Episode 218

"Well, this has turned into a right mess, hasn't it?"

Inside the central command center of the Mercenaries Expeditionary Fleet Flagship, the adjutant to Supreme Commander Sod muttered the words under his breath.

"............"

Sod didn't offer a rebuttal. His silence wasn't a denial; it was a grim, de facto acceptance of the catastrophe.

"Judging by the absurd spikes in communication traffic, we were likely hit with some flavor of heavy ECM... honestly, we won't know the specifics until the tech ghouls finish the analysis."

The adjutant’s finger slid across a screen, looping a replay of the events leading to the spectacular sinking of the ship carrying Sod’s superior, Yotta. Sod responded with a noncommittal snort, his eyes glued to the digital carnage.

"I didn't think I was underestimating them," Sod whispered to the empty air.

The casualty ratio from the previous engagement was skewed so heavily against the expeditionary force it was almost funny. Sod’s pride had taken a bruising, sure, but he wasn't about to go into a depressive spiral over it.

Winning every single battle was a statistical impossibility, and his long career was paved with its fair share of retreats. This was just another tally on the 'loss' column. What mattered was the next move.

"In a war of attrition, we're the ones with the deep pockets. We can afford to do this five or six more times. They can't."

Sod spoke to no one in particular, despite his adjutant standing right there.

"Even if we lose every tactical skirmish, as long as we hit the objective, we win. Tactics and strategy are different animals. However—"

Sod tapped into the [BISHOP FLEET INTEGRATED INFORMATION SYSTEM] and scrolled through the laundry list of things they’d just lost.

"—that logic only holds up if we keep fighting while pretending the losses don't exist."

Sod closed his eyes, lamenting the absurdity of his situation.

As the Supreme Commander, his biggest headache wasn't the enemy fleet; it was the plumbing.

Machines—even those built for the glorious purpose of space murder—tended to wear out and break. It was a classic story: the shields hold perfectly against an enemy Beam, but the kinetic thud rattles a trillion-credit circuit board into a paperweight.

Ships were essentially giant, flying dumpsters for consumables. Take a single Fusion Engine; it wasn't enough to just have the fuel. You needed a million tiny parts working in harmony. A spaceship was just tens of thousands of those temperamental gadgets holding hands in a vacuum.

"The fact that we’re in the middle of nowhere is the real killer. If only this weren't Outer Space..."

The inability to resupply locally was a nightmare Sod had never faced. In the Galactic Empire Sphere of Influence, you couldn't throw a rock without hitting a resupply station. Sure, sometimes a corporation would snub you, but then you'd just find a different station or pay a 'convenience fee' that looked more like a bribe.

But here? In Outer Space? There were no facilities. If there were, the enemy owned them. To make matters worse, his usual buddies at the Logistics Management Company had skipped this war. Even the 'Outsider' labor firms—the kind of people who would sell their own mothers for the right price—had picked the worst possible moment to stage a massive strike. He didn't know why, and he suspected the reason was something stupid, but knowing wouldn't fix his lack of spare bolts.

"And then there are the things you can't just order from a catalog."

He stared at the list of dead and missing. He recognized some of the names. Men he’d shared drinks with. Sure, the meat-grinder would eventually spit out new personnel, but not today. And the new guys wouldn't be the friends he'd just lost.

"So, a victory built on mutual destruction is nothing more than a pipe dream?" the adjutant asked, his voice chillingly level.

Admiral Sod nodded and crossed his arms. "Precisely. We aren't berserkers. We aren't like that Gunma Star System Defense Force—we don't fight down to the last man. I have zero desire to write letters to tens of thousands of grieving families. I'd rather use this sidearm to ventilate my own skull."

Sod tapped the gun on his belt a few times before facing his subordinate.

"No pursuit. Prioritize search and rescue. Get the repair crews moving. If you're missing a part, rip it out of a wreck or dismantle a non-essential ship. I want every possible hull operational."

"Sir!" The adjutant snapped a salute and turned to leave, but stopped mid-stride, glancing back. "Admiral... isn't this technically a violation of orders? We were told to rush the target as our top priority."

The man’s voice sounded suspiciously innocent. Sod flashed a wicked grin.

"Who gives a damn? If the brass complains, tell them 'slow and steady wins the race.' It's not like we're running away. Besides..." Sod waved a hand, dismissing the topic. "That watchdog woman is dead and gone. A real tragedy, that."

The Admiral’s face, as he mourned his superior, looked positively radiant.

"Huh. That’s unexpected. I was sure they’d be breathing down our necks by now," Teiro said, his face scrunched in confusion.

From the bridge of the Battleship Plum, Marl glanced up, her eyes darting between holographic windows. "Is it? They lost their Sonarman. Maybe they just want to, you know, not die immediately?"

