Fourteen hours after Yorinobu arrived in Night City, undercurrents across North America surged violently. Yet at the NE–IA (state code) frontlines, the storm had calmed; the battlefront steadied. The once fierce westward assault and eastward defense—the Arasaka and Alliance Army's wild offensive—had finally been halted.
The White House's countermeasures and emergency responses had at last taken effect.
At least, so it seemed.
After the great explosion in Omaha, the New American Army suffered an avalanche-like defeat over three days—utter collapse, as though the mountains themselves had fallen.
Multiple cities in Iowa fell; the capital, Des Moines, was bombed and breached, shaking several battlefronts and pushing them to the brink of collapse.
At the critical moment, reinforcements from NUSA–D.C.'s reserve army arrived in time. With manpower drawn from the northern and southern lines, plus reserve forces, and by throwing in remaining tactical nuclear warheads as if emptying their stockpiles, they repelled the ferocious ASDFI Division, annihilated the SAT Death Battalion, and routed several Alliance divisions—thus barely stabilizing the front.
The situation appeared to be reaching a stalemate.
Yet to outside observers, the scales still tilted westward—Arasaka's odds of victory remained greater.
The stock market spoke louder than any war bulletin: Arasaka's shares rising while Militech's fell was the clearest declaration of investor confidence.
For Vela, her phase-one strategic objective in the Americas had now been achieved.
...
North of the NE–IA warzone, near a remote corner bordering South Dakota (SD).
In the transitional land between the Rocky Mountains and the Midwestern wilderness, the blazing sun scorched the ocher desert sands.
"Haah~"
After a brief rest, Vela stifled a yawn as she stepped out of the vehicle, passing through a shaded canopy lined with external lens jammers and camouflage netting.
This place—arranged by the Presidential Security Bureau—was a temporary resupply station established along the inspection route.
In short, everything essential was present.
"Commander Russell, the Horse Racing Plan is progressing smoothly. The Intelligence Division has confirmed that enemy forces stationed in the Dakotas, Minnesota, and Wisconsin have been drawn away in significant numbers." The intelligence supervisor approached and reported.
Splash—
Cool water splattered across her face. Without raising her head, Vela bent down to wash and said calmly, "Move when the time's right. Jimmy, bring out our finest horse for a run. Get to it—don't just stand there in my way."
On the supply crate beside her, a portable military computer displayed a video feed. The recently connected Special Operations Director, Jimmy, gave an awkward smile at her words, nodded, and replied, "Yes, ma'am!"
Beep! The line disconnected.
Drip, drip...
Water trickled down the smooth curve of her cheek. "Hah." Vela shook her hands, wrung out the towel, and wiped her face clean—washing away dust and fatigue, reclaiming a trace of composure.
After a simple wash, she found a folding stool and sat down.
Accepting a cold drink from her aide, she took a slow sip to moisten her throat. While waiting for her meal, her deep gaze wandered toward the rolling brown ridges in the distance.
"So, the inspection and morale tour ends here." Resting her chin on one hand, her brows showed fatigue, but her smile revealed satisfaction.
After all, her main purpose in rushing across the central line had been deception—to mislead, to mask, to create the best possible conditions for the northern front's feint and counterstrike.
Over the past month, she had deliberately drained the central front, goading Washington into reinforcing it. Then, with the cataclysmic Omaha–Council Bluffs detonation, she had wiped out over a hundred thousand of the New American Army—including three mechanized infantry divisions—in one strike.
One night, in Omaha alone, more than a hundred thousand casualties; countless stockpiled equipment and supplies obliterated.
Before they could regroup, retreating soldiers were slaughtered; second-line units, caught off guard, collapsed under the chain reaction.
In the short term, even if Myers exhausted every resource, even if Militech poured its full strength and Lazarus gave its all, even if allies and partners dared to sell their heads to aid America, patchwork measures could only result in shortfalls and chaos.
History proves: many tactics seem simple, yet people fall for them again and again.
This was an open stratagem following her surprise offensive—the detonation of the Sakuradite-packed tunnels—a bet that Myers, lacking divine foresight, wouldn't dare neglect the trap. Vela had seized that window perfectly.
Playing the timing gap. Exploiting the information gap.
Now, it was the northern front's turn to move.
Until—
Clack, clack.
"Miss, your meal is ready."
The attendant's voice drew Vela from her thoughts.
Sausages, fried fish and chips, stew, vegetable salad, flatbread, miso soup, and Yanji cold noodles—a simple meal, blending East and West.
Catching the faint expression on her aide's face that seemed to say, "Such humble military conditions," Vela smirked lightly. "Thanks." Handing over her empty cup, she stood, stretched, and walked toward the field table.
"Ma'am, how shall we arrange the schedule ahead?" asked Morishita, the section chief of the Security Bureau.
