107: Chapter 18 Six Hundred Kilometers South

Two hours before departure, the positioning results from the drones were sent back.

[Reconnaissance Drone #2, Signal Confirmed]

[17.4kHz Pulse ×2, Coordinates: 14.7° S, 121.3° E]

[Signal source located below the surface, depth approximately 3 to 4 meters, determined to be an underground facility]

[Positioning Accuracy: ±3km]

Li Cang projected the coordinates onto the tactical map.

The red dot landed one hundred and eighty kilometers south of Balanga, in an inland jungle-hill area, seventy kilometers from the coastline.

It wasn't on the coastline.

He reviewed Kara's deduction once more. She predicted that Li Cang would track along the coastline, passing three bays, finding traces at the second bay, and then heading inland from the bay through a canyon.

The canyon was southeast of the factory.

Li Cang was going to enter from the northeast.

Kara had deployed the walking vehicles in the canyon, approximately fifteen kilometers in a straight line from the factory. Based on data extrapolated from the one at Manila Fortress, the walking vehicles' marching speed was about eight kilometers per hour.

It would take at least two hours to rush back to the factory from the canyon.

Two hours.

If the assault was fast enough, they could break into the factory's core area before the walking vehicles returned.

But how fast was "fast enough"?

He pulled up the estimated scale of the factory. It was three times the size of Manila Fortress, an underground facility with an unknown entrance location. Breaking through the entrance, clearing the corridors, and advancing to the core area would require C-19 to lead the way at the front.

A T3 C-19.

Li Cang pressed the communication key.

"All expedition personnel, assemble at the West Gate in two hours."

The lights in the base corridors were a cold white, illuminating every single crack in the concrete walls with stark clarity.

When C-19 emerged from the armory, Corvin was leaning against the wall at a corridor corner.

He wasn't wearing power armor. He was in a grey training uniform with sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding a cup of water in his right hand.

C-19 saw him but didn't stop his pace.

Corvin didn't move either. He only spoke when C-19 reached him.

"I'm not on the expedition list."

"No," C-19 said.

Corvin took a sip of water.

"Because of the stabilizer issue?"

"Because of the stabilizer issue."

He pulled the cup away from his mouth and looked at the water inside. The surface rippled slightly. His hand was steady, but looking closely, one could see an extremely slight, irregular tremor in his pinky finger.

Corvin switched the cup to his left hand and let his right hand hang at his side, the pinky's tremor hidden by the folds of his training pants.

C-19 saw it.

The two were silent for a few seconds. The corridor held only the hum of the ventilation ducts and the muffled thuds of someone moving ammo crates in the distance.

"South," Corvin said. "Six hundred kilometers."

"Six hundred kilometers."

"How many units?"

"Two units. Improved models, with shields added to the joints."

Corvin's brow twitched. He had been in the reinforcement units at Manila Fortress and knew how C-19 had taken down the first one. By severing the hydraulic lines. Now, the lines were encased in shields.

He glanced at C-19, from top to bottom.

Li Cang had provided new power armor after the T3 upgrade; the pauldrons were wider and the breastplate thicker. The Chainsword hung at his waist, the hilt positioned a bit lower than before.

"You've changed," Corvin said.

C-19 did not deny it.

"Can the shields stop you?"

C-19 looked down at his right hand. The gauntlet of the power armor encased his palm, and the servo motors hummed slightly at the joints.

He clenched his fist.

He didn't use force. He just clenched it.

A soft click came from the knuckles of the gauntlet as the armor plates were slightly pushed apart by the internal strength.

"I don't know," C-19 said. "I'll know when I get there."

Corvin stared at that fist in silence for a moment.

Then he finished the remaining water in the cup in one gulp and handed the empty cup to C-19.

C-19 took it.

"Put it back for me," Corvin said. "It's a cafeteria cup, don't lose it."

C-19 looked at the cup in his hand. A common aluminum water cup with several scratches on its surface.

He stuffed the cup into the utility pouch at the waist of his power armor.

