Chapter 1297 - 421: You’re Just Like That Silver Guy, Terminal Cancer, You Know?

Chapter 1297: Chapter 421: You’re Just Like That Silver Guy, Terminal Cancer, You Know?

After a night of round-the-clock counterattack, the European-Cuban Alliance Army’s entire battlefront is retreating.

The European side is a bit better; relying on air force and strong firepower support from the rear, they can barely hold their ground. But the Cuban side is collapsing completely, like beads falling off a string, with shattered troops everywhere.

They’re fleeing towards the rear in panic, living in fear, constantly looking back to make sure those lunatics aren’t catching up to kill them.

Sterling is a member of the supply transport team. Not long after the fighting started, he heard front-line soldiers begin their retreat, so he followed suit and escaped to the rear.

Along the way, he encountered many Cuban routed soldiers. Gathering to escape together brought a small sense of security.

Even if someone really catches up, they only need to run faster than the others.

"Brother, which unit are you from?"

Sterling asked, panting, looking at the tall skinny guy next to him in a worn-out uniform, visibly injured.

"You’re asking me?"

Wheelie pointed at himself, confirming that the question was directed at him, then said,

"I’m from the seventh company."

"Seventh company?"

Sterling was surprised and quickly offered a cigarette.

"I heard you had quite a fierce fight in the city with those lunatics."

"Heh, not bad."

Wheelie felt slightly pleased, and couldn’t help boasting,

"The teammate alliance was too weak to handle, if I knew how to blow a suona horn, I’d happily send those European bastards’ dear mothers away."

"You don’t know, those damn European white pigs, holding guns to your back and yelling

Charge! Charge! Sprint! Sprint!

Like some damn NT, you know? I hope when I’m charging forward, he can yell just as loudly."

His filthy language was so low-class that even the Cubans were shocked. Just not passing the censorship, or he’d be preaching a Bible here.

The surrounding retreating soldiers were all stunned listening.

Because cursing requires some education, without it you wouldn’t even know how to curse properly. They didn’t know how to curse; without a program’s help, counting from 1 to 100 was exhausting, and their vocabulary was even poorer.

Suddenly, the routed soldiers cheered, all looking up to them with admiration.

Who hasn’t suffered from these Europeans over the past few months?

Treated like dogs, sent as cannon fodder to fill trenches, even made to tread through minefields risking their lives.

The world has suffered from Europe for far too long!

Many dared not speak out in anger.

This made Wheelie become the backbone of the retreating soldiers overnight; even if there was a sergeant in the group, few paid him any heed.

All the fleeing soldiers; what good does it do to flaunt your rank, you can’t even breathe in front of the Europeans, cowardice.

A fleeing soldier, with dry lips, couldn’t help but ask,

"So, where are we now? Anyone carrying a map?"

Others also looked puzzled; they hadn’t even thought about direction while escaping, just putting heads down and running.

Not daring to follow the highway, fearing encounters with Horizon Corporation personnel, they trekked through mountains and crossed waters, ending up far from where they started.

"Who knows, during a life-and-death escape, no one thinks about carrying that thing, just worrying about running."

"Are we at Jovellanos or Cárdenas? Maybe we’ve run all the way to Los Álamos."

Wheelie glanced at a small map.

"We’re heading west, probably reaching the Havana Province territory soon. Not far ahead should be a European outpost, we can rest there and get some water."

Everyone was shocked.

"How do you know?"

Wheelie was too lazy to explain to them.

"I know this place better than you, believe it if you want, or leave it. I’ll walk alone."

For successful infiltration, they took the IDs and uniforms of the fallen and specially obtained detailed maps from the front-line command. Some front-line strongholds were marked on the map, and one route’s stronghold had a special mark.

Wheelie’s infiltration group’s reconnaissance target was one of these on the route, others trailing a few kilometers behind the retreating soldiers.

If not worried about a high transformation rate alerting suspicion or running into former acquaintances, they even planned to change face entirely; in the end, only those with lower transformation rates, like Wheelie, mixed in with the routed soldiers.

Anyway, Cuban army management on this side wasn’t strict, so blending in carried a high success rate – isn’t it normal to have a few Asians in Cuba by 2076?

One or two people wouldn’t raise much suspicion.

The retreating soldiers were half-convinced, with no other options, they simply followed Wheelie.

After walking a few kilometers, they indeed saw a European supply transfer point.

However, this stronghold wasn’t big, only seven or eight temporary tents and a few transportation trucks, with a squad of armed personnel at best.

When seeing through drone surveillance a group of soldiers approaching, the medical platoon lieutenant’s heart raced to his throat.

He had heard that there was a defeat at the front line; who knows if these people are Horizon Corporation soldiers.

And the security team had the drone verify identities, and a few minutes later, Corporal Malfoy came over and said,

"Just a bunch of Cuban soldiers fleeing back from the front line, asking us for location confirmation and wanting some supplies. I’ve sent them away."

"Cuban soldiers?"

The lieutenant felt a little relieved, but another thought arose, prompting him to ask,

"Do they have weapons?"

"Yes, but not much, just some old rifles; who knows if they even have bullets."

"Then let them come over, give them some supplies and send them on their way."