Chapter 176: It's Impossible for the Fortifications I Built Not to Have 99A

Chapter 176: In the fortifications I built, there could never be no 99A.

The way the 011 installation unfolded differed greatly from Chen Jian’s “expected” method.

It was not like a base vehicle that, after unpacking all pre‑packaged equipment and placing it in fixed spots, simply declared the job done; on the contrary, it was erected from scratch as a mature system capable of autonomous operation.

Fuxi first activated a suite of cold‑start devices, including the so‑called “ant colony” robots, a handful of simple‑structure engineering machines, a modest array of network and information gear, and a series of automatic defense mechanisms.

Once the main corridor was cleared and the external base stations erected, the robots and automated engineering vehicles, now bolstered by network signals, rolled out of the base to tidy the surrounding terrain while laying down essential reconnaissance and defensive measures.

Eight rotary‑wing drones took turns soaring and hovering, bringing the more than 400 square‑kilometre ground surrounding the 011 installation under surveillance.

Simultaneously, a multifunctional automated engineering vehicle cleared the foundation and deployed four integrated remote‑weapon stations on the base, which, once powered, granted the entire installation omnidirectional defense.

Finally, sixteen legged combat robots advanced to the edge of the network‑covered zone; after eliminating a few high‑threat hostile targets, they successfully identified “negative‑environment” objectives such as fungal mats and mushroom forests, transmitted orders to the core network, and, after Fuxi’s calculations, directed the engineering vehicles to prioritize their clearance.

After an astonishingly efficient series of cold‑start actions, two hours later, when Lei Jie and his companions reached the perimeter of the 011 base, more than a dozen cold‑start engineering vehicles had already swept a 200‑metre radius, rendering the entire 011 installation as conspicuous as an isolated island in a fungal forest.

Witnessing the scene, Lei Jie was literally left with his mouth agape.

“Holy crap. This thing is seriously bugged, isn’t it??”

“Only a few hours?? Is this the power of so‑called Industry 4.0?”

“To be precise, this must be Industry 6.0, perhaps even Industry 8.0.”

Chen Jian pointed at the gaping main passage of the installation and said:

“This is merely Phase 1 of the cold start; Phases 2 and 3 will be on an even larger scale.”

“According to Fuxi’s calculations, it will take roughly a week to complete the entire cold‑start process.”

“Only after that week will the base truly begin to unfold.”

“…Impressive.”

Instinctively, Lei Jie stepped up to an engineering vehicle, reaching out to touch its hull; the vehicle halted, folded its four limbs to lower its profile, and waited like an “animal” for his hand.

“??? This thing has a sense of humanity???”

Lei Jie gasped in astonishment.

The next second, Fuxi’s voice crackled over the radio.

“I am in control. All the intelligent equipment here is operated centrally by me; they do not possess high intelligence, which is why I needed to prioritize building a cellular network.”

“…You are Fuxi?”

Lei Jie asked.

“Yes, I am Fuxi.”

“Delighted to meet you, Professor Lei.”

“Professor? Huh? I really became a professor at last?”

By now Lei Jie had gleaned from Chen Jian the basics of his entry into the 011 base, as well as the tales of his “record” and the “other him,” so the revelation of his new title, though unexpected, did not wholly surprise him.

“Indeed, you may wish to review your relevant records; I have already transmitted the information to your PDA.”

“The records of the other two comrades only extend to 2036, the year they perished, sorry.”

“…Understood.”

The four exchanged glances; He Shuo and Shen Yue’s eyes held a trace of regret, yet the answer seemed unsurprising to them.

Shen Yue even teased:

“Nianxipi, soldiers like He Mu are doomed to die on the battlefield—how come I’m the one getting the debrief?”

“That kid Lei Jie actually made it to associate professor; could he have snuck back during leave to stir up old graves?”

“…Enough. I’m at least a master; I set my career plan when I first enlisted, and joining the special forces was merely a dream fulfilled.”

Lei Jie snorted and said:

“Remember, from now on call me Professor Lei!”

“You called me chubby and then you started panting? Then you have to call me—”

“Silence!”

Chen Jian barked sharply, clearly having anticipated Shen Yue’s retort.

“Can you shut that damn mouth of yours for once? No sense of decorum at all? Spit it out immediately!”

