Chapter 193: Takayama's Anger
Inside the combat command center of Arasaka's White Whale aircraft carrier, the air was heavy enough to suffocate.
On the massive holographic tactical sandbox, the light dots representing the three assault units and heavy weapon systems extinguished one after another, finally solidifying into glaring red "LOSS" markers, firmly pinned on the locations of the eastern highlands, the western coastline, and the southern factory district.
On the auxiliary screens, the final fragmented images transmitted back in real-time scrolled silently—the burning wreckage of the "Amaterasu" array, the twisted and broken rails of the "Takemikazuchi," the core unit of the "Susanoo" melted through by plasma cannons—every frame was like a silent slap, striking heavily on the face of every officer.
For nearly a minute, the command center was dead silent, save for the low hum of equipment running and a few suppressed, heavy breaths.
BANG!
A muffled thud abruptly shattered the solidified air.
Director Shintaro Takayama's fist slammed viciously onto the alloy base of the tactical sandbox, the force causing the entire table to shudder.
His hair, usually combed meticulously, now had a few strands hanging loose over his forehead, but he seemed completely unaware.
Muscles on his usually composed face were taut, and veins bulged faintly on his neck.
His chest heaved violently twice, as if forcibly suppressing anger that was about to erupt.
"...Trash!" The word squeezed through his teeth, carrying a chilling coldness more oppressive than a hoarse roar: "A bunch of utter, complete trash!"
He turned abruptly, his gaze sweeping like a razor across the staff team behind him, who were silent as cicadas in winter.
The young officers lowered their heads one after another, daring not meet his eyes, terrified of becoming the focal point of this monstrous rage.
"The Power Armor corps! Our high-hoped Power Armor corps!" Takayama's voice pitched up sharply, every word seemingly quenched in ice. "On the Eastern Front, picked off one by one like targets by that ragtag Barghest army!
"On the Western Front, treated as moving practice dummies by Lazarus mercenaries!
"At the Southern Factory, they didn't even organize decent resistance before their nest was wiped out by Maine's gang of street rats!"
He snatched a tactical tablet from a technical officer's hand, quickly pulling up the battlefield data analysis report, his finger nearly poking through the screen.
"Look! Open your eyes and look!" He projected the data from the tablet onto the main screen. "Hostile power armor model identification confirmed: it's the 'Commando-VII' basic frame from Militech!
"In terms of paper parameters, it is in the same generation as the 'Onimusha-IX' we fielded! There is no insurmountable performance gap!"
His finger slid across strings of comparative data, his voice trembling slightly with agitation. "But the result? What is the exchange ratio? Four 'Onimusha' on the Eastern Front annihilated, zero losses for hostile power armor!
"Two on the Western Front destroyed instantly! Three in the factory district couldn't even buy time!
"Is this a fucking performance gap? This is a fucking generational gap! An absolute generational gap in tactics and equipment application!"
He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to regain his usual calm, but to little avail.
He pointed to the faint, rippling pale blue halo surrounding the hostile power armors in the footage.
"The problem lies in this shield!" Takayama's voice was decisive. "According to battlefield records, our small-caliber cannons, automatic rifles, and even some armor-piercing rounds were effectively deflected or had their kinetic energy weakened by this shield.
"Yet the enemy's attacks could pour onto our armor without hindrance!
"They could force their way forward under our fire, engaging in battles where they trade damage or even take no damage!
"While our pilots were still hesitating about firing angles and evasion routes, their pilots had already rushed into our faces relying on the extra margin for error provided by the shields!"
He looked around at everyone, his eyes holding not just anger, but a deeper, cold sense of powerlessness born from being technologically crushed. "This isn't a question of soldier courage, nor can it be fully explained by commander tactical errors. This is absolute technological backwardness!
"Militech, or rather that 'Sage' behind them, used a technology we don't fully understand to put a turtle shell on their power armor that we cannot easily penetrate!
"Then, relying on this turtle shell, they treated our meticulously trained power armor corps as live targets on a training ground!"
Just then, Yorinobu Arasaka, who had been standing silently by the viewport, slowly turned around.
His face was covered in a layer of frost, his gaze sinister, as if gathering a storm.
He had also witnessed the entire process of the defeat, but unlike Takayama's anger based on military logic, his rage was more like a performance, a carefully calculated emotional venting.
"Enough!" Yorinobu's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a bone-chilling coldness, instantly suppressing Takayama's reprimand. "Once was a failed probe, twice was the tricky shield...
"Now, even our core heavy siege weapons and power armor troops are torn apart like paper in a frontal engagement!"
He walked step by step toward Shintaro Takayama. His pace was slow and heavy, carrying invisible pressure.
"Uncle Takayama, tell me. Arasaka's dignity, the Empire's face... how much is left now?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Rubbed into the dirt repeatedly by a bunch of mercenaries, rebels, and street rats!
"The whole world is watching us, watching this White Whale, watching how we stage a clumsy farce here!"
He stopped in front of the tactical sandbox, his gaze sweeping over those three glaring red loss markers, finally fixing on Takayama's face.
"Since conventional means are all trash, and you are hesitant about unconventional means..." A cruel arc curled at the corner of Yorinobu's mouth, a flash of near-mad paranoia in his eyes. "Then I ask again, Director Takayama. The authorization code for activating tactical nuclear warheads—will you hand it over or not? Do we have to wait until the enemy boards this flagship before you admit that only destruction can wash away the shame we suffer at this moment?"
The air in the bridge instantly tightened to the breaking point.
All officers held their breath, their gazes moving back and forth between Shintaro Takayama and Yorinobu Arasaka.
Using nuclear weapons—this was undoubtedly opening Pandora's Box, with consequences no one could predict.
Facing Yorinobu's attitude, which bordered on forcing an abdication, Takayama's chest heaved violently once more.
But he quickly controlled his emotions. The flush of anger on his face slowly receded, replaced again by a deep solemnity.
He knew Yorinobu was seizing on the issue to exaggerate, attempting to force concessions or test his bottom line with extreme proposals. He absolutely could not lose his reason at this time.
"Yorinobu-sama," Takayama's voice regained its steadiness, though suppressed anger was still audible. "I understand your anger. Like you, I am heartbroken by today's failure. However, using nuclear weapons remains an absolutely inadvisable last resort."
He took a step forward, meeting Yorinobu's gaze without flinching.
He knew he had to stop Yorinobu's recklessness.
(End of Chapter)