The Red Gareld's Charge
"All ships, deploy jamming waves! No one fires without my direct order!"
Having already seized the point the enemy reinforcements would have to cross, Eirin flooded the void with jamming waves.
Twenty-first-century jamming simply forced an opponent to switch frequencies once they realized they were being jammed. In this world, the waves blanketed every frequency and every band at once. The result was total radar blackout for the enemy—yet the same blackout crippled friendly sensors, shrinking effective range to a fraction of normal. Worse, the specialized jammers that could hide a fleet from hostile radar were ruinously expensive; even regular navy ships rarely carried them.
The Rastold Silverion had once possessed a full suite, but the set had been run so hard during earlier pursuits that it was already scrap by the time the current commission began.
"Lookout report! Enemy fleet approaching the predicted coordinates!"
High-powered optical telescopes and trained lookouts were the only answer to the jamming, and those lookouts now proved their worth. The enemy had lookouts of their own, of course, but hunting for an ambush you knew was coming was nothing like searching empty space for an enemy that might not even exist.
"Good. Lure them into effective range and—"
"Lookout report! Enemy fleet is larger than intelligence indicated!"
"How large?"
"Fifteen battleships, twenty-six cruisers, sixty escort destroyers… and one carrier!"
"A carrier…?!"
Eirin's face hardened at the word. A carrier possessed only minimal self-defense guns, yet it could ferry seventy to eighty mechas alone. The overall numbers already exceeded the intelligence estimate; the presence of a carrier made the discrepancy far more dangerous.
There had been no mention of a carrier in the reports.
That makes no sense. The fact that the fleet is here at all means our intelligence correctly tracked their movement. Numbers can be off by a few ships, but something the size of a carrier should never have slipped through.
Her mind raced. Friendly strength stood at eleven battleships, thirty-two cruisers, and forty-eight escort destroyers. The mecha disparity would be even worse.
Do I withdraw? Or do I trust the ambush and inflict as much damage as possible…?
The unexpected numbers forced her to grind every option through her mind at combat speed.
Fall back and link up with the Galantid System forces?
No. If a force this size joins the rebel fortress, the siege becomes nearly impossible.
If we were still a proper regular army we might risk it, but these are broken remnants.
Jincheon had stitched them back together for the moment, yet another crushing defeat would shatter them all over again.
Eirin stared at the operators in the combat information center, every face waiting for her word, and forced her thoughts into colder calculation.
…No. No matter how I run the numbers, this force disparity—
Just as she prepared to order the retreat, a pulse of emotion rose from the tattoo etched into her womb.
Jincheon had used his soul-forging power to brand each of his women with a mark that let them sense one another's approximate location and emotional state. At first the sensation had startled her; now the absence of that constant awareness of him felt emptier than the void itself.
Jincheon himself was still aboard the unarmed transport at the rear, preparing for launch.
Yeobo…
Having left his private cabin and spread his qi, Jincheon had already measured the enemy's true strength. Battle-lust boiled inside him—an almost childlike eagerness to show off the upgraded Gareld. The hunger was fierce.
Calsira seemed to be trying to calm him; her own feelings carried a mixture of exasperation and worry. A moment later Jincheon must have felt Eirin's hesitation, because a wave of absolute, cocky confidence rolled back through the link: I'll handle everything.
If it's him… he will show us a miracle.
"Lure them into effective range, then open simultaneous fire."
"…!"
"Why are you still standing there? Relay the order!"
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
Decision made, Eirin poured every fragment of her attention into the coming slaughter.
"Tch. That brat and his pointless games."
Count Deon, appointed commander of the Galantid System relief force, clicked his tongue as he eyed the newly arrived reinforcements. Some time after departure, an entire contingent—including a carrier—had suddenly joined them mid-voyage.
When he demanded an explanation, he learned the order had come from Count Sherdon. According to the carrier's captain, the original relief force had always been this size; the smaller formation had been a deliberate feint to deceive enemy intelligence.
