Chapter 999: The Big Order and the Endless Cycle

"The Federation... is truly a monster."

A military officer watched the airplanes landing on the runway one after another, his eyes filled with envy for the Federation's industrial manufacturing capabilities. Behind this envy, deeper down, was a kind of fear.

He feared the Federation, feared their soldiers, feared their manufacturing capabilities.

How much time had passed, and the Federation's airplanes were already here?

Looking at these beautiful machines, he could only temporarily suppress the unease in his heart.

Clearly, the federal people were their allies, but they just couldn't bring themselves to like this ally who was a bit too powerful.

A large number of airplanes landed one after another on the hastily repaired runway. Fortunately, these fixed-wing aircraft were not that demanding of the runway; even some... not-so-flat ground wouldn't affect their landing.

This first batch to arrive were all fighter planes. They were made using a small amount of metal, wood, and aluminum skin, which could effectively reduce the fuselage's weight, allowing it to carry more ammunition and fly faster.

The Federal Department of Defense and Congress were very much looking forward to the performance of this batch of planes. If they could severely strike a blow against the arrogance of the Dantra people on the battlefield, it would be a great help in boosting the soldiers' morale.

During this period, the soldiers had been tormented by those airplanes buzzing in the sky like flies. If they could shoot down a few enemy planes, it would be a good display of strength.

Sergeant Bohr was resting.

After more than a year of war, Bohr had become a qualified soldier, and a qualified sergeant.

The comrades around him had been replaced who-knows-how-many times, but he was still here.

Sometimes he would also think, if he were a federal citizen in the true sense, he might already be a Second Lieutenant or First Lieutenant by now, and having become an officer, wouldn't need to fight on the very front line.

But he was just an illegal immigrant from the Empire. He had come here only for the legal status promised by the federal government.

He was often afraid. On the battlefield, no one knew what would happen in the next second. Maybe a piece of shrapnel flying from god-knows-where could take your life.

He had many scars on his body. When he took off his clothes, he looked somewhat frightening.

The most frightening thing was that a shell had once landed right next to him, but he had miraculously survived, albeit with broken bones and two-and-a-half missing fingers.

His luck was indeed very good. Of the comrades who had joined the company with him, only those who had been disabled on the battlefield and transferred to the rear were still alive, adding up to no more than twenty people.

The others had all fallen on this land.

He now had no fear of war, of battle, of the battlefield. For him, this place was, on the contrary, filled with a power that could calm people down.

The moment the cannons and guns sounded, he would enter an unprecedented state of focus, and then complete his work.

"Bohr, over here."

The company commander shouted from a distance. Bohr took the cigarette from his mouth, held it in his hand and glanced at it, then took another deep drag. When his fingers could feel the burning pain from where he held it, he finally threw the cigarette on the ground.

This was the rear, so smoking was not a problem.

He dusted himself off and trotted towards the company commander's tent.

All the non-commissioned officers in the company had already gathered here, including some ordinary soldiers.

"We've just received a new mission from above. We need to occupy this area before 15:40 this afternoon."

The company commander drew a circle on the map. Bohr, as the most senior soldier here, couldn't help but let out a couple of laughs. Everyone looked up at him.

These focused gazes made Bohr feel a little uncomfortable. He could only ask in a low voice, "Commander, honestly, did you piss someone off?"

The commander was a bit confused, "Why do you ask?"

Bohr pointed to the circled area. "We can't take this place."

"The Dantra reconnaissance planes are constantly circling. They can see any military movement. Once they find out we're heading to..." he looked down at the marker on the map, "Zone 14, they will definitely concentrate their fire to beat us back."

"With eyes in the sky, the artillery on the ground can keep attacking us. I can't see a single shred of a chance of success."

The commander's face turned serious. "I didn't piss anyone off, first of all!"

"Secondly, this mission isn't just for our company; there are other companies. And, you don't need to worry about those flies in the sky, because our airplanes are here too."

This sentence immediately enlivened the somewhat dull atmosphere. Bohr couldn't help but ask, "We have airplanes too?"

The commander put his hands on his hips and nodded. "Yes, and the Department of Defense said the effect is very good, and they are specifically designed to target these aerial units."

"They will fly up first and pluck out these planes that are watching us. Then we will advance directly, and they can still cover us from the air."

"And we also have planes that can drop bombs. This time, it's their turn to get a taste of our power."

In fact, even if he didn't explain, these soldiers couldn't refuse the order. But explaining it made them feel a little better, at least letting them know the military wasn't planning to send them to their deaths.

At three o'clock, a large number of "Sharp Arrow" fighter jets took off from the airfield. In order to achieve a brilliant result in the first air battle, over a hundred of them took to the skies.

On the ground, waiting for the rapid march, Bohr pressed down on his helmet and watched the dense formation of fighter jets flying towards the battlefield, unable to hold back a whistle.

