Sergei flipped open his operational compass.
Twelve twenty-one and five seconds.
Almost time.
Charles fixed his hawk-like gaze unblinkingly on the Ursus garrison sentinel stationed atop the watchtower.
The advantage of an overt sentry post was a wide field of vision, but the fatal flaw was that anyone struck by a surprise attack would be the first to die.
Covert sentries existed precisely to guard against such scenarios, positioned to fire the first retaliatory shot under surprise assault while serving as an early warning and communication relay, though they remained relatively passive.
Yet the Reunion Movement had deliberately chosen the hour when men were most prone to deep sleep.
The Ursus garrison, which should have been resting at ease while the enemy toiled, found themselves inverted—becoming the ones toiling while the enemy waited at ease, just as their sentries bobbed and nodded with sleep.
Even the searchlight swung erratically up and down.
This was the umpteenth time Sergei had lowered his gaze, but at this moment, he knew the time had come.
"Assault!"
Taking advantage of the searchlight sweeping away and the sentinel above opening his jaw in a massive yawn, four combat squads of the Reunion Movement Gendarmerie assault team rushed forward swiftly.
An eighty-meter sprint completed in barely twelve seconds flat, they smoothly hurled their grappling hooks, anchoring them firmly against the wall.
Though only five of the eight hooks caught, it was enough.
The fighters scrambled like agile squirrels, hands and feet moving in tandem, rapidly climbing the thick hemp ropes.
Their speed was ferocious; less than thirty centimeters below the lead fighter's boots came the next man. Their gloves not only served to stave off the bitter cold but also maximized friction, shaving precious seconds off their ascent time.
"...Old Belikov, I heard the capital is starting up some kind of political campaign again..."
"...What the hell is the use of all that fancy nonsense? Will it make more grain sprout in the fields or let us go home sooner? I am sick to death of guarding these pitiful wretches here..."
Hearing the murmur of the two sentries conversing, Sergei pulled back the wire-cutters he had just reached out, gesturing for the rest to hold their position.
Two beams of light drifted closer..........
"...Screw this shit, you take my watch for a bit, I'm going to grab some sleep..."
"...Go fuck yourself..."
While the two sentries in the watchtower were still bickering, two throwing knives flashed through the air from the nearby wall, instantly sealing both throats.
The expressions on the sentries' faces shifted in a heartbeat from casual distraction to bulging-eyed shock, before a wet, wheezing hiss escaped their windpipes and their bodies went limp, gradually slumping down.
With lightning reflexes, Sergei and Charles didn't even wait to clip the electric fence; they vaulted forward, rolling smoothly to absorb the momentum, and caught the two corpses in mid-fall.
Their white camouflage uniforms were instantly stained with a glaring, vivid crimson.
At that exact moment, one beam of light paused for a fraction of a second, then resumed its normal sweep.
The two beams of light slowly drifted away.........
"Trouble..."
Charles and Sergei exchanged glances, exhaled a long breath, and swiftly stripped the uniforms off the two dead sentries.
Though they felt an inexpressible disgust toward the garments symbolizing exploitation, oppression, and disaster, the outfits provided a peerless camouflage for their infiltration.
Sergei looked back at the assault team members still steadily climbing up, gave a final parting instruction of "Execute all actions according to plan," and then, with an air of absolute nonchalance, lifted the AKM assault rifles left by the pair. He checked the magazines, ejected the blank chamber rounds, and began descending the ladder as if nothing were amiss.
Moments later, a flashlight beam washed over Sergei and Charles.
"Hey! You lot over there! What are you doing!"
A single sentence froze the two grown men dead in their tracks.
Their frost-bitten brains seemed to thaw sluggishly beneath the warm Ursus felt hats—
"Going to the latrine!"
"Go fuck yourselves, find any damn spot and get it over with, why the hell is there always so much fuss?"
"Need you to manage me?"
"Hurry up!"
"Understood!"
Since they were all from the same camp, there was no need to sour relations completely.
Besides, there was barely any time left; just grit teeth and endure the remaining hours, no reason to make lifelong enemies over petty nonsense.
"...Motherfucker, patrolling this much is worse than standing guard in heaven, patrol, patrol, patrol, patrol your damn mother's arse..."
Foul-mouthed curses echoed continuously from the departing patrol squad, while the hearts of fifty men, beating in unison, finally settled back into their chests.
White snow fell upon the heavily guarded(?) camp.
"It seems that a prolonged lack of combat has made these troops utterly slack."
"This is no time for commentary."
