Chapter 102
Chapter 102
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Masquerade Ball (18)
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Long ago, back when I didn’t see people as people.
The battlefield was my school, my playground, the only place where I could truly feel alive.
That overwhelming power. That terror without regard for good or evil. How could I not love the beautiful screams that tore the earth apart? Even though he’d changed after meeting his wife, Ian still found himself swept up in a wistful mood whenever he heard the roar of those tanks. Even now, with shells flying overhead.
‘Vex is probably deep inside the enemy lines, right near that tank with the tightest defenses. He’d have had all the hatches open to vent the shock from the railgun barrage, but now that they’re advancing, they’ve sealed it up tight like a turtle. Wonder if they’ve got something in there to keep damage from getting inside, just a lid-sized thing?’
Racing across the battlefield alone, having shaken off his usual crew, felt like a throwback to the old days. These days, he fought conservatively because of them, but his real style was diving into one-against-many chaos and flipping everything upside down like a madman.
But right now, he lacked one key piece of gear to fight like he used to, so Ian weaved through the battlefield dust, ducking into shell craters until the tank was just barely in view.
The reason he’d felt uneasy from the start.
The thing that had made him spout uncharacteristically weak excuses about last wills!
“Hide, you damn parasitic brat, you’re messing with my ride... at a time like this...!”
That was it. What turned Metaljaw Ian—the spice merchant who charged into scavenger hordes and psycho gang nests on the wasteland, unleashing massacres—into a lowly crawler? The absence of a vehicle.
Pababak!
Shells rained down, dust billowing in the gaps. Ian pushed forward a bit more, gauging the distance to the enemy HQ by eye and catching his breath.
‘This is the limit. Get any closer, and I’m Swiss cheese. No matter how crazily I sprint, one of those mini-gunners will spot me, and I’m mincemeat.’
Damn! Stealth infiltration was beyond him, dead or alive, so at least he needed to punch in fast.
But his ride went to the afterlife cozy with some daddy’s head. No choice but to find a new one.
Ian scanned the enemy movements with sharp eyes. Luckily, vehicles were plentiful over there.
‘The tank’s left and right flanks are pushing forward fast to envelop the recon unit in a U-shape. T-7s can’t turn well, so that’s about the limit for a surrounded annihilation.’
Familiar formation, familiar tactics. Made it easy to spot the weak points.
‘It’s a slaughter formation for prey already caught. Once inside the encirclement, the enemy gets crushed with minimal resistance...’
Pakak!
Ian flicked off the cap from the front of the near-perfect sphere grenade he’d gotten from the recon armory. Under the plastic cap was a bright red button. Whoever designed it had made it perfectly intuitive.
Wheeeeeeng—
He pressed the switch. With a sound like a jet engine firing up, the grenade in his hand started vibrating wildly.
His targets: two combat vehicles rushing this way, oblivious to him prone in the bomb crater.
Whoosh—
‘The biggest weakness is the tips of those overextended left and right flanks for the encirclement. Can’t blow a T-7—even the bastardized version—with a pea-shooter like this, but...’
Tok!
The grenade arced perfectly, straight into the driver’s seat of one vehicle.
“Huh? What the...!”
“Lieutenant! It’s a gren—”
.
.
.
.
Flash—!
Kwaaaaaang!!!
An explosion far too massive for that small blue sphere erupted.
***
“Cough! Cough!”
The soldier thrown from the vehicle by the blast staggered toward his superior amid a skull-splitting ring. Normally he’d beat and curse the guy, but seeing him hold position steadfast through that explosion stirred unexpected respect. Had to warn him. Alert the enemy attack, call in nearby allies!
“C-company commander! Enemy raid! Vehicle 3 destroyed! We need support now—”
“Yeah, support. Of course.”
Bang!
“I’m going to support your friend, so report to your company commander in hell.”
The Atom grenade, named for its blue, round cartoonish look that reminded first-timers of old animated heroes—thinking it a toy. But one use, and any toy thoughts vanished.
‘It can vaporize a combat vehicle and stun everyone nearby with that punch.’
Bombs don’t just kill or not; the roar and shock rattle brains and minds. Even if you don’t pass out, you’re temporarily an idiot.
Blast aftermath: defenseless foes versus a machine-gun-toting killer.
Ian had long since shot the company commander nearest the radio and mopped up the rest.
“Don’t take it too hard. We’ll all meet in hell anyway—squabbling over who killed more would just be pathetic.”
After a brief moment of silence, Ian shoved the bodies aside, slid into the driver’s seat, and gripped the wheel.
Suuuuuuck—
Haaaaah~
“This is it.”
The leather wheel fitting perfectly in his hands. The engine humming quietly, ready to surge. The gear shift worn smooth from use.
Sitting there, the thought hit him: ‘I’m back.’
“Hey, sweetheart. Wanna go for a drive with me?”
Vroooom! Vroom! Vroom!
“Oh, really? You’ll need to brace yourself. My drives...”
Kakakakakak—!
“Don’t use brakes!”
The combat vehicle roared forward in response to Ian’s cackling, exhaust bellowing. The black vehicle breaking from formation headed straight for the encirclement’s core—the tank’s front.
