Episode 117: Graduation Exam — Final

The simulated battle between Dawson's fleet and the mercenary fleet continues.

Exchange of fire at effective range causes damage to both fleets.

Yet the frequency of damage remains extremely low, as both sides perform evasive maneuvers while attacking.

Combined, the rate is approximately one ship per ten minutes. From one side alone, the damage rate is one ship every twenty or thirty minutes.

The reason for such low casualties is that the mercenary fleet deliberately fights at the very edge of effective range.

Whenever Dawson's fleet advances, the mercenary fleet retreats proportionally. If Dawson's fleet charges forward, the mercenary fleet retreats while firing to slow their advance.

After such careful maneuvering, the mercenary fleet has managed, by some margin, to achieve a stalemate.

Good. Keep it up! They have fewer ships! We can win with steady progress. Take your time!

Passer shouts to the allied fleet. The excessive words are necessary to prevent morale from dropping.

The situation is stalled. The mercenaries are growing bored. Additionally, the damage to the allied ships causes the mercenaries to question whether the operation is succeeding.

To dispel these doubts, Passer—the coordinator—must continuously insist, in exaggerated fashion, that everything is going well.

In reality, Passer’s actions are raising the spirits of the allies, restoring focus to the battle, and eliminating uncertainty.

While Passer fulfills his role, Fidere is beginning to fall into a mindset that a coordinator must not allow.

It was a question: whether the current tactical operation was correct.

"Radar operator. Any suspicious movement from Dawson's fleet?"

"None. All vessels that departed the fleet have been classified as destroyed. No other vessels have detached."

"Confirm once more, for precaution."

"Same result every time."

The repeated exchange wore on the radar operator, who wore a weary expression—clearly implying, 'If you doubt so much, see for yourself.'

Fidere did not doubt the radar operator's eyes.

Yet, the thought that the opponent was Dawson made the lack of suspicious activity suspicious in itself.

"Why not move? Why..."

Fidere felt frustration at the mismatch between Dawson's known personality and the current situation.

The tactics Dawson was employing now were textbook-perfect.

The strategy being executed by the figure who had been manipulating the mercenaries for the past month. Too clumsy, for a tactic of this caliber.

An unnatural clumsiness implied a trap.

Fidere made that judgment and focused on the movements of Dawson's fleet. No suspicious actions. Yet the absence of suspicious actions only increased suspicion. The mind stiffened, convinced something was coming.

This was characteristic of Fidere—despite pretending to be a mercenary, fundamentally an executive.

He studied tendencies and countermeasures, applied them to future actions, aiming to secure success or avoid failure.

And when those tendencies no longer matched reality, he faltered immediately.

As Fidere began to sink into the crucible of his own thoughts, Passer suddenly spoke.

"Hey, Fidere. You're not the only one working here! You're the coordinator, aren't you? Get the team moving!"

The shock to the eardrums from the near-shout snapped Fidere out of his mental loop.

"I am contributing. I'm monitoring Dawson's fleet movements."

"Leave that to the radar. You're watching the radar. Report if something unusual happens. As coordinator, do what only a coordinator can do."

"Quickly detecting enemy movements and formulating responses. Isn't that the coordinator's role?"

"Exactly. Respond when they move. This is open space. Our fleets are separated. We have room to respond."

Passer’s words were careless, the kind spoken by a pirate newly come to command.

Yet they struck true.

“Why worry about something that hasn’t happened?”

“No time for worry. Too many comrades are reaching out. If you’re the one in charge, you don’t solve your own doubts—you solve theirs.”

Fidere shifted focus in response.

He had been thinking only of not losing to Dawson’s fleet. But now he understood: to avoid defeat, strength must come not from the individual, but from the collective.

“…Complaints and concerns—send them to me. Passer, focus on fleet command.”

“Exactly. Right, then—I’ll recommit myself.”

With Passer and Fidere now truly cooperating, the mercenary fleet’s coordination improved markedly.

Dawson exhaled as he observed the mercenary fleet’s improved coordination.

“Hmph. I don’t like having to move like this… but I have no choice.”

Dawson issued new orders, directing the fleet to operate in a manner unlike before, despite his inner resolve to never serve as an instructor again.

He split the fleet into two. One portion would continue the engagement with the mercenary fleet. The other would reposition within the combat zone to strike the mercenaries’ flank.

The main force would draw the enemy’s attacks, while the secondary unit would exploit the weaker section of the enemy fleet.

A conventional, well-worn tactic for a fleet in disadvantageous position.

Yet Dawson disliked this old approach.

“Even if we’re already outnumbered, splitting into two? What are we supposed to do? Just become individual targets. If we already know we can’t win, then we should have withdrawn earlier to preserve forces.”

Dawson’s assessment was poor, but the tactic could reverse the disadvantage if executed successfully.

The issue lies in the caveat: only an exceptionally capable commander could complete it.

Dawson could execute it if he exerted full effort against the mercenary fleet.

But now, Dawson played the role of a typical commander with average capability. A moderate application of skill would make completion impossible.

"Ah... it’s a bother to hold back."

Dawson had never fought while restraining his true ability.

On the contrary, he had always overcome trials by fully utilizing his capacity.

Now, his body twitched with urgency to exert full effort, despite the intentional restraint.

Dawson felt frustration overwhelm him, and finally reached the thought of surrendering command.

"Enough. Inform the ship's AI. Proceed as scheduled."

"Wait, senior officer!?!"

Dawson's tone shifted, heavy with irritation, in response to Makoto's shock.

"I had been ready to strike immediately if the mercenaries took unnecessary actions that worsened their position. But now, there is no alternative. This is fixed procedure. I no longer need to command."

"Still, handing it over completely to the AI—"

"From here, our fleets will engage in intense combat. If I command, I might be tempted to break through. I might be tempted to win. Handing command to the AI benefits the mercenaries."

Dawson's reasoning held merit.

The situation had clearly shifted to a decisive disadvantage for Dawson's fleet.

If, from this point, Dawson were to win the simulation through skillful tactics, the mercenaries' confidence would shatter completely.

Rebuilding that shattered confidence was no longer possible, given the training period's imminent end.

The most certain way to avoid such a scenario was for Dawson to relinquish command.

At least, Dawson was certain of this.

"Besides, the artificial intelligence must learn to make independent combat decisions. Handing over command to test its decision-making ability isn't a bad idea."

Dawson voiced the formal justification, then casually transferred command to the ship's artificial intelligence.

Thus, Dawson's fleet followed a path guaranteed to lose—entrusting command to an artificial intelligence with poor judgment—and lost, as expected.

Mercenaries cheered loudly, celebrating their victory over Dawson's fleet.

While the surrounding mercenaries erupted in joy over their first win, only Fidere remained with a troubled expression.