9th Grade Civil Servant In Another World Chapter 133 - Another World Military Commander (5)

Ratatatatang!

Ratatatatang!

The relentless sound of machine gun fire covered the clear sky.

The pilots gripped the machine guns mounted on their dragons’ backs, pouring bullets at enemy pilots or dragons to bring them down.

Ian felt sweat soaking through his gloves as he rapidly pulled the trigger. With a small sound of “drrrrrrrt,” bullets shot out.

The guys they’d fought last time were so pathetic they barely deserved to be called an air force. Those were the ones they’d encountered while flying to link up with the commander, Lucas Redan.

But the opponent before his eyes now was different. He could tell just from his expression.

Those sharp eyes and clenched lips. A face overflowing with determination and venom.

This was what it looked like when a skilled fighter seriously entered battle. Probably from the capital defense force or some other important unit.

The bastard seemed determined to target Ian specifically. No matter how many times he created distance, the enemy pilot stubbornly followed.

“Number 137 Elizabeth, falling back to the rear!”

He shouted into the voice transmitter, but there was no response. With nearly fifty dragons engaged in a bloody battle in the sky, and people shouting reports from all directions, he worried the equipment might break down.

“Number 85 Celia hit! Hit!”

“Left flank Blue Dragon down, confirming trajectory!”

“Kiiiiaaaaaaah!”

Even the trained dragons couldn’t endure the pain and let out anguished roars that struck his ears.

Air-to-air machine guns are made differently from regular machine guns.

Dragon scales are hard enough to deflect most bullets. So air-to-air machine guns have developed with the purpose of forcing pain and bleeding rather than killing dragons.

The bullets used by each nation’s air force are sharp and pointed like needles, and once they embed in a dragon’s hide, they don’t come out easily.

Ian glanced around at his squadron.

Several comrades had been hit and fallen behind, but so far they were still flying in the advantageous formation under the squadron leader’s command.

He pulled Elizabeth’s reins, slowing her down. The enemy pursued Ian as he fell back to the very rear.

The enemy’s machine gun spat fire. Elizabeth tilted her body to dodge. As her massive frame flipped over, Ian’s body hung upside down in the sky.

‘I wonder if he’s okay? That guy, Lucas.’

The thought crossed his mind for a moment, but right now he didn’t have the luxury to worry about that.

“Just a little more strength, Elizabeth.”

Muttering while patting Elizabeth, Ian released the machine gun handle and pulled out a weapon from the cramped space beneath the saddle.

As he operated the sight, he suddenly recalled a conversation he’d forgotten.

About a year ago, maybe.

While drinking together as usual and giggling over all sorts of trivial stories, his friend Oscar had suddenly stopped laughing and asked.

“What do you think the combat loss ratio for the air force would be in a single battle?”

“Hmm, the total loss ratio. What I learned in the military was that for dragons alone, casualty numbers per battle are about one-third. If ten go out, about three get hurt. There are rarely deaths, but quite often they fight bloody battles to near-death.”

They were probably joking around about dragons and the military then.

Oscar had shown serious eyes in his drunken face.

“If more advanced airships come out, dragons being deployed in war would decrease, right?”

“Hmm, probably. But why?”

“Ah, I just thought it was pitiful—dragons being sacrificed in human conflicts.”

Ian had looked at the grinning Oscar with bewilderment.

“Are you criticizing me? You know I’m an air force officer, right?”

“Of course. But you think the same way, don’t you?”

At that time, unable to deny it completely, he’d handed over a drink to shut his mouth.

“Oscar, you were right.”

Ian muttered while peering through the sight. The terrified face of the pilot appeared vividly clear, as if within arm’s reach.

He had sensed his own fate.

“Sorry.”

Ian’s finger pulled the trigger.

With a cute ‘pop!’ sound, the shell flew out and scored a direct hit on the Silver Dragon.

BANG!

With a tremendous roar, the shell exploded, fragments scattered, and the dragon’s wings were torn to shreds.

“Kiiiiaaaaaaak!”

The dragon screamed in agony.

The slowly falling body. The pilot was either dead or knocked unconscious from the shock, hanging limply.

