"Report: leaving out the small rear party guarding the hole, what we have here now, counting your mecha, is seven Phoenix-Guard mecha in all, and forty-three soldiers. Of these seven Phoenix-Guard mecha, yours has lost its long-range firepower; it has barely a tenth of its fighting power left. Of the other six, two have used up their star shields and taken fairly serious damage to their frames; they can still move, but their fighting power is only a little better than your mecha's. The remaining four Phoenix-Guard mecha have a scrap of star shield left each, as good as none, and a little left of their interstellar missiles and interstellar bombs and so on, under thirty percent of the weapons and supplies they'd carry at full strength. As for the soldiers, nearly all forty-three are wounded; three of them badly. Their lives are saved, but they can't fight anymore. Another seven soldiers have serious wounds of varying degree that badly hurt their fighting ability. That's basically where our part stands now."
Hearing her subordinate's report,
Song Keke's heart sank; this was worse than she had imagined.
She looked at the star map, at where they were and where they had planned to get to; they were still three compartment sections short.
But as things stood, it would be very hard to take this battered force any further.
Song Keke glanced at the time again; nearly ten minutes had passed since their boarding action began.
She did not know how things stood outside now. Perhaps because they were inside the enemy starship, their comms with the outside came and went; keeping the starship map in sync was already the best they could do.
"By our original plan, the boarding action lasts twenty minutes from start to finish. When the twenty minutes are up, every heavy interstellar marine must pull out, because that's when the high explosives we've placed in this interstellar warship will be set off remotely." Song Keke looked at a pile of explosives already laid in one corner.
They were explosives the marine soldiers had brought in.
The explosives at this one spot alone were naturally nothing to this interstellar warship.
But by their original plan, there would be a hundred blast points on this interstellar warship.
And just imagine: a hundred blast points going off together, what a sight that would be!
Even if not a hundred, only half of them, it would be astonishing.
And what Song Keke had to decide now was whether to lead her force out, giving up the next three blast points their part was responsible for, or… to keep going forward.
For the fight in this compartment section had already cost them time.
It might well keep them from getting off this interstellar warship within the twenty minutes of the original plan.
And when the time came, those explosives would not care whether they had got out safely; they would go off on schedule.
Song Keke took a deep breath and looked back the way they had come. To go back from here, taking all the wounded with them, would take at least five minutes.
And if they kept going forward, the time to get out would grow still longer.
That was without counting the time for meeting more enemies blocking the way ahead and fighting them.
So most likely, if they kept going forward, there would not be time enough left for them to get out.
And what was more, there were quite a few wounded here.
Song Keke took another deep breath, and this time she made up her mind.
"Units Five and Seven, with the worst frame damage, take the badly wounded and pull back now as far as our hole. Leave seventy percent of the ammunition you're carrying with us. When the time to pull out comes, if we haven't come back, then don't wait for us; pull out at once. Understood!" When Song Keke said this, everyone present naturally understood what she meant to do next.
She meant to go in deeper; she meant to finish the tasks that remained.
"Understood."
"Yes."
On receiving the order, the two damaged mecha at once began unloading some of their weapons and ammunition and handing them to the other interstellar mecha, so that they would have more fighting power to fight with.
At the same time, they cleared this part of the battlefield.
Some of the interstellar marine soldiers could be seen pouring a kind of powder over the bodies of the dead Owl Dragon soldiers.
Very soon the bodies of these Owl Dragon soldiers had turned to powder and blown away.
This was how the Owl Dragon legion fleets now dealt with their comrades' bodies on the battlefield. They used a powder developed from hive technology; the powder was in truth a great many bugs the size of bacteria.
Once activated, they would eat a carbon-based body, and when there was no food left, they died at once.
And in the course of it, even if the carbon-based creature were not yet dead, she would feel no pain at all; the bugs first released a hallucinogenic toxin,
sending those who were about to die but not yet dead into a painless dream, in which they died at last.
For on the battlefield, bodies were in truth very hard to bring back.
