Ammunition Depot 067-1

In the end, Wang Chen chose not to attack the ground directly to eliminate his opponent. As someone on the side of relative justice, he was a bit greedy—not only wanting to be the good guy but also determined to survive. Of course, Wang Chen wasn’t about to just wait for Old Tian to come knocking; passively taking a beating wasn’t in his nature. Nor did he intend to risk his life fighting a group of hardened criminals. Since he had the government backing him, dealing with such matters was essentially cleaning up the government’s mess. There was no shame in asking for assistance.

Yang Xiaohua sent an email, and the superior’s support arrived much faster than expected. Just five hours later, a helicopter passing over the peninsula base air-dropped three packages. One contained a drone and its control system; the other two held drone consumables and two air-to-ground missiles.

Wang Chen had hoped for some remote-controlled mines buried at the crossroads to replace the unreliable IEDs. However, Director Zheng Fan was very sincere in his response: impossible. Yes, drones could be provided, but remote-controlled mines? Sorry, no. It was a bit awkward—high-end equipment was plentiful in government-controlled military camps and secure bases, easily accessible. Yet directional mines or anti-personnel mines were stored at the divisional or even battalion and company level ammunition depots. So, when a garrison needed supplies, the higher-ups could only offer maps of the relevant locations and permission to take what was needed. Beyond that, they were powerless. Even dropping a drone package by helicopter was understandable; but to use already scarce government resources to air-drop bulky, crude mines? As if the government were their personal supplier, handing out whatever was wanted on demand.

The drone was still in the unpacking and calibration stage when, at two in the afternoon, two teams arrived at the peninsula base one after the other. Wang Chen had expected some new equipment, but the combined number barely exceeded twenty. They traveled in ordinary civilian vehicles, and the team consisted mostly of lucky civilians and two third-generation officials with some connections. Among the civilians were mainly farmers, except for two repair workers and a water and electricity technician who could assist Shen Dongyun. There were no military police personnel at all.

The weapons and supplies were all outdated—Type 56 rifles and carbines. The only gain was two Type 56 light machine guns from a local People’s Armed Forces Department stockpile, their rifling almost worn smooth. They came with five drum magazines, but the ammo belts inside were very old and poorly maintained, barely usable. After Ren Wanrong’s guidance in disassembling and patching, they managed to piece together two complete drum magazines. As for bullets, each rifle of the Type 56 family could be allocated about ten rounds of 7.62mm caliber rifle ammunition on average.

Well, it was still better than what the Red Army or Eighth Route Army had back in the day.

The ammunition shortage grew more urgent, and Old Tian’s threat lingered incessantly. With the increasing number of zombies, walking at night risked stumbling into a horde and getting trapped. Old Tian was unlikely to attack at night. The latest satellite remote sensing images showed no suspicious signals within ten kilometers of the base. Even if there were heat sources or other suspicious signals, they were hard to detect from such high satellite altitudes. If the enemy wanted to hide deliberately, a factory roofed with asbestos tiles or a multi-story reinforced concrete building would suffice. In other words, to pinpoint Old Tian’s location, they had to finish calibrating the drone and conduct low- to mid-altitude scans of suspected areas.

Weighing all factors, Wang Chen decided to set out for the ammunition depot in the afternoon, hoping to secure enough weapons and ammo to bolster the base’s firepower. Setting off at this time meant they’d return after dark, but they could rely on vehicle-mounted radar to risk traveling at night back to the base.

According to government data, the nearest ammunition depot to the peninsula base lay in a mountain hollow in the Taihang Mountains’ foothills, not far from Hebi City and only a few dozen kilometers from Tanghe Reservoir. The depot was certainly inside a military camp. From the terrain, the camp controlled one of the key passes through the Taihang Mountains into Shanxi. In the event of war, defending this stronghold and holding out against superior forces was feasible.

The problem was the camp would be infested with zombies evolved from fallen soldiers—a significant number, no doubt. Moreover, no one could be sure whether the soldiers who died defending their homeland had set up anti-theft devices or, worse, rigged the camp with explosives. If anyone broke in, the entire camp could be blown to smithereens.

So, it was best not to target the camp unless absolutely necessary.

Of course, Wang Chen and his group had an advantage: a drone for reconnaissance, infantry radar scanning, and access to classified internal maps of the camp, allowing them to choose the shortest route inside. Besides, as Ma Tian put it, he was at least a second-generation paramilitary officer. Although the army strictly stored guns and ammo separately and he had never been inside an ammo depot, he had spent much of his childhood sneaking into the armory and fiddling with all kinds of old, broken firearms. So Ma Tian believed he had some experience to draw on for entering the depot.

Ma Tian’s wound had just been stitched out. Though his movements were still somewhat limited, as long as he avoided strenuous activity, he was fine. He didn’t need to do any heavy lifting—just guide them once they reached the depot.

As the slanting sun dipped low, an armored vehicle and a makeshift Iveco truck reinforced with iron plates formed the convoy that departed from the peninsula base. Alongside Wang Chen, Ma Tian, and Pablo were Dai Jian, the tech expert in charge of drones and satellite communications, as well as Chen Chong, Shu Chang, and five or six other civilians.

Wang Chen initially didn’t want Chen Chong, a show-off youth, to join the mission. This guy wore an expression as if to say, “I’m doing you all a favor by coming along; don’t think special ops makes you great—you’re all nobodies.” It was obvious his real intention was to complete the mission impressively so he could brag to his crush back at the base and earn some respect.

In the end, it was Cui Yongzhi who quietly suggested to Wang Chen, roughly meaning that Chen Chong was too young and needed a lesson. If he lost his life, that would be his own bad luck.

The unspoken message was clear: troublemakers like him should be dealt with if possible; if not, no one would mourn him dying out there.

True enough, Cui Yongzhi was only at the county magistrate level—who dared to touch a second-generation provincial official like Chen Chong? Even if he wanted to, he lacked the experience. Any member of the Zero Eight Squad could quietly eliminate Chen Chong with ease. Except for Ellie, who was as gentle as a rabbit. And Pablo? If he wanted someone dead, he didn’t need tricks—just find a secluded spot and pull the trigger.