Sergei cut off Charles's remark, flashed a signal to the rear, and hefted his rifle, beginning to "patrol" with an air of complete detachment while actually scouting for the enemy supply depot.
As Sergei turned his head, a flash of astonishment flickered instantly in the Feline's deep blue eyes—
On the opposite wall, someone was employing the exact same method to scale the fortifications.
..............
To be frank, if Landon Simon hadn't held her back, the two Ursus garrison soldiers who had just turned their heads to spot this squad would have taken one of Yelena's precision-guided ice crystals right to the chest.
Landon Simon wiped a hidden bead of sweat from his brow.
Had he not noticed the trouble brewing at that watchtower, this unknown guerrilla squad would have been taken down.
The resulting consequence likely would have been a failed mission, plunged into chaos with no way for anyone to withdraw.
Who were they, though? What were their intentions here? What was their headcount? Could they be considered friendly forces? Did their operational objectives conflict with their own?
None of these answers were known.
Moreover, this mission was already an outnumbered operation; if they misjudged the situation further or ran into complications, this entire contingent would be buried right here.
Therefore, barring absolute necessity, they intended to execute the mission at maximum speed and retreat instantly.
"The enemy's vigilance is high, but they have shown no hostility toward us. Move swiftly, accomplish the established objectives, and prepare for a coordinated strike from inside and out."
Yelena issued her combat orders after a brief deliberation.
"Understood."
White silhouettes leapt down from the high wall, rolling to absorb the impact, and dispersed rapidly in all directions.
At that very moment, Sergei had located the supply depot.
After all, bearing that enormous "No Smoking or Open Flames" warning sign in Ursus script, complete with the characteristic ventilation shafts, high glass windows, and arching architectural structure—
What else could it be if not a supply depot?
Naturally, two sentries were stationed at the door as per routine.
Spotting the two figures walking straight toward them, the pair of sentries reacted instantly:
"Halt, password!"
Yet, judging by their sluggish movements and indifferent gazes, these were clearly another batch of old veterans dying to get back home.
Sergei and Charles exchanged glances, then took two more steps forward.
They even slipped their left hands into their pockets, giving the distinct impression they were reaching for a smoke—
"Plop!"
Sergei stared at the sentinel before him.
Deep within his cold, deep-blue eyes, he reflected the changing expressions across the man's face—
Carelessness, disdain, shock, confusion, pleading, asphyxiation.........
The man's windpipe emitted another wet, hissing hiss of escaping air, signifying both instant death and absolute silence.
The blade glided through the windpipe, slicing precisely through the gap between the bones without damaging the knife, the target, or the killer.
The Feline took a step forward, draped his other arm across the dead man's back, and dragged him inside the depot.
The depot's design was thoroughly traditional—a large main door fitted with a smaller personnel wicket, secured by a padlock that looked like it could be smashed open with a single blow.
Perhaps the garrison never imagined in their wildest dreams that such a heavily fortified camp with walls of iron could actually be infiltrated by a group of brazen Infected.
Or perhaps they were simply a batch of ordinary men desperate to return home.
As the two corpses were dragged into the depot, the bloodstains on the dry, hard concrete floor were hastily covered with a pair of white sheets tossed into the snow.
Inside the depot, the roster of "Ursus 4th Army Soldiers" had just grown by four.
"*Ursus profanity*……"
Ivan, Charles, Sergei, and another assault squad member stood frozen in utter astonishment at the spectacle before them.
Putting aside the staggering piles of hair-raising, raw Originium ore, there was even a specialized sealed room. Looking at the massive Originium crystals growing outward from within, scarred by signs of artificial destruction, it wasn't hard to deduce that this was a place for executing Infected and disposing of their corpses.
Sergei felt only a numbing sensation wash over him.
"……"
The Infected suffered far too much, and the bottom-layer masses suffered far too much as well.
A sudden realization jolted through him.
When numbness became the universal status quo of the world, rebellion inevitably became perceived as heresy.
And staying awake had transformed into a new original sin.
He had to remain awake.
Yet how could staying awake ever be easy?
"……Clutch a crate of rifles, grab some loose ammunition, leave enough space for the explosives, and prepare to ignite."
"But these supplies……"
Sergei stared fixedly at Charles.
"The green mountains remain, the green waters flow. We can still fight even if the supplies are gone, but if people's hearts scatter, they are truly gone. We came here to let our own people know we will abandon no one, and to let other Infected know that this frozen wasteland is not entirely devoid of hope. We are their hope."
His words instantly wiped away every trace of heartache deep within the rough-hewn Ivan's chest.