And if bodies were left behind, then if the enemy were not beaten in the end, or got the chance to take these bodies home,
these soldiers could be revived in the Owl Dragon Interstellar Empire, true,
but the Owl Dragon's enemies might well use these bodies to shame the Owl Dragon Interstellar Empire; such things had happened before in the history of interstellar war.
That was part of why some commanders, in defeat, would rather blow up along with their flagships than let the enemy have their bodies.
The battlefield was soon cleared.
"Captain, we'll go back, then. Stay safe, all of you." Those about to withdraw saluted Song Keke and the others, who were about to set out again.
Then they watched Song Keke and the others charge into the next compartment section.
"Let's go." The pilot of Unit Seven sighed, looked at the badly wounded soldiers fastened to her mecha, and began moving back the way they had come.
As they left, they seemed to hear the sound of guns and explosions again from behind them.
Five minutes later, they were back at the hole.
The squad left on guard at the hole seemed to have had some fighting too; around the hole some attackers' bodies could be seen.
Probably a force the enemy had sent to clear them out.
"Why is it only you? Where are the captain and the others?" a mecha pilot asked nervously on the comms channel.
"We ran into an enemy ambush in one of the compartment sections; the fight went on too long, and our losses were fairly heavy too. Because of the wounded and the damaged mecha, the captain had us pull back first. She and the others are going on to finish the rest of the tasks," the pilot of Unit Seven explained.
"What? But there are less than five minutes left before we pull out," someone said anxiously.
No one answered.
For they were looking at the red-line track map of this interstellar warship.
The red line where they had stopped had pushed forward again in the meantime; it was now stopped in the last task compartment section, just about to join up with several of the other red lines.
And the time left now was nowhere near enough for them to get out from there.
The fact lay before them; they only did not want to accept it.
They looked at the passage they had come by, wishing so hard that they could see Captain Song Keke and the others there.
"How do things stand outside now?" the pilot of Unit Five asked, to ease the strain on her heart.
For when she glanced at the view outside the hole, she had noticed something not quite right too.
She saw that the fighting on the battlefield far off had grown fiercer, and the enemy seemed to have more interstellar warships.
The pilot of Unit Nine answered, "About five minutes in, the enemy's reinforcement fleet arrived. And it's an interstellar fleet of the other one's legion, the Troll Monarch's; only forty thousand interstellar warships, but it's put no small pressure on our interstellar fleets. So we can't drag things out here any longer. The longer we drag it out here, the more danger our mother ship will be in."
The pilot of Unit Five looked up overhead at their mother ship,
the Golden-Scarab-class Heavy Interstellar Dreadnought No. 2!
There were many marks of attack on this interstellar warship's hull armor now too; at some secondary-gun positions there were even destroyed turrets, rolling smoke, and explosions now and then.
Of what she could see, the worst was one electromagnetic bio-railgun heavy gun; it must have taken a direct hit from some T6-grade main gun or prow main gun.
There was a great hole there; the whole electromagnetic bio-railgun heavy gun turret was gone, leaving only a crater over ten meters long, and the compartment section below had been caught up in it too; broken walls and ruins could be seen.
Luckily, this was a quasi-T7-grade interstellar warship, and so small a wound was nothing much to it.
But time passed bit by bit, and sadly there was still no sign of them.
"There's only one last minute left before the required time. To be safe, we have to pull out now. If we cut it too fine, the blast from those explosives might hit us," the pilot of Unit Nine reminded them just then.
"No! The captain and the others haven't come back yet!" the pilot of Unit Five said through gritted teeth, unwilling to give up.
The pilot of Unit Nine said in a low voice, "I know what you're thinking. The captain had you bring them back so you wouldn't wait here to die. In a moment, our mecha frames can take the blast, but what about the interstellar marine soldiers hanging on the outside of our frames? Can their exoskeleton armor take it? Have you thought about that!"
At these words, the pilot of Unit Five fell silent.
"All right, enough talk. Get ready to go back. Prepare for the return."
In the end, everyone agreed to pull out now.
The pilot of Unit Five took one last look down that deep passage, then silently prepared to start the reserve power in her mecha's feet.
