"Shit, those assholes up top are probably sleeping comfortably in the big cities right now, enjoying themselves and eating, while we're dragged into a foreign country to deal with this mess..."
"Goddamn it, watch your mouth. It's not just us here... don't you know the military police have been patrolling the base? Is the communication system really down?"
"Do you think I'd be talking like this if I didn’t know that? Hey, hey, the deputy squad leader is coming. Keep quiet."
Late September, Massachusetts, Shale Wildlife Refuge, Rainy Weather.
While Florida, hundreds of kilometers to the south, was enjoying clear skies without a cloud in sight, heavy rain clouds had gathered above Massachusetts since dawn, and the sky, weighed down by the thick clouds, began pouring down rain.
Below, Russian airborne troops—specifically the 162nd Guards Reconnaissance Battalion—entered near the Shale Wildlife Refuge. Their route was as horrendous as their reputation, as expected from a reconnaissance unit.
Though the United States was known as a land of plenty, a forest here was no easier to breach than anywhere else. But if they followed the main road, it was only a matter of time before their heads were blown off.
The discomfort caused by the terrain and weather was something anyone would agree was terrible, but if asked whether it was worse than dying, the answer would obviously be "no."
Still, even if someone said, "This route is better than dying," the soldiers of the reconnaissance battalion probably wouldn't agree.
Especially if they had some idea of what other units were going through.
"Quit whining, you bastards. If there are no problems with the reconnaissance results, we’ll reach Pittsfield in two days. It’s a small place compared to a big city, but it’s still big enough for a company to rest without issue."
"But sir, didn’t the fat guys from Boston just drink wine and relax?"
"You idiots wouldn’t know. Wine parties in a city reduced to rubble by missile strikes? If the command center there heard you, they’d have kicked your helmet in. Quit talking nonsense and focus on the mission."
"Understood... No issues in the reconnaissance."
"In five minutes, we move out. Our objective is a department store about 8 km to the west. If possible, we’ll resupply there and defend the area until the 743rd Guards Signal Battalion and the tank company from the brigade arrive."
"Yes, sir."
Rustling.
The waterproof tarps were set up in preparation for the rain, but in the makeshift shelter, water was leaking everywhere. This wasn’t a properly built hideout, and the water dripped onto our clothes.
The sky was thick with clouds, blocking even the smallest sliver of sunlight, and beneath them, soldiers in camouflage—matching the forest’s colors—slowly stood up with gloomy expressions.
The sound of breaking branches, water droplets hitting leaves, and the voices of soldiers mixed together. A little less than a hundred heavily armed soldiers moved with expressionless faces, continuously checking their surroundings as they advanced.
The leader at the front was constantly briefing on the comms, spreading out a map, marking it with a pen, and repeating the process.
Hundreds of kilometers by vehicle, and tens of kilometers on foot.
While rain poured down on tens of thousands of Russian troops who had landed on American soil, the 162nd Guards Reconnaissance Battalion was moving towards Albany, while others rested in the big cities.
Morale was low.
Moreover, this was on the American mainland, thousands of kilometers from their homeland. The possibility of fragging was always there, so public complaints were inevitable, but we had to calm them down.
Of course, ambushes didn’t wait for that.
Crack!
"...What?"
"Shit, down! Get down!"
"Enemy ambush! Return fire—cough!"
Bullets, flying several times faster than the speed of sound, pierced through trees and exploded.
But it wasn’t just one shot. A perfectly timed successive barrage of fire hit precisely at the targets, and bullets that could easily pierce through regular body armor tore through the bulletproof gear and continued to penetrate the bodies, disappearing.
It didn’t take long for the energy to drain from the body, crumpling into a twisted, collapsed position, but the next bullet didn’t wait for that brief moment of life to fade—it flew straight at the victim.
When the bullet grazed the skull of the soldier whose body had crumpled, the helmet was pierced, and the head inside was crushed like a watermelon, the spinal cord shattered, and it exited from the back of the neck.
The battle had begun.
"Shit, where are they!? Shoot, shoot!"
"I can’t see them! Can’t see them!"
"Throw grenades—aaah! My hand!"
"Shit, grenade! Grenade!"
Ugh!
Someone’s hand was severed just as they were about to throw a grenade, and the grenade with its pin pulled fell to the ground, useless.
Despite the severed hand still gripping the grenade, someone, unable to accept the sudden change in the situation, tried to pull the grenade out from the fallen wrist.
With a loud explosion, two soldiers were blown up in quick succession, and when the entire company was temporarily halted by the enemy’s attack, the squad leader, who had lowered his head and was preparing to respond, heard the voice of the company commander over the comms.
What the hell are we supposed to do about it!?
The squad leader almost blurted out these words, but of course, he couldn’t. They were exposed to hundreds of incoming bullets from an unseen position.
