Chapter 220

"Sniping with a Large-caliber Cannon, huh? Between the Carriers and this, they certainly have a lot of tricks up their sleeves."

A streak of blue light shrieked past the hull. On the Bridge of the Mercenaries Expeditionary Fleet Flagship, Sod watched the monitor with a look that was half-impressed and half-exhausted.

"Does this mean they anticipated this exact situation?" the Adjutant asked, his face a mask of sullen professionalism.

Sod let out a bitter chuckle. "Hardly."

He stood up from his command seat and leaned toward the viewport, peering into the void. "In our last encounter, they only fired that cannon once. It wasn't because they were holding back; they literally couldn't use it. The ship’s mass is far too small for a gun of that caliber. If it were otherwise, they would have been peppering us the whole time."

"Our Observation Team reached the same conclusion, and yet..."

The Adjutant stepped up beside Sod, looking out just as another streak of blue light lanced through the formation, disappearing into the distance behind them. To protect themselves, the fleet had rotated their frontal armor away from the direction of travel, essentially retreating at a crawl.

"They’re firing in rapid succession now," the Adjutant continued. "Perhaps they can’t use it on the front lines? Maybe it requires some kind of specialized support system? Regardless, it’s cut our cruising speed in half. It’s an incredibly effective stalling tactic."

In the cold reality of space, mass and power were everything. You couldn't just slap thick armor on every square inch of a ship; it had to be concentrated at the front. This was why Warships weren't spheres or cubes, but long, narrow needles—maximizing armor while minimizing the target profile.

Essentially, spaceships were built to go forward. Moving backward was a sluggish, pathetic affair.

"We can’t expect resupply, so if they puncture our fuel tanks, it’s game over," Sod grumbled. "I’m not turning my ass to them even if I’m dying. I guess this is just a game of chicken."

Sod rubbed the back of his hand, checking the holographic clock. They were way behind the schedule set by Operations Headquarters, but they hadn't quite hit his "absolute disaster" threshold yet.

"Oh, it looks like those idiots are finally making a move," the Adjutant noted, looking at a tactical overlay.

Sod knew exactly who "those idiots" were: the Independent Unit under Yotta’s command. He let out an irritated growl. "Is there nothing inside those morons' heads? They saw that perfect Simultaneous Fleet Overdrive the enemy pulled earlier, and they still think they can catch them? On top of that, we're in the enemy’s backyard!"

"Quite right, sir. Shall we order them to stand down?"

"No... but send a warning anyway. They’re outside our direct chain of command, so I can’t force them to stop."

The enemy was either a group of god-tier veterans or they were packing some seriously high-end Link Stabilizers. Their fleet jumps were terrifyingly precise. Sod knew that if Yotta tried a mindless Assault, the enemy would just blink away and laugh.

"Charging into five hundred ships with fifty of their own... is that courage, or just stupidity?" the Adjutant asked with a grimace.

Sod didn't answer, though he knew the truth. It wasn't courage. It was the fact that Yotta’s personal unit was composed almost entirely of raving drug addicts.

"I suppose we should keep an eye on them?" the Adjutant asked, sounding thoroughly fed up.

Sod sighed and shrugged. "We have to. They’re a nightmare to deal with, but I don’t need them screaming to the brass later that we abandoned them."

With a few keystrokes, Sod granted the Adjutant partial access to the ship's sensor suite. It was a specialized Scan System built specifically for a Sonarman. While it didn't hold a candle to Yotta’s specialized gear, the Adjutant was a trained Sonarman himself. In this Expeditionary Fleet, every two ships shared one specialist.

"It looks like the enemy fled as expected," the Adjutant muttered, his eyes glazed as he focused on the data feed. "But... wait. What is this? There’s a massive debris field. Is it a minefield?"

Sod’s eyebrow shot up. Debris? He felt a momentary wave of relief; surely they couldn't have scattered that many mines so quickly.

"Even for them, positioning themselves inside their own Minefield seems a bit much. I’d have to question their sanity."

"I don't know, sir, but the volume is staggering. The individual signatures are so small they look like a fog on the sensors... My apologies. This is as much as I can pull with my current output."

The Adjutant wiped sweat from his brow, exhaling sharply.

"That’s enough," Sod said, comforting him.

But internally, Sod was recalculating. If the enemy had the logistics to deploy and operate that many mines, they were far more cunning than he’d given them credit for.

"If we’d had a more accurate map, we could have avoided this mess entirely," Sod muttered. "It all comes down to one thing: poor preparation."

On Sod’s map, the area the enemy had jumped to was listed as empty Interstellar Space. There shouldn't have been any Drive Particle corridors there. Yet, the enemy had jumped right into it. The map was garbage.

What was the top brass thinking? This could have been avoided with a single scout team.

