Macross Delta: Pale Shooting Star Sings on the Battlefield - Storm in the Simulated Airspace

A week had passed since that day—the day he was pulled from beneath the rubble. In a corner of the Chaos Ragna branch base, Souma Kakeru was barely scraping by, day after day in this other world. Not being an official squad member, the sleeping quarters he'd been given were in a corner of a supply warehouse beside the hangar block. It was just a spot with a single thin mat laid out, surrounded by boxes of maintenance parts. No pillow—he used his rolled-up jacket tucked under his head. Even so, being on this base was better. Wandering the streets of Ragna City meant cold stares directed at a foreigner with no one to vouch for his identity. Even within the base, the gazes of passing squad members mixed curiosity with wariness. But at least here, there was a faint hope—a hope that he might find a reason for his existence. Stepping outside the hangar, a wind carrying the scent of the sea swept through. The ocean of Planet Ragna was calm today as well. From the cape where the base was situated, he could see the bridge leading to Ragna City and, floating in the distance, the massive form of the Chaos flagship, the *Macross Elysion*. "[serious]It's fine. I can still do this." He murmured it quietly, as if telling himself. It was a habit from his time in the real world—he'd always pulled himself together by saying it aloud. Back at the National Defense Academy's affiliated high school, even when he couldn't make friends, even when he stood out awkwardly in class, those words alone had kept him going. Today, for sure, he'd have a proper talk with the captain. He wanted to become a pilot here. Returning to the hangar, the maintenance crew had already begun their morning inspections. The chief, Makina Nakajima, was examining the leg section of a VF-31 Siegfried. Spotting Souma, she raised a hand lightly, wrench still in her grip. "[surprised]Oh, Souma-kun. Heading to Captain Arad's office again today?" "[serious]Yes. Today, I'll settle this for sure." "[gentle]I see... Well, he's stubborn, but he's not a bad guy. Good luck." Makina was the one ally who had been backing his participation in training. When he'd been rescued from beneath the rubble, she was also the first to notice his dynamic visual acuity. The corridor leading to the base's briefing room was still wrapped in the quiet of early morning. Mission regulations and navigation charts for Chaos were posted on the walls, and a subdued air-conditioning hum leaked from pipes near the ceiling. In front of the door, he steadied his breathing. Ever since Freyja Wion had saved him and brought him here a week ago, he'd made his way to this room countless times. Each time, he'd begged to be allowed formal training. And each time, Captain Arad Melders had repeated the exact same words: "I cannot recognize an unidentified outsider as a combat asset." It was only natural. To become a regular pilot, one had to go through the selection process of either the New Unified Forces or Chaos. He'd done neither. He had no way to prove even his name, beyond what he'd given himself. The judgment that such a man couldn't be placed in Delta Flight, fighting on the front lines, was correct for a commanding officer. But he couldn't give up. "[firm]Excuse me." He knocked, then opened the door. The briefing room was spacious, the large holographic display in the center emitting a pale light. Tactical documents and astrogation charts lined the walls, and the air in the room was cold and tense. At the back of the room, Arad Melders stood with his arms crossed. Thirty-eight years old. Commander of Delta Flight and a veteran pilot himself. A man of lean build, with close-cropped black hair and sharp eyes. Seeing Souma enter, he let out a light sigh. "[calm]...You came again, Souma Kakeru." "[serious]Yes. I've come with a request." "[cold]You said the same thing last week. My answer is the same. I cannot allow an unidentified dimensional traveler to participate in formal training." "[firm]But I survived on that battlefield. And my dynamic visual acuity—" "[sharp]I know. I received the report from Makina. But having special eyesight and being able to pilot a fighter are two entirely different matters." Arad operated the terminal at hand, bringing tactical data up on the holographic display. The latest search-and-reconnaissance information, perhaps. He glanced at the screen where points of light flickered and moved, then turned back to face him. "[serious]I sympathize with your circumstances. But this is a forward base connected to a battlefield. It's not a place where we can send people up based on goodwill alone." "[insistent]That's exactly why I'm asking. I want to fight. To protect Freyja-san—to protect Walküre's songstress." When he spoke Freyja's name, Arad's eyebrow twitched slightly. He didn't know the circumstances—that Freyja was a spy for an enemy nation. He simply recognized her as a Walküre songstress candidate, a person to be protected, as the on-site commander. "[thoughtful]...Why are you so fixated on this?" "[serious]She saved my life. When I was dying under the rubble, a complete stranger, she saved me. So this time, I want to protect her." At those words, Arad fell silent for a while. The ticking of the wall clock's second hand sounded strangely loud. "[slow]...Fine. I'll give you one condition." "[eager]Yes." "[serious]You'll conduct a simulated dogfight. Your opponents will be two regular pilots of Delta Flight. If you can shoot down both of them simultaneously—I'll permit you to participate in live-flight training, just once." This was an impossible demand, meant to make Souma give up. There was no way pilots assigned through the regular selection process would lose to an untrained amateur. Knowing that, Arad had presented this condition as an ultimatum. "[immediate]I'll do it." "[surprised]...An immediate answer?" "[firm]Yes. If I run away here, I'll remain unable to do anything again. Just like in the real world. That's why." Arad stared intently into