Horizon Fort, Andy's studio.
The holographic display showed a real-time topographical map of the wasteland south of Horizon Fort.
"Sage, according to the vibration data returned by the frontline outposts, the enemy's main land-cruiser has an enormous tonnage. I suggest immediately mobilizing the Second Engineering Department to add three anti-tank trenches three kilometers outside the south gate, and deploying all spare automatic sentry guns along the front of the city wall."
Gamma-9 stood to the side, his fingers virtually tapping on several defensive nodes.
Andy shook his head, rejecting the proposal.
"It's useless."
Andy pulled up the estimated data model for the enemy land-cruiser.
"Based on this vibration frequency and the depth of the track indentations, the enemy land-cruiser's main battery caliber is at least 400mm or greater. It's highly likely they have large-caliber macro-cannons salvaged from starships."
"Against that level of firepower, the concrete bunkers we've built on the ground will have effectively zero defensive impact."
"If we let them calmly deploy within range, Horizon Fort's walls won't last ten minutes."
Deep Space Industries' current advantage lies in the generational gap of individual equipment and high mobility, not in a war of attrition against tens of thousands of tons of steel giants. Passive defense would only turn the base into a sitting duck.
"Little Six," Andy input a string of commands into the console, "Adjust the coverage area of the 'Skybend' satellite system."
"Since they want to fight, we'll solve the problem before they can deploy."
The order was issued.
Two thousand "Firmament-1" low-orbit base stations located at the bottom of the stratosphere immediately adjusted their orientation.
The surveillance network, previously uniformly covering the area around Horizon Fort, began to concentrate and extend toward the south.
The focal lengths of the optical lenses elongated rapidly, piercing through the dust in the atmosphere and pushing deep into the wasteland.
Data streams converged on the screen; the originally blurry gray mist gradually dissipated, revealing a clear color image.
Within a fan-shaped area four thousand kilometers south of Horizon Fort, several massive bands of smoke and dust were moving northward.
It was a fleet of giant land-cruisers advancing side-by-side.
Because they were still far away, Andy could not initially distinguish the specific affiliation of these ships.
The image continued to zoom in.
A few minutes later, one of the land-cruisers on the left side of the formation suddenly increased its engine output.
The black smoke pouring from the exhaust pipe grew significantly thicker, and its track rotation speed increased.
It broke away from the relatively orderly marching formation and charged to the front, full of aggressive momentum.
The ship's paint scheme was extremely gaudy, filled with an unsettling "wasteland punk" style.
Andy adjusted the satellite's focal length, locking onto a line of scribbled, oversized Common Language characters on the ship's side:
[F*ck Your Grandma-class]
Andy stared at the words.
Silence.
The studio plunged into a deathly stillness.
Andy straightened his back, the expression on his face freezing.
He confirmed he hadn't misread it; that was the ship's name.
No, what the hell is this!!
An indescribable surge of anger rushed up from his logic core!
Andy could never have imagined that such a vulgar, tasteless thing could exist on this wasteland!
Without a doubt, this was a blatant insult to the Deep Space Industries he had worked so hard to build, and to Horizon Fort, a relic of the Golden Age!
If he let this piece of junk with the name "F*ck Your Grandma" reach his doorstep—even if it just allowed its shells to land on Horizon Fort's walls—Andy would consider it a stain he could never wash off for the rest of his life!
"Holy f*ck, absolutely not!"
Andy was truly agitated: "Absolutely not!"
"I cannot let something that is a form of 'mental pollution' get close to my factory!"
What to do—what to do—what to do—
Got it!
"Switch to boarding action, boarding action!"
Horizon Fort, surface hangar.
A heavy industrial shuttle had finished its pre-heating at the end of the runway.
This was one of the transport planes Father Zohl had brought from the Middle Hive, and it had since undergone targeted modifications.
All the seats inside the cabin had been removed, anti-slip grilles were laid on the floor, and simple hydraulic fixed handles were installed on both side walls.
Thirty figures stood neatly in line within the cabin.
They were the "Type-II Combat Servitors" that Deep Space Industries had rolled off the line last week.
Unlike the common servitors in the Empire—who could only drool and moved sluggishly—these servitors had Type-IV biological neural bundles implanted inside them.
The neural bundles greatly increased the speed of nerve signal conduction, giving them reaction capabilities far surpassing human soldiers.
A device similar to a backpack was added to their backs: a small anti-gravity attitude stabilizer reverse-engineered from Tau technology.
This device couldn't make them fly, but it allowed them to walk on vertical walls and fall from hundreds of meters in the air without sustaining damage.
The weapon configuration was classic: standard CBS-12 high-explosive crossbows, with sharp chainswords hanging at their waists.
In front of the servitor line stood ten heavily armed shock troops.
They were wearing "Vanguard" type assault power armor.
Colbert stood at the front, checking the feeding mechanism of the large-caliber bolter in his hands.
