Power Transmission Facility Recapture Operation

The one I was writing during my assignment—shoo!

Extremely! Exhilarating!

Posting scheduled for tomorrow and the day after!

The battle raged with a frenzy of intensity and frequency. Officers responded with extreme composure. Yet, when reviewed afterward, one could not help but acknowledge the madness.

How many years does it take to raise a single fully formed adult? Twenty?

Add another decade if you demand soldiers with extensive experience? Around the peak of physical vitality, before decline sets in—roughly that time frame?

The food, equipment, supplies, wages, and education dedicated to them. The resources—time included—amount to staggering quantities.

Human beings nurtured by years of time, money, and love from nations and families, consumed down to the minute, to the second.

Tactical engagements consuming tons of explosives and energy pockets erupted simultaneously across countless fronts.

Dead body protection packages increased by five thousand units in just six hours—enough to make administrators tremble.

Among them, sheets clipped to the units bore management IDs and names, yet many contained insufficient contents or were entirely empty. The horror was not exceptional.

Everyone had gone mad. The endless war and crushing fatigue had stripped away rational thought.

This is hell.

—(No good, don’t overthink it like a game)

Countless calls for operational participation flooded in. The Western Defense Line teetered on collapse.

The front was in chaos—perfect opportunity for Crewk McGaban to exploit. Io was the cover.

—Any unit will do. Extract those left behind in Corwell!

Power grid has been compromised. Defensive weapon efficiency at the forward positions is below forty percent.

Send reinforcements or a withdrawal order—before I commit my unit’s tank fire toward Oxanun!

Why? Three isolated outposts remain. A large-scale counterplan is required.

Request deployment of Diamond Frame sector. We won’t even gain time at this rate.

Io was dispatched westward to a point one hundred thirty kilometers away, after minimal cleanup at Oxanun.

The 3552 and Salomah Volunteer Corps begin relocation. Crewk and Daryl collude—forging volunteer forms for the western defense line and falsifying acceptance directives. They then absorb a staff officer attached to command, burying the process in procedural chaos.

Cruke McGibbon was already a hero in Oxanun. Twenty minutes after the battle in Oxanun ended, her terminal overflowed with messages of respect from countless combat units.

Still, in the end, no one had the time to care about her. Not even for 3552.

They slipped away amidst the chaos, moving westward in vehicles pre-collected by Daryl as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Io, don’t push yourself too hard. But if you can, hit the lizards hard.

Lieutenant Daryl has connections with several frontline commanders.

We’ll need time to slip the boy soldier unit through with their help.

Sergeant, Carlyle and the three of Polatov’s squad have volunteered to accompany 3552.

After all, you get used to each other after long service. They won’t shoot us.

Don’t you dare die on me now, my savior.

Cooey and Pax will cry. Naturally, so will I.

Leaving behind comrades who shared secrets, Io flew on Condor.

The continuous fighting drained strength. Confusion disrupted supply lines.

Poor conditions. Inadequate gear. A well-prepared enemy, while morale among allied forces collapsed.

Struggle was inevitable. Amid it all, a strange, unrelenting drive to fight—obligation, burning like a fever.

A beast howling deep in the gut. A reckless, brazen force of fanatic energy searing through the spine.

Io darted through the combat zone, utterly exhausted.

Killer’s incoming! Designated personnel, withdraw as planned! Prepare countermeasures!

—Diamond, I'll provide supporting fire for you. Ammo is low. Mark the enemy precisely.

—Help! Over here! Everywhere! Either way, both ways!

Damn it, help me, Sergeant Io!

—Death has come for me. My bad luck has finally caught up.

Some rejoiced at Io's arrival. Others recoiled. That Io was marked for elimination by the enemy was already common talk.

Still, there was no one else to cling to. The imminent death before them. They forced themselves to believe in Io—the lone legend walking the battlefield—wholeheartedly, to steel their nerves.

Of the combat personnel, barely half remained. A casualty rate so high it made the stomach turn. It felt unreal.

—(Just data after all. A face and body traits randomly generated, fed only with accumulated data.)

But even so.

Can't stop it, even though I think I should. Can't halt this foolish thought.

'This is Sinclair Assault. Initiating assault on the Power Transmission Facility.

Sergeant Io, temporarily placing you under my command. Receive supply from 02 and participate in the operation.'

'Hey, tough guy. Heard Oxanun's a mess, but I figured you wouldn't die.

...Boomer! Join up with Io and move north along the canyon route!'

'02 here. Reaper. Don't send Boomer over.

Planning to infiltrate from the river—his size will give us away.'

'What?'

How many battles have we fought? How many days have passed? How long have we been diving?

Is the mission completed? What tasks are still active?

Faint, blurred consciousness. Yet a voice calls out—signaling the next battle.

Still unaware of where he is, he stabs the magazine into Raven and sends the first round into the med-chamber.

A scorching gust slams into his cheek. Dust and grit fill the air. Mud-caked men. Shattered earth. Burnt-out structures.

Overcast sky. Rain coming. Warmth. A clinging, suffocating heat.

Morning light? Evening light? Pushing through the gatherers collecting the fallen.

