Chapter 546: Prologue: Space☆Guerrilla
Author's Preface
Since the text for the side story got spectacularly blown away, I'm angrily resuming the main story instead.
Assignments to submit? Screw 'em!!
...Just kidding. I'll add to it little by little.
Or rather, this is totally an Inventoria situation, isn't it?
Laser beams richochet, striking and bouncing wildly off the reflection-coated walls. It is an indiscriminate ricochet domain made possible entirely because the defending side unified their forces with lifeless machines. What happens when humans—who possess nothing more than imperfect sensory organs compared to machines—step into such a place?
"Oooouch!?"
"Fox is down!! Medic! Mediiic!!"
"Idiot! Like we have one! We're an all-Guerrilla-class party!!"
A man in a specialized combat suit wearing a strange helmet crouches down, clutching his shoulder after being hit by a Ricocheting Barrage Stray Bullet with an unpredictable trajectory. Others immediately move to cover him, but the already disadvantageous balance of power tilts even further into a lopsided direction.
"Eeeek! Security bot reinforcements stacked with Slaughter Packs! Tryhards are too scaryyy!!"
"Tch... I'll act as a decoy...! The rest of you, go into hiding...!!"
"Don't be stupid, Fox! If we lose a member this early on, it's game over for us anyway!!"
The approaching metallic soldiers, driven by a lifeblood of oil, increase in number as time passes. The infiltrating squad consists of a mere five members—the survivors of an initial 30-man breach team that was almost entirely shot down before they could even infiltrate properly.
Perhaps it was reckless after all. Even for those with little to lose, no one wants to throw their life away for nothing when faced with a meaningless death.
"What do we do!? Wolf!! You're supposed to be our 'Head'!!"
"That was basically drawn by lots! Did you seriously think a trash-tier captain drifting through space solo had any commanding ability!?"
"No way, no way, no way! Why do you have a buzzsaw equipped in a space opera setting?! That level of murderous intent belongs in the 20th century!!"
That was when it happened.
"You bastards! If you don't wanna die, keep your mouths open and glue yourselves to the walls!!!"
Gajogon! The driving sound of metal stomps the floor, producing heavy footsteps.
When the living turned around, they saw a massive suit of armor... No, a single man clad in an assault-type powered armor suit, standing tall and imposing, lifting a gigantic gun.
"A ship-mounted Gatling gun for small spacecraft! Good kids shouldn't use this indoors!!!"
"Gazelle!!!"
"Yahoo! All hail the bad kids! Blast 'em!!"
"By the way, as soon as the ammo runs out, I'm initiating a suicide self-destruct run with the armor."
As if to say he wasn't waiting for a reply, the giant Gatling roared. The sheer madness of a barrage from a ship-mounted Gatling firing compressed charged particles by hand converted the security bots into scrap metal at terrifying speed. However, no matter how much the powered suit provided external reinforcement, it was ultimately just one person. In less than ten seconds, the out-of-ammo Gatling was tossed aside. The man wearing a helmet themed after a Herbivore swiftly operated his Console, and leaped out from the back of the armor as it split open, much like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.
"We're milking the opening Gazelle made down to the marrow! Run, run, ruuuun!!"
"Hey Gazelle-san, how much did that just cost........."
"My current funds are 12 Credits."
"Eeeek, his entire fortune..."
◆
Space Calendar Year 255.
Today marks the 255th year since the human race abandoned their home planet and became a wandering species traveling the sea of stars. In the pitch-black void named the "Moscow Mule Sector"—honoring the great pioneer who first completed the Space Chart......... the "Supreme Flat-A Fleet," led by Captain Cutting Board, clashed with the "Great Fleet of the Twin Hills," led by Admiral "G-Cup Breast Meat" and her subordinates.
After a fierce battle spanning three full hours—a rare, massive naval engagement that reduced a total of thirty-two space battleships from both sides to debris—the conflict had settled into a temporary stalemate, a mutual draw of pain.........
No. The true battle had already begun beneath the surface.
"Fox, how's the damage?"
"Light wound. I can afford to skimp on healing."
"Gazelle, thanks for that."
"Sorry to say, but bringing that thing in ate up 80% of my resources, so the only weapon I have on me is a handgun."
"A one-trick pony, huh......... This is gonna be a heavy mission."
Unlike the Great Fleet of the Twin Hills, which was a grand alliance of multiple ship owners, the Supreme Flat-A Fleet was operated entirely by a single ship owner, Manaita. Because of this, for this battle, Manaita had hired unaligned ship owners from the surrounding sectors as temporary mercenaries.
And among them, an assault squad was formed from those specialized not in fleet combat, but in launching assaults inside enemy ships. The five individuals present were the sole survivors of that squad. Fox, Wolf, Python, Rhino, Gazelle... The mission entrusted to these mere five was to infiltrate and lie low within the Great Fleet of the Twin Hills, delivering a fatal blow before the Second Engagement scheduled a week from now.
"For now, we'll set up a temporary base, and then look for a hackable spot."
"Let me ask you upfront, Python—do we actually have a chance of winning?"
"Leave it to me. I'll have you know I'm undefeated in electronic warfare."
"That's reassuring."
They did not know each other's names. Wearing special helmets provided in advance by their client, Manaita, which concealed their identities, they knew nothing more than their code names. This was a precaution to prevent squabbles during mercenary operations from dragging on after the job was done... and also a countermeasure to prevent information from leaking to the enemy.
"............To think I'd end up doing guerrilla operations after running away."
"What are you talking about, Gazelle?"
"Eh? Ah—sorry, that was IRL talk. Don't worry about it."
"Roger."
The man wearing the Gazelle-themed helmet looked up at the ceiling of the enemy ship, lost in thought.
Just what the hell am I doing...?
Author's Afterword
A staple phenomenon of my works: "Are you sure this is still 'Shangri-La Frontier'?"
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