Chapter 99
Chapter 99
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: Chapter 7 Masquerade Ball (15)
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***
Static—crackle—
“Why the hell is the radar suddenly... breaking down at a time like this?”
“It’s not broken. It’s radio jamming. ‘Noise Pack.’ They always tag along whenever the Raptors’ main force mobilizes.”
The Professor calmly explained while clinging to Ezel’s exosuit, as she panicked.
Red dots vanishing one by one from the radar net as the dust cloud drew closer.
“Even if their tech lags behind the Dome’s, it doesn’t mean the Raptors get completely steamrolled in a fight. That jamming device renders not just radars useless, but guided missiles, low-power comms, and even second-gen pure electronic firearms.”
“Ptoo! Reminds me of the old days. I guarantee you, taking out the Noise Pack from long range is impossible. They ride in the Raptors’ toughest vehicles, shielded by the thickest barriers.”
“Th-they use shields too, the Raptors?”
“Not many, but they’re still patching up and using military shields from the Third World War. Their defensive power is top-notch. Neutralizing those bastards has to be our top priority. Once the Noise Pack is down, the Dome’s guided weapons can shred the rest.”
“That’s our goal. The Noise Pack’s smack in the center of their formation. You can’t hit it easily with something like an exosuit that can’t pull off a proper ambush. Not without clearing out those frontline rocks first.”
“Rocks... ugh, you don’t mean...?”
“What’s up? You know it too, Vex?”
“No, I’ve never fought Raptors... but they absorbed most of the military after the war ended, so ‘rocks’ brings something to mind.”
“Hmm... what?”
“Dinosaurs.”
“Ooh, correct!”
“Eeeek! For real?!”
Rumble rumble—
Whoosh—
Dust billowing thick enough to obscure vision, track groans deafening the ears, the sound of earth being shoved aside.
“Ugh, it really is that.”
“That? What’re you talking about!”
[Alert to all units. From now on, refer to friendlies by codename only. No unnecessary chatter during combat. All exosuits, set mobility output to 50%, shields to 20%, external repulsion barriers to 30%.]
“Ah, you’ve never seen it, Ezel. Tanks. Tanks.”
“Tanks? Tanks?”
Ezel focused on the hazy silhouettes emerging through the dust, hanging on the Professor’s words from her exosuit frame. She’d studied tank designs from the archives. But those were nothing like what she knew. More like...
“Bulldozers?”
“Kehehe! That’s what they called ’em on the battlefield sometimes.”
“But... there was nothing like that in the war history I studied!”
“No surprise. It’s not an official model. It was a desperate hack job made at the tail end of the Great War, after all production facilities got wrecked.”
The Third World War. A catastrophe that began as a disaster, ignited by selfishness, and ended in aimless annihilation—the final death rattle of old human civilization.
It mobilized every resource humanity had, and was thus a meticulous, brutal war.
Bomber priority targets were always production facilities. Shutting down even a single tiny component for high-tech gear could cripple the enemy’s combat strength.
The bizarre tanks approaching now were a stopgap born when production of high-output refractive shields for the latest tanks became impossible. A makeshift to block enemy ultra-long-range direct fire, railguns, and the like without shields.
“Triceratops, T-7 tank. True to its infamous legacy inheriting the No. 6 tank, it boasts nightmare frontal armor.”
“They slammed meter-thick tellanin alloy across the front. Crazy bastards. Poor turning radius, sides basically exposed, but from the front? Even a city-mounted railgun can’t pierce it.”
Boom rumble!
Just as the Professor finished, the Raptors’ main force finally burst through the dust.
Broad, thick frontal armor completely sealing the front, with a horn-like barrel protruding from the center.
Dozens of such tanks linked seamlessly, forming a massive steel wall on the move.
Sniff sniff.
“Hepburn, this smell...”
“Yeah... shit, for real. The stench I never wanted to smell again.”