Where is he heading?

—Synchronization level achieved. Auxiliary brain fully acquired.

The golden eyes snap open—too sudden. Right in front. Closer than breath. Closer than lips.

Blue Goblet. Her face fills the entire field of view—her beauty, a meticulously calculated sculpture.

As the haze clears, the dizziness fades, and cognition returns.

Consciousness level elevated. Rest sufficient?

Agent Io, we welcome your return.

…………Did I just fall asleep?

Close enough. No issues, however.

You have Blue Goblet with you.

Infantry stand at attention around the perimeter. Soldiers broken by hardship, gasping for breath.

They send you a thumbs-up. They’re about to launch a feint assault. Likely to die. Given past patterns, probably half of them.

A salute.

Salute to Diamond Frame.

May its flawless radiance illuminate tomorrow for all.

…………It was an honor to fight alongside you, Sergeant Io.

Oddly bold demeanor. Unexpectedly solemn words.

Grasping the Condor’s door grip, Io replies without turning back.

——Together at dawn

Together at dawn!

Not everyone can share that. Most understand.

Stop. Don’t go too deep.

Thoughts clear. No room for distractions.

——Players like me are weak under situational pressure.

——

——Sytalshia Unified Calendar, Year 266, June 20, 07:56 AM

——Kharaf Continent, Central Libra Mountains, Skob Valley

——Sytalshia Allied Forces Operation Code “Tower Shield”

Operation ID: Io-200

Emerging from somewhere unseen, from the unseen bed of a nameless stream.

Armor made of specialized material that disrupts heat and electromagnetic waves. Compact and lightweight for its two-hour continuous operation rating, the air tank.

Wearing camouflage in deep blue, tailored to the underwater crawl, Io’s form resembled a ghost.

—Reaper here. Position secured.

Eighty meters ahead, the Reaper that had crawled up from the river concealed itself behind a boulder taller than its frame, transmitting a signal.

Two accompanying team members prepared equipment resembling oversized water flasks.

Support gear designed to amplify friendly communications, extend drone control range, and boost performance—known as Black Flag.

The Reapers planted the gear in the rock shadow, then signaled Io, who peered halfway out of the river like a crocodile.

—Activate Black Flag. Launch surveillance drone.

Link the terminal.

The Little Lady began transmitting high-capacity data. The Reaper’s drone, ascending from above, stripped the enemy’s positions bare.

Io, as usual. Quiet. Fast.

Can’t waste time here. If we falter, the contingency plan collapses.

—Sinclair’s armor suits you. Use it well.

Rain strikes the river surface. The water is clouded with stirred-up silt from the riverbed.

Io resumed movement. Sank silently into the water, activating the armor’s aquatic module.

A small screw propeller spun to life, pushing Io against the current.

Dark gray, turbid vision. Stirred silt reaches upward like strange, grasping figures toward the surface.

Stacked rocks, unpolished by the slow flow, remain rough. Waterweed sways in unison, catching the faint light from above and refracting it in rippling glimmers.

And beyond—shadows. Darkness.

An eerie, fantastical world.

'Sighted the sniper position. — Okay. They haven’t noticed us.

We’ll send them straight to the next world.'

'Reaper, this is Tri-Head. Six hundred seconds to arrival.'

'Copy. — Io, the assault team arrives in ten minutes. Let’s finish this before they get here.

Let’s make their job easier, shall we?'

Io analyzed the data from the Reaper’s Surveillance Drone and crawled up from the riverbed.

A modest cliff rose ahead, thick with trees.

Io knelt at the edge, setting down the SOD-7 slung across their back.

(‘Goblet, feed enemy data into your visual feed.’)

‘Linked to Reaper’s Surveillance Drone. Enemy data projected into your visual feed.’

Range: approximately four hundred. Enemy unit stationed at the Power Transmission Facility—formerly our outpost nine hours ago—confirmed.

The position had to be reclaimed—temporarily, if necessary. Defensive stronghold systems are currently offline. Regain it, and the allied base will reboot.

The enemy count isn't high—around fifteen, maybe. The rest depends on how many are waiting inside the vehicles.

Multiple Cyphs and a single Tomas confirmed. Defenders deployed at key positions, as if on alert for an ambush.

Meaningless in front of Io, ultimately.

Reaper, my gear can penetrate the enemy Defender.

Dispose of them in order. Timing is up to you.

Reaper confirmed. I'll escort you.

SOD7 to long-range sniper mode. Adjustments for each function can be handled through avatar support—whatever works.

Hold breath for one second. Reassess situation. Enemy positioning. Alert status. Combat morale. Advantages and disadvantages.

Eight hundred meters northwest of Agent Io’s sniper position, the Reaper’s identification signal appears.

It seems the enemy is ready as well.

‘Closest to you. Mark it. Take the shot.’

‘Enhancing Agent Io’s vision based on Reaper data.’

The enemy on the other side of the scope is highlighted in red.

‘Confirmed.’

‘Slacking off again. Eliminate that pitiful creature.’

Inhale deeply. Hold.

‘Combat support activated.’

Time slows. Study the target. Observe. Pull the trigger.