Corvin turned and walked toward the other end of the corridor.

He stopped after a few steps without looking back.

"Nice armor."

Then he continued walking.

C-19 stood in the corridor, watching Corvin's receding back.

Corvin's gait was different than before. There was an extremely subtle outward roll of the ankle when his left foot hit the ground. His perception after T3 was too keen; he could see the tendon in Corvin's left ankle have an improper slackness with every step.

It wasn't just the pinky anymore.

He watched the figure disappear around the corridor corner.

He looked down at the aluminum cup in the utility pouch at his waist.

Then he turned and headed toward the West Gate.

Six trucks drove out of the base's West Gate under the grey sky.

The Pan-Pacific wasteland unfolded beneath the wheels—scorched earth, rubble, and the occasional clump of grey-green shrubs. The sky was an eternal leaden grey, the sun hidden behind the dust layer, leaving only a blurred bright spot.

The convoy didn't take the highways. The highways had been blown apart in the nuclear war decades ago. The trucks ground out their own path on the scorched earth, the dust kicked up by the tires trailing behind like a long, earthy-yellow tail.

C-19 sat in the bed of the first truck. Ten members of the assault team sat around him, Bolters held upright by their knees and Chainswords hanging at their waists. No one spoke.

TW-29 sat in the corner of the truck bed.

Cradling his Bolter with the muzzle pointing down, he stared at a weld seam on the floor of the truck bed, his gaze unfocused.

He was thinking of Manila Fortress.

Not of the people who died, but of the process of waiting. Holding a sharpened steel rebar in the ruins of the lighthouse, listening to the footsteps of the walking vehicle approach step by step. When fighting, you are moving, you are doing things, you have no time to think; but when waiting, you can do nothing but think.

Thinking about how you would die.

Now he was waiting again.

But it was different.

Last time he had a piece of rebar in his hand; this time it was a Bolter. Last time he was surrounded by a few desperate recruits like himself; this time C-19 was sitting beside him.

He stole a glance at C-19.

C-19 was leaning against the truck bed's sideboard with his eyes closed, the hilt of his Chainsword protruding from his waist and swaying gently with the truck's jolts. His breathing was slow and deep, his breastplate rising and falling slightly with each breath.

His eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping.

Every time the truck ran over a large stone and the body jolted violently, the others would be tossed aside and then sit back up. C-19 didn't. His body remained motionless.

TW-29 shifted his gaze back to the weld on the floor.

His hands weren't shaking.

His thumb wasn't rubbing against the handguard either.

He sat quietly holding his gun, waiting to reach the destination.

Fourteen hours later.

The convoy stopped.

The edge of the jungle. The scorched earth ended here, replaced by dense tropical vegetation. The canopy blocked out the sky, and the light changed from leaden grey to dark green. The air became humid, carrying the scent of humus and plant sap.

C-19 jumped off the truck.

His boots sank half an inch into the soft mud.

He looked up at the jungle. The tree trunks were so thick that three people couldn't wrap their arms around them, and vines hung down from the canopy. From deep within the jungle came the cries of unknown animals, sharp and intermittent.

The communicator rang. It was Li Cang's voice.

"Target coordinates updated. The factory entrance is estimated to be on the northern slope of the hills, twelve kilometers in a straight line from your position. Jungle march is expected to take four to five hours."

"Understood."

"Kara's walking vehicles are deployed in the canyon to the southeast, fifteen kilometers from the factory. You're entering from the northeast, so her deployment won't cover you. But once the fighting starts, the walking vehicles will return to defend. From the canyon to the factory, their marching speed is eight kilometers per hour. You have a window of about two hours."

Two hours.

"Enough," C-19 said.

He turned off the communicator and faced the sixty men behind him.

TW-78's first squad had already disembarked from the second and third trucks and were organizing their gear at the jungle's edge. TW-112's second squad jumped down from the last three trucks, their power armor boots making dull thuds on the muddy ground.

C-19 gave no pre-battle speech.

He said only one thing.

"Keep up."

Then he turned and walked into the jungle.