Terran Commonwealth · Epsilon Prime · Garipan — War Planning Department
Time: October 29, 2510, Afternoon
[SIGNAL LOST]
On the main screen, the feed from Colonel Gage’s recorder went completely dark after the final explosion. The Sixth Research Office was unnaturally quiet, with only the low hum of the server room’s fans circling in the air.
“Signal source lost… unable to reconnect.” Leo broke the silence, his voice kept as steady as possible. “Backtracking the battlefield network, looking for an alternate source… Found one. The 4th Regiment’s combat comms network is still live. Sir, look—we have an image.”
The screen lit up again, the perspective switching to a deeper trench. The camera was shaking violently, moving from near to far. Still, it was clear enough to see: Gage and his men had reached the 4th Regiment’s position and found the 4th Regiment’s commander, the one he derisively called the “sickly chicken.” The commander was holding an energy cannon, his frame as thin as a blade, desperately holding down the trigger.
[HUD: NEW_SOURCE // 4th_Rgt_COMMS_NET // LINK: UNSTABLE]
The Tartarus Legion’s “Wraith” special ops mechs had already breached the trench. They moved extremely fast, like blades cutting back and forth through the channels. Their claws were sharp, and their shoulder-mounted weapons fired alternately, their close-range sweeps capable of tearing a man in two. The Federation infantry seemed powerless before them, and their own mechs were hesitant, unable to make effective use of their conventional firepower in the close-quarters melee.
“This is a complete slaughter,” Jack said in a low voice, his knuckles white from clenching his fists.
In the footage, a soldier who had been cornered by a “Wraith” yanked the pin on the fusion grenade in his hand. The explosion had no cinematic beat: first, the vibration hit the bones, the whole body feeling like it was struck by a giant hammer; the sound then rushed into the ears like a flood. The shrapnel tore through armor and clothing first, blood and mud mixing together like a smear of dark clay.
[HUD: SHIELD_ANALYSIS // GHOST_SHIELD: HIGH // BLAST_REDUCTION >95%]
“The ‘Wraith’ has over 95% damage reduction against small fusion devices,” Leo read out the data as if reciting a regulation, his tone calm to the point of being cold—he was stating a fact, not a judgment.
Jack watched the screen, a bitter smile on his face. “When your weapons don’t work on the enemy, you turn yourself into a weapon. That’s the last lesson written in human bones.”
That single, tactically “ineffective” grenade didn’t scientifically end the battle, but it moved hearts. Seeing someone dare to make the first self-destructive move, the other soldiers were ignited: a chain reaction of pulled pins and desperate charges. A series of explosions rang out. The fear that had been suppressed turned into a mad bugle call.
An entire company of men threw themselves at the “Wraiths” as if they were bombs. In that chaos, humans became the cheapest and most dangerous armament. For the first time, the Empire’s assault was pushed back a step.
The Federation mechs at the rear of the line seized the opportunity to open fire, a torrent of shells raining down, disrupting the “Wraiths’” advance. The thin 4th Regiment commander still held his energy cannon, leading the remaining soldiers to push outward—the sound of cannons was deafening, shouts mixed with explosions, the entire sky seemed to shake.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Gage tore off his shirt, grabbed a hybrid machine gun, and started firing bare-chested. Mud and blood made his arms slippery. He looked at the “sickly chicken,” a smile on his face, his voice as rough as scraping sheet metal: “You said you were going to save people? Dream on, I’m the one saving you!” He cursed as he ran, his movements as agile as a beast’s.
The 3rd Regiment’s reinforcements held the line for a moment, but more and more “Wraiths” appeared, and the enemy’s momentum began to tear the defensive line apart once again. The situation started to waver.
Suddenly, a Federation comms soldier huddled in a corner screamed desperately: “Artillery, fire! All artillery, suppress the 4th Regiment’s position!”
The 4th Regiment commander, standing next to him, turned and yelled: “Tell them to hurry! Unrestricted rapid fire!”
Leo shot to his feet, the amber cognitive load ring instantly flaring red, his voice filled with alarm: “Sir! He’s calling for artillery to fire on his own position—that’s the ‘Broken Arrow protocol’! The system estimates their casualty rate will approach 100%!”
Jack didn’t yell, nor did he give an order. He stared at the screen, his voice lowered to a whisper: “He’s not crazy. You have to flip the chessboard over to start from zero.”
A loud bang, and the signal shook violently. A shell landed precisely on the position; for a moment, the image froze: a “Wraith” mech took a direct hit from a large-caliber shell, its body exploding in a white light, parts scattering like shrapnel.
Then, the soldiers of the 4th Regiment poured out as if a floodgate had been opened—their movements unexpectedly fast, more agile than the “Wraiths.” They dropped their weapons and scattered toward the rear of the position. Gage’s roar came from off-camera: “Run! Don’t worry about me!”
Gage jumped, rolled, and pulled men as he retreated. The men with him fired as they ran, retreating like they were being dragged by the tail of a wild animal. Not long after they had run, the entire position was once again an echo of continuous explosions.
The image jumped to a relatively safe crater. Gage grabbed the 4th Regiment commander by the collar, mud and blood grinding under his hand.
“You bastard, were you trying to use me as a scapegoat?” Gage gripped his collar, his face a mask of undisguised fury.
The 4th Regiment commander rolled his eyes, furious: “If I didn’t call in the fire, the 4th would be finished, and they would have charged straight into your 3rd Regiment’s trench. Is this how you repay the favor of being saved?!”
Gage almost wanted to punch him, but he just shoved the man away and roared, “Screw you!” The two of them, like a pair of old, bickering brothers, pushed and shoved each other in the dust and smoke. In that moment, they both laughed—a laugh filled with hate, stubbornness, and the instinct of survival.
In the command room, watching all this, a slow smile spread across Jack’s face. It wasn’t a smile of happiness, but of a kind of forced relief. He understood: in this hell, what kept men going wasn’t honor or slogans, but this absurd brotherhood and black humor.
The picture was suddenly interrupted by another signal. Leo’s voice trembled slightly: “Sir, I’m detecting large-scale friendly signals at a distance—the Sixteenth Armored Division! They’re breaking through from the direction of the Highland Jungle, directly reinforcing D1 Highland!”
The reinforcements charged in. The artillery suppression had slowed the Empire’s advance. The vanguard of the Sixteenth Armored Division—a regiment of [Warrior Vanguard] mechs led by Commander Shaw—charged into the fray, fighting desperately with the remaining forces. With the help of their firepower, the position was retaken.
The recording ended here. The screen jumped to the after-action report of the 201st Mechanized Infantry Division: they had withdrawn, but their casualty rate exceeded 60%. The end of the report was marked with a single sentence—as cold as a verdict:
“The 201st Division is the only established unit, out of the three infantry divisions that successively defended D1 Highland, to have withdrawn intact. The previous two defending divisions were completely wiped out, including two commanding generals who personally led the charge.”
Jack stared at that note for a long time, then finally turned off the screen. He turned to Leo, his voice calm but with the weight of a stone in his heart: “Send this recording, and Colonel Gage’s name, to Vice Admiral Snyder. Let him see what his ‘great’ victory was paid for.”
Leo nodded and began to package, encrypt, and send the file. The Sixth Research Office returned to its work, but the weight in everyone’s chest could not be flattened by any machine.