They had hastily added an active defense system to the T-72B3 tanks, which originally lacked proper hardkill defenses like missile interceptors. And that system was likely malfunctioning.
The squad leader didn't know for sure, but he could make an educated guess. As an officer, he had an inkling of how poor the Russian equipment was and how limited their numbers were.
A loud explosion echoed in the distance.
The sound of rain and gunfire couldn’t drown out that faint rumble—it was the sound of a tank's main gun firing. Naturally, that meant the mission was falling apart.
"Where’s the enemy!?"
"I can’t see them!"
"Shit, if we had the wealth of the U.S. military, we could’ve shot those arrogant bastards in the head with a firestorm..."
Though the situation was much better than in the big cities, the reality was that allies were dying in real-time. Empty comfort was of no use.
The rain continued to fall heavily from the sky, making it even harder to get a proper visual on the enemy. Identifying their location by sound was no easier.
What’s happening elsewhere? Is the enemy still moving towards Albany without any problems in other areas?
This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.
He thought about this, but in the end, the situation didn’t change.
From the higher-ups’ perspective, this may not be considered a huge loss, and more troops could be poured in to take Albany.
However, for the 162nd Guards Reconnaissance Battalion, this fact was irrelevant. They were being cut down in real-time, and it was possible that everyone here would be wiped out.
"3rd Platoon Leader, report on the situation!"
"We’re engaged! Half of 1st Platoon is dead, and 2nd Platoon is dispersing! We can’t see the enemy!"
"Shit... Fall back slowly. We can’t die here."
"What about the Signal Battalion?"
"Those bastards will be dead the moment they come here, so why bother?! If they’ve got complaints, they can call in support fire!"
What kind of evaluation they would get later wasn’t important.
The accuracy and precision of the enemy’s fire were beyond belief, and at the same time, their visibility was almost non-existent. It might be the so-called Icarus Operators that everyone was talking about.
If that were true, there was nothing they could do.
They’d all heard the results of the Boston battle before the main force even arrived. There had been ridiculous rumors about Icarus Operators being like demonic entities, and it was clear that the abilities of these operators were far beyond anything they could comprehend.
They were invisible, killed with impossible speed, and even if hit by bullets, they survived without major problems. The technology behind it remained almost entirely unknown.
If you are reading this translation anywhere other than Novelight.net or SilkRoadTL, it has been stolen.
"...The enemy's firepower and precision were so high, it seemed impossible. But at the same time, their visibility was nearly nonexistent. It might be those Icarus Operators we keep hearing about."
If that’s the case, there was nothing they could do.
They had all heard about the outcome of the Boston battle, even before the main force arrived. There were rumors that the Icarus Operators were like demonic entities, and it was clear that their abilities were far beyond the comprehension of anyone on the battlefield.
They were invisible, killing with impossible speed, and even if hit by bullets, they could endure without much issue. How the mechanism behind this worked remained almost entirely unknown.
Artemis had said that it was due to light refraction from various methods, optical camouflage, shields for defense, and enhanced physical abilities. But that wasn’t the important part.
The real question was: How do we defeat them?
There were rumors about some project designed to counter them, but nothing had emerged yet. The results of such a project were not yet visible.
The results soon came.
"We’ll retreat the way we came. Regroup at a nearby farm! Squad leaders, account for your men and suppress fire as you fall back! Use all the grenades!"
"Understood...!"
How long had passed?
In less than 10 minutes, the tank company and the 162nd Guards Reconnaissance Battalion, both heavily battered, were forced to retreat back along their original route.
And they had no idea that this was just the beginning.
"I thought it would take longer, but it only took about four days. If I’d known, I would have bought some cigars as a souvenir. Do polar bears smoke?"
"When I was a Green Beret Q-course instructor, I kicked out every smoker. Anyone who picks up a cigarette either has overwhelming skills to cover it or can’t manage stress. I hardly ever saw the first one."
"Even Morrison smokes."
"Those who smoked in the unit in the first place were people I didn’t have the right to criticize."
Thud, screeching.
On the day they tossed the turncoat operators into the Southern Command, at 10:30 PM, a transport plane flew from the southwest and landed at Central Park HQ.
Hundreds of short-range surface-to-air missiles lined up along the coastline identified the IFF and immediately turned back toward their original direction, as the tiltjet engines shifted, and the massive fuselage slowly settled onto the helipad.
As the rear ramp door opened, the air of Central Park, which didn’t quite feel like a "return" after all this time, filled the transport cabin.
We were home.
It wasn’t like we could stay long, though.
"So, why are you looking at me like that?"
"We were betting on whether the little wolf would be waiting for us or working hard. No one bet on the option of him not showing up, so the bet kind of fizzled out."
"You came all this way to welcome us, and this is what we get... Ow, don't pat my head!"
"Want me to comb your fur, little wolf?"
"..."
