Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C179

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Chapter 179: The Final Battle of (Part 6)

On the path to survival, there is no right or wrong, no good or evil. There are no heroes or cowards—only butchers.

He didn’t want to choose, but… often, a person must make a choice.

Within the system’s interface, the list of read as follows: x1, x245, x30, x20, x40, x40, x30, x30, x10, x50. Supply count: 666/1000.

After the battles at the and the recent defense, resource values had soared to a staggering 74,260 and 41,680.

Faced with 200,000 enemy troops, even with opening all missile silos in the base, it would be nearly impossible to repel this assault without resorting to .

"Let’s go all in." With a quiet murmur, Tang Fang added 10 more Medivacs, 100 Vikings, 40 Siege Tanks, and 17 to the production queue.

Moments later, resource numbers dropped to 47,985 and 23,755, while the Terran supply count surged to the maximum limit of 1000/1000.

In total: 150 Vikings, 80 tanks, 40 Hellions, and 17 Widow Mines—these heavy firepower units were now pitted against 5,000 armored vehicles, 1,200 combat aircraft, and 1,500 missiles.

The flames from the Medivac thrusters lit up the entire base as the 17 Widow Mines were deployed 20 kilometers outside the perimeter, entering their active state.

The 80 Siege Tanks were divided into four groups of 20 each, positioned in a straight line along the deep zones between the outer defensive lines and the missile base.

The 40 Hellion were loaded onto Medivacs, while large numbers of bio-units roamed within reinforced positions on the frontlines, serving as backup support.

The Vikings in the sky were Tang Fang's primary focus. Before the enemy ground forces could advance, waves of missiles and armed aircraft would carpet-bomb the base's defenses. The defensive line could not afford any breaches. Otherwise, the subsequent encirclement by the armored divisions would leave the rebels overwhelmed.

"Intercept those aircraft." Glancing at the faint silver-gray streaks approaching from the southeast, Tang Fang issued an attack order to the 150 Vikings above.

"Woo, woo, woo..." One after another, trails of azure-blue cut across the sky, accompanied by piercing sonic booms. The 150 Vikings formed a V-shaped formation and sped toward the cluster of enemy aircraft in the southeast.

"Old man, I’ll handle the enemy aircraft. Deal with the missiles yourself."

"Got it," Marion’s voice crackled through the comms.

Missile silos hidden beneath the ice around the base opened, unleashing torrents of , , , , and countless . They erupted like geysers from missile launch arrays, large and medium-sized missile silos, and mobile missile vehicles patrolling the base perimeter.

Before the ground forces clashed, the skies became the battleground. Missiles versus missiles, aircraft versus aircraft—who would dominate the heavens?

---

was a major in the air force and captain of the . At 32, he had just married last year and recently learned his wife was pregnant. If it was a boy, he planned to name him Chapman; if a girl, Wendy.

If his wife’s plans had gone smoothly, three months ago he would have already completed his discharge paperwork and settled into a comfortable, carefree position in a government department. He envisioned spending the rest of his life lounging around with his wife and child, warm hearth and all, drifting lazily through life.

But that plan had been shattered by that damn Marion Duncan—the rebels, the rabble, the scum of society. Why couldn’t they just live quietly? Why did they insist on dignity and freedom? It was absurd.

This world operated on pure jungle law: survival of the fittest. Those with power, wealth, ability, and cunning rightfully belonged at the top, enjoying class privilege, luxurious lifestyles, and the envy and fear of commoners.

In such a societal framework, the powerless and lowly should learn to be weaklings, slaves, or even dogs. Only then could they live worry-free, unbothered by dignity, discrimination, or injustice.

As for Macaulay himself, he never dreamed of becoming a general or climbing the ranks to enter high society. Being better off than some and worse than others—that was enough.

But those people—damn Marion and his —had disrupted his retirement plans.

"Men, stay sharp. Let’s finish this fight in style and send those filthy bugs to hell."

"Yes, sir."

"Don’t worry. My ‘widow-makers’ on both flanks are starving, heheheh."

"..."

A cold smirk tugged at Macaulay’s lips. Faced with over 200,000 government troops, the Garcia Resistance was at its end. No one could save them—not even divine intervention.

"Sir, ahead... uh... enemy aircraft! A large group of enemy aircraft! Why didn’t radar pick them up?" A panicked voice crackled over the comm.

"Huh?" Macaulay glanced at the radar scanner. Nothing. Even the rear hadn’t raised an alarm. "How... how is this possible?"

"All squads, switch to defensive formations!" On the panoramic display, the enemy aircraft, capable of evading airborne radar, suddenly accelerated and shifted into attack formations, charging rapidly toward the vanguard fighter group.

"Damn, what terrifying speed!" Macaulay realized his fighters couldn’t secure advantageous positions.

"They’re coming! Scatter, scatter!" Deputy Captain Frank’s shout echoed through the comm channel.

"Captain, it’s bad! An enemy plane is locked onto my tail—I can’t shake it..." It was the pilot who had boasted earlier about his "widow-maker" being hungry.

"Volka, climb, climb! I’ll take him out," Frank said.

"I’m climbing, I’m climbing, but he’s faster! He’s firing... help, aaaahhh!"

"Boom." A flash erupted from the left wing. On the monitor, a friendly marker flickered twice before vanishing. Macaulay grew uneasy. The enemy planes were moving too fast—too fast for even to track.

"Jim, he’s coming down the middle! What the hell does he want... aaah!" Thousands of meters ahead, two "Skull" fighters flying side by side were obliterated by missiles fired from the enemy aircraft, tumbling down in flaming wreckage.

"Jim... Ally..." Macaulay’s heart sank, as if he were falling into an endless abyss—cold, dark, and devoid of light.

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