“Wherever they pass, you always catch this scent. Whether people die or not.”
Black smoke belching from the massive tanks.
In a world where gasoline was scarce, their chosen substitute—the wasteland’s most abundant resource—burned with a horrific stench.
The fuel powering Raptor tanks was mostly biodiesel squeezed from humans. Wherever Raptors rolled, the thick reek of burning corpses hung in the air.
“Devils... devilish bastards...”
“Not wrong. Back in the day, some crazy prophets said demons would descend from the heavens and end the world. The world ended by human hands instead, so someone alive now has to fit the ‘demon’ bill. And the soldiers who embraced it wholeheartedly? Closest thing there is.”
With a heavy heart, the Professor leaped down from Ezel’s exosuit.
Clink—
The dog tag from the uniform handed over by the executioners rattled, weighing on his chest as the play began.
***
“General artillery gets intercepted. Precision guided weapons? Jammed. The rest... those rockheads block it all.”
“What about the flanks? At that slow speed with no turning, the sides must be wide open, right?”
“Think, Ezel. They only move like that in full-frontal engagements. In the wasteland now, excluding Type-3 mutants, who else but the Dome can force a frontal on the Raptors?”
“The Dome... ah!”
“Yeah. The Dome’s main strength is the Dome ‘itself.’ City-mounted facilities can’t do flanking maneuvers. Exosuit squads have the mobility, but if they commit full force to defense, they can hold off an exosuit squad to some degree.”
It was the Dome’s weakness, fighting mostly on the defensive. Inability to fluidly control the battlefield.
Absurd, really. A once-destroyed world, yet in an era of railguns and shields, full-frontal battles resembled medieval line fights.
Ezel stared at the now-visible Triceratops tanks’ frontal armor, doubting her eyes.
“That thing... possible? The tellanin alloy I know weighs five times regular steel, and they’ve plated the front that thick on a tank and it still moves?”
“No high-output tank shields means spare power. They slapped an extra electronic output unit on the diesel engine for it. Pours nearly all a cutting-edge tank’s output into mobility, so stuff like that works.”
“Insane contraptions like...”
“War births many things. Mostly destructive ones, that’s the problem.”
Rumble—
The approaching steel wall slowed, then halted perfectly. No margin for error.
“Sharp as ever, past or present. Stopped at the exact range needed to intercept arcing fire.”
“Ian. You said you were with the Raptors?”
“...Yeah. Quite a while.”
“Then you know better than me. Best attack for us three to move in? Stealth flank to sow chaos. Agree?”
“Tch. Not a bad idea, but...”
Ian habitually put a cigarette in his mouth, realized no lighter, clicked his tongue, and rummaged his pockets.
“Gonna be rough. That T-7 wall. Raptor combat vehicles flanking it like wings. Let’s see... hey, homo. Got binoculars?”
The group blinked at “homo,” then realized who and turned.
“Shit... bro! I’m not homo!”
Whistle—
“Names yourself ‘Gaybar’ and wonders why.”
Thud!
Grumbling, Ezel tossed the dungeon binoculars for a rough scan of the enemy lines, handing them to Ian, who passed to the Professor.
“There, end of the dinosaur-head line.”
“...Infantry. In a battlefield trading city-piercing calibers and insane urban defenses? Infantry, and that many?”
“Plain infantry’d be useless. Look closer.”
Through the binoculars, the Professor examined the tiny specks. Some mounted on vehicles, others lined in fives like parade. Heads taller than vehicles? Tall guys? Black gas masks, weird padded uniforms...
“Ah!”
He got what Ian meant. In Sector 45, the ones shoving through narrow passages like tanks.
“The flamethrower guys?”
“Official name’s ‘Mini Shooter.’ Flamethrower’s just auxiliary for special ops. Main armament’s that Gatling over there.”
“Gatling... that? The one mounted on the vehicle?”
“Not mounted. Just propped up.”
“That’s... mini?”