Souma's eyes for a few seconds. Perhaps he saw, deep within those black pupils, a resolve stronger than fear. Or perhaps he was simply exasperated. Shrugging lightly, he contacted the hangar's maintenance crew via his terminal. "[dry]Thirty minutes. Assemble in the simulator room. I'll designate your opponents." "[grateful]Thank you very much!" As Souma bowed vigorously and left the room, Arad muttered to himself. "[whispers]...This should be interesting to watch." ―――――――――――――――――――― Thirty minutes later, the base's simulator room had gathered a larger crowd of onlookers than expected. Faces that said, "We heard the rumor and came." The maintenance crew who were usually holed up in the hangar, young staff from the administrative department, and even staff who seemed to have slipped out of the Walküre exclusive building. The large monitor at the front displayed the simulated airspace. Souma sat in the mock cockpit, putting on his helmet. The feel of the control stick in his hand brought back the real combat from a week ago. Back then, he'd desperately flown a machine taken from a dead pilot. Today was training, but he couldn't afford to lose. The opposing pilots boarded the adjacent mock cockpits. One was a veteran in his mid-thirties, the other a younger man in his mid-twenties. Both were elites who had crossed swords with numerous Var-infected and Vindermeer Aerial Knight Corps in actual combat. At the back of the observation seats, a man leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Hayate Immelmann. Spiky, bluish-silver short hair. Ice-blue eyes, cold, with a small cross-shaped scar on his left cheek. Delta Flight's ace pilot, the man with the highest combat capability on this base. He looked down at Souma as if sneering. "[sarcastic]Heh, so the guest's gonna put on a show for us?" The surrounding squad members gave wry smiles at Hayate's remark. "[low]It's a simulation. Keep the chatter down." Arad silenced them and activated the simulation system. Blue sky and clouds appeared on the large monitor. The airspace was over the sea off the coast of Ragna City. The initial placement of both aircraft was head-on, five kilometers apart. "[command]Simulation start. Souma Kakeru, do as you like." ―――――――――――――――――――― The engine started. Though in virtual space, the vibrations and acoustics were realistically reproduced. Souma opened the throttle, accelerating the Siegfried. (*Calm down. See what there is to see.*) He told himself. The opponents moved first. The veteran's aircraft climbed, while the younger one came in horizontally. A divide-and-conquer tactic. The two were trying to sandwich him from different directions. At that moment— Souma's vision changed. The surrounding scenery slowly stretched out. The movements of the enemy aircraft on the monitor became sluggish, as if moving through water. He could see the missile's exhaust smoke trailing thin as a thread. His dynamic visual acuity had fully activated. (*I can see it.*) The trajectory of the missile that came first drew a clean curve in his mind. Three evasion lines. The optimal one was diagonally down to the right. Souma pushed the control stick. The Siegfried sharply dropped its nose, and the missile passed overhead. At the same time, he visually confirmed a line to circle around behind the younger pilot's aircraft. (*There.*) He opened the throttle fully, closing the distance in one go. The younger pilot hurriedly tried to flip his aircraft around, but that movement also appeared in slow motion. Lock-on. He pulled the gun pod's trigger. Virtual bullets pierced the enemy aircraft, and the word *HIT* appeared on the monitor. "[shocked]What!?" The observation seats buzzed. Arad, arms still crossed, stared intently at the monitor. But the battle wasn't over yet. The veteran's aircraft came diving down from high altitude. Using gravity-assisted acceleration, he was trying to get behind Souma. (*I can see it.*) Souma cut the engine output. The sudden deceleration forced the veteran's aircraft out in front. A momentary crossing—in that instant, Souma fired the gun pod. The close-range shot caught the cockpit block. *HIT. MISSION COMPLETE.* Cold letters appeared on the monitor. Time: two minutes, seventeen seconds. Silence. He could hear someone from the maintenance crew gasp. "[whispers]...No way." Arad, arms still crossed, didn't utter a single word. His expression as he stared at the monitor was a mix of surprise and bewilderment. At the back of the observation seats, only Hayate reacted differently. A thin smirk on his face, he pushed himself off the wall. But the fingertips of his right hand trembled faintly. "[cold]Hmph. Don't get cocky over a mere simulator." When Souma poked his head out of the mock cockpit, Hayate was already heading for the exit. "[sharp]Don't let it go to your head, guest. This isn't a place for someone like you." He spat the words out and disappeared beyond the hangar door. On his back mingled the arrogance of the chosen and the dangerous scent of a beast cornered by something. Souma didn't notice the trembling of Hayate's fingertips. Only the thorn of those words pierced his chest. (*Don't get cocky, huh.*) But for now, that was fine. He'd won. With this, he could participate in training. Arad opened his heavy mouth. "[slow]...A promise is a promise. I'll permit you to participate in live-flight training, just once." "[earnest]Thank you very much!" Looking down at Souma, who bowed his head deeply, Arad was inwardly astonished. This young man was no mere amateur. Perhaps his survival on the battlefield hadn't been a coincidence either. (*Just what are you?*) ―――――――――――――――――――― In the evening, the sea of Ragna was dyed a madder red. The terrace seating of Café Nova, facing Clessé Central Plaza. This spot, with a panoramic view of the sea, was a place of relaxation often used by Walküre's members

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Episode 3

Name: Macross Delta: Pale Shooting Star Sings on the Battlefield
Author: Novelia

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