“So, what should I set it to?” the engineer asked.
“Go with .12,” Sousuke told him, assuming that’s what Al would decide on, anyway. After giving his supposition to the engineer, he opened his laptop and went back to the draft he was working on.
He was writing his last will and testament. Mithril members were supposed to write down what they wanted to happen after they died, and it was also preferred that they renew those wills once a year. Sousuke had submitted his will two years ago and hadn’t changed it since, but Villain, Tessa’s secretary, had recently nudged him into updating it.
Sousuke had finished all the business about things like his possessions and money but hadn’t made much progress after that. There wasn’t much he wanted to leave behind in words, after all. He couldn’t think of much to say to his various acquaintances, friends, and comrades. He didn’t feel like it mattered what kind of person he’d been, or what kind of feelings had propelled him in the fight. Too much—far too much—had happened by now for him to think up any clever words to describe it.
Fights he’d won, fights he’d lost... Lives he’d saved, lives he couldn’t save. Unraveling everything he’d been involved in, with appropriate commentary... Sousuke couldn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t think of a single word to leave to those survivors who would continue being tossed around on fate’s stormy seas after he was gone.
Best of luck. That was all he could think to say. These words, which dying soldiers left to their comrades, had changed over the millennia, but they always added up to roughly the same thing: “God be with you,” or “See you on the other side.”
Is it the same with what I want to say to Chidori Kaname, then? he wondered. Maybe not. There were so many things he wanted to say to her; so many that he didn’t know where to start. Yet, at the same time, Sousuke also felt like words weren’t sufficient. If she could return to her right mind, then he could imagine how she’d feel; she’d blame herself. It would be painful. She’d have to walk a long and cruel road of penance, just as Tessa was doing now.
Was there really anything he could say to her in that state? After writing “Best of luck” to his comrades, Sousuke remained staring at the blank text document, until the voice input indicator blinked. Al was calling him.
“Have you decided?” Sousuke asked through the headset.
《.12, please.》
“Thought so.” It was exactly what he’d expected; Sousuke had found himself able to anticipate Al’s demands of late. He mostly just felt it on an instinctual level, but he was usually right, and there was nothing supernatural about it. It was similar to recognizing that a dog was asking you for a walk because it tilted its head at you just so.
The arguments between Al, Sousuke, and the engineer continued after that. Their growing concern was the Laevatein’s exhaustion.
《The machine’s entire frame is showing fatigue. It’s still within the limits of what maintenance and software can compensate for, but you should avoid exceeding movements that cause 20 gs or more when possible.》
“Understood,” Sousuke said shortly. Of course, it’s not as if an operator ever wanted to exceed 20 gs, even for a moment... The Laevatein’s maximum movement potential was, to use an extreme example, like being in a car crash every few seconds. The M9 Gernsback, on which the Laevatein was based, wasn’t built to withstand the engine output and firepower they’d strapped to it.
It was like strapping an F1 engine to a commercial sports car; there was no way the car was getting out intact. Its operation time was limited, its electronic warfare options sparse, and it overheated on the regular. Maintenance was an issue, too. Many of its parts—frame included—faced a faster rate of wear and tear than those of a normal M9. The Laevatein could no longer fight in the reckless way it had during its debut sortie.
Once they’d discussed the wear issue, Al asked, 《Will that cheating bastard appear in our next mission?》
“Most likely,” Sousuke told him.
Al was referring to the black AS that Leonard piloted, the Belial. They’d found the machine’s name in the information they’d acquired from the mansion in Mexico. Sousuke and Al had lost to it the first time they’d fought it, and been forced to retreat the second time. Al seemed to feel a particular enmity towards the other machine, and always spoke about it in the most hateful of terms. He’d call it ‘the cheating bastard,’ or ‘the lambda driver-reliant wreck,’ or ‘the one-trick pony fail machine.’
Ironically, these labels all applied to the Laevatein as well, but AIs probably had their own pride, so Sousuke refrained from pointing that out. Instead, he said, “We’re the only ones who can face him.”
《Then our next sortie will likely be our last.》
“Yeah...” Sousuke agreed, looking up at the Laevatein. There were countless cracks running through its armor. “One more. That’ll be enough.”
Just then, a short alarm sounded, warning of an incoming shipboard announcement. It was the voice of the XO, Mardukas. “The interrupted meeting will now resume. All relevant personnel, please report to the first briefing room. I repeat. The interrupted meeting—”
Across the hangar, maintenance chief Sachs stopped in the middle of his work to head for the aft deck. Sousuke was ‘relevant personnel’ as well, so he closed the text file he’d been working on and began tidying up after himself.
《Will Colonel Testarossa be at the meeting?》
“Yes.”
《Shall I attend as well? I might be able to offer meaningful support. I could also fill the hole left by Master Sergeant Weber—》
“Shut up,” Sousuke told Al. Then he threw off his headset again and headed for the briefing room.
Tessa entered last. “Sorry for the wait. Let’s get started,” she said.
“Right.” Belfangan Clouseau started things up, addressing Melissa Mao, Sousuke, and the others in attendance. “I’ll have to start with the bad news: Afghanistan. A Soviet nuclear missile base in the northeast mountains has been occupied by an unknown armed force.”
The Republic of Afghanistan, a landlocked nation on the far eastern side of the Middle East, was currently under Soviet control. The USSR had their armies stationed all around it and had built countless military facilities there, including the missile base in question.
“An ‘armed force?’” Melissa Mao asked with a scowl. “That area’s right on the Soviet border, isn’t it? They’d have tight security. I doubt any force small enough for an ambush would be able to cut it.”
“There are a few that could pull it off,” Sousuke agreed. “Us... and them.”
“Leonard’s gang, eh?” Lately, Mao and the others had stopped calling the enemy “Amalgam” and started calling them “Leonard’s gang” and similar. It was clear by now that Leonard Testarossa was the real power behind the otherwise faceless enemy.
“A single one of their lambda driver-mounted ASes could wipe out all defenses in ten minutes,” Sousuke said flatly. “Then they could take over the facility with coordinated attacks from Alastors and infantry.”
A new screen came up, showing the latest satellite images of the area. Remains of BMP mechanized infantry and Savage-model Soviet ASes were left scattered and smoking around the base, high in the mountains. Several AS silhouettes of unknown affiliation could also be seen occupying the base.
“But why a nuclear missile base?” asked Mao.
“I don’t know. Perhaps they want to pour gasoline on the fire of the upcoming nuclear war,” Clouseau speculated. “With the US and USSR presently in a staring contest, the occupation of a nuclear silo would clearly heighten tensions. But neither Leonard nor Amalgam have any reason to want to see the world destroyed. They couldn’t want to actually fire them. Which means...”
“Distraction, and to buy time,” Tessa said.