Chapter 777: Rich Spoils of War!

Chapter 777: Bountiful Spoils of War!

Following the collapse of the Charras regime, the inhabitants of North Island had originally resigned themselves to a bleak winter. Little did they expect that the days ahead would not be as wretched as imagined; instead, life was gradually improving.

Needless to say, the Navy of the Southern Alliance was composed of their own kind, and they naturally bore no ill will toward the island's residents.

Furthermore, the discipline displayed by the Alliance military was a rare sight in the wasteland. Far from disrupting the lives of the locals, they went so far as to abolish the curfews and wartime rationing systems that had been imposed during Charras’s reign.

In the streets near the harbor district, people who had spent days hiding inside their homes finally exhausted their hoarded provisions. Driven by hunger, they began to venture back out into the open, one after another.

Although the post-war new order had been announced over the radio and broadcasts days ago, not everyone believed what they heard, assuming merely that the rebels had seized control of the transmission stations.

Information warfare during times of conflict was standard practice, and since the Charras regime had enforced strict curfews, most people lived within information cocoons. Far from daring to step outside, they scarcely presumed to open a window for a fleeting glance.

Though the new authorities declared that the war was over, they could hardly pry open every apartment door to drag the inhabitants out by force.

From the standpoint of implementation costs, such an endeavor was blatantly impractical. Moreover, with so much else to attend to, they could not temporarily spare the hands to dote on those who still lingered in the past.

In any case, the Charras regime had fallen, a new order had been established, and those who remained stuck in yesterday would sooner or later open their eyes to reality.

As the very last group to return to normal life stepped cautiously onto the streets and beheld the supermarkets actually reopening, nearly everyone widened their eyes in utter disbelief.

"How strange, the supermarket is open again?"

A thin, middle-aged man muttered under his breath. Suddenly remembering something, he rushed back home, ignoring the bewildered stares of his wife and children. He rummaged through chests and cupboards to pull out a thick stack of banknotes, stuffed them into his pockets, and dashed toward the supermarket with a plastic scavenging bag in hand.

Ever since the Charras regime had instituted the wartime rationing system, the federal currency within the Northern Federation had become nothing more than waste paper capable of buying absolutely nothing. Unable to secure inventory, the supermarkets had shuttered their doors one by one.

Now, seeing the supermarket open once more, he immediately produced all his savings, wishing for nothing more than to exchange them entirely for powdered milk, bread, and canned goods, terrified that a slow reaction would leave him empty-handed.

Yet the moment he burst through the supermarket doors and beheld the array of fully stocked shelves, he froze on the spot, as though gripped by a hallucination.

The patrons queuing for their purchases noticed him, but they merely cast a passing glance and said nothing.

People of his sort had appeared frequently over the past few days.

Everyone had lived through those arduous times, and no one had the heart to mock him.

The man’s Adam's apple bobbed as he walked briskly toward the shelves.

Staring at the single-digit price tags, he held his breath, his heart pounding violently against his ribs. Without so much as looking closely, he swept a pile of goods into his plastic bag and hurriedly joined the queue.

When it was finally his turn at the checkout counter, he grabbed a fistful of banknotes from his pocket and laid them upon the counter.

The cashier standing behind the register glanced at the crumpled heap of cash, sighed with an expression that conveyed a sense of 'just as I thought,' and pointed to the sign on the counter.

"...You are holding federal currency. Look closely at the labels on the shelves; we only accept silver coins here."

Silver coins?

The man froze, his face gradually flushing crimson. He stammered for a long while before managing to squeeze out a sentence.

"What am I supposed to do if I don't have any silver coins..."

The cashier explained patiently.

"Then go find some work. There is a shelter run by the House of Vagrants at the harbor. Go there, fill out a job application, and you can claim relief food. Once a job is arranged, someone will naturally notify you. Furthermore, some of the larger hiring entities will advance a month or half a month's wages, and there are even those who help apply for subsistence allowance loans. You can go ask around—my job here was arranged by the House of Vagrants."

Upon hearing this, the man hastily uttered his thanks and hurried out of the supermarket.

He had previously been involved in the import-export trade, so perhaps he could find a livelihood to support his family at the harbor or with the Baiyue Company...

...

With the abolition of wartime rationing, iron pots and kitchen knives—items entirely unseen in the past—reappeared on the supermarket shelves, alongside bread, grain, and various staples.

Naturally, these goods did not spontaneously grow upon the shelves.

Some were produced in the Sunset Province, some processed in Silver Moon Bay, and others hailed from Gold Galleon Port.

These commodities completed their manufacturing phases in their respective production lines, were first shipped to French Fries Port for loading, and were ultimately distributed to the resource-scarce Northern Islands to be displayed on shelves with prices marked in silver coins.

In addition, the relief stations of the House of Vagrants had established assistance networks across North Island. While distributing relief food, they registered the professional skills and educational backgrounds of the unemployed residents, introducing them to jobs to minimize their waiting periods for employment.

The ocean current power station required reconstruction, and the infrastructure on North Island likewise needed rebuilding; there were plenty of places requiring labor.

Particularly for technology-intensive positions, the vacancies far outnumbered the available people.

For the local residents, the sole flaw in an otherwise perfect situation was that the federal currency issued by the federal authorities had transitioned from being nominal waste paper to waste paper in the truest sense of the phrase.

Although this currency had lost most of its monetary functions from the moment the Northern Islands failed to curb soaring inflation and declared the implementation of rationing, it had at least retained a microscopic shred of purchasing power.

As for now, with the collapse of the federal authorities, even its legally defined purchasing power had vanished entirely, rendering it too coarse to even use as toilet paper.

The South Sea Alliance was planning to issue a new local currency to ensure the proper functioning of the economy.

However, at this stage, since the settlements of the southern waters were highly dependent on the resource inputs of the Alliance, and the new authorities were operating entirely on loans provided by the Alliance Bank, everything from public expenditures to material procurements was temporarily settled in silver coins.

At this moment, at the military harbor of North Island, construction teams from French Fries Port were repairing the damaged facilities, particularly the gantry cranes and automated loading equipment installed upon the wharves.

Not far away along the docks, two large cargo vessels fully laden with containers rode the swells, waiting to unload.

Standing at the edge of the harbor, Channing narrowed his eyes, gazing out over the war-torn haven. In a conversational tone, he spoke to Commander Li Minghui, who stood beside him.

"...This is what happens when military men meddle in politics. The stronger the execution, the greater the destructive power. We absolutely must not tread the old path of the Northern Federation. What do you think, Mr. Li Minghui?"

Two weeks had passed since the end of the civil war, and it was now the middle of October.

During this interval, Li Minghui had traveled to Dawn City to meet with the Administrator of the Alliance in his capacity as the wartime president of the South Sea Alliance. It was rumored that their discussions had lasted for three entire days.

This matter drew intense scrutiny not only from the outside world but also from the South Sea Alliance's own Representative Council.

Although the South Sea Alliance, much like the Alliance itself, separated local affairs from central affairs into two distinct systems, Channing, as the highest local official of the Ring Island, had no intention and no right to meddle in the power struggles of the South Sea Alliance's central affairs. Yet on one particular matter, he felt compelled to speak up on behalf of the residents of Ring Island.

Aligning closer to the Alliance did not run counter to the interests of the survivors in the southern waters, but if their general became a new Charras in the process, then all their sacrifices would have been entirely in vain.

Discerning the probing intent in Channing's tone, Li Minghui suddenly burst into hearty laughter.

"What a coincidence, my thoughts mirror yours exactly. It is far better to leave professional tasks to professional hands. A man like me is still better suited to matching wits with others on the battlefield."

Pausing for a moment, he continued.