The silver-white fuselages glittered charmingly in the sunlight, and many people on the ground were waving their arms at the planes.

The enemy's planes had clearly also noticed the large number of planes flying over from the Federation. They did have intelligence that the Federation was also producing airplanes, but they didn't know that the Federation's planes had already arrived on the battlefield.

At first, these reconnaissance planes were not too nervous. They were all airplanes in the sky. Apart from chasing each other, if they wanted to cause casualties, they would have to shoot with rifles or handguns at close range to achieve any effective results.

So the reconnaissance planes were not worried about these planes at all. On the contrary, they took the initiative to approach the federal planes, wanting to see their structure clearly, and what their purpose was.

When the distance between the two sides became very close, the federal fighter pilots snapped out of their incomprehensible state of confusion and immediately squeezed their firing buttons.

The machine guns, specially designed for fixed-wing aircraft, began to work. In an instant, the bullets spewing from many muzzles formed a metal storm, shredding the reconnaissance plane in front of them in an instant.

Watching the reconnaissance plane fall from the sky, the eyes of the ground troops all widened.

Bohr was even more excited and stood up. "Fuck! Fuck!"

"Those sons of bitches finally fell! Fuck!"

The other soldiers also cheered one after another. During this period, they had really had enough of the harassment from these planes. They couldn't sleep well, and there were always bombs falling from the sky.

It was actually very difficult for artillery shells to hit the trenches directly, because there was an angle. Most of the time, hiding in the trenches was safe. But ever since there were airplanes, the trenches were no longer safe.

Now, watching these sons of bitches fall, everyone felt an unprecedented comfort!

A few transport vehicles immediately drove towards the place where the plane had crashed. The Department of Defense and the manufacturers of these planes had already given the front-line troops a heads-up.

If they shot down an enemy plane, as long as conditions allowed, they had to bring the wreckage back.

By studying the wreckage of the Dantra people's planes, they might be able to get some inspiration.

The remaining recon planes had, in an instant, fled without a trace. The ground troops began to advance. Soon, they had entered into battle.

War is a very complex matter in many ways. The advancement of the front line is also a complex process. Gunfire, shouting.

There was a dark-skinned man in the company. He wasn't a federal citizen either, but he also wanted to get a legal federal identity.

The Federation had currently suspended ordinary labor immigration, and had only kept the windows for investment immigration, and skilled immigration.

For an ordinary person to want to become a federal citizen, they could only go through the path of military conscription immigration.

He wanted to give himself and his family a better future, so he had come here. He also often showed Bohr the two photos he had brought, which had his family on them.

He said, this was the driving force that supported him in persisting in this hell.

He had seen the two photos of this big black guy. The photos of this era, because of the technology and materials, were generally yellowish and grayish.

So Bohr could only, on the two photos, see some clothes and dresses that would make one uneasy at night, and also some indistinct shadows.

They were too dark, so dark that the camera couldn't even capture them. Sometimes Bohr was also very curious, how this big black guy could tell who was who.

He couldn't tell, even after looking at them several times.

Besides this matter that Bohr couldn't figure out, this big black guy was actually a good fellow.

He was very strong, and could carry more supplies. The talent of his race was not something to be envied. And he was very outgoing, liked to dance, to sing, and to curse.

Every time he fired his gun, he would say "motherfucker." If anyone heard the sound of gunfire change from "bang bang bang" to "motherfucker-bang-motherfucker-bang-motherfucker-bang," then this dark-skinned man must be nearby.

This big black guy was very smart. When he knew that Bohr was a real veteran, as long as it was a battle, he would always follow Bohr.

Bohr would also, from time to time, warn him that to do so was actually not a good thing, because he had had too many experiences of his comrades dying by his side.

In a sense, he was a guy who could attract bad luck.

But the big black guy had never listened to his request to leave him, but on the contrary, had always followed him.

After several battles, he had survived. Did it seem that the bad luck had already left Bohr?

Bohr didn't know. He only knew that if you wanted to survive, you couldn't be afraid.

He was now, on the battlefield, already able to be exceptionally calm. Not fearful, not afraid, and not excited, but just calmly standing up, raising his gun, and shooting.

He didn't know if he had hit or not. In fact, most soldiers didn't know if the bullet, after they had pulled the trigger, had entered the enemy's body. They had to hide after they had fired, not to continue to stare.

But they would have a feeling, a very strange feeling, that they had hit.

Or that they had not.

When he had once again, popped his head out and had fired a shot, he had had that feeling. This time he had hit. He had waved his fist, and while pulling the bolt, he had turned his head to look at the big black guy, wanting to brag to him, to ease their slightly tense emotions.

It was just that his pupils had slightly contracted. The big black guy was already lying on the ground, with half of his face and head having been blown off.

