Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C142

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Chapter 142: The Brave Bastion or the Shameful Shield?

It wasn’t that Tang Fang lacked empathy—it was simply that he had just arrived and didn’t want to overstep his bounds. Moreover, the garrison stationed at Droznyr Naval Port were originally part of the government forces. Who knew if they shared the same admirable qualities as the soldiers of the Northern Sunaru Alliance? Observing first and adapting later seemed like the prudent approach.

Seeing Tang Fang adopt an air of detached indifference, Adelaide couldn’t press him further. With a wry smile and a resigned shake of his head, he returned to the matter at hand.

"Lieutenant Colonel Nehemiah, do you have any ideas on how we might break this deadlock?"

Nehemiah furrowed his brow, opening his mouth several times but failing to produce a single word. It was Claire who finally spoke up, glancing briefly at Tang Fang lounging across the room. "Before we arrived here, we discovered three mountain trails that could safely traverse the Gant Mountains and lead us to Diromos Plateau. If we’re careful, splitting into smaller squads might allow us to ferry half a brigade through without incident."

Adelaide shook his head. "Half a brigade is too slow. By the time we gather enough forces, the Third Corps will already be breathing down the necks of the Northern Sunaru Alliance. And what about the Southern Sunaru Alliance? Are we supposed to abandon them? Besides, mere mechanized infantry won’t stand a chance against the government’s armored divisions. Two regiments of the Third Corps—106th and 206th—are already equipped with the latest ‘Earth Knight’ powered armor. Rushing blindly into battle would be suicide."

He paused, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. "And do you think Aldrich will sit idly by while we reinforce the front lines? I’d wager that the moment our marines from Droznyr appear on the eastern battlefield, the First Corps’ 108th, 208th, and 308th Divisions outside the port will launch a full-scale assault. If Droznyr falls, our entire military presence on Odin Continent will become rootless driftwood, ripe for annihilation."

Claire fell silent. Objectively speaking, Droznyr Naval Port was far more critical than either the southern or northern insurgent factions. Without exaggeration, it served as the linchpin for all rebel operations on Odin. Losing it was not an option.

To put it charitably, Droznyr was a dagger pointed straight at Aldrich’s throat. To put it less kindly, it was a hemorrhoid—a painful irritant straddling both inside and out. When combined with scattered guerrilla uprisings across Odin, it became something akin to a cluster of hemorrhoids, causing endless discomfort to those holed up in Falkbys Palace.

How to remove this dagger—or excise this bothersome growth—had been a thorn in the governor’s side for some time. Even during private moments on the toilet, he’d pull out his PDA to study maps and schematics, perhaps truly viewing it as a medical affliction demanding treatment.

If the garrison left to reinforce the eastern front, someone as cunning as the governor wouldn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity to perform surgery—metaphorically speaking.

"Brute force alone won’t solve this," Grant muttered grimly after exhausting every angle. "We should retreat to Makanda. At least there, we’ll still contribute some measure of strength."

"Strength?" Adelaide shot him a sidelong glance. "Against seven armored divisions totaling one hundred thousand troops, your return would merely add bodies to the slaughter."

"Grant, stay calm," Nehemiah interjected soothingly. "There has to be another way."

Claire glanced at Tang Fang sprawled on the couch, lips curled into a faint smirk, seemingly lost in thought. Frustration bubbling within her, she strode forward and snapped, "Stop pretending. I know exactly what you’re thinking. Does watching us squirm amuse you?"

"Heh." Tang Fang looked up lazily, then asked an entirely unrelated question: "Do you cook?"

"Cook? What does cooking have to do with anything?" Claire blinked, utterly baffled by the non sequitur.

Tang Fang explained patiently, as though elucidating profound wisdom: "If you want me to help devise a solution, show some sincerity. Otherwise… Why don’t you learn a few dishes? Cook something delicious for me, and I’ll tell you how to save Montgomery and the others."

Claire stared blankly for a long moment before her brows arched slightly, eyes flickering with a mix of indignation, embarrassment, and irritation.

Not only her—Arroz and Housen exchanged incredulous looks. Housen nudged Arroz’s ribs. "Hey, is the boss flirting with her?"

