Chapter 280: The Beast Tide Strikes

Chapter 280: The Beast Tide Strikes

A day later, as He Shuo began the planned withdrawal, Lei Jie and Jiang Yu, after four relentless flights, finally returned with enough propellant for the engines.

Yet to reignite that formidable nuclear missile, retrieving the fuel is merely the first step.

Pre‑mix, heating, casting, cooling, carving

Each stage poses a considerable challenge for the present 011 base, but fortunately this contraption can be fashioned through a more intricate, makeshift process.

By adding a casting phase, slowing the pour, raising the melt temperature, and enhancing the viscous fuel’s self‑flow, we can manage.

After a grueling twenty hours, with Fuxi’s assistance, the solid‑fuel casting was finally completed, and the work moved into the low‑temperature baking and shaping stage.

The final act, then, is the sculpting of the propellant.

For this, Lei Jie intends to wield the knife himself.

Watching Lei Jie brim with confidence, Chen Jian asked with a hint of unease:

“Are you really sure? This thing is dangerously volatile—if it blows, our entire base will be reduced to ash.”

Standing before the freshly cast propellant column, Lei Jie shook his head and replied:

“The carving of the propellant isn’t as perilous as you imagine; the notion that static electricity could trigger an explosion is pure nonsense.”

“Institute No. 41 penned a paper on static‑discharge protection decades ago, and modern warheads are essentially all treated against static.”

“If the procedure is followed to the letter, you won’t be able to set it off even if you try.”

“In truth, the biggest hurdle in propellant carving is precision—if a single cut goes awry, the column is ruined.”

“But our requirements for the column aren’t that exacting; as long as we strip away the large surface deposits and the dimensions roughly match, we’re satisfied.”

“More advanced tasks—adjusting the burn‑band width, repairing cracks—are optional.”

“Are you certain?”

Though Chen Jian had never handled rockets, he had at least watched documentaries about them.

They always say rocket carving must stay within half a millimetre of error and admit not a single crack, a demand of extreme precision—so why does Lei Jie’s approach seem so

crude?

Seeing his puzzled expression, Lei Jie spread his hands and said:

“In a word, if the precision falls short, the flight‑control system will compensate.”

“The DF‑26 you see now isn’t the DF‑26 of our era; its attitude‑adjustment system has leapt forward compared to the 2025 model.”

“It tolerates a larger error margin, and the whole system’s robustness is far greater.”

“In theory, once the propellant column is cast, even if we launch without any post‑cast refinements, we should still achieve at least a forty‑percent launch success rate.”

“For short ranges, accuracy remains assured—errors won’t balloon to a scale larger than the nuclear blast’s lethal radius.”

“.You say that, and I feel reassured.”

Chen Jian exhaled a long breath, then asked:

“How long, roughly, will the final assembly take?”

“This fuel uses a polyurethane binder, more efficient than the common terminal‑hydroxyl polybutadiene binder, yet even so the 50 °C low‑temperature bake must run for at least twenty‑four hours.”

“After the bake cures, I’ll begin the shaping; I expect to finish within two days.”

“Once that’s done we can start assembly, place the missile on the launch cradle, and prepare for firing.”

“All told, on the conservative side, about five days.”

“Five days later, this nuclear missile will be ready to launch.”

“Not bad.”

Chen Jian nodded in satisfaction.

“With this, we finally have the power to overturn the table; safety will improve dramatically.”

“But first you must know who is aiming at you.”

Lei Jie shrugged:

“We’re no longer in an age where we command thousands upon thousands of nuclear missiles; lacking numbers, nuclear deterrence itself becomes a joke.”

“When we were prosperous we could rely on a dead‑hand system to maintain deterrence—now what?”

“Unable to pinpoint where our enemies lie, firing a missile is merely a big firecracker.”

“That said, it’s not that simple.”

Chen Jian shook his head slowly.

“Even if we can’t locate our true adversary, we can certainly identify the place that threatens us most on this world.”

“You mean the Mountain City?”

Lei Jie stared blankly for a moment, then asked:

“So you’re saying that if the situation deteriorates beyond repair, we should fire this thing straight at Mountain City?”

“Exactly.”

Chen Jian’s gaze grew heavy.

“I certainly hope it never comes to that, but I must prepare for the worst.”

