Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C145

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Chapter 145: The Battle of Apalus (Part 2)

Vincent Christian, a young sergeant stationed at Brave Bastion, had a routine as predictable as the sunrise. Every morning after his workout, he’d shower and head to the mess hall for breakfast—a tuna sandwich thick enough to choke a bear and a steaming cup of coffee. Years passed this way, unchanging, because Vincent was not one for excitement or novelty. He preferred life easy, simple, and slow.

As a security officer manning a checkpoint along the highway leading into Brave Bastion’s sprawling military-industrial complex, his job was straightforward: inspect vehicles entering the facility and ensure no suspicious individuals slipped through. With Brave Bastion now on high alert, reinforcements had doubled, and the entire base buzzed with an air of impending doom. But for Vincent, it meant less work—he could kick back in the guardhouse instead of trudging out to hassle drivers who didn’t want to be hassled anyway.

Would the rebels dare attack? Ridiculous. Unless they were suicidal morons—or Marion was even crazier than people gave him credit for—there was no way they’d take on Brave Bastion’s defenses. Even mosquitoes would struggle to get past their firepower, let alone some ragtag resistance group.

It wasn’t just Vincent thinking this way. A Saber-Tooth A1 armored personnel carrier pulled over near the checkpoint, and a lieutenant stepped out. After glancing at the two privates standing stiffly by the gate, he peered into the guardhouse where Vincent lay sprawled on a cot, his cap over his face, catching up on sleep. The lieutenant rapped on the window.

"Hey, Sergeant," he called.

Vincent bolted upright, removing his cap and snapping to attention. "Sir!"

"EASY, EASY," said the lieutenant, waving him down as he entered the room. His eyes scanned the monitors showing nothing unusual outside before tossing Vincent a cigarette. "Pretty quiet out there."

"Thank you, sir." Though Vincent despised smoking—it struck him as little more than a slow death—he wasn’t about to ruin the lieutenant's mood. He lit the man’s cigarette first, then his own.

Leaning back, Vincent took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke. "How could it not be quiet? Those rebel clowns wouldn’t dare show their faces here unless they wanted trouble—and lots of it."

The lieutenant glanced at the towering steel walls surrounding them, meters thick and dozens of feet high. "You’re right. Unless they’ve lost their minds, they wouldn’t stand a chance against Brave Bastion’s firepower. Not even a fly gets through these defenses. As for Garcia Resistance… well, unless they’ve got tunneling skills worthy of mole rats, good luck getting in."

"Couldn’t agree more, sir," Vincent replied, mimicking drowning rodents with exaggerated gestures. "Flush those rat holes, and they’ll pop out like corks in a bottle."

The lieutenant burst out laughing. "Exactly! Waterlogged rats. Hahahaha!"

This exchange encapsulated the general sentiment among Brave Bastion’s defenders. No one believed the rebels would come, and if by some miracle they did, they wouldn’t make it past the fortress walls. Forget the overlapping grids of automated turrets; even nuclear warheads wouldn’t dent the steel barricades encircling the compound.

Garcia’s men might as well try chewing through concrete with their teeth. One popular joke around camp went something like this: "They’d have better luck bending their... uh, let’s say pride, than scratching that wall." It always drew laughs, even from the nurses stitching up wounded soldiers in the infirmary.

And yet, despite all the bravado, Brave Bastion’s troops weren’t greeted by rebels—but by Tang Fang, a meddlesome nuisance wrapped in armor.

---

An armored vehicle rolled steadily down the empty highway toward Brave Bastion. Inside the guardhouse, Vincent’s conversation with the lieutenant was interrupted by the shrill beep of the surveillance system. Looking up, he frowned at the monitor. Who were these guys? Didn’t they know the area was under lockdown?

The lieutenant noticed too, finishing his cigarette with a few quick puffs before stubbing it out and stepping outside alongside Vincent.

The approaching vehicle slowed to a crawl, finally stopping just short of the spike barriers. Vincent and a rifle-toting private approached cautiously. Through the tinted bulletproof glass, they saw Arroz sitting calmly in the driver’s seat, clad in the Empire’s iconic Guardian Knight power armor. His weathered face betrayed no emotion.

“What unit are you with?” Vincent demanded. “Apalus is under lockdown. No entry allowed.”

Arroz tilted his head slightly toward the passenger seat, nodding toward Tang Fang. “Sergeant, watch your tone.”

Vincent leaned closer, squinting at Tang Fang’s insignia. His eyes widened in recognition. Snapping to attention, he saluted sharply. “Good morning, sir!”

Tang Fang gave him a cool once-over. “The message should have arrived…”

“Message?” Vincent looked puzzled. Just then, a private hurried out of the communications room, handing Vincent a document. Scanning it quickly, his expression shifted. Comparing the photos to the occupants of the vehicle, he signaled to the control booth. “Open the gates,” he instructed, stepping aside.

The spike barriers retracted, and the barrier arm lifted.

“Carry on, sir,” Vincent said, stepping back with a salute as the vehicle drove through.

Once the armored car disappeared from view, the lieutenant turned to Vincent, brow furrowed. “Who were they?”

“I don’t know,” Vincent admitted. “Command says they’re envoys. Orders were clear: let them pass.”

“Envoys…” The lieutenant muttered, gazing at the dust cloud fading in the distance.

Envoys, my ass, thought Housen from inside the cockpit, grinning ear to ear. We’re practically arsonists walking into their stronghold, and they’re treating us like royalty.

“Tang Fang, we gotta do this kind of infiltration gig more often,” Housen whispered excitedly. “So damn satisfying.”

“Keep it down,” Tang Fang warned, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “If you know it’s a stealth mission, act like it.”

Arroz, ever the voice of reason, chimed in. “Both of you, focus. We’re almost at the main gate. If anyone catches onto us, things will get messy.”

“Right, right,” Housen said, schooling his features into a scowl. He tried to look menacing but ended up resembling a cartoon villain ready to chew nails.

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