The large suppressor dampens the report. A strong recoil hits the shoulder. Even Agent Io’s augmented strength flinches.

The lizard is blown apart beyond four hundred meters.

The impact sends a body weighing perhaps 130 kilograms spinning through the air.

The impact point is obliterated. Lizard mince.

‘Io, good shot. To the right, rooftop of the building.

Two observers. Right side’s mine. You take the left.’

The enemy force must be reduced to a critical threshold before the assault team arrives.

Deadline is close, but the Reaper shows no urgency.

‘Standby… not yet… not yet…’

The two lizards turn in opposite directions. A split second when each exits the other’s field of view.

‘Kill them.’

Io and the Reaper fire almost simultaneously.

The two weedranks fall, also almost simultaneously.

‘Goodnight, you damn lizards.

Io, I’m changing position. One minute.’

Io’s rifle wanders aimlessly.

So can this one. So can the one just ahead.

Can kill. Still?

‘…Io, what’s wrong? Answer me.’

Suddenly, he comes back to himself.

……Sorry, standing by.

You’re exhausted. Even I know you’ve been in combat for over twenty-eight hours straight.

Don’t push yourself. …Though I can’t exactly say that’s a safe thing to do.

I’m fine.

Then good. …Alright, the enemy’s useless. They haven’t even noticed three of their own are dead yet.

Next move.

The Reaper studies the enemy’s positioning, silently directing the order of elimination—no sound, no alert.

Behind the Defender. On top of the surveillance tower. Io’s shot is impossibly precise—so much so the Reaper nearly gasps.

Nano-machine assist active. Atmospheric pressure, temperature, humidity, wind direction, wind speed. All targeting data fed directly.

A Cyph maintaining the position. Patrol unit moving along the perimeter.

Silent and precise. Most Weedran died without noticing, without suffering.

Io felt as though he were watching a waking dream. No emotion at all.

Each time an enemy was blown apart and fell motionless, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

‘Last Target’

The final target. Only now did he seem to notice the absence of comrades nearby, his gaze flickering restlessly.

At the moment he reached for what looked like a communicator, a shot pierced his torso. Nothing unusual. As before.

‘Down confirmed. … Perfect. There aren’t five people in the Union who could pull off a shot like that.’

‘Next?’

‘Tell the assault team to accelerate the schedule and deploy the engineer.

While the equipment is being restored, the Boomer will provide guard duty. We move on to the next mission.’

‘Hand me the Condor.’

Agent Io lay on her back, clutching SOD7 as she closed her eyes.

Intense fatigue.

— Time is limited. Next mission—

A murmured voice. One of the common symptoms of Dive Syndrome.

Mild, sporadic auditory hallucinations. Had been happening for a while now.

Nonsense. Playing until the mind breaks.

— Stay calm. Think deeply. Outmaneuver the enemy with tactics and killing methods.

I know. Shut up. Don’t lecture me on playstyle.

— Then good.

Damn it. Don’t answer. Hallucinations don’t talk back.

‘Agent Io, consciousness level dropping.

Blue Goblet can assist if needed.’

‘Fine. Don’t interfere.’

‘Please rely on me more.’

‘I will, when necessary.’

The whir of helicopter rotors. Distant thunder.

Almost simultaneously, a shrill alarm echoed. Like distant thunder.

It came from the position where the lizard had just been exterminated. Yet no one remained to hear it. It rang on, empty.

A flower bloomed on the cliff where Io lay. Dew dripped from its petals. Cold against the cheek.

Eyes opened. Slowly, he shifted upright. Condor had arrived overhead.

Reaper emerged from the shadows.

“Fly!”

He launched from the ground, activating the jump unit. Compressed air surged, lifting Io into the air.

Reaper reached out. Io grabbed the hand. Pulled in without resistance.

“Yo, Io. Your princess is making quite the entrance.”

Reaper glanced at the terminal.

“Something happen?”

“Didn’t hear?”

“I’ve received the intel. No time to read it thoroughly.”

Just as you wished. They’re forcing the child soldier unit out under heavy command—quite the maneuver.

Many frontline units are aligning with them. Charger says, “Bold and clever tactics.”

— An adult’s duty, perhaps. Fighting to let the kids escape… doesn’t feel so bad.

You agreed with that too. I appreciate it.

Stop it.

Reaper shook his head. A transmission came through.

It was Charger. He’d been sent to destroy the bridge to delay the enemy advance.

‘This is Charger. The operation failed. The enemy breached Johnson Bridge. Fast-response units have already begun pursuit.’

‘We succeeded. The Power Transmission Facility will be restored shortly.’

‘Then the battle isn’t over yet.’

Orders have been issued to all combat-capable units still in retreat: converge on the Libera Defense Line.

Buy time for the enemy pursuit force.

“Are you sure? I checked their status before departure—still in reorganization, heavy equipment losses.

If they manage half their strength, that’s optimistic. Not reliable.”

“We’ll compensate for the shortfall with our ace.

You capable, Io?”

Io answered, as always, vaguely.

“This isn’t your ace.

…But I can’t let the lizards reach the lieutenants.”