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Chapter 29: The Frontline
Tang Fang sat huddled in a corner of the transport shuttle's cabin, leaning against the Saberfang anti-armor vehicle behind him as he dozed off. Across from him, not too far away, sat Arroz and Housen. The visors on their powered armor helmets obscured their faces, making it impossible to read their expressions.
Without atmospheric friction, the transport shuttle flew smoothly. About twenty minutes later, it gently landed on the airstrip behind the armored division’s camp.
The slight jolt of the landing and the muffled sound of the rear hatch opening woke the three passengers inside.
Tang Fang yawned and stretched lazily before slowly standing up. The powered armor encasing his body made him feel extremely uncomfortable, as though he were trapped in a steel canister—a feeling akin to being sealed in a tuna tin.
Despite its advanced features—environmental regulation, scanning, mobility assistance, communication, and more—he still preferred the light combat suits used on terraformed planets with breathable atmospheres.
“Wearing this thing feels so awkward!” came Housen’s voice through the comms. Clearly, he wasn’t fond of the bulky iron contraption either.
Tang Fang glanced out at the brightly lit airstrip beyond the shuttle’s hatch, then muttered, “Let’s go,” leading the other two off the transport.
Ever since learning that the Archimedes had been temporarily requisitioned and sent to Planet Namie in the disputed zone between the Monya and Sulru Empires, Tang Fang knew a fierce battle lay ahead.
Sure enough, shortly after arriving at Namie alongside Alfred’s Tiger Shark-class destroyer, Tang Fang—still groggy from sleep and barely warmed up after drinking a cup of coffee—was promptly dispatched to the planet’s surface by Kraftmann.
In the past, Tang Fang would have cursed the heavens for being forced into an armored division’s combat unit—it was like shoving them straight into a meat grinder. But now, he accepted it with resignation. Survive. Then collect as much life energy as possible.
As soon as they disembarked, four ground crew members approached. Three boarded the Saberfang anti-armor vehicles, while the fourth walked over to them. “Which one of you is Staff Sergeant Tang Yan?”
“I am,” Tang Fang replied.
“Alright, follow me.” The crewman led the trio toward the command center building.
“Staff Sergeant…” Tang Fang muttered under his breath as they walked. Thanks to preserving the resource data from Planet 5 and saving the commanding officer, he’d been promoted from Sergeant to Staff Sergeant. But honestly, he felt no joy in the accolade. He planned to leave the military eventually; even if they offered him the rank of General, he wouldn’t care.
The command center stood at the heart of the logistics base, covering nearly a thousand square meters. Though called a “building,” it was actually assembled from modular command vehicles.
After days of frantic preparation, the base’s construction was 67% complete. With both sides currently focused on logistical buildup rather than open conflict, most combat units were concentrated within several hundred kilometers of the command center, except for reconnaissance teams.
Even before leaving the Archimedes, Tang Fang had learned about the opposing forces’ composition from the intelligence officer.
The 3789th Armored Division under the Thunder Fleet consisted of two armored brigades, one infantry brigade, one aviation combat brigade, two engineering battalions, one air defense battalion, plus intelligence, communications, reserve, support, special operations, and biochemical units. Including non-combat personnel such as logistics and medical staff, the total strength was over 13,000 troops.
On the Sulru Empire’s side, the Silverwing Tempest Infantry Division under the Saint Violet Fleet numbered 3,000 fewer soldiers but was a mechanized force equipped with superior weaponry compared to the 3789th Division.
One side boasted better equipment, the other numerical superiority. On paper, they seemed evenly matched.
The escort led Tang Fang to a corner room in the command center, handed them over to an administrative officer, and left.
Inside the command center, an ecological recycling system provided oxygen, so Tang Fang and his companions had removed their helmets. Housen wore a grim expression, while Arroz casually surveyed the surroundings, puffing on a cigar.
The box of cheap cigars scavenged from corpses had long been depleted. As for where Arroz’s new stash came from, Tang Fang hadn’t asked. After arriving on Namie, Kraftmann had privately spoken with him, and upon returning, Arroz was holding a box of premium “Davidoff” cigars.
“You’re Tang Yan?” The administrator scrutinized the three newcomers before addressing Tang Fang directly.
“Yes,” Tang Fang nodded.
“Wait here for a moment.” The administrator turned and exited the room.
A short while later, he returned accompanied by a slightly overweight man in his thirties.
“This is Captain Powell Taylor. He’s part of your reconnaissance company, assigned by Lieutenant Colonel Nickle.”
Powell nodded and stepped forward, eyeing Tang Fang and his companions carefully. “Staff Sergeant Tang Yan.”
“Yes, sir!” Tang Fang saluted crisply.
“Follow me with your men.” Without another word, Powell turned and strode off, with Tang Fang, Arroz, and Housen trailing behind.
About 450 kilometers ahead of the base lay the First Armored Brigade’s encampment.
Powell’s reconnaissance company belonged to the brigade’s direct command. The company consisted of 145 personnel: 106 combatants and 39 non-combat roles, including logistics, communications, medical, and maintenance.
The company’s position was on the right flank of the brigade’s encampment. As Powell led the three into the camp, some soldiers were cleaning weapons, others calibrating electronic equipment, and a few gathered in smoky barracks chatting idly, enjoying the calm before the storm.
“Kim Youngho, come out!” Powell shouted toward one of the barracks.
