52. Infiltration Operation 3

"First Squad, formation complete. No anomalies detected. Advancing down the corridor."

The squad leader, monitoring the helmet's active sensor display through the visor, confirmed the squad had materialized in a corridor approximately ten meters wide and four meters high, with mysterious semi-cylindrical protrusions rising from the floor every five meters, evenly spaced along both walls. The corridor lacked internal lighting, presumably to prevent degradation of the interior structure, and analysis from the suit’s built-in sensor suite indicated the air was saturated with neon gas at roughly minus one hundred eighty degrees Celsius. The target slit was located fifty meters ahead—neither close nor impossibly distant.

"Squad formation four, four, three, one—two men carrying gear flanked by one on each side in the second row. Everyone except the gear-bearers draw blades. First Squad, advance."

As the squad began its advance, the squad leader took up position at the very rear, scanning the area behind.

Since the infantry’s pylon blades could slice through their own armored suits, the stealth function for anti-laser weapons was not activated in confined spaces—high risk of fratricide. Once you were the last one left, there’d be no hesitation in using it—though if you’d reached that point, total annihilation was inevitable anyway.

“Enemy probably won’t show up, but proceed with caution.”

The squad members nodded in silence, responding to the squad leader’s comms. Normally, he was a devoted reader of Japanese light novels—but whether by accident or intentional, he’d just raised a rather conspicuous flag.

The unit advanced about ten meters when, from behind, a clatter echoed—what had been assumed to be an incongruous hemicylindrical protrusion detached from the corridor wall, transforming into a cylindrical form. From its upper end, four arms extended; from the lower, four legs. They clattered forward, creaking and grinding, approaching with unsettling precision.

The squad leader reacted instantly, severing the limbs with a piranha blade, then effortlessly cleaving the torso in half. The cylindrical autonomous unit, evidently not a combat-grade autonomous weapon, was dispatched with unremarkable ease.

Clatter, clatter, clatter, clatter…

From both walls of a corridor stretching endlessly into the rear, countless cylindrical autonomous units extended limbs, flooding the passage like mechanical ants, converging on the squad with relentless momentum.

Another fifteen or so cylindrical autonomous units extended limbs toward the squad from the front, advancing steadily.

"Clear the front-line unit, then fall back. Punch through the interface section—hurry up."

It wasn’t as if speed would matter, but the command slipped out over comms anyway. Too many of them—nuisance, these were.

The first wave of cylindrical autonomous units, six in total, were dispatched with ease—but the machines were made of surprisingly dense material, and the cutting edge of the piration blade was dulling steadily. Worse, each unit swung four limbs, and one of them managed to nick the armor suit.

A crack in the suit would normally trigger the internal coating’s self-repair function—but repeated damage to the same spot made auto-repair increasingly unreliable. If cold external air seeped through the breach, the adjacent body part would freeze solid.

The crewman carrying the perforation device, flanked by two others, finally set it into place before a forward bulkhead that did not appear to be made of the ship’s hull material. The operation began at last. A pipe, roughly twenty centimeters in diameter, extended from the device and made contact with the bulkhead; the material at the point of contact gradually disintegrated into powder, forming a hole. As the perforation progressed at a glacial pace, behind them, an endless skirmish unfolded between the crew and the countless cylindrical autonomous machines.

The autonomous machines pressing in could be easily shattered by the pylation blades—but numbers were the issue. Endlessly, behind them, the machines stretched on. The crew hacked through them, but inch by inch, the pressure forced them back. The edge of the pylation blades began to dull; autonomous machines that once fell with one or two strikes now required three or four. Each blow pushed them further back. Scratches started appearing on the crew’s armored suits.

“First squad, engaged in combat with multiple autonomous units. Currently analyzing enemy unit specifications.”

“Major Eris. All squads appear to have begun perforation operations on non-hull sections.”

Major Eris nodded without a word.

She had anticipated some form of interception after completing the penetration maneuver—but entering combat at this stage was unforeseen. Unable to obtain intelligence on this sector prior to the operation, she could not identify the nature of the opponent, though one thing was certain: they were obstructing the mission objective, the destruction of the Primary Core.

"Next, Squad Two and Squad Three entered combat status—same as before, against autonomous machines."

On the four screens stared at by Major Eris, the vital signs of each squad's twelve personnel were displayed in real time—green markers and numbers indicating individual status—while the screen directly in front of her chair showed the aggregated data in green.

Platoon 1, Squad 12 (0)/12

Team 2, Section 12 (0) / 12

Squad 3, 12 (0) / 12

Division 4, Squad 12 (0) / 12

Any casualty would cause the number representing the platoon to shift from green to yellow, three casualties turning it a dark yellow, six to red. The number in parentheses indicates the number of life signs extinguished—i.e., the number of fallen soldiers.

"Combat-unable personnel are to be immediately transferred—via the ship’s captain’s residence transfer chamber—to medical. Align your transfer coordinates.

What in the world is that cylinder attacking our units?"

"Enemy autonomous machinery appears not to be combat-oriented, but rather work-based."

"I see. Still, a nuisance."

Platoons 1, 2, and 3 were gradually suffering casualties, their indicators shifting from green to yellow; Platoon 1’s had already turned a deep yellow.

[Platoon 1: 8 (0) / 12]

Four personnel had already been transferred to medical, and casualties were beginning to spread through Platoons 2 and 3.

"Platoon 4: combat status engaged. Penetration operation in progress... current status: penetration achieved. Deploying counter-materials bomb from the penetration point.

...Operation complete."

"Immediate evacuation of all platoons. Accelerate transfer."

"Explosion initiation in thirty-five seconds. Thirty-four, thirty-three... twenty... "

"All personnel recovered."

"...Four, three, two, one, zero."

"Mutual annihilation reaction confirmed at Agirakana central hub."

"Everyone, well done. As expected of our ground combat unit."

"Sir, operation successful. Minor injuries sustained, but no fatalities."

A transmission from General Eris confirming success.

"Thank you. Please relay that to the personnel."

Successfully executed the operation without casualties. Thank you.

Pirational Blade is hard to recognize in katakana, but "Pirational" comes from piracy—PIRATI ON.