Chapter 148: Ghosts in the Nuclear Arsenal

Chapter 148: The Phantom in the Arsenal

A fully functional military airfield typically possesses a modest yet fully equipped underground facility.

Besides the underground hangar—or aircraft revetment—these facilities include ammunition depots, logistics maintenance workshops, power and energy supplies, communications network server rooms, personnel shelters, command and control centers, and various other functional zones.

However, these underground installations are not interconnected; especially after the fortification reforms began at domestic airfields, the status of caves and tunnels further declined, gradually fading from history.

But the airfield where the 10th Air Division is stationed is an exception.

This airfield itself is the base of a bomber division and must retain nuclear deterrence capability, so from the outset of its design and construction, it progressively developed an extensive underground complex.

Such underground facilities ensured that the 10th Air Division became a vital component of the triad nuclear strike force, and, at the same time, they offered new hope to Chen Jian's squad centuries later.

After crawling through the twisted, deformed gap of the entrance gate, Chen Jian clicked his tongue in amazement and said:

“A springboard‑style blast‑hardened hatch, a low‑angle runway, electromagnetic launch rails—what kind of underground carrier is this?”

“This entire passage serves as an emergency takeoff runway; the ground is entirely made of non‑magnetic high‑toughness steel—just like on an aircraft carrier.”

“Tsk, after twenty years have we really advanced this far?”

“Perhaps it wasn’t developed twenty years later after all.”

He Shuo shook his head and replied:

“We never came to this airfield back then; who knows what lies beneath it.”

“Its classification rivals that of the Great Black Fish; hiding something here is perfectly normal.”

“Indeed.”

Chen Jian switched on his tactical flashlight and led the small team deeper into the passage.

The air grew gradually stale, but since the underground facility wasn’t completely sealed, breathing was still possible.

Nevertheless, precisely because of that, the overall condition of the underground complex is somewhat grim.

Rust stains visible everywhere hint at the state of the internal equipment, and when the group reached the end of the corridor and saw that peculiarly shaped fighter, even the Holy Blood warriors who knew nothing of the weapon couldn’t help but sigh in regret.

“This thing is also broken.”

Zeng Yi stepped forward, felt the massive landing gear, and then asked:

“Is this also a fighter? Is it the air‑combat fighter you mentioned?”

Chen Jian shook his head and answered:

“It’s definitely a fighter, but I’m not sure whether it’s an air‑superiority jet.”

While speaking, he walked around to the fighter’s tail, pointed at the engine nozzle, and told Lei Jie and the others who had come over:

“It’s a three‑engine aircraft—not a powerplant we recognize; the middle one, judging by its nozzle structure, looks somewhat like a variable‑cycle engine.”

“The ones on the sides are likely dual‑mode engines; just look at the length of the engine bay—it’s worlds apart from the aircraft of our era.”

“What model is this thing? A Jian‑H‑26?”

“Forget it; the Jian‑H‑26 is probably less than half the size of this thing—maybe it’s an H‑20K.”

Shen Yue interjected.

“That actually fits our military’s specifications. But seriously, is this a space‑plane?”

Lei Jie asked curiously.

“Most likely it’s a space‑plane; I just don’t know what kind of alien it’s meant to fight.”

“Who knows.”

Lei Jie, while answering, walked around the large aircraft of unknown model, then said with a hint of regret:

“Basically nothing useful remains; the atmosphere inside the passage is even harsher than outside, and rust and corrosion are worse.”

“The best‑preserved part is the canopy glass, but this thing is of no use to us.”

“Who says it’s useless?”

Chen Jian gave a mysterious smile and then said:

“You forgot that we still owe Li Shi something?”

Hearing this, Li Shi, standing nearby, looked blankly at Chen Jian and asked, bewildered:

“Ah?”

“What thing?”

“Your shield.”

Chen Jian pointed to the huge canopy above his head and began to explain:

“This is no ordinary glass; it isn’t even normal glass in the usual sense.”

“Normally, a fighter’s canopy is made of layered composite materials, astonishingly costly and of astonishing quality.”

“According to national standards, the strength of a pane exceeds that of ordinary steel plate.”

