unit of Löwe and Dinosauria. They’re going through the same route we did, directly along the railway.”

“Kuh…” Lena gritted her teeth.

Walking speed by foot would be roughly four kilometers per hour. That would be considered slow for trained soldiers, but the long history of warfare had deemed this to be the most efficient marching speed. Walking any faster caused fatigue to build up, and the force would end up covering less ground in the long run. That would mean roughly thirty kilometers per day. A more forced march could travel as far as forty kilometers per day, but that would be the upper limit for how much soldiers could march in a single day.

Soldiers had to carry dozens of kilograms of weight in equipment, and even trained, disciplined soldiers could only travel four kilometers per hour. So civilians who had no experience in marching and usually traveled by car or train would walk even slower.

The military police and headquarters staff who rode with the civilians tried to organize them as best they could, so for the time being, they remained in one place without running around blindly, but they were still mostly an unorganized crowd. There was no controlling a group of several thousand people. It would take a while before they could be made to form a proper file and march.

What made it worse was that they weren’t just healthy men and women; there were also weaker populations, like the elderly and the children, and they’d all spent ten years only walking on the paved roads of the Republic’s eighty-five Sectors. They had no experience walking on the unpaved wasteland. Even traveling one day for hours could be a tall order for them. And since none of them knew they’d be marching for hours, many of them didn’t have the appropriate footwear for it.

They were being pursued by Grauwolf units, which were second only to the Phönix in terms of speed. They were capable of moving at over two hundred kilometers per hour. The way things were going, they wouldn’t be able to escape. The Legion would catch up to them before long, and then the same panic and chaos they saw at the Ilex terminal would ensue.

On their own, the soldiers could escape. The Reginleifs could outrun the Grauwolf units, and the Vánagandrs could defeat a force of them on level ground. But having the refugees scrambling about would get in their way.

For a moment, the thought crossed Lena’s mind. And Shin, who’d likely come to the same conclusion, averted his eyes from Lena. A cold silence settled over the commanders of the Strike Package and the relief expedition, connected via the Para-RAID. They all considered the idea. As military commanders charged with the lives of so many subordinates, they had no choice but to consider it.

Should they abandon the Republic civilians, who were nothing more than a hindrance to them, and have their soldiers alone return to the Federacy?

The Federacy commanders and staff officers pondered this.

To begin with, they were only supposed to help the Republic’s evacuation as much as they could. They had no duty or obligation to save the Republic’s people if it cost them the lives of their own subordinates.

Lena pondered this, too.

She couldn’t order Federacy soldiers to go as far as sacrificing their own lives to save Republic citizens. And she certainly couldn’t demand the Eighty-Six throw their lives away to save Republic people.

Shin and the Eighty-Six also pondered this.

They didn’t want to sacrifice themselves or their comrades to save the Republic’s people. And as Federacy soldiers, they had no duty to help them anymore than they already had.

And so eventually, they considered it.

Even if they did end up abandoning the Republic civilians here…

…would it not be beyond their control at this point?

A cold, small sigh broke the momentary silence that hung over the Para-RAID.

“—You shouldn’t even need to consider it.”

That low, hard voice, as stern as tempered steel. It was the voice of the relief expedition force’s commander, Major General Richard Altner. The man who outranked both Lena and the Strike Package’s brigade commander, Grethe. The most highest-ranking officer in attendance, and the commander in charge of this operation.

Lena parted her lips despite herself, still unsure if what she needed to hear right now was for him to speak to the resolve needed to abandon them here or say words to the contrary.

“Major General Altner…”

“Vice Commander, I leave command of the relief expedition’s retreat in your hands. Colonel Wenzel, as before, you are to maintain supreme command over the Strike Package’s retreat. I and the headquarter defense regiment will intercept the Legion. While we do, evacuate the Republic refugees onto Federacy soil.”

“…?!”

Lena gasped. Next to her, Shin widened his eyes in disbelief, and they could both feel the rest of the commanders all hold their breaths through the Para-RAID. Grethe, by contrast, was composed as she gave her answer. Like she’d predicted this, was prepared for this, in a silent and yet somehow morose tone.

“A single regiment buying the time the civilians need to march to the Federacy by foot. It would be a do-or-die resistance. That’s how you choose to relinquish your life, Major General?”

“A soldier can’t abandon civilians to their death for fear of their own life. Our Federacy is, after all, a country of justice.”

But that was not just the “justice” the Federacy swore upon as its national policy.

“We have saved child soldiers from their country’s persecution. We fought alongside them to save other countries from their plight and even had them extend a helping hand to the Republic that persecuted them, granting it a chance to right their wrongs. We have struggled much to craft this reputation of justice. And that reputation should be our Federacy’s eternal treasure. So we cannot tarnish it here. Much less can we afford to give the hated Republic the title of victims abandoned by the Federacy. Granting them that kind of card to leverage against us could endanger our country’s future.”

“In the name of postwar diplomacy…?” Lena whispered.

Richard snorted.

“That’s right. I’m afraid you were out of luck this time, Colonel Milizé. This would have been a good chance for the Republic.”

The Federacy’s justice wouldn’t be shaken. Having taken in the Eighty-Six as a group of tragic people, they wouldn’t let them lose that title, nor would they let the Republic absolve itself of its deplorable sins.

“…”

“Sadly, we couldn’t save all the civilians, but anyone can see that saving millions of a country’s citizens is too tall an order. But a Federacy regiment sacrificed itself to save a scant few refugees. Such a tragedy is surely enough to offset this blemish.”

And that’s why he relinquished his life…

Richard’s Vánagandr, which served as a leading vehicle for the commanding regiment, turned around. As part of his duty as the expedition force’s commander and to support the Reginleifs, which had inferior firepower compared with the Vánagandr, the commanding regiment remained in the back of the line.

Over a hundred units changed course with the Vánagandr’s heavy, rumbling steps. They spread out to the left and right, so as to not get in the way of the other units’ route, and drove back the way they came. They moved in perfect unison, like a school of fish flipping in the face of an external stimulus.

Having changed direction from west to east, the columns with which they marched with turned horizontally to intercept, further splitting up according to squadron and platoon. They sought the right topography with which to intercept the ten thousand Legion units pursuing them with a single regiment.

“Let me tell you one thing, Colonel Milizé. Colonel Wenzel isn’t proficient enough in politics to tell you herself, after all; the military and its soldiers are but tools for governing. Their meaning does not lie with defeating the enemy. Far be it from me to say if you are the Republic’s tool or the Eighty-Six’s Queen. But wherever you affiliate yourself, use your wit and victories for them.”

“I…”

“And I can say the same to you, Eighty-Six. You are members of the Federacy military, tools for its politics. I won’t tell you to answer that with your entire way of life. But as soldiers, you should strive to that end. You are no longer allowed to speak of fighting to the very end and dying for your own sakes. Do not fool yourselves and get wiped out for those notions, because the Federacy will not stand for it. Never again fight like you’re rushing to your deaths.”

Shin twitched and looked up. As diplomatic tools and a unit for propaganda, they weren’t allowed to die. And though those words implied they were only being used, the meaning behind them sank deeply into Shin’s heart. This was a man who had once sent them to their deaths, after all.

And now he was telling them not to be wiped out or hurry to their deaths. In other words, he was telling them…

Survive.

