Ninety Minutes of Miracle

Oxanun, the largest port on the eastern side of Karaaf, is vast. To turn this place into an impregnable stronghold, the Sitalskia Union Karaaf Front Army poured in vast resources.

Defensive weaponry and communication networks. Transportation networks spanning both surface and subterranean routes. Above all, experienced soldiers and the logistical personnel to support them.

What the remnants of western Karaaf, sacrificed as pawns for time, longed for with desperate hunger.

Not trivial. To fight such a force, Weedran naturally exerted every ounce of strength and cunning.

"Io! Been waiting!"

"Saluting the Diamond Frame!"

It appears Unit 3552 was thrust directly from physical conditioning into combat, wearing combat gear over their training suit.

Crewk McGabban stands before the soldiers, headset on, clad only in a tank top.

……Sergeant Io, my stomach—

The soldiers, disheveled and unaligned, greet Io upon arrival at Anne Marie Memorial Park with a murmur.

Lieutenant, the situation is grim, but I’m glad you’re alive.

Io, combat gear is secured. Jump unit—

Crewk turns, sees Io’s abdomen, and freezes. Crimson-red, wrapped in a hemorrhage control system.

Eyes widen. No further reaction.

Crewk extends the jump unit.

Can you fight, Sergeant Io?

No issue.

You could say there’s an issue.

Try hitting me.

A small fist drives straight into Io’s abdomen without pause. Io does not flinch.

Crewk nods. The junior soldiers exhale in relief.

They’ve known this all along.

No matter the severity of injury, Io has always kept fighting.

Enough of the theatrics.

Celebrate—our immortal man has returned!

The strongest unit in our arsenal!

Counterattack begins! The operation plan is ready!

You will return alive!"

The soldiers salute, clap. Faces smeared with soot, bodies caked in mud. A true warzone appearance.

This is the force Crewk has rallied.

Annamarie Memorial Park—certainly not narrow—has become a convergence point, a data processing hub, and a supply depot. Vast in area, yet somehow cramped.

Not even combat vehicles are missing. There stands a Condor. Among the crowd, officers of higher rank than Crewk are present.

Yet Crewk is the one directing here. They must have judged this the optimal arrangement.

"Men, the welcome is over. Fulfill your duties!"

Crewk’s shout sends them scrambling into motion.

Finger whistle, thumbs-up. Soldiers return to combat, each offering a salute in their own way.

—Indeed, enhanced soldiers are different, no doubt.

The members of the mixed unit who fought alongside Io return a whistle from behind.

“Io, what about them?”

“Joined us en route. All tough nuts. You can count on them.”

“That one there’s Goodman Sergeant. I’ve heard the name.”

Hartie snaps a crisp salute to Crewk.

“Io, come here.”

Leading the way, Crewk. Io disables the hemostatic system, quickly fitting the jump unit.

The wound is not fully healed—but it’s stable enough. Goblet-sama’s work.

A temporary tent awaits. Inside, scattered equipment fills the space, and officers move briskly, wrestling with data.

"Second Lieutenant, is he the one?"

A tall man rises to greet them.

"Daryl, Sergeant Io."

Io, this is Lieutenant Daryl Monshia of the Salomah Volunteer Corps. My maternal uncle.

Deep creases between the brows. A neatly trimmed mustache. Late thirties, perhaps.

Goblet overlays data into his field of view.

Lieutenant Daryl Monshia, Special Duty, forty-one. Universally certified, Salomah Volunteer Corps Commander.

Higher in rank and age than Crewk, yet he shows her the deference of a superior.

They shake hands. A single nod. The grip is rough, scarred.

Formerly of Audar’s Hyurich Combat Unit. Retired after injury, but shooting skill remains unmatched.

Daryl. Pleasure to meet you.

Silvered by time, he thinks. Io feels an odd affinity, urging the conversation forward.

“The operation plan.”

Crewk presses a few buttons on nearby equipment. Then abruptly kicks it aside.

A map of Oxanun projects into the temporary tent.

“Thanks to your efforts, partial communication封锁 in Oxanun West has been lifted.

Relentless rescue requests flood in from allied units.”

Crewk’s small fingers dart across the map, pointing rapidly.

Unit strength data floats above the surface. The situation remains dire.

“But Oxanun is our home ground.”

Reestablish the comms and the situation flips. Fact is, the Anneliese Memorial Park perimeter is already secured.

"Something impressive."

"A medal candidate, huh?"

Cruik lets out a chuckle.

A commander's performance under pressure.

Daryl gestures toward the map to back him up.

"Sergeant Io, the towers you destroyed—approximately six locations, based on our data."

"Confirmed?"

"We analyzed zones with data flow anomalies. You can trust this."

Hmph. A sigh. Casual, as if it's nothing. Dangerous one.

"Fine. Give me your predictive data. I'll destroy them."

"Expect heavy resistance. The Weedlans infiltrated into Oxanun—they're different now.

Dead soldiers. Literally. They'll fight until the last man.

What drives them?"

Last soldier? Fine. A tremor runs through the spine. Burning hot.

