Flamenco
The report was not entirely unforeseen.
War had devolved into chaos. Preparation had been made for any outcome.
—Io, the evacuation operation succeeded at ninety percent. But we require rescue.
Crewk McGaban, attempting to escape from the northeastern subport using Oxanun as bait, had been detected by the enemy.
Yet the enemy should not have considered them worth attacking. Perhaps they would be left alone. Nothing would happen.
The cost of that hopeful assumption was severe.
—We managed to evacuate nearly all of the eight thousand boy soldiers. Hundreds were left behind.
As enemy forces approached, the rescue fleet terminated operations and disengaged from the subport.
Eight thousand? What kind of magic was that?
No trick, no chaos, could conceal a number this large from a mere second lieutenant.
No. That’s beside the point.
“Abandoning children, is it?”
‘The transport unit was forcibly assembled by former chairman Kouranjé. Barely any escort force remained.
There was nothing else to do.’
The crew of Cruuk’s 3552 probably missed the return vessel too.
The image of this stubborn girl fleeing from Karaf ahead of everyone is impossible to conjure.
“You don’t give up just because it’s ‘inevitable,’ right?”
‘Friendly forces are currently engaging in interception preparations.
I’ve sent Corporal Camiul. Join up with him.’
“Him. …He stayed behind after all, just like the rest.”
No time for idle talk. Cruuk has duty and responsibility.
Io cuts the comms abruptly, calls out to the Condor pilot.
“Flamenco 03, change of course.”
Yes?! What is it?! Sorry, speak up a little louder, please!
The pilot raises his voice over the rotor noise.
—Operation change! I’m switching to a friendly Condor!
You get back to your own job!
My job?! My job is to deliver Sergeant Io safely to Oxanun!
Even if I’m blown to pieces by a plasma launcher!
Sergeant Io places a hand on the pilot’s shoulder.
Friendly forces are requesting rescue! The boy soldiers are under attack!
The enemy is tightening the encirclement! Abandon them and they’ll be wiped out!
—Understood, Sergeant! If I end up in disciplinary confinement, visit me, okay?
Apologies, I’d appreciate that.
He directs the Condor toward the coordinates sent by Cruuk. The aircraft executes a sharp turn.
The pilot is laughing—unnaturally cheerful.
Happy! Flying with you twice—what a thrill!
Really? The Synclaire pilots seemed fed up with it!
Hahaha! They’re scared, that’s all! Every drop you make is straight into the heart of the battlefield!
You don’t seem scared yourself!
No, I am scared, Sergeant!
Not at all apparent.
But even if my Condor goes down, you’ll handle it, right, Sergeant?
Then I won’t die in vain! I can brag to my peers in the afterlife!
The Condor and its pilot are both valuable now! Don’t think you can die so easily!
Understood, Sergeant!
The Condor keeps flying across the wasteland. It’s now less than ten thousand meters from the rendezvous point with Camille.
Blue Goblet swims through the air, matching the Condor’s motion.
Enemy detected. We're under fire.
Artillery unit Tomas, four confirmed. High-energy readings. Likely non-physical projectile sniper cannon.
Sniper. Artillery. So that's how it is. Io barked.
"Evasive maneuver! Prepare Defender!"
"This is within friendly territory!"
"What do you expect from a broken line of defense!"
The pilot swallowed the question and complied with the order.
"Defender, online! Initiate manual evasion simultaneously!"
The distant earth flickered for an instant. Approximately two kilometers away.
A sound like buzzing insect wings. A concentrated mass of energy slicing through the air, superheating it as it streaked toward them.
"Adopt shock posture!"
Flamenco 03 twisted violently, struggling to evade.
A pale-blue energy round grazed the hull, a flash of heat and a strange, burnt smell lingering in the air.
"Tomos modified model has long range and high speed! Hard to shake!"
"Emergency call sent! What now?!"
"Can we make it to seven hundred?!"
"...That’s exactly what I was waiting for, Sergeant!"
The air current generated by the energy blast twisted the Condor. The pilot fought desperately to stabilize it, screaming.
"HIIIIYAAHHOOOOOOOOUUHHH!"
The Condor continued evasive maneuvers. Inside, the cockpit felt like a swinging pot.
A crate of ammunition and the pilot’s body lifted simultaneously, slammed against the wall like a crushed frog.
Condor accelerated. It surged forward, weaving through the barrage of light projectiles. Io gagged on the rising bile in his throat.
—Try it, you piece of shit!
The pilot barked with bravado, but Goblet delivered without mercy.
—Evasion impossible. Assume defensive posture.
A direct hit. Defender flared violently, repelling the impact.
—Defense systems down!
—If Blue Goblet were in control, damage control would be more efficient, and Defender could be rebooted swiftly.
—Flamenco 03, rebooting systems here! Buy time!
—Deploy close-range disruption screen!
From the rotating launcher mounted beneath the Condor’s hull, a bronze-colored cylinder launched forward.
It traveled ahead of the Condor by about a hundred meters before exploding spectacularly, bursting into a shower of colorful fireworks.
