At the City Gates

Hearing Chu Guang's words, Bagro froze for two seconds before asking hesitantly, "What do you mean by 'arranged'..." Chu Guang continued, "Most of the Legion prisoners we captured came from the Expeditionary Force's 21st Ten-Thousand-Man Unit—the subordinates of that myriarch named Dillon. They claimed they followed their superior into joining the Bone Chewer tribe... So are you Dillon's subordinate too?" Bagro shook his head. "I previously belonged to the 14th Ten-Thousand-Man Unit..." "I know," Chu Guang said, looking into his eyes and getting straight to the point. "What I'm curious about is how you ended up as a tank commander for the Fang Clan." Bagro seemed to sink into memory. After a moment's pause, he spoke. "Probably the year before last. The 14th Ten-Thousand-Man Unit suffered devastating losses fighting the Great Rift Valley. I thought I was dead for sure, but I was lucky enough to survive..." "You were lucky indeed. Cut straight to the chase." Chu Guang glanced at the bandages wrapped around him. "...I didn't rejoin the Expeditionary Force. I had no way back at all, so I went to the Free State of Bugra south of the Great Rift Valley. I found work there as a mechanic, barely making enough to feed myself. Then one day, when I went to a tavern for a drink, I bumped into my former commanding officer. He said he had a new job to introduce to me." "Driving tanks for marauders?" Bagro fell silent for a moment, but ultimately chose to come clean. "He told me a friend of his had acquired a batch of tanks but couldn't find trained drivers. If I was interested in taking up my old trade and training a crew of professional drivers for them, they were willing to pay a lump sum of fifty thousand dinars. There would be extra bonuses for field missions, and maybe even a chance to return home." Chu Guang raised an eyebrow slightly. "And then you went to Golden Fang?" Bagro shook his head helplessly. "That came later... At first, he introduced me to a well-known local arms dealer named Flint. I thought I was getting a job as an instructor and bodyguard. I never expected they'd bundle me up with the tanks and sell us straight to the Bone Chewer tribe." Chu Guang quipped, "So you're saying you're a victim here?" "I have no intention of making excuses for myself. Reasons don't matter, do they?" Bagro said calmly. "A loss is a loss. I lost to you, and I lost to my own arrogance... Now I'm your prisoner, nothing more." *This fellow has quite a personality.* Chu Guang didn't take his story at face value, nor did he particularly care whether Bagro had become a marauder willingly or under duress. However, from his words, Chu Guang caught two pieces of intel that piqued his interest. [The relationship between the arms dealers of the Free State of Bugra and the Bone Chewer tribe might not be a simple commercial arrangement; the latter appears to be backed by the former.] And— [The Legion is very likely involved!] Chu Guang had heard about the Free State of Bugra long ago—a survivor settlement to the north, near the Great Rift Valley, populated by merchants who fenced loot for marauders and sold them decent goods in return. Back then, Chu Guang hadn't paid it much mind. After all, Red River Town had traded with the Bone Chewer tribe as well; such dealings were commonplace on the wasteland. Now it seemed matters were not nearly as "straightforward" as he had assumed. Chu Guang jotted down the lead and looked at Bagro again. "One last question: what was your commander's name, and what rank did he hold?" Though it was two questions in one, Bagro answered honestly. "Kondra. Myriarch of the Expeditionary Force's 14th Ten-Thousand-Man Unit... Roughly the same rank as Dillon." *Kondra, is it?* Chu Guang mused thoughtfully, "Understood." Bagro glanced at the recording equipment beside him, then looked back at Chu Guang and asked hesitantly, "Can I... begin?" Deactivating the screen projected inside his helmet visor, Chu Guang nodded. "Begin." *** The next day. Tortured by the New Alliance's artillery bombardment all night, Golden Fang finally greeted the morning sun after enduring endless torment. The heavy rain abated slightly, and the sky began to clear. Golden Fang had ordered the streets of the southern district choked with barricades to block vehicle movement, scattering his thousand-man units throughout the half-collapsed ruins and narrow alleys, preparing to fight to the death against the advancing New Alliance soldiers. Yet— The decisive battle Golden Fang and his subordinates anticipated never came. After advancing their front line to the southern outskirts of Xizhou City, the New Alliance troops halted in place. They even began digging trenches right beneath their noses. Building fortifications at