“Spit, spit, spit.”

Shen Yue forced an awkward grin, stubbornly defending:

“Actually I meant he should call me ‘Major’; forget it, never mind.”

The group chatted intermittently while never relaxing their vigilance, eyes scanning the surroundings.

Yet what steadied Chen Jian’s heart was that the environment remained calm, with no monsters or human signals approaching.

His mood gradually eased, and this genuine relaxation was a first since he entered this world.

Perhaps it was because he truly felt the powerful backing behind him; perhaps simply because, at that moment, he genuinely grasped the so‑called “hope.”

That alone was enough.

After waiting another hour, Fuxi reported that Phase 1 of the cold start was complete and that it would now assume perimeter watch duties.

At this point, beyond the four remote‑weapon stations, the base’s outskirts hosted no fewer than twenty quadruped‑wheel combat robots, each armed diversely—from heavy‑caliber machine guns to automatic grenades, rocket launchers, and sleeve‑mounted missiles.

Under the shield of these battle machines, only a massive concentration of human firepower or a legendary Level‑2‑plus monster raid could hope to breach their lines.

Watching the robots dutifully execute their patrol routes, Lei Jie could not help but exclaim:

“Now we’re truly invincible, aren’t we? If we send these things out, won’t the Mechanical Cult wipe them out outright?”

“Network support is required.”

Fuxi’s voice resonated over the radio.

“The onboard AI chips of these robots have limited compute power; without network support their combat effectiveness is constrained and they may not handle complex operations.”

“Unless we can extend network coverage to the intended battlefield, I recommend using them purely as defensive units.”

“That would be wasteful.”

Chen Jian shook his head and said:

“Defend for now, but we’ll find ways to employ them later.”

“No rush for now—what else is in the armory? Take us to see.”

“Understood, armory access granted; follow the lights into the lift.”

With those words, Chen Jian swept his hand, leading the team toward the lift.

Behind them, Zeng Yi and the others hesitated, sensing that a thick wall now separated them from these so‑called “Huaxia legion commanders.”

——

Only Li Shi, heedless, trailed behind Chen Jian, seemingly oblivious to the subtle barrier.

“Why are you just standing there? Let’s go!”

Chen Jian turned his head and shouted, and only then did Zeng Yi and the other confirm that the “leaders” they followed had not changed at all.

They were still their own company commander.

Their steps steadied once more, and Ji Xing fell in step behind them. “Are we really going in together?”

She drew near to Chen Jian and asked:

“Perhaps… I should stay outside?”

“After all, we are merely partners.”

“It’s up to you.”

At that moment the lift had already halted at the armory’s gate; Chen Jian glanced back at Ji Xing and then said:

“To enter or not, it rests on a single thought of yours.”

Without another word, he turned his back and led the others into the armory, while Ji Xing stood frozen where she was.

Understood.

In an instant, the world seemed to widen.

She no longer hesitated, slipping behind Chen Jian into the armory; in that moment the last thread of her stubbornness was utterly swept away before a confidence so immense it bordered on the divine.

She hurried a few steps, intending to speak a few words to Chen Jian, but he could not spare a moment for her now.

“What the hell! You call this ‘basic’?!”

Following Chen Jian’s gaze, Ji Xing peered into the depths of the armory.

She was rooted to the spot.

“Is this… the Sacred Elephant?!”

“No, this is the 99A.”

Xie Liu spoke slowly.

Yet all of their answers were wrong.

“This is the ZTX‑2030A, a fifth‑generation main battle tank, commonly abbreviated as the 30A.”

“In truth, it is no longer a main battle tank in the traditional sense; its battlefield role diverges from the myriad 99A tanks still fielded by our armored forces.”

“Its chief tactical employment eschews the multi‑layered, three‑dimensional, clustered doctrine of infantry‑tank coordination, favoring instead a small‑scale, deep‑penetration, highly mobile distributed warfare built on man‑machine cooperation, multi‑domain integration, and energy‑centric principles.”

“It resembles more a ‘decapitation weapon’ than a conventional counter‑weapon.”

“Its solo combat capability is hard to gauge, yet ten or more 30A tanks, each paired with a fully staffed unmanned combat unit, would wield firepower comparable to a composite brigade of our 2020s, one that includes a tank company.”