“One more thing, Colonel Milizé and the Eighty-Six. So long as you can afford not to do so, do not abandon the Republic civilians.”

“That’s…”

“You were about to abandon them, weren’t you? Claiming that doing so was your responsibility as a soldier, as a commander— Stop it. Stop trying to distract yourself from guilt by weighing lives on scales you know to be skewed. Don’t let the Eighty-Six bear the burden of such blame for the Republic’s people.”

Even if they do not resent the Republic’s people, they cannot respect them. For people of the Federacy, the lives of the Republic’s citizens have less value than their own. And since they know that—they must not abandon them. So they do not have to bear the guilt of such a sin, the weight of such revenge for the rest of their days.

“Abiding by justice is a Federacy soldier’s pride. And to remain human is the Eighty-Six’s pride, is it not? Then act accordingly. If you did not choose revenge before, do not choose it going forward, either. Do not let them get in the way of your life. And, Colonel Wenzel—”

Lastly, Richard turned his words to Grethe again.

“Yes.” She nodded briefly.

“—if you decided to shelter the Eighty-Six, it’s your responsibility to defend their pride. Stick to that duty. From here on out, you must be the one to bear the burden of the cruel, the ruthless, and the callous.”

If Richard’s guard failed, the Legion would break through, and they’d have no choice but to abandon the Republic civilians. Alternatively, if it became necessary to sacrifice more of the relief expedition to save the civilians.

The one to make that call would be neither Lena nor the Eighty-Six—but Grethe.

And it would be so in the future, too. When the time came to abandon a comrade to die. Or if they failed to protect civilians. If they must mount an operation that required sacrifices. As the situation of the war worsened, all the cruel, ruthless. and callous choices that must be made would be down to her—as brigade commander.

It was she, after all, who’d insisted that the Federacy had a duty to not abandon the Eighty-Six. So this was her responsibility.

“If you insist that they are still children, then you must protect at least that.”

Grethe paused for a moment, closing her eyes, and then answered. They were words without any cheerfulness to them, and they weren’t trying to spur her on, either.

“Of course I will, Richard. So—”

She would take care of them. Of the future. Of anything and everything.

“—you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The commanding regiment set out to intercept the Legion’s pursuit forces, but since they were greatly outnumbered, they couldn’t hope to wipe the enemy out. Stall tactics would be the most they could hope for. They would fight, then fall back, getting in the way of the enemy’s march.

In order to keep retreating, they’d need to gain some distance, and so the rearguard regiment moved as far as they could from the Strike Package and the refugees. Likewise, in order to ensure the rearguard regiment had as much distance to fall back and stall for as much time as possible, the Strike Package and the refugees would need to make their way to the Federacy as quickly as they could.

“—I was able to get the main force to secure the transport trucks we’d need. They’ll set out as soon as they’re ready, so we need to gain as much distance as possible until then.”

Grethe reported the situation to the main force of the Federacy’s western front and arranged for transportation to the refugees on foot. Having finished the arrangements, she gave her orders.

Lena listened to Grethe’s voice through the Para-RAID, still seated in the auxiliary seat of Saki’s Grimalkin. All the Processors were in their Reginleifs, of course, as were the control officers and commanders in the auxiliary seats. They all silently and tensely awaited the order to set out.

“The 4th Armored Division is to maintain the defensive line as before, and the 3rd Armored Division is to join with the 4th and reinforce the defensive line. The 2nd Armored Division is to remain on lookout in the back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The military police and engineers gathered the scattered civilians into several groups, forming impromptu files. The 4th Armored Division was originally supposed to set up a defensive line in the areas near the Federacy, and they were joined by the 3rd Armored Division and the remaining Vánagandrs.

“1st Armored Division, Colonel Milizé and Captain Nouzen’s troops. You’re to guard the refugee files. Ensure they don’t scatter or go too slow, but make sure they walk to the trucks’ rendezvous point.”

“Yes. Understood, Colonel Wenzel.”

Grethe’s unit—which was the only Reginleif actually piloted by the commanding officer occupying it—used the data link to share the estimated arrival time at the rendezvous point. Lena nodded after glancing at the hologram sub-window that popped up. They had seventeen kilometers to march. Their estimated arrival time was five hours.

Another window opened, displaying the number of refugees, which the military police had quickly counted, and the remaining supply reserves of the Scavengers accompanying them. This operation was originally planned for three days, so they had plenty of ammunition, energy packs, food, and water.

Lena quickly worked out how to divide the troops over the holo-window, changed targets over the Para-RAID, and started giving orders.

“Strike Package 1st Armored Division—please resume your retreat.”

Upon hearing her order, the Reginleifs relayed the same words to the refugees via the external speakers. The first refugee group began marching, urged by their words. A few squadrons were scattered around them, both to ensure they kept up the pace and to serve as vanguards.

The sight of Feldreß the color of polished bone crawling through the dim light of early dawn was like that of a flock of monster spiders. The civilians were frightened by them, nestling together as they walked wordlessly, like they were being forced to march under threat. As the back of the group of refugees began walking, a few Reginleifs moved after them to defend them, and the next squadron got to its feet.

“It’s about time, yes? Good. Second group, we’re setting out.”

Still, this was a crowd of a thousand or so civilians. By the time the last group set out, the stars had begun flickering out of the sky, and the dark blue of daybreak gave way to a teal moonless dawn. A transparent, dull blue began carpeting the world.

The Spearhead squadron guarded over the group. As the commander, Lena—and by extension, Grimalkin—moved to the back of the formation, with Shiden’s Brísingamen squadron positioned around her.

The headless skeletons slowly marched under the cold sapphire gloom, their silhouettes the shape of ghosts.

Before long, the thunderous roar of cannons began echoing beyond the western sky. The rear guard had finally made contact with the Legion’s pursuit force, marking the opening of hostilities. Both the rear guard and the refugees were able to make some decent progress, and so there was a good distance between them. But the intense roar of 120 mm cannons crossed that distance, echoing sharply through the air. As if to say that the metallic murderers were just beyond the horizon.

Owing to their long combat history, the Reginleifs were used to the sound of cannon fire and didn’t so much as stir in reaction to it. The refugees’ eyes, however, all froze over in fear as they shifted about to look.

One person, startled by the idea of the Legion’s approach, turned around in preparation to run. But a second later, a headless skeleton stood in their path.

“ E-eeek!”

“Don’t step out of line,” a low voice spoke from its external speaker.

If one person ran, those around them would be driven to do the same. And once the group began rampaging, there would be no stopping it. So they had to nip it in the bud.

“B-but I hear gunshots. There are Legion nearby—”

“They’re still far away. If you want to escape them, keep walking. If any one of you run off, we won’t bother protecting you anymore.”

“Yeah, of course you won’t. You’re Eighty-Six, after all,” one of the people in the group muttered, loud enough so as to be overheard but hidden within the group so as to not be seen.

You’re Eighty-Six, after all. You don’t really want to protect people from the Republic. You hate us, begrudge us anyway. So that’s why.

Their tone was accusatory and indignant, though they knew they were being loathed. And it was clear they didn’t feel like they’d done anything that earned them that resentment, that they thought it was all unjustified.

But the Reginleif didn’t seem agitated by it.