his doorstep was something Golden Fang could not tolerate. He immediately mobilized a reserve thousand-man unit, ordering them forward to halt the construction and probe the Alliance's strength. Yet— Despair soon followed. The thousand-man unit had barely emerged from the urban zone, before they could even get close to the New Alliance positions, when a savage barrage slammed into them. Two quad anti-aircraft trucks had concealed themselves on either side of the ruins of the elevated bridge in the southern city since the late hours of the night. Camouflage netting draped over their cabs, their barrels were depressed dead-level, aimed straight north toward the city. When the marauders entered his field of view, Brother Mole didn't give the order to fire immediately. Instead, he let them advance a short distance. Only when they closed to around four hundred meters and finally spotted something amiss ahead did Brother Mole lower his binoculars and bark excitedly, "Light 'em the hell up!" Both quad anti-aircraft mounts opened fire simultaneously, unleashing a ferocious rain of shells. The rhythmic, thumping roars echoed like a death knell as a volley of 20mm high-explosive shells wove a sheet of fire across the air. Caught in the crossfire, the sortieing thousand-man unit suffered staggering casualties in an instant, pinned behind cover, unable to advance an inch. "Aaaagh—my leg!" A marauder whose lower calf was missing lay behind a pile of rubble, clutching his knee and screaming in agony. Right then, several mortar shells rained down across their positions, compounding their misery. Nearby, a centurion's eyes were bloodshot, trembling with fury and terror. Though he wanted nothing more than to sever the heads of those blue mole rats and turn them into drinking flasks, the fear of death ultimately won out. He shouted panickedly toward the rear, "Boss! Their fire's too heavy!" "Without tank support... we can't push through!" The subtext was clear— *Retreat.* However, their thousand-man commander clearly had no intention of falling back, and Lord Golden Fang's orders left him no way out either... "Spread out and crawl forward! Their shells are limited! Push within two hundred meters and victory is ours!" Standing on the front line to direct the battle, the marauder commander roared madly, "Their mortars are already locked onto us! If you don't want to die, move your asses!" "Whoever dares retreat—" "I'll shoot him right now!" Hearing those words, despair welled in the eyes of nearly every marauder. Ahead were the New Alliance's guns; behind were their own. Trapped in the middle, forward or backward meant death either way. Under the commander's relentless prodding and threats, the prone marauders began inching forward in desperation. Peering at the enemy positions from behind a shattered bridge pier, Elven King Fugui called out to Brother Mole, who was directing the fire, "They're only two hundred and fifty meters away!" Standing beneath the pier, Elaina remarked in surprise, "Damn, they crawl pretty fast." That was right around the maximum effective range of a Panzerfaust rocket launcher. Another fifty or sixty meters, and those marauders would be able to return fire. Stray bullets were already whizzing past, pinging and scraping against the welded steel plates of the trucks. Canyon Escape Mole lowered his binoculars and waved his right hand backward. "Pull back!" The two anti-aircraft trucks began to withdraw. Two trucks stationed in the rear slowly elevated the gun barrels mounted on their beds. Sighting on the advancing marauders, they slammed two 88mm high-explosive shells into the dirt. The shockwaves and billowing dust took over from the anti-aircraft fire, momentarily pinning down the advancing enemy. Right at that moment, a hundred and fifty beefcakes from the Jungle Corps stormed into the fray. Before the marauders could celebrate the departure of the anti-aircraft guns, sweeping machine-gun fire drove those who had just scrambled up to charge back into the dirt. Steel-plated KV-1 exoskeletons took the lead, with every man wielding an LD-47j light machine gun. Their volume of fire was even heavier than before! Watching the battle unfold, the commander at the front finally felt despair creep onto his face. These people... They were absolute demons! Perhaps having seen the carnage at the front line, a flare shot up from the rear. Watching two green lights rise into the sky, the commander breathed a sigh of relief and shouted to his men, "Retreat!!" Having crawled almost right beneath the enemy's muzzles, the marauders wanted nothing more than to curse his ancestors, but being allowed to pull back was a relief nonetheless. The marauders further back opened fire to cover their brothers' withdrawal. Just then, a silver cross glided silently into the sky above them and suddenly unleashed a torrential storm of cannon fire. Confronted by this rain of fire cascading from the heavens, not only was the sortieing thousand-man unit shattered, but the defenders hunkering within the city were also left utterly dumbfounded. *What the hell is that now?!