Chapter 68: V.S. Monoz Tank Part 2

“Did we get it!?” Eevee crowed.

She didn’t need to say it. And, as you’d expect—or as I feared—we hadn’t.

It’s another quirk of the ball-wheel type: they can’t brace. That turned out to work in our favor this time. The close-range round we put into the Monoz tank hit at a bad angle for the armor and knocked the thing clear off balance, but it didn’t kill it. We’d done real damage—the armor delaminated where it couldn’t regenerate—but that was all. It hadn’t reached the core. So what do you do? Repeat.

The Monoz tank lurched and rolled itself back upright. We weren’t going to stand around and wait.

A second shell slammed into the spot where the tank was trying to regain posture.

I pulled the trigger.

What a sniper is asked to do is obvious.

One shot / one kill.

That’s the art and the basics.

I aimed at the Monoz tank’s “eye” peeking out through the armor. —No good. Missed.

The shot didn’t reach. Bad position. I’d aimed for the tiny gap between hull and sand, but the angle was wrong; the bullet skimmed grit and hopped. I’d have to get off the buggy to make that shot.

But charging a tank on foot is practically suicide. I didn’t want to give up mobility.

Three seconds. I brace.

I wanted the Boar Unit I’d left parked back there. With that sort of armor, sustained fire like the Boar Unit’s LMG would have been far more effective. I’d misjudged and chosen Dragon Unit for the tire role, valuing single-shot punch over sustained damage. Now—

“…Eevee.”

“Oh? Move over. I’ll take it.”

A soft thud, thud as Eevee hopped down onto the sand. I slid forward into the driver’s seat and gripped the handles.

“Take the front, Horse Unit.”

—Beep! came the electronic reply.

Eevee slipped onto my back, wrapping her arms around my waist. I felt her weight settle, and I opened the throttle.

The tank’s third shell slammed into the Monoz tank just as we surged forward, accelerating past the explosion.

Gunfire rattled behind us. Eevee had risen to stand, balancing on one of my shoulders, firing from her right arm-mounted weapon as we passed.

“Damn it! It’s not working!”

Her frustration was justified.

Each bullet punched holes through the Monoz tank’s armor, only for them to seal shut the next second, flesh knitting over metal.

Eevee cursed again, reaching into the pouch on her hip. She drew a larger round—its warhead tipped with a red crystal.

A hiss escaped her armor as her living exoskeleton flexed and opened at the right arm. She fed the crimson round into it.

“Toji, get closer.”

“…”

No ‘Roger that.’ Just movement.

I leaned into the turn, tilting the buggy into a diagonal slide across the sand, drawing us nearer to the Monoz tank’s flank.

Its side-mounted guns opened up—machine-gun fire tracing the air behind us, kicking up little fountains of sand.

We tore through the storm, leaving the fear of pursuit behind and focusing only on speed.

“Eat this—A.P. round!”

An armor-piercing shell.

Eevee fired, the heavy round slamming into the Monoz tank’s hull, crumpling, penetrating, then detonating deep inside after the fuse delay. A deep whump echoed from within the armor.

“Did we get it!?”

“…”

She said the one thing she shouldn’t have.

Which, of course, meant—no, we hadn’t.

The shot had missed the eye.

***

The desert night was cold.

That was probably why the Monoz who regrouped with us handed over a ghillie cloak and a pair of cushions. Night camouflage—thin, low-luminance ivory fabric, not woven but sealed tight, windproof, and almost too warm.

I gave one of the cushions to Eevee and sat down by the fire.

Since tanks could haul cargo, Tank Dog had managed to bring a surprising amount of supplies—chairs, dishes, even food—onto the battlefield. I accepted a cup of coffee from him, then spoke as he sat in his folding chair, roasting marshmallows.

“Infantry firepower won’t cut it.”

“Even yours, Hound?”

“…”

Tank Dog grinned, all teeth, and I let my expression show exactly how little I appreciated it.

To be honest, I did have a way—but it was risky, and I’d rather not use it.

“Even mine,” I admitted. “What about you?”

“With tank-grade A.P. rounds? They don’t even penetrate. That armor’s too damn good. It’s got give, it responds to damage dynamically. When a hit should’ve been fatal, it just softened and bled the impact. Nothing gets through.”

