Chapter 719: 'Crab' and 'Big Fish'

Chapter 719: "Crab" and "Big Fish"

Over a vast blue sea.

A sea-blue painted propeller plane quietly skimmed the water's surface, rising and falling with the surging waves like a drifting plank.

Two floats replaced the 20mm cannons, crouching beneath the plane's belly like sleds. A depth charge with a pressure sensor clung tightly to the fuselage, like a blade hidden beneath the azure.

All around was stillness, only the roar of the tide.

Just then, Feng Qing, who had been lying in the cockpit with her eyes closed, suddenly jolted awake, sitting up straight from her seat.

Because of the sudden force, her forehead nearly hit the canopy; only the safety belt kept her from an accident.

Amid a creaking sound, the silent plane seemed to come back to life.

Almost at the same time, the communication channel crackled with the standard raspy voice of the legion commander, Brother Mosquito.

"...The fish has taken the bait!"

A burst of static noise filled the channel.

The VM screen strapped to her thigh lit up at the same moment, displaying strike coordinates calculated from friendly positions and relative distances on the map.

Calmly taking a chocolate from her pocket and tossing it into her mouth, Feng Qing skillfully reached out, flipped open the instrument panel on the cockpit, and started the plane's engine.

The propeller at the nose roared, dragging the light fuselage forward against the waves.

Controlling the speed at the critical point for takeoff, Feng Qing didn't rush to pull the nose up; her index finger on the control stick tapped a gentle rhythm.

The endless sound of the tide was drowned out by the more turbulent roar of the propeller. A peaceful sea suddenly erupted into chaos.

Not just one—

But a full fifty!

One by one, W-2/H sea attack planes, like speeding speedboats, hugged the surging waves, racing toward the attack coordinates shared by their allies...

...

Above the blue waves, the tide roared; beneath the blue waves, foam churned.

A hoarse shriek, like a sweeping harpoon, drove away the fish and mutants ahead. A group of monsters with blue scales clung to the seabed, swimming rapidly toward the direction of the underwater pipeline on the west side of Ring Island.

Behind this group of mutants followed a massive sea creature, shaped like a snake or a fish, somewhat resembling a prehistoric plesiosaur.

Its tail, over ten meters long, was covered in dragon-like scales; its protruding head was like a crocodile's snout, with sharp fangs like saw blades, seemingly capable of biting through a small vessel in one go.

Local fishermen called it "Laken," from a folk song circulating in the southern seas, meaning "dragon of the deep."

According to the "Mind Influence Law," the psychic interference device could hardly directly control such large-brained mutants, but mental states could be lowered through drugs and other means.

For the Church, this was obviously not a difficult task.

They could even turn the survivors of a province into mindless puppets, let alone a mutant far less intelligent than humans.

The target soon approached.

One of the mutants separated from the group, accelerated ahead of all its kin, and took a palm-sized thermite bomb from its back.

This weapon was also given to them by the Torch.

Once activated, it could not only burn underwater but even melt through steel plates hundreds of millimeters thick!

The blue-skinned creature twisted its disgusting face, let out a clicking laugh, then pressed the bomb's button. A thirty-second countdown appeared on the screen.

But at that very moment, when it was less than fifty meters from the underwater pipeline, a faint tremor in the water suddenly surged from the side toward it.

Something was rapidly approaching.

Just as it sensed something wrong and was about to react, a sharp arrowhead instantly pierced its side, lifting it toward the surface with a dull explosive thud.

A hoarse, muffled wail came from the mutant's mouth, and large bubbles instantly engulfed its entire face and the gills hidden beneath its jaw.

Losing balance and suffering immense pain, it flailed its limbs wildly in the water, but forgot to let go of the thermite bomb.

Just then, the thirty-second countdown ended. A blinding white light, wrapped in a mass of bubbles, instantly swallowed the creature.

The slowly blooming firework was like a mandala flower blooming on the seabed. The horde of blue-skinned mutants, rushing like a tidal wave, was stunned by this horrifying sight.

