Eagle Sauce: The 055 destroyer was launched into the sea just after the founding of the country?

Chapter 937

[Time]: Autumn 1956, dusk (approximately 15 minutes after the decisive battle)

Location: Bayamo River front-line position (edge ​​of the glass-like ruins)

"Crack...knock..."

The teeth-grinding chewing sounds were carried far by the wind across the empty battlefield.

A colossal evolved form, twice the size of the previous Atlas, was crouching on a piece of solidified magma. Its hands cradled half of the charred torso, which might even have belonged to one of its former kin, and it was tearing at the remaining tendons inside.

With each bite, the wounds on its body, still emitting white smoke, twitched, and new flesh sprouted rapidly, like red worms, filling the gaps. The row of somewhat broken bone spurs on its back was visibly thickening, even gleaming with an obsidian-like sheen.

Behind this monster, the once smooth, mirror-like battlefield now resembled a face covered in pockmarks. Countless, steaming black craters were densely packed across it. From each crater crawled these things that evoked despair.

"They are getting stronger."

Old José, who was lying on the edge of the trench, put down the binoculars he was holding, which had only one tube. His hands were trembling violently, not from fear, but from the physiological reaction of a nerve snapping.

“Those before… even with a bayonet, you could still stab them in if you put in enough force. But these now…” Old Jose pointed to the shiny black shells on the monsters, “even with that heavy machine gun and bullets, it’s probably going to be tough.”

Castro didn't speak. He didn't even bother to wipe the dried, hardened scab from his face.

He simply looked down and fiddled with the silver communicator in his hand.

The green light is still on. The signal is still working.

"cut."

Castro's voice was soft, completely unlike the lion who had just commanded a charge of thousands. He sounded like someone borrowing money from an old friend but lacking confidence, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Are you listening?"

I heard even, but rapid breathing from the other end of the communicator, along with the background beeping of some kind of instrument.

“I am here. Fidel.”

"See that?" Castro didn't ask where the eyes were looking; he knew they must be somewhere. "These sons of bitches... are harder to kill than cockroaches."

“I saw it.” Che’s voice was eerily calm, devoid of any extra emotion, like a surgeon calculating drug dosages.

"Any more?"

Castro looked up at the sky above, which was beginning to turn purplish. Apart from a few wisps of smoke that hadn't completely dissipated, it was empty.

"I mean that... stick. Or a bomb, whatever. One more time. Or ten times. The kind that can turn this soil upside down."

There was silence on the other end of the communicator.

That silence was like a dull knife, slowly sawing at Castro's heart.

About five seconds passed. Or maybe five minutes.

"Nothing."

The sound of the cut was completely still, but in that moment, it was the verdict.

"The 'Xingtian' satellite needs 48 minutes to adjust its orbit. It needs an hour and a half to recharge. That salvo just now... has already depleted its reserves."

“Forty-eight minutes…” Castro laughed, then laughed out loud, “Ha.”

He pointed to the large ghouls that were gathering about 300 meters away.

Do you think they'll give me forty-eight seconds?

"……Won't."

"Okay. Got it."

Castro carefully wrapped the precious communicator in a relatively clean cloth and placed it in a crevice in a protruding rock beside him, weighing it down with several stones.

This thing is too valuable. It's the most valuable thing in all of Cuba besides his and Che's lives. It can't be taken to the grave. Maybe one day, future generations will be able to dig it up and display it as an artifact.

He patted the pile of stones, his movements as gentle as if he were patting a child's head.

Then he turned around and picked up the broken bayonet that was still dripping blood.

"All of them."

He didn't shout. But the hundreds of surviving soldiers around him, who looked like clay or wooden sculptures, all raised their heads.

There were no heroic slogans. Nor were there any grand pronouncements about fighting for the people or for ideals.

On this front, no one even has the strength to shed tears. There's only one feeling left... since there's no escaping it, let's just accept it and give up our lives.

"Fix bayonets." Castro struck a somewhat awkward ready-to-go pose. "Remember how we dealt with wild boars before?"

"Remember! As long as you have a breath left, bite its neck!" a young soldier shouted from the side, his voice still a bit childish.

"Yes. Bite it."

"Even these armored wild boars... their throats are soft."

"Prepare--"

The horde of zombies on the other side moved.

With a roar from the leader, tens of thousands of evolved ghouls began to run. The sound of tens of thousands of claws striking the hardened ground simultaneously was like a giant, shattered war drum, so dense and continuous that the earth trembled slightly at the charge.

This time, they didn't use skirmish lines. A dark cloud simply pressed down. Any stone that stood in their way was instantly crushed into powder.

"charge--!!!"

Castro took the first step.

But just as the echo of his word "sharp" hadn't even faded from his throat...

