Chapter 893: Closing

“The men have entered the jungle; I can’t see them from the air…”

The pilot’s view was blocked by the vegetation below, catching only occasional glimpses of moving figures through the treetops.

The northern weather warmed more slowly than the south. The far south of the Federation was fully in spring, with temperatures around eighteen or nineteen degrees, but the southernmost part of Marilo was still just over ten degrees.

The harsh winter had stripped most dead branches and leaves from the trees, giving the pilot a faint chance to spot movement.

The sergeant on the ship stared silently at the dense forest near the shore, glanced at the navy rear admiral disguised as a civilian beside him, and made a decision.

“Drive them out.”

“Understood!”

Beret suddenly looked up at the sky as the plane, which had been circling low, suddenly climbed sharply. Was it leaving?

Interestingly, from the air it was hard to see anything on the ground, but from the ground it was easy to spot the plane’s movements.

A slight smile appeared on his lips. That flying thing was annoying, but not omnipotent—especially in the jungle, it was helpless.

“Hurry up. Let’s reach the extraction point as soon as possible.”

The group quickened their pace, no longer watching the sky.

But the rear admiral and military observers on the cruiser did not relax. Their eyes fixed on the plane above.

The plane suddenly climbed, circled twice, then dove sharply.

At about fifty to one hundred meters above the ground, something pointed was dropped from the plane’s belly.

It plummeted straight down without needing adjustment, and the plane climbed again.

At that moment, a violent explosion erupted, sending flying debris, grass, and dust—everyone knew the shell had detonated.

The rear admiral gripped the ship’s rail tightly, his expression grave.

He had fought in the naval battle against Gephra, which had promoted him from captain to rear admiral. He knew what war demanded.

More clearly than generals sitting in offices or senators in defense committees.

No humanitarian concern, no talk of morality or mercy—only lethal force.

Some say war is politics by other means, a way to achieve political compromise—true enough for politicians.

But soldiers see war as military action to kill as many enemies as possible.

Cruel?

Terrifying?

No—it is a massacre.

As long as it kills the enemy and reduces one’s own casualties, even unleashing demons is acceptable.

The plane dove a second time to drop another bomb, increasing accuracy and helping the fuse ignite.

With another blast, whole sections of trees fell—the shell’s power was immense.

More planes were arriving behind—two even had machine guns attached.

Eight planes circled and dived over the coastal jungle, their oppressive noise making Beret and his men panic like they’d been stabbed in the back.

The planes blocked all escape routes except the beach; other directions were bombarded.

It was a clear hint—they should retreat.

Sometimes people face helpless choices. You don’t want to choose, but fate forces the decision into your hands.

After one failed breakout attempt, leaving five men dead, Beret surrendered.

The rear admiral and observers debated intensely. The plane’s appearance had completely changed their view of airplane.

This was no longer an unworthy project.

Stable takeoffs and landings, simple maintenance, fast and long range, plus incredible precise destructive power—just as Lynch said, it would change the face of war.

The military observers concluded the Federation must lead the world!

More than ten minutes later, Beret and his group staggered from the jungle, where Blackstone security waited on the beach.

Beret was injured; a shell exploded less than fifteen meters from him. His luck spared most shrapnel thanks to a nearby tree, but some wounds remained.

Limping, he raised his hands and knelt on the beach. Fewer than ten men were left. They placed their loot on the sand and knelt like him.

The fighting was nearly over, but the planes had not left completely. This was still Marilo territory.

Their military strike had no approval from the puppet government. Leaving planes behind served as a warning, in case troublemakers appeared.

The planes’ role was becoming more obvious. The rear admiral began discussing new tactical systems with the observers.

On the beach, a squad leader approached Beret, looking disdainful.

“Hand over that yellow envelope Lynch gave you.”

Beret froze, then understood—these people were linked to Lynch.

Without resistance, he pulled the item from his underwear. Seeing it hidden there, the squad members laughed, except the leader, who scowled.

Such a valuable item should be kept by the leader.

He raised his rifle and slammed the butt against Beret’s head.

The once proud beret and his men dared neither speak nor act, facing the Federation’s humiliation.The captain disdainfully pinched a corner of the envelope and lifted it. A strong stench immediately hit him.

The smell was like… dead fish and rotten shrimp stuffed into an overturned metal bucket, left baking under the summer sun for two days.

“Damn!” He quickly pulled a bag from his pocket and wrapped the envelope, making it slightly more bearable.

“Is everything here?” the captain asked.

Beret was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

The captain stepped back two paces. The sudden retreat made Beret’s heart tighten. He instinctively tried to stand, but was too slow.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted in a continuous barrage. Everyone was killed without any chance to resist.

Watching them twitch on the beach, the captain sneered and told the others, “Next time this happens, remember to tie their hands and ankles together first. These are armed rioters.”

He patted a rookie on the shoulder and shouted, “Clean up the battlefield, we’re going home!”

The soldiers were excited. At first, they’d been told they’d be discharged, which terrified them.

They weren’t prisoners—prisoners at least learn survival skills in jail. These soldiers had nothing.

They only knew killing. But unauthorized killing was a crime. They had no way to survive in society.

Their anxiety and confusion only lessened when they joined Blackstone Security.

Here, it was like coming home: daily training, following orders—whether protecting or killing—was what they did best.

More importantly, Blackstone Security paid well. If they went on missions, they earned extra daily allowances. Almost everyone wanted missions.

The rookie on the beach watched the veterans casually discuss vacation plans after just killing some people. He couldn’t keep up with their rapid shifts in thought.

The captain came over, punched him lightly on the chest, and laughed, “Stop spacing out. Take the stuff and follow us. You’ll get used to it here…”

He sounded like he was talking about Blackstone’s high pay and benefits, but also… killing?

The rookie didn’t understand. He and his partner dragged a heavy bag toward the speedboat. The only thing he knew was that from this less-than-two-week mission, he’d earn about a thousand Sol in bonuses and at least a week of paid leave.

The money eased his confusion about killing, and he began chatting with his partner about vacation plans.

Later, the sergeant called Lynch, informing him the mission was complete and they were returning.

The entire operation was recorded on camera—a crucial asset to persuade the Defense Ministry, military, and even Congress to place more orders with Lynch and approve bigger budgets.

At 9 a.m. the next day, military and Defense Ministry representatives appeared outside Lynch’s door.

The ship had returned at midnight. The rear admiral and observers wasted no time, sending all the materials through the television network to the Defense Ministry and military districts overnight.

Ten minutes later, generals from the Defense Ministry and military almost fought over who would get the first 200 planes—winner picks first.

Until someone asked, Why don’t I just order more planes from Lynch?

That solves it.

That was a damn good idea.

This was why the Defense Ministry and military reps showed up at Lynch’s door so early—they couldn’t wait to get actual planes for testing and to figure out how to build new tactics around them.

Everything was just as Lynch said—it was going to change warfare.