Episode 180

The moment the Ladder Base was swallowed by a blinding flash and a wall of fire, Heinlein—watching from the cramped interior of his tank—felt a cold wave of despair. This was it. The absolute worst-case scenario. The facility had been blown to kingdom come.

"……I see. So that’s how it is," he muttered, his voice cracking with a mix of awe and annoyance. "What a reckless maniac. He actually fired that thing at point-blank range?"

As the white smoke and grit began to settle, the Ladder Base emerged, still stubbornly standing. It was a miracle—or rather, a very violent calculation. Several theories flashed through Heinlein’s mind, but the answer arrived when a subordinate pointed out the glaring absence of the main turret.

"Is the base even structurally sound after that?!" the driver shouted from below Heinlein’s feet. "The entire neighborhood just got deleted!"

"Hell if I know," Heinlein snapped, cranking his optical zoom to its limit.

But he must have figured the math worked out before he pulled the trigger, he thought. All personnel were safely underground, and the facility’s shield was rated for high-yield impact. If they were going to scrap the place anyway, they might as well go out with a bang. Still, who looks at a multi-billion credit facility and decides the core is the only part worth keeping? Only a madman treats a base like a disposable coffee cup.

The camera feed confirmed the carnage: the rooftop was a barren wasteland. The defense batteries, the shipping containers, the specialized sensors—it had all been scrubbed clean. Literally everything not protected by the central shield had been vaporized along with the turret.

"But hey, that includes the WIND too, doesn't it?" Heinlein smirked. "Alright, boys, charge as ordered! We might actually survive this mess!"

He slammed a command through BISHOP to the Tiger Squad. The tanks surged forward in a horizontal line, full throttle. Countless WIND—some twitching, some reduced to scrap—littered the ground, but Heinlein didn't care. He drove right over them.

"Trying to solve ground pressure issues with multiple legs? Not a bad effort, but you needed a bit more 'oomph' in the engineering department."

It was a basic law of physics: heavy things sink. The WIND had tried to cheat gravity with extra legs and flat contact pads, likely prioritizing agility in tunnels or complex terrain.

"Break through! Who cares if we hit them! Buy us every second you can!"

Compared to the WIND's elegant legs, the sheer weight supported by the tanks' crawler tracks was in a different league entirely. In a collision, mass wins. The tanks didn't just fight the enemy; they mowed them down like lawn ornaments. Thirty percent of the vehicles had already run dry on shells, but that didn't stop them—those tanks simply took point, using their hulls as battering rams.

"Another one’s gone! It’s Leon's unit!"

"I figured," Heinlein grunted. "We aren't going to get any mercy from these bugs."

The casualties mounted. Tanks were swarmed, pinned down, flipped like turtles, or riddled with holes until they stopped moving. But Heinlein didn't stop. He pushed forward with a suicidal focus. By the time the tank unit poured into the gap cleared by the main gun’s self-destruction, he had sacrificed fourteen vehicles and the lives of the men inside—but he had secured a perfect defensive line.

"Alright, this is the climax! We just need to hold for ten minutes! Give ‘em hell!"

The battle devolved into a disgusting, muddy brawl—a meat-grinder of steel versus bio-machinery.

"No, no, no! We can just build a new base later! There’s no reason to go on a suicide mission!"

The Ladder Base was a ghost town, a hollow shell of its former self. Most of the staff had already vanished into the evacuation tunnels. Near the parked transport vehicles, Taro was frantically trying to play the voice of reason, attempting to stop Phantom’s group from heading back to the surface.

"Nn. It’s not that simple, President," Phantom said, his voice flat. "If the facility falls, you lose your standing. Besides… No, we’ll talk later. Every second is a luxury we don't have."

Phantom checked his weapon, and with his eight remaining cyborgs—the squad having been whittled down from ten—he began the grim climb back up the stairs.

"I mean, sure, but… wait! Hogan! Tell him he’s being crazy!"

Taro spotted Hogan in the group and reached out as if the man were his last tether to sanity. Hogan stopped and looked back.

"Relax, Mr. President. We’re just heading up to play for time. Don't worry about us; we can run as fast as a car if things get hairy. Just get your butt to the extraction point."

Hogan gently patted Taro’s reaching hand away and turned to follow his commander.

"……Oh, one more thing, Mr. President."

Hogan paused at the top of the stairs, looking back one last time.