“And the aircraft before us is clearly a hypersonic fighter, possibly even a space‑plane, which means its transparent canopy material is even stronger.”

“While it probably couldn’t outright block a missile, it could easily withstand the outdated weapons of the Machine God Sect.”

“Indeed.”

Lei Jie nodded solemnly, but then added with a wry smile:

“The person who designed this likely never imagined that someday someone would rip off its canopy and use it as a shield.”

“What do you think his reaction would be if he knew?”

“I don’t know.”

Chen Jian shook his head and replied:

“But if it were me, I’d probably be pretty pleased.”

“After all, human civilization has come this far; something once deemed useless can still be put to good use—it’s a way of making the most of what remains.”

“That’s true. Still, I hope we can find something more useful.”

Having determined that no more useful components could be salvaged from the craft that might be a space‑fighter, the squad exited the passage and pressed onward deeper underground.

At the end of the runway stands a seal designed to block flames and toxic gases from fuel combustion; if closed, this underground runway would instantly be cut off from the true underground hangar.

Fortunately for Chen Jian and his team, that seal was left open.

Passing through, the genuine “hangar” lay revealed before them.

But what now passes for a hangar is more like an aircraft graveyard.

In the damp air, thick moss carpets the parked airframes, dark‑loving amphipods crawl through them, and occasionally one can see huge insects scurrying across the floor before disappearing into the wreckage’s crevices.

Those colossi that once soared through the nine heavens now lie deep‑buried here, reduced to rotting “sculptures.”

Chen Jian felt a prickle on his scalp; he even sensed he was standing in an ancient tomb.

Except that what is buried here never had life to begin with.

And it’s clear that, after entering the hangar, the others’ condition is no better than his.

Ji Xing followed slowly behind Chen Jian, and as each shadow in the darkness emerged before her, even her breathing grew heavy.

“This place feels familiar to me.”

Ji Xing halted her steps, her voice tinged with panic as she said:

“The smell here—no, the smell is completely different, but the atmosphere”

“I can almost sense its life.”

“It’s dangerous!”

“We should stop first!”

When Ji Xing finished speaking, Chen Jian and the others instantly turned to look at her.

“How is it familiar?”

Chen Jian asked:

“Have you seen a place like this? Where?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Ji Xing shook her head and replied:

“I only felt it from afar.”

“Shancheng, the atmosphere of Shancheng, is practically identical to this one.”

“The same deathly stillness, the same oppression, and the same indescribable mystery.”

“Except here there is at least a hint of normal, decaying odor.”

“And Shancheng is brand‑new.”

“Even if there is death there, it is a brand‑new death.”

“It’s as if life never appeared there at all.”

“What do you mean? Where does this feeling come from??” “I don’t know.”

Ji Xing sighed, then said:

“It’s just a feeling; if I knew where this feeling came from, I wouldn’t have been barred from Shancheng.”

“Also.”

Chen Jian nodded helplessly.

At that moment his brow furrowed, for he had keenly realized that Ji Xing’s brief words contained a vast amount of information.

But it seemed the other party had not truly grasped the essence of that information, and as the one “retelling” it, he found it hard to discern any clues from it.

Perhaps to make the information clear, Ji Xing first needed to understand the so‑called “Great Cataclysm” creations that came before.

This is a long‑term task.

Thus Chen Jian temporarily set the topic aside and, with the others, pressed deeper into the hangar.

After completing a survey of the entire hangar, they found personnel shelters on its side, a maintenance workshop, and a communications room.

Yet, without exception, the equipment here had all rotted and broken; they found nothing of value.

“Basically, that’s all there is on the first level.”

Lei Jie spoke up:

“In theory, the ammunition stores are on the second level, connected to the first by the lift.”

“The lift is on the left; shall we go down and have a look?”

“Down.”

Chen Jian answered decisively.

Then the eight‑person squad hurried to the lift, secured their ropes, and Chen Jian led the descent to the lower level.

The thermal imager switched on, its sweep revealed nothing abnormal to Chen Jian.

Next, the other squad members descended one by one.

But the instant they landed, Ji Xing instinctively stepped back.

“That feeling is growing stronger.”

