Departure (2)
The journey from the Ariel System to the Garion System, under the responsibility of the 41st Defense Flotilla, varied depending on the chosen stopovers. Following the most commonly used route meant passing through three warp gates: Ariel, Syrd, Nox, and finally Garion. This was the standard path for travel between the two systems, and the 2nd Search Battalion led by Freesia Vermillion was currently following it.
Throughout the passage from the Syrd System and across the Nox System, Freesia did not have a single moment of true peace of mind. Once the mana circuit had been synchronized, there should have been no major issues unless something went seriously wrong with her own circuit or she tampered with it herself. But the human heart rarely followed such logical expectations.
She had served as captain of a destroyer during her company commander days, yet even then destroyers were essentially auxiliary vessels. The cruiser she commanded now was a true main-line warship, so vastly superior that calling a destroyer insignificant would not be an exaggeration. The knowledge that she alone was responsible for the entire power output of such a colossal vessel weighed on her constantly.
She checked the mana circuit’s synchronization several times a day. Only after confirming the “no abnormalities” message on the control panel multiple times would she finally let out a small inward sigh of relief. She wondered how Lieutenant Colonel Tachyon had managed to maintain this synchronization while dozing off so casually.
Once she gained more experience and grew accustomed to the role, she would probably stop such behavior. For now, however, her needless anxiety drove her to repeat unnecessary tasks constantly, piling fatigue on herself just like every other rookie battalion commander.
When duty hours ended, she would transfer mana circuit control to the vice commander or one of her two adjutants and switch to the watch system. Only then could she tackle the mountain of unfinished administrative work.
“Maybe I should have just taken a vice commander position on a battleship…”
Today, as always, after handing over control Freesia returned to the captain’s quarters. She stared at the pile of reports stacked on her terminal with an utterly fed-up expression. The workload was on an entirely different scale from her company commander days. Only now did she truly understand the saying that a battalion commander marked the real beginning of a tactical unit’s leadership.
Back then she had commanded only a handful of high-speed boats and her own destroyer. Any problems could be reported upward for instructions. Now she led an independent battalion. Every issue that arose landed squarely on her shoulders, and the weight of that responsibility was immense.
On top of that, her unprecedented rapid promotion meant she lacked proper experience in many areas. As a result, she found herself constantly consulting the manual, something she had never imagined doing. It was fortunate that the department heads, aware of her situation, prepared highly detailed reports with extensive annotations. Without them, she might have been buried under incomplete documents, forced to ask endless questions.
‘This isn’t just adding a little more work. I feel like I’m going to be crushed to death under all this paperwork.’
While silently cursing Lieutenant Colonel Tachyon for tricking her, she organized the reports and finished approving the documents that required her authorization. Just as she was nearing the end, an irritating alarm sounded from her terminal. Freesia dropped her head onto the desk with a groan.
“Ah, come on. Please.”
She wanted to ignore it, but the gleaming golden commander’s epaulets on her shoulders would not permit such negligence. Whether she liked it or not, she was a battalion commander. It was her duty to receive every report and issue every necessary directive.
The message had come from Dmitry, who was currently standing watch. When she had received the regular report just before the end of duty hours, everything had been quiet. The battalion was engaged in nothing more than routine navigation, with no special operations underway. Nothing significant should have happened.
At the word “admitted,” Freesia’s eyes widened. In a world where broken limbs healed overnight and most illnesses vanished within an hour, admission to the medical bay was no small matter. Surely it wasn’t serious enough to require surgery?
Fortunately, it was not the emergency she feared.
At Dmitry’s calm report, Freesia pressed a hand to her pounding chest. It was a common enough symptom among soldiers, but this new recruit seemed to be suffering a particularly bad case. She ordered the duty personnel to check on the recruit at regular intervals, finished the remaining paperwork, and finally threw herself onto the bed with a triumphant shout.
The voyage through the Nox System was so smooth it bordered on tedious.
This was only natural. The Nox System was one of the Federation’s primary food-production hubs. Despite its relatively remote location, its defenses were overwhelmingly powerful.
“Incredible.”
Freesia found herself nodding unconsciously at someone’s murmured exclamation. The enormous vessel displayed on the forward panel was merely an image, yet its sheer presence overwhelmed everyone on the bridge.
Two kilometers in length. It carried roughly one hundred and fifty aircraft and boasted a protective shield of almost incalculable output. The Mateus-class guardian ship was the Federation’s strongest shield. Named after a hero who had saved the Federation from crisis in the distant past, it had protected the nation from countless enemies. It might be defeated, but it had never once been sunk. It was the pinnacle of Federation technology.
Such vessels normally served as fleet flagships. However, for flotillas tasked with critical missions, guardian ships or destroyers were assigned instead of space carriers, depending on operational requirements. It was clear how highly the Federation valued the Nox System.