* Previously, New Alliance planes had dumped plenty of shit on their heads, but those had been wooden gliders. They could at least fire off a few rifle bursts in retaliation, and when the planes dove, they had even managed to shoot down one or two. This newcomer was entirely different. It had no intention of descending at all, opening fire well outside their effective firing range. How the hell were they supposed to fight that?! Battered and disoriented by fire from every direction, the thousand-man unit could no longer sustain its morale. In an instant, they broke and fled in shambles. A force of 1,121 men had marched out; fewer than two hundred returned, and not a single survivor was uninjured. Watching the battered, soot-stained remnants stagger back, the marauders crouching behind barricades and windows swallowed hard, a shared panic gripping their hearts. Facing such a terrifying adversary... Did they really stand any chance of winning? Just then, a transport plane swept overhead. Marauders in the streets scrambled into alleys, while those by the windows ducked hastily for cover. The hum of New Alliance propellers had become a terror etched into their very DNA. Soon, however, they were surprised to find that what fell was not bombs, but leaflets drifting down like snowflakes... "...What's this?" Carefully picking up a slip of paper from the ground, Greyhound unfolded it and took a look. The paper was rough. On the front was a line of text, and on the back was an illustration. He was illiterate and couldn't read the words, but the pictures on the back were clear enough. One showed twisted corpses strewn across the ground, with numbers beside them indicating the casualty count; the background appeared to be Pine Valley. Another picture showed a crowd of prisoners holding bowls, receiving food from a massive cauldron. Beneath that were several black-and-white photographs. He recognized Dillon—a cross was drawn over his portrait. Beside him were Lion Fang, Bear Fang... The others were likely thousand-man commanders as well, though he didn't know their names. *These must be prisoners...* A flicker of comprehension dawned in Greyhound's eyes, tinged with conflicted emotion. Just then, a low murmur came from nearby. "'Become a prisoner of the Alliance to spare your life... Surrender voluntarily with this leaflet, and you can be promoted to work as a prison camp overseer.'" Greyhound glanced over to see a short, scrawny man holding a leaflet, muttering quietly under his breath. Noticing Greyhound's gaze, the man visibly panicked and hurriedly hid the leaflet. Greyhound said nothing. Pretending nothing was amiss, he walked over and slung an arm around the man's shoulder. "What does that paper say?" The man answered tremulously, "N-nothing... Just something about surrendering." Greyhound instinctively pressed, "Doesn't it say how to surrender? Just hold the leaflet and walk over? What if they shoot you dead?" The man gave Greyhound a surprised look, then quickly darted his eyes left and right. Seeing that no one was paying attention, he whispered at rapid-fire speed, "Just hold the leaflet high... Don't carry any weapons. The New Alliance soldiers and the guerrillas won't shoot. You don't want to fight either? We can go together—" "Enough, shut up," Greyhound cut him off abruptly, glaring with a warning look. "Act like today never happened. You said nothing, and I asked nothing. Got it?" The man nodded nervously. Greyhound patted his shoulder and walked back to his post, casually tucking the leaflet into his pocket. He didn't know why he had asked those questions. He hadn't planned on surrendering. Yet, after witnessing the gruesome fate of the comrades who had marched out of the city, he couldn't bring himself to throw the paper away... *Just keep it as a way out.