"The Captain, me, the whole squad… we’re a little more fired up about this than usual. You could say we're acting 'out of character.' We’re usually the calm, professional types, see?"

He reached into a tactical pouch on his suit and pulled out a small, frayed piece of cloth. Taro zoomed in with his helmet’s HUD. It was a sleeve insignia, beautifully embroidered with the NASA emblem.

"The Captain, me… we’re all the same. We’re just like the guys from NASA."

Hogan’s voice dropped to a low, somber tone as he tossed the scrap of cloth toward Taro. Taro caught it reflexively.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Taro asked, looking up.

Hogan waited a beat, then gave a sharp, jagged grin.

"We’re all former Outsiders."

A translucent sphere floated on the Tactical Screen—a digital ghost of Planet Nuke. Around it, tiny white points of light drifted with deceptive slowness. In reality, those dots were screaming through the void at dozens of times the speed of sound. Bella watched them without blinking.

"The three irregular units have finished their orbital corrections. All 144 thermonuclear warheads are now locked into their designated orbital paths."

Bella’s aide delivered the report with crisp, military efficiency. Bella didn't even turn her head. She just nodded once and tapped the ash from her cold, dead cigar.

"I really hate atmospheres," Bella sighed. "You have to be so delicate just to drop a few warheads on a target. Don't you think it’s a bit ridiculous?"

Despite her casual tone, her eyes were sharp enough to cut glass. The aide, keeping her eyes on the screen, followed the glowing trails.

"Fleet-grade weaponry is designed for the vacuum, ma'am. This is… unconventional. Though, if we’d had another week with Miss Marl, I’m sure she could have built us something much more elegant."

"That girl is a freak of nature. Give her a wrench and some scrap, and she’s probably the best engineer in the galaxy," Bella said, reaching for a case of premium cigars Taro had gifted her. She set it on the desk. Each one was individually wrapped—her "victory" smokes. She’d only broken the seal twice before: once for Dingo, and once for Enzio.

She looked up at the massive screen as the cameras shifted to a direct feed of the planet below.

[OPERATION AURORA FINAL PHASE: COUNTDOWN INITIATED. 10 SECONDS REMAINING. 9, 8, 7...]

The bridge lights dimmed as the announcement echoed through the ship. The lack of light didn't help the targeting computers, but it was a theatrical touch Bella insisted on. If she was going to record the results, she wanted the cinematography to be top-notch.

"5, 4, 3…… Engage Operation Aurora Final Phase. Drop 'em."

The moment the counter hit zero, the haphazard points of light snapped into a perfect, geometric grid surrounding the planet. They fired their guidance thrusters at 100% output, plunging toward the atmosphere in unison.

"…………Now that," Bella whispered, "is a show."

The exposure on the screen adjusted as the planet went dark. Then, at 144 distinct points, miniature suns ignited. It was a planetary-scale light show—a grid of nuclear fusion. Bella leaned back, letting out a breath of pure wonder.

"Boss, the President was right," the aide said, her voice hushed. "It’s an aurora."

The massive radiation from the high-altitude bursts sent the planet's magnetic field into a violent frenzy, triggering a stunning physical phenomenon. As the initial flashes faded, a titanic, shimmering aurora swallowed the globe. Planet Nuke, once a dull and dusty rock, was suddenly draped in ethereal ribbons of neon blue and emerald green. The light rippled like water, interfering and surging in complex waves. It was the most beautiful thing Bella had ever seen in all her years of stargazing.

"…………Success," Bella said, sounding satisfied. She sank into her seat and finally began to unwrap a fresh cigar. "Good work, everyone. Take a breather."

A high-altitude nuclear explosion generates a massive, wide-range EMP.

A single warhead can fry electronics for thousands of kilometers. Bella had used 144 torpedoes to encircle the entire world.

On that day, eighty percent of Planet Nuke’s surface was electronically scorched to a crisp.

To the WIND hiding deep underground, this meant nothing.

To the people of NASA, it was equally irrelevant.

But for every mechanical organism on the surface, the "show" was the last thing they would ever be permitted to think about.

Chronicles of the Galactic Antique Volume 1 is doing well!

Volume 2 has been greenlit for release.

My deepest thanks to all the readers.

Work has been crazy this month, and with the book preparations happening at the same time,

Updates have been a bit slow. My sincerest apologies.