Gotta Earn My Keep
The air inside the transport plane was rotten.
A massive transport ship capable of easily fitting seven Advents in total. In the cabin on the upper floor of the hangar section, a total of ten reserve Apostles and Saints were sitting facing each other. It was a cramped space with two rows of makeshift seats attached to the walls, facing one another.
And all their gazes were fixed on the three people sitting in one corner.
Jack Daniel, the mercenary who was a former Apostle. Mokjul, the mysterious white-haired mercenary. And Origin, the loser Saint.
Origin clenched her fists on her knees. It was a familiar gaze of contempt she had received her whole life.
Deu-deu-deu
The aircraft kicked off the runway and took flight. Now, finally, they were heading to the battlefield in western Timor.
"You guys, keep your wits about you. If you let your guard down, you're dead."
As soon as the takeoff was finished, Jack in the seat next to her opened his mouth.
The reserve Apostles didn't even bother to reply. Their reactions were one of two things: looking out the window, or snorting as if to make sure he heard it.
"Even if this old man couldn't form a Covenant, I understand the mechanics of the battlefield pretty well, you know?"
"Don't act all high and mighty..."
One young Apostle snapped his head around. It was the same face that had been challenging Jack in the operations room.
"What do you know to be giving us advice? We're no different than going to die to Golgotha! I'm already pissed off enough, so shut your mouth!"
"Please calm down..."
The Saint next to him grabbed the Apostle's sleeve.
"How can I calm down?!"
The Apostle shook off her hand.
"You're just going to lie back in a safe place and snipe, while we get thrown out as meat shields..."
Jack frowned.
"Show some respect to the Saint..."
"That's right. We aren't meat shields!"
Another Apostle joined in. The cabin became noisy.
"Weren't you the ones who didn't attend the operation meeting?"
From across the aisle, Mokjul said with his eyes closed.
"Complaining about it now is too childish."
"You bastard, you're just a mercenary..."
The first Apostle gritted his teeth.
"You're just like that Apostle bastard Raven who ran away!"
Origin looked at Jack without realizing it.
Jack sighed and replied.
"Apostle Raven, after receiving the DPM, is heading straight from the Australian region to the eastern part of Timor Island."
"Golgotha Baekdu and Bongrae are currently split between the east and west."
Mokjul opened his eyes and continued.
"Raven said he would take on one Golgotha by himself. Thanks to that, the Golgotha we have to face has been cut in half."
"Ha. Don't lie."
The Apostle snorted.
"We know what a DPM is, you know? It's just a rocket with brute thrust that's barely used for cargo transport! How could a human pilot something like that?"
"Oh boy, what am I supposed to do with these rookies..."
Jack held his forehead.
"That's right! At that kind of speed, whether it's evasion or aiming..."
"Hey, Sniper."
Mokjul looked at Jack.
"Can I do it?"
"Haaaa... Fine. Otherwise, they won't shut up."
The next moment, Mokjul's fist was buried in the Apostle's solar plexus.
"Kuhk..."
The Apostle collapsed, folding his body. There wasn't even a preparatory motion. To Origin's eyes, she hadn't even seen when Mokjul stood up from his seat.
"You guys, that's too much!"
The fallen Apostle's Saint shouted.
"Sorry, but we don't have time to indulge your whining."
Jack stood up from his seat. Looking slowly around the cabin, he continued.
"If Timor falls while all our forces are dispersed, Southern Cross is a fallen nation."
Fallen nation.
At those two words, the noise in the cabin died down.
"If the country that gave you the titles of Apostle and Saint, and gives you money and food, disappears, what are you going to live on? No, do you even think you can live if there's no country to begin with?"
"You bastard..."
"Look at me. Look at this miserable state."
Jack pointed to his chest. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were definitely not.
"Someone with no country to return to has to survive even in this state."
"Jack..."
Origin looked up at his profile.
A mercenary. A wanderer. An Apostle who lost his Saint. A rebel who desperately wanted a country—the man was speaking of a country.
"Is that something to brag about..."
The fallen Apostle spat out. But no one else opened their mouths beyond that. Some Saints bowed their heads while holding their Apostle's hands.
ㆍㆍㆍ
When there wasn't much time left until Timor.
"I'm going to maintain Pathos in the hangar."
Mokjul stood up.
"...I'll follow you. For a sniper, a firearm is life, after all."
Jack stretched and followed.
"I'll go too."
Origin jumped up. More than anything, she didn't want to stay in this brutal cabin.
Jack turned to her with a smile.
"Sure. You'll be riding in it from now on, so it's good to see it in advance."
From the stairs leading down to the hangar, Origin was overwhelmed.
In the hangar section that opened up to the ceiling, seven Advents were lined up, tied to fixed frames. Under the maintenance lights, the shadows of the giants overlapped long on the floor.
Among them, the first thing that caught her eye was the green machine.
Jack's Advent.
Nimrod.
The 10-meter giant was covered in military green heavy armor. Its shoulders were as wide as a wall, exuding intimidation just by standing there.