Specialized lock-on jamming equipment. Simultaneously inhibits the scientific integration of energy weapons used by Weedran.
In short, a heli-mounted anti-energy defense. Its effectiveness far surpasses that of infantry-portable gear.
The Condor danced through the exploding fireworks.
(Goblet!)
'Defender reboot in 12 seconds'
'03, ten count!'
'Wooohh-yeesss!'
The enemy Tomas's further barrage veered off course.
Timing it precisely, Flamenco 03 lunged from the disruption screen.
The Karaaf Front Army's custom Condor turns sharper than a raptor at 420 km/h!
Remember that, fat spider bastard!
Leaning the frame for greater acceleration, it veered sharply to the right.
Skims past the deviation fire from enemy Tomas like it’s already ahead.
"Defender, online!"
"Distance 1050! Reversing route—charging in!"
"03, don’t screw this up!"
"Get down to business!"
The slide door bursts open, dry wind and sandstorm swirling inside.
Ioh secures his body to the Condor’s built-in harness while preparing the SOD7.
This one can pierce Tomas’s armor.
"Visual enhancement. Displaying Tomas’s structural weak points.
Primary candidate: weapon carrier base. Armor between here and control unit is extremely fragile."
"(What’s the second option?)"
"Other points currently viable with existing equipment do not exist."
Tomas’s structural schematic overlays the view. The weak point flashes red in the display.
No obstructions from the Defender’s turret base to the internal unit—clear line of sight.
One shot with the SOD7’s heavy caliber, pierce the outer armor, and it’s over.
Angle was the issue.
"Ascend! I need a better angle!"
"Don’t let me fall!"
Extreme G-force. Pressed against Condor’s inner hull, viscera churned as if kneaded.
"Ooh, aahh…!"
Muscles straining, barely pull the barrel into position—assume an unconventional firing stance.
Explosions detonate in midair, following closely. Enemy energy cannon alters its nature, detonating violently, crushing Condor with shockwave—airburst.
Multiple impacts. Defender unit shrieks in distress.
"Defense system down again! Recovery at current status impossible!"
"No… it’s fine. Enough already."
Holding breath for one second. Body suspended at an angle.
Blue Goblet drifts close beside.
—Angle sufficient?
……Good thrill.
—Enemy in artillery formation. Defense system offline. High-altitude combat support initiated.
The world stretches, warps, elongates, slows.
Io gently traces the trigger of SOD7.
—
Ignoring the lifeless iron mass that is Tomas, Camille had already detected the anomaly and was moving toward them.
—This is Camille Kouranj. Status?
—This is Flamenco 03. Minor damage. Come to relieve the sergeant?
—Requested rescue… how many units? Four? How did you… Tomas?
—Got a Diamond Frame attached, don’t you know?
Io leaned out from the door and waved at Camille. Camille’s Condor turned in place, then hovered at low altitude.
—Io, situation’s not good. Enemy pursuit unit isn’t much in strength, but our exhausted comrades can’t handle it.
—Is the lieutenant alright?
—Yeah, the kid’s… alive. But she’s in a dangerous spot.
—Formed a temporary squad to hold the line for the boy soldier. Now she’s stuck there with them.
—...Rearguard?
Io shook his head, then gave a slumped salute to Flamenco 03.
—Thanks for this far! Let’s meet again alive!
—Sergeant, I’ll be waiting for you at Oxanun.
—Can I brag about this today, huh?
—Yeah, good work.
Holding the case full of gear, he leaps down. The jump unit absorbs the landing impact, but the overused unit is nearing failure.
—Mount up, Sergeant. Just got a new seat. Don’t mess it up.
—Look at me. You’re asking too much.
After dozens of hours of continuous combat, Io is a smeared, shredded rag.
He revs the jump unit and vaults onto Camille’s Condor. She immediately begins maneuvering the Condor at low altitude.
—You were the one I thought would stay behind!
—Of course. I’m not a coward!
—Didn’t the former chairman call you back?
—The Kuranjé family has nothing to do with this! From the moment you told me about those boy soldiers, I made my decision—I’m not running!
Still tough as ever. The lieutenant, the Reaper, Sergeant Camille, even Natalie—haven’t seen any of them in a while, but are all women from Karaf this way?
Io tosses her gear aside and sits, eyes closed.
——I gave my ticket to someone else! I was too badly wounded to move at that point!
Severe? Doesn’t look it at all!
My abdominal sutures aren’t even finished yet! You want to see this honor wound? I’ll show it to you!
I’ve seen enough wounds and blood!
Sorry—didn’t realize this was about the rifleman!
Condor accelerates. Dust swirls into the cockpit.
Even the new seat’s ruined.
Io, what’s the situation on the western defense line?!
The command-led counterplan went roughly as planned!
All units are beginning retreat in sequence. Next is extraction support at Oxanun!
Are there seats for the children?!
We’ll manage!
That’s right! There are plenty who owe you!
The chatter continues, laced with reports. An air of careless confidence, as if no battle were imminent.