“Oh, is that right? Well, I’ll say it one more time: Don’t step out of line. After all, I’m Eighty-Six, so I’ll only do what I absolutely have to. Anyone who steps out of line is on their own.”

So if you want to stay alive…

“Shut up and keep walking.”

“—I guess it only makes sense there’d be complaints. Both from us and the Republic civilians,” Raiden grumbled within Wehrwolf.

He said that as Claude switched off his external speaker and clicked his tongue loudly. The Eighty-Six weren’t shaken by the resistance, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

Shin was both the squad captain and operations commander for the 1st Armored Division, and he had to prioritize recon duties for this operation. This meant he couldn’t take direct command, and Raiden, his deputy, was receiving all sorts of reports, both from the Spearhead squadron and from other squad captains.

Michihi—who was moving with the Lycaon squadron, which was escorting one of the groups ahead—connected via the Para-RAID.

“Vice Captain Shuga, some people have asked if we could empty one of the Scavenger containers and at least let the kids ride inside. The mothers carrying small children really do seem to be suffering…”

“Oh…” Raiden paused for thought and then shook his head in denial. “No, Michihi, we can’t. If we do that, we’ll never hear the end of it. Why are you letting their children in but not mine? If children can ride in it, why can’t the elderly? Dump all your ammo and let everyone ride in the containers. We don’t have time for that kind of bickering.”

“Yeah… You’re right. Roger that, sir. Besides, we can’t have children around when we’re handling ammo.”

“Still, I think it’s about time we have the first group take a breather,” Lena said as she gazed at the clock display on her electronic document projector.

It had been nearly an hour since the first group set out, meaning it was about time for their first break.

She cast a glance at a small child being carried by not their parent, but a boy in his early teens. They were probably siblings split up from their parents. Or maybe they weren’t even siblings. They were very much hurrying to get to their destination, but if they let fatigue build up, it wouldn’t be long before they wouldn’t be able to walk at all.

“Besides, we’ve been on the move since last night, and our rendezvous with the transport team is four hours away. We need to rest, even if only in short intervals. We’ll want to make sure everyone takes turns resting from lookout duty, too. Also, I’ll need a report on Processors who used prescription drugs to stave off fatigue.”

Since this operation had been planned to last three days, they had plenty of supplies. They handed out plastic water bottles and combat rations to the refugees and, after a ten-minute breather, continued their trek.

The refugees, who had finally been allowed to sit, grumbled, “Just ten minutes…?” but couldn’t very much oppose the Reginleifs resting nearby and resumed their march. As soon as they announced that they’d be setting off again, the Reginleifs got on their way without another word, forcing the civilians to hurry after them, lest they be left behind.

The line of refugees and Reginleifs continued their journey.

They continued farther. The more time and distance they spent walking, the more exhausted the refugees, who weren’t accustomed to walking so much, became. They dragged their tired legs, with more and more people gradually tripping over rocks, weeds, and indents in the ground. That applied to the children and the elderly, of course, but the adults were starting to lose strength, too.

The Reginleifs marched, either watching them over from the side or vigilantly standing guard from afar. It was only when they took their hourly breaks at the same time as the refugees, or when they were relieved from guard duty, that they opened the hatches to their coffin-like cockpits.

The child soldiers carried their assault rifles, wary of the possibility of their units being stolen, as they took swigs of water or silently chewed on unheated combat rations. The refugees directed envious looks at them, but the Eighty-Six didn’t mind.

Boarding a Feldreß wasn’t as easy as it may have seemed. They had all been piloting for hours—the lucky ones all night long, while the unlucky ones had been handling their unit for a whole day already. And while under such fatigue, they had to march through enemy territory while defending slow noncombatants. Remaining vigilant of the Legion and maintaining a marching speed strained their nerves.

If they didn’t rest whenever they could, even if just a little, it would only be a few hours until they wouldn’t be able to march at all.

And so they closed their canopies and continued the trek. The Eighty-Six remained silent, and the civilians were too afraid to complain aloud. They could only throw resentful gazes at the Eighty-Six, who gracefully ignored them, and so the moment of silence lingered on, with neither words nor gazes exchanged.

With her power to see the present state of those she was acquainted with, Frederica had the most insight into the current state of the rear guard. And as the Strike Package’s Mascot…and the Federacy military’s captive Empress Augusta, she was acquainted with Richard Altner.

Shin, too, was able to guess at the rear guard’s status by reverse-calculating the Legion pursuit force’s positions. But right now, he had to march while remaining vigilant of a range of several hundred kilometers around him. He shouldn’t be forced to keep track of the rear guard’s status as well.

And more than anything, Shin had been ordered not to make ruthless calls of judgment. So she didn’t want him to see the rear guard get defeated for having to make such a decision.

Quite some time had gone by since the fighting began, but the position where the rear guard was facing off against the Legion’s pursuit force had hardly shifted. Even Frederica, who wasn’t knowledgeable in tactics or the subtleties of combat, could tell they were putting up a good fight.

Knowing that all they needed was to buy as much time as possible, they fought as such, stubbornly holding their position without recklessly sacrificing any troops. They fought to the bitter end, with true valor and resolve—knowing that inevitable defeat and death awaited them.

“Splendidly fought, Altner. You have my utmost respect…and my deepest apologies.”

The march continued. The sun rose.

Newborn rays of golden light shone over the sky as fresh sunlight poured equally over the earth. It was the light that stirred all lives awake.

A morning where the air itself brimmed with a transparent golden glow.

The autumn flowers, kissed by glittering morning dew, spread their petals, filling the cold breeze purified by the stillness of the night with their floral scent. As the forest trees awakened, the morning mist blew against the wild grass, and the birds chirped, their small bodies warmed up, as they greeted a new morning.

In the midst of this blessed joy, the Republic refugees marched on. It was a beautiful autumn morning, with the gentle breeze and the soft sunlight comforting their aching legs.

And that beauty only served to make their flight to the Federacy feel all the more wretched.

They weren’t marching at a fast pace at all, but they’d walked quite a distance while pausing for breaks. Wherever they looked, the wild flowers bloomed brilliantly like they were competing over who was the most beautiful, but they also tangled over their tired legs.

And their legs, which certainly weren’t used to walking such long distances, were tormented by the uneven soil. They walked and walked, but the scenery never changed, the sky and fields spanning as far as the eye could see.

The boundless blue horizons were a perfect snapshot of the season. And the beautiful scenery was impossibly difficult to leave.

They dragged their legs, moaning tiredly. Parents grumbled in exhaustion as they carried their weeping children and toddlers. And while the civilians walked on sluggishly, the surrounding Reginleifs said nothing to spur them on. They didn’t tell them to hurry up, simply surrounding the civilians. They occasionally stopped, looking around, but otherwise moved along silently.

They didn’t press them to go on, nor did they rush them ahead. They had neither the presence of mind nor the obligation to do so. The Federacy military was meant to defend the Federacy’s territory and its people, and it had no duty to do the same for the Republic’s people.

Were these Federacy civilians, they could go as far as holding them at gunpoint to spur them on and escort them to safety, but they didn’t have that kind of responsibility toward Republic civilians. And them being Eighty-Six, who should hate and resent the Republic, was all the more reason for them not to do so.

