Boom! Crash!

"Enemy alert, enemy alert!"

“Multiple disturbances in Hangar A-33! Task force, proceed to the location immediately!”

In the dim pre-dawn hours, alarming sounds echoed from within the hangar, where several Iskander ballistic missile vehicles were stored. Someone who’d been half-asleep snapped awake, quickly sending an emergency message over the radio, while others, barely opening their eyes, scrambled to grab their gear and weapons, rushing out of the building.

Armored vehicles and hastily built temporary barricades by Russian forces were positioned near the hangar. Close to fifty soldiers aimed their weapons at the hangar’s open door, swallowing nervously, red tactical lasers darting through the air.

The thud of heavy footsteps. A squad of heavily armored soldiers, shields raised, aimed their weapons at the hangar. These soldiers wore prototype exosuits from Artemis Technology, making them formidable in battle.

The soldier in the center, holding a loudspeaker, began to speak.

“Drop your weapons, put your hands on your head, and kneel! Non-compliance will result in immediate fire!”

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. The hangar housed mobile missile launch platforms, and if any stray bullets hit and damaged the platforms, the consequences would be dire.

So, if the enemy didn’t come out, they planned to deploy ax-wielding heavy troops immediately. But as the hangar door opened wider, the sight that greeted the Russian forces was beyond anything they could have imagined.

The ceiling, the floor, and other vehicles were littered with decoys and chaff. Vehicles lay scattered and damaged, some even crashed into one another. But the most striking sight was something sharp piercing the front of one vehicle.

Caught somewhere on the vehicle, it clanked as it tried to push forward, only to get stuck again.

By then, everyone realized what it was.

“Oh, no.”

“Everyone, scatter! Get to the nuclear bunkers, quickly!”

“Move! If you don’t want to die—!”

Shockingly, the ballistic missile had gone through its launch process while still inside the vehicle.

The chaff and decoys had burst around them, and the booster ignition was a disaster, pushing the missile out through the front of the vehicle and into another. At best, it could detonate as a high-explosive or cluster bomb; at worst, it could trigger a nuclear warhead.

Although they could theoretically check the type of warhead based on the vehicle’s number or markings near the missile, it was far too late for such checks—everyone was paralyzed by the terror of death.

No one among the Russian forces occupying the U.S. military base handled the situation properly. Even the personnel in the command post, who were supposed to report the situation, ran for the nuclear bunkers the moment they heard about the potential detonation of a nuclear warhead.

But none of them realized that they were already far too late.

“H-ha…haha…”

Amid the chaos, one soldier, legs trembling and unable to control his bodily functions, fell to his knees.

As a maintenance worker, he knew exactly which vehicle had ended up in this state. He also knew that the quantity of chaff and decoys was far more than what would be used for a single launch.

Two missiles, each with a 100-kiloton warhead, awaited detonation.

Facing death’s smooth, ominous design, he thought of his family for the last time.

And then—

The wrath of the atom engulfed the world.

“Impressive.”

“Listening to Lorentina, she sounds like someone who’d thrive in a post-nuclear apocalypse.”

“Well, isn’t she already?”

Indeed.

Faced with impeccable logic, I found myself at a loss for words.

We chatted idly while looking out at San Jose, bathed in a warm orange hue under the atomic glow.

It was an unusually warm winter.

“San Jose has been completely neutralized. Thanks to the rookie.”

Applause broke out.

It was a bit absurd, but somehow, that’s how things ended up, which was pretty amusing.

But it wasn’t just something to blush over. With one nuclear explosion, nearly 90% of San Jose had been neutralized. As Owen predicted, even the backup facility in Cupertino had been neutralized, making this area essentially unusable for the enemy.

Naturally, there were zero civilians in this area. After a virus outbreak and a Third World War-level conflict, there was no chance anyone remained here. So, while future cleanup would be challenging, there were no civilian casualties.

In any case, only two cities remained.

San Francisco and Sacramento.

Owen assigned San Francisco as the next target and began to explain the reasoning.

“San Francisco is a coastal city, but with a few conditions, it can be perfectly isolated. Do you know why?”

“It’s surrounded on three sides by water. Destroy the bridges, and it’ll be completely cut off.”

“Correct.”

At the same time, he displayed an iconic landmark of San Francisco.

The first was the Golden Gate Bridge, but it had long since collapsed.

“The reason we’ve marked the Golden Gate Bridge with an X is simple. The bridge fell about six months ago, as enemy forces moved numerous tactical vehicles across it without proper maintenance. But the other bridges are different.”

Next on the map was the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, slightly to the right, and further south, the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge, about 25 km southeast of San Francisco.

The moment these two bridges popped up, everyone realized: once these were cut off, the enemy forces in San Francisco would be trapped. Seeing their reaction, Owen opened a new map window.

Due to the control center being nuked, management was no longer possible, but jammer positions were still operational.

“The key to this mission is to destroy the jammers. As long as they’re active, ballistic missile support from New Jersey and Virginia isn’t possible. If you want missiles missing targets by kilometers, then don’t bother.”

“No need to say more—we definitely don’t want friendly fire landing on our heads.”

“Exactly. Anyway, there are four deployment zones.”

On the left of the San Mateo Bridge is Foster City, and on the right is Hayward Shoreline Interpretive Center.

On the left of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge is San Francisco itself, and on the right is Oakland. Naturally, the high-risk zone, San Francisco, was assigned to me.