"Once the war against the Torch is concluded, I shall resign from the office of wartime president and return all authority to the Representative Council that embodies all survivors of the southern waters... That power originally belonged to them, and no one knows better than they how the road ahead should be traveled."

Beholding the astonishment writ large across Channing's face, Li Minghui offered a faint smile and remarked.

"Do not be so surprised. I am merely resigning from the post of wartime president and relinquishing command of the military; I never stated that I would retreat into absolute retirement. Haha, if you do not disfavor my command capabilities, I shall continue to serve as the naval commander."

In truth, prior to his conversation with Captain Wick, he had indeed hesitated more than once.

However, upon witnessing the utter madness of that fellow, the final ember of ambition within his heart was thoroughly extinguished.

Charras had not been like that in the past, nor had Wick... They had both once been incomparably passionate about the future of the survivors in the southern waters. No one had desired more than they for the people here to lead better lives, to bring an end to the wasteland of this sea in the truest sense.

Yet once a mad thought takes root, it can no longer be arrested.

To overthrow the rule of Vault 70, they permitted their fleet to become selectively blind, allowing the Church of the Torch to enter, and then began to fabricate lies to coerce those who were dubious and blindly compliant.

As the stakes upon the gambling table continued to escalate, they strayed further and further down the wrong path, ultimately transforming into demons without exception.

And in the terminal stages of their madness, they would rather reduce the two centuries of painstaking effort by the survivors of the southern waters to ashes than admit that they were in the wrong.

Those who became madmen and those who condoned them had ultimately descended into hell. Now, the button to end this cycle of reincarnation rested in his hands; he had only to press it to become a hero.

This was the finest choice imaginable.

Just as that gentleman from Dawn City had told him, indulging one's personal desires brought but a fleeting moment of gratification, whereas only by performing deeds that endured forever could one achieve true immortality.

Gazing at the serene countenance of Li Minghui, Channing's bewilderment gave way to profound respect, and he inclined his head slightly toward him.

“……The survivors of Ring Island will be grateful for your choice, and I believe the survivors of the southern sea islands will feel the same.”

Gazing at the bustling harbor, Li Minghui spoke with a relaxed smile.

“Haha, you’re too kind! That kind of thing was simply my duty!”

……

At the same time as the reconstruction work began, the Alliance and the South Sea Alliance were jointly conducting an inventory of the “legacy” left by the Charas administration.

Beneath the North Island Heavy Industries building, two Chimera armored vehicles stood guard at the front and rear doors, and they remained there for two full weeks.

At first, the employees who worked there were frightened, but when they realized that only the company’s top brass were being taken away for questioning, they calmed down and stopped worrying.

Especially since their wages had switched from Charas-issued food coupons to silver coins, and the pay was quite generous—most employees had no complaints.

Except for those who had designed weapons for mutants.

Charas had once hoped to narrow the gap in ground forces between the Northern Federation and the Alliance by arming mutants with technology from the Age of Prosperity, and had thus ordered North Island Heavy Industries to set up a separate R&D department for mutant equipment.

These weapons had appeared not only on the battlefield of Sandbar Island but also in small numbers on the Northern Front, and even on the battlefield of Galloping Horse Province.

So when they received the meeting notice, everyone from the project leaders to the engineers involved in the specific designs was trembling with fear.

But to everyone’s surprise, the Alliance people did not make things difficult for them.

Standing in the conference room, Fang Chang looked at them and said,

“……The South Sea Alliance does not intend to hold you accountable, after all, you were coerced civilians. On this issue, our stance is the same: we tend to place primary responsibility on the decision-makers and secondary responsibility on their accomplices, not on those who were swept along.”

Hearing this, everyone—from the company’s top executives to the rank-and-file employees—breathed a collective sigh of relief.

If they had had a choice, they would never have wanted to design weapons for mutants, but with Charas’s guns pointed at their heads, they had no alternative.