And that made things all the more painful for the Republic civilians. If they had been rushed to keep going, if those threatening gun turrets or machine guns were held against them, their indignation would have been justified. Their tears, the grudge they harbored at being treated cruelly, and their self-pity would all be justified.

If they were held at gunpoint and forced to keep walking, they could feel like they were being discriminated by terrible tyrants, like they were martyrs worthy of pity. But neither the Federacy soldiers nor the Eighty-Six did anything.

All their bitter tears and pained complaints fell on deaf ears, at best earning them a sidelong glance. The Federacy soldiers and Eighty-Six didn’t so much as say a word. Even if these civilians stopped in their tracks and got caught by the Legion, they wouldn’t care. But at the same time, it was all the same to them if the civilians came along.

They really didn’t care one way or another. The Eighty-Six didn’t care about them at all. Whether they lived or died didn’t matter much to them. And that indifference—the fact that the Eighty-Six didn’t resent them simply because they didn’t care—was more unbearable than anything else.

“I can’t take it anymore!”

Someone screamed out. A young woman who’d been walking on wobbling feet finally stopped in her tracks. The argent gazes around her finally fixed on one place. A Reginleif walking nearby stopped, its ominous silhouette like a crawling, headless skeleton, terrifying and merciless.

This woman was at her breaking point. Her face was scrunched up like a bawling child’s, and she didn’t even bother wiping away the tears running down her cheeks.

“I can’t take anymore. I can’t walk another step! My feet hurt. I can’t… I can’t walk!”

All the silvery eyes looking on gathered upon the woman and the Reginleif. One unit, apparently a commander, fixed its red optical sensor on the woman. It had a pair of high-frequency blades, shaped like the chelicera of a spider, and the Personal Mark of a headless skeleton shouldering a shovel.

Everyone looked on between the two of them.

A young voice, that of a teenage boy, spoke from the external speaker. The Reginleif’s 88 mm gun, set to tracking his line of sight, was fixed straight at the woman.

“If you get separated from the group, we won’t have time to look for you.”

With the civilians exhausted and tattered like wandering spirits, Shin spoke collectedly.

“If you get separated from the group, we won’t have time to look for you.”

He had no obligation to force her to keep walking, and as an Eighty-Six, he had no duty to encourage her, either. So when Shin spoke up, his voice sounded awfully cold and curt. As if to say that whether she lived or died didn’t matter to him.

He really could not care less, and whichever it was didn’t matter.

That emotion dripped from his tone. And hearing it, he could see the woman’s snow-white eyes—and indeed, the eyes of all the civilians watching their exchange with bated breath—waver ever so slightly. But he pretended not to notice it.

“So take a break and then link up with the next group walking nearby.”

The woman and the surrounding Republic civilians were all stunned by his words. They were matter-of-factly lacking any emotion. But he did give her advice, so she wouldn’t be left behind, so she could keep on walking.

An Eighty-Six just gave such advice to a Republic citizen he ought to hate.

“With this many people, it’ll take a while for everyone to walk by and the line to break. You have enough time to rest.”

The woman shook her head. She probably couldn’t believe this. The rest of the civilians, looking on silently, had expected him to act differently, too.

“—I can’t walk.”

“But the more you linger here, the more exhausted you’ll get, and the harder it’ll be to set out again. So only rest ten minutes or so. I think it goes without saying, but if you don’t have a watch, try counting to six hundred.”

“I can’t— Listen to me, I can’t walk! I can’t walk anymore!”

“You don’t have to try to hurry and link up with your original group, either. Stick to the same speed and pace as those around you.”

“No, I can’t walk! Listen to me, I can’t walk! Just leave me behind!” the woman cried out shrilly.

The echoes of her shriek spread into the sky, but the Reginleif didn’t budge.

“You’re Eighty-Six, aren’t you?! You hate us, don’t you?! Then here’s your chance; just leave us here! You can call us a burden if you want! So why…?!”

Why won’t you even abandon us?

We abandoned you, after all, eleven years ago. Then do the same to us—why won’t you stoop to being as wretched as us?

Her voice spread out like a scream. The Reginleif said nothing and simply averted its gaze.

At that moment, Dustin reflexively made to open Sagittarius’s canopy. He was a Republic soldier, after all. Shin was a Federacy soldier with no duty to these civilians, and he couldn’t be made to hold another country’s people at gunpoint. And despite that, an Eighty-Six soldier had to patiently restrain himself and, on top of that, gave them advice when he didn’t have to.

In that case, it was Dustin’s role as a Republic soldier to crack the whip on these civilians and keep them walking. He picked up the rifle issued to him for self-defense and reached for the opening lever.

But just then—

“Grimalkin—please open the canopy.”

At her order, albeit after a pause, one of the Reginleif’s canopies opened. A Reginleif with a Personal Mark of a winged cat—Saki’s Grimalkin.

The Bloodstained Queen’s personal carriage for this operation.

Lena stood up from the cockpit. Her long, satin-like, shining argent hair flowed in the sunlight. Her silent silver eyes glinted under her military cap as she stood on the autumn battlefield.

The other Reginleifs all stopped in their tracks, unsure as to what she was doing. Shiden reacted in surprise as she moved Cyclops to guard her, with Undertaker coming in to protect her from the other side.

“Sagittarius, stay put. I’ll do it.”

“But, Colonel—”

“Stay put, Second Lieutenant. This is my duty, as a colonel. And besides…you can’t do this as well as I can.”

You might be able to stand up before the civilians, but you could never become a bloodstained sovereign for the Eighty-Six. You could never be that coldhearted.

“…Yes, ma’am.” Dustin nodded, however unwillingly.

Waited upon by black and white Reginleifs from both sides, the Queen lorded over the civilians. She wore her military cap like a crown, her silver hair fluttering like her mantle, and in place of a scepter, she had an assault rifle at her side.

The civilians’ gazes were set on her, and little by little, they began to raise their voices. A Prussian-blue blazer that was part of the Republic military’s female uniform. A military cap hanging low over her eyes, and the Republic military’s standard-issue assault rifle.

Why did a Republic soldier step out of a Reginleif instead of an Eighty-Six?

Why was a Republic soldier riding a Reginleif with the Eighty-Six while they had to walk on foot?

Why was a Republic soldier, sworn to protect them, sitting smug and safe in the Eighty-Six’s Reginleifs, protected by them while they were forced to march on aching legs?

“You—,” one person began to accuse her.

“Walk,” Lena silenced him with nothing but her glare, her silvery eyes glinting fiercely under the shadow of her military cap. “The Legion are coming, so walk. Rest if you have to, but stop acting like children and insisting that you can’t walk and they should abandon you here.”

“Tch…”

“If you understand you’re being given aid here, stop talking about them abandoning you so easily. Every single moment you spend throwing tantrums is a moment where Federacy soldiers die. And more than anything, you will die. And since you know that—walk. I won’t tell you to hurt yourselves, but walk as fast as you can.”

Lena carried on, unflinching in the face of the countless glares directed at her. She raised her assault rifle, her queen’s scepter, and made a show out of loading the first bullet into it.

“I’m a Republic soldier, and I have a duty to protect your lives. So if the alternative is that you fall out of line and die, I’d rather hold you at gunpoint and make you walk by force.”