They didn't know what had happened; panic spread across their faces as they looked around in confusion, searching for the source of the attack.

And at that moment, not far from them, a group of iron lumps shaped like crabs lay quietly at the edge of a seaweed forest, their thick, long gun barrels already aimed at them.

If the Empire's army were here, this scene would be familiar.

These heavily armored iron lumps were cast from the same mold as the "King Crab" amphibious armor that had rampaged through Golden Port!

In fact, they were the same thing.

Only the weapons mounted on their arms had been changed: from two 37mm cannons to a chainsaw designed for deep-sea environments and a supercavitating weapon called "Harpoon."

The principle of this thing, as its name suggests, uses supercavitation to reduce drag. Its tail is loaded with nitrate ester propellant, and its front is a warhead filled with aluminum-magnesium powder, essentially a miniaturized torpedo. The caliber is 19mm, and the launcher is the same model as the 19mm bolter, making it easy to switch ammunition for pursuit on land.

Unlike 19mm bolter rounds, the 19mm "Harpoon" has an effective kill range of only 200 meters, with a minimum safe distance of just 10 meters.

This combat radius is a bit insufficient for dealing with ships, but more than enough for near-surface torpedoes and frogman units.

Although the Alliance's arsenal had never dabbled in underwater weapons before, with technical support from the survivors of Coral City, Boulder Military quickly solved several key problems and mounted this device on the Alliance's "King Crab."

This was the first combat test of the "Harpoon."

So far, the results were quite impressive...

Watching the "firework" falling toward the seabed in the distance, and the restless monsters behind it, the veteran "Groundhog" lying in the "King Crab" grinned.

"Never thought our Jungle Corps would one day moonlight as a navy."

A teammate's voice came through the communication channel.

"In a sense, a seaweed forest can also be considered a jungle."

"666!"

"Whatever, the enemies are still mutants anyway."

No mercy for these beasts.

They should go to hell and repent—

"Hit confirmed! Free fire!"

A string of bubbles emerged from the crab shell. Groundhog operated the King Crab, stepping forward. "Don't let our fish get away!"

The communication channel echoed with enthusiastic responses.

"Roger!"

"Ooh-rah!"

With the attack order given, all twenty-two "King Crabs" opened fire simultaneously, launching underwater illumination flares based on sonar-detected targets.

Blinding white lights bloomed near the aquatic mutants, instantly turning the pitch-black water into daylight.

The aquatic mutants, who had adapted to the surrounding darkness, screamed and raised their arms to shield their stinging eyes.

At the same time, trails of "Harpoon" rounds, dragging bubbles, darted through the light like scythes of death, reaping lives one after another.

In just a few breaths, dozens of aquatic mutants had their flesh and blood blasted apart, and a crimson mist spread freely with the current.

Death was spreading.

Fear crept into the hearts of every mutant.

Unlike the green-skinned ones on the shore, those nesting under the cold, damp reefs had learned more of the cunning of fish than the bloodlust and madness of beasts.

As morale was about to collapse, the mutant leader, lurking among them, let out a low, long howl.

“It’s humans!”

“They’re down there!”

“Charge! Tear them apart!”

Hearing their leader’s roar, the mutants, who had been enduring casualties, finally regained some morale, kicking their legs hard as they rushed toward the seabed below.

As the depth increased, the surrounding water pressure grew higher, squeezing their bloodshot eyes and muscular chests.

Finally nearing the seabed nearly three hundred meters deep, the blinding white light gradually faded from their sides.

“Crack—!”

Reimmersed in darkness, the nearly thousand mutants slowly regained their sight, letting out roars to dispel their fear, brandishing their motley assortment of weapons as they charged toward the source of the attack.

As luck would have it, their enemies thought the same.

Twenty-two massive “King Crabs” simultaneously switched on their searchlights, waving their crab legs and chain-saw-wielding claws as they surged toward the blue-skinned monsters!

