"And the other cities?" Ryk asked again.
The greatest difficulty faced by the colonists on Bel'Shir was that their major settlements were scattered across two vast plains, with many separated by towering mountain ranges or massive lakes. This caused the Revolutionary Army's garrisons to be equally dispersed; several settlements, each with populations of around 200,000, were defended by only small contingents of troops.
He had noticed that their enemies rarely used aircraft, so he began experimentally deploying transport ships to reinforce the more weakly defended settlements. Only through these efforts had the inhabitants avoided total slaughter or the complete collapse of social order due to the lack of protection.
"New Riedenheim, New Faust, New Danzesk, New Balik, and New Lexington have roughly the same food reserves as we do," Sebold reported. "But the brigade units and militias stationed in those cities are suffering from ammunition shortages and declining morale. The militias are still using outdated water-cooled machine guns and powder-based firearms to fight invisible enemies, and there have already been reports of soldier suicides."
"The enemy's numbers are unknown, their positions unknown—they've already learned our living patterns and always strike at night, aiming to wear us down—"
"We're trapped on this damned green planet," he said. "The enemy bears only malice toward us and has never once attempted communication."
Ryk nodded slightly, a low hum escaping his throat. As he silently walked toward one of the main control consoles, his golden hair spread over his forehead like the cap of a mushroom.
"We can only try constructing a gas refinery over the high-energy gas vents we've already found. Can that kind of purple high-energy gas be refined or purified?" Ryk asked, pacing around the command center.
"That's not a newly discovered substance," replied First Officer Sebold. "Kel-Morian and Terran Confederacy explorers have previously found the same gas on several barren, lifeless worlds. They called it terrazine."
"Terrazine is a special type of high-energy gas—it can't be refined into usable fuel. On some of the more primitive colonial worlds, locals even treat it as a narcotic, believing that inhaling it grants them supernatural powers."
"Is that true?" Ryk looked at him.
"Mm. Everyone who's tried it has gone insane—the SCV operator who accidentally fell into a terrazine vent earlier has already shown symptoms of schizophrenia," Sebold said.
"He's begun believing that planet Bel'Shir itself is a supernatural being, worshiping it as a god. The poor man keeps hearing strange whispers in the dead of night, convinced that Bel'Shir is speaking to him."
"How bizarre. Prohibit all personnel from approaching the gas, and seal every terrazine vent," Ryk ordered.
Just then, accompanied by a rhythmic beeping, a signal came through on the command center's main holographic display—from one of the Revolutionary Army's forward outposts.
"This is Outpost E-9. We've received a distress signal from the 1st Vulture Company of the 9th Division. They went missing in the jungle about a month and a half ago," reported a sergeant wearing a flat-topped cap adorned with the ash-gray wolf-head insignia.
"Patch it through," Ryk said.
The screen immediately displayed one of Bel'Shir's typical jungle landscapes. Over a hundred Revolutionary Army Vulture drivers, motorized soldiers, and mechanics lay among the dense ferns. No one knew how they had survived so long in the jungle, but it was clear that they were still alive.
No sign of the alien creatures appeared on the screen—only faint groans from the human soldiers.
"This is an obvious trap," Ryk said coldly. "But they know humanity would never abandon its own."
Whoever was behind it had clearly deciphered human language, for at that moment, a single English word suddenly appeared on the screen.
[BUGS]
...
The newly completed settlement consisted of ten thousand modular single-story prefabricated houses and several multi-story functional buildings, situated amid the dense jungles of Bel'Shir. A power station powered by the ship's fusion reactor supplied the necessary energy for these structures.
From south to north, the residential houses were arranged in a colonial grid pattern, with a wide four-lane asphalt road and an airfield for transport ships left in the middle. From above, the view resembled a blue-and-white checkerboard.
All the square-shaped house components had been cast from concrete and light alloys in the factories of Korhal IV. The metallic shells of the houses were painted in alternating blue and white base coats, sprayed with the crimson-and-gold emblem of the Sons of Korhal. The wolf-head sigil of the Mengsk family and the red flag with a golden star of the Korhal Dominion fluttered atop the command center, the tallest building in the colony.
Around the settlement stood a Paristeel fortification wall more than 3 m high. The jungle beyond had been flattened by plasma flamethrowers and bulldozers to clear the line of sight for soldiers on watch atop the defensive wall.
To this day, the residents of the colony still doubted the usefulness of that wall. Rumors and horrifying tales had begun spreading among the restless colonists—they believed that those strange alien creatures could leap lightly over the wall, or even pass through it like ghosts.
Just a month ago, this once-flourishing settlers' colony had been full of hope. For a brief time, people had forgotten the sorrow of leaving their homeland and focused entirely on building a new one.