Adrenaline for combat. Perhaps because clear countermeasures and a tactical objective had been secured.

Kill them. Let them learn. Io’s mind is losing equilibrium.

Oops. Too much roleplay. Losing composure loses battles.

The infected—what about them?

That’s… not good either.

Vague wording.

Daryl adds data to the map. The perimeter of Oxanun West turns red.

The accumulated reports from frontline units. Infection spreading among soldiers and civilians alike.

Medication?

Supplied from behind, but getting through this chaos to reach friendly forces is difficult.

The quantity is absolutely insufficient from the start.

Still holding back at a time like this. What do you suggest we do?

——Infected must be eliminated. Sometimes we must become无情.

Ah, so that’s why you’re the one they hate.

Eyes that carry weight. Intense pressure.

He’s glaring from behind the lieutenant. Her ability is undeniable, but her appearance—so innocuous—often complicates things.

Mission acknowledged. Lieutenant, estimated operation time?

Deploy Condor. Request support from nearby units.

Clear fifty percent of the zone within ninety minutes.

Understood.

Io, I’m burdening you again.

Is there anything I can do?

Then let Sergeant Hartie come along for the ride.

All necessary questions answered. Mission parameters confirmed.

Goblet’s vision swims through the data stream. Task confirmed.

Combat readiness confirmed. "Communication Jamming Device Destruction Operation" — resuming support.

Io pivoted on his heel.

— Just watch, Lieutenant. Your expectations won’t be disappointed.

---

Io and Hartie were parting ways with the combined unit, preparing to proceed with their mission.

— Hey, already saying goodbye? That’s a shame.

I thought I’d get to see more of Diamond Frame’s “killing techniques” firsthand...

Rumor has it they can shoot through walls and pierce lizard-creatures right between the eyes.

— That’s correct. I’d have loved to show you all personally.

Salmatia laughed cheerfully. Well, anyway.

— Thanks for the help on the way. I might’ve been taken out if it weren’t for you.

— The new assault armor really lives up to its reputation.

— What’s your next move?

— Command ordered us to join the temporary defense unit at Anne Marie Memorial Park.

Apparently they’re recognizing that princess as the field commander.

Our lieutenant’s a tough one. Keep an eye on her.

Ah, I figured that out already. Not just some brat.

See you later. Cut the chatter short. Salmatia departs, leaving behind a collapsed salute.

The rapid-response unit, scout team, and other survivors scatter to fulfill their assigned roles.

Let’s go, Sergeant Io. Time to draw the short straw.

They broke into a run. Condor assigned to Crewk was not far off.

The Condor looked as though its crushed body had been forcibly repaired, new weld marks gleaming.

Carlyle, tool in hand, waved at Io.

Sergeant! You’re really safe after all.

Carlyle! Sorry, no time for reunion. I’m leaving immediately. Take care of 3552.

No need to ask. — Ammo and gear resupply?

Io nodded. Ready for deployment.

Then good. Luck.

I’ve got confidence in luck. The goddess of fortune’s on my side.

Carlyle slams fists with him, mounting the Condor as the rotor hums, impatient, relentless.

The pilot was a young man. His large eyes gleamed behind the helmet.

It is an honor to carry you, Diamond Frame.

Please treat me well.

Io and Hartie exchange glances.

You okay? You’re just as much a low-tier draft as I am.

Yes?

No need to worry about it. Sergeant Io says odd things sometimes.

Don’t know exactly, but friendly forces seem to be in critical condition.

I’ll brag about this to my family! My Condor carried Sergeant Io and rescued the friendly forces in Oxanun!

The pilot manipulated the instruments with fluid precision and barked into the comms.

—Flamenco 03, climbing! Look up! Sergeant Io is deploying!

—Wait a second!

A voice shouted into the Condor just before takeoff. Young, high-pitched, sharp-featured brows.

Paxton Cornini. He carried a rifle that looked like a joke—oversized, absurdly large.

—Sergeant! Sergeant Io! Thank god, I made it!

—Pax, what’s wrong?

He thrust the rifle he’d been carrying forward. Recognition flared.

That’s… SOD six or seven—something like that. Reinforced infantry rifle, anyway.

One shot through Cyphs’ armor. Specifications claim it can pierce even the Tomos anti-artillery weapon’s plating.

Collected ammo for you, Sergeant Io.

Heh, heh. Seems he’s been pulling this stunt behind everyone else’s back.

“Pax, you—”

“Sergeant, honestly, everyone wanted to talk to you more.

But now we fight. Anywhere. Anything. Just like you, we do.”

Pax grinned, a wet, gurgling sound.

“Stay safe, Sergeant.”

Io ruffled Pax’s head, then signaled the pilot to launch.

“Lift off!”

“Already?!”

“Enough! We’ll crush those lizards!”

Condor accelerated upward, rotated 120 degrees to display its profile, then surged forward toward the canyon between the Oxanun towers.

“Sergeant Io, you’re quite the celebrity. I’m starting to envy you a little.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll aim for a medal or two myself.”