Camille’s senses are already numb. In every way.
Condor plunges into combat airspace without pause.
A depression sandwiched between hills. The geology suggests a marshland, partially shrouded in fog.
The boy soldiers should have evacuated already, right?!
Yes! Once I drop you off, I’ll switch to guarding the children!
Blue Goblet swims through the air. Io has her confirm enemy strength, canceling Camille’s original plan.
Sergeant, stay nearby until the fighting ends!
Why?!
Fifteen minutes—end it in fifteen minutes!
Io finished arming and loading, then plunged into the mist from the Condor.
And as promised, the battle ended in fifteen minutes.
—
Like a starving stray dog.
Yes, that’s what she’d felt the first time they met.
Echo Canyon’s Allied Forces secret bunker. The moment she’d been woken by Freeze.
Her eyes, mocking, her body caked in mud and dust—pure stray.
"Second Lieutenant."
"Corporal. Made it in time?"
She descended abruptly onto the flank of the enemy unit deployed in the marshland, launching her assault without hesitation.
Just her alone. An impossible mission. No one questioned it.
Then Diamond Frame arrived, killed the enemy as usual, won as expected.
That was all.
Carlyle’s engineering squad had erected a makeshift defensive position—frontline territory where the first clash with the enemy would occur.
Crouke stood there, thick military coat shielding against grenade fragments and energy fire, a creaking, warped smile fixed on his face.
A ragged stray dog. Always like that. The two shared a laugh, vague but genuine, their expressions mirroring each other.
—This is getting serious, Lieutenant.
—Mutual, Sergeant.
The princess’s lavish golden hair was caked in mud.
Crouke laughed at it, then pointed at Io’s scorched, cracked armor.
—Any word from Major Youalis?
—Not a thing. The long-range comms gear’s currently “inoperable due to circumstances.” Regrettable.
—Why ask?
—Made a deal with him. Got a decent outcome.
“What’s the content?”
Crook issued orders to the surrounding soldiers while speaking with Io.
The soldiers moved toward retreat, glancing at Io but without grim resolve.
“Retreat preparations! No one left behind!
Even if Weedran strikes again, they’re under-supplied. Not Io’s enemy.
Stay calm, move fast! That’s all. Command concluded!”
Despite exhaustion, Crook straightened his spine and turned back to Io.
From within the fog, the mud-caked trio of Carlyle’s engineers sprinted forward. They saluted briefly, then stepped aside to avoid interrupting the conversation.
“Another time, thanks to you, Sergeant.”
Hex exhaled, then smiled.
"Second Lieutenant, our independent operations have been officially recognized by the Karaaf Front Army headquarters."
"What?... Really?"
"Colonel was grumbling. Had to forge documents just to cover for you, Second Lieutenant."
"Hmph. Serves you right."
...Wait. That means... Colonel Yuaris overlooked me...?
All of this... that's what it means...
"Maybe there was no way to stop it."
"Anyway, good news either way. We’ll need to repair the comms too.
There were a few of us who couldn’t have avoided execution. Now we can reassure them."
Execution. Io frowned. This Second Lieutenant really does love walking on thin ice.
Cruke’s dirt-streaked face cracked into a grin. Her eyes burned with renewed strength.
Yet if that’s the case, we could march boldly toward Oxanun.
Will we make it to the last ship?
Move fast—make it on time.
Good.
Cruke yanks off the guard coat in a jerking motion.
Sergeant Carlyle! Move with a few men to join Lieutenant Daryl at the southwest four-kilometer mark per your assessment.
They should be gathering transport vehicles as ordered!
Retreat as quickly as possible! Abandon damaged vehicles—move on foot until Private Carlyle’s team secures the foothold!
Terminal link! Transmit convergence point! Got it!
Command execution confirmed. Begin operations.
The soldiers began moving without hesitation. Everyone knew their tasks. Crewk delivered only the minimal information needed, clear and concise, leaving no room for doubt.
The whir of helicopter rotors. Camille.
The western lizards have withdrawn. They’ve finally given up, it seems.
Camille, this mission is concluded. Transport me and the lieutenant to the withdrawing boy soldiers.
Condor descends. The force of its rotors slams mud and water into the air.
They leap onto it just as a sharp voice calls from behind.
Lieutenant! Sergeant!
Turning, they see a group of disheveled soldiers saluting.
Most of the boy soldiers escaped, but don’t let your guard down, Lieutenant. The fight is not over.
We’re reorganizing volunteers to establish a final defensive line with southern allied forces.
We bet on you—and we won. …Now, let’s do what we can.
Stay alive. Good luck.
Crouke puckers his lips, face tight with sorrow.
We won’t waste your cooperation. Not ever.
—Salute to 3552 and Diamond Frame!
We’ll see dawn together.
Gold hair whipped upward by the chopper’s downdraft.
Crouke pretended to steady it, head lowered.
—Let’s go, Camille! The operation continues!
—...Yeah, got it, Your Highness.
—Survive. No matter what.
We’re back.
Wanna go one more time before they ship me off again?