Bohr had cursed "fuck," and had become silent again.

He had pulled his dog tag from this guy, and had also taken out his two photos, and had put them in his pocket. Then he had not looked at him again.

He had returned to his usual calmness, constantly raising his gun, shooting, and changing positions.

This battle was not easy to fight. The Dantra people's will was very tenacious. Fortunately, the airplanes in the sky had given them some help.

When these fighter jets were diving, they would pull the trigger, and the machine guns would sweep the ground from the air, which had played a key role in pushing for the capture of this stronghold.

This battle had lasted until it was getting dark, and only then had the gunshots gradually subsided.

This time, several companies had come up, and they were basically all in a half-crippled state.

Bohr looked at the planes that were returning, and sighed silently.

More than 70 people had died in their company. Although they would soon be replenished, he still felt a faint sadness.

For the first time, he sat there, smoking, looking at the rows of corpses, his own, and the enemy's. He had a feeling of being fed up.

This damn war.

He thought of something, took out his portable notebook and a pencil stub, and began to record some of the emotions, some of the thoughts in his heart.

He didn't know why he was doing this, but he just wanted to.

...

The debut of the federal fighter jets was very successful. It had made the Dantra people's planes not even dare to take off. The sky now was all the Federation's.

However, on the second day, the situation had changed. The Dantra people's fighter jets had also rushed over, and the two sides had had a firefight in the air.

The people on the ground were, with their binoculars or with their naked eyes, watching the dogfight in the sky. The life of a pilot, which Bohr had originally been a little envious of, had, at this moment, come to an end.

"It must be very painful to fall from up there and to hit the ground," he said, while smoking.

This had made his comrades-in-arms around him laugh out loud. This was probably one of the few times on the battlefield when they could relax and vent their emotions.

In their line of sight, the airplanes that were flying around in the sky were, in a very special way, telling everyone that the form of war had already undergone a huge change.

The air battle between the two sides had lasted for three days. Both sides had many planes that had crashed, but in the end, it was still the Federation's side that, with a slight advantage, had grasped the air supremacy.

The gears of war had once again begun to turn rapidly. A transport truck had brought 80 soldiers to Bohr's company, as a supplement to this battle loss.

Because they had some new missions, the command headquarters had requested them to continue to advance, and under the cover of the airplanes, to take down Area 22.

This time, the number of people who had participated in the battle was even larger, about two or three thousand. As for whether they could take it down, no one knew.

A new little sidekick had appeared by his side. When this little sidekick had learned that Bohr was already a "veteran of a hundred battles," he had, along with it, had even carried some of Bohr's supplies on his own back.

He was talking about the reason why he had joined the army, and also his longing to be able to go back.

He had hoped that Bohr could teach him some battlefield knowledge, wisdom, or experience. He loved his family, and he wanted to go home.

Everything seemed to have returned to the starting point. It was just that every time it had returned to the starting point, the person by his side had changed.

He, without joy or sorrow, had, just as he had treated the big black guy, treated this new little sidekick, and had warned him that to follow him might not have a good ending. But the little sidekick had still, firmly, followed him.

This had given Bohr a very bizarre feeling. In this matter, it was as if he had fallen into an infinite loop, and couldn't get out.

...

The proud military achievements on the front line were quickly reported to the Federal Department of Defense and Congress, along with a series of documents of the soldiers who had died on the front line.

It was just that the reports, which had recorded the names of the soldiers who had given their lives for the Federation and their deeds, had been casually tossed aside by these big shots. They were more concerned about the performance of the airplanes on the battlefield.

The performance was, of course, satisfactory to all. The Department of Defense had, with the permission of Congress, directly signed a super-large order. An order for at least 2,000 airplanes had made the shareholders of these companies grin from ear to ear.

Their performance in the stock market had also left no room for fault. After all, this involved an order of 100 million.

Although, this order, compared to the orders of the old, established arms industry groups, was just a few percent, this few percent was a long-term progress, a process from nothing to something!

Everyone believed that as long as they continued to develop new airplanes, they would be able to get more orders, and to get more profits!

The company's shareholders, the public relations team, were, in New Golden City, feasting the congressmen, and the officials of the Department of Defense. They even had to, from their own profits, to take out a part, and in all kinds of legal ways, to transfer it to these "key roles."

A supplier dares to mark a toilet, which is worth two dollars, at 2,000. It is absolutely impossible for the majority of this money to fall into their own hands. This is the truth.

At the banquet, these public relations representatives were, with their wine glasses held high, and with these officials, congressmen, and gentlemen, blatantly and frankly talking about how to bring them more benefits.

And just two streets away, Lance was sitting in a restaurant, dining with Tom.

The music played by the band was soothing and relaxing. Here, you couldn't feel at all that this was what could be called a "chaotic world."