Sod kept the thought to himself. War was eighty percent preparation—a rule that hadn't changed since the dawn of time.

"Yotta’s unit is trying to turn back... Oh, wow. That’s brutal," the Adjutant said, wincing at the Detailed Scan.

"Report," Sod commanded.

"Six ships are dead in the water—no turning maneuvers at all. Another ten are showing massive delays. The ones still moving are fumbling around, presumably trying to avoid the mines. If they aren't just panicking, then they’ve taken catastrophic damage."

"..."

"And now the enemy has started sniping the disabled ships. We have enough Electronic Warfare Craft to jam the targeting for now, but we can't do that forever. At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we can even evacuate the survivors."

"So they played us perfectly. I guess we shouldn't be celebrating the fact that they stopped shooting at us," Sod said. "But really, what the hell did they throw out there? I’ve never heard of anti-ship mines you can dump in those quantities. Is it some kind of new Gigantech weapon?"

Sod remembered the enemy's ties to Gigantech Corp and the Imperial Navy. The Imperial Navy had been experimenting with new kinetic weaponry lately, and the enemy flagship was definitely packing live-ammo guns.

"Our Intelligence Department didn't have anything on this, but then again, they also missed the fact that the enemy had Carriers. It’s possible," the Adjutant said, reaching for his communicator. "I'll see if I can get a confirmation on the ordnance type."

Sod nodded silently, staring at the useless map on the screen. When the war started, he’d praised the high command for having such detailed maps of the frontier. Now, he wanted to burn them.

"It’s a long Corridor... but if we break through, we’re right at the objective. If we can just endure this..."

Sod traced the thin line of Drive Particles they were following. Being harassed by Carrier Assaults and long-range sniping for the entire duration of the transit was going to be a physical and mental hell.

"Admiral... um..."

The Adjutant held the communicator, looking utterly bewildered. He shook his head as if trying to clear a daze.

"We’ve identified the mines. They’re fifty-centimeter kinetic projectiles, remotely operated. They have a built-in Plasma Expansion Body that triggers a small-scale explosion. They're designed specifically to shred engines and thrusters. The main armor and weapon systems are reportedly untouched."

"Hmm. A very niche weapon. Anti-drone, perhaps?" Sod mused. "It’s certainly what they need right now, but the utility is so limited. Have they been mass-producing these things since peacetime?"

"No, sir... that’s the thing. They weren't produced as weapons at all."

"A modified civilian product? 'Kinetic projectile' is a bit vague. What were they originally?"

"Well... the report says... I mean, they even sent over the video feed, but..."

The Adjutant stammered, his face turning an interesting shade of red.

"Answer the question!" Sod snapped, his patience fraying.

The Adjutant snapped to attention, his spine cracking. "Sir! My apologies! The enemy deployed... Dildos!"

A heavy, suffocating silence filled the bridge.

Finally, Sod blinked. "I’m sorry, I think I misheard you."

"You did not, Admiral. Dildos. Vibrators, kokeshi, Harigata—there are many names, but they are adult self-pleasure toys. Given the enemy’s... business portfolio, I suppose it makes sense. It seems they were originally designed for remote operation via BISHOP."

The Adjutant scratched his cheek awkwardly. Sod, unsure of what expression a man was supposed to make in this situation, settled for a long, weary sigh.

"I don’t know whether to praise their flexibility or be insulted that we're being stopped by sex toys," Sod said. "How many of these things... uh... do they have?"

"One moment... According to the data, their annual production is in the tens of millions. We don't know the cost or time required for weaponization, but they likely have a massive stockpile."

"Right. Okay. Fine."

Sod took another deep breath and picked up the fleet-wide communicator. It was time to give the order.

"Group Fleet Commander to all ships. Change course one-hundred and eighty degrees. Execute a full turn and bring engines to maximum cruising speed. Ignore the sniping."

The order went out directly to every flagship. Sod then opened a secure line to a section of the ship that usually sat idle.

"We’re prioritizing speed over safety?" the Adjutant asked, skeptical.

"No," Sod said, shaking his head. He barked a quick command into the line and turned back to his subordinate. "I won't tolerate any more damage before the decisive battle, and I'm done dealing with their absurd tactics. We’re going to stop their attacks, advance at full speed, and crush their main force. And while we’re at it, we’ll pick up those idiots stranded in the dildo field. No matter how pathetic they are, they're still our allies."

Sod spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The Adjutant tilted his head.

"Is that even possible, sir?"

Sod looked at him with a deadpan expression. "It’s simple. We’re just going to declare a ceasefire. Broadcast it to everyone—friend, foe, and anyone else listening. Make it as flashy as possible."

Why is it? Even though I'm supposed to be writing a serious story.