Rain began to fall from the gray sky, making the ground increasingly muddy.
A soldier wearing a combat uniform looked at this emotionally draining sight and couldn't help but complain in his heart, but at that moment, a prompt came from the auxiliary chip in his helmet, causing him to divert his attention to something else. However, after he saw the content of the prompt, he also couldn't help but reveal a look of surprise.
Immediately afterward, he hurriedly connected to the communication channel and shouted, "Squad 17 is back!"
A grayish-black shadow slowly appeared in the distance of the horizon, it was a machine with a metallic luster, shaped somewhat like a spider, relying on its six thick mechanical limbs to travel through the mud at a speed that wasn't too slow - originally, the mechanical limbs were supposed to be eight, but two of them were already nothing more than smouldering stubs.
The machine's shell was covered with various pits and scorch marks, and only one of its two turrets remained, obviously after some kind of grueling battle, with only a skull scribbled on the side shell miraculously remaining largely intact.
Equally as wretched in appearance as the body was the military base where the soldier was, the alloy exterior walls were pockmarked and pitted, with black smoke still billowing out in several places, and no one had thought to fix it.
"Deathbringer, you're the only ones back?" The base gate slowly opened and several heavily armed soldiers walked out while cursing and the swamp-like ground non-stop.
A cover suddenly popped up above that obviously badly beaten body, and a blonde youth with a tired face poked his head out from there, "Ambushed, there are at least twenty BTXs over there, and we only have five MF1s and two hundred unlucky mecha infantrymen, who were used as a midnight snack by them.... Luckily I ran fast."
"Yeah, Sergeant Borg, you've always been a fast runner ... Everyone else died?"
"Two lucky guys fell behind," Sergeant Borg pointed inside the fuselage, "and were rescued by us ... Hey, Thompson, you look like you don't welcome me back?"
The soldier known as Thompson sighed, "You'll see in a moment. The entire camp is now spreading the word, and I guess the headmaster will make an official announcement in a while."
"What's worse than one of our mixed squads being completely wiped out due to an intelligence leak?"
"Too many."
Hearing this, Sergeant Borg could only shrug his shoulders and look down at his machine, "Alright Hunter, let's go back and see just how unlucky we can get."
The battered and bruised Battle Spider slowly walked into the base and then the base gate closed.
The battle spider with the skull painted on it stopped outside a maintenance shop and two stoned looking soldiers sat motionless in the dirt next to it.
"Hey Private, you haven't even known that group of comrades who turned into meat scraps for three months, there's no need to be so depressed, you'll get used to it, the highest level is that you don't even care if you die." Borg patted a soldier's head and consoled, seeing that the soldier did not have any reaction, he was also self-conscious, turning his head and asking the person next to him, "Where is the old man?"
"Probably dawdling somewhere again, you know him."
"Is that how people used to like to waste their lives?" Booger let out a long sigh, "It's been four months, can't turn him around yet."
Just then, the radio in the camp went off.
"Guys, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Christensen, the leader of the 475th Mech Regiment in the 7th War Zone, I'm sure you all know my name." A middle-aged man's voice came over the radio, "But that will soon become irrelevant."
"What the hell?" Borg grunted as he pulled out a cigarette and stuffed it in his mouth.
"There may already be people who know about the hookup up there, and there may be people who don't ... I'll just say it all together here." The Lieutenant Colonel's voice trailed off, "The Seventh Theater Command and the Coalition have come to an agreement to formally surrender in twenty-four hours - yes, we surrendered, the generals surrendered while we were still fighting bloody battles on the front lines."
The camp resounded with shouts and curses, but not enthusiastically, and more faces were numb, obviously having heard the wind.
Only Borg spread his hands to those around him in shock, "Hell, what the hell is going on? Surrender?"
"Yeah ... it's surrender, man." The soldier said coldly, "We heard about it just two hours after your squad left."
"Son of a bitch." Borg muttered.
The Lieutenant Colonel's voice continued, "I have received a direct order from Command that must be obeyed, so I am announcing that all combat missions for the 475th Mech Regiment are canceled, and all personnel are on standby at the base."
Borg looked next to him, his black pilot Hunter was approaching with a grimace on his face, "Sergeant, are we going to surrender?"
"Vote his ass off." Borg said.
But just then, as if he had made up his mind about something, the Lt. Colonel's voice got a little louder, "While I have to stay here and suffer the indignity of surrendering, you guys don't have to. I still have thirty minutes to issue new combat orders, all of you who are unwilling to accept surrender, you must leave the base within thirty minutes, and I will mark you as being on a covert combat mission and unable to accept new orders from outside, so that you can leave the seventh theater of operations and head to the adjoining fifth theater of operations, where the fight has been very hard, but the fifth theater of operations command has never been in the habit of negotiating compromises, and I think that there will be better suited for the unwilling, and those who want to leave a life behind will stay on base with me."
Hunter whispered, "Sergeant, you hear me, we can leave!"
"Sure ... I kind of like the old guy, why didn't I think he was so nice before." Borg replied in the same low voice.
