The First Sortie
"Squadron One. Refueling and rearming complete! We can depart immediately!" The squadron leader of the five-gunship formation reported to the communications center. Two of the craft had stripped down to the bare minimum for the rescue—retaining only the nose-mounted autocannons while removing every other weapon—to maximize passenger capacity. The remaining three, by contrast, were loaded to their maximum takeoff weight with every available weapon, prepared to engage the monsters of Sieberstadt head-on.
The moment their reports ended, the communications officers issued the order.
—This is the communications center. Squadron One, launch immediately. I repeat: launch order issued. Rescue units, scramble at once.—
"All aboard!"
At the command, the pilots climbed into their cockpits with practiced efficiency, gripped the controls, and began spooling up the gunships. The twin rotors roared to life, and the massive airframes lifted off, tilting toward the opening outer hull of the Ark. Once they cleared the bay, the armored doors sealed shut behind them. Overhead, mechanical arms already moved the next five gunships into position on the helipad.
—All systems nominal. Proceeding to Sieberstadt comms tower.—
—Signal strength good. Report every ten minutes.—
—Understood. Out.—
Based on standard cruising speed, the estimated flight time was roughly one hour and twenty minutes. It was currently 5:40 a.m.; the survivors in Sieberstadt would receive rescue before they even had breakfast.
"I just hope not a single one goes down," I muttered honestly. Each gunship was an irreplaceable asset. Sending survivors to save other survivors was a bitter contradiction, but if we were going to gamble, we might as well win big.
—Squadron One, report.—
—Lead here. No issues so far. Thirty minutes to target.—
—Copy. Report once you make contact with the survivors.—
—Acknowledged.—
Minutes later, the first rays of dawn touched Sieberstadt as Squadron One entered the city.
*
Thududududududu—!
The thunder of rotors rolled in with the morning light. From the communications tower, the survivors watched the approaching gunships and erupted into cheers. Many of them were wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.
—Command, this is Squadron One. We have visual on the survivors. Beginning rescue operation now.—
—Copy. Proceed with caution.—
—One, Three, Five—break formation.—
Three gunships peeled away and swept over the city streets. They powered up the signal amplifiers mounted on their hulls, drawing the monsters toward them, then unleashed their full armament at terrifying speed.
—Gwaaaaaagh!!!!!!!—
—They're jumping from the high-rises. Gain altitude.—
—Copy. Climbing.—
Lessons from the previous battle had taught them well. To prevent the ground-bound monsters from reaching them, the gunships stayed at maximum altitude above the skyscraper-filled streets. Precise aiming was difficult, but with autocannons and rockets as primary weapons, accuracy mattered far less than volume of fire.
Whooooosh! BOOM! BOOM!
—Kieeeek!!!!—
The three gunships rained down chain-gun fire and napalm rockets. No matter how high the monsters leaped, they could not reach the gunships. Still, their numbers were no smaller than before—perhaps even greater. Even at altitude, the creatures' enhanced jumping ability forced the gunships into constant evasive maneuvers while they poured continuous fire downward.
—Landing on the helipad. Opening hatches.—
Hisss! Kiiing!
While the three armed gunships tore through the city, the remaining two descended onto the paired helipads beneath the communications tower. As soon as the landing gear touched down, crowds surged forward. The pilots shouted orders, trying to maintain control.
"Wounded first! Get the injured on board!"
Not everyone was willing to wait their turn—panic drove many to push forward—but the survivors had not completely lost their minds. They followed instructions well enough for the gunships to lift off packed with the wounded. The elderly were not included in this priority; their value was deemed lower than that of adults or children. It was cold, undeniably so, yet no one could call it cruel in this merciless age. Someone always had to be left behind.
"We're full! Taking off!"
—Command, returning to base.—
—Copy. Launching Squadron Two.—
The moment Squadron One reported its return, the Ark immediately scrambled the next formation. Once again, the survivors at the tower would be left alone for the hour-and-twenty-minute flight window.
—Lead here. All ammunition expended. Returning with Squadron One.—
The three heavily armed gunships that had devastated the streets also exhausted their munitions and withdrew with the formation. Once more, an eerie silence settled over Sieberstadt.
*
Back at the Ark, over five hundred people poured out of the two unarmed gunships. Medical teams were already waiting; the moment the hatches opened, the wounded were carried straight to the infirmary. Those who could walk were escorted by security personnel to the administrative office for processing, while children followed the medical staff to the hospital.
Standard capacity was 160 passengers per gunship, yet they had carried more than double that number. Stripping the weapons had allowed them to do so without sacrificing flight performance. Maintenance crews began carefully cleaning the blood, pus, and medical waste inside the cabins, while others rushed to reload the returning armed gunships.
"...How much ammunition do we have left?"
[Total remaining: under one million rounds.]
"...Already that low."
Rifle rounds, autocannon shells, and rockets combined—under a million. The realization hit like a physical blow. Humanity's advantage over the monsters lay entirely in the overwhelming firepower of modern weapons. Without ammunition, that advantage vanished.
"We need to ramp up production immediately. At this rate we'll run dry."
[Directive sent to the Administrative Department.]
The AI's flat reply drew a sigh from me. The thought of working with this machine for the rest of my life already felt bleak.
[Response from the Administrative Director: directive will be carried out.]
"...Good."
I nodded quietly and looked at the people bustling in front of me. Every one of the tens of thousands living in this Ark carried their own story—parents, childhood, traumas, relationships, triumphs, and failures. None of it mattered to me. More precisely, it could not be allowed to matter.
My duty was to rebuild human civilization. Arm the men and send them to war. Impregnate the women. Use every means necessary to ensure humanity's survival. That was the role of every Controller across the three hundred Arks.
The final question the examiner had asked during the Controller selection test still echoed in my mind.
"If preserving humanity required you to abandon your humanity, could you do it?"
I had struggled to answer. The question was simple, yet impossible to answer simply. My reply had been "No." Because humans are animals, but they are not beasts. Even if we never defeated the monsters, as long as we preserved the culture we had spent tens of thousands of years building and carried joy and peace within us, humanity would still exist.
Conversely, even if we slaughtered every last monster and reclaimed our place as Earth's apex predator, if that victory came at the cost of culture and left us so hollow that we could stand before towering statues and shattered masterpieces without feeling anything, then humanity would truly be extinct.
I would use any means necessary to "protect" humanity. On that point, I would never compromise. But I wondered how the word "humanity" sounded to the other Controllers.