Fine. All of that is fine. But why the hell wasn't I told in advance?
Deceiving the enemy's spies was basic strategy—clever, even rational. The problem was that the man responsible for the entire relief fleet, its actual commander, had been left in the dark.
Damn it. If His Majesty didn't dote on that boy so much…
Count Sherdon Millsden craved chaos—an age of war in which his mind could run free. To use that mind to its fullest, however, he needed a patron who recognized his genius. The rebel emperor Galdoorn had been that patron, and under him Sherdon had begun to display his full strategic brilliance. Much of the rebels' current momentum was owed to him. Though only a count, he already outranked most marquises in practical power; a dukedom after the war was considered inevitable.
The trouble was that Sherdon treated both friend and foe as chess pieces. "Act first, report later" had become his standard operating procedure, on the theory that anything his own side learned, the enemy might also learn. Complaining was difficult: the emperor favored him, and his plans kept winning.
Even so—treating us as mere pawns? The boy clearly has no concept of noble courtesy.
Count Deon swallowed his rage and drummed his fingers on the armrest of his luxurious command chair.
"My lord."
"What?"
"Ah… that is… the high-probability ambush point Count Sherdon mentioned… we will arrive in one minute…"
The deputy captain, flustered by his commander's snarl, stammered out the report.
"This is the place?"
"Yes, my lord. Fifty-eight seconds remaining."
Sherdon had marked the coordinates, warning that an ambush was extremely likely; if none materialized, the enemy would simply retreat before the reinforced fleet and race for the Galantid System.
If they jump us after we clear this point, I'll grind them into dust.
Deon prayed the ambush would not come—
"Multiple high-energy signatures!"
"Ambush!"
"Goddamn it!!"
The instant the report arrived, Deon smashed his fist into the armrest, furious that once again Sherdon had been right.
"Raise shields! Defend, then deploy the mecha corps!"
He roared the orders, then turned his fury toward the enemy.
"Why do you always move exactly the way that bastard predicted, you worthless idiots?!"
A deep, rolling boom shook the void as the loyalist fleet opened simultaneous fire. Massive explosions blossomed across the enemy formation. The jamming waves, now useless, were cut; mechas began launching in earnest.
Jincheon's group, already sealed inside their machines, shot from the transport the moment the launch order came. Among them, one machine stood out like a blood-red comet: the Gareld, its silhouette now closer to a knight's full plate, still painted from head to toe in vivid crimson.
"So this is the gap between C-class and B-class. Reaction speed alone is night and day."
Having spent the upgrade period in solitary confinement, Jincheon had never test-piloted the new Gareld. Now he understood why pilots obsessed over higher ranks. The machine tracked his movements without lag; every system had taken a clear step forward. If the leap from C to B felt this large, what heights awaited A-class and S-class?
I'll claim an S-class someday. I wonder just how far that level goes.
-There are more of them than the first report.-
=And no one mentioned a carrier either.=
Unlike Jincheon's rising excitement, the two women sounded openly worried. The carrier alone tilted the mecha balance heavily against them.
"So what? That just means we get to shine brighter."
-You make it sound so easy.-
"I was itching to try out the new weapons anyway. Perfect timing."
The Gareld had changed in more than silhouette. Twin head-mounted vulcans now sat ready for missile interception and close harassment. Twin detachable 130 mm rail cannons rode the shoulders. In its hands it carried a royal-guard lance gun (laser) and a kite shield housing a 25 mm gatling and its ammunition. Two spare laser-sword hilts and power packs hung at the waist.
Most striking of all was the ten-meter blade mounted on its back—the Anti-Ship Sword. Half the physical blade was missing by design; in its place a high-output laser far stronger than any ordinary beam saber would form, a weapon built for one purpose: cutting starships in half.
When the technicians first saw the modification plans and the mountain of extra armament, they had spoken with one voice:
'Sir, have you lost your mind?'