She didn’t fix the barrel on them, nor did any of the surrounding Reginleifs move. But even so, this dainty teenage officer guarded by the Eighty-Six and their Reginleifs was able to overwhelm the civilians.

“Well, if you’re a Republic soldier!” someone in the crowd just barely called out. “Why do you get to ride in a Reginleif?! If you’re a soldier and you’re supposed to protect us, you should be down here, walking with us!”

Lena directed a preprepared sneer at the crowd, like she’d expected them to say this.

“Me? Why would I? Aren’t I the second coming of Saint Magnolia, who led the revolution? And it’s a saint’s role to guide her lost lambs, to save them. Not to share in their sorrows. And besides…”

She looked over the helpless sheep and spoke, with the Eighty-Six who watched over her silently, with her dependable subordinates and trusted comrades at her back.

“…I’m the Queen who leads the Eighty-Six, Bloody Reina. Isn’t it natural for a queen to ride on horseback with knights at her beck and call?”

“…!” The citizens looked at her with silent but palpable indignation.

“Undertaker. Grant me the honor of riding with you next.” Lena ignored them and turned her eyes to Undertaker. It lowered its nose to open its canopy, but Lena motioned for it to stop and grabbed onto the side of the unit instead. She stood across from the cockpit block, propping her body up by holding onto the 88 mm turret with her hand.

Like a silvery war goddess making her triumphant return atop a pure-white chariot.

“Lena,” Shin told her through the Para-RAID, his tone audibly upset. “There are no Legion nearby, but this is still dangerous. Please move into the cockpit.”

“Move to the head of the group, please. I’ll go into the cockpit then. Don’t worry, they’re not brave enough to throw rocks while I’m riding a Reginleif.”

Shin ignored her and seemingly gave Raiden orders. Wehrwolf and Cyclops moved diagonally behind Undertaker, standing between it and the refugees. With this formation, even if the civilians were to see Lena and try to throw stones at her, those two units would shield her. With all of Spearhead’s units spread out to move and the Brísingamen squadron deployed to guard Lena, Undertaker slowly started walking. The refugees were stunned by the sight of a Republic soldier—when the military had all but abandoned the civilians and run off long ago—riding the Eighty-Six’s Reginleif without so much as sparing them a glance.

They were dumbfounded. Before long, their exhausted expressions filled with rage. Like Lena predicted, none of them had the nerve to throw anything at her, but slurs and scornful curses began bubbling up from the crowd.

Traitor. Coward. Like a tyrant. Little girl who curried favor with the Eighty-Six. Like a prostitute.

Maybe they thought those words wouldn’t reach her ears. Or maybe they hoped she’d hear them.

When she reached the head of the group, she decided she’d shown herself off long enough and, as promised, moved into Undertaker’s cockpit. News of what happened would naturally spread to the other refugee groups.

News of the despicable silver witch, waited upon by the Eighty-Six, who “oppressed” them.

Shin opened the canopy, and she hopped inside, settling into his arms as he lowered her into the cockpit. The canopy soon closed and locked. The three optical screens, which went dark when the Reginleif went into standby mode, lit up, and as they illuminated the cockpit, she was greeted by Shin’s clearly displeased frown.

“I understand that they wanted someone to hold them at gunpoint so they could feel like oppressed victims. But you didn’t have to actually give them what they wanted. And besides, Lena, you’re—”

“It was necessary. Them being this provoked and angry will give them the strength they need to keep walking a little longer. Major General Altner entrusted me with the task of returning to the Federacy with them alive. I had to do that to ensure that happens.”

Shin glanced at his optical screen. The woman who’d stopped earlier was standing still, but a woman roughly the same as her was hurrying over to help her walk. A young man called out to a mother carrying her two children, effectively snatching one of the children out of her arms and going ahead. An elderly man took a weeping infant who’d gotten split up from their parents by the hand, gritting his teeth as he pushed his aching legs forward.

A young man, dragging what looked to be an injured leg, was being supported by a woman who appeared to be his lover.

All of them glared at Undertaker, who led the group, and they walked like they were chasing it—their exhausted bodies driven by anger and hatred for the one within it.

“…That might be true, but you didn’t have to do it, Lena. That just made you look like the villain here. You didn’t have to—”

“Right,” Lena cut into his words. “With this, they won’t look up at me as the second coming of Saint Magnolia anymore.”

Shin stared at Lena, who regarded him with a smile.

It’s like you said once.

“I won’t act like a saint with a tragic face. I don’t want to play that role…but I did stick to my duties as a Republic soldier. So I don’t care if they come to me for help or complaints later.”

“…”

Shin wordlessly removed one hand from the control stick and used it to lift Lena’s military cap off her head.

“So you put it on because of your position as a soldier. Out of duty and to intimidate,” he said.

Lena stared at him with blank amazement for a moment.

“Well, that was part of it, but I also figured it could hide my face.”

This time, Shin looked taken aback.

“Hmm, that’s why I hung it over my eyes,” Lena continued. “The sun’s rising in the east right now, and the light shone directly at my face. So with the hat’s brim covering my face, I figured even if I made myself out to be the villain…or, well, since I’d be doing that, I thought it might hide my face. After all, I haven’t given up on the fireworks in the Revolution Festival yet.”

Not coming back here wasn’t something she was willing to accept.

“…Pfft.” Shin couldn’t stop himself and started chuckling. “I see… Well, you’re certainly not putting on a tragic face anymore.”

“Right?” Lena fidgeted inside the cramped cockpit, nestling her face into the chest of her beloved, the boy she promised to watch the fireworks with. “Let’s go home.”

“Yes.”

As if forced to walk by it, the civilians followed Undertaker’s lead. Their expressions and demeanors were a complete polar opposite to the tired way they’d acted just minutes ago. Seeing this, Shin, still cradling Lena in his arms, sighed.

Anger and hate did have the power to support people during times of hardship and despair, temporarily granting them the strength to keep going. It was like that back in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, too. At the time, they weren’t aware of it, but hatred did keep them going.

To fight on to the very end, never giving up or wandering off that path. They would never be like them, like the despicable Republic, and debase themselves by veering off the rightful path of humanity. Yes.

They refused to stoop to their level.

That anger did burn within them, for sure, like a flame. If their pride was what kept them going, then that anger was the other side of that coin. It gave them the power to fight.

But Shin didn’t want to believe that this was the true, fundamental nature of humanity. His fellow Eighty-Six had cursed him, too. He had Eighty-Six hate him, call him a child of the Empire, a traitor, a god of pestilence, a haunted Reaper. But he didn’t want to believe that all the insults and rocks they’d thrown at him—that the hatred with which his brother strangled him when he was small—was humankind’s true nature.

And so… And yet…

…some part of him could relate to how the Shepherds felt.

He whispered to himself, without putting it to words. To those comrades of his, consumed by anger and tarnished by hatred to become Legion.

We’ll never change. Neither you nor us.

Their choices were different—and yet the same. Back in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, they were all like prisoners tied to the stake, waiting for their death sentence. But they all held in their hands the switch to a bomb that could blow apart the Republic, which tried to put them to the flame.

A method of revenge every Eighty-Six knew. All they had to do was stop resisting. And they didn’t even have to do that. Eventually, the metallic calamity that was the Legion would come to put the Republic to the flame instead.

