"Enemy attack—it's Britannian forces!!"
No sooner had Leila spoken than the shrill whistle of incoming shells tore through the air.
Having already been struck by a shrapnel shell, the KMF unit's sniper weapon was destroyed. Components scattered, the frame of Yukiya Naruse's machine tilted and fell, swallowed by the explosion's blazing fire.
Shrrrkkk!
With a teeth-grinding sound of metal tearing, a wave of heat and shock blasted the 4.4-meter-high, 7-ton [Alexander Type-02 Specialized Variant] several meters into the air. The damaged mech arced clumsily through the air, snapping trees as it crashed down.
Creak… crackle…
Combustibles ignited, trees splintered, and the twisted metal hull erupted with dull bangs—like the dying wail of a mechanical beast. It was also the signal for the attack to begin.
"Yukiya!"
Ryo Sayama's eyes went wide with fury. Ignoring Akito Hyuga and Leila, he turned back and sprinted toward his fallen comrade.
"Damn it! How are they here so fast? Didn't we get a clean landing report?!"
Drawing his transformable anti-KMF blade, Ayano Kosaka piloted her close-combat [Alexander] in high-speed evasive maneuvers to dodge shells and rockets. She glared cautiously at her current 'prey,' while shooting a hateful glance toward the intruding attackers.
The shift in roles had been instantaneous. A moment ago, they were hunters chasing a 'naive noblewoman and her lapdogs.' The next, they were prey—targets for Britannia's armored forces to annihilate.
And worse still, they were now branded as rebels who had attacked the W-ZERO commander, hated by both Britannia and the E.U.—the most pitiful trio of lone wolves.
"Commander, what are your orders?"
Akito's voice came through the loudspeaker.
Ignoring Ayano's hostile mech, he activated the composite sensor unit on his own KMF's head—the real-image detector—while shielding Leila and guiding her toward the regrouping Wyvern Squadron. His gaze swept over the charging Britannian armored cavalry, scanning rapidly.
Fifth-generation [Sutherland] units. Sixth-generation [Gloucester]s. Red armor, wing-emblem insignias—St. Michael Knights.
No sign yet of the seventh-generation [Vincent] models that intelligence reported as belonging to the Third Princess' Royal Guard.
"They've found us…"
Leila's expression tightened—part regret, part guilt.
"Figures. After the ruckus Sayama and his gang caused…"
The Daugavpils region was guarded by none other than the St. Michael Knights. Even under Minsk's constant offensives, their tactical proficiency and discipline were formidable.
Such a promising start—ruined by those three.
Even someone as patient as Leila couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment—toward Sayama's betrayal, and toward her own negligence.
Perhaps she should've devoted more time and effort to them—more counseling, more understanding.
"Relay this to all Wyvern units! This is Leila Malcal—our covert operation has been compromised. All forces, converge on my position immediately! Target sector 23D-1026—advance and engage the enemy head-on! Break their lines, then proceed according to plan to strike Britannia's rear positions!"
Clenching her teeth, Leila drew a deep breath. "Akito, support Sayama's group. The Britannians have spotted us. They know what to do. Unless they prefer to surrender—to the empire that conquered their homeland and reduced them to Elevens."
Akito gave a small, humorless chuckle and shook his head. "That's the kind of order only you could give, Commander."
Ordinary commanders would've executed traitors on the spot.
"Yes, ma'am!"
But with other squad leaders now linked to the command channel, he voiced no objections. He swiftly gripped his control sticks, pushing forward. The heavy drive wheels roared, churning mud and leaves as Hannibal's Ghost surged into battle.
At the same time, Ryo Sayama reached the fallen Yukiya Naruse.
"Hey, Yukiya! Answer me! Come on, man! You promised—you said you wouldn't let anyone die, remember?!"
While steadying his fallen comrade's damaged mech, Ryo Sayama unleashed a barrage from the front-line–type [Alexander]'s weapon module toward the approaching enemy.
Inside the crumpled, egg-shaped cockpit, Yukiya Naruse hung limp, suspended by his safety harness. Shrapnel had pierced the cabin from the side, tearing through his torso. Blood streamed from his abdomen, dripping onto the instrument panels below.
Hearing Sayama's desperate calls, he struggled to move his lips—but no words came. Blood bubbled from his mouth and nose like a broken string of beads. Through the torn metal at his side, he mouthed two silent words:
Run… now.
