Modern Weapons Cheat In Another World Kai

Friends in high places

The Air, Northern Canary
Late Evening, Days in-country: 2

The Air Force had always choked on their numbers since its birth. A hundred and fifty bombers, a hundred and fifty fighters, not even the allowance of the Naval Air Arm's arsenal of Corsairs from the Navy's five carriers could fill the gap necessary for the operation and Home Defense.

With the assembly lines pointless without the materials, each unit airborne within the sorry excuse of a bomber stream sped through the sky at 6,000 meters ASL, their steel exteriors shimmering from the setting summer sun ahead.

"Approaching target area now, Storks 1 to 3. Descend to Angels 10 for effective drop in the account of suspected Polar Jet Stream in the theater."

The lead squadron of three B-29 Superfortresses dipped their noses down, in line with the black tumor on the earth. Like cancer, it corrupted everything it touched — the forest, the soil.

"We're dedicating so much of our air power," Stork 2 pilot whined. "Why can't we just lob a nuke?"

"Only blood and guts can flow down the rivers, Stork 2," the Master Bomber chimed. "No need for more icing."

"Are you sure these things will work? Why'd we have to lug 'em when a stream full of firecrackers can do ten times the job against the main hive?"

"No need to let rest escape in the lull. Make ready for the first cluster. Escorts have already routed enemy air."

Routed? Not dealt? "Bossman, what enemy air?"

"Dragons. Not to worry, gentlemen, enough AP can do the job."

There goes their escort's ammunition. "Bombardier, we're on course toward our first cluster. Your stick."

"Copy that — my stick."

With the bombardier aligning the plane with the bombsight, the black smudge appeared above the sights, seconds passed, and it filled his sights.

"Bombs away."

When a curious fellow gets a blank cheque with the schematics of a British earthquake bomb and a vacuum tube with the goal of unrelenting destruction of the physical and the psyche, a simple inspiration manifests — a concoction rudimentary in nature, from the colorful skies in Ancient China to the evolution of warfare in Europe. Tinker for a bit, and you get the power of the Kamikaze.

A fireball erupted an expansive cloud over the corrupted land. A few seconds later, a roar shook the plane.

"Fucking hell. I could feel that from my teeth!"

"Can it, Stork 2. Proceed to the next cluster."

***

Late Afternoon, Somewhere in North-Central Canary
Morning, Days in-country: 5

"Mister Nagato."

"Hm?"

"Beyond this hillock lies the Fortress City Nashisuto."

Ah, the one that sounded awfully Japanese. And there it was, lifeless as it was, usurping the greenery for many miles to come with its stone-gray walls and the vast, majestic beige castle with many turrets and towers dwarfing the settlements outside it as the final wedge against invasions from the continent.

This was it, their last day together. Knowing them, there's nothing to worry about. The scouts must've told the two already and opted to hide the fact. He can't imagine a lapse in the constant reports they've fed him for the past few days. If there's a village, there it was. If there's a cart ahead, he'd know.