“If we truly reach a point of no return, Mountain City becomes our only hope.”

“What we can be sure of now is that it is a place completely cut off from the world.”

“It is either a fault‑line of advancement or a fault‑line of regression.”

“Clearly, the former is more likely.”

“Thus, once we possess the capability to threaten Mountain City, we’ll have the power to muddy the waters.”

“If Mountain City is an enemy, we’ll have struck true.”

“If Mountain City is neutral, the moment we brandish our nuclear missile they should side with us.”

“What if they’re allies?”

Lei Jie couldn’t help but tease, but he quickly realized the joke was chillingly cold.

Allies?

What allies would remain hidden after the Chinese forces have shown such obvious traits and accomplished so much without revealing themselves?

The captain’s reasoning is sound.

Their ceiling is neutrality, or perhaps, stepping further down, “potential enemies.”

With that in mind, Lei Jie spoke:

“Then we’ll follow your plan.”

“In the next couple of days I’ll have Fuxi sync the navigation system, setting the coordinates on Mountain City.”

“We’ll be carrying a megaton‑class nuclear warhead; whatever Mountain City may hold, a single strike should annihilate it completely.”

It’s only that, when I think about it, it truly feels rather regrettable.

If that place truly were a newly built city, its industry fully orchestrated by AI, and it were razed like this, it would be a grave loss for us.

Human lives will forever outweigh material things.

Chen Jian said with resolute tone:

“Only that which we raise brick by brick with our own hands can be trusted; speculative notions have no place.”

“Very well, let it be decided as such.”

“I must go to the front and take a look.”

“The first line of defense still needs reinforcement. I must devise a way to make it as sturdy as possible.”

Meanwhile, on the other side.

Yu Qian, shovel in hand, sifted through a mound of spoil, separating the larger stones and setting them aside; his comrades then hauled the stones to the front of the newly erected bastion, forming a sloping stone embankment that thickened the fort’s protective skin.

To him, this was a task he knew all too well.

After all, back in the Imperial Capital, many fortifications had been assembled in the same manner.

It even evoked in him a fierce sense of dissonance.

So, in the new Jinling City, in this “011 Base” claimed by the Huaxia army—a place whose technology outstripped his comprehension—could they truly resort to such “primitive” means to bolster defense?

Or perhaps the simplest method is indeed the most reliable?

Seizing the lull while his comrades ferried the stones, Yu Qian straightened up and dabbed the sweat from his brow.

The weather grew ever hotter.

March was drawing to a close, and fresh shoots had already pierced the newly reclaimed wasteland.

Yu Qian could identify most of the crops, but the metallic apparatus perched upon the massive earthen mound between the first line of defense and the 011 Base eluded him.

“They say it’s a bomb?” the foreman named Jin Zan declared, “It’s a landmine.”

He knew what a landmine was, yet if it truly were one, why was it raised aloft instead of buried beneath the soil?

Puzzled, he simply ceased to ponder it.

Yu Qian twisted his neck, the slightly stiff muscles tugging at his vertebrae with a series of “crack” sounds.

He glanced at his fellow worker, who also stood upright, and asked:

“Are you finished over there as well?”

“All done!”

The coworker exhaled a long sigh, gulped down a mouthful of water, then said:

“Today’s work points are in the bag; it’s not even four o’clock yet, so we should be able to head home early.”

“Believe it or not, the work these past two days has been considerably easier.”

“Besides shoveling earth, it’s just helping haul ammunition.”

“It’s a far slower pace than when we first started building the bastion.”

“Is slower not better?”

Yu Qian replied with a hint of teasing:

“What’s the matter, you’re not satisfied with easy work points, you want it harder?”

“That’s not it.”

The coworker chuckled, shook his head, then his expression turned solemn.

After a brief pause, he spoke:

“I just feel that something about this situation seems off.”

“In the base, everyone keeps saying the beast tide is imminent; we’re about to go to war.”

“Then I can’t understand—if war is truly coming, shouldn’t we all be gathered together for training first?”

“The Huaxia army has so many weapons; surely they’ll allocate some to us?”

“When the fighting actually erupts, at least we’ll have the means to defend ourselves.”

“Right now, I’m truly at a loss.”

“Didn’t they issue us guns?”

Yu Qian looked puzzled at the weapon crates stacked nearby, lifted his chin, and said:

“Isn’t that so?”

