In the face of the now-headless military police officer and the realization they had no idea where to go, Miel was at a loss. He almost burst into tears the way a younger boy would have. But he was able to endure that urge. He was driven by his pride—the pride of being his father’s son, the man who’d headed to the Eighty-Sixth Sector all on his own. And he knew that Theo—who’d been the same age as him when he was cast out to the battlefield—wouldn’t have cried from this much.
Now’s not the time to cry. It’s too soon to give up. So don’t give up. Don’t give up. Don’t give up.
He roughly rubbed away the tears building in his eyes and got to his feet. He grabbed a scoop of earth, wet with the officer’s blood, and stuffed it into his pocket half-unconsciously. This man had protected Miel to the very end, and Miel needed to bring him along. So he’d take this much, at least.
“Miel, the officer—”
“Don’t worry. Let’s keep going! We can still walk, so let’s keep going!”
Miel nodded to his friends, who didn’t let go of the hands of the younger children despite their fear. He looked around—there were groups of retreating troops every which way. If they followed them, they could make it to safety.
Keeping his eyes fixed on one group of soldiers so as to not lose sight of them, he followed. They were a group of kids, meaning they’d probably lose them soon, but there were other units all around for them to follow. They kept moving, comforting some of the kids who were so tired and scared that they eventually broke into tears.
But as they kept moving, they ran into a powerful, pure-white unit. This was a stroke of luck—this was a Feldreß that only one unit in the Federacy army possessed, quite similar to the Juggernaut that Theo had rode in during his time in the Republic. A Reginleif.
The Strike Package!
“Please stop!”
Miel took off his coat and flapped it as he ran into their way and shouted so the howl of the Reginleif’s power pack wouldn’t drown out his voice.
“I’m looking for Theoto Rikka! An Eighty-Six! Do you know him?!”
Miel knew Theo wouldn’t be on the battlefield, of course. But if they knew Miel was an acquaintance of his, maybe they’d be less inclined to ignore and abandon him. He heard a loud clicking of the tongue, and an annoyed voice spoke to him. Theo never told him anything about it, but Miel at least knew that he was an Alba from the Republic; an Eighty-Six would react badly to him.
“Aaah?! I don’t know who that is. Maybe they died already, probably in the Eighty-Sixth Se—”
“No,” a second Reginleif cut the first one off, which made the angered Processor go quiet. “I’ve heard of him. I think he was one of the Reaper’s people from the 1st Armored Division.”
…Apparently, Theo worked under someone with one scary nickname. Miel was surprised, but he kept his expression unmoved, to seem like he already knew.
“Oh, the headless Reaper. In that case…”
The two red optical sensors turned to look at Miel like a pair of lone, crimson eyes.
“…we should probably take him along. He looked really pissed earlier.”
“Hopefully, this helps put him in a good mood… Hey, you kids.”
The Reginleifs’ optical sensors scanned over Miel and the Alba orphans huddled around him.
“We won’t protect you, but we’re willing to take you along. No crying or complaining, though, or we’ll leave you where you stand. Got it?”
Behind them, a transport machine whose name he didn’t know gazed at them with its optical sensors’ artificial gaze.