12dz Chapter 939
Chapter 939
[Time]: Autumn 1956, late at night
Location: Cuba, Bayamo River front plain -> Airborne control core area
The night wind dispersed the last wisps of white smoke carrying the smell of ozone.
That thing that hung in mid-air, illuminating the ground as if it were daytime.
The plasma sphere flickered twice before gradually dimming and finally going out within a few seconds.
The only source of light was lost. The entire Bayamo Riverbed was plunged back into primordial darkness. Only those areas that had just been operating at full capacity remained.
The grille vents on the back of the mech, which had been forced to cool down, still emitted a faint blue glow, like a thousand fireflies lurking in the darkness.
Castro pushed away the old, broken-in-two gun that was pressing against his chest.
Gun struggled to crawl out of the charred trench. His boots stepped on an unusually thick layer of "sand," which wasn't actually sand, but rather bone ash as fine as flour. With each step, a puff of grayish-white mist rose.
No one spoke.
The survivors around him were either sitting on the ground with their knees drawn up in a daze, or staring blankly at the group of black armored giants who were still standing straight like javelins.
The one-sided massacre just now seemed to be over, but it also seemed not to be.
The giants did not clap their hands or celebrate after "winning," nor did they even sway their bodies slightly to relieve the fatigue brought on by the intense killing that lasted for several tens of minutes.
They simply stood there silently, forming a seamless circular defensive line atop the ashes of tens of thousands of monsters.
"team leader."
A faint sound from the armored servo motor.
A sound rang out. A mech that had been standing on the flank of the formation turned around and walked to the commander's mech. On his right arm, he held upside down a large net that emitted a cold, eerie light and looked like it was woven from a special alloy.
“四
Sector #1 capture operation completed. Six specific samples with relatively stable vital signs were selected as required.
The soldier raised his arm and gently tossed the huge metal tennis ball at the commander's feet.
With a heavy "thud".
A few faint hisses and scratching sounds came from inside. The mesh was very tight, and one could vaguely see several deformed humanoid figures with their limbs bound behind their backs and their mouths sealed shut. Their supposedly invincible strength was clearly not even half as strong as this net.
Sample 2
Sample No. 1 contained multiple sets of compound eyes. Sample No. 4 showed a distinct novel venom sac structure in its digestive tract. The remaining samples were all stage III mature organisms.
The report was delivered in a completely emotionless voice, as if reporting on the recent capture of a few lab rats. "This thing... its brain is almost completely burned out, it's all..."
Hormones are controlling it.
Commander Wang Zhenbang did not answer immediately. He simply lowered his head, his red electronic eyes carefully scanning the former enemies piled up like sacks.
He extended his armored boots
Jian gently turned over a section of human forearm with mottled tattoos that was protruding from the net. The pattern on it was distorted, but it could still be vaguely made out to be a simple line drawing of an eagle.
"The Americans... they've turned their troops into this mess."
"Did you get it?"
Wang Zhenbang's voice was very low, and slightly distorted through the amplifier. It sounded more like he was talking to himself than asking a question.
He shook his head; the T-shaped mask, which had been as cold as ice...
It also seems to reveal a subtle, complex... perhaps a kind of sorrow as a fellow professional soldier.
"Pack it up."
He turned around and didn't look at the net bag a second time.
"Bring back no"
Zhou Shan. Hand him over to Dean Fang for dissection. He'll probably be interested in this—forced genetic waste.
"Yes. The freezer compartment is in place."
With a few muffled hydraulic clicks, two smaller models of rear...
The support mech stepped forward and roughly yet precisely tossed the still-wriggling "live sample" package into a dark square box, then filled it with freezing mist and slammed the lid shut.
"Now, one more thing."
Wang Zhenbang lifted
He raised his wrist and turned on the global broadcast channel that had been in standby mode since the beginning. But this time, he didn't connect to any terrestrial radio, but to a very special, extremely low frequency band.
"Air unit 'Black Bird,' do you hear me?"
"
"Roger that, Captain. A formation of H-6K modified bombers is already circling 20,000 meters above your head. The cabin doors are completely cold."
A flippant young female voice popped out from that channel, carrying the impatience and excitement unique to high altitudes with oxygen deprivation.
.
"Don't keep the ground units waiting too long. I've already swept up the larger ones on the ground..."
Wang Zhenbang waved his hand, signaling all the black-armored soldiers present to begin retreating and reorganizing their formation. "Those smaller, unseen ones might still be hiding..."
The insect eggs beneath these ashes are now entrusted to you.
"Understood. Which one to use this time?"