They could die either way. The only difference was in their choice: either keep fighting and die while holding on to your pride, or stop resisting and die consumed by hatred. The only difference was in what satisfied them in the moment of their death.

So Shin couldn’t fault the Shepherds. Had things gone differently, if he’d have missed even one of the things he had now…

Like, for example, if he hadn’t met this Queen of silver, who despite being an Alba, stuck by the Eighty-Six and told him she would never forget them…

…he might have been one of the Shepherds out there right about now.

Meanwhile, the civilians walked on, spurred by the fanned flames of their hatred. Their hatred for that Queen, the pretender saint. For the Eighty-Six who wouldn’t even hate them back.

And hatred for this beautiful world, so blissfully indifferent to their suffering.

They were so hurt, so tortured, so full of self-pity; someone must have been at fault. Someone must have been inflicting all this pain, torture, and self-pity on them.

After all—if they let the thought that them being so hurt, tortured, and full of self-pity was something self-inflicted, that they brought this on themselves, then all this pain, torture, and self-pity would become too much to bear.

Let us hate you. Someone. Anyone.

If only the birds wouldn’t chirp. If only the flowers didn’t bloom so beautifully, if only the sunshine wasn’t so fair, if only this lovely blue sky didn’t hang over them.

If only it would rain. If only a storm would break out. If only thunder and mud and darkness would wash over the world, if only all the ways the world could display its contempt of them would come to bear and stand in their way.

The refugees even resented the tall blue sky spanning over them, hated the beauty of this world, which would not draw pause in the face of their anguish.

And even that thought occurred to them.

If only everything fell to ruin with us.

By the time they crossed the sixty-kilometer point from the Federacy, phase line Aquarius, the refugees didn’t utter a single hateful word. They advanced silently along the trackless path, which seemed to stretch to infinity, breathing roughly like animals as the morning sun mercilessly bore down on them.

Some of the Reginleifs going ahead suddenly turned their optical screens over the horizon. Clouds of dust brewed in the distance, moving gradually closer. Before long, their squarish contours came into view, forming the silhouettes of large, clumsy trucks.

The Federacy’s transport unit.

As soon as they regrouped with the transport unit, Shin sensed it.

“Tch… Lena, get back into Grimalkin.”

“Huh?” Lena turned around to look at him.

Shin shook his head gravely. Major General Altner’s rearguard unit…

“The rear guard’s starting to fall apart… Depending on the situation, we could be entering combat soon. Return to Grimalkin.”

Having guarded the refugees’ route until their limit, their defensive line was beginning to fall apart.

“We’ve boarded all the refugees onto the transport trucks, Major General. We’re beginning to retreat now,” said Grethe.

Receiving a report from the transport unit’s captain, Grethe gave the Strike Package orders to set out. Following that, she switched on the Para-RAID, resonating with Richard, who was leading the rear guard.

With them having bought enough time for the refugees to link up with the transport unit, the rear guard had accomplished its mission. But at this point, there was no means for them to return.

The Strike Package traveled sluggishly along the retreat path, while the rear guard’s metallic steeds had galloped through the battlefield at top speed to intercept the enemy. The distance between them was by now far too great, and their lines were crumbling in the face of the Legion’s merciless assault. Regrouping and retreating at this point would be impossible.

This comrade of hers would never return, and so she wanted to at least relay this much.

“You’ve done your duty, Major General… You have my deepest respect, Major General Richard Altner.”

“Cut it out, Spider-Woman,” Richard said, a hint of a sarcastic smile in his tone. “This doesn’t suit you.”

Grethe couldn’t feel his driver’s presence from the Operator’s seat. Did they die…or was the Vánagandr completely demolished? The sound of gunshots and cannon fire alone remained incessant. Of two machine guns rattling out in tandem. The roar of a 120 mm smoothbore gun.

“It seems I’ve lost our bet. Again. Those children who presented themselves as bloody blades tempered on the battlefield had finally returned to being normal children in our Federacy’s embrace.”

And that was what mattered most.

“Richard…”

“Don’t let them be taken away from you again. The Black Widow’s rampage shouldn’t ever happen again. Try putting yourself in my shoes. Having to look as you and Willem, you two bloodied war demons, went mad on the battlefield. Once was enough… Right, and make sure to tell Willem that he doesn’t need to think about taking vengeance tenfold this time. It was one thing when he was a major in the armored infantry corps, but a commodore and chief of staff shouldn’t be swinging around hatchets at those Legion scraps.”

After saying this, Richard cracked a smile despite—or perhaps in spite—of the situation.

“It might be years too late to say this, but if he’s so occupied with cutting up those scrap monsters, maybe calling him the Dismantling Mantis would be more appropriate than Killer Mantis… I guess we ended up using the wrong nickname for him all those years.”

“…”

“So don’t do anything to make him change that name of his, Grethe. He’s a special kind of idiot who’s too stupid to even realize how compassionate he can be at the weirdest of times… Surely, you can see that, given you were the same, but at least you were conscious about it.”

“—Yes.”

Ehrenfried the Killer Hatchet, hunter of the scrap monsters. The Black Widow, killer of Legion.

Back in the early stages of the Legion War, when the battlefield was still chaotic and established tactics for facing the Legion hadn’t been discovered yet, countless died. Bit by bit, they lost all that they held dear. Their contemporaries from the officer academy, comrades who trudged through the muck of the battlefield with them, their subordinates, who were their elders.

Those two young officers set foot on the battlefield during their teens, maturing into their twenties. In an attempt to compensate for all the things they had been denied, they became driven to take savage revenge on the mechanical army that’d taken everything away from them.

One young man swore, despite cutting down lightweight Legion in melee combat—a feat deemed to be the height of insanity—that he would kill ten Legion for every comrade he lost. He became a demon, single-handedly challenging not just Ameise but even Grauwolf types.

One young woman swore, as she piloted her fiancée’s Vánagandr as a gunner and shot down heavyweight Legion, that she would never let anyone else sit in his gunner’s seat. She became a witch, single-handedly overwhelming Legion armored units.

Grethe still remembered the way she was back then. Her comrade, who became known as the Killer Hatchet. Their sheer madness.

“…That’s why I hate him.”

He was like a mirror held up before her, showing rage that bubbled up like molten iron in her heart—a severe, intense part of her she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“He loved that earnest, severe part of you. Even when he knew that you would never turn your affections to him.”

“I know. That’s why I hate him.”

She could feel Richard’s silent, wry smile on the other side as she continued:

“That’s why I never want to have to visit his grave.”

I don’t want him to die before I do. Just like how you’re worried about him.

“Please make sure he doesn’t.” Richard’s smile deepened.

“But”—feeling his attention turn to her, she regarded him with the strongest smile she could muster—“whenever I come to you to share a drink, I’ll have him come along. As always.”

No help would reach him in time. There was no escape for Richard anymore. Richard and Grethe would never get another chance to share a drink.

But whenever I think of you, I’ll act as if you’re there with us.

As if to say the trio who survived the terrible war ten years ago were all still there.

“…I see.”

The transport trucks set off. They were by no means comfortable to sit in and were all overloaded with people to an unsafe degree. Any refugees and military police who couldn’t fit onto the vehicles had to occupy emptied Scavenger-towed containers.