“Those guns are enough for small creatures, but what if the big ones arrive?”

“With such weapons, we probably couldn’t even pierce a monster’s hide.”

“…That seems about right.”

Yu Qian couldn’t help but sigh, offering consolation:

“In truth, it’s a blessing. If they truly gave us arms, you have to ask why—are they sending us to lay down our lives?”

“Given the current logic, at least we can be sure they believe they can protect us.”

“Isn’t that rather good?”

“Look, there’s daily training inside the bastion now, and the cannons roar each day.”

“Relying on them to shield us is surely better than us going it alone, right?”

“…That’s true as well.”

A faint smile finally crept onto the coworker’s face.

“Anyway, even if I grumble, I’m not eager to be sent into battle.”

“Alright, the work’s done; let’s rest a while and wait for the transport.”

“Exactly, take it easy.”

Yu Qian followed his coworker’s steps up onto the towering stone mound; gentle sunlight bathed him, granting an unprecedented sense of ease.

Looking back, the shuttle bus already appeared far down the road’s end.

In at most ten minutes, he could board the vehicle and head back.

He had amassed a fair share of work points; this return would allow him to buy another canned yellow peach for his two children.

Regrettably, his late wife never got to taste the fruit cans from the 011 Base.

Yu Qian’s thoughts drifted, and he sighed again, when suddenly a shout rang out from the bastion behind him.

“All workers, assemble! March on foot back toward the base!”

“Quick! Move!”

The cry was laced with tension; Yu Qian instinctively rose and called out toward the bastion:

“What’s happening?”

“The monster is coming! Run!”

The warrior inside the fortress gave a curt reply, and in an instant Yu Qian’s hair stood on end.

He scrambled down the heap of stones, his hands and feet working in tandem, and nearly tumbled as he hit the ground.

His fellow laborer fared no better; the two staggered and lurched toward the base, fearing that a single lagging step would let the monster overtake them.

——

Yet the question remained: where was the monster?

All around was a profound silence; not a single specter, let alone a monster, could be seen.

Was this the “evacuation drill” the Chinese army had spoken of?

Yu Qian furrowed his brow, lifted his gaze to the sky, and saw a “angel,” or perhaps a “mosquito bomber,” streaking by at breakneck speed.

Hung beneath its wings were three massive bombs, a stark sign that it was on a genuine attack mission!

But who was its target??

The shuttle had rolled up to him; panting, Yu Qian clambered aboard, and his comrades, one after another, squeezed in.

No one knew what had transpired, and everyone whispered, trying to glean any scrap of information.

The cacophony of chattering voices gave Yu Qian a headache; he craned his neck toward the outside of the carriage, and just as his eyes turned toward the fortress, a thunderous explosion erupted from afar.

“Boom!”

The tremor was so fierce that Yu Qian felt the soles of his feet on the carriage floor go numb.

So close!

Perhaps it was just beyond the fortress!

Before he could register the thought, a second and then a third explosion cracked in rapid succession!

“Boom!”

“Boom!”

In that instant, everyone in the carriage fell silent.

They stared in terror at the distance, where a colossal monster had already risen upright a few hundred meters before the fortress.

Flashes of electricity danced, and Yu Qian noted that one side of the creature’s body was missing a chunk.

Decayed flesh fell away piece by piece with each movement, as if a dying evil god were shedding its skin.

Yu Qian shivered all over, and at the same time, the truck’s radio loudspeaker finally relayed the situation.

“Base sensors have detected anomalous seismic signals, assessed as a Level‑One monster approaching.”

“Aerial reconnaissance shows a multitude of monsters advancing toward the first defensive line.”

“All residents, return to the base for shelter immediately; all combat personnel, proceed at once to the designated combat positions!”

“Repeat: all combat personnel, proceed immediately to the designated combat positions!”

The words hung in the air, then the explosions roared again.

This time, Yu Qian could discern clearly that the fire came from the massive cannon he himself had helped construct within the fortress.

“Boom—boom—boom—boom———”

Dozens of cannons roared in unison, a sound that rattled the very soul.

Yu Qian had no idea what they were striking.

Yet in that moment, a thought suddenly sprang to life in his mind.

“The beast tide has truly arrived!”

(End of Chapter)