"Special fuel number three. Dean Fang said it was called... 'Purifier,' right? I don't quite remember the name, but anyway, as long as it's carbon-based, nothing else..."
Leave behind the dregs.
"Alright. Then... rainy days are perfect for barbecues, right?"
The moment the communication was cut off.
The sky brightened.
It's not the kind of brightness that comes with the arrival of daylight.
In the distance, Castro and his companions, whose necks had just relaxed slightly after the battle, were forced to stiffly look up again at the dome that should have belonged to the stars.
Dozens of small orange dots, like someone accidentally dropping a cigarette at 10,000 meters in the air.
It was as if its head had been thrown off, slowly plummeting towards that vast plain.
They descended very slowly. There was no whooshing, no roaring.
puff.
The first one to land did not explode.
They only spread out about 300 meters above the ground.
There were no exaggerated fireballs.
Only a torrential downpour of liquid poured down. It was a semi-gelatinous viscous liquid with an eerie pale purple sheen, which, upon hitting the ground...
It soaked the gray "flour" layer within a radius of several hundred meters.
There was silence for about a second.
"boom------"
If we're talking about the bright white tactical nuclear weapons or divine punishment of the past...
Light is the ultimate form of "force".
The purple sea of fire that is now spreading out of nowhere without any detonation process is the embodiment of "purification".
The flames weren't very high, reaching a maximum height of only half a person.
High. But that fire seemed to have a life of its own; it didn't leap into the sky, it burrowed into the ground. It clung to the layer of ashes that the Zhen Dan warriors had just "chopped up," using the remnants like a greedy snake as fuel.
on the ground
Immediately, a pungent, sweet chemical smell mixed with the odor of corpse oil rose up, enough to suffocate anyone who could smell it.
Those fish that might have escaped by hiding in the underground fissures didn't even have time to scream before they were drowned by this sticky fire that could seep through any crack.
Gone.
The crackling sounds coming from underground were like thousands of beans being cooked in the same pot.
"This fire..."
Old Jose covered his mouth and nose, his eyes were...
The bright purple light from the burning flames stung painfully.
He saw a large tree just a few dozen meters away that hadn't completely burned. It was slightly smeared by the fire.
Then, in the blink of an eye, the tree—not burned to charcoal, but melted…
It melted. Like a plastic model hitting a scorching hot iron plate, from the treetop to the roots, it instantly turned into a pool of rolling purple mud, blending into the surrounding stones and ashes.
This "floor cleaning" operation lasted for nearly half an hour.
.
The entire 30 square kilometers of land on the Bayamo front was completely turned upside down, with the top three meters of soil replaced by a hard, dark purple crust that looked like a freshly paved asphalt road.
Clean
This time it's truly clean. Not even a single bacteria remained.
This is no longer about tactical victory.
As Wang Zhenbang said.
This is what "disinfection" is all about.
……
As dawn broke, the first hint of light in the east cautiously peeked out.
Sunlight shone on Wang Zhenbang's black shoulder armor, which was covered in dust.
He glanced around at those...
The Cuban man, his face covered in ash and still in a dazed state.
There was no polite "we're leaving." That wasn't in his task manual.
He merely tilted his head slightly and glanced at the person standing at the front of the crowd, who could no longer stand...
The big, bearded man who stood upright, leaning against a half-broken wall to keep from falling.
Wang Zhenbang tapped the armor plate twice on his chest with his left hand.
"Mission accomplished."
“龙
The promised cleaning service has now ended.
"How to fix this is up to you."
Having said that, the hoods of a thousand Black Iron Giants popped open in unison. Blue ion jets...
The gust of wind that was stirred up made old Jose sit on his bottom again.
They didn't leave, but instead rose directly upwards—just as they had come, against the gradually brightening sky, transforming into a thousand streaks of blue light shooting into the heavens, disappearing into the still-slightly dissipating light.
They went into the clouds.
It's as if it never existed.
……
……
[Time]: Autumn 1956, noon
【Place
[UK, Washington, D.C., The Tank, Pentagon Joint Operations Command Center]
The phone kept ringing.
But none of the twenty-odd people present reached out to take it. The old-fashioned red rotary dial telephone seemed to have struck gold.
It was jumping around there like a madman.
This is the nerve center of the country with the most powerful firepower in the world.
In the past, this place was filled with the hissing of coffee machines, the clatter of typewriters, and generals discussing which small country's map to drop nuclear weapons on.
He played with a loud voice.
But today, it's so quiet here that you can hear the faint "sizzle" of a fly hitting a fluorescent light tube in the corner of the ceiling.
The screen wasn't completely black.
in contrast,
It was a photo so bright it made everyone want to vomit.