Excited roars echoed through the communication channel—

“Crush them!”

“Oooh!”

Flesh and steel collided!

One “King Crab” armor swiftly extended its inwardly folded mechanical legs, kicking away a mutant charging with thermite.

Then its massive body lunged forward, its front leg slamming down heavily, landing squarely on the back of another diving mutant, crushing it against the uneven reef like stepping on an ant.

A mutant managed to circle behind it, trying to pry open the thick crab shell with a harpoon, but couldn’t even scratch the paint.

Just as it was thinking of another plan, a real “harpoon” blasted through its chest, half its body turned into a mist of blood and shredded flesh.

Mutants fell like garlic cloves into a garlic press, instantly ground into a bloody pulp.

Harpoons were thrown from their powerful arms, but they only left scratches on the steel shell.

They tried everything—harpoon guns, underwater rifles, short swords and daggers, even depth charges and explosives—but against armor several times thicker than that of a split-claw crab, all their efforts were in vain.

The blinding searchlights dazzled them, and the long chainsaws, with just a light touch, could split them in two.

Not just the chainsaws—

But also the net rounds fired from those long, thick barrels!

Strong threads formed a large net, binding many mutants to the reef or tangling them together with others.

And the more they struggled,

the tighter the net became!

In just five minutes, over two hundred mutants had died under the roaring chainsaws.

The constant casualties and the hopeless battle left deep terror on every mutant’s face.

Even their leader involuntarily stepped back in fear.

They had never seen such strange creatures!

But their enemies—the players crouched inside the King Crabs—were all too familiar with these scaly beasts!

Ever since two months ago, when Fries Harbor captured a few aquatic mutants, the research station set up there by the Alliance Institute of Biology had dissected them, quickly figuring out their habits.

These creatures weren’t as invincible in the sea as they appeared.

They too were attacked by alien species in the ocean, just like cargo ships without black ironwood or mental interference devices.

To avoid being targeted by large alien species, they usually chose routes near land or islands, in shallower waters.

The maximum depth of these waters didn’t exceed four hundred meters, and generally, overly large alien species avoided such areas to prevent stranding.

Additionally, during long journeys, they would alternately sing “sea shanties,” actively creating noise to disguise themselves as “XXXL-sized” aliens, intimidating smaller and medium-sized ones in shallow waters.

Considering all these traits, Fries Harbor only needed to place a few acoustic signal buoys near the seabed water pipeline to track these beasts’ movements and plan an interception.

Technically, this wasn’t hard to achieve.

Though there were no satellites, sensors installed on the underwater freshwater pipeline could transmit signals to Fries Harbor or nearby players.

These mutants didn’t know that ever since they left the Death Coast and entered the eastern coastal area of Baiyue Province, they had been under surveillance by the military base at Fries Harbor.

Seeing his kin falling one after another, the leader among the mutants finally panicked, shouting to the minions before him.

“Retreat—!”

“Toward the surface!”

One by one, the mutants fighting the King Crabs kicked hard, retreating toward the surface.

Though the King Crabs were equipped with ballast tanks and high-pressure air bottles similar to a “swim bladder,” their own weight and limited armor volume meant these crabs ascended slowly and couldn’t sustain fire while rising.

So the twenty-two King Crabs didn’t pursue to the surface; instead, they kept firing the “harpoon” launchers welded to their arms.

Thin columns of air chased the mutants’ heels toward the surface, with mutants constantly being blasted into mist, but more lucky ones escaped through the not-too-dense fire net.

When they were just fifty meters from the surface, the harpoons chasing them finally slowed.

These weapons couldn’t fly far.

Seeing the harpoons losing power beneath their feet and the iron crabs left behind, the terrified mutants finally breathed a sigh of relief.

But before they could fully relax, slender cylinders suddenly pierced the water, falling toward their heads.

At that moment—

Their nightmare had only just begun!

Watching the cylinders descend unhurriedly before them, faces covered in scales showed shock and confusion.