"Eat," Vela said, raising an arched brow. "Then a few glasses of strong liquor... and straight to sleep."
"Ah?!" Morishita blinked in surprise, then remembered that Vela hadn't had a proper rest in nearly a week. He immediately composed himself. "Ah, understood." He bowed deeply. "Please take care of your health, ma'am."
"And your duties?" he asked after a pause.
"Administrative affairs—Michiko will handle them temporarily. As for military matters, I'll speak with Saburo-sama shortly." Rubbing her sleepy eyes, Vela yawned softly.
After all, it was time for her to rest. Even steel horses wear down eventually.
Well... she could still push herself if she had to—but flaunting boundless stamina wasn't always wise.
It was time to show some limits.
Besides, as the intercontinental governor who set overall strategy and opened the board for the subordinate army commands, a brief delegation of power didn't mean abdication.
Her hands-on approach at the central front had never been the norm—it was primarily to create conditions for the north.
With established strategic goals, fixed operational margins, the enemy weakened, and their reserves drawn away—if the northern commanders still needed her to personally oversee every move, if they lacked initiative—then they didn't deserve their ranks. They could roll back to training camp and start over.
"Yes, ma'am." Morishita bowed again and stepped back quietly.
Blazing sunlight, a gentle wind, fine food.
Beneath the canopy, seated alone at the table, Vela dined heartily while reviewing the northern battle reports.
Around her stood guards and staff in silence; farther away, optical-camouflage drones patrolled the perimeter; farther still, jagged cliffs lay exposed—ancient strata folded by time, ridges undulating like the spines of sleeping beasts under the burning sky.
...
Meanwhile, in Montana's capital—Helena.
Arasaka–Free States Northern Theater Joint Command Headquarters.
After Jimmy Warren ended the video call, an ASDF ground forces general turned to him and asked quietly, "Well?"
"Authorization granted. Commander Vela's been overworked lately—it seems she's finally taking a rest. Within a minute, the system's approval notice should arrive."
With that, Jimmy stepped toward the operations command center, where a cluster of staff officers and liaison officers were gathered around a holographic map, pointing at data readouts, discussing and correcting details.
The generals stood with hands behind their backs or leaned over the tactical display, many puffing on cigarettes or cigars; the haze of secondhand smoke wavered through the blue light of the holo-screen, adding to the tension.
As Jimmy—the trusted aide of their intelligence and security chief—approached, they all looked up.
"The central offensive phase is concluding. The Horse Racing Plan is entering stage three," Jimmy said directly. "It's our turn now. Gentlemen—for the prosperity and glory of Arasaka!"
They had all expected this. None were surprised.
In truth, since the night of the 13th—at the very moment Omaha erupted—the northern front had already launched an intense full-scale offensive. Even the southern front's Barghest units, long battered and defensive, had forced themselves into counterattacks. The goal was simple—diversion.
To make it appear they were assisting the central front, pinning local enemies and preventing reinforcements.
To remain idle amid an allied victory would be foolish—true and false must intertwine.
Before long—beep-beep, beep-beep.
A system notification appeared on the retinal HUDs of every officer present: [Authorization Granted].
"Order: North American 1st Mobile Army Group—advance at once. Launch a full offensive. Primary axis—eastward from Bismarck, capital of North Dakota, along Interstate 94. Break through Fargo, then thrust directly toward enemy-weakened Minneapolis."
"Deploy all two ASDF restructured divisions in North America, plus two newly arrived homeland divisions."
"Contact Vice Admiral Katsutoshi Murata of the Seventh Fleet—initiate amphibious operations. No more holding back. Expedite the deployment of the two Marine divisions resting in Seattle and San Francisco—join the Great Lakes campaign."
"SAT Special Division—follow the 1st Mobile Army Group. Execute leapfrog tactics. Ignore side fronts. Prioritize speed. Seize Wisconsin, sow chaos, then push south toward Chicago."
"The CSA (Alliance Army)..."
One order after another was swiftly issued.
...
In an instant, the northern front erupted—battle spreading like wildfire, the entire theater shifting dramatically.
And beyond the battlefield...
In Tokyo, Saburo Arasaka—amid fierce negotiations with EuroBank and the European Space Agency—received a call from his "beloved granddaughter," requesting a temporary power transfer due to exhaustion.
In Washington, Myers, having just endured a grueling congressional hearing, was once again contacted by the long-dormant Arasaka internal faction known as the "Sympathizers of National Division."
In Night City, Yorinobu, while filing an internal notice to justify his sudden visit and delay exposure, simultaneously inspected new zones and covertly reconnected with old subordinates—using trusted channels to begin reaching out to former allies under the alias Johnny Silverhand.
As for Vela—after eating and drinking her fill, her duties temporarily delegated, her burdens lifted—she was...
"Zzzzz..."