***
Kwaaaang!
Shell hit, thick dust blanketing the windshield. Half-melted sand from the blast heat pelted like hail.
‘Wipers won’t cut it.’
Kwakakakak!
Screeeech!
He leaned into the lift from the impact, yanking the wheel like a maniac. A vehicle was like a person. No, better in ways. At least it listened.
Kwaang!
The drive started at the U-formation’s end, skirting the edge toward the center. Diving straight in was suicide. Crossing tank lines point-blank? Not how you do it.
Best was zigzagging to avoid muzzles. Problem: too many muzzles.
‘Time to pull some aggro.’
If he stuck to the recon unit huddled behind layered shields in the center, gaps would open.
Vroooom—!
Kwaaaang!
Closer shot than before. Hoping this black beast stayed invisible was greedy, even if he’d swung wide...
‘You wanna shoot me? Gutsy bastards. Let’s see how well you’re trained.’
If they spotted him, it got easier. Predictable fire beat random barrage. Tankers’ habits were an open book.
“Hmm~ Hmm hmm~”
Feeling upbeat. New ride? Nah, better: like he was nailing this.
Ian one-handed the wheel, rummaging the glovebox with the other. Raptor guys always carried mil-tape by regs.
‘That sergeant earlier... been around long enough, probably swapped mil for...’
Click!
‘This!’
Rectangular plastic, holes on both sides. Cassette tape.
“Funny shit. Oil-pressors making tapes to listen to music.”
‘Though humming happily while charging shells is just as nuts. Keh heh heh!’
Click—Shrrrrk—
Old pop sucked smoothly into the player.
[That’s Life~ that’s what all the people say~]
Kwaaaang!
The tank shell’s boom harmonized with the 1970s-vibe tune.
Vroooom!
Vehicle bouncing over shell-pocked terrain from hailing shells,
[you’re riding high in April Shot down in May~]
And a middle-aged man’s hopeful voice from another world.
“Keh heh heh. Killer pick, unknown sergeant!”
Vroooom!
Bump!
Exosuit unit area pocked round from focused fire.
Vehicle leaping the shell crater hill,
Ian leaning out to wave,
And inside the sparking blue shield, Azel and Ralph gaping, pointing in shock.
One battered vehicle—riddled with shrapnel—cut through the battlefield like a joke.
[But I don’t let it, let it get me down~]
Kwakak! Kwaang!
Tighter fire as enemy lines neared.
Glass shattered from impacts, molten glass and sand spraying Ian’s face,
“Cause this fine old world it keeps spinnin’ around~ Whoa!”
But Ian laughed. In a top-tier ride, wrapped in beloved shell roars, charging to his dear friend—how could he not be happy!
“Keh hah hah ha! Whoa! Try to hit me, you fucks! Come on, hit me!!!”
Like the singer said, this was his life. Full of pain, but zero regrets. He’d keep it that way.
[I pick myself up and get back in the race~!]
Vroooooom!
He flipped the switch on the small belt prepped nearby—Anne’s gift, ‘won’t die while active,’ rare even for Dome: latest personal shield.
Vehicle pierced shells, barreling at the tank. Target he’d eyed...
“You in the middle! Haven’t fired once!”
The only tank without muzzle smoke. Ian floored it toward the one escape with no direct-hit worry.
“Sloppy maintenance tankers!”
Vroooooom!
“Deserve a beating!!!”
Huge metal shield repelling railguns met combat vehicle bumper.
[That’s life!]
Kwak!
Bumper sheared off, white airbag shoved Ian as off-roader’s big wheels hit the shield—
Greeeeee—!
Vehicle flew up the frontal armor slope.
***
Kwaaaang!
Vehicle soared picturesque into enemy heart, exploding; Ian bounced out, blue shield flaring.
Drdrdrdr—
Bullets poured before his feet hit dirt.
“Damn it! What kinda crossfire in your own formation... huh?”
Dodging the immediate hail, he sensed something off.
Common sense: his stunt was insane. Who charges a kill zone in one vehicle and breaches tank lines?
Unpredictable, so...
But enemies reacted before he landed. Crossfire aimed at the tank from formation center, cover obsessive near paranoid, even mounted MGs?
‘Not aiming at me. Someone fought them here first. Or still is.’
Proof at his feet: his target spot, armored personnel carrier behind tank per Raptor intel, surrounded by corpses.
“...Hey...”
Click!
Voice behind him—gun whipped around lightning-fast; Ian nearly dropped it.
“You’re... late.... Grk, you...”
“Shit! Vex!”
Familiar voice in an unfamiliar weak rasp.
Vex, blood-soaked like a testament to this carnage.
“You, you!!!”
“E-every... time... Not mine... just... splashed...”
“Don’t talk! Hey! Stay with me! Stay awake!”
The guy who, post-kill, blood-splattered and grinning at Ian’s shock: ‘Not mine.’
Ian prayed it was that again, but reality was cruel.
What enemies guarded wasn’t sky-falling Ian, but Vex—guts spilling from torn side, hand staunching, aiming at foes.
***