As expected, the first thing we saw when the door opened was Lapland, the idol of Central Park HQ.
She always had a way of reacting in the most satisfying way no matter how you approached her, so we all laughed when we saw her. If I played the role of the cute one, then Wolf Lady was... perhaps optimized for teasing?
She would probably get really angry if she heard that, but oh well. I wasn’t sure if she’d want my role either. I just thought about it like that.
And, well, if we were going to hear about what was going on up top, Lapland was essential for that.
"I heard the first engagement started at the border between New York and Massachusetts. How did it go?"
"Well, it actually started in the farthest corner of Massachusetts... Anyway, the Dagger Team clashed with the Russian airborne brigade... and Olivia and the Eagle Team have been holding out for quite a long time."
"...To put it naively, you mean they're holding out?"
"Yes, that’s right. In reality, the Russian airborne brigade has been getting beaten pretty badly. About half of their 10 tanks were destroyed by the Titan."
While it seemed possible given the specs on paper, actually performing it in the field was no small feat.
There was no avoiding the light, sound, and recoil. Even with the higher survival rate by shooting from several kilometers away, it was still within range of a tank’s main gun.
How could they have taken out five of them? Just before I could think that, Lapland spoke again.
"I heard they dodged a tank shell while it was coming at them...?"
"Huh?"
"...What?"
"No, wait, thinking about it now... Olivia might actually be able to do that. Am I the only one who thinks so?"
"...It might not be impossible."
As she said, Olivia... she has such incredible vision. She could distinguish between different kinds of wildlife and count them from a distance of 700 meters even on a moonless night.
If it wasn’t from close range, and if the tank shell was fired from at least 1–2 km away... she might have been able to dodge it. Of course, dodging it means getting completely out of the blast radius.
If it were an explosive round, she’d have to avoid the shockwave too, or her body would turn into minced meat.
Anyway, since it's Olivia, I guess it’s possible.
"I might be able to dodge a pistol bullet, but a tank shell? Not so sure."
"Want to give it a try?"
"Are you seriously suggesting this, you crazy mutt? How can I train with my life on the line?!"
"How about with a crossbow?"
"...Let’s not talk about it."
"Wait, am I supposed to do that too?"
"The rookie shouldn’t do something so dangerous."
Of course, Laurentina was extremely pissed off about this, but both Logan and I turned our heads away, pretending like nothing was happening.
Perhaps the mutants had their own extreme methods of training, but well... even if I said that, it wasn’t far off from happening.
After all, the ammunition used in the previous battle between the Icarus Operators was live rounds. I was curious to see how Lapland would react if she was ever asked to train like this once she climbed up the ranks.
Anyway, now it was time to share what we had discovered.
We had just stepped into the TOC and were heading toward the briefing room, leaving behind numerous gazes of awe. As soon as we arrived, we called in the Chief Operations Officer and sat him down in the room before dropping the bombshell.
"Former Secretary of Homeland Security, Alejandro Webb, and some high-ranking officials whose identities have not been revealed are after the Icarus Operators and Icarus Gear. Some have even tried to get their hands on it."
"...Hearing it firsthand is quite shocking."
"That’s not the end of it. I’m not sure if it’s their code name or real name, but this group calling themselves the 'Syndicate' aims to bring about the downfall of the United States and the Allies, and from the ashes of the world, they plan to rebuild a new America in whatever remains."
"..."
Not many could hear this, but that didn’t matter. It was information that would eventually spread.
Though, for now, only a few senior officers could hear this. The moment they were exposed to this forbidden knowledge, they were left dumbfounded, unsure of how to react.
A long silence passed before the Chief Operations Officer, Kane Whitebrim, finally spoke up.
"...So that’s why you delayed the report."
"Actually, at a time like this, it might have been better to delay it even further, but there’s no need for that anymore."
"...What does that mean?"
"Because we’ve arrived."
A confident statement that seemed almost out of place. But no one there dismissed it. Even though I felt like I was somewhat out of place, I couldn’t help but think that Laurentina was the one who made the bold statement.
With Olivia and Logan, they were the core of the Dagger Team. Maybe, if we were to compare it to a body, they were like the brain or limbs.
I was probably... the hair?
I chuckled at that useless thought, and the conversation continued.
"Anyway, we need to head to Albany as soon as dawn breaks tomorrow. Since Olivia is managing the Eagle Team, it’s better not to interfere and cause chaos in the designated operational area."
"...That was the plan, but it’s no longer necessary."
"We’re used to the operation plan. There’s been no news of the enemy using transport planes to drop into Albany."
"That’s right. The transport plane to Albany leaves at 7 AM tomorrow."
"Then let’s finish our preparations and be ready at the helipad by then."
Laurentina, taking a deep breath, added.
"The Third World War has begun."
The gates had been opened, and there was no turning back now.
Historians would record this day as the start of the Third Great War.