In truth the Phoenix-Guard mecha had rocket thrusters in its feet, but they used the mecha's own stored energy.
So on the way in, to save the mecha's energy, they had used strap-on rocket thrusters,
keeping these for getting out alive.
"Is everyone ready? The enemy may still have defenses outside the hull. Even though we're pulling out, we can't drop our guard; understood!"
"All ready."
"Then pull out now."
At the order, the four Phoenix-Guard mecha here all shot away from the surface of the hull like rockets, flying toward the Golden-Scarab-class Heavy Interstellar Dreadnought No. 2.
As they rose, they could see other heavy interstellar marines pulling out at other spots around them too.
It looked as if dozens of rockets were being launched from the surface of this enemy interstellar warship's hull.
And the defensive fire the Drought-Fiend Ghost-King-class Heavy Strategic Interstellar Multirole Destroyer had left could naturally not let these targets go; its remaining close-in guns kept firing.
None of the heavy interstellar marines pulling out dared drop their guard; the enemy's fire was nowhere near as strong as before,
but they themselves had reached some limit of their own as well.
One slip, and they might be shot down by the enemy ship's close-in guns.
They did not want to add to their own losses at this very last stage.
As she went, the pilot of Unit Five watched for attacks from the enemy ship below, while looking anxiously back at that hole.
How she wished she could see her captain and the others come out safely and well.
But they never did.
Her heart sank slowly to the bottom. Was the worst about to happen…
"Stop daydreaming; line up on your landing track," a voice came over the comms channel.
On the hull of the Golden-Scarab-class Heavy Interstellar Dreadnought, open hatches appeared one after another; these hatches were the very doors of home, waiting to welcome these brave soldiers back in triumph.
And they, the heavy interstellar marines, had to bring their forces back before the last of their energy ran out.
Lock onto a hatch, and go!
At the same time, on a higher-level command channel, an announcement sounded: "In thirty seconds we will detonate all charges. Any heavy interstellar marines not yet withdrawn, leave the enemy ship at once. Repeat: in twenty-five seconds we will detonate all charges; withdraw at once, withdraw at once! …"
When they heard this voice, everyone's heart seemed to die in that moment.
The pilot of Unit Five clenched her fists; she could almost see her squadmates and Captain Song Keke pressing on forward without looking back.
Luckily, her mecha got onto its landing track very smoothly, though the last landing was not very pretty.
The frame slammed hard onto the deck of the landing compartment, and sent the soldiers hanging on it tumbling head over heels.
But at least they had made it back safely.
At the same time, the pilot of Unit Five saw explosions blossom into fireballs on the surface of the Drought-Fiend Ghost-King-class Heavy Strategic Interstellar Multirole Destroyer's hull.
The fireballs appeared one after another, dotting the Drought-Fiend Ghost-King-class Heavy Strategic Interstellar Multirole Destroyer's hull like a string of lights!
——————
A certain factory in the Owl Dragon Star System
A dwarf craftsman working at his post suddenly let the tool in his hand slip and fall to the floor. It was a new-model welding torch, and it was about to land on his foot.
If it fell, this interstellar dwarf's foot would probably be hurt; today's technology could mend it, but the pain would be real enough.
In that instant, a hand reached out from beside him and caught the welding torch firmly.
"Old Song, what's the matter with you these days? You're always somewhere else when you work. Look, you nearly had an accident on the job there. We can get medical treatment for free, sure, and anything short of a really bad injury can be mended. But we'd do well to suffer as little as we can. If it leaves some scar on your mind, then even once the wound's mended, you might not be able to work this post anymore." The interstellar dwarf craftsman beside him picked up the welding torch and looked sternly at Old Song, the interstellar dwarf who had let his mind wander.
"Sorry… sorry." Only now did Old Song come back to himself; his forehead was covered in beads of sweat.
"I think you need a rest. It's our break time now anyway. Come on, I'll keep you company and we'll have a proper rest." The old craftsman put down the tools in his hands straight away, and when Old Song had handed over the work in hand, he took him out of the workshop.