Two heavy quivers were hanging on the outside of his thighs, filled with high-explosive crossbow bolts loaded with tri-base explosives.
"Attention everyone, we are about to engage in a boarding action."
Colbert's voice came through the helmet communicator.
"The Boss has given the kill order; the target is that land-cruiser with the ugliest paint job."
"Mission objective: neutralize weapons, clear out the crew."
"Move out."
The shuttle's tail thrusters erupted with blue flames.
The massive fuselage ascended vertically, and after reaching the predetermined altitude, the nose dipped sharply, sprinting at full speed toward the southern wasteland.
Five hundred meters above the wasteland.
The shuttle had reached the target airspace.
Below, the "F*ck Your Grandma-class" was barreling across the wasteland at sixty kilometers per hour.
The deck was teeming with people; crew members in tattered armor were excitedly operating anti-aircraft machine guns and rapid-fire cannons of various calibers, firing blindly at the sky.
Bullets struck the shuttle's bottom armor, sending out strings of sparks, but they could not penetrate.
"Reached drop point."
The pilot's voice sounded in the cabin.
"Opening cargo bay doors."
With a roar of rushing air, the ramp at the rear of the shuttle slowly opened.
Gale winds instantly filled the cabin.
Colbert didn't hesitate, stepped forward, and jumped.
The nine Vanguard soldiers and thirty combat servitors followed immediately.
Forty black shadows fell from the sky like dumplings.
They didn't deploy parachutes.
At this altitude and speed, parachutes would only make them sitting ducks for anti-aircraft fire.
They free-fell like stones, rapidly accelerating due to gravity.
The land-cruiser deck below magnified rapidly in their field of vision.
Three hundred meters from the ground.
Two hundred meters.
One hundred meters—
"All units, brake!"
Colbert roared in the comms channel.
The anti-gravity attitude stabilizers on the backs of the thirty servitors activated simultaneously.
Hum.
A low-frequency pulse sounded.
Blue anti-gravity waves instantly wrapped around the bodies of the servitors, greatly offsetting the potential energy of their fall.
Their descending speed dropped drastically in an instant.
At the same time, the thrusters on the power packs behind the ten Vanguard soldiers opened fully.
High-temperature, high-pressure gas sprayed downward, generating massive reverse thrust.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
A series of muffled metallic impacts sounded on the foredeck of the "F*ck Your Grandma-class."
Forty invaders had landed on the deck with extreme, hardcore precision.
Some unlucky crew members were even stepped into meat paste by the descending power armor.
Alarms blared throughout the entire land-cruiser.
But the crew on this ship didn't react slowly.
They were thugs who had fought their way through this wasteland; fighting was their instinct.
Almost at the exact moment the invaders landed, dozens of sailors wielding shotguns, automatic rifles, and flamethrowers rushed out from behind cover on the deck.
"Kill! Kill them!"
"Push them off!"
Bullets rained down on the invaders' armor.
But aside from splashing sparks and scratching the paint, they had no effect.
Creak.
The heavy cargo bay doors on both sides of the deck slowly opened.
Five massive figures stepped out with heavy footsteps; these were five heavily modified individual mechs.
These mechs were made by welding thick steel plates onto industrial exoskeletons. Although they looked rudimentary and rough, their firepower configuration was extremely fierce.
Their left arms were twin heavy machine guns, their right arms were heavy flamethrowers, and rocket launch pods were mounted on their backs.
This was the ship's trump card—the ace unit the Big Baldy used to suppress rebellions and conduct boarding operations.
"Heavy firepower unit!"
Colbert's ocular lens instantly locked onto those five mechs.
He raised his bolter, blew the head off a sailor trying to rush him, and shouted into the comms channel: "Watch out for the heavy mechs!"
Suddenly, Andy's voice patched into everyone's channel: "Prioritize destroying heavy facilities."
"Whether it's mechs, turrets, or radar—if it looks sturdy, blow it to hell first."
The order was issued.
The servitors and Vanguard soldiers, who were still clearing out grunts with chainswords, immediately adjusted their tactics.
They ignored the sailors holding light weapons and raised their CBS high-explosive crossbows in unison.
Click.
The sound of cocking echoed.
The crossbow bolts loaded with tri-base high-energy explosives locked onto the five individual mechs that had just emerged from the bay doors.
"Fire."
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The bowstrings vibrated.
The bolts drew fatal black lines through the air.
The pilots of those five individual mechs hadn't even had the chance to pull their triggers.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Violent, chain explosions erupted on the deck.
The power of the tri-base explosives was showcased vividly in that moment.
The seemingly ferocious but actually weakly armored makeshift mechs were torn to shreds the moment they made contact.
Metal parts, pilot limbs, and detonated fuel tanks splashed everywhere amidst the fire.
In just one volley, all five heavy mechs were scrapped, turning into piles of burning iron.
Immediately after, the soldiers turned their crossbows.
The main battery base in the center of the deck became the next target.