Moments later, the pressure-balanced airlock opened, and Kim Youngho emerged, clad only in his close-fitting combat suit, a dog tag dangling around his neck. He was accompanied by several soldiers.
“Commander, Second Platoon Leader Kim Youngho reporting.”
Powell nodded and gestured to Tang Fang and his group. “This is Staff Sergeant Tang Yan. They’ll be under your command.”
Kim Youngho’s almond-shaped eyes lazily scanned the trio. “Understood.”
“Take them to familiarize themselves with the barracks.” With that, Powell turned and entered the nearby command post.
“Follow me,” Kim Youngho waved dismissively, then headed into the barracks.
It was common practice in the empire’s military to assign soldiers temporarily. Tang Fang, Arroz, and Housen clearly looked like seasoned veterans, so “familiarization” simply involved assigning them bunks and briefing them on basic protocols.
After shedding their cumbersome powered armor, the three changed into close-fitting combat suits like Kim Youngho’s and entered the Second Platoon’s area.
The barracks complex included dormitories, an equipment center, meeting rooms, showers, and a central lounge. Kim Youngho assigned a sergeant to show them to their bunks, then disappeared into the lounge.
Under the sergeant’s guidance, Tang Fang and his companions found their beds and took turns showering.
As they passed through the central lounge afterward, Kim Youngho suddenly beckoned them over, pointing to a deck of cards on the table. “Hey, newcomers, how about a couple rounds?”
“No thanks,” Tang Fang replied, drying his hair.
“Hmph, when the platoon leader invites you to play, it’s an honor. Don’t be ungrateful,” sneered a nearby private playing darts, glaring coldly at the trio.
Tang Fang's expression grew stern, his eyes sharpening with an icy edge as the initial positive impression he'd held dissolved. Like many other junior officers in the imperial army, this man was no different—just another cog in the machine of corruption and arrogance.
The so-called “playing couple rounds” wasn’t about building camaraderie—it was a thinly veiled form of bribery. New recruits often paid tribute to their superiors to integrate quickly. Methods varied, but the simplest and most effective was this card game.
The imperial army had two unwritten rules:
First, prostitution was tolerated. Many noble fleets carried brothels aboard, with soldiers paying for services while higher-ups skimmed profits. This ensured a significant portion of soldiers’ salaries flowed back to the treasury.
Second, gambling was rampant. Objectively speaking, gambling is a harmful practice with no benefits. Yet, it had been passed down from Maxwell I, the founding emperor of the Monya Empire.
Legend had it that Maxwell Stuart was once a gambler—a security officer aboard a large pharmaceutical cargo ship during the Earth Federation era. Later, a political storm triggered by economic turmoil caused the Federal Parliament to fracture, plunging the world into chaos. Amidst this upheaval, Maxwell's freighter fleet was ambushed by pirates while transporting critical supplies. To evade pursuit, his ship found a narrow escape route and activated its warp drive, narrowly breaking free from the encirclement.
The turbulence of the times, coupled with the harrowing experience of being attacked by pirates, seemed to spark an epiphany in Maxwell. Once the ship exited hyperspace and re-entered real space, he conspired with a few fellow security officers to emulate the pirates' tactics. Together, they hijacked the cargo ship, sold its valuable contents on the black market, murdered the crew, and framed the pirates for the crime.
With the money earned from selling the stolen goods and the ship itself, Maxwell hired accomplices and turned to mercenary work. As the Federation’s power gradually waned and collapsed, he grew stronger, eventually rising to become one of the most notorious warlords in the galaxy.
During his time as a mercenary leader, Maxwell never forbade his soldiers from gambling—in fact, he actively encouraged it. He often motivated his men with these words: “If you lose everything, go out and plunder, take what you need. If you win, eat, drink, and find women—enjoy life while you can. These are chaotic times; none of us knows when we’ll fall and never rise again.”
This vice of Maxwell’s was later enshrined as an ironclad rule by his descendants. Over time, however, what began as a way to inspire his troops devolved into something else entirely. In the present day, it became a tool exploited by some junior officers—a simple and direct method of extortion, one unlikely to draw scrutiny from higher-ups.
If it had been Tang Yan, he might have swallowed his pride and complied. But Tang Fang? No. Not only had all his funds been sent to Tang Lin and Tang Yun for daily expenses, but even if he had money, he wouldn’t grovel before someone like Kim Youngho—not after dealing with someone as formidable as Wei Haitao.
“Sorry, I’m here under Major Kraftmann Christian’s orders to assist your operations, not to serve under you. So don’t bother respecting me—I won’t respect you either.” Without sparing Kim Youngho another glance, Tang Fang turned and headed toward the dormitory. “Don’t provoke me. If you do, you’ll regret it.”
“Is he out of his mind! How dare he speak to his superior like that?” The remark caused an uproar in the lounge. Over a dozen soldiers stared dumbfounded at Tang Fang’s retreating figure.
“What arrogance! Does he even know whose territory this is?”
“There are 30 men in the platoon, and only three of them. How dare they act so cocky? A single punch each would teach them a lesson.”
“No wonder the platoon leader warned us earlier to give these guys a hard time. Such arrogance deserves to be crushed.”
What Tang Fang didn’t know was that Kim Youngho had already arranged everything. If Tang Fang had cooperated, all would have been fine. But defiance meant punishment—a harsh initiation into the Thunder Fleet’s ways.
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