As if sensing the threat of death, a nameless fear crept into every mutant’s heart.

Before they could react—and with no chance to react—bursts of fire and columns of air exploded, engulfing those sinful lives.

Watching the sea of fire spreading near the surface, the crab shells of the King Crabs emitted admiring sounds.

“That’s some serious firepower…”

“Anti-submarine work really is the air force’s job.”

“Damn, those green-skinned ones could take a hit, but these scaly things are like loaches—too fragile!”

“So who gets the MVP?”

“If we cut out the explosion footage, it should be us.”

“Good idea.”

Just as everyone was bickering, the voice of Brother Mosquito suddenly reached the ears of the ever-diligent Lao Mo.

"Bombs away! How's it going over there?"

Hearing that raspy voice, Proletarian Prostrate quickly responded.

"Oh! We're all good! No casualties—"

Mosquito: "Who the hell asked about that? I'm asking if you got the footage?!"

Proletarian Prostrate: "...Damn! Is this for real?"

Mosquito: "Hold on, no time for your nonsense... I'm detecting a signal from a psychic interference device! The source is roughly three hundred meters from the blast zone, at a depth between fifty and a hundred meters. Keep an eye out for anything else nearby."

Anything else?!

Proletarian Prostrate was momentarily stunned.

Almost at the same moment Mosquito's words fell, a long, drawn-out cry reached their ears.

"Woo—!"

The sound was like a cargo ship's horn, causing the surrounding waters to tremble.

Everyone looked up, shining their searchlights above, and spotted a shadow dozens of meters long looming over them.

"What the hell is that?"

Faces twisted into expressions of utter disbelief, and Proletarian Prostrate couldn't help but swallow hard.

A teammate's voice crackled over the comms.

"Jesus... there's a big one."

The psychic interference device began emitting unstable interference waves, and the howling giant seemed to be injured.

The entire sea boiled, surging waves scattering the floating corpses and frightening off the aquatic aberrations that had been cautiously approaching.

The "king crabs" standing on the seabed scrambled their legs backward under the chaotic currents.

"Mosquito! Do you have any ammo left?!" Proletarian Prostrate shouted into his earpiece, gripping the trembling handle with all his might.

Static hissed through the comms, followed by a sheepish voice.

"Out... I only had one spare round. I even stripped my cannon to drop that thing for you. You're on your own."

"%￥#@!"

After a string of curses, Proletarian Prostrate switched to the squad channel and yelled at his teammates.

"Prepare for a boss fight!"

Unlike his own nervous tension, the squad channel erupted with excited shouts.

"Whoop whoop whoop!"

...

Elsewhere, about a hundred kilometers from the blast center, a destroyer belonging to the South Archipelago Federation was anchored.

At that moment, the bridge was in chaos.

"An explosion occurred in the underwater zone a hundred kilometers due west! It's near the submarine volcanic belt—that's our minefield!"

"Minefield?!"

"Damn... Was it those planes?"

"What's the deal with those planes?"

"Could it be Vault 70?!"

The sailors were scrambling not just because of the sudden underwater explosion, but also because of the fifty aircraft that had just appeared on radar!

These planes seemed to materialize out of thin air over the endless sea, without any warning whatsoever!

And bizarrely, there was no carrier, no airfield—not even a fishing boat in sight.

Captain Dongwen stared grimly out the bridge window at the azure sky and rolling waves, lost in thought.

Seeing his superior unresponsive, the adjutant beside him took a deep breath and said solemnly,

"I recommend reporting this to the Naval Command immediately!"

As his subordinates speculated, those planes might be the work of Vault 70. And the explosion site happened to be the minefield they had laid to intercept Vault 70's submersibles and protect Ring Island from threats.

Though the entrance to that vault was under blockade by the Federation fleet, no one could guarantee it had no other emergency exits.

But the captain, after a moment's hesitation, spoke unusually.

"No need. Maintain observation."

