Chapter 65

Battle-induced adrenaline has a funny way of steamrolling every other emotion into a fine paste.

Taro felt a pang of genuine grief for the crews of the ships currently sinking into the void, but he couldn't afford to let his mind wander. Now was really, really not the time for a moment of silence.

"Koume, shield status!"

"Remaining capacity is sixty percent, Mr. Teiro."

"Teiro, here comes another volley!" Marl screamed.

"Aw, son of a—!"

Taro yanked the controls, sending the ship into a violent spiral. A massive impact shuddered through the hull, and his seatbelt tried its best to saw him in half.

[HULL DAMAGE RATE: 15% — ALERT]

"Bulkhead 3 is compromised. Turret 2 has gone silent. We have fires breaking out!" Koume reported with terrifying calmness.

"Dammit, damage control, move it! Seal it off block by block!"

The enemy Battleship was spitting out periodic bombardments like a vengeful god. These high-capacity Beams didn't give a damn about jamming; they just tore through space in a straight line, gunning for the Plum II.

Taro had bought them some breathing room by spamming the Scan Scrambler to break their Lock-ons, but the enemy had clearly toggled some kind of stabilizer. His tricks weren't working anymore.

To make matters worse, the Plum II’s turrets were dinky little things meant for swatting WIND, while the enemy Battleships were parked in a different zip code. Sure, he could fire the Railgun warheads in a straight line, but once they left the BISHOP’s communication range, they’d be useless. Without guidance, a railgun round was just a very expensive piece of space debris.

Unless, of course, the projectile happened to have a massive receiver shoved inside it.

"Just a little more... almost there!"

Two coordinate functions flickered on Taro’s BISHOP display.

They were screaming toward the enemy Battleship, seconds away from hitting the "oh no" zone.

"Teiro, the Fortress Cannons are toast," Alan’s voice crackled over the comms. "Worst-case scenario, we’re gonna have to bail with whoever’s left. Get back here and regroup, fast!"

Taro let out a pathetically high-pitched squeak. Alan wasn't just giving advice; he was saying, If you don't move your ass, we're leaving without you.

"Full speed ahead! Retract the Turret Bays! Divert all power to jamming and shields!"

Taro abandoned his pathetic attempts at offense and gunned it toward the defensive line where Alan’s fleet was holding on by a thread. He danced between Beams, played chicken with approaching frigates, and wove through the gaps in the space mines Alan’s team had dumped in the water.

[REPORT: TORPEDO WARHEAD HAS REACHED DESIGNATED COORDINATES]

The notification popped up on his BISHOP. Taro swallowed hard. "The ship is yours!" he barked at no one in particular, then squeezed his eyes shut.

Focus. Be the torpedo.

[NO. 1: BEAM DETECTED — DIRECT HIT ROUTE]

[ATTITUDE CONTROL: PARALLEL — NO. 1]

[NO. 1: BEAM DETECTED — DIRECT HIT ROUTE 3]

[SHIELD ACTIVATED: OUTPUT AUTO — NO. 1]

[NO. 2: DEBRIS INCINERATION LASER Sensed]

[SHIELD ACTIVATED: SUSTAINED OUTPUT 5% — NO. 2]

[NO. 1: ENGINE THRUSTER 2 DAMAGED]

[ENGINE THRUSTER 4 OUTPUT: OFF — NO. 1]

Taro piloted the Torpedo Warheads toward Dingo’s Large-scale Battleship as if they were extensions of his own limbs. And technically, they were; they used almost the exact same control logic as a ship. A mountain of data flooded his brain, but he didn't let it pile up—he just processed and discarded it with mechanical efficiency.

The tiny thrusters, shields, special armor, and batteries packed into the torpedoes were burning out one by one, sacrificed just to dodge the enemy's Beams and Lasers. The main thrusters, having done their job, were jettisoned, their metallic guts used as makeshift chaff to mess with the enemy’s sensors.

Die, you over-budget behemoth! This torpedo cost less than your captain’s lunch, I bet!

The tip of the torpedo finally reached the enemy vessel. Even as its velocity was bled dry by the enemy’s Physical Shield, it made a tiny, insignificant clink against the Battleship’s thick armor plating.

A microscopic current flowed into the laser fuse.

The entire voltage of every battery in the projectile was converted into a Beam, punching through a specialized metal plate.

A tiny blue light, no thicker than a few millimeters, poured into a small Capsule.

A device operating on the same principles as a starship's engine suddenly decided to convert tens of thousands of times its usual fuel load into something else entirely.

"Is that... light?" Alan whispered.

He stared at his external monitor. It was a blinding, white-hot bloom that grew until it threatened to swallow the entire screen.

"Alan—the kid—he really—did it. I’m picking up—insane levels—of radiation—" Bella’s voice was half-drowned by static.

Alan didn't look away from the screen. "Yeah, I see it. My monitor just crapped out from the EMI. That was a Thermonuclear Warhead. Or should I call it a Reaction Weapon to be fancy? Dammit, I really need to brush up on my history books."

He stared at the blacked-out screen in sheer disbelief. A few seconds later, the electronics rebooted, and the glare faded.

"Since nobody’s ever done that before, there weren't any rules against it," Bella’s voice returned. "But I have a feeling we’re not getting invited back to any space stations for a while."

"Outside is one thing, but if that went off inside a dock, it’d be total annihilation," Alan muttered. "Yeah, we’re definitely banned from internal docking for life."

"Well, look on the bright side—things are looking up. Seeing a little hope yet?"

The Dingo Fleet wasn't just relying on their Battleships; the Fortress Cannons were already gone, so the big ships were technically redundant now. Still, the situation was "suck-adjacent" at best.

"If the fleet Teiro left behind shows up, maybe... but even then..." Alan switched his display to find the Plum II, which was currently hauling ass to reach them. "This might be selfish of me, but..."

He tapped his console, overriding the comms.

"Even if we protect Alpha to the last man, if Teiro dies, we lose. That’s the one thing I won't allow."

In the vacuum of space, there is no air to carry a shockwave. A nuclear blast doesn't behave like it does on Earth. But the flood of neutrons carries heat—enough to melt a hull instantly, turning metal into vapor and triggering a secondary explosion of superheated gas.

The Dove-class Battleship looked like a giant invisible beast had taken a massive bite out of its flank. Taro felt a fleeting moment of guilt looking at the wreckage, but it was quickly drowned out by a wave of pure, unadulterated spite.

"Take that, you assholes! That’s for my employees!"

Taro screamed at the monitor. He knew they couldn't hear him, but it felt damn good to say it.

"Teiro! I know you're having a moment, but the fight isn't over!" Marl yelled.

"I know, I know!" Taro snapped back, switching his display to the Radar Screen. "That Battleship is out of the game. Now, which one of these jerks is next—wait, what?"

Taro went to grab the turret controls, but a sudden, eerie silence fell over the battlefield.

"Did the shooting... stop?"

Confused, Taro opened a channel to Alan. "Uh, Alan? Something’s weird."

"Yeah, I see it. Teiro, kill your engines immediately. An Emergency Ceasefire has been declared."

"A ceasefire? You mean that thing where we stop shooting to talk about how much we hate each other?"

"That’s the one. Sorry, I took the liberty of negotiating with the other side. It was an emergency. Don't be mad."

"Mad? I’m thrilled!" Taro breathed, shutting down the main drives. He tapped the reverse thrusters just enough to keep his relative position stable.

In the world of Private Military Law, trying to sneak into a better position during a ceasefire negotiation was considered a "dick move" and a major legal violation. Thanks to his Overridden knowledge, Taro knew that being a sneaky bastard right now would get them all executed.

"I mean, we were basically five minutes from being space-dust, so I’ll take the breather... but why the hell did that Dingo guy agree to it?"

Taro was a believer in his own hype, but even he knew the odds were still heavily in Dingo’s favor. He’d crippled one big ship, but that wasn't exactly a game-changer for the whole war.

"They have their reasons. My guess? That Battleship is still technically alive. The repair bill is going to be astronomical, but it's cheaper than building a new one from scratch. Anyway, kid... you really pulled it off."

Alan was actually grinning. Taro rubbed his nose, feeling smug. "Everyone talked smack when I showed off the Plum II, but look at her now! Pretty great, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I surrender. You win. Honestly, I was blown away. You actually stuffed a full set of ship avionics into a torpedo?"

"You bet. Though the Plum had to do some of the heavy lifting remotely."

"Can't you automate that? I thought the Old World had tech for that."

"I mean, probably? But if they jam the signal, the torpedo turns into a very expensive paperweight. Manual control is the only way to be sure."

"I see... so you did all that by hand? You're a certified madman, Teiro. I’m impressed and slightly terrified." Alan let out a dry, barking laugh. He checked his side-monitor. "Looks like the other side is ready to talk."

He paused, his expression turning serious. "We don't have a lot of cards to play, which is actually our biggest strength right now. I'm sending you some data that might work as leverage. Give it a look. It’ll help."

Alan tapped his terminal. Taro pulled up the file, skimming through the contents.

"Oh," Taro muttered, his eyes widening. He looked back at Alan with a gaze of pure, unmixed respect. "I see. You're a sneaky old man, aren't you?"