Less human, more armored game character. Black bulky pads everywhere on the uniform, huge stature matching a massive Gatling.
Ian chuckled at the Professor’s baffled face.
“Sort of irony. Main weapon’s a minigun too. They’re anti-exosuit specialists. Psycho freaks pumped full of steroid doping for strength and size. Built tough enough to shrug off pulse rifles and shock shotguns. Five Mini Shooters can take one exosuit, they say.”
“That’s why fives.”
“Actual exchange rate’s a bit worse, but yeah.”
After forever digging pockets, Ian disassembled a shotgun shell, used the powder to finally light his cig, and exhaled contentedly.
“Fwew—! Damn, all that to look cool. Anyway, normal methods won’t flank ’em.”
“Unconventional ones?”
“When I was there... got pierced twice. Once, Dome special forces with ultra-long sniper rifles sniped about thirty Mini Shooters from outside radar range first. Other time, special forces in camo gear sneaked inside during chaos from irreplaceable 200kg impact bombs disrupting the front line.”
“No sniper gear... impact and stealth...”
“Hm.”
The Professor stroking his chin and Ian scratching his temple both eyed Vex simultaneously.
“Uh... me?”
“Think it’ll work? Never seen it myself, but you’ve never failed an order.”
“Professor, when you blacked out half-crazy, that faceless greatsword wrecked a whole platoon.”
“Perfect fit?”
“Ideal.”
“Uh... huh?”
Thud!
Hands clamped on confused Vex’s shoulders, unable to keep up.
“Hepburn? Joe? You mean... me?”
“Who else?”
“Trust us, runt. Solid backup. You just do your thing inside.”
“Learned swordplay targeting gut over neck or heart. Ribs don’t guard the packed belly—shove right in.”
“Eeeek, easier said...!”
“Just like always, like always, heh heh heh!”
Whistle—
Thud!
“Wah! Handle supplies gently, Professor! But really going in? You three?”
The Professor tossed the binoculars without looking; Ezel caught them, voice trembling. He replied confidently.
“People keep calling us legends, superhumans, whatever. Not sure our feats warrant it, but...”
“Hmm—haaah. Smells like battle.”
“Hm... awkward. New blade. Doesn’t fit my grip.”
Vex grumbled, inspecting his new sword; Ian ruffled his hair while slinging a heavy iron case.
Naturally leaving the center spot between them vacant, watching them lead, the Professor said.
“If we’re real legends, shouldn’t we handle this much?”
With that, he joined between them, donned a sand-colored poncho raincoat, and began a wide detour.
“Those absurd bastards...”
Sizzle—
[All units, prep for engagement. Goal: defend city from enemy barrage. Hold fifteen minutes till main gun charges—those homeless reptiles are done. Stay sharp, but not too tense. Fight like always, no issues. Got it!]
Crackle—
[Silver Guard, Operator. Speed Bump charge complete in 30 seconds. Visual guides transmitting in 3... 2... 1.]
Pew—!
No time to process; a hazy boundary line appeared before Ezel’s eyes. All trained material.
‘Dome combat basics: defense. Delay enemies till city main gun charges, minimize urban damage. Foes use massive calibers exosuit shields can’t stop. Direct hit = death, but Speed Bump handles it. Per docs, powerful micro-electromagnet net slows any metal projectile in range to a crawl...’
Sizzle—
[EZ-07.]
‘Invisible barrier only we see. Touch it, exosuit goes out of control. Stay calm. Focus on visual guides—dodge and move plenty—‘
[EZ-07! Rookie! You hearing!]
“Huhk!”
[Get it together, dumbass! Real combat! Forget all those ‘practice games’ in Sector 47 outskirts! Slack off, you die! Enemy’s reptiles! Ones who take POWs to squeeze for fuel!]
“Uh, y-yes...”
[Goddamn... Status! Report!]
“Yes, sir!”
