Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C155

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Chapter 155: Siege Tanks

“Buzzz… Housen, how’s it going? Getting your head pinned down by enemy fire, huh? Don’t sweat it. My reinforcements should be reaching you any minute now.” Tang Fang’s voice crackled through the communicator.

“You… you… damn it.” Housen sucked in a deep breath. “I knew it. Who else but you could pull something like this off?”

“Ha-ha-ha! Enjoy the hellish party I’ve sent your way.”

Click. Tang Fang cut the line. Housen swallowed the mouthful of minced beef he’d been chewing and glanced up at the government forces advancing slowly before him. Then he turned to look behind.

Ten Hellion tanks fanned out to either side, taking flanking routes along narrow paths. As for the main force—the heavy tanks—they had suddenly come to a halt fifteen kilometers away. Through the long-range optics in his powered armor helmet, Housen witnessed something that left him utterly speechless.

The massive chassis of the tanks—normally about nine meters tall—sank slightly as their front and rear tracks angled downward. Mechanical claws extended from both sides, gripping the ground firmly. Then, with an almost organic fluidity, the rectangular barrels split apart laterally, transforming into gleaming rail cannons crackling with arcs of electricity.

“Wha—wha—what? They’re… they’re transforming?” Housen’s jaw dropped so far it might as well have hit the floor. His words stumbled over themselves.

Before he could process what he was seeing, the ten Siege Tanks unleashed their payload on the vanguard of the government forces. The 180mm plasma cannons hummed with energy, their rails glowing ominously.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Searing orbs of azure plasma rained down from the sky, landing squarely between a squad of infantry and several Saber-Tooth armored vehicles. Upon impact, the superheated particles exploded outward like fireworks, creating a devastating blast radius dozens of meters wide. Wherever the plasma touched, destruction followed.

The armored vehicles didn’t stand a chance. The plasma melted their hulls into molten slag, and the screams of trapped drivers echoed inside. Even the infantry, clad in Earth Knight armor—a step above the Guardian Knight models—were reduced to charred husks in moments.

Five armored vehicles were obliterated outright; three melted into unrecognizable lumps, while two others were riddled with gaping holes. And the foot soldiers? Forget about them—they never stood a chance.

Ten Siege Tanks. Ten plasma shots. In one volley, the vanguard of the 2nd Mechanized Infantry Brigade was decimated. Rhino tanks, Saber-Tooth APCs, support robots, and mechanized infantry—all suffered catastrophic losses. Over two hundred personnel casualties in mere seconds.

Wherever the plasma struck, nothing remained. The battlefield became a cacophony of screams and cries, the comms channels filled with the sound of chaos—an endless loop of agony, like a skipping record player.

Gibbon Daler stared blankly at the monitor displaying the carnage. For a moment, his mind went completely blank. What the hell was happening? What were those “shells”? And where had they come from? According to intelligence reports, the enemy was supposed to consist of nothing more than infantry. Infantry?! Yeah, right. Infantry his ass.

Deep down, Gibbon had already guessed the truth—but he refused to believe it. Those weapons were only supposed to exist on humanity's most advanced warships. How could they possibly show up here? It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Another wave of plasma shells descended, wreaking the same horrific devastation. Casualties mounted. Soldiers screamed, trembled, and froze in place, refusing to advance further.

“Colonel, Colonel! What do we do? Give us orders!” It was Morse, commander of the Second Battalion, whose troops had borne the brunt of the assault. Before launching the attack, he’d sworn an oath—if he failed to crush the enemy, he’d offer his own head in penance.

Hmph. That coward. Had fear gripped him already? Normally, Lieutenant Colonel Gibbon would have berated Morse, calling him a disgrace. But now, faced with the raining death of plasma shells, even Gibbon himself felt the instinct to flee.

“Scatter! Order the men to spread out, widen the formation, increase spacing!” Gibbon barked. He wasn’t ready to give up—not yet. Not when Apalus Military-Industrial Base was at stake. If they lost it, Marquess Cain’s wrath would burn them all to ashes.

“Air Corps! What good are your drones and AWACS if you can’t tell me where these ‘plasma shells’ are coming from? Find out now!”

“Yes, sir.” The air corps commander hesitated briefly before adding, “Sir, our AWACS just detected heat signatures on both flanks.”

“I told you to investigate the plasma shells, not—” Gibbon stopped mid-sentence. “Heat signatures? Enemy units? Do we have detailed data?”

“The drone footage suggests light vehicles. Very fast ones.”

“Light vehicles? Fine. Keep doing your job.”

“Yes, sir.”

After cutting the transmission, Gibbon issued new orders to his flanking units. Heavy tanks would form the outer perimeter, with infantry tucked safely inside. Light vehicles posed no real threat against Rhino tanks—they were cannon fodder, plain and simple.

It made perfect tactical sense. Unfortunately for Gibbon, his strategy was misapplied.

From both flanks emerged ten Hellions, each moving with incredible speed to dodge tank fire. Ignoring the hail of 12.7mm bullets pelting their hulls, they charged straight into the heart of the infantry formations. With a twist of the controls, their flamethrowers roared to life, spewing jets of flame forty meters long. The unlucky souls caught in the inferno were instantly incinerated, their bodies crumbling into ash.

No screams, no cries—just thirty-odd soldiers melting into piles of charcoal, scattering like dust in the wind.

The Hellions danced nimbly around autocannon fire from the APCs, weaving through gaps between tanks and armored vehicles. Every movement brought fresh death to the hapless infantrymen.

One particularly bold Hellion driver must have grown irritated by the relentless autocannon fire. Swiveling the flamethrower, they bathed a Saber-Tooth anti-armor vehicle in searing flames. The intense heat liquefied the armor plating, burning clean through to the interior.

“Ahhhh!” The driver’s shrieks pierced the air as nearly seven meters of Saber-Tooth chassis dissolved into nothingness, its front end consumed entirely.

Gibbon gawked at the monitors, his face cycling through shades of green and purple. Light armor? This… this was light armor? Damn it all! First plasma shells, now high-temperature flamethrowers—were cutting-edge weapons being handed out like candy? Where the hell were they coming from?

“Colonel, the drones located the source of the plasma shells. About twenty kilometers out. Looks like some kind of heavy tank.” As the air corps commander spoke, the intelligence officer transferred an image onto the monitor.

Gibbon leaned closer, squinting at the screen.

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