To disable the jammer in Oakland, Logan and Lorentina were assigned. The northern team required six members, including snipers and scouts, while four were assigned to Foster City and Hayward.

Thus, the deployments were finalized.

My partner today was Edwin Serkins, a section commander.

“The adjusted vehicle is ready outside. Serkins, Eugene, drop me and Rapier near Foster City and proceed northward.”

“Roger that. Let’s make it back alive.”

The two vehicles were ready in no time.

Starting from Ed R. Levin County Park, we split up on the road, Logan and Lorentina heading toward Fremont, while Serkins and I detoured around San Jose, avoiding radioactive zones, heading northwest.

If there was any downside, it was the lack of conversation during the hour-long drive. Although we usually avoided small talk unless exchanging intel, the 30-minute drive was mostly silent due to the hostile territory.

Then, finally—

“Pacific Biosciences building, 3 km northeast. This is your stop. Stay safe, both of you.”

“No worries about that.”

After dropping them off, Serkins and I continued up Route 101. The dense cityscape, once a bustling metropolis, was now littered with skeletons and Russian-Chinese Alliance forces.

Serkins launched an SUAV for reconnaissance and observed calmly.

“As expected, they’re concentrated around the parks. They can’t station large forces elsewhere… There are at least four division-sized units scattered across Golden Gate Park, Lake Merced, and Glen Canyon.”

“Let’s hope the jammers aren’t in the middle of that.”

“Luckily, they aren’t. But…”

Ping marked a location on the map.

San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

The enemy had set up the jammer in the eastern part, skillfully masking their forces in the west with interference. With even satellites struggling to work, this setup was strategically sound.

“SUAV’s time is limited to 30 seconds at most near the museum… if we get closer, it’ll shorten further, and breaking through brigade-level defenses isn’t feasible for the two of us.”

“If that’s the case, the solution’s simple.”

“What?”

I shared my vitals via Icarus Gear.

Heart rate, pulse: zero.

Essentially, I was already dead.

“A dead man can’t die again. Distract them from the front while you sneak around, take control of the communications, and destroy the jammer.”

I handed Serkins about 20 kg of C4 from the vehicle.

After parking a few kilometers from the museum, we activated optical camouflage. Slipping past several checkpoints, we reached the area near the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and YBCA Gallery in about 20 minutes.

An SUAV buzzed up for a quick scan, pinpointing the jammer before being forced down within 10 seconds.

Observing the swarm of enemies patrolling the area, I spoke.

“I’ll go first. Circle around to bypass them.”

He looked like he had plenty to say but lowered his head, blending into his surroundings.

Now, it was my time.

Spreading a pulse to locate enemies within a few hundred meters, I memorized the way to the museum’s roof, just in case Serkins was delayed.

Concrete barricades lined the intersections, with spotlights sweeping the surroundings. Blending into the night, I waited until a returning patrol approached the checkpoint.

“Stop, stop!”

Pressing the button on a voice modulator, I mimicked a command phrase, and the iron gate opened with a heavy clank. Serkins would handle it, probably cutting the barbed wire atop the wall with his thermite torch.

Following the three-man patrol inside, I navigated my way through the shadowed areas, noting that the sparse power limited lighting, creating numerous blind spots.

A message from Serkins arrived.

-[Serkins: Reached optimal infiltration point. Ready on your signal.]

I deactivated the optical camouflage.

“Hey, you…someone’s behind…”

Pop!

Spent shells scattered as my subsonic rounds punched through, and the three soldiers within five meters dropped lifelessly. One more tried to raise his gun, only to get a shot to the throat.

I was just getting started.

Eliminating every enemy I could spot with mechanical precision, the few inside the checkpoint didn’t even have time to stand.

Then, as expected, sirens began to wail.

Sighing, I holstered my pistol, braced the M14 EBR against cover, and mowed down the enemies rushing out, each bullet leaving a trail of bodies.

Moving through waves of soldiers, I spent only a few seconds on a single magazine, each bullet felling an enemy. However, as I reloaded, three enemies ducked behind cover.

Ignoring them, I continued clearing the field.

“Grenade! Throw the grenade!”

“Enemy! He’s breached the checkpoint!”

“How much longer until the strike force arrives?!”

Suppressive fire rained down, bullets shredding concrete and spraying debris. Though they didn’t have a precise lock on me, their numbers were daunting. After losing nearly 40 more men, they began laying down more accurate fire.

The world in my left eye turned dark.

Shifting position, I returned fire, though I’d taken several hits to my arm, leg, and abdomen. When I went to reload, another bullet struck my left wrist.

Detached fingers and wrist flew through the air. With my leg barely able to support me, I pulled my pistol with my right hand, taking down approaching enemies one by one.

But eventually, unable to move, I slumped against the cover, surrounded by enemy soldiers aiming at my forehead.

“Die.”

“Ha.”

At that moment, four thermite grenades rolled across the floor.

Pins already pulled.

“What fool would ask something so reckless from this close?”

“Damn it, get down—”

Boom!

Flames engulfed everything.

Emerging from the inferno, unscathed, Eugene fired again, sweeping away all resistance.

The undying legend of the Ouroboros spread among the Russian-Chinese Alliance forces.

Black arrow for Eugene and Serkins
Red arrow for Owens
White arrow for Logan and Lorentina
Yellow arrow for the others

The bridge at the top (purple X) is the San Francisco-Oakland Bridge.
The center bridge is the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge.