Counter Plan

Sergeant, where the hell did you go this time?

My stomach’s been acting up. Hiding in the toilet.

……I see. Well, fine. Private Carlyle’s finally been discharged.

No abnormalities in the test results. The Karaf virus has been eradicated.

That’s good news. The happiest thing I’ve heard in weeks.

Today’s a party. I’m breaking into my savings to treat everyone.

Wiznee Hone’s chicken. A huge one.

……Sergeant, come back soon. …Please.

Yeah, Lieutenant. …I’ll get back as soon as I can.

……Forgive me.

…………Ending transmission.

They know. I don’t know how much, but they know.

Io places a hand on the Condor’s door grip and looks out the window.

The small pane, scarred and filthy, reveals little. But rain falls heavily outside.

You two are awfully close, aren’t you.

Like real brothers.

Reaper teases, her fingers flicking across the terminal beside him.

Jealous?

Maybe. I had a brother once. A real pain in the ass.

Right.

Past tense. Guess that’s how it is.

Have you made contact with Charger?

He’s currently without comms. Message sent. He’ll respond through the secure channel soon enough.

Then we’ll start with Corporal Kouranjé.

That’s what Reaper said, smiling. A sharp electronic tone echoed from her terminal.

Got it. Lucky break. Not far at all.

Looks like she’s on a fire support mission in the northwest highlands.

Still in combat?

Her specialty. Kill a few lizards and she’ll be free.

Do the job. Create some time to talk.

Io confirmed Raven's status.

Good plan. Boarding.

——

Sergeant! Get the Condor as close to the enemy main force as possible!

Ground strafing in six seconds! If you hesitate during descent, the pilot will kick your ass!

You too, Reaper—don’t fall behind!

Night. Thunder. Torrential rain. Visibility is near zero. Auditory perception is useless, drowned out by wind and storm.

But this is exactly Io’s battlefield. The more chaotic the combat zone, the better.

At the base of the mountain, a water purification facility. A fierce firefight rages between humans and lizards.

Captain Camille Courange appeared to be supporting the front line.

Hmph. Sloppy bunch.

Friendly forces?

A unit that plans night raids. I expected tougher opponents...

Fine. Sergeant, let’s show them how it’s done—just you and me.

The Reaper criticized friendly forces. What did her night vision show?

Io activated her visor’s night sight. Crumbled walls. Moldy sandbags. Soldiers—enemy and friend—clustering in the debris.

—Reaper! Descent point! Wait till I clear the area below!

The Condor’s gatling gun roared. The shadow of a lizard swept aside. The ground turned to churned earth.

She savored the six seconds perfectly. Then opened the door.

To the citizens of Sytalskia!

This is the Syndicate Assault Team, Reaper Temporary Unit!

Commencing descent into combat zone! Strictly verify friendly identification!

—This is Hob Spring 4th Battalion! Grateful for support!

But why is the Syndicate here?

Ignoring the friendly response, the Reaper tapped Io on the shoulder.

—You know how to use the jump unit, right?!

—Lead the way.

Io launched into the air. A floating sensation. The strange feeling of flying through night-darkness.

Compressed air expelled from the backpack’s shape, wrapping around back and waist.

A forward roll upon landing to kill momentum. Mud splattered onto the cheek. Arrived filthy, already.

Taking up a shooting stance, scanning the surroundings, the Reaper completed descent.

—Let’s go, Reaper! Lizard hunt!

—

Combat didn’t require much effort. At least not by Io’s standards.

Guided by Io and the Reaper, friendly forces surged into the water purification facility. Countless enemy infantry and autonomous weapons were destroyed. The area regained silence, save for the sound of rain.

One Condor landed at the campsite. Io climbed aboard.

"Corporal—long time no see! I was surprised when your emergency terminal pinged out of nowhere...

I’ve been following the daily news. Lucky to have you aboard."

Camille tossed her helmet onto the seat, greeting him.

Close-cropped gold hair. Glinting eyes. She extended a hand. Io took it without hesitation.

"Brutal fight. You’re with Sinclair, aren’t you?"

"No—different mission. But I’m here for a reason.

Corporal Koulange. I need your help."

Camille frowned. The kind of feeling you get before something goes wrong.

---

Rainlight softened. Dripping steadily onto the shattered concrete blocks.

In the Condor’s seat, Camille hangs her head. A thick air of resignation, hatred, anger, and sorrow—mixed, unresolved.

“…Sergeant, I’ve never gotten along with my family.”

“Guess so.”

“But… damn it.”

She was struggling when she finished the brief explanation.

Scratching at her scalp. Clenching her lips. The smell of sweat.

“The third thing I hate most in this world is owing my family a debt.”

“Looks like it.”

