Chương 57: The Line Breaks

Back on Earth. The machine gun had been firing for so long that the sound had stopped being frightening. It was simply there. A continuous metallic roar rolling across the ruined outskirts of one of the 7 Bastion Cities, punctuated by shouted orders and the occasional heavier report from somewhere farther along the defensive line. The gunner leaned into the weapon, teeth clenched as the barrel glowed beneath the cooling shroud.

"Keep firing!"

"I am!" The Grade Three beast kept walking. It was enormous, its body covered in layers of dark scales and jagged bone. Machine-gun rounds struck its chest in a constant stream, punching holes through the outer flesh but failing to slow its advance. The gunner's eyes widened.

"Why isn't it stopping?" Another soldier beside him looked down at the ammunition feed.

"How much?"

"Almost out."

"Then call it in!" The gunner pulled the trigger again. Nothing. The weapon clicked uselessly. The beast was less than a hundred meters away.

"HEAVY WEAPON!" A tank thundered around the corner. Its tracks crushed abandoned barricades beneath several tons of steel as it forced its way into position. The turret rotated, the beast raised its head, and the cannon fired. The explosion swallowed its upper body. For several seconds, nobody moved. Then the smoke cleared, and the Grade Three beast was gone. Only a crater remained. The gunner stared at it.

"Well." The soldier beside him exhaled.

"Machine guns are officially useless for Grade 3 beasts." Nearby soldier cursed. Before they could vent or complain about how their options were running out a horn sounded from farther down the line, and the next attack had begun.

Commander Hale stepped over a pile of discarded ammunition crates as he moved through the Bastion. The corridor wasn't supposed to exist yet. Neither was the wall beside him. Two weeks ago, the section had been scheduled for completion months in the future. The original plans had called for reinforced foundations, proper conduits, secondary power systems, and enough time for everything to be tested. Humanity had run out of time first.

Now engineers worked around the clock, welding support beams into unfinished structures while soldiers carried ammunition past them.

"Move!" A group of soldiers hurried around the corner carrying shells between them.

"Careful!" One stumbled, and the crate nearly fell before another soldier caught it.

"Keep moving!" Hale watched them disappear deeper into the Bastion before continuing. A medical team pushed past him in the opposite direction, guiding two stretchers through the narrow space. One was occupied, while the other carried a soldier who was still actively trying to sit up.

"I'm fine," the man insisted. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"You've got half your shoulder missing."

"I've had worse." The medic didn't even look impressed.

"Then you've had a very unfortunate life." Hale continued walking. The deeper he went, the more obvious the problem became. The Bastions were overflowing. Barracks designed for hundreds held thousands. Soldiers slept beside ammunition crates because there was nowhere else to put them, while civilians occupied storage rooms and families turned unfinished maintenance tunnels into living quarters. A child slept beneath a heavy coat while his mother sat against the wall beside him.

Across from them, three soldiers were eating from ration packs with their rifles resting against their knees. Nobody complained; there wasn't enough energy left for it. Hale stopped beside an engineer working beneath a half-installed defensive turret.

"How long?" The engineer didn't look up from his tools.

"Until it's finished?"

"Until it's ready." The engineer tightened a bolt.

"Depends on whether we're allowed to finish it properly." Hale looked at the exposed wiring.

"You're not." The engineer finally looked up at him.

"That's new technology. We haven't mass produced this specific model before. We're not sure how long we need to get it to work if we rush and cut corners or if it would even work at all."

"Then make it work anyway." The man gave a tired smile.

"That was the plan." Hale continued on his way. Outside the Bastion, the world had already begun disappearing. The defensive lines that once surrounded cities had been abandoned, and then the cities themselves. Humanity had stopped trying to hold every settlement. The surviving forces had retreated toward the Bastions—relying on walls, gates, artillery, and whatever could still be defended. Everything beyond them had become territory humanity could no longer afford to protect.

A communications officer hurried toward Hale.

"Commander." Hale stopped.

"Report."

"Sector Twelve has gone dark." Hale's expression hardened.

"When?"

"Twenty-three minutes ago."

"Evacuation status?" The officer hesitated.

"Still confirming."

"Confirm it."

"Sir." The officer turned away. Hale watched him leave, already knowing what the answer would be. A second officer approached from the opposite direction.

"Commander, the western gate is requesting permission to open."

"Why?"

"Refugees." Hale closed his eyes for a moment.

"How many?"

"Unknown. Several hundred at least."

"And the outer defensive line?"

"Falling."

"Then they can't open." The officer stared at him.

"Sir, there are civilians outside."

"I know."

"If we close the gate—""I know." The words came quietly. Hale looked toward the massive doors visible at the end of the corridor.

"Tell them to hold until the last possible moment."

"And then?" Hale didn't answer immediately, and the officer understood. His face fell.

"Yes, sir." He walked away, leaving Hale where he was for another second before continuing toward the command center. The war had become a collection of impossible decisions. There were no good choices anymore—only choices that killed fewer people.

The command center occupied what had once been a civilian administration building. Now every wall was covered in maps, communications equipment, and hastily installed screens. The largest display dominated the room, mapping out the world in layers of information: Gate locations, Bastion cities, movements, population concentrations, Champion activity, and threat projections. Hale entered as several officers argued over a cluster of red markers.

"Sector Four is requesting artillery support."

"We don't have enough shells."

"Then divert from Sector Seven."

"Sector Seven is already under attack." Hale walked past them.

"How long until the western gate collapses?" The room quieted down, nobody wanting to answer the question. A woman standing before the main display finally did, checking the incoming data.

"At the current rate?" She looked at the numbers.

"Forty minutes." Hale nodded.

"Then we have forty minutes." The lead researcher turned toward him, looking completely exhausted. Everyone in the room did. Her hair had been tied back so many times that several strands had escaped completely, and a half-finished cup of coffee sat beside the console, long forgotten.

"Hale."

"What's the latest update?"

"More every hour." She enlarged the relevant section.

"Fifty-four percent have returned to Earth." The room fell quiet. Hale stared at the number. More than half. After everything that had happened, more than half of the people Earth had sent away were coming home. Somewhere beyond that screen were people who had left as ordinary humans and returned as cultivators—people who could fight the monsters that had made modern weapons obsolete, and who could stand where machine guns could no longer hold the line. For a brief moment, Hale allowed himself to breathe.

His expression remained grim.

"Okay." The researcher studied him closely.

"We are just delaying the inevitable aren't we?" Hale looked back at the map.

"Our defensive lines are running on hopes." His eyes looked beyond exhausted.

"So we have to keep hoping." Outside, another explosion shook the building, and the screens trembled under the impact. Nobody in the command center looked away. The line was still holding. For now.