“Do you really not sense anything abnormal?”

“I’m at my limit; if we keep going forward, I’m not sure I can hold out.”

“Is it really that exaggerated?”

Chen Jian stared at Ji Xing in disbelief; her flustered expression was utterly unlike someone feigning.

“I’m not joking!”

Ji Xing said solemnly:

“I know it’s hard for you to believe me, but I can swear on everything I am that every word I say now is true.”

“This underground world is dangerous; I don’t know exactly where the danger comes from, but it’s there!”

“If we go on, we will likely die—that’s my intuition!”

As her words fell, everyone fell silent.

Going on, we might die?

Chen Jian could see nothing in this underground fortification that could threaten his squad’s lives.

Monsters?

The drones had already swept the entire area, finding no suspicious heat signatures, and the white‑light images showed no moving objects.

Radiation or poison gas?

The air here is merely somewhat stale, but absolutely not lethal.

Even the life‑support systems gave no alarm.

Besides those two, what else could it be?

An unknown enemy?

Yet Chen Jian truly didn’t believe there remained any enemy in this world capable of directly threatening his squad.

Having reached that thought, he turned to Ji Xing and asked:

“You sense a threat, but you don’t know where it comes from.”

“Then let’s not dwell on that—I just want to ask, does this feeling of being threatened resemble what you felt in past battles?”

“Absolutely not!”

Ji Xing shook her head, pondered a moment, then replied:

“Ghosts.”

“That’s the only similarity.”

Even before I came of age, I was afraid of ghosts, demons, and the like; now my feeling is just as it was when, as a child, I finished reading the Tales of the Holy Blood Hall’s Penance and was then shut away in a dark cellar.

I know ghosts don’t exist, just as I know that, with you nearby, death itself becomes a distant matter.

But I am afraid—utterly, unreasonably afraid!

I can only explain it this far; if you order me to press on, I will obey your command.

What I say now is not alarmist, nor am I trying to persuade you to leave.

I am merely giving a warning.

I understand.

Chen Jian nodded solemnly and then gave the order:

Everyone, stand ready—take the safeties off your weapons.

He Shuo, fly the drone once more and model every space.

We won’t recklessly endanger ourselves; everyone hold position, confirm safety, then clear the area one by one.

Understood!

At the command, the team’s formerly aggressive search tactic instantly turned cautious.

Chen Jian no longer pursued speed; he did everything possible to ensure safety.

Yes, Xing Ji’s words sounded absurd.

Talk of supernatural forces, ghosts, intuition—

In my own world, such notions might have been dismissed as feudal superstition.

But think about it—aren’t the colossal monsters that roam this world just as absurd?

So, no matter how doubtful I may be, Chen Jian still chooses to err on the side of caution.

Weakness is not the obstacle to survival; arrogance is!

After shifting tactics, Xing Ji’s mood finally eased a little.

She followed the others, completed the sweep of the second level, then rappelled down to the third level—the lowest level of this underground facility.

This level is just as expansive, yet in reality it serves only one purpose.

The nuclear arsenal.

To be precise, an air‑launched nuclear missile storage.

“This is the place.”

Lei Jie let out a long breath.

“Independent life‑support, independent power, independent safety systems—that’s the nuclear arsenal.”

“Its door ought to have been opened already.”

“At the instant the cataclysm struck, the launch order must have been approved.”

“But then, global information was unified, so these missiles were never actually fired.”

“That’s why the aerospace craft appeared at the end of the runway, yet carried no weapons.”

“It was waiting to be loaded with nukes, but in the end… there was no need.”

When Lei Jie finished speaking, Chen Jian and the others sighed heavily.

After a brief pause, Chen Jian spoke:

“Let’s go in.”

“The radiation levels here are low; after a few centuries, there probably aren’t many usable warheads left.”

“But at least we can go inside and have a look.”

“If we find even one or two, we’ll have struck it rich.”

“Understood.”

Having received the reply, Chen Jian stepped toward the “independent storage.”

And just then, behind him, Xing Ji suddenly grabbed his arm, her voice trembling with fear:

“Don’t go in!”

“The ghost is in there!”

(End of chapter)