Between heaven and earth, that familiar sound of airflow altered by immense pressure rang out once again.

No.

This time is different.

Before, it was a loud "boom." But this time, it was a... "hum—"

It was a low-frequency vibration, coming from extremely high altitudes. It was as if an invisible giant hand was plucking the strings of the entire sky.

Castro stopped in his tracks. He felt the beads of blood on his face defying gravity, rising upwards. The surrounding dust seemed to come alive, dancing on the ground.

The monster horde on the other side of the battlefield was also thrown into chaos. Those instinctively sharp creatures seemed to sense some extremely terrifying natural enemy, and hesitated for a moment, some even beginning to emit anxious, low panting sounds towards the sky.

"What……?"

Old Jose raised his head.

The once purple twilight sky has darkened.

It's not because the sun has set.

It's because of the clouds.

The already thick layer of cumulus clouds was shattered into pieces in an instant.

Countless... tiny black dots.

No, it's not a small black dot.

As they plummeted downwards, the black dots rapidly grew larger. They were countless iron spheres enveloped by the fiery red shockwaves of atmospheric reentry.

Not just a few. Not just a few dozen.

Instead, there were tens of thousands upon tens of thousands. Densely packed, covering the sky and earth. Like a real rain of fire and meteors, obscuring the entire dome of the world.

"What the hell...did another comet hit Earth?!"

Castro tilted his head back, even forgetting to close his mouth.

Unlike the tungsten rods from before, those fireballs did not explode directly upon hitting the ground.

But it's several hundred meters above the ground—

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

A series of dense, slightly cracking sounds, ten thousand times denser than firecrackers.

The parachute ejection devices on the surface of the spheres detonated instantly. Countless enormous, silver-gray deceleration parachutes bloomed in the air.

In an instant, the entire sky was covered by this sea of ​​silver umbrellas. The dim twilight seemed to have vanished in a snow-covered morning.

"That's... a person?"

The sharp-eyed young soldier pointed to one of the closest landing points.

The enormous metal sphere didn't slow down much after the parachute deployed. As it descended, the deceleration rockets at its base suddenly spewed out several meters of blue flame.

"Sizzle—Boom!!"

The first one. It slammed heavily onto the vast, deserted clearing between the guerrillas and the horde of monsters.

Four hydraulic supports, resembling eagle claws, instantly deployed, hammering themselves into the hard, vitrified ground like nails. The immense impact shattered countless radial cracks into the surface.

Followed by.

The second one. The fifth one. The hundredth one... the thousandth one.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Those metal pods falling from the sky were not merely descending. They were like an extremely precise steel wall, using their own bodies to forcefully carve a dividing line on this battlefield in less than a minute.

Dust billowed. The heat wave, carrying the smell of high mechanical temperature and hydraulic oil, blew directly onto Castro's face, making the bayonet he had just raised slightly hot.

The nearest delivery capsule landed less than twenty meters away from him.

On that dark metal surface, covered with traces of high-altitude friction and erosion, a blood-red shield-shaped badge composed of five gold stars stood out like a lighthouse in the lingering steam.

“That is…” Castro’s pupils contracted sharply.

He recognized the symbol. It was on the cover of the top-secret document bag that Fang Yu had brought.

But that's not the most shocking part.

The most striking thing was the sound.

"laugh--"

The thick armor plating on the front of the metal compartment slid slowly upwards, accompanied by a burst of white mist from the release of high-pressure gas.

One foot.

A massive mechanical foot, encased in matte black composite armor and shimmering with a faint blue light from a miniature attitude control engine at its ankle, slammed heavily onto the ground.

"Click."

The crystal on the ground, which had been hardened to the point of solidity by various artillery fire, crumbled into dust like a cheap biscuit under this foot.

Immediately following, a steel body, over two and a half meters tall and far more robust and sophisticated than the simplified version of the "Po Jun" armor he had worn before, stepped out of the white mist.

Unlike the somewhat rudimentary external piping and somewhat bulky industrial feel of the "Po Jun" (破军), this one is different.

The mecha in front of me is a seamless whole.

The deep, matte dark green paint absorbed all the surrounding light, with only the two rows of reactive armor on the chest, resembling the sharp teeth of a beast, shimmering faintly. The streamlined shoulder armor design made it look less like a machine and more like a giant warrior with muscular lines.

Its head wasn't covered by a transparent bulletproof glass shield. Instead, it was a slightly hesitant, T-shaped black visor, resembling an ancient general's helmet. Deep within that visor, two cold red lights silently illuminated.

Not just this one.

As the white mist gradually dissipated.

One hundred units, one thousand units...

Countless figures, equally tall, equally cold, and equally exuding an absolute sense of oppression, emerged from the rows of airdrop pods.

They weren't carrying the kind of machine guns or rifles that Cubans were familiar with.

In each person's hand was a "Candle Dragon" heavy electromagnetic rifle, which was like a heavy cannon to ordinary people, with faint electric arcs even jumping on its body.

Neat and tidy. Absolutely neat and tidy.

It's like a thousand shadows of one person. Every movement they make, every time they raise their guns, every turn of their heads, is completely identical.

No roaring. No unnecessary movements. No of the shouting and celebrations typical of American soldiers after landing.

This thousand-strong force, standing there, resembled a thousand silent black stone monuments.

That silence itself is a force that can freeze the air.

The horde of corpses opposite them—those bio-monsters that had been roaring and fearless just moments before—now collectively took a step back. Even these mindless creatures were being told by their biological instincts that these black things before them were not the same species as the fleshy man who had been wildly waving a bayonet.

"Captain. 1,032 test subjects. No signs of surviving humans detected."

A deep, resonant voice, like the resonance of a subwoofer, came from the exceptionally large mecha loudspeaker at the head of the group.

"Ah."

The one standing at the very front—whose shoulders bore no elaborate rank insignia, only three simple red stripes—turned over the helmet that lacked facial features.

The red light swept over Castro.

"Friendly forces avoidance."

Only four words: So cold it's freezing.

Then, he raised his left arm.

"Front row. Annihilation mode."

"Buzz—Click!"

A thousand electromagnetic rifles simultaneously completed a rapid charge. The whistling sound generated by the high-frequency current instantly passing through the coils merged together, turning into a buzzing sound that could pierce eardrums.

"put!!"

There was no preheating.

At this moment, dusk ended.

A thousand blue-white beams of light, perfectly straight without any bend, burst forth in the same subtle burst.

That wasn't a flame from burning gunpowder. It was the trail left by a special alloy nail accelerated to several times the speed of sound by electromagnetic force as it broke the sound barrier and ionized the air.

The vanguard of the zombie horde on the other side—those hundreds of the fastest-charging evolved beings—didn't even have a chance to howl.

"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!"

Those obsidian armor shells that couldn't even be pierced by bayonets before are now more fragile than a soaked piece of toilet paper in the face of these electromagnetic projectiles that can easily penetrate the main armor of heavy armored vehicles.

Countless wisps of purplish-black blood mist exploded instantly. It wasn't the kind that leaves a hole; rather, the entire body disintegrated like a bursting balloon. Those high-speed spinning projectiles didn't just penetrate; their immense kinetic energy instantly pulverized all the tissue within half a meter of the point of contact.

A volley of shots.

It was like an invisible blade, smoothly slicing through the front row of monsters.

Hundreds of standing bodies instantly turned into hundreds of piles of fragments, so many that their original forms were indistinguishable.

The giant evolved creature that had been eating the most was even blasted to pieces by three concentrated bullets, its entire upper body along with the boulder behind it.

silence.

This time, it was Castro and his guerrillas who fell silent.

Old He Sai, with his toothless mouth agape, dropped the rifle, which he had been gripping tightly just moments before, with a clatter to the ground.

He lived for sixty years. He fought in wars for twenty years.

He'd seen bandits wielding large blades and hacking people to pieces. He'd seen American soldiers firing precise shots with M1 Garand rifles. He'd even witnessed the miracle of a beam of light falling from the sky last night.

But he had never seen anything like this...war.

A row of armored men didn't even move their feet. With just a wave of their hands, the group of evil spirits, which even gods couldn't kill, vanished.

This is so unreal.

This was just like a scene from a myth told by the village witch doctor when he was a child.

Those "heavenly soldiers and generals" who descended from the sky crushed the harmful demons and monsters into dust with every move they made.

This time, however, the heavenly soldiers were not wearing golden armor, but black armor.

"Zhen...Zhendan?"

Castro leaned against a large rock, feeling a bit dazed. He had never found the word "Dragon Language" so difficult to pronounce, yet so...powerful.

The remaining ten thousand monsters on the other side seemed stunned by this attack, which was on a completely different level. A few of them stopped advancing and instead began to retreat while breathing heavily.

This is the first time since they were "born" that they have learned the emotion called "fear".

"Clean up."

The lead mech lowered the muzzle of its gun, which was still emitting faint steam, and its voice remained completely calm.

"Now that we're here."

"Then sweep the floor clean before you leave."

The thousand black steel giants moved.

They did not maintain that static defensive line. Instead, they marched forward in unison.

The heavy, metallic footsteps echoed across Cuba, a land scarred by war and bloodshed.

step.

step.

It doesn't look like they're going to war.

It's more like... going to execute a group of criminals who have already been sentenced to death.