"In thirty minutes, I will lose all authority, and those who leave the base will be attacked by a combination of the Seventh War Zone and the Alliance Forces for failing to carry out the truce order; you will have no reinforcements, no supplies, and all the enemy along the way until you enter the Fifth War Zone.... I hope that you will think clearly in these thirty minutes Think clearly in these thirty minutes, whether to endure the momentary humiliation and live, or step towards the land of death."
The base gate reopened, and many people's eyes were cast outside, but no one had moved yet even for a while.
"Sergeant, what do you decide?" Hunter asked with a twist of his head, he had long since gotten used to leaving all the decisions in the hands of his own captain, and simply carrying out the orders himself.
Borg furrowed his brow in contemplation, but then a bearded soldier approached, "Borg, that Spider won't be repaired in half an hour if you're leaving, I suggest you get a new one, there must be enough Spiders vacant on the base right now anyway, and not everyone will be willing to risk their lives to leave."
Borg gave him a look, "What about you? Old Char, are you leaving?"
Char shrugged, "I'm not leaving, I'm going to just take this opportunity to apply for retirement."
"Retirement ... Oh yeah, you've already reached your years of service." Booger patted his head, "Maybe I won't see you again in the future, so I'll just go ahead and wish you the best of luck in living the life you want to go."
A smile appeared under Char's beard, "I'll go find you a car in the best condition."
By the time Char left, Hunter couldn't wait to get excited, "We're leaving?"
"Of course we're going ... but let's find the old man first!" Booger replied, "It's a real game this time, and we can't do it without him."
These words made Hunter nod repeatedly, "That's right, we must find him, even if he doesn't want to go, we must tie him up, without him, we don't want to make it to the fifth war zone alive!"
"Tie up who to go?" A voice sounded nearby, then a black-haired youth walked over. In this military camp filled with white and black people, his yellow skin and black hair were obviously a bit conspicuous.
"Old man, you heard the radio, didn't you?" Hunter said, "What are you going to do?"
The youth asked back, "What about you guys?"
"We're leaving." Booger replied, "I'd like you to come with us too, we need your abilities."
"I knew you couldn't stand this ..., Captain," the youth sighed, "Who asked me to be your co-pilot? If we're going, of course we're going together, and I'm not attached to this what's-her-name Seventh Warzone anyway."
The muscles on Borg's face that had been tense suddenly relaxed.
"Seriously, old man, I'm a whole lot more relieved to have you around."
"Now that we're on the same rope, can we change our nicknames? I'm only twenty-five."
"No, you were born in the 20th century." Booger laughed, "That's over a hundred years older than me."
"That's not my fault, don't bring that up okay, I'll sue you for discrimination!"
"OK!" announced Borg with satisfaction as he dropped the brush in his hand, 'The 'Deathbringer' squad is ready to go!"
The mechanical spider in front of him had a crooked skull painted on its side, as well as the word "DAETH" written in an equally ghastly manner, which was pretty much the bottom of the barrel for the ugliest word a formally educated adult could write.
The dark-haired young man who had been watching from the sidelines twitched his face, "Captain, isn't that word misspelled?"
"It's the misspelling that makes it so impressive!" Borg had gotten into the cab, his voice coming out through the speakers, "Alright old man, what are you waiting for, let's go!"
The dark haired youth laughed bitterly and grabbed the handle on the Mechanical Spider, flipping over and leaping onto the war machine.
The Mechanical Spider let out a slight roar as its mechanical limbs came together and held up the main hatch, it was now a five meter tall behemoth that could easily crush a company of infantry on the battlefield.
An expressionless captain stood at the entrance to the base, letting the battle spiders walk past him and merge into the stream of others leaving the base.
Then he sent the data back to the mainframe in the command room.
"Mixed Task Force Six data updated to include one MF1 Battle Spider. Crew members: army sergeant Borg Ansor, army private first class Hunter Malik, and army private Zhao Yu."
The Lieutenant Colonel looked at the words that popped up on the screen and twitched his eyebrows, "Zhao Yu? Is that the 'old man'? Did he follow along? It's also good to ... let the Alliance Army suffer a bit more."
In a pitch-black room, only a small red point of light kept flickering.
A soft voice suddenly came from the air, the words spat out by this voice did not belong to any civilization on Earth, and it was impossible for humans to even learn how to pronounce them.
And along with this voice, a green light spot lit up next to the red light spot, also flashing non-stop.
A message belonging only to the communicators was being transmitted.
Lek, they've already departed.
Is the target confirmed to be here?
Confirmed. We want you to evacuate as soon as possible.
They won't openly attack me yet, unless they're insane.
They don't have to attack you. The consequences alone could break you. We've had many companions confirm that with their own experiences.
But that's exactly why I can't leave, and that's why I'm staying here.
Well, I don't think it's possible to persuade you either, so please be careful, we'll do everything we can to provide support, but it's too far away for force support to be in place in time.
Harms, how much time do I have left?
In Earth time, it's about 95 days. Ryker, it's too late. You can't help these people.
Well, have they ever failed?
Yes, once.
Thank you so much, Harms, for restoring my hope.
But there was only one time. And they've succeeded 20,420 times. Ryker, I must remind you that no matter how much you want to help the people here, you can't break the rules.
I know, but I'm not giving up.
Good luck, Lake.
The green light went out.
The silence in the air lasted about a minute before the door to the room was opened and a figure slowly walked out.