The Ursus soldier simply waved a hand at the Feline and the Liberi:
"Fine, I know I can't argue you down, and I know what you're trying to do, that's enough. I've never seen an organization like this in my whole life; I want to live a good life, and I want everyone else to live a good life too. If you can pull it off, I'll follow you; if you can't, I'll turn on you. It's as simple as that."
"That's enough. Just remember to remind me when I make a mistake."
"We're all brothers here, I know."
"Execute the established contingency plan."
Sergei hoisted a crate of weapons and strode purposefully toward the exit.
As for Ivan, after casting one deeply pained glance at the depot's stockpiles, he finally hoisted a crate of ammunition onto his shoulder and smoothly began laying out the detonating fuse.
…………
Yelena and Landon Simon clung to the window frames, staring at the four "Ursus 4th Army Soldiers" sneaking around and looting the interior of the depot, a sharp pang of financial agony rippling through their chests.
Damn it, if that pile of goods were sold off, that was hard, cold rubles... no, golden chervonets! At least tens of thousands of golden chervonets!
Moreover, the sheer volume of weaponry and equipment could arm a staggering number of men—enough to cobble together an entire military force on a whim.
At the same time, however, they finally understood what these people intended to do.
Blow up the depot, strike at the heart of these men, and chaos would naturally ensue.
When that happened, whoever they were, it would be much easier to fish in troubled waters.
"How are our people positioned?"
"Everything is running smoothly. Aside from that BTR-60 which we simply couldn't get close to, the rest have all been dealt with and replaced."
"Once this group withdraws, we'll fire the signal flare."
"Understood."
…………
At the entrance.
Two duty sentries were smoking.
In truth, in weather like December's, whether smoking or not, everyone looked like they were clamped onto a giant pipe, constantly exhaling plumes of smoke.
Moisture and mist intertwined, swirling and rising before the brightly lit camp gates like alternating, dancing maidens—beautiful yet numbing the senses.
The foreign sensation in their throats was quickly suppressed, while a faint feeling of suffocation gained the upper hand over reason, granting the two smokers a rare moment of relaxation.
The hard currencies in this place, aside from money, were tobacco and alcohol.
"Hey, where's your hometown? You're not a local, are you."
"……On watch right now……"
"To hell with it. On watch, on watch, we're on watch while the battalion commander sleeps like a log in his tent. What a load of crap. In a place like this, with a heavy machine gun set right here, who the hell dares come? Pure, unadulterated boredom. Take a drag."
"……I don't smoke."
"Holy shit, found a rare species. Newly transferred?"
"Yes."
"Then never mind. I'm going to grab some shut-eye in the sentry box, you cover my shift for a bit."
"But, this……"
"Where the hell does all this fuss come from? I said stand guard, so stand guard. If the inspectors come by, wake me up; if anyone else shows up, use your damn whistle around your neck no matter who they are. If you can't stay awake, just catch some Zs, screw it, got to do morning drills tomorrow anyway…… what's even the point of those drills……"
Staring as the cursing veteran hoisted his AKM assault rifle and turned straight into the guard post, it wasn't just the new recruit shaking his head and sighing who stood stunned, but also the "Shield of the Infected" guerrillas and the Reunion Movement locked in a mutual staring contest.
Patriot's eyes were bloodshot, his halberd poised to thrust at a moment's notice.
Behind him, the Shieldguards raised their heavy shields in silent unison, placing their hands on the switches of their flash devices. The other fighters also raised swords, bows, crossbows, and firearms with grim tension, as if braced for a full-scale firefight at any second.
Talulah's side was much the same; her fiery, golden-yellow eyes radiated nearly palpable fury, her longsword leveled at the neck of a nearby Ursus soldier.
Across from them, the Reunion members glared back with matching tension.
Talulah held Varena in her grasp, while Patriot held the entire 5 Squad hostage on his side.
Francis had his halo blocked by his heavy tower shield to prevent exposing himself in front of this garrison.
Even so, being a Sankta while simultaneously stared down by a cluster of Sarkaz and guerrilla fighters wielding every imaginable weapon was an utterly miserable sensation.
"……I believe I understand your intent, Miss Talulah Artorius. It appears we have mutually misunderstood one another. In that case, I must also ask you to return my subordinates."
"……Neither is this a time for bickering, Captain Bulstrode. Since our objectives largely align, we are, for the present moment, allies."
"Agreed. Then, three, two, one……"
As the countdown hit zero, the "prisoners" of both sides were shoved out of the perimeters.