Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C82

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While this retreat infuriated mid-level officers eager to capitalize on momentum and secure glory, it was welcome news for junior officers like Marshall and the rank-and-file soldiers. A chance to catch their breath, even briefly, felt like salvation. In war, victory or defeat mattered less than survival; live another day, and there would always be opportunities to rebuild.

For Marshall, there was another reason to feel relief—they wouldn’t have to face that mysterious unit again. Earlier, he’d fled the battlefield, abandoning his post. Surprisingly, Walter Scott, the reserve battalion commander, hadn’t held him or the other junior officers accountable. Whether out of mercy or higher command intervention, Marshall didn’t know—and at this point, didn’t care.

The convoy had already traveled over 240 kilometers. In a few more hours, they’d reach Sulru Empire-controlled territory. Headquarters reported that the Little Eagle Squadron had dispatched escort ships to meet them. Surely, no further dangers awaited.

This campaign, ultimately, belonged to the Sulru Empire. Back at base, there’d be bottles uncorked and celebrations aplenty. Perhaps after this triumph, Marshall might earn a promotion—maybe even rise to Captain.

Lost in these hopeful musings, Marshall was jolted back to reality when the vehicle lurched violently. Had it not been for the seatbelts, all four occupants would have tumbled to the floor.

Even with the mountain-grade suspension system, ordinary obstacles like rocks or trenches couldn’t cause such violent shaking. Clearly, it wasn’t the vehicle—it was the ground beneath them trembling.

“Earthquake? Volcanic eruption?” Marshall dismissed the thought almost immediately. At Planet Namie’s age, tectonic activity should have long since dwindled, incapable of triggering disasters of this magnitude.

“What the hell is going on?”

Another tremor hit just then, forcing the porcupine multi-purpose APC to slam to a halt. Marshall unbuckled his belt, gripped the handrail tightly, and cautiously made his way to the rear of the vehicle. Opening the door, he leaned out.

The moment his head emerged, what he saw sent chills racing down his spine. Every hair on his body stood on end.

Hard granite surfaces cracked like shattered glass, fissures crisscrossing in chaotic patterns. Streams of fine sand poured into crevices between shifting plates. Each quake birthed new fractures, sending boulders swaying wildly, some tumbling into depressions with ominous rolls.

In the distance, stretches of desert collapsed without warning, kicking up clouds of dust. As the shaking intensified, the speed of the earth’s fracturing accelerated. More and more vehicles stopped, their occupants spilling out—faces pale with panic.

“What’s happening?” Voices crackled frantically over the comms.

Soldiers leapt from their transports. One Javelin tank listed precariously before toppling onto its side. A meter-wide fissure raced toward the convoy.

“Out! Everyone out! Move!” Cries echoed chaotically. Some managed to escape in time, but others weren’t so lucky. Men and machines alike disappeared into widening chasms, leaving behind screams that trailed off into static.

“All personnel, disembark immediately! Find safe cover!” Lieutenant Colonel Wesley Daler’s voice roared over the channel.

Faced with nature’s wrath, humanity seemed pitifully powerless, reduced to scrambling for survival.

“Shuttles! Where are the shuttles? Lower the ladders! Evacuate the wounded first!” After issuing orders to air support, Wesley turned to contact Southern Hemisphere HQ for reinforcements. Before he could finish, his guard grabbed him around the waist and yanked him several steps forward, throwing him out the back of the command vehicle.

As Wesley tumbled through the air, he watched a three-meter-wide fissure surge closer. The ground nearby split apart as if pulled by unseen hands, retreating rapidly in both directions.

A sudden push propelled him safely to the ground. But the Porcupine III command vehicle tilted outward, plunging into the ever-widening abyss.

“Lieutenant Colonel, stay safe,” came the choked voice of Bruno, his guard, over the comms.

Surveying the apocalyptic scene around him and glancing at soldiers scattering like ants in a rainstorm, Wesley suppressed his grief and shouted into the public channel: “Liaison officer, any word from base yet?”

“R-report, sir… No response. Still nothing.”

Could this inexplicable earthquake have reached the Southern Hemisphere too? Impossible.

Reality left little room for contemplation. Armored vehicles plummeted into the spreading web of fissures like dumplings boiling over. Tremors surged underfoot, disorienting everyone, making the world spin.

“Liaison officer, are you still alive?”

“I-I’m here.”

“Then get in touch with the Little Eagle Squadron. Tell them to hurry. If they don’t, we’re all dead.”

“…”

Wesley’s suspicions proved correct—the rear base of the Silverwing Tempest Infantry Division faced its own unspeakable ordeal. Cracks snaked across the airstrip, swallowing rows of combat drones that slid into the abyss. Smoke billowed, flames from the munitions depot eclipsing the dawn light.

The command building lay in ruins, its central tower toppled amidst debris. Sparks flew from electronics, embers floated in the air, and panicked crowds scattered in every direction. Desperate shouts filled the comms, painting a vivid yet harrowing portrait of catastrophe.

Wilder Lester clung tightly to the shuttle ladder, his body trembling slightly. Disaster had struck without warning—no seismic alerts, no radiation spikes, nothing. The entire command unit barely escaped with their lives.

The quartermaster who loved bizarre delicacies like caviar cheese bread was gone. So was the young female administrator who radiated happiness after falling in love. The perpetually grumbling intelligence officer, the chief of staff, the deputy division leader—all dead.

How did the earthquake happen? Unknown. Was it caused by human activity? Also unknown. Epicenter? Equally unclear.

Before this sudden upheaval, humanity resembled blind men running headlong into chaos. Their sole recourse, their only option, was flight.

The shuttle ascended slowly, heading toward the equator where Saint Violet Fleet’s Little Eagle Squadron awaited. Perhaps, with their help, communication with the scattered army units could be restored.

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