The adjutant was stunned, looking at him in confusion.

Yet the officer had no intention of explaining. He simply instructed him to keep watch and left the bridge.

Back in the captain's quarters.

Dongwen hung his captain's cap on the rack, then opened a drawer and pulled out a small communicator.

He pressed the mechanical keys on its casing with his thumb, carefully entered a string of numbers, and then held the communicator to his ear.

Before he could speak, an urgent voice came from the other end.

"How's it going?"

On the other end was none other than Mr. Charlas, the Federation's Chief of Naval Operations and Presidential Chief of Staff—a leading figure among the naval hawks.

For most Federation citizens, breaking free from Vault 70's control was a consensus. But until the ocean current power station was destroyed, opinions were divided on whether to resolve the conflict through moderate or radical means.

Because of his unwavering stance and aggressive proposals, Charlas enjoyed support from many naval officers, including Dongwen himself.

But lately, some troubling rumors had made Dongwen question whether his actions truly served the Federation's interests.

Admittedly, the alliance that had appeared from nowhere did some suspicious things. Yet their slogan—"Survivors, unite!"—hardly warranted such alarm.

Humanity on this planet had once been one whole.

And they were indeed practicing what they preached, setting an example for the wastelanders still slaughtering each other, to end the wasteland era.

Take the recent events in Golden Grain Port: no matter how the slave owners twisted arguments with ancient texts, they had indeed loosened the ropes around slaves' necks. Or the freshwater pipeline to Ring Island—though they made some profit, the locals now had cheaper water.

Those folks never claimed to be philanthropists. If they hiked prices maliciously later, that would be a future problem. You couldn't borrow a big hat from the future to pin on them today just because they didn't give everything away for free.

At least in his view, it was the church fanatics—always babbling about "evolution," "the future," and "for humanity"—who seemed more suspicious.

They didn't want money; the psychic interference devices they provided to the Federation were free gifts. But no one could say they weren't after something bigger.

Like Coral City.

Hadn't they always wanted to go there?

He supported moderate cooperation with the Torch Church, as long as it truly benefited the Federation—even if the benefits weren't immediate but would be reaped by future generations.

For instance, trading an ocean current power station for the unity of the entire Federation was undoubtedly worthwhile. Future generations would thank their ancestors for enduring temporary hardship.

But...

What was the benefit of blowing up a freshwater pipeline?

Before, he could convince himself, even rationalize Charlas's arguments. But now, he honestly didn't know how to keep spinning it.

But—

Now was not the time to dwell on that.

After gathering his thoughts for a moment, Dongwen spoke slowly.

“The explosion… did indeed occur.”

Hearing a sigh of relief on the other end of the line, he paused before continuing.

“However, there are some doubts about this matter. The explosion did not happen on the seabed, but near the surface… and, those aircraft—did you send them?”

The line fell silent for a while, and after a long pause, a hesitant voice finally squeezed out half a sentence.

“Aircraft?”

“Yes.”

Dongwen paused, then went on.

“A group of aircraft suddenly appeared on our radar, then dropped something like torpedoes or depth charges into the sea, and we observed the signal of an explosion… I’m not sure if the pipeline was destroyed, but I want to know what those aircraft were and what they were bombing—”

But to his surprise, upon hearing this, Mr. Charlas, who was always so gentle in manner, jumped up like a seal spotting a penguin.

“That is not your concern, Captain! Have your men return to the nearest port immediately—no, head to Anle Island due east.”

Dongwen was taken aback.

“Mr. Charlas?”

Seeming to realize the sharpness in his own tone, the voice on the other end steadied with a calming breath.

“Sorry… I lost my composure. A formal order will be issued through the command system shortly. You can return to the bridge and have your crew prepare.”

After a pause, a sigh of regret came through the receiver.

“What a mess… A single water pipe has made those ingrates betray their original faith. They don’t realize they’re willingly putting a noose around their own necks—barely two days of freedom, and they’re already rushing to sell themselves at a good price.”