Looking at the relieved staff, Fang Chang paused and continued,

“But from now on, your department is disbanded. You will take your ongoing projects and materials and transfer to a new organization, collaborating with Boulder City Military Industries to produce ‘anti-mutant’ weapons.”

“Of course, those who are unwilling can also go through resignation procedures, or apply to be reassigned to their original departments. We will not force you to do what you don’t want to do, as Charas did. The war against the Torch Church is important, but we also respect your choices.”

The Alliance had no mutant soldiers, so naturally there was no need to develop weapons for mutants.

No one was surprised that this department, which should never have existed in the first place, was being dissolved.

But after hearing the subsequent arrangements, everyone began whispering among themselves.

Fang Chang did not continue speaking; instead, he gave them ample time to discuss.

At that moment, a senior executive raised his hand, and with Fang Chang’s nod of permission, he stood up and asked,

“Excuse me… will we have to move to Boulder City to live?”

This was his biggest concern, and also the concern of the engineers and experts under him.

After all, they were not refugees; they had families, social ties, and established relationships in the local area.

Moving to a new settlement would mean not only adapting to local customs and living conditions but also affecting every aspect of their lives, including their children’s education.

Understanding their worries, Fang Chang smiled and said in a gentle tone,

“That won’t be necessary. Our signal towers will soon be extended to North Island, and later there will be undersea cables. Communication between Alliance settlements will only become more convenient. The new organization will still be based on North Island; collaboration will mainly be conducted online and through regular exchange meetings.”

Hearing this promise, everyone finally relaxed, and smiles appeared on their faces.

The reorganized North Island Heavy Industries was offering very generous salaries, and if possible, they certainly wanted to keep this job.

Moreover, from now on, contributing their knowledge and strength to a just cause would also help alleviate some of the guilt they felt for having designed weapons for mutants.

“Then I’ll stay!”

The executive who had asked the question was the first to raise his hand, and the others followed suit.

“Me too!”

“Count me in! Anyway, aside from designing equipment, I’m not good at anything else.”

The core of the department consisted of 35 people in total.

Except for three who applied to return to their original departments and two who applied for resignation, the remaining thirty executives and engineers all accepted the conditions for transferring to the new department.

The entire process went very smoothly. After finishing one meeting, Fang Chang quickly picked up the next list and began preparing for the next.

During Charas’s tenure, in order to concentrate limited resources and productivity on the war, he had used administrative means to integrate the industrial facilities left on North Island from the Vault 70 era, establishing a large military enterprise called “North Island Heavy Industries.”

This entity was like a replica of Boulder City Military Industries, even more exaggerated—its production lines covered all fields: land, sea, and air.

Including the LB-1 jet fighter, anti-aircraft missiles, anti-ship missiles, the “Alligator” amphibious armored vehicle, and the exoskeleton assault rifles issued to the Federal Marine Corps—all were produced by workshops controlled by this single company.

Such a concentration of the industrial chain was almost unimaginable in reality, since even the chips used in missiles alone could not be handled by just one company.

But for survivor factions that had inherited some technology from the Age of Prosperity, producing old-era equipment was not particularly difficult. Many components and production processes that were irreplaceable in the old era could find good substitutes.

For example, carbon-based semiconductors fundamentally overturned traditional silicon-based semiconductors, and this was just one technical detail.

It was like how ancient people had to spend eighty-one days forging a divine weapon, and even then it might not be as sharp as a modern stainless steel kitchen knife, while a modern person wanting to forge an ancient divine weapon could just throw a steel ingot onto a lathe and “grind it out”—at most, it would lack “soul.”

It was hard to judge whether Charas’s industrial strategy was good or bad, but at least it made it easier for those who came later to loot the spoils.

The auditing agency commissioned by the Alliance took only seven days to go through all the accounts and came up with a more scientific “loot recovery plan.”

The Alliance’s first step was to split up the massive North Island Heavy Industries, converting some excess capacity to civilian use, while integrating the rest into the Alliance’s production system, making it part of the Alliance’s industrial framework.

