Season 3 chapter 32
The Unscheduled Halt
KA-BOOM.
The detonation was deafening. A massive column of fire, pulverized asphalt, and shattered iron erupted into the sky. The lead siege tank—a forty-ton mechanical behemoth—was violently violently lifted off the ground. Its heavy right tread was completely shredded, the thick iron plates buckling under the massive kinetic force of the blast. The tank slammed back down into the crater, its engine screaming before dying in a thick cloud of acrid black smoke.
Total panic instantly rippled down the massive convoy. The grinding of gears filled the air as drivers desperately slammed on their heavy brakes.
"Halt! Halt the column!" the convoy commander screamed over the comms, popping out of his armored hatch and waving his hands wildly. "Stop! Stop everyone, stop!"
Soldiers immediately dropped into defensive crouches, aiming their rifles into the surrounding smoke.
"Landmine located!" a sergeant roared, his voice cracking with panic. "The lead element is crippled! Retreat back! Do not move your vehicles! I repeat, do not move the fucking tanks!"
The terrifying, unstoppable iron tide of the DI'an military had been completely paralyzed by a single patch of dirt.
The Corporate Interruption
A combat engineer, sweating profusely inside his heavy tactical gear, sprinted forward toward the smoking crater. He kept his head down, terrified of sniper fire, as he slid into the dirt next to the destroyed tread of the lead tank.
He coughed through the smoke, pulling out a heavy iron flashlight to inspect the blast zone. As he dug through the pulverized asphalt and twisted metal, his thick gloves brushed against something intact. It was a heavy, scorched brass plate, miraculously surviving the explosion.
The engineer wiped the soot off the plate and squinted at the engraved lettering.
S-U-L-E-S-H. "Sulesh Landmine Corporation Limited," the engineer read aloud, his eyes widening in pure anger. He stood up, turning back to his squad and holding the heavy brass plate in the air.
"I knew it!" the engineer yelled, absolutely furious. "I knew this company was run by fucking idiots! This is a terrorist company! They are providing these heavy munitions to local insurgents! We are getting blown to shit by domestic terrorists!"
"Excuse me, that is incredibly slanderous and legally actionable."
The entire squad froze.
From directly behind the smoking, destroyed wreckage of the forty-ton tank, a man casually stepped out. He wasn't wearing a military uniform. He was wearing an incredibly sharp, tailored, three-piece pinstripe suit, holding a leather briefcase, and aggressively wiping a speck of dust off his expensive lapel.
The soldiers stared at him, their brains completely short-circuiting. The man had literally just spawned inside the blast radius of a lethal explosion.
"I am the Managing Director of Sulesh Landmine Corporation Limited," the man stated, his voice a perfect, deadpan tone of corporate annoyance. "And my company is not a terrorist organization. We are a highly respected, tax-paying entity. We are also actively supplying landmines to you! The DI'an military itself is our third-largest client!"
The combat engineer lowered the brass plate, completely bewildered. He looked at the burning tank, then at the crater, and then back at the impeccably dressed executive.
"What the fuck?" the engineer stammered. "Where... why the fuck are you here? How did you just appear out of nowhere? The tank just exploded!"
"I was auditing the blast radius," the Managing Director replied smoothly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I like to personally oversee the field performance of our premium ordinance. And frankly, putting allegations on us like that in front of a live military convoy is not good. It is really not good for our brand reputation. We have an open-market policy. We sell to the insurgents, we sell to you. It's just basic hyper-capitalism, you idiot."
The convoy commander marched up to the front, his face red with rage and absolute confusion. He looked at the destroyed multi-million-credit tank, and then at the Managing Director.
"I don't give a shit about your market policy!" the commander screamed, veins bulging in his neck. "Your mine just crippled my vanguard! Is there any way we can find these things easily so we don't blow up the rest of the fucking convoy?!"
The Managing Director stared at the commander for a long, quiet moment. He blinked slowly.
"Well," the Director said, his tone dripping with condescending logic. "If you had a way to find them easily, they wouldn't be very good landmines, would they? But for now, you will have to get a minesweeper to basically move the mines out of there and do something about it. Which, ironically, Sulesh Corporation also sells. But you guys only bought the basic 'Explosion' package, so that's a separate procurement invoice."
The commander stared at the executive, completely paralyzed between the urge to shoot him and the absolute, unhinged absurdity of the situation. The corporate war had truly infected every single inch of the Republic.
The Hyper-Capitalist Escape
The convoy commander's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of this corporate executive standing in the middle of a warzone and trying to upsell him a minesweeper package completely broke the officer's military discipline.
"You arrogant, degenerate bastard," the commander growled, pulling his heavy service pistol from his holster and taking a step toward the impeccably dressed Managing Director. "I am going to execute you for treason against the DI'an military, right here in the dirt."