“Mr. Charlas,” Dongwen said, frowning, “perhaps this isn’t my place to ask, but… what does this have to do with selling oneself at a good price?”

Charlas snorted.

“Isn’t that exactly what they’re doing? We’ve only just shaken off the noose that Shelter 70 put around our necks, and now they’re picking up the noose from Shelter 404—”

“So I’d like to know,” Dongwen couldn’t help asking, “what exactly is this ‘noose’ you keep mentioning? Could you put it in more concrete terms, rather than an abstract metaphor?”

There was a few seconds of silence on the line, followed by a light cough.

“We’ve strayed too far off topic… In any case, our friends in the Haiya Province wouldn’t want us getting too close to the Alliance. Those lunatics are no good, but for now, we need their help to solve our problems. All in all, that pipeline is a nuisance… If only someone could get rid of it, every citizen of the Federation would be grateful.”

Hearing the expectation in that voice, Dongwen took a deep breath to steady himself and chose his words carefully.

“Mr. Charlas, if it were any other concern, I could handle it for you—make sure the right people keep quiet, make sure the right people disappear—but this matter… it’s going too far.”

He paused, then continued.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t solve your problem. Perhaps you should resolve this nuisance through more lawful and proper channels. I suggest you talk to the President.”

Charlas said with deep regret.

“That would be too slow! And the residents of Ring Island wouldn’t understand us.”

Dongwen replied immediately.

“Then let it be slow… There’s nothing wrong with being cautious in such matters.”

The reason he detested the people from Shelter 70 was that they were arrogant and stubborn, never willing to lower themselves to communicate with survivors outside the shelter, and whenever they couldn’t explain something, they’d hide behind their blue coats as a shield.

It was only now that he suddenly realized he had nearly become the very person he despised most.

The line was silent for a long time. Then, after a moment, a resigned sigh came through.

“You’re right… There’s nothing wrong with being slow. I didn’t think it through. Please forget what I just said.”

Dongwen nodded, feeling a quiet relief.

Perhaps Mr. Charlas had realized the same thing he had.

He had no doubt that the man had made his decision out of the Federation’s interests, but just as other captains sometimes went too far in their zeal, wasn’t this chief of staff the same?

He would still support him, as always…

After the call ended, Dongwen returned to the bridge.

His adjutant approached and saluted.

“…The Navy Command just sent a message, ordering us to proceed to the port of Anle Island due east for resupply.”

Having already heard about it through private channels, Dongwen nodded and walked straight to the bridge console, stopping there.

But just as he was about to order a turn eastward, a thought stirred in his mind. He looked at the officer beside him and gave the order.

“Proceed west for eighty kilometers!”

Surprise flickered across the faces of the officers, especially the adjutant who had just relayed the command’s message.

“But…” Hesitating, the adjutant stepped forward to remind him, only to be stopped by a raised hand.

“The command didn’t order us to turn around on the spot.”

Gazing at the surging sea, Dongwen reached up and gently adjusted his cap, then spoke slowly.

“Taking a slight detour—there’s no rule against that, is there?”

…

Beneath a vast blue sky.

Fengqing, piloting her seaplane, had circled once over the sea and was about to turn back when she suddenly spotted a warship approaching from due east.

A look of surprise crossed her face. She wiped her chocolate-stained hands on her clothes and pressed the switch on the onboard radio.

“This is Fengqing. I’ve spotted a Federation warship—looks like a destroyer… heading toward the Jungle Corps’ little crabs.”

“Not sure if they’re hostile. No fire on me yet… Ah, they seem to be trying to hail me on the radio… Should I answer?”

A voice soon came through the channel—Brother Mosquito.

“Answer! Why not! Ask those bastards what they’re doing here!”

Hearing the tone that sounded like he still had plenty of ammunition to spare, Fengqing made a helpless face, pressed the left rudder pedal, and adjusted her course toward the destroyer.

“Roger.”