Above both shoulders, super-large gun barrels rose from its back, aiming at the ceiling, spare firearms were stored all over its upper body, and in its left hand, it held an anti-ship sniper rifle that neared its own height.
Nimrod's head was shaped like a bird of prey's beak, or perhaps the front of a turret. Inside its visor, a thin, light-green optical sensor glowed faintly.
As a thoroughly cold weapon with nothing that could be called an expression, it greeted those who had arrived here.
"You concentrated... that much firepower into one machine?"
Origin made an expression of shock at the astonishing over-armament.
"On the battlefield, there are many times when even that isn't enough."
Jack shrugged.
...And next to it was a machine that made that Nimrod look small.
"It's the same size class as Raven's Logos..."
Jack muttered lowly.
A 12-meter pure white machine.
An inverted triangle silhouette where the waist tightened extremely thinly from a wide upper body, then extended down to long lower limbs. Its shoulders and back were covered with massive armor blocks.
Yet, the machine didn't look dull at all.
Under the white head unit with horns, the sensor below it held a yellow light.
A supersonic fighter jet folded into a humanoid form.
Perhaps an armored angel.
Pathos.
This was Mokjul's machine.
"That is..."
Origin couldn't continue.
"It's really cool."
Jack admired.
"It's horrible..."
Before the thought was even finished, those words popped out of Origin's mouth.
"Huh?"
Jack was visibly flustered.
"Ah, s-sorry. I didn't mean the machine is horrible."
Mokjul chuckled.
"I know what you mean."
"Yes?"
"I hate this machine too."
The white-haired mercenary said, looking up at Pathos.
"Every time I ride it, it keeps screaming, digging into people's minds, so there's no way I could like it."
"Hah. An Apostle who hates their Advent, that's a rare breed."
Jack's eyes went round. Because usually, Apostles are bound to have attachment to their machines.
"Do you like your machine?"
Mokjul asked.
"Well, because of the time we've built up together."
Jack replied, glancing up at Nimrod.
"That, I envy."
There was something permeated in that one sentence.
Origin couldn't catch what it was.
...The three, having finished maintenance, sat in a corner of the hangar and ate the distributed rations. It was liquid food in a tube. Of course, like liquid food, it didn't taste good.
"To think they give us this as a meal. Where does the Southern Cross logistics department spend all that tithe?"
Jack grumbled while tearing open a second one. Even while complaining, he ate it well. Mokjul silently emptied only his ration.
Watching that scene, a laugh leaked out of Origin's mouth without her realizing it.
A meal sitting side-by-side with someone was, in itself, unfamiliar to her.
Kwang!
The transport plane tilted greatly. The food tube rolled on the floor.
"Mokjul!"
Jack shouted.
"Ah, yeah."
Mokjul ran toward Pathos.
{We've been hit!}
Communication rang from the cockpit.
Jack grabbed Origin's wrist and ran to Nimrod. Advents have flight functions. Even if the transport plane falls, if they are inside the machine, they can escape.
The fixed frame's elevator lift pulled the two up to cockpit height. As the hatch opened, a narrow cockpit and the sub-seat behind it were visible.
Saint's seat.
Origin pushed her body into that spot. It was the inside of an Advent, the first time she had ever sat in one in her life. It was a seat that a half-wit who hadn't even formed a Covenant was told she would never have a reason to sit in for her whole life. The seat tightened and fixed her body. Origin's heart felt like it was jumping up to her throat.
"Is flight still possible? Where is the position the guy shot from?"
Jack had already become a different person.
His hand scanning the instrument panel moved like flowing water.
{Flight is barely possible, but... the shooting position is unclear! It was observed from the direction of Timor Island!}
"Has the advance party already landed on Timor? Damn, this has become more annoying than expected."
Jack clicked his tongue.
"Transmit the hit information to my Nimrod now. After tracking the enemy sniper's position, I will counter-snipe."
{Yes? But...}
"Hurry!"
Data poured onto the monitor. Impact angle, composition of the projectile fragments, time of impact. Jack's eyes scanned over those numbers.
"If you trace the impact angle backward, you get the trajectory. Once you get the trajectory, you get the shooter's nest."
It was a voice that was unclear if it was talking to himself or teaching Origin in the back seat.
"Are you going to show her too?"
Mokjul asked from the foot of Pathos.
"Ah, yeah. Because I have to earn my keep for what I've taken from Southern Cross and Captain Mackellan."
"...I'll look forward to it."
"I won't disappoint you. I'm the type who does what needs to be done, after all."
{Catapult open! Space secured!}
The hangar hatch opened, and the high-altitude wind rushed in.
The sky outside the hatch was dark. Beyond the sea of clouds, Timor Island could be seen at the end of the horizon.
The shooter who hit the transport plane from this far away must be somewhere on that island.
Nimrod, while clinging to the hatch, deployed the anti-ship sniper rifle.
[Afterglow Particle Tank connection confirmed.]
The light-green sensor lit up, and it tracked the sniper.
Origin's spine trembled in the Saint's seat.
The man's killing intent transmitted from the front seat.
Inside the human who was usually grinning, there was something like this.
"Then, shall we try sniping?"