“But I know. This isn’t the time to act on personal feelings.”

Io nodded, meeting Camille’s eyes.

“I want a ship. I want to hand tickets to the kids.

I want to tell them they can live.”

“A ship… I mean, I….”

Camille took a deep, deliberate breath.

Slumped back into the seat. Rubbed her face repeatedly.

A lover’s child. …Nothing much to offer.

I’m not much either. But I can lick your boots.

…Stop it. You’ll get yourself killed by your fanbase.

A pause. They lock eyes.

Camille Courange seems to have a deep-rooted grudge against her family.

Another one of a kind. Io studies her carefully.

…Understood. I’ll cooperate. I’m not shameless. I won’t abandon the children.

I’ll contact Courange.

Camille makes her decision. The Goblet swims through her field of view.

‘Recommend Natalie Vicker.’

(Huh. So that’s how it connects.)

Io transmits data to Camille’s terminal.

There’s a reporter named Natalie Vicker. Part of Fletcher TV’s on-site reporting team.

The chairman will want on-site intelligence, won’t she?

But relay the request carefully. She’s under military surveillance now.

Tell her that. — Huh, well, not a bad choice.

The current head will do anything to reclaim political relevance.

Understood. Confirm this? Your objective is to request additional rescue convoys?

To recover the boy soldier unit.

That’s right. I’ll do anything for that.

Then… this is only something I heard from a contact.

Camille’s concern.

Isn’t Oxanun’s capacity already insufficient?

—

‘I’ve devised a new operation. One that benefits both our goals.’

The Charger’s face bore more scars. Yet each wound, each confrontation with death—friend or foe—made his neck thicker, harder.

Syndicate Assault Team Detachment Command Unit.

His eyes still hold that unreadable gaze.

Details from the Reaper have been received. Yet it must be called a low-precision plan.

Can Chairman Vitto Crouan truly move public opinion and the ship?

Even if they could be moved, how to coordinate the child soldiers into a single force.

And there's no guarantee the lizards will even be waiting for us beforehand.

There are signs of a major offensive brewing against Weedran.

— Reaper, huh. Fine.

We must conduct political operations inside and outside the military while simultaneously engaging in delaying combat against Weedran.

That means you'll help, right?

I like you. I have a debt to you.

And using you to crush those lizards offers more than enough advantage.

Scary guy. Inside the belly of a Condor cutting through a thunderstorm. Io made an unreadable smile toward the Charger.

So? What's your plan?

The enemy is neglecting its footing amid large-scale reorganization chaos.

Not a reduction in overall strength—just a matter of targeting weak points. No issue there.

Launch simultaneous or sequential assaults on a total of fourteen enemy strongholds using Synclaire’s full combat force and compatible allied units.

Reaper was unsettled by the Charger's words.

You're joking. All that'll happen is we get hit back.

We have invested vast amounts of time and resources into observing Weedran.

deemed feasible. Scared? Step out, Reaper. I’ll still accept your transfer request—now’s your last chance.

—Don’t underestimate me. You think I can still pull back now?

Io ran a hand along his jaw.

What's the advantage?

Enemy attrition, delay, disruption. That’s all Sinclair is asking for.

One final move—attack the fifteenth outpost after diverting the enemy’s attention.

Northeast two hundred kilometers. A port seized by the enemy. Formerly a subport of Oxanun, capable of accommodating large fuel transport vessels. Any ship can dock here.

Ten or twenty thousand child soldiers—no problem.

“So, we’re using Oxanun as bait to get the brats out.”

…Fast to the point. But I don’t know how it’ll end. I’m not a politician.

Still, if there’s a realistic plan and route, Vitto Crouan will find it easier to convince the electorate.”

Io crossed his arms and thought. Some kind of massive event mission, apparently. The scale remains unclear for now.

But there’s no choice. He’s the type who jumps at anything that looks interesting.

Everything feels like it's beginning to flow toward that point.

Survival of the child soldier unit. Is that the path Avatar Io must take?

The ending seems finalized. Ioh nodded once.

The gravity of it isn’t quite coming through—still, looks like it’ll be a struggle.

The hell you've endured so far will seem almost pleasant. — I wouldn't have gone through with it without your cooperation.

A promising one, then.

The strategists of Universal Audar will mock.

To decide a strategy over the existence of a single soldier—

I don’t know about them. But I don’t intend to disappoint you.

A satisfactory response.

Smiling with satisfaction, the Charger severed the secure line.

Strange. Normally I'd sigh and think I'd drawn another unlucky lot—

You're joining? That gets me fired up.

Reaper rubs at stiff shoulders, as if calming them. Suppressing tremors, it seems.

— ……so it is.

Io replies without inflection.

There are times when writing just won’t come right. Nothing to be done about it.