If you're fighting just for medals, that's a clear sign of danger, Hartie.

"Maybe not."

Hartie grins, teeth bared.

---

Sniper fire. Artillery. Assault. Building-wide detonations. Unpredictable.

— Did you get a surprise from Pax, Io?

"Yeah, Lieutenant. SOD Seven."

— SOD Seven upgraded. New model. Can fire AD warheads. Still not in full production. Extremely rare. Handle with care.

"AD warhead?"

— Anti-Defender. That rifle doesn't overwhelm with volume. It penetrates a Defender with a single shot.

"Interesting. Let me try it."

One moment.

— Artillery request confirmed. …Hartie Staff Sergeant, you're certain about the target point?

"Fine. Just do it! We can't stay here any longer!"

……Warn surrounding units! Artillery strike initiated! Target: Oxanun Memorial Museum and Fallen Soldiers Memorial!

I’ll take responsibility!

Two, like a流水 operation.

—Help me! You heard the message from Annelie’s temporary command post!

—Sergeant Io? What’s going on? You were just engaged in combat twelve kilometers south, three minutes ago…

—I’m impulsive. Couldn’t hold back. …Forward, breaking through enemy lines!

Three, with a counter-strike.

And Sergeant Io isn’t satisfied.

—Hartie, we’re breaching the apartment complex. Surprise the enemy, close on the target.

—Not just lizards. Infected everywhere. Let me be clear—this is a bad bet.

—When wasn’t it? Bet on me again.

—Flamenco 03, evacuate! I’ll mark the recovery point after clearing the enemy!

Like a fare paid on the way there—just one.

‘Bacchus Second Engineering Unit, mission accomplished!’

‘Bacchus Third, also complete!’

‘Io! Target secured! Feint ended—retreat now!’

‘Hartie, I’m in a good spot right now…!’

‘You think this is a shooting game?! You’ll be finished if surrounded!’

‘Bacchus, don’t worry about us. Detonate precisely thirty seconds from now!’

One more gift for the lieutenant.

‘…Sergeant Io, you’re the talk of the unit.

Apparently, you’re a clone. There are multiple others with the same face.’

‘I’ve never seen myself outside of myself.’

‘Right. If there were multiple of you, the Karaaf Front Army wouldn’t have lost in the first place.’

‘Enough. Get to work.

Hartie, the final one.’

‘…There’s something I’ve learned from this operation.’

Working with you as a partner isn’t worth my time unless I’m paid ten times what I’m getting now.

Try filing a complaint—demand a raise.

And the final one.

Many hardships, impossible to name, many formidable foes—yet in the end, the conclusion remains.

Fifty percent of the field opened in ninety minutes. Not just opened—success was absolute.

Using the Condor as a transport and coordinating with frontline units, supported by Crewk or Daryl, Io’s team destroyed all six targets in just seventy-nine minutes of operation.

Oxanun's isolated forces, revived with the restoration of the communications network, now completely overwhelm the enemy.

Organized measures against the infected became possible. The Virus Special Forces are managing the chaos with relentless efficiency.

Communication channels pulsed with the cheers of exhilarated soldiers.

……Mission complete. We won.

Io and Hartie sat beside the collapsed Weedran Tower.

Their faces met. Both were tattered. It was a miracle they’d survived, Hartie muttered.

Lizards lay scattered around them.

As Daryl had said. These ones had fought to the very end.

No escape route had existed, anyway.

We won, but it was a brutal fight. It’s a miracle we’re still alive.

…Shower. Drink until we can’t stand. Just want to sleep.

Hartie, you’re surprisingly modest.

The final one had been the rooftop of a commercial building. Oxanun stretched far into the distance.

Combat still raged, but the gunfire and artillery had diminished significantly.

Beyond the ruined streets, the sun was setting.

Flamenco 03 appears, having temporarily detached for refueling.

—Sergeant Io! Glad you're unharmed!

—03, did you take a hit from an anti-air missile during your withdrawal?

—Lucky break. Minimal damage. Seems Diamond Frame’s luck has transferred to me.

—Sergeant, everyone’s been talking about you. Turned the situation around in just ninety minutes. Completely.

—Got it. Land already.

Landing. Immediate departure. Communication from Captain Creeke.

—Well done. The battle’s progression was flawless. Everything unfolded exactly as planned.

—Is that so? You seemed to be struggling during the operation.

—Hey, let me keep up appearances.

—Good news. New order from command. All units shift to sweep operations. Victory declared.

The expected casualties are negligible compared to the scale of combat. A result of your efforts.

Before Io could respond, Crewk continued.

And there is bad news.

The western front, locked in stalemate with the Weedran main force, is under heavy assault.

Nearly total war. The front lines are hell.

Predicted. The coordinated strike at Oxanun and the front lines, severed coordination.

I would have done the same, Crewk lowered his voice.

Command will accelerate the evacuation schedule. We’ll revise the plan.

We’re getting the boy soldiers out. If they survive, so be it.

Io stared at the sunset through the open Condor’s hatch.

There should have been much to write—yet I lack the ability to organize it all.