Chapter 50: Long-Range Snipe

This is harassment.

So there’s no need for anything complex.

Call the bombardment point B-1, and the mortar teams A-1 through A-6.

If we arrange the As around B-1, preparations are complete.

First A-1 fires with mortars. Keep shooting even if Bubbles come out; if they start to close, fall back. Then A-2 begins firing. Repeat the cycle.

It’s harassment. Lure Bubbles out from B-1, make a gap, move in on the nest, plant bombs, boom.

Mortar accuracy doesn’t need to be great. It’s a dumb, volume-based harassment anyone can do.

That was the plan I drew up.

Using the improvised mortars we’d made on site and the cheap shells they required, the operation would be low cost with a good payoff. Nice ratio.

Hey, not bad, I thought. I’m actually being clever. Smart, even.

Or so I thought.

Good thing I never said that out loud.

After all, it was my plan. It collapsed on the first move.

We made contact well before the planned mortar emplacement points.

A nest is a base. Of course, it has sentries.

Mortars have a short range. Of course, the sentries would cover that area.

They say a fool’s thinking is almost like resting; I should have rested. I should have kept quiet.

What now? I counted three seconds. …Can we do it? Do it.

“Rikan, let’s turn the bombardment teams into intercept teams. My Monoz will accompany you. Maintain current positions, pick off the sentry Bubbles, and using pillboxes and trenches, make a crude strongpoint, then bait them as planned.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to pull back?”

Rikan’s judgement was sound.

The plan had always been a stretch. Retreating would be the sensible thing. But—

“I don’t care. Even if we return beaten, the worst that happens is they say, ‘See? Humans in high rank are useless,’ and I get demoted.”

“Same for me… but I don’t care, you know?”

“But there’s something they can easily turn into an excuse to hold me responsible.”

The children: hardly any use in battle, easy to crush with little guilt, yet capable of dealing damage to me.

“Say it out loud, Ratchet.”

“Risk your life for human children, Tooth.”

“Well said. Then what shall we do?”

Rikan grinned. The bespectacled cat-ear youth adjusted his glasses as if to say, here we go again.

So, what should we—Rikan, Vulture, the cat-ear-glasses kid, Snake Unit, and I, the stealth team—do? With the mortars failing to inflict damage, only we can do damage directly. But it’s impossible. We don’t have the flashy diversion the original plan promised.

…Still, even a subtle diversion is a diversion. Even if we can’t plant explosives, there are things we can do. For example—

“Take out an anomalous individual, the Mother Bubble.”

“No way!”

The cat-ear-glasses kid immediately cut off my mutter.

“Other Bubbles are always around a Mother Bubble! You can’t even approach it in the first place!”

Makes sense. Then—

“If you can’t get close, don’t get close. Shoot from outside the escort perimeter. Rejoice, Cat-Eared Glasses. Your superior only needs to give the order for that to be possible.”

Right, Rikan?

My gaze landed on him, and Rikan gave a sly grin.

“The escort radius is roughly fifteen hundred meters centered on the Mother. You can’t drop it with one shot, so you’ll need to shoot from about two thousand meters out. Can you hit it from there?” Rikan said.

“There’s a recorded hit at two thousand five hundred. If there’s a record, then it can be done.”

“The target is at best fist-sized…”

“A big target. I once did a one-hole shot,” I said.

“Is that so… then go, Ratchet. Let your howl be heard.”

Rikan thrust out his fist as he spoke.

“Understood, Gabriel.”

I slammed my fist into his.

***

First, we needed to find the target. I decided to put Vulture and Snake Unit to work on that. There was a small problem.

Snake Unit can’t scout.

But the units that can—Rat Unit, Rabbit Unit, Rooster Unit, Dog Unit—were positioned neatly on the opposite side, flanking B-1. Deploying the command Rat Unit and Team Momotaro on the far side hadn’t been a bad idea, but now I felt a little regretful.

Well, it can’t be helped.

Scouting is vital, but not being found is even more important.

In that sense, it was fortunate to have Snake Unit, who had stealth, beside us.

Calmly, carefully, but still quickly.

I pinned a rather reckless task on one man and one machine, then Rikan, the cat-eared glasses kid, and I hid behind a rock.

I had to avoid needless fights for the sake of the shot; the other two needed to avoid combat while guarding me.

A few lazy sentry Bubbles drifted over. If we didn’t move, they wouldn’t spot us. So we didn’t move. They came almost within reach. Still confident we hadn’t been detected, we stayed still. Cat-ear-glasses held a hand to his mouth to stifle his breath; Rikan gave a great big yawn and laughed when he saw that. I laughed too. Cat-ear-glasses gaped at us, but from our point of view, he was overreacting.

Some time passed.

The interception teams kept up a steady bait and continued to draw them out.

『From Vulture to Ratchet: target spotted.』

“Well done, Vulture. Send the coordinates to my terminal.”

I say it, and check my terminal. Ten seconds. The target coordinates arrive on the screen. I set a marker and name it B2. We slip out from behind the rock and begin moving to the sniper point. I ordered Vulture and Snake Unit to link up with the interception teams. I don’t want them trailing in here with us.

We walk for about three minutes.

The spot, just under two thousand meters from B2, looks peaceful at a glance. No Bubbles floating about.

I toss down a cushion and go prone.

“I’ll do the spotting,” says the cat-ear glasses kid.

I nod and bring the scope to my eye.

A noticeably large yellow Bubble drifts into view. Its core looks like a single dot.

Am I going to shoot that dot clean through?

Is this impossible?

Was I a fool for trying to look cool earlier?

I smile. It’s too late now. I already know I’m a fool.

I squeeze the trigger.

The round veers wildly to the right.

The cat-ear glasses murmurs something, probably adjustments. Sorry, I hear the sound, but I don’t register the words. I make the correction.

Kii.

The gears grind.

I feel life settle onto my fingertip as the trigger engages.

Kill. I can kill. Life reaches me.

I fire at a point two thousand meters away. I pull the trigger.

Miss.

I feel it. The life that had perched on my fingertip spills off.

I see.

Even the slightest motion when pulling the trigger can spill it.

I knew it would be hard, but this long-range snipe—aiming for a point two thousand meters away—is really difficult.

Like frost on a dark night.

It’s something the JSDF teaches about pulling the trigger.

You must pull the trigger gently.

I place the Mother Bubble’s life back onto the tip of my finger.

I can hit it. Right now, I can hit it.

I breathe out. My aim wavers.

I breathe in. My aim wavers.

I stop breathing. I stop my body. I stop the gun.

Slowly, gently, I pull the trigger.

The report of the shot seems unbearably loud. Cold runs down my spine. The round is already on its way, but I take my face off the scope.

“It hit,” I say, to no one in particular.