Zero Casualties

At 11:12 p.m., Tieluo, chieftain of the Sandfolk, was resting with his eyes closed atop a large Mok speedrunner when he received word that the scouting party sent into the outpost had been blown sky-high by a booby trap.

The Sandfolk chieftain was furious with humiliation. His snout, which looked like a crocodile's, twitched as he fed the surviving scouts—who had returned badly wounded—to his mount. It was a speedrunner king, nearly as large as a prehistoric Tyrannosaurus from Earth. It opened its jaws and swallowed the terrified wounded soldier, who was too frightened even to scream, in three quick gulps. Then it smacked its lips, as if the meal hadn't tasted very good.

Chief Tieluo, whose scales were black, though he always claimed to be a king, kicked over a trembling yellow-scaled servant soldier beside him, then stepped forward and lashed him viciously with an electrified whip.

All the red- and yellow-scaled Sandfolk nearby held their breath. Only the blue-scaled Sandfolk leaning against a tank, wearing an incongruously Imperial-style armored helmet, watched with interest.

Tieluo didn't stop until the servant soldier sprawled on the ground had been beaten within an inch of his life. Finally somewhat satisfied, he couldn't help glancing at the armored helmet of the fellow leaning against the tank. He cursed inwardly. Fake alien bastard. If I didn't still need you to drive the tanks, I'd whip you to death right now! You're just a blue-skinned craftsman. How dare you remain seated when you see my noble black scales?

He didn't know that the other man was thinking much the same thing: He's nothing but a barbarian slave owner. He's never seen the ocean of stars or bathed in the light of civilization. Ignorant, backward, arrogant, and overbearing. Where does he get that sense of superiority?

Indeed, progressive Sandfolk like the blue-scaled tank commander, who had received a "higher education" and seen the wider world beyond the stars, could hardly consider their caste-obsessed kin to be one of their own anymore.

Tieluo had paid for these five tanks himself, but the tank commander was a "civilized man" trained from the ground up at the "collaborators'" secret training camp. He had learned how to drive tanks, cultivate his abilities, handle military communications, and operate artillery, and he spoke fluent Galactic Standard. This "barbaric slave-owning chieftain" had no way to command him.

"I warned you long ago. Since the Earthlings abandoned their base, there was no chance they'd leave anything usable behind," the tank commander said mockingly, looking at Tieluo as if he were a vagrant scavenging through trash.

"Hmph. Even the corpses of dead hairless monkeys are useful! I'll hang their heads from the flagpole for everyone to see, and leave their bodies for the dogs!"

"That's why the ten-man squad and their speedrunner mounts were all blown sky-high by the traps the Earthlings left behind! You gained nothing, and you've suffered heavy losses without even engaging the enemy!" the tank commander said. "Lord Tieluo, we're the combat experts. Please take our advice next time, all right?"

Tieluo gave him a sidelong, inscrutable look, then suddenly drew his sword and hacked the servant soldier on the ground in half. "There. I feel much better now."

What a hopeless barbarian slave owner! The tank commander looked sadly at the servant's lifeless eyes, overwhelmed with emotion. He hadn't realized that before receiving his "higher education," he'd been part of the barbarian masses himself.

To save the Sandfolk and win our independence and freedom, we can't rely on these slave owners and nomadic chieftains. In some ways, they're even more hateful than humans! Only the new generation, those of us who've seen the wider world, are the backbone of our people. After this battle, it'll be time to seriously consider our people's future. We have to seize power from these fools and establish a unified government, modern schools, and an army... Then I can retire and teach astronomy at some school. That's the first lesson that will help everyone understand the universe—and the thing I love doing most!

As the tank commander worried about the future of his people, Chief Tieluo shouted, "Move out! Those hairless monkeys can't have gotten far!"

At the chieftain's command, more than forty riders and five conspicuously hodgepodge tanks quickly advanced toward the mountains to the north.

Vehicles and cavalry sounded like an absurd combination, and you'd expect them to be barely faster than light infantry on foot. In fact, though, this odd-looking force moved remarkably quickly. In less than an hour, they could already see the northern peaks.

It had to be admitted that although Chief Tieluo was a prehistoric chieftain with caste on the brain, his judgment was sound. The Black Panther vehicles, fitted with homemade batteries, couldn't move quickly, and the heat and smell they left behind made their trail obvious. On top of that, the Sandfolk warriors' primary mounts, the Mok speedrunners, had keen noses and could sense heat sources, making them excellent trackers. These animals, which resembled the carnivorous dinosaurs of Earth's prehistoric era, were fast, tireless, able to pounce, bite, and tear at their prey, and protected by thick scales. They were practically perfect predators.

Land animals that could run long distances as fast as vehicles—and were also large predators—would have