When Fuxi’s words fell, Chen Jian and his companions drew a sharp breath of cold air.

A tank company itself fields about ten tanks, so the number of 30As is not vastly greater.

But the problem is that a composite brigade comprises at least five hundred souls!

Ten 30As, plus fully staffed unmanned units—how many personnel does that amount to?

Fifty? Sixty?

Relying on such a paltry living force to crush a top‑tier composite brigade of five hundred men.

No wonder that era saw the nation confronting a world that seemed uniformly hostile.

Put yourself in the decision‑maker’s shoes: if the enemy possessed such a weapon, you’d likely forgo sleep, scrambling through the night to convene a war council.

Chen Jian suddenly felt his throat grow dry.

He asked:

“How many of these tanks are here? And what other gear do we have?”

“Regrettably, there are only two 30A tanks, and merely one set of accompanying unmanned combat units.”

“The rest of the configuration consists chiefly of individual light weapons and fixed defensive installations.”

“Such a layout is tied to the historical context of the time.”

“The overarching philosophy of the Fuxi project remains anchored in the twin pillars of ‘survival’ and ‘development’; military personnel, yourself included, agree that the weapons stored internally should prioritize defence.”

“This cluster of 30A tank combat gear was chosen after meticulous selection, weighing factors such as storage footprint, ease of operation, system robustness, and firepower suitability.”

“In your view, should the large‑scale war we anticipate erupt, then after hostilities a single 30A tank cluster, even with limited manpower, would suffice to clear any territory under one hundred thousand square kilometres.”

“That scope is ample to dovetail with other Fuxi installations or auxiliary military disaster‑relief works, generating a synergistic effect.”

“Indeed.”

Chen Jian nodded slowly and said:

“It is enough; we must not be greedy.”

One hundred thousand square kilometres, then.

That spans roughly three hundred kilometres east‑to‑west and north‑to‑south.

That area already blankets the entire surroundings of the Yangtze basin, from Jinling to the Han River.

With a single tank, could our squad not carve a swath through the whole Yangtze region?

Each human settlement, one by one, would become a prize within our grasp.

To seize them, only two obstacles remain in reality:

One is logistics—resupplying ammunition and unmanned gear.

The other is the speed at which we can indoctrinate the civilians once a settlement falls.

Upon reflection, the latter proves the tougher challenge.

After all, even if we capture towns and cities, if loyalty cannot be suppressed, rebellion will follow rebellion—when will it ever end?

This is no Civilization VI; we cannot simply appoint a governor to force loyalty.

We must still devise a long‑term strategy.

Chen Jian exhaled deeply, then followed Fuxi’s guidance to survey every piece of equipment within the armory.

Overall, the total armament here is not far off from that of the 095; a rough estimate suggests that the combined weapons and munitions of the two installations could sustain a force of roughly a thousand troops through two or three large‑scale assaults.

Of course, that calculation excludes mechs and tanks.

Having inspected every weapon, Chen Jian nodded in satisfaction and then said:

“The situation is now essentially clear.”

“Whether judging by defensive rating or by the difficulty of future development, the Jinling Ruins outrank Huangshi City in priority.”

“It is time to relocate the main base to 011.”

“Notify Huang Yu and have him ready for the move.”

“The Jinling affair is not yet concluded; we cannot return to rendezvous with them.”

“They’ll have to fend for themselves.”

“Tell Huang Yu clearly: everything else may be left behind, but the people must be brought over!”

“Understood!”

He Shuo instantly nodded, setting about to contact Huang Yu.

And at that very moment, Fuxi's voice suddenly rang overhead.

“A suspicious heat source has been detected twenty kilometers to the west; drones have classified it as a human activity target, currently identifying fifty‑one individuals.”

“The party is armed, bearing a likeness to the ‘Mechanical Cult Guard Brigade’ you described earlier.”

“At present we cannot discern their intent. Shall we commence a deterrent strike?”

“Agreed. If a single warning proves ineffective, we may proceed to annihilate them outright!”

Chen Jian issued his order decisively, and Fuxi replied:

“Understood. Initiate the deterrent assault; upon its conclusion issue the first warning, and should that fail, proceed to eliminate them!”

(End of Chapter)