In simple terms, they would turn North Island Heavy Industries, which “could make anything but everything was just passable,” into three or more specialized industrial bases.

That is, let the shipbuilders focus on building better ships, let the amphibious equipment makers study how to make amphibious equipment, and let the guided-weapon designers design guided weapons.

As for research on exoskeletons, rifles, aircraft, tanks, and so on—the Alliance already had plenty of excellent military enterprises dedicated to developing such equipment. The production departments under North Island Heavy Industries only needed to focus on components.

This was partly for resource integration and partly for strategic reasons.

After joining the Alliance’s industrial system, the residents of North Island would enjoy a better life than before, thanks to advanced production methods.

But if they were cut off from the Alliance’s industrial system, they would also fare worse than before.

While Fang Chang was holding meetings with the employees of North Island Heavy Industries, Old Bai led a group to the company’s warehouse.

The space inside was exceptionally vast, as large as a football field, with all kinds of heavy equipment parked in the middle.

A small portion of it they had seen on the battlefield—for example, the “Alligator” armored vehicles with two different turret types, and the infantry landing craft that had appeared on Sandbar Island.

Another portion they had not yet had a chance to see, such as a main battle tank that stood a full four meters tall.

Its long, thick barrel must have been 120 millimeters, and the cabin was absurdly spacious—clearly not designed for humans.

Murderous Dagger walked over to the tank, jumped onto the turret, and peered inside the hatch, then concluded,

“This thing is probably meant for mutants to drive.”

Kidney Fighter sneered,

“What use is it without air superiority? On the battlefield, it’s just a live target.”

All Good Names Are Taken by Dogs shook his head and said slowly,

“Not necessarily. It depends on which battlefield. It’s useless on the Northern Front, but on the Southern Front it might have its uses. If the Federal fleet can seize control of the sea, our planes really won’t be able to fly in, and fighting these things with power armor would be quite tough.”

For example, on terrain like Sandbar Island, if the mutants were given a few tanks, it would be difficult to stop them with just some infantry equipment.

After climbing down from the tank’s turret, Murderous Dagger walked over to a square metal frame.

Looking at the humanoid armor at the center of the metal frame, his face instantly lit up with an expression like discovering a new continent.

"Holy shit, power armor?!"

The rear of the armor had an interface for a nuclear fusion battery.

Judging by the overall shape and design details of the armor, it was practically a carbon copy of the set Old White wore—this thing was without a doubt a knockoff of the "Dragoon" power armor.

Seeing that this big shot from the Burning Legion had finally let go of the tank designed for mutants, the technician standing nearby quickly spoke up.

"Sea Lion power armor... This is a prototype copied by Beidao Heavy Industries from the Dragoon power armor blueprints! We improved the motor equipment, and in the absence of helium-3, it can use deuterium and tritium as fuel... But we simply didn't have the resources to build a heavy water plant, so the development of this armor was shelved."

Listening to the technician's introduction, Kidney Warrior couldn't help but remark.

"Damn... there's really a lot of good stuff here."

Murder Dagger also nodded involuntarily.

"...Thank goodness this Federation is on a small island. If they were given a continent or a few more resource-rich islands, this civil war might last until the game shuts down.??"

Good Names Taken by Dogs, however, was unimpressed and just curled his lip.

"Poor students have many stationery."

Each piece of equipment is more flashy than the last, but on the battlefield, they still get blown up one after another, right?

Old White, who had been silent all along, laughed heartily and gently patted the technician on the shoulder.

"Follow us and you won't have to worry about those problems. We have plenty of resources. Whether you want to build a heavy water plant or any other factory, we have the means. Just keep this project going."

Not just this "Sea Lion" power armor—the tank designed for mutants could also be used with a few modifications.

Counting the nearly completed latest-model destroyer docked in the shipyard, the loot from Charas was really substantial.

This victory could only be described as a harvest!