Chapter 1: The Exercise (Part One)

Page 1/3

On the boundless, desolate wilderness, a tiny lizard emerged from the scant shade provided by the few withered trees scattered in the desert. It nimbly climbed onto a dry branch and gazed into the distance. Suddenly, as if startled by something, it swiftly leapt down and darted into the cool shadows of a nearby burrow.

Then, the ground began to tremble violently, as if an earthquake had struck. A cascade of loose soil fell outside the burrow, covering the lizard that was peering out cautiously. After a brief shaking of the small mound of earth, the yellow-dusted lizard poked its head out again. By then, the ground was not just trembling; the roar of tank treads crushing the earth approached.

"Captain, you're moving too fast!"

On the horizon at the far end of the desert, four long plumes of dust suddenly rose, racing forward at incredible speed under the blazing sun.

"Fast? I don’t think so. You’re just too slow! At this rate, you expect to be my wingmen?"

A somewhat cheerful young voice chuckled over the comms.

"Please, who considers triple-speed maneuvers normal? If Instructor McMillan sees this, you’ll be writing a report again! Besides, if you move too fast and lose sync with us, it’ll cause problems. We’ve already entered the exercise zone! If we lose, we’ll be cleaning the building’s restrooms for a whole month! Don’t forget your bet with Cerberus and the others!"

Another voice, tinged with helplessness, responded on the channel.

"A bet, huh? Though I don’t want to admit it, those were all mistakes made in our youth!"

The young voice spoke with an unexpectedly mature tone, then added, "No worries, I’ll correct that mistake myself!"

"Damn it, Andre, stop playing dumb and persuade the captain!"

"I told you, Red Dragon Four, use ranks when outside!"

"Understood, Red Dragon Two. Can you try to talk some sense into Red Dragon One?"

Page 2/3

Inside the dimly lit battle room, just as the man was about to speak, a flicker of light streaked across the distant horizon, interrupting him.

The light then landed behind the leading dust cloud of the fast-moving convoy, sending up two small bursts of blue smoke.

"They’ve spotted us!"

"Doesn’t matter—if they miss, nothing happens!"

Red Dragon One’s voice sounded again, calming the slightly panicked squad. Soon, four massive steel armored vehicles burst from the dust in a diamond-shaped combat formation. Any military enthusiast familiar with tanks would cheer at the sight.

"It’s the Type 61!"

Meanwhile, on the opposite horizon, inside a fifth Type 61 tank marked with a different insignia, a young soldier wearing Federal Army armored infantry uniform and a tank helmet, with a trainee badge at his collar, was in a foul mood.

"Damn it, they missed! How did that guy manage that?"

With the roar of the autoloader, two 150mm shells with blue-marked warheads were fed into the twin 150mm tank guns of the Type 61 tank. Without hesitation, he fired again.

The shells appeared on track to hit the target several kilometers away, still moving at full speed. Yet, under the tank commander’s watchful eye, the targeted tank abruptly twisted its hull, dodging the seemingly foolproof strike once more.

"Damn it, is there something wrong with the fire control system?"

At that moment, the attacker began to doubt his tank’s fire control system.

According to the manual, the highly automated fire control system linked to satellite data could precisely project shells into a target the size of a steel drum kilometers away. In normal exercises, it never failed. But today...

As the attacker anxiously awaited the third round to load, the Type 61 tank he had attacked twice already spun its massive turret while moving at high speed, aiming at the attacker who remained stationary.

Page 3/3

Inside the battle room, on two modest-sized electronic screens, the enemy’s vehicle was clearly visible. Two blue locked boxes had firmly latched onto the target’s hull and turned red, indicating that all preparations were complete—including calculations for crosswind, relative angular velocity, atmospheric pressure, and other factors affecting the shell’s trajectory.

Two shells, also marked blue, fired almost simultaneously from the gun barrels. After leaving the muzzle, the shell casings behind the warheads automatically disintegrated, leaving only the warheads slicing elegantly through the air before diving toward the target.

Upon impact with the armor, the blue warheads exploded. But instead of releasing a scorching metal jet, they unleashed a blue substance resembling paint that instantly coated the tank’s frontal armor.

"No way—they actually hit it, and that guy’s moving at full speed!"

The attacker, slumped in the battle room, stared at the screen flashing red warnings, indicating the hit was registered as a kill. He wearily removed his helmet, partly frustrated at his failure, but also troubled by the prospect of cleaning the blue stains off the tank. It was an arduous manual task, and he foresaw spending the next three days scrubbing the vehicle in the garage.

With that thought, the young armored trainee pushed open the hatch above. The thunderous roar of the moving tank filled his ears. Shielding his eyes from the glaring sunlight with one hand, he squinted toward the distant, still-moving dust clouds and raised his other hand, flipping the middle finger while shouting:

"Damn it, you bastard! Don’t think this is over!"

The young trainee wasn’t just talking. From the moment he encountered the enemy, teammates at other positions had been receiving a constant stream of combat data. Even a second before the tank was declared destroyed, the C4ISR system continued transmitting relevant intel. The outcome of the exercise had been sealed from the start—no one could overturn the odds of four versus fifteen!

Meanwhile, everything happening on the ground was relayed via drones, satellites, and the tanks’ data links to a temporary camp dozens of kilometers away. Inside a huge, centrally air-conditioned command tent, a dozen or so high-ranking Federal Army officers, wearing field and general ranks, gathered to watch the live battle footage displayed on multiple enormous electronic screens.

To the right of the screens was a list featuring clear ID photos and information; at the top was the leader—Red Dragon One—who was sprinting across the main screen.

Beside the still somewhat youthful photo were his details:

Makarius Kleene, 16 years old.