Even though he’d been quite far away, the blood spurting from the Silver Dragon splattered Elizabeth’s body.

Ian removed his blood-spattered glass cover and felt the wind. After frantically surveying the chaotic surroundings, he grabbed the voice transmitter.

“Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Damn it, Number 137 Elizabeth, emergency landing!”

Shouting in an urgent voice, he rode Elizabeth down to the ground.

It was an open area between the forest and city, a little distance from the castle walls.

The greedy flames devouring the forest hadn’t reached here yet. Though there was a gradually acrid smell.

Ian pushed the miniature cannon back under the saddle and dismounted.

That thing—was it called a grenade launcher?

It was a newly developed weapon that had just been completed. When he first saw it, he’d been amazed.

Anyway, small or not, a cannon was still a cannon, and because of its high power and possibility of friendly fire, it wasn’t supposed to be issued to the air force. But the aviation commander leading the air force had fought to obtain them…

He’d been told to only use it in unavoidable situations, but since he’d deliberately stayed far away when firing, there shouldn’t be a problem.

He absolutely had to fall back to the very rear. Even using the grenade launcher as an excuse.

He had to avoid his comrades’ eyes.

“Good work.”

After comforting the whimpering Elizabeth, he opened the bomb compartment attached to her belly.

“Blaaaargh!”

Lucas was shedding tears while vomiting.

***

After the battle started, I regretted it like crazy.

The box shook tremendously, and my body flew around in all directions. It was even flipped upside down!

“Gahk!”

My attempt to endure by gripping the uneven surfaces on the floor was futile. My arms lost strength and I violently struck my head and back against the ceiling.

And once more.

“Kheuk!”

This time I hit my stomach. The tearing pain in my organs made vomit spurt out.

I knew this would happen and had wrapped several blankets around myself, but painful was still painful.

If I’d had a bit more time, I would have plastered soft shock absorbers all over the inside of the box!

“Buhg! Gahk!”

The throbbing pain all over my body as if covered in bruises was soon forgotten. I was on the verge of dying from retching and tearing my esophagus first.

Every time Elizabeth moved, foul-smelling vomit scattered, and the noise penetrating the iron plates threatened to deafen me.

Had about an hour passed subjectively?

While I was crying and snotting, the movement finally stopped. Shortly after, the box lid opened and bright light poured in.

“Lucas, are you okay?”

It was Ian with a worried expression. He patted my back as I was retching up nothing but sour stomach acid.

“Hah…”

Lying sprawled on the dirt ground, I sat up after my churning stomach calmed down somewhat.

“Looks like we managed to slip away safely.”

I muttered in a hoarse voice while drinking the water Ian offered.

“It was close, but yes. What will you do now?”

“Stick to the plan.”

I’d never told Ian my exact plan. But he’d probably figured it out.

“Do you have soap and a towel?”

Ian handed over an air force backpack.

I stripped off my clothes and poured water over my body, soaping up.

I threw away the vomit-covered clothes and put on fresh, fluffy new clothes I’d packed in my bag, finally looking somewhat presentable.

Batalland’s summer was dry, so it would dry quickly.

“Thanks, Ian.”

Ian still seemed conflicted.

If nothing else, he understood that he was in a very delicate situation.

I approached him and patted his shoulder.

“I can say this one thing with confidence. Everything I’m doing is for Schufaben.”

“You mean it?”

“I mean it.”

I smiled, drawing on all my acting ability. Relief settled in Ian’s eyes as he watched me silently.

He had no choice but to believe.

Even if it was a lie.

***

I ran.

With a small backpack on my back, I ran desperately along the castle walls.

Gunfire and cannon fire still echoed from the distant sky. The Blue Eagles seemed determined not to stop until they wiped out Batalland’s air force completely.

On Batalland’s side, for whatever reason, they kept sending out their air force to drain the Blue Eagles’ strength.

They seemed to be trying to defend the city at all costs. I had no idea what they were plotting inside the castle walls while doing that.

‘By now, the inside must be incredibly chaotic. There should be enough of a gap for me to slip in!’

Praying that my prediction would prove correct, I ran desperately and arrived at the eastern gate of the castle.