The main gun was slowly rotating, attempting to point the huge barrel at the invaders on the deck.
But it was too slow.
Bang! Bang!
Several more high-explosive bolts were fired.
They accurately struck the main battery's rotation gear mechanism and ammunition conveyor belt.
BOOM!
A loud explosion.
The main battery base was blown askew; the massive cannon barrel slammed onto the deck with a violent sound of twisting metal, becoming completely paralyzed.
After neutralizing the heavy firepower threat on the deck, the battle entered the next stage.
"Advance!"
Colbert waved his hand, leading the charge toward the hatch leading to the ship's interior.
"For Deep Space Industries! For Boss Andy!"
The Vanguards and servitors behind him followed closely.
The heavy metal boots of the power armor stomped on the deck, creating a thundering sound that shook the soul.
They smashed through the deformed bulkhead door and rushed into the narrow ship corridor.
The fighting here was even bloodier and more one-sided.
The crew tried to use their familiarity with the terrain to resist.
They set up heavy machine gun positions at corners and planted homemade bombs in the ventilation ducts.
But all of this was futile against the absolute technological gap.
Daka-daka-daka-daka!
The heavy machine guns spat fire, bullets hitting Colbert's chest plate with a dense ding-ding-ding sound.
Colbert didn't even bother to dodge, simply walking forward against the fire.
The bolter in his hand fired in continuous bursts.
Every single bolt was capable of accurately turning a machine gunner into pieces of meat.
When the magazine emptied, he directly drew the chainsword from his back.
Buzz.
The teeth rotated.
He charged into the sandbag bunker, sweeping the chainsword horizontally.
Whether it was the bunker or the people behind it, everything was cut in two.
And behind him, the thirty Type-II combat servitors displayed even more uncanny tactical maneuvers.
Relying on the anti-gravity attitude stabilizers on their backs and the neural bundles in their bodies, they ignored the restraints of gravity.
They didn't walk on the ground.
Some servitors ran directly onto the walls, others hung upside down on the ceiling, moving like a group of human-shaped combat spiders at high speed on all four sides of the corridor, shooting enemies below from various blind spots.
The crew didn't know where to hide. Just as they dodged bullets from the front, a crossbow bolt would shoot down from above.
The defense line collapsed layer by layer.
From the foredeck to the cargo hold, from the cargo hold to the engine room, and then to the upper living quarters.
Deep Space Industries' combat units pushed through everything; no force could stop their advance.
Wherever they went, they left only bullet casings, corpses, and destroyed facilities in their wake.
"F*ck Your Grandma-class," bridge command center.
It was located at the highest point of the land-cruiser, possessing the best view.
But at this moment, it was filled with an air of despair.
The captain—that once arrogant Big Baldy—was currently slumped in his gold-inlaid command chair, watching a row of surveillance screens in front of him.
The images on the screens made his blood run cold.
His pride and joy, the individual mechs, were blown to slag before they could even fire.
His battle-hardened boatswains were as fragile as infants in front of that group of black monsters, and even that main battery he had spent a fortune modifying had been reduced to scrap iron.
"How could this happen—how could this happen!"
"Why are they conducting a boarding action!!"
Big Baldy muttered to himself, not even noticing when his cigarette butt fell onto his pants and burned a hole.
"Who are they? Aliens?! When did such an army emerge on Zais?"
On the screen, the lead power-armored warrior had rushed to the final defense line outside the bridge.
He kicked open the heavy blast door, the chainsword in his hand still dripping with blood.
And behind him, those servitors hanging upside down on the ceiling were staring intensely at the camera with emotionless electronic eyes.
Big Baldy collapsed.
He was a thug, a madman, but he didn't want to die.
All his arrogance and cruelty were built on the foundation of being stronger than others.
Once he encountered an existence that was more ruthless, stronger, and more unreasonable than he was, his psychological defense line instantly crumbled.
"I'm done! I'm done!"
Big Baldy jumped up and smashed the glass cover on the console. He didn't even care that his hand was cut by the glass.
He slammed the red all-ship broadcast button.
"Abandon ship! Everyone abandon ship!!"
Big Baldy's voice transmitted throughout the ship via broadcast, filled with fear and cracking with distortion.
"Stop fighting! Just stop! Run!"
After saying this, he turned and rushed to the emergency escape tunnel behind the command center, where a small escape craft had been prepared long ago.
With the captain's order to abandon ship, the last of the ship's will to resist instantly disintegrated.
The crew, who had previously been putting up a desperate fight, threw down their weapons and scrambled toward the escape pods and the edge of the deck.
Some didn't even have time to put on protective gear, jumping directly from the deck dozens of meters high and crashing onto the sand of the wasteland.
As long as they could get away from those black reapers, they didn't care if they broke their legs.
Five minutes later.
Colbert led his men into the empty bridge.
"They ran fast enough."
Colbert turned on his communicator and reported to Andy: "Boss, target cleared."
"Enemy abandoned ship, control has been seized."