Sayama understood.
"What are you saying, we—"
Boom!
A high-explosive shell shattered the massive tree they were using for cover—a towering trunk that would've taken three [Alexanders] to encircle. Sayama's words—and his attempt to tear open the armor to free his friend—were both cut off. "Damn it!"
He had no choice but to drag Naruse's wrecked frame close against the tree's roots for what little shelter they provided.
By the time Sayama raised his mech again, a detachment of the St. Michael Knights was already upon him.
He could hear the whipping of the capes worn by the enemy captains as they closed in at high speed.
Clang!—a flash of cold light struck first.
Then came the golden-bronze electromagnetic lance, designed for anti-KMF combat.
Sayama reacted instinctively, swinging his combat rod to parry—clang! Sparks burst as his mech shuddered, damage indicators flashing from green ("Optimal") to yellow ("Structural Damage Detected"). Still, he managed to deflect the thrust; the lance drove deep into the ground, gouging three feet of soil as clods of mud flew.
The strength behind that blow—truly Britannian!
As someone who'd once piloted a smuggled, decommissioned fourth-generation [Glasgow]—a training unit from the St. Raphael Knights—and used it to devastate riot-control KMFs during clashes in Paris, Sayama couldn't deny it: Britannian Knightmare engineering far outclassed the E.U.'s.
This was his first time facing Britannia's armored cavalry directly.
Adrenaline surged through him like the taste of blood and iron, making him almost feral. With Naruse dying and himself surrounded, what could he do? What should he do?!
Surrender?
Kneel like that man—Kururugi—before a Britannian princess?
Then defect and betray again?
No. Impossible. That woman, Vela, wasn't some naive fool like Leila—she'd make him a dog for life. In Britannia's iron-blooded hierarchy, the slightest defiance meant execution without hesitation.
As Sayama wrestled with the thought—
"Ryo!"
Ayano Kosaka's voice cut through the comms.
She was racing toward him in her close-combat [Alexander].
"Don't come here!"
His face twisted in panic as he shouted, nearly screaming: "Take cover!"
But faster than his warning came the chilling chorus:
"Glory to Britannia!!" ×N
The St. Michael Knights' battle cry tore through the air like a reaper's scythe.
In the next instant, the Britannian armored cavalry unleashed a storm of electromagnetic rifles, cannons, and high-angle 'Raving Bombs'—hydro-oxygen cluster explosives that scattered hundreds of superheated fragments midair.
Crack-crack-crash—!
Caught in the blast before she could evade, Ayano's mech was torn apart—armor shredded, components flying, signals dead. Her [Alexander] fell, lifeless, into the sea of explosions.
"You Britannian bastards!!"
Rage seared through Sayama's chest, stabbing deeper than pain. The fury obliterated every thought of surrender.
"Die!!"
He roared, swinging his combat rod. It clashed against the glowing heat blade of a [Gloucester] captain's unit—sparks bursting high into the air.
But reality wasn't bound to human will. Not here. Not now.
The [Gloucester], towering over the [Alexander Type-02], was sheer overwhelming power—its output, mass, and armor density far superior. In a single, crushing stroke, it shattered Sayama's weapon—and severed his mech's arm.
Just as the [Gloucester] raised its sword to finish him—
Akito arrived.
"You—!"
A white phantom burst through the scarlet flames.
A crimson cross gleamed.
"'Hannibal's Ghost'!" cried the Britannian pilot, voice trembling with excitement through the external speaker. "It's you!!"
Akito's eyes narrowed. This strength… this reaction speed…
He looked up at the massive new-model sixth-generation [Gloucester]. It was far taller and heavier than the St. Raphael Knights' units he'd faced at Narva. And its acceleration, its response rate… was this the new-generation electronic muscle system?
He took in the rest of the oncoming force—numerous [Gloucesters] and the bulkier, towering [Sutherlands]—and his expression hardened.
He remembered a rumor from Britannia:
That the commander of the European Britannian Front—the Third Princess Vela—liked to make things bigger.
Rat-tat-tat—BOOM—clang-clang-clang! The battlefield erupted anew.
Within the rain of bullets and shells, with no mature energy-shield technology to rely on, even Akito's peerless skill could only buy him brief moments of survival.
"Commander, we've got a problem," he said over the comms, landing beside Leila. "The St. Michael Knights' force deployment—it's not normal."