Bel'Shir was an ideal world for colonization. It didn't even require a long terraforming process to make it suitable for human habitation. This would become the first new home for the wandering Korhalans, who would carry forward their ancestors' tenacious spirit to pioneer this primitive world.
At least, that was how it was supposed to be.
Next to the command center stood a military square and dispatch plaza, also built from prefabricated panels. About one battalion of Revolutionary Army soldiers in red powered armor, together with nearly three thousand troops in dark-gray uniforms holding C-13 Gauss rifles, stood upright in the dispatch plaza. Beside them were rows of light scout vehicles and heavy armored combat cars equipped with mounted heavy machine guns, all produced by Korhal's military factories.
The flag bearers held aloft their bright-red banners, and every soldier's face was solemn. All of them understood clearly that, in this perilous world, they were the only wall standing between their families and annihilation.
Among the Korhalans, the ratio of soldiers had reached an astonishing five to one. Except for the disabled and those in special occupations, all men and women between the ages of sixteen and fifty were required to undergo professional military training, serving as reservists ready to replenish the front lines at any moment.
The composition of these troops—especially those from the colonial fleet—was extremely diverse, including both salaried workers from the capital city of Styrling and seafaring fishermen from the oceanic cities.
"At ease. Attention." Ryk's voice came through the loudspeaker inside his commander-grade powered armor.
"We are facing creatures of a kind never before seen. Those monsters are the most terrifying enemies humanity has ever encountered." Ryk finished his address in less than a minute.
"On this planet, 8 000 light-years from Korhal, there coexist two highly evolved intelligent species. One of them is a race full of malice toward us, rejecting understanding and any peaceful communication. What awaits us is a war of life and death."
He was barely in his early twenties, yet already carried himself with the bearing of a stern general.
War and the cold precision of killing as a sniper had made Ryk one of the most ruthless warriors among Heaven's Devils. He would never allow himself to betray Augustus's trust or let him down. For that reason, every enemy standing in his way would be eliminated—decisively and without hesitation.
"No matter how long the battle drags on, the final outcome can only be one: either we wipe out every last one of those monsters, or we are annihilated by them. Gentlemen, tough men of Korhal IV—let those arrogant beasts witness what true human courage is."
His voice echoed above the dispatch plaza.
"When you return in triumph, they will welcome you as heroes."
"For Korhal we fight! We are the Sons of Korhal!"
In response to Ryk's words, the soldiers shouted in perfect unison.
To the Korhalans, Sons of Korhal was not the name of a terrorist organization. In truth, every Korhalan who reminded himself never to forget the Fall of Korhal proudly called himself a Son of Korhal.
Investigators of the Terran Confederacy would later discover that, among the Korhalan exiles, there existed no intelligence whatsoever about any so-called terrorist group called the Sons of Korhal—or perhaps it was simply because every Korhalan was one.
"Order all units to depart from Alpha Gate. Tanks and flamethrower troops in the lead," Ryk continued to command. "Have the bombers take off and prepare to deliver incendiaries."
"The recon craft has already reached the airspace over the Vulture squad that sent the distress signal," his adjutant reported. "The site is 20 km from us, covered by dense primeval forest. Under such complex terrain, radar equipment is completely ineffective, and the recon craft's thermal imaging can only detect our captured soldiers."
"Other than that, we've found no sign of enemy forces."
Ryk's adjutant was named Alan Phillip. Like many officers of humble origin within the Revolutionary Army, Phillip was merely the son of a construction worker. During his school years he had earned a full-year scholarship to the Styrling Artillery Academy through his outstanding grades, and when the Korhal Independence War broke out, he enlisted in the Korhal Revolutionary Army immediately after graduation.
It was the same with most of Ryk's officers—before enlisting, they had come from every imaginable background: some were pastry chefs or cooks; others came from entirely different walks of life—elementary-school teachers, taxi drivers, art students, journalists.
"They're lying in wait," Ryk said. "They're using the lives of our comrades to force us to send rescue troops, trying to provoke us—just to lure us out of the city and into the jungle."
"And then," he continued, "what awaits us will be a brutal hunt by the aliens. Just like the hunters on Korhal—they set their traps, waiting for deer or boar to step in, and shoot them one by one."
"This is good. I've been waiting for such an opportunity. Our soldiers urgently need a battle of sword and fire—to face real enemies, not shadows or fear. Otherwise, even if these damned monsters don't kill all our commanders, the isolated cities will slowly collapse."
"We've become the prey," Ryk's adjutant Phillip said. "At last, one day, humanity has once again become the prey."
"Let's move out."
As Ryk spoke, he took from his adjutant the Chief Petty Officer sniper rifle that had accompanied him since his days in the Confederate Marine Corps. The rifle had been well maintained, gleaming with oil.
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