After exaggerating things like that, the other end of the line suddenly fell silent.
The General felt somewhat uneasy.
If the other party flew into a rage, there was actually a good chance some useful solution would emerge.
But this silence…
It smelled of uncertainty.
“How about this?
I’ll transfer the two Typhons currently with me over to your side.
Do your best to keep the people from Section 6 trapped inside.
If they manage to escape, I’ll find someone else to handle the problem of containing them.”
“Understood, Boss.”
“Good.
Keep up the good work.”
Beep…
Beep…
Beep…
The busy tone after the call ended continued for a long time.
The General sat alone in the temporary shack, gazing out at the Hollow’s distorted and ever-shifting sky.
His expression changed repeatedly.
Something was wrong.
This wasn’t normal.
Too straightforward.
He chewed over those words again in his mind.
He hadn’t been dealing with the person on the other end for only a day or two.
He knew that person’s style.
Precise.
Miserly.
Every step calculated three times over.
According to that person’s usual habits, the first response to the loss of a Typhon should have been to demand a detailed report.
Then assess whether further resources should be committed.
Only after a lengthy back-and-forth would he reluctantly squeeze out a bit of support.
But none of that happened this time.
“I’ll transfer the two Typhons currently with me over to your side.”
Just that one sentence.
No questions.
No criticism.
No bargaining.
The General knew those two Typhons.
They were standing by at another entrance to the Hollow, part of that person’s direct reserve force.
If the order were truly issued, it would take less than thirty minutes from command to arrival on the battlefield.
But the issue wasn’t deployment speed.
The issue was this:
Would two more Typhons actually solve anything?
The General was a career soldier.
He had served in the Defense Force for seventeen years.
From private to major.
He had participated in three Hollow assault operations and commanded battalion-scale combined-arms engagements.
Based on his experience, the answer was simple.
Absolutely not.
The military had a standard tactical doctrine for dealing with powerful individual Agents.
It was called D.I.O.
Not Dio the one who could stop time.
But Delay.
Isolate.
Simply put:
First stall them.
Then isolate them.
Then bury them under far more firepower than necessary.
D.I.O.
was not merely a combat doctrine.
It was also an evaluation framework.
The most important consideration was whether the commander possessed enough firepower to execute the Overkill phase.
Because almost every one of these “superhumans” had some final life-saving trump card.
If the assessment concluded that sufficient firepower was unavailable, then the operation was abandoned immediately.
Negotiate if necessary.
Compromise if necessary.
The target, Tsukishiro Yanagi, was a former officer and the Vice Section Chief of Section 6.
Her individual combat rating was at least A-rank.
At present, the Typhons certainly possessed considerable destructive capability.
But in the end, they were heavy mechs designed to hold the line.
Whether they could truly achieve Overkill was questionable.
At best, quantity might compensate for quality.
But the primary problem right now was that they lacked both Delay and Isolate capabilities.
Worse, it was obvious that the enemy was using superior knowledge of Ethereal distributions to delay them instead.
Without Delay, isolation became difficult.
Without the first two steps, Overkill was impossible.
What they actually needed right now were highly mobile reconnaissance units.
Clone vanguards.
Recon-special operations mechs.
Anything like that.
Not two more lumbering Typhons.
“…Strange.”
He repeated the word quietly.
At that moment, a messenger soldier pushed aside the shack’s curtain.
“General, we’ve found traces of Target B!”
Target B.
Asaba Harumasa.
The archer from Section 6 who had successfully broken through toward the southwest during the factory encirclement.
The General shot to his feet from atop an ammunition crate.
His knee slammed into the corner with a dull thud.
He ignored it.
“Location?”
“An old warehouse to the southeast, about seven hundred meters from here.
Scouts discovered signs that he stopped there briefly.
There’s fresh blood on the ground.
He was probably injured during the breakout.”
“Can we confirm it?”
“The blood was left within the last five minutes.”
The General’s mind completed a new assessment within seconds.
Asaba Harumasa was injured.
That was good news.
Under normal circumstances, dealing with both targets simultaneously required twice the manpower and effort.
But if one of them was wounded, then resources could be concentrated on eliminating the weaker point first.
Control one.
Contain the other.
“Pull personnel from Second Squad.” The source of this chapter is g.com.
He grabbed the communicator and spoke rapidly.
“Tell those bastards to stop hiding behind the Typhons.
There’s only one enemy.
Switch to light equipment and seal off the warehouse perimeter.
Cut off his escape route first.”
The messenger acknowledged the order and hurried away.
The General sat back down on the ammunition crate.
Rather than splitting forces and failing to catch either target, it was better to ensure they secured at least one.
As for the new orders from above, he had already decided how to implement them.
The two Typhons would establish defenses around the Hollow’s perimeter.
If Tsukishiro Yanagi actually managed to escape alive, there would at least be one final blockade waiting.
But just as he had assessed from the beginning—
It was merely a contingency.
Not a solution.
He stared out at the ever-changing sky, his eyes flickering uncertainly.
·
Meanwhile, at another entrance to the Hollow.
The communicator’s indicator light shifted from red to green, signaling that the call had ended.
A black-gloved hand set the communicator down on the table.
The display showed a panoramic terrain map.
Three red circles had been drawn around the outline of Hollow H-037, marking the main entrance, the eastern breach, and the northern old floodgate.
Communications inside and outside the Hollow were heavily restricted.
Even someone like him had been forced to personally come to the rear command area.
The owner of the gloves wasn’t looking at the map.
Instead, his gaze rested on a technician wearing a white hazmat suit.
“Is Plan B ready?”
The technician visibly stiffened.
“Boss…
Plan B is still in the validation stage.
Data from the last live test showed that the Ether Suppression Field can reduce Ether concentration within a designated area below safe-threshold levels within ten minutes.
But the side effect is…
the suppression field itself must draw energy from the Hollow to maintain operation.
And the field itself is unstable.
It could trigger localized Ether collapse…
We haven’t tested the upper limits yet.”
“I’m not asking about the risks.”
The gloved man’s voice remained calm.
“I’m asking whether it’s ready.”
“…The equipment is already loaded onto transport vehicles.
If activated now, deployment can be completed within twenty minutes.”
“Then do it.”
The technician opened his mouth as if to say something more.
But when he saw the utterly emotionless light in the other man’s eyes, he ultimately only nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
After the technician left, the room contained only the gloved man.
He stared at the panoramic map on the table and muttered to himself:
“If this doesn’t work…
then I’ll have no choice but to pretend none of this ever happened.”
★ ★ ★
Shilling time!