Teiro opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. Marl looked like she was trying to juggle chainsaws. She was currently using the Plum’s comms to remotely oversee repairs and inspections for the entire fleet. Even though the other ships had their own experts, Marl was simply better. She’d already salvaged several 'totaled' ships and seemed to have a mental map of every single bolt and circuit in the fleet.

"While it is true the enemy lost a Sonarman, Koume believes that since they have our current coordinates, now is actually the optimal time for them to strike. Also, Mr. Teiro, it is statistically reckless to assume the enemy only had one Sonarman," Koume chimed in, her head swiveling toward him.

"Ah, right. Yeah," Teiro nodded, then blinked. "Wait, what?"

"What do you mean 'what,' Mr. Teiro? If your next sentence is a pathetic admission that you hadn't considered that, Koume would prefer not to hear it."

"............A-Ahaha! Of course I thought of that! I was just, uh, thinking about how mysterious it is that they aren't attacking despite that obvious fact!"

"Ahahaha, quite right, Mr. Teiro. Koume apologizes for the rudeness. According to Mr. Phantom’s intel, there should be at least ten Sonarmen in their ranks."

"Y-Yeah. Exactly. Man, Outsider spies are the best. No BISHOP connection means no mind-reading. Super niche, but handy."

Teiro glossed over his idiocy and looked at the small seat nearby. Remembering the high-speed electronic wizardry that had just occurred, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

The enemy has spares, but we've only got Etta.

"Let’s get out of here before we wake the Sleeping Princess. Greed is a slow and insidious killer," Teiro decided, looking at the motionless Etta. He turned to Marl, leaned forward, and began shaking his entire body like a toddler having a localized earthquake.

"............What are you doing? You look disgusting," Marl deadpanned.

"Wait, this isn't the signal to retreat? Koume taught me this."

"The fleet is ready for Re-Overdrive, Mr. Teiro. As usual, Miss Marl’s efficiency is terrifying," Koume said.

Marl gave Teiro a look of pure suspicion. Teiro, in turn, glared at Koume. The AI simply rotated her head three hundred and sixty degrees to look at the back wall.

"Lately, I’m starting to think this thing is actually a tiny person in a suit..." Teiro muttered.

"There is no 'person' inside, Mr. Teiro. A human could never achieve this level of neck-snapping rotation."

Koume’s head began spinning at high velocity, her hair flaring out like an umbrella from the centrifugal force.

"Whoa!" Teiro clapped. A split second later, a kick from Marl sent him flying out of his seat.

"We! Are! At! War! Okay?!"

"O-Okay, Ma'am! Dammit, how does she always hit me right in the vitals..."

"You say something?"

"Nothing! Sorry! [LINKAGE OVERDRIVE], go!"

A momentary sensation of weightlessness followed by the slight tug of acceleration. Teiro watched the [SIMULTANEOUS FLEET WARP] confirm on the Radar Screen and then promptly collapsed onto the floor in relief.

Honestly, I thought I might die for a second.

Marl stood up, her work paused by the warp. "Me too," she sighed. She walked over to Etta’s seat and gently stroked the girl’s hair. "We really owe Etta for this. Look at her, she’s out cold. She must be exhausted."

"By the way, Mr. Teiro," Koume said. Her head was still facing backward—apparently, she’d hit a snag in the gears. "I noticed an entirely unnecessary gimmick in the electronic deception package you sent. The one you created. Koume fails to see the tactical utility. Care to explain?"

Teiro looked at the backward-headed AI and shuddered. "Well, it wasn't necessary, strictly speaking. Just a mood thing. I had the leftover code from when we were looking for Marl, and Etta was doing all the heavy lifting, so I had some free time. Given what those guys have done to us... well, it was probably immature. I don't know."

He didn't try to hide it. He’d sent a countdown timer to the enemy just to mess with their heads.

Koume nodded—to the rear. Then, as if giving up on the mechanical jam, she popped her own head off with a cartoonish thwip.

"As an AI, Koume cannot comprehend such things, but perhaps that is the human condition. Regardless, the target is confirmed destroyed. Given her skill, she was likely a high-value individual. Removing her is a net positive for our survival. Also, if Koume may offer an honest opinion..."

The AI tucked her own head under her arm and gave a very human shrug.

"It was quite refreshing. A classic 'serves you right' scenario."

The face on the head tucked under her arm twisted into a smug, triumphant grin. Teiro laughed, and Marl joined in.

"But hey, that was just round one. We barely scraped by. The real show starts now," Teiro said, his smile fading as Marl helped him up.

"Affirmative, Mr. Teiro. Despite the damage dealt, the enemy Second Fleet is still a massive threat, and their Main Fleet is closing in. The battle has only just begun."

Koume, now perfectly expressionless again, spoke from the head beneath her armpit.

"You're right. Just the first round..." Marl muttered, exhausted.

They all nodded. Somewhere out there, the Survey Team and the Doctor were supposed to be sending a signal. All three of them were looking in different directions, but on the BISHOP interface, they were all staring at the same blank line, waiting for the connection to flicker to life.