Around the guardian ship, six escort battleships stood vigilant, their weapons bristling. A single guardian ship represented overwhelming firepower, yet here were six escort vessels capable of blocking even a destroyer’s main cannon behind triple-layered shields.
With five full squadrons stationed there despite it being a defense flotilla, the Nox System enjoyed some of the best security in the entire Federation. Pirates preferred easy, profitable targets. Heavy, low-value cargo like grain held no appeal for them.
If they wanted food supplies, they would rather strike poorly guarded transport ships elsewhere. The Nox System, fiercely watched over by that monstrous vessel, offered no merit whatsoever. To pirates, it was little more than a barren wasteland.
Yet such thoughts did not last long.
“Battalion Commander. We are receiving a video transmission from the flagship of the 37th Flotilla. It is… the 37th Flotilla Commander himself.”
The bridge fell into sudden silence at the news that an admiral was calling. Seeing the communications officer’s expression that seemed to ask what they should do, Freesia felt her stomach twist.
A flotilla commander. Two gleaming stars on his shoulder. She had no idea why such a high-ranking officer would want to speak with her, but refusing was not an option.
“…Connect the call.”
The entire bridge crew hastily straightened their uniforms. When the transmission linked, an elderly man with snow-white hair appeared on the main viewscreen.
“Attention! Lieutenant Colonel Freesia Vermillion, commander of the 2nd Search Battalion, 41st Flotilla! It is an honor to speak with you, Flotilla Commander!”
“At ease. I am Major General Felix, commander of the 37th Flotilla. Um….”
The admiral’s voice trailed off as he fell into thought. A heavy silence descended over the cruiser’s bridge. Had something displeased him? Was someone’s uniform out of order? All sorts of ominous possibilities flashed through Freesia’s mind.
Finally, Major General Felix gave a small shake of his head.
“I was lost in thought for a moment. My apologies. The reason for this call is that, per AST 00 standard time, a large convoy is scheduled to depart around two o’clock tomorrow morning. Relief supplies are being sent in response to a major disaster that struck the Jaballon System two days ago. Normally a subordinate squadron would handle the escort, but since your search battalion happens to be passing through the area, I am asking for your understanding in this matter.”
The Jaballon System was a frontier world where terraforming and stabilization were still incomplete. Freesia vaguely recalled news about a massive earthquake devastating one of its pioneering bases. It seemed the Nox System had agreed to provide food aid.
Major General Felix wanted the convoy escorted as far as Nord, the key planet of the Garion System. However, Freesia’s unit belonged to the 41st Defense Flotilla. Matching speed with lumbering, turtle-like cargo vessels would make it difficult to arrive on schedule.
Yet she could hardly refuse such a request outright in front of a flag officer. As cold sweat beaded on her forehead, Major General Felix added reassuringly:
“I have already discussed this with the commander of the 41st Flotilla. I would appreciate your assistance.”
Freesia let out a silent sigh of relief. She had feared being caught between two generals, but it seemed the matter had already been coordinated at the top. In that case, she simply needed to carry out the escort mission as ordered.
After adding a few more instructions, Major General Felix ended the transmission. Long sighs of relief echoed across the bridge.
While trying to calm her still-churning stomach after facing a flag officer, Freesia’s eyes dulled like those of a rotting pollack when an enormous data file suddenly arrived. The file size was staggering.
“What the…?”
Just looking at the capacity made her hesitate to open it. This was no mere handful of pages; it looked like dozens upon dozens. Had their battalion ever received anything like this before?
The sender was the 37th Flotilla’s logistics staff officer. Attached was an official document expressing gratitude for accepting the escort mission. In return, the MK Company operating the trade convoy would donate a quantity of supplies. The items were limited to foodstuffs, but at the word “donation,” a spark of life returned to Freesia’s previously lifeless eyes.
One thing she had learned in her few days as battalion commander was that military supplies were far tighter than expected. It was not quite hand-to-mouth, but unnecessary expenses were best avoided whenever possible. She finally understood the logistics officers who had once chewed her out mercilessly whenever she asked for extra supplies. She had privately called them stingy at the time.
Now, while grappling with how to run the battalion with minimal waste, the word “donation” felt like rain in the middle of a drought. Long-shelf-life items could be kept in reserve for emergencies.
Yet when she opened the file, it contained one hundred and seventy pages. The text was so tiny that skimming it all would take an entire night. Without hesitation, Freesia forwarded the entire document to the logistics officer’s terminal.
The logistics officer looked up at the control panel in alarm as the massive file arrived. Freesia deliberately avoided his gaze.
“Organize it and report back before too long.”
After checking the volume and contents, the logistics officer’s face turned deathly pale.