Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C154

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Chapter 154: Reinforcements? Or Enemies?

"As you can see, Commander, the system has undergone two content updates since its inception. The 'Hyperdimensional Sphere System Based on the White Path' functions more like an expandable intelligent core. When the right conditions arise, it automatically updates its database and even its core processes."

"Oh." Tang Fang nodded, only half-understanding. "So, the supply cap still has room to grow?"

"Yes."

"And what triggers these updates?"

"Commander, the base database contains no information regarding this question."

Great—another dead end. Dismissing Emma, Tang Fang refocused his attention on the Terran base. He ordered SCVs to construct thirty-three supply depots and used Calldown: Extra Supplies for sixteen more supplies. Sure enough, the supply cap stabilized at 1000.

With a limit of 1000 supply count per race, he could theoretically field 500 tanks, over 160 Thors, or just as many Battlecruisers. The same applied to the Zerg and Protoss factions. If all those units were converted into mixed air forces—Battlecruisers, Carriers, and Mutalisks—the combined fleet would rival that of a space armada.

Keep in mind, each Battlecruiser, Carrier, or even a single Zerg Mutalisk far surpassed the combat capabilities of any ship currently in Monya Empire’s arsenal. A total supply cap of 3000 was more than sufficient.

His current resource tally stood at 40,625 minerals and 10,500 gas.

After some deliberation, Tang Fang queued up twenty Hellions, ten Widow Mines, and twenty Siege Tanks in the Factorys production line. Then, he ordered the Barracks to churn out thirty Firebats and twenty Medics.

Deducting production costs, his remaining resources dropped to 32,400 minerals and 6,500 gas, with his supply count rising to 545/1000. With these reinforcements, even if the entire 606th Armored Division arrived, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Summoning a Hellion, he dismissed its driver back into the system interface and plopped himself into the cockpit. Surveying the vehicle's systems—360-degree imaging radar, targeting assistance, suspension adjustment, and even the uncoordinated transformation controller on the right—he couldn’t help but grin. Slamming the accelerator, the four-wheel-drive Hellion roared to life, tearing out like a wolf on the highway with a guttural whine.

Meanwhile, the 606th Division's 2nd and 3rd Mechanized Infantry Brigades—approximately 3,600 strong—split into two columns, advancing rapidly toward the heavily damaged outer industrial zones D and G.

Leading the charge were Rhino Main Battle Tanks, Saber-Tooth Multirole Armored Vehicles, and infantry clad in Earth Knight power armor. Behind them came missile launchers, command vehicles, electronic warfare platforms, and heavy artillery. Overhead, Scorpion Attack Helicopters and Amaterasu AP-5M Early Warning Aircraft circled alongside swarms of turbofan unmanned attack drones.

The ground trembled beneath their advance, a rolling tide of steel and smoke surging forward like a dragon devouring the horizon. From afar, it looked like an unstoppable flood bearing down on the burning factories.

Arroz crouched amidst the ruins of a factory in Zone D, extinguishing his cigar and spitting out a mouthful of dust. Licking his lips, he muttered, “The rebels should be making their move soon.”

Elsewhere, Housen paused his destruction spree, standing amid a devastated concrete plant. Unloading his grenade launcher, he rummaged through his shoulder compartment and pulled out a can of beef stew. Popping open the lid, he scooped out a chunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth. “Phew, wrecking stuff sure works up an appetite. Gotta eat to fight.”

Suddenly remembering something, he glanced back at the handful of Marauders behind him—his personal guard squad.

“You guys want some?”

No response. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Housen shrugged; these guys rarely spoke unless it pertained to combat. They lived by the creed of minimal words, never wasting breath on idle chatter.

Swallowing the last bite of beef, he took a swig from his flask. “Ahhh… that hits the spot.” Clearly, the liquid inside wasn’t water—it was alcohol.

The enemy vanguard had already reached the factory grounds. The metallic clanging of Rhino treads echoed across the battlefield as Housen reassembled his grenade launcher, slapped his cheeks, and bellowed drunkenly, “Alright, boys! What are we waiting for? Let’s go blow these bastards sky-high!”

Housen burst forth like a rampaging boar, charging out of the half-collapsed factory with ferocity. Planting himself squarely in the middle of the road, he raised his launcher and fired two Judicator grenades directly at the lead Rhino’s hull.

“Boom!” Silver flames erupted, blasting a massive crater into the Rhino’s half-meter-thick armor, exposing the terrified face of the driver within.

“Ratatatat…” Marines hiding behind cover opened fire on the Earth Knight-clad infantry. The powerful armor-piercing 7mm spikes tore through their bodies, sending gouts of blood flying and scattering the front-line troops in panic.

“Hold steady! Hold formation! Artillery support, S-3 missiles—fire! Fire! We must suppress the enemy! These are just infantrymen. As long as we control our rhythm, they’re nothing but paper tigers!” Lieutenant Colonel Gibbon Daler, commander of the 2nd Brigade, shouted furiously into his communicator.

The retreating infantry ducked behind armored vehicles as Rhinos swung their cannons around, firing shell after shell toward the source of incoming bullets. Multi-barrel missile launchers atop the multirole vehicles unleashed anti-armor projectiles at Housen’s Marauder squad.

S-3 missiles screamed overhead, landing among the rubble and blasting enormous craters. Support artillery loaded with fuel-air explosives rained devastation upon the Marines’ hiding spots.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Explosions lit up the battlefield, flames roaring everywhere.

“Zzzzt… ratatatatat!” Machine gun turrets shredded thick concrete walls, leaving rows of gaping holes.

The 2nd Brigade’s attack formation stretched wide, with pinpoint artillery strikes hammering relentlessly. Wave after wave of explosions and missile impacts pinned Housen’s team under constant pressure, barely giving them room to breathe.

“Damn it! You cowards won’t fight close? Fine, I’ll bring the fight to you myself. Come on, hit me where it hurts!”

Just as Housen prepared to inject Stimpacks and charge headlong into the fray, the distant roar of engines caught his ear. Turning, he witnessed a sight that left him completely stunned. On the wavering horizon, obscured by smoke, ten red Hellions split into two neat lines, racing straight toward the battlefield. Behind them loomed unfamiliar heavy tanks—bristling with thick armor covering nearly every inch of their frames. Their flat, rectangular barrels exuded an oppressive sense of weight and power.

Flanking the tanks were two types of infantry. One resembled Marauders but carried different weapons. The other type was sleek and silver, vaguely humanoid like Marines—but curiously unarmed.

“What… what the hell is this? Reinforcements? Or enemies?”

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