A B-class Gareld could physically carry everything. The problem was that the loadout specialized in close, mid, and long range all at once—pure greed, in the technicians' eyes. Worse, mounting the Anti-Ship Sword on the back would interfere with the shoulder rail cannons. How was he supposed to use both?
Every carefully listed defect died under two sentences from Jincheon:
"I'm a genius. There is no problem."
"The Anti-Ship Sword will be mounted in purge configuration—jettison the outer armor or any unnecessary parts when needed."
Ordered to follow his wishes, the technicians upgraded the internal systems and bolted on every weapon he demanded. The result was the hybrid monstrosity now streaking into battle.
=You're really hauling the entire armory, aren't you.=
Calsira, carrying only a massive laser rifle linked to an oversized backpack, still sounded half-disbelieving. Her own loadout split into two packages: the current long-range sniper configuration, and a mid-close package of lance gun plus gatling shield. A laser pistol and laser sword still hung at her waist for the worst-case scenario—if an enemy closed, she would have to ditch the long rifle and fight with sidearms.
-It's starting. Both of you, focus.-
Heliane, piloting the Saisalas whose only upgrade was an improved beam gun, cut their chatter short.
At Eirin's command the mechas and ships scattered. Enemy counter-fire had begun; high-energy signatures flared across the scopes. Main-battery salvos followed. The mecha corps slipped nimbly to the flanks, but the slower capital ships took hits—several destroyers reeled under direct strikes. Casualties remained light only because the enemy had fixated on the gleaming silver-white Rastold Silverion. Kill Eirin, and the child emperor would lose the only figure who could still hold the loyalists together.
While dodging, Eirin recharged the main batteries and answered with another full salvo. As the two fleets traded broadsides, her next order cut through the net.
The order they had been waiting for finally came.
"Hah! First blood is mine!"
The instant the command left Eirin's lips, Jincheon slammed the Gareld's thrusters to maximum. The crimson machine rocketed forward at a speed that seized the attention of both fleets at once, stamping an indelible image across the entire battlefield.
Count Deon watched the red streak close the distance.
"So that's the bastard who let the Dowager slip through our fingers. Seeing it in person… the speed is even worse than the reports."
Jincheon's earlier exploits had been so spectacular that every rebel pilot already knew the red Gareld by sight. The solitary high-speed charge matched the intelligence perfectly. The armament had changed dramatically, yet the true terror of the machine remained its impossible acceleration and its equally impossible accuracy.
"But this is as far as you go."
Sherdon had been one hundred percent certain that if an ambush came, the red Gareld would lead it. That was why the carrier carried a dedicated counter-team built for one purpose only: killing that single machine. Pilots selected for high-mobility combat and superhuman reflexes, trained for a full month on the failures of the first counter-team.
This was why the galaxy produced many ace pilots yet almost no true one-man armies. The moment any ace showed even a hint of that potential, an analysis team and a dedicated counter-unit were assembled against him.
"Deploy our mecha corps."
Count Deon ordered his own machines forward. At least one-and-a-half times, perhaps nearly twice the enemy's mecha strength poured out to overwhelm them—
A thick laser beam, not quite capital-ship caliber but far heavier than ordinary mecha fire, lanced across the void and erased several machines in a chain of explosions.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Enemy mecha fire! Outside effective targeting range!"
"Effective range" meant the distance at which a mecha's own targeting computer could lock.
"You useless bastards! You can't even dodge harassment fire?!"
Deon assumed the hits were pure bad luck and raged accordingly—
"Hooah~ Now I get why you said the targeting system is just a nuisance."
Calsira, having focused her senses and vision through martial arts until a third eye seemed to open, had sniped with the long laser rifle. The sensation was sharper and wider than anything she had known before. Jincheon had been shooting with an even broader, more intense awareness all along.
The past month had not merely upgraded their machines; it had pushed the women into an entirely new realm of martial power.