He tossed me the big bag of marshmallows. I grabbed a handful—five—and dropped them into my coffee. I’d seen people do it with cocoa, but it worked surprisingly well here too.

“…I see.”

That’s unfortunate.

I took another sip. Steam curled white into the desert air.

Eevee, curious, sidled up next to me with Rudo in her arms and leaned against my shoulder. I offered her the mug. She didn’t bother taking it—just drank straight from it. Rude.

“So, Hound,” Tank Dog said, “what’s the real plan?”

“…There is a way.”

I glanced at him. And you?

“Well, obviously I’ve got a trump card or two.” 

“Then let’s use yours.”

“Nah, I wanna see what you’ve got, Hound. Come on.”

“…My method doesn’t increase our base firepower. It’s complicated.”

“Too bad. I wanna see how good my cute junior really is. Do as you’re told, junior.”

“…”

“…”

We stared each other down for five long seconds. Then—shff!—I threw my hand out. Tank Dog met it instantly.

“…From the start, huh.”

“Yeeah.”

I’d gone with paper. Victory was mine.

“Too bad, junior.”

But Tank Dog, anticipating my smugness, had thrown scissors.

“…”

And that’s how I ended up being the one stuck with the hard part.

***

Fox Hunt

It was what my old mentor used to call fox hunting—a method that couldn’t be more fitting for a hound.

You flush the prey with your pack, drive it where you want it, and bring it straight into your line of fire. Monoz at your side, you herd, corner, and finish with one clean shot.

One shot. One kill.

A hunter’s creed made real.

I never liked it much.

Guiding a target into the crosshairs purely through maneuvering is a tedious business. It’s far easier to reposition yourself alongside the bait. But this time, that wasn’t an option—my target’s mobility dwarfed anything an infantryman like me could manage.

I lowered myself into the cold sand, pulling up the hood of my ghillie cloak against the desert chill. Its dull ivory weave drank in the moonlight without reflecting a glint. Perfect for lying still, invisible.

I settled in for a prone shot, letting the sand swallow me whole.

“Looks like everyone’s in position, Toji. The drive’s starting,” Eevee said softly beside me, crouched for retreat duty.

“Got it.”

She, the Horse Unit now shaped into a Monoku form, and the Observer—Rat Unit—all wore the same ghillie weave, blending into the dunes.

We were the trap. We couldn’t afford to be seen.

Right eye to the scope.

Left eye tracking the map.

Blue dots converged on a single red one.

Tank Dog was a Dog too—a pack hunter. He commanded both his own Monoz and mine as though they were extra limbs, herding the prey straight toward me.

“…”

Impressive. The pervert actually had talent.

Through the scope, I caught sight of the Monoz tank tearing across the sand, fleeing this way. Occasionally, through the shifting armor and dust, I saw it—that glint of a Monoz eye beneath the hull.

That was the weak point.

That was the shot.

I loaded a round: one of Akito’s old Kamisawa Heavy Industries prototypes—an APCR rifle round. A high-velocity, hard-core anti-armor slug designed to pierce tanks by sheer speed, sacrificing weight for penetration.

That would be my bullet.

I ran the numbers.

Distance.

Time to impact.

The rhythm of its movements.

The rotation of that hidden eye beneath the armor.

To kill it, I had to account for everything—the armor’s swallowing motion, the fraction of a second delay before the shot connected. I had to imagine the unseen.

“…”

What a pain.

Too many calculations. I was overthinking it. Fine. Simpler is better.

Shoot. Kill.

I squeezed the trigger.

Didn’t bother watching the impact—cycled the bolt, fired again.

Metal screamed as rounds punched into armor. Another reload, another shot. Breath steady, rhythm precise.

“…” I wet my lips. “—” A sharp exhale cut the tension.

Probably the second round. That one hit.

The Monoz tank staggered. I rose from the sand, watching it lose balance.

Watching through binoculars, Eevee’s ears perked.

“We got it—wait, ow! Did you just hit me, Toji!?”

Don’t tempt me.

I reached over, tugging at her cheek until it stretched, and whispered by her ear, “We got it.”