Rough cursing snapped dazed Ezel alert. Brain lagged, but post-inspection training reacted on reflex.
‘Status... status...!’
[Uh, EZ-07, no issues on combat ops! Status! Support force HIV flanking battlefield!]
“Good... wait, what? Say again! Who went where?]
Sizzle—
[Silver Guard. Head Center. Briefing request on last transmission. Support force HIV flanking. Planned? Purpose?]
Sizzle—
[Speed Bump deployed. 12 high-angle rail shooters, ready. Silver Guard, stand by. Silver Guard, stand by.]
Ralph Monclar struggled to hold center amid tightening chaos by the second. Collision seconds away, and those unequipped guys vanished where?
[HIV! Support status report! Post-clash, exploit chaos for enemy flank breach, collapse formation!]
[...Head Center. Confirmed. Fitting your rep. Good luck.]
[Operator, enemy vanguard tanks spotted. Video feed.]
“No, while I’m out of loop, what’re they...”
Ralph thought of the Professor’s group flashing past comm waves, then shut his eyes tight. Beyond his hands now. His job: lead the inspection exosuit squad, Silver Guard, entrusted to him.
As Ralph bit his lip, footage appeared. Behind the steel wall, black-uniformed man holding papers before a huge speaker.
“”“Ahh, been a while, stinking rat friends.”“”
Voice garbled by jamming echoed across Dome’s front yard.
[...Silver Guard all units, prep complete.]
“”“Can’t say glad to meet, ritually. I’m Pack Leader Sol Amar of Raptor 8th Legion. You rats aren’t even a decent snack, but regardless, Raptor combat is sacred rite. Here, declaration of war and reasons you die like dogs today, written heaps—grateful, read each carefully.”“”
[Declaration! Silver Guard! Front barriers up!]
Roar—!
Man in video paused, lit the prepared papers aflame.
“”“Tell it in hell.”“”
Boom boom boom!
Burning manifesto and tank fire without warning.
Bang bang bang!
Ezel swallowed involuntarily at the massive tank round halted inches away by the electromagnet net.
“Huff, huff, huff!”
[EZ-07! Status!]
[Noneeeek!]
Liar. Terrified. Ears ringing from explosions beyond the net; squad duty meant stepping out to buy time.
‘Electric Pole. Power gear advances, net advances, we hold empty zone risking lives...’
In Dome-Raptor wars, till main gun shattered defenses, exosuits were fluid energy barriers. Thus highest casualties early, pushing the net forward.
But Ezel gritted teeth, stepped beyond the gray net zone on visual guides.
‘If real legends, shouldn’t handle this much?’
Three dashing to enemy lines with mere infantry gear replayed in mind.
Ezel yanked her choking combat suit, ripping the collar.
“Can’t... get called spoiled young miss!!!”
Clank! Clank!
Twisted, lopsided grin, energy shield raised, exosuit advanced into barrage.
[Kyahaha! EZ-07! Still got spunk! Was gonna tease you till retirement if froze!]
[Damn! Next sortie, diapers on!]
[Sorry, we wore all prepped diapers. None left for you, EZ-07. Tough break, gotta ditch pants.]
[KT-05, MJ-06! Shut up and shield! 45 seconds post-Electric Pole burst—know or not! Defense focus!]
Clank! Clank! Clank! Cl—
Boom!
“Guhk! Urk!”
Barrage slammed Ezel’s shield proper. Battery ample to block, but power plunged visibly; shock inside rattled guts, drool spilling.
‘Wrong... doctrine says Silver Guard advance pulls Raptors’ combat vehicles in, shrinking barrage, shifting melee... but they’re firing while retreating.’
Victory assured for Dome, but retreating Raptors outpace net; Silver Guard takes direct hits.
‘Battery won’t last till main gun! Damn, hurry, hurry...!’
Ezel eyed fading shield, desperately praying to the three ahead.
‘Do something, quick!’
***