* Greyhound comforted himself with that thought and put the matter aside for the moment. Right then, a broadcast suddenly echoed across the city. "...Marauders of Xizhou City! The New Alliance army is at your gates! Last night's bombardment was your final ultimatum!" The resonant voice reverberated above the urban district. Listening to the deafening broadcast, the marauders exchanged glances, seeing only confusion in one another's eyes. Especially when they heard that the invincible Dillon had fallen in battle, and that the tanks they took such pride in had all been destroyed... This was far more despair-inducing than the artillery barrage that had lasted all night. *** "These shameless cowards! Vermin! Cockroaches! Spineless rats!" Golden Fang had never imagined that instead of charging into the city, the New Alliance would air-drop surrender leaflets. Even less had he expected them to set up loudspeakers right under his nose, tempting weak-willed cowards to surrender. Surrender? That word didn't exist in the Bone Chewer tribe! "These filthy mole rats actually... stoop to such underhanded tricks!" Tearing the leaflet in his hands into shreds of confetti, Golden Fang vented his rage and glared at his subordinates, who dared not make a sound. "After you go down, inspect every single one of them!" "If any coward dares hide a leaflet or discuss what's on that broadcast, flay his skin and hang him outside the window!" "And another thing—keep your eyes on your sectors! If they set up another broadcast, tear it down immediately!" Heads lowered tremulously, the commanders didn't dare say a word and could only nod in compliance. "Yes, sir..." Emerging from the room, their faces dark with foreboding, they dared not linger, hurrying down the watchtower. "The Chieftain has gone mad..." Rock Fang glanced back at the door, swallowed hard, and muttered under his breath. Standing beside him, Cloud Fang was so startled that he quickly brought a finger to his lips, gesturing for silence before glancing around. "Shh... Watch your mouth! Do you want to die?!" Rock Fang drew in his neck and shut his mouth at once. Their chieftain had always been brutal, but compared to now, his past behavior was child's play. Just last night, a man who merely mentioned retreating had been hacked to death in his bed upon returning to his room. His corpse was hung from a lamppost with a placard around his neck that read 'Coward.' Now, the entire tribe—lineage members, branch lines, and outsiders alike, from low-level lackeys to top commanders—was blanketed in terror. Everyone feared for their own lives... Back when Dillon was around, he could at least talk some sense into him. But now, the chieftain wouldn't listen to anyone. The thought of fleeing suddenly surfaced in Rock Fang's mind, startling even himself. Having fought his way down from the northern reaches of River Valley Province, he considered himself a battle-hardened veteran. Yet this was the first time such a cowardly thought had ever crossed his mind... *** Wasteland OL Official Website. As the war entered its endgame and more combat footage and screenshots were released, activity on the forum surged by the day. Corps took turns flaunting their battle records. Not only were active players thrilled, but lurkers who hadn't secured closed-beta slots also had a blast watching the spectacle. "Awesome! They even brought out a Stuka!" "Stuka my ass, that's just a dive-bombing human suicide missile, alright?" "A gunship! An aerial gunship!" "Looks kind of like a C-47, and a bit like a TB-3... But it's actually electric! What kind of battery matches the energy density of aviation fuel?! And that aluminum alloy is impressive too—a 37mm cannon's recoil is no joke, especially with rapid fire." "Haha, I heard the lore says it runs on solid hydrogen." "Using fuel cells for a propeller plane?! Badass!" "If you've got solid hydrogen, why not go straight to turbojets? (funny)" "Probably to save costs. Looking at yesterday's battle, they only fired one salvo of rockets; the rest was basically pounding with heavy artillery." "I think before developing aircraft, we need to unlock tanks. How about building an electric T-72?" "A solid-hydrogen lighter? How about we stick to fossil fuel? That's safer. (funny)" The armchair lurkers focused mostly on the unscientific gear and fictional technologies that were near-impossible in reality. As for the active players... Their focus lay mostly on gameplay mechanics and tactics. For example, Canyon Escape Mole specifically created a thread boasting that he was the one who drew the surrender leaflets dropped by the New Alliance planes! However, people clearly didn't care about his artistic talent—especially when he wasn't drawing doujinshi. The thread quickly derailed. Qiangren Suonan: "Speaking of leaflets, I actually found an Easter egg." Canyon Escape Mole: "What Easter egg?" Qiangren Suonan: "Heh, I saw some leaflets landing in empty spots and thought it was a waste. Worried the marauders wouldn't see them, I secretly gathered a bunch and slipped them into their sleeping quarters. Then this afternoon, I wanted to peek in and check the surrender results. I didn't see anyone surrendering, but all five guys in the room were hung outside the window." Fang Chang: "Holy shit!?" Ye Shi: "6666!" Yaya: "Wait, why were they hung outside the window? Σ(°д°lll)" Makabazi: "Do you even need to ask? If you were their boss and saw your men planning to flee, wouldn't you do something?" Yaya: "That's awful..." Cut the Crap: "That's nothing. If they caught you, it'd be way worse." Elaina: "Not necessarily. For Yaya, it might be an unrated bad end, which rounds down to not awful at all. (funny)" Yaya: "Piss off!" Canyon Escape Mole: "Sigh, Brother Rat is truly wicked." Elven King Fugui: "Indeed, that's way too wicked. (funny)" Qiangren Suonan: "??? What do you mean wicked! I did it out of kindness! Where are your manners?" Brother Edge: "Sigh, a warrior may be slain but not humiliated. Since you already slipped into their room, you should've just put them out of their misery." Qiangren Suonan: "I damn well wanted to, but I couldn't take them in a fight! T.T" Scavenger Lv99: "Hahahahaha!" "..." *** Night. Resting inside his command tent, Chu Guang browsed the forum via his VM. Seeing his little players vividly describe one outrageous stunt after another, he couldn't help musing inwardly, *...This is practically criminal!* Stuffing leaflets under people's pillows and into their coats wasn't even the wildest trick. Some players ambushed marauders near buildings rigged with loudspeakers, or even set up tripwire grenades in stairwells... To shore up their crumbling morale, the marauders had to endure casualties while venturing deep into loosely controlled sectors of the city just to dismantle speakers tied to walls, hidden in the wreckage of abandoned buses, or mounted on rooftops. Soon, however, they discovered it was an exercise in futility. The local guerrillas knew the terrain outside Sixin District far better than they did. Often, as soon as they took down a speaker in the north, another would go up in the south. It was like playing whack-a-mole—press down one gourd, and another popped up. The Burning Corps and local guerrillas roaming the city needed only a single loudspeaker to keep an entire hundred-man unit running in circles for half a day. Throughout the entire daylight hours, the marauders in the city hadn't had a single moment of rest... Over the communications channel. Stationed in Hope Town, Ma Ban gave Chu Guang his routine progress report while also briefing him on the surrender appeals. "...As of now, we have received over a hundred prisoners on our end. Worried that marauder spies might have slipped in, I didn't bring them to Hope Town. Instead, I placed them in an abandoned subway station in the eastern district, currently watched over by the guerrillas." Pausing, Ma Ban continued, "Should we keep these people?" Chu Guang smiled faintly. "Keep them. We promised not to execute prisoners; we can't break our word. Besides, they're of some use. Someone has to manage the POWs." Dead, a person was just a handful of dirt; alive, they could still serve as a battery. On minimum subsistence rations, they wouldn't consume much food. There were plenty of resources around Xizhou City waiting to be developed, and tasks ordinary people were unwilling to do still needed hands. Once the war concluded, the number of prisoners would likely exceed the New Alliance's own population. Relying on the handful of men in the NPC corps to manage tens of thousands of people wasn't realistic. Those who surrendered first would become overseers, and those who surrendered later would become laborers. When the time came, he would only need to assign a few guards to supervise the overseers. The earliest turncoats and the prisoners captured on the battlefield were naturally positioned against one another. To prove their loyalty and "special status," the former would work harder to perform well and voluntarily draw a line between themselves and the rest. Having guessed the Administrator's intentions, Ma Ban smiled knowingly. "I understand your meaning!" Chu Guang nodded. "Good. Anything else?" "One last matter," Ma Ban paused, then continued. "Among the prisoners who surrendered today... one brought a verbal message." *A message?* Sitting upright in his chair, Chu Guang showed interest. "Whose message?" "A thousand-man commander named Rock Fang," Ma Ban said cautiously. "The messenger claimed to be Rock Fang's confidant. They're responsible for the western defense line of Sixin District." Chu Guang glanced at the map. The western side of Sixin District bordered Lake Xizhou, a terrain of flooded shoals and wetlands—treacherous, easy to defend, and hard to attack. Precisely because of that, the Fang Clan likely wouldn't deploy many troops there. However, they would certainly post trusted men in that spot. Chu Guang's interest was piqued. "What else did he say?" Ma Ban continued, "The messenger said their commander is willing to defect to us, and wanted to ask if we could show him a way to survive..."