As expected, it was pandemonium.

“Everyone! Please maintain order!”

“Get out of my way! Move aside!”

“Please don’t push!”

“Citizens! Please. Going slowly is safer!”

“Safe my ass! Do you think we’re blind?!”

“Waaaaah!”

“Let us out!”

Armed soldiers formed scrums to control the situation, but there was no trace of order among the surging refugees.

Elderly and weak people knocked down in the crowd, little children crying as if they’d lost their parents, young men grabbing each other by the collar fighting over stolen belongings.

I barely understood Batalland language, but the atmosphere alone was enough to grasp the situation.

In the midst of that chaos, I stopped in front of the market-like castle gate.

“Hah, hah…”

My heart was pounding like crazy.

I see—you can bury anxious premonitions by overworking your heart.

With this newfound realization, I grinned and pushed forward through the human wave.

People packed not only near the castle gate but filling even the alleyways. My heart hurt so much I thought bloody tears might flow from my eyes.

‘Is this from running? Or from the refugees crying over the war?’

The thought scattered in the wind.

Last night, I’d memorized the map of Batalland’s castle interior. I now knew exactly where the Prime Minister’s office was and which route to take, even with my eyes closed.

The atmosphere inside the castle was tense enough that a riot might break out at any moment. Every street was full of soldiers, and shops had already been looted, with broken glass shards crunching underfoot.

I pushed through that pandemonium and arrived at the Prime Minister’s office.

I’d thought security might be reinforced due to the chaos, but the area in front of the Prime Minister’s office was also packed with people.

From their hostile atmosphere, they seemed to be protesters. With such an urgent situation, even the guards were running around frantically.

Whoop, I took a breath and ran toward the guards.

“Messenger! Please let me through!”

Shouting in perfect Rubellia language.

As I charged out recklessly, the guards pointed their guns at me and shouted something.

“Stop! Stop! Move and we’ll shoot!”

Something like that probably.

I caught my breath and held out a sealed letter envelope in front of the gun barrels.

A guard with a fierce expression hesitated when he saw the crest stamped on the letter.

A swan crest.

The symbol of the Rubellia royal family.

Guards at the Prime Minister’s office should be able to recognize it. After Queen Rubellia’s full return to politics, people bearing this crest would have been coming and going here.

***

The Prime Minister’s office was a massive four-story building. Though not fancy, it was grand and simple, creating an imposing presence as it stood tall.

I walked through the desolate garden following the guard.

As soon as we passed through the fence decorated with hawthorn shrubs, the outside noise magically disappeared.

‘Ah, that’s actually magic.’

With all the workers having fled somewhere, the vast garden was eerily quiet.

Shortly after, a woman who appeared to be the guard captain showed up with an interpreter and questioned me about various things.

“What business does the queen have?”

“She sent an urgent message. It must be delivered to the Prime Minister as quickly as possible.”

“Why by messenger instead of telegram?”

“I don’t know.”

I answered calmly and spread my arms to allow the guard captain to conduct a body search. All I had was a bag with just a letter envelope.

The guard captain seemed to hesitate briefly, then finally agreed.

“Wait in the office for a moment.”

I nodded and lowered my voice.

“She said to definitely deliver it when no one else is around.”

“Understood.”

Since I wasn’t a mage and had no weapons, they probably figured there was no need to monitor me.

The guard captain brought me to the office and closed the door.

“Phew.”

I collapsed onto the sofa and rubbed my weary eyes.

‘There’s no gambling like this kind of gambling.’

With a self-deprecating laugh, I let my body slump.

I’d burned all the letters the queen had sent, but I’d been smart to re-seal and keep just one.

‘I knew it would be useful someday.’

The Prime Minister’s office was modest and tidy. The only notable decoration was a large flag hanging on the wall.

I was blankly staring out the window at the garden when the office door opened.

Anton Milov.

Batalland’s Prime Minister, whom I’d only seen in photographs.

“Who are you?”

“As you probably know, I’m Lucas Redan. I’ve come to make a deal.”

The moment I spoke the Batalland words I’d memorized, the Prime Minister’s expression hardened. Relief washed over me.