The Managing Director didn't even flinch. He just calmly checked his incredibly expensive pocket watch. "That would be a severe violation of our vendor-client contract."
The commander raised his pistol, aiming it directly at the executive's head. He was standing right next to his heavily armored command vehicle, his finger tightening on the trigger.
KA-BOOM!
The commander didn't even get to fire. The heavy armored command vehicle right beside him violently detonated in a massive, blinding flash of orange fire and shredded iron. A secondary landmine had just completely gutted the thirty-ton machine, sending a shockwave that threw the commander and his squad violently into the dirt.
Deafening chaos instantly swallowed the street. The remaining soldiers completely lost their minds, blinded by the thick, choking black smoke of the burning armored vehicle.
"Ambush!" a soldier screamed, firing his steam-rifle blindly into the smoke. "They are hitting the command cars!"
"Return fire! Return fire!"
Hundreds of heavy-caliber rounds began tearing blindly through the pulverized asphalt as the terrified DI'an infantry shot wildly at shadows. The grinding of gears and panicked shouting echoed over the roaring fire.
The combat engineer, ears ringing, dragged himself out of the dirt and squinted through the burning diesel fumes to look for the Sulesh executive.
The man was gone. There were no footprints, no blood, no body. The Managing Director of the Sulesh Landmine Corporation Limited had completely vanished into the chaotic, suffocating smoke like a corporate ghost, leaving the DI'an vanguard to shoot at nothing.
The Theatre Command
Hundreds of miles away, completely isolated from the grime, smoke, and blood of the purges, sat the absolute pinnacle of DI'an military power: The Theatre Command of the Seistain Military Headquarters.
The room was massive, oppressive, and smelled heavily of expensive cigars and polished mahogany. The walls were lined with towering, gilded portraits of ancient, dead generals looking down with cold, judgmental painted eyes. A massive, hand-carved tactical map of the Republic dominated the center of the room, covered in brass troop markers and red string.
Standing at the head of the map table was the D.F.H.
His uniform was an absolute masterpiece of military intimidation, adorned with heavy gold epaulets and a chest full of medals that clinked softly whenever he shifted his weight. He was smoking a thick cigar, silently analyzing the casualty reports flowing in from the regional purges.
Three sharp, heavy knocks echoed from the massive oak doors of the office.
"Enter," the D.F.H. commanded, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
The heavy doors groaned open. The Head of the Special Task Force marched in, his boots clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. He stopped precisely three paces from the tactical map and snapped a rigid, perfect salute.
"Sir," the Task Force Head began, his expression tense. "I apologize for the interruption, but we have a critical operational anomaly across multiple sectors."
The D.F.H. didn't look up from the map. He just slowly exhaled a thick cloud of grey smoke. "Report."
"Sir, many of our soldiers are being systematically executed in the field," the Task Force Head stated, his voice tight. "Entire squads are being wiped out by a mysterious, highly coordinated group of shooters. They are using high-caliber, armor-piercing ordinance. They leave no brass, no tracks, and no witnesses. And, sir... there is one major problem. The body count is increasing day by day. We are losing elite infantrymen faster than we can secure the religious towns."
The D.F.H. finally looked up. His eyes were cold, calculating, and entirely devoid of panic.
"Are they targeting the heavy armor?" the D.F.H. asked slowly. "Are these local insurgents attempting to break the siege lines?"
"No, sir," the Task Force Head replied, swallowing hard. "That is the most disturbing part of the intelligence reports. According to the surviving recon units, these mysterious shooters are not targeting our infrastructure. They are specifically targeting our men based on... behavioral patterns."
The D.F.H. narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
"The soldiers who got killed... they were mainly targeted while engaging in unauthorized cruelty," the Task Force Head admitted, choosing his words incredibly carefully. "The reports indicate that the units being slaughtered were the ones talking about degenerate acts. Extortion. Exploitation of the civilian populace. Cruel and unusual punishments outside the direct mandate. It appears that whoever is shooting at us is actively listening to our comms and executing the men who are acting like... well, like animals, sir."
The massive office fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a hammer against an anvil.
The D.F.H. took another slow drag of his cigar. He looked back down at the sprawling tactical map, his face an unreadable mask of absolute authority. He didn't seem angry. He seemed almost clinically fascinated.
"Yeah. Okay," the D.F.H. said softly, his voice completely devoid of emotion as he crushed the cigar out in a heavy brass ashtray. "I will look into this matter."
He looked back up at the Task Force Head, his eyes locking onto the younger officer with terrifying intensity.
"You can go on and see the position of the other battalions," the D.F.H. ordered coldly. "Ensure the vanguard does not halt. Whatever ghost is hunting the degenerates in our ranks, it does not change the objective. Dismissed."