Nearby, Walton swallowed audibly. Ever since their departure from the airbase, he’d suspected something between the two. Now, it seemed confirmed. He glanced at Grant, whose expression mirrored his own disbelief. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones entertaining such thoughts.

Was this breaking news? Despite Claire’s perpetually stern demeanor—her icy glare making everyone feel indebted to her somehow—those who knew her understood it was all an act.

"Forget it, I won’t trouble you," Tang Fang said abruptly, rising to pat Claire lightly on the shoulder. He moved to stand beside Nehemiah, pointing to a region encircled by red rings on the map. "If I’m correct, this is Krotan’s military-industrial complex, right?"

Nehemiah nodded. "Yes."

Tang Fang continued, "Why not consider a strategy of forcing the Third Corps' five divisions back to defend their base."

"We’ve considered it," Adelaide admitted. "In fact, it’s the best course of action. But—" he gestured toward the glowing ring and then to the Termont Mountain range stretching along the northwest coastline—"the terrain is treacherous, riddled with watchtowers. Any infiltration attempt would require abandoning aircraft, vehicles, and heavy equipment, drastically reducing combat effectiveness. Against the enemy’s armored units, defeat would be inevitable."

"And that’s not even the main issue," he added. "The industrial zone has activated siege mode. A 30-meter-high steel wall spans 200 kilometers around the perimeter, fortified with multiple layers of defenses. Dubbed the ‘Brave Bastion,’ it’s impregnable—even ten divisions would struggle to breach it."

"The Brave Bastion?" Tang Fang echoed, amused.

"Yes, quite ironic," one major scoffed. "When they switch to siege mode, it means they plan to hunker down and avoid engagement entirely. Calling it a ‘brave’ bastion is laughable. Personally, I prefer the term ‘Shameful Shield.’ Quite fitting, don’t you think?"

Tang Fang chuckled. "Shameful Shield... I like it."

"You find humor in this?" Claire cut in, exasperated. "If you can figure out how to breach that wall, cooking for you will be the least of my concerns."

"Breach it? Why bother breaching it at all?"

Everyone froze. "What do you mean, ‘why breach it’? How else do you plan to get inside? How do you execute the strategy when the base is bristling with anti-aircraft systems? Entering from above is practically impossible!"

"Who says we need to breach the wall to enter?" Tang Fang countered coolly. "Can’t we just stroll in openly, nice and easy?"

Walk in openly? Without breaching the wall? Had the man lost his mind? Several officers exchanged bewildered glances, torn between dismissing him as delusional and respecting him as the savior of the Northern Sunaru Alliance. Their expressions twisted awkwardly, resembling constipated individuals straining desperately yet producing nothing substantial.

Without another word, Tang Fang walked to a nearby table, picked up a PDA, and began scribbling notes. After fifteen minutes, he handed the device to Adelaide.

"This... this is..." Adelaide’s eyes widened as he scrolled through the data. Suddenly, it clicked—he now understood how Tang Fang had foreseen the nuclear strike on Yaho Naval Port.

A colonel next took the PDA, his face contorting with shock. On the screen was a segment of code—a simple ROM data-writing program. The significance lay not in the code itself but its target: the ROM chips storing identity information for power armor operators.

Such configuration data was classified, accessible only to military units, with encryption keys updated regularly. Civilian technology stood no chance of cracking it. Yet here it was, laid bare.

Was it fake? Both Adelaide and the colonel entertained doubts—until they saw the personal identification details appended to the code. Each entry included a unique alphanumeric string derived from DNA sequencing algorithms, used for high-security clearance checks. Such information was virtually unobtainable outside official databases.

But here it was, listing the identities of everyone present. The implication was clear: this young man possessed extraordinary capabilities—accessing military communication networks, intercepting satellite transmissions, perhaps even spoofing or altering communications.

One word came to Adelaide’s mind: omnipotent. Advanced tech-powered armor, miracle drugs curing radiation sickness, hacking prowess rivaling state-level intelligence agencies—just how many secrets did this enigmatic figure hold?

With such skills, infiltrating a demolition team behind enemy lines would indeed be child’s play.

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