Civilians wrapped their arms around one another, holding on for stability as the trucks and Scavengers set out, kicking up the wind as they left, protected by the Reginleifs.

With pained silence, Frederica closed her eyes. Her words did not reach the ones they were directed to. There was nothing she could do to help them from there. And yet still…

“You have fought well, Major General Richard Altner. And his brave, valiant soldiers.”

In one corner of the file of Reginleifs, Grethe bit her lip. The roaring of Richard’s Vánagandr’s cannon had died down a short while ago. In its place, all she could hear was the rattling of machine-gun fire and the footsteps approaching in spite of them, as silent as the rubbing of bones.

And then she heard the whistling of something sharp cutting through the air, followed by the light thumping of a metallic object crushing something soft and skeletal.

A few pained wheezes. The faint sound of a pistol’s slide being loaded. The Federacy’s standard-issue 9 mm striker-fired automatic pistol—the suicide weapon provided to Feldreß pilots.

Grethe bit down on her lip hard. A whisper calling out to someone, like one’s final words. It was the name of his wife; Grethe had met her a few times. And then the name of his infant daughter, who had just recently learned to speak. And then—

—a gunshot.

With his ability, Shin could tell the rear guard had been wiped out. With no one left in their way, the Legion began pursuing the Strike Package and the refugees at top speed.

But it was too late.

Major General Altner and his men had done their job well. Protected by the Valkyries, his transports unit passed the thirty-kilometer point from the Federacy’s domain, phase line Pisces. They then traveled through the thick defensive line taken over and maintained by the Federacy military’s armored units and finally reached Point Zodiacs—the Federacy’s territory.

Following that, the entirety of the strike package crossed phase line Pisces and reached Point Zodiacs as well. Once all the units returning from the Republic were taken in, the Federacy military shut off the retreat route. The artillery corps set behind the Federacy’s defensive line fired an offensive bombardment, mercilessly destroying the Legion that were still persistent enough to give chase.

Having returned to Federacy soil, the Strike Package and transport trucks reached the high-speed railway’s terminus, the Berledephadel City terminal. They were greeted by the beautiful urban view of the glass-and-metal roadside trees. The pavement strewn with countless, eternal fallen leaves made of quartz, their rich, magnificent beauty lit up in the golden sunlight refracted by the glass leaves.

Seeing this honey-colored sight, Shin breathed out in relief within Undertaker. They’d been moving for over half a day, since late last night. They were worn out, but more than anything, seeing they’d reached safety brought relief—which made the feeling of wasted effort, built up during that time, finally bubble to the surface.

Yes, wasted effort. They failed to evacuate all the Republic refugees, lost Richard and his unit, and couldn’t stop Aldrecht and the other Eighty-Six’s ghosts.

The transport trucks pulled up in the plaza in front of the terminal, and the civilians spilled out of them and squatted on the ground, exhausted. The trucks were meant for ferrying people to the refugee sectors and only temporarily relegated to helping the retreat, meaning many refugees had been left behind in the plaza in their absence. Those refugees noticed their countrymen’s plight and the presence of the Reginleifs and began to murmur anxiously.

Why are the Eighty-Six back already? When is the next refugee train coming? What about all their countrymen who were meant to come later?

“Good work, everyone,” Grethe said, like she was trying to blot out the refugees’ murmuring. “Leave the refugees to the people in charge here and go back home.”

“Come on, everyone, just a little longer, and we’ll get to have warm showers and sleep in beds,” Lena encouraged them brightly.

The Strike Package’s lodgings were farther into the city. At Lena’s words, the Brísingamen squadron set off first as the rest of the 1st Armored Division began moving. Some people had been up for a full day, and even after taking medicine, they were beginning to feel bad. In order to make sure they came back as soon as possible and got to rest, the Spearhead squadron relinquished the path and remained parked in the glass-tree lane’s footpath.

Shin stepped out of his cockpit to stretch his limbs and get some fresh air. The other squad members followed suit, stretching or pouring water over their heads. He let out a long, tired breath.

But then he heard a sharp voice reach his ears. Shin instinctively stopped Undertaker and the refugees, so as to shield his comrades, and he happened to be closest. That was the only reason.

“You’re a man-eating murderer! That’s why your eyes are red, you Eighty-Six! You’re all filthy colored stains, useless and incompetent!”

Kurena’s brow jumped, and Anju got to her feet. Raiden turned to look at the refugees, his eyes squinting dangerously. All the remaining Reginleifs and Processors, Dustin and the Vargus included, turned to look with cold eyes. Even Grethe, who’d intended to remain in her unit until every one of her subordinates returned, turned her head.

The one who’d shouted was a young Alba man who had cut through the crowd of his countrymen to shout at them. Military police hurried over at once, holding the man down before he could leave the plaza, to say nothing of approach Shin. With his arms grabbed from both sides, he leaned in forward uncomfortably.

He thrust out a hand forcibly, showing off a burnt scrap of cloth gripped in his fingers.

“This is all your fault! You didn’t want to protect us, so you cut corners! And now she’s dead because of you! Why…why didn’t you save my sister?!”

Deep in the plaza, crouched on the tracks behind the civilian crowd like it was trying to hide from sight, were the burned, tattered remains of a train. The refugee train that’d gotten hit by the incendiary bombs and caught fire.

Did none of its passengers survive, or did the owner of this cloth just happen to be unlucky enough to be counted among the dead? Shin had no way of knowing. But she’d probably died there in that burning train.

In that locomotive, put to the flame by the Shepherds’ malice. In the hellfire created by the Eighty-Six’s spiteful ghosts.

Shin suddenly felt a lump of rage swell up in his heart. Unable to withstand it, he clenched his teeth and shouted back at the man.

“If that’s how you feel…!

“If that’s how you feel, why didn’t any of you fight?!”

“What did you just—?” The young man’s expression filled up with anger.

“Why didn’t you even try to fight? You spent nine years, surrounded and boxed in by the Legion. For nine years, you didn’t win, so why did you never think to fight? Why did you discard the will and means to fight and just sit there, satisfied with yourselves? On what basis did you think, did you honestly believe…that someone would always protect you and fight your battles for you?!”

All you ever say is for others to fight in your place. You keep calling out for someone else to protect you. Why did that idea never scare you? Can’t you see how pathetic it is to never protect yourself? Are you really blind to how terrifying it is to leave your lives in someone else’s hands?

And in this decade-long Legion War of all times and places. Even after you saw that your fortress wall couldn’t protect the Republic and its people, after the large-scale offensive exposed how despairingly powerless you all are.

How can you stay so…weak?!

“Why do you never try to protect yourselves? You had years to do it, and after everything that happened! Why—why won’t you try to protect yourselves for once?!”

If they would at least each try to protect themselves, Shin and the Eighty-Six wouldn’t have had to see the gruesome way so many Republic people had to die. They wouldn’t have to live with failing to save them, to leave them in such a terrible, unbelievable way to die. This all could have been avoided.

“How can you live your lives, look yourself in the mirror every day knowing you’re incapable of protecting your own sorry hides…?!”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, but pained, like he was coughing up those words along with his very blood. The voice of a man who had seen death, agonizing death, and suffered for it. The death of those who did not deserve to die.

The young man fell silent, overwhelmed. Unable to stay there, Shin looked away and hurried off.