It was brought back by the U-2 reconnaissance pilot at great risk.
The entire Bayamo battlefield—the beachhead previously designated as "a must-take"—now appeared smooth.
It has a purple, mirror-like finish, as if coated with Vaseline.
There were no living creatures.
Not to mention living people.
In a corner, a young intelligence officer was vomiting violently while hugging a trash can. He had just finished reading those "war" articles.
One of the people who submitted the "Supplementary Report on Damage Assessment".
"Can someone... explain this?"
The speaker was the American Secretary of State, seated at the table. But today his voice was hoarse, like that of a seventy-year-old heavy smoker. And in his hand, a steel... pistol that was never without his hand...
The pen's cap was almost twisted off.
He wasn't asking anyone; his gaze was somewhat unfocused, not concentrating on any one person's face.
"We have just received confirmation... the satellite has observed a large-scale plasma plume signal."
A person wearing a white shirt
The technical consultant, whose clothes and tie were askew, swallowed hard and pointed to several data sheets scattered on the table.
"It's not the 'Xingtian' system of the Chinese. We know that system; it involves throwing stones from above."
"This is a kind of
...small, highly mobile individual soldier platforms. The number of heat signatures exceeds one thousand.
He paused, then looked around at the pale-faced generals.
"Everyone, our data model has been simulated fourteen times."
"Results all"
They are the same.
"Thirty thousand people."
“Our most ‘perfect’ Atlas Legion, thirty thousand tireless, resupply-free biological machines…”
The entire army was wiped out on the seventeenth...
Minutes. The margin of error is no more than half a minute.
Seventeen minutes.
General Hughes found the word somewhat amusing. It wasn't even enough to brew a good espresso at his doorstep.
In such a short period of time,
The ace that the entire Sixth Fleet had carefully cultivated, the "strategic trump card" that was obtained through extremely dishonorable means, even to the point of treason...
It was swept away like fallen leaves until there wasn't even a sound.
"They didn't even move."
Use that beach.
General Hughes finally spoke. His voice was hoarse, and the authoritative aura he usually exuded seemed to have vanished in the past hour.
They landed on a beach called 'Victory'.
"Is that right? No. That ghost fleet from the Dragon Kingdom, which has been anchored off the coast of Florida, hasn't moved an inch."
"This shows... they simply can't be bothered to even look at our system. Or rather, they see our system, which we've poured half a nation's resources into, as something else entirely."
The panic created by fees and conscience…
The general gave a wry smile, unbuttoned the five-pointed star on his collar that represented the highest honor, and threw it on the table.
"I mistook it for a toilet that needed cleaning."
Ai
Len Dulles sat back in the leather swivel chair.
Even he, a notoriously cold-blooded animal, was finding it hard to hold the lighter. The flame flickered, but he didn't light the cigarette that was already bitten with teeth marks.
etc.
He's an actuary. What he's always been proud of is his ability to sift through chaotic data to find the weaknesses in people's hearts and calculate the losses that the other party can't afford.
He bet that Cubans were afraid of death and that they wouldn't dare use weapons of mass destruction to bomb their own land.
But he from
One variable was not taken into account.
That ancient Eastern country.
The mountain man who fought him with millet and a rifle just a few years ago.
Nowadays, you can just pick any "cleaning" team and start doing...
The very existence of this place is like a Star Wars movie.
Those thousand "skinheads"... no, I mean those thousand lines of plasma. That was a technological ceiling he could never have dreamed of.
The door opened.
A gust of wind
As I entered the conference room, the photos rustled loudly in the breeze.
The presidential envoy, who usually only knew how to flatter, walked in. But today, he didn't have a smile on his face at all.
I only had a thin document in my hand. The cover was made of very unrefined kraft paper.
"Gentlemen."
The envoy said this in a very soft voice.
"The President asked me to pass this on to everyone here."
He placed the parchment on the table. He didn't push it.
For anyone.
The Secretary of State squinted at the words on the cover. There was no title.
But below, in smaller print, is the signature, typed in both Mandarin and English:
"Environmental protection department, regarding..."
Recent updates on garbage cleanup in the Caribbean Sea, and related fines.
“And another thing,” the envoy continued without pausing, “the president went to church. He said he wouldn’t be involved in what happens next.”
The envoy took a key out of his pocket—
That was the key to the underground bunker—it was gently placed on the smooth tabletop.
"Good luck to you all."
The door closes again.
The remaining dozen or so influential figures in the conference room
They looked at each other, sitting in those expensive chairs.
Just like those 30,000 soldiers who didn't even have time to be buried.
It's completely cold now.