First the two of them went to the washroom nearby and cleaned off the grime from their work, then took off their work clothes and changed into fresh new clothes.
"That feels good. Every time I've washed up, I feel fresh and clear-headed all over. Come to think of it, we never had this kind of treatment when we worked before; scraping together a mouthful to eat was doing well. Working in the Owl Dragon Interstellar Empire now is downright paradise. Fixed working hours every day, food and wages, and if you have children, even schooling for them. They've thought of everything for us. Here, nobody looks down on us or bullies us for being interstellar dwarves, either. It's truly wonderful. The Owl Dragon Emperor really is a great emperor. For an emperor like that, never mind working, I'd give my life without a second thought," the old craftsman went on and on.
Just then he noticed that Old Song, having dressed, was staring at a pendant, lost in thought for a long while.
He craned his head over and saw that the pendant held a recorded image.
It was the Song family's family portrait, and the most striking thing in it was the sturdy interstellar dwarf woman in a combat suit in the middle.
"Are you worried about your little daughter? You were really something before, too. All she wanted was to be an interstellar combat mecha pilot. And you were hard-hearted enough to throw her out of the house and not ask after her for five years," the old craftsman said reproachfully.
Old Song shot back at once, "When did I ever not ask after her? My wife and my son looked after Keke on the sly; do you think I didn't know, those five years? That money: if I hadn't been the one supplying it, do you think they could have taken that much money out of the house so easily?"
The old craftsman narrowed his eyes and grinned at Old Song. "Oho, so it was just you being stubborn and putting on airs. You ought to change that temper of yours; you're a mule. What grudge between a father and his own daughter lasts past the night? And look, isn't your little daughter doing you proud now? She pilots an interstellar combat mecha and she's doing splendidly in the Owl Dragon legion fleets; I hear she's made brigadier general now! That's really something. We interstellar dwarves are thought highly of in the Owl Dragon Interstellar Empire, but mainly in industry. Hardly any of us have been given military rank. Count them on your fingers and you probably won't get past ten. Brigadier general… brigadier general… if my son brought me home a brigadier general's insignia, I'd laugh myself awake in my sleep."
Hearing his old friend's teasing,
Old Song tossed back without ceremony, "You're all wise after the fact. Ask yourselves: if it had been your child back then who wanted to be an interstellar combat mecha pilot or some such, would you have been willing?"
The old craftsman gave a heh heh laugh and did not answer.
In truth they all knew the answer very well in their hearts.
They might all say now how they envied Old Song such a fine daughter, but had the same thing happened to them,
their attitude would probably have been no better than Old Song's was then.
After all, an interstellar dwarf who did not stick honestly to her proper trade and went off to be some interstellar combat mecha pilot was, in their eyes, as good as rebelling against all the old ways.
"Isn't all that in the past? Isn't it enough that things are good now? And you and Keke have patched things up now; didn't she come back specially to see you last time she was on leave? And pinned all her medals and decorations on you too. What have you got to worry about now? And our Owl Dragon Interstellar Empire has that technology for bringing people back to life; everyone fighting on the front lines in the Owl Dragon interstellar legion fleets has that right. Even if your daughter falls on the battlefield, she can be brought back. So you've got no need at all to worry."
Old Song said crossly, "Easy for you to say. Do you know how hard Keke worked, and what it cost her, to get where she is now? Do you know how many calluses are on those hands of hers, how many scars on her body? And getting hurt fighting on the front lines. It all gets healed, but… but the pain is real. That girl Keke was afraid of pain from the time she was little, and what's more, the pain of dying… Keke… Keke… how does she bear it?"
As Old Song talked, he clutched the pendant, and his voice began to tremble.
A grown man, he was like a little girl now; even his eyes had reddened a little.
Seeing Old Song like this, the old craftsman teased him no more; he only patted him on the shoulder and said, "Keke's a fine child. Heaven looks after good people; she'll be fine. What you have to do now is look after yourself. If Keke knew you were like this, how could she fight at the front with her mind at ease? Come on, let's go have a feast. I saved you today; don't you have to treat me to a good meal!"
"You old fellow, all you think about is eating!"