As he walked through the streets lit up by the prismatic refractions cast by those glass leaves that would never fall, he heard someone come after him. Turning to look who it was, he found it was Marcel. He’d been onboard Grethe’s Reginleif and had apparently disembarked and gone after him.

He stood stock-still behind Shin, too busy trying to catch his breath to be able to say anything. Feeling all the tension drain from his body, Shin spoke up first. Seeing Marcel made regret wash over him.

“…Sorry.”

“What for?” Marcel furrowed his brow.

“I didn’t mean that being weak is wrong or it means you deserve to die.”

Eugene’s memory came to mind. The way he died on the western front. Shin didn’t believe he died for being weak. He wasn’t a coldhearted enough of a man to say that being weak was wrong.

“I know.” Marcel cut him off with a nod. “I know that… He fought, but he still couldn’t make it and died. But…”

But that’s exactly why.

“…that’s what makes dying without even putting up a fight feel so unbearable…”

“—Yeah.”

“How can they be whole with themselves like that? It’s not my fault or yours, but it just hurts… Even those people…”

Marcel cast down his slanted, catlike eyes morosely. He’d spent a year on the battlefield, too, watching many of his comrades die. His voice spoke to that grief.

“We’d have been better off if they didn’t have to die, either…”

The military police pushed the young man and the refugees back into the station’s interior and told them not to start fights with their soldiers, but the cold silence that settled over the glass-tree lane lingered. Even with Shin having said his piece and leaving, Raiden, Anju, Kurena, Tohru, and Claude didn’t go after him.

None of them were in the state of mind to go after him.

The Legion War they thought was almost over, that they hoped they could end, whose conclusion seemed to be on the horizon, had been overturned in the space of a single night. Its end no longer seemed so certain.

All the battles they had fought and achievements they’d made over the last six months had been reduced to nothing. All their battles across the last half of a year may well have been meaningless.

Everything, every single thing they did might have been for naught.

The sense of empty futility and exhaustion had burned in their hearts since the day stars of flame rained down on all of humankind’s battlefields. The sense of powerlessness, wasted effort, and this emptiness that they had by now grown used to.

Some part of their minds kept on whispering to them that the emptiness had been etched onto them in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, that humankind was utterly unnecessary for this world, and that there was nowhere they belonged.

But at least before this operation, they could keep their minds detached from that resignation and suppress their emotions. But the ones they’d gone to such lengths to save…

“Why did we have to save those people…?” Tohru whispered to himself.

“…Yeah.”

Even though the relief expedition did try to rescue the Republic’s people, they failed to save them all. Even though their operation failed. Even though the major general and his men risked their lives to stay behind as a rear guard, eventually sacrificing themselves.

Even though their past brethren were already dead and had been reduced to Shepherds. Even though the comrades they’d fought alongside with in the Eighty-Sixth Sector died. And even though over the last few months, they’d lost comrades who survived the large-scale offensive, too…

Claude clenched his teeth, feeling rage rise up within him. Even though Republic civilians died. Like his brother, who’d tried to fight as a Handler and probably died…

Why were these pathetic people the ones they ended up saving—and not all those who died? They never repented, couldn’t show a hint of gratitude. All they did was grumble and complain and get nowhere.

Why did they get to survive? Why was it that the only thing the Eighty-Six really ended up achieving was saving these people?

An inexplicable feeling of wasted effort hung over him, crushing his entire body. What did they fight for? What did they achieve in all this time?

“What could I have done to save my brother…?”

The words left Tohru’s lips without him even realizing it. Could he have done anything differently to save his brother? To change this operation? To save the major general and his troops—or the countless many of his comrades who died?

And even those pathetic Republic civilians. Up until now, he didn’t care one way or the other if they ended up perishing. But still, he didn’t think they deserved to die such gruesome deaths, screaming in pain and agony. Could he have changed that?

“Could I have avoided their deaths…?”

Would he have been able to spare himself from seeing their cruel, terrible deaths…?

The Strike Package’s return to their home base was a transport mission involving thousands of Feldreß and personnel. Even just unloading all the equipment would take more than a day. Despite everything having been moved up by a day, the transport team was ready and waiting for them, and the soldiers retired to their lodgings in the temporary base for a slightly early rest.

Some of them were completely exhausted and went straight to bed. Those who didn’t instead decided to hit the showers or had a light meal. The Scavengers, who knew no fatigue, ran around according to the transport team’s instructions, helping unload ammunition and energy packs. In the meanwhile, the base’s personnel went around with large trays loaded with coffee in paper cups.

But of course, the commanders couldn’t immediately get to rest. Lena included.

“Roger that. I think that’s enough for today. Good work, Shin.”

Once he finished relaying the necessary reports, Lena informed Shin he’d concluded his duties. They were in her small personal office, which had been allotted to her as a commanding officer.

“Yes, you too, Lena… It’s a bit late, but do you want to get something to eat? If you’re tired, I could bring it over.”

“No, it’s fine. I’d rather see everyone’s faces.”

Everyone had likely already finished eating, though, but they’d surely stick around for coffee.

“But before that… Just for a bit?”

“…Yeah.” Shin realized what she meant and nodded.

Lena had probably been keeping everything bottled up for the duration of the operation. She could take it then, but she was at her limit now. She got to her feet and embraced the man before her. She snaked her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, still hanging her head. “I know you’re in pain, too, and I’m still so…”

The Shepherds that chose revenge. The countless Republic civilians who died. Someone as kind as you must be…

“Yeah… But I got to vent a little earlier, so I’m fine.”

At that, Lena’s eyebrows shot up. Shin realized he’d just put his foot in his mouth, but it was too late already. Lena raised her fair brow, pouted, and frowned, her mood taking a clear and rapid nosedive.

“You got to vent? To who? Raiden? Or was it Fido?” she asked, her silver chime of a voice more pointed and pricklier than usual. And while Shin did feel like he was wrong to blurt out that he’d confided in someone else, he didn’t see why she should be jealous of Raiden, to say nothing of Fido.

“…To Marcel.”

“Is that right? Well, I suppose I’m going to have to thoroughly cross-examine Marcel later.”

“Taking matters into your own hands?”

Shin said this, recalling what he’d said on the supercarrier, which made Lena remember they’d had this exchange once. She lowered her raised brow and giggled.

“Yes, I think I will.”

“Marcel is your subordinate, Lena. You shouldn’t torment him too much.”

“Yes… Not like you’re one to talk.”

They chuckled briefly. But then the tears finally spilled from Lena’s eyes.

“…We had to leave behind so many.”

“—Yes.”

“We failed to save them. They all…died. And Major General Altner died, too, for our sake.”

We let them die. We failed to save them. We let the Republic fall to ruin. The homeland where I was born and raised has finally been ruined. All of them, they all…died.

“I couldn’t save them. I didn’t want to abandon them, to let them die. I wanted to save them, but…I couldn’t do it. I…I…!”

“It’s not your fault, Lena. But…”

She felt his arms wrap around her back. Hard, muscular hands. And through his thick panzer jacket, she could feel his body heat, slightly higher than her own.

“I don’t think anyone can blame you for wanting to cry. You must be sad.”

He embraced her, telling her without words that she was allowed to cry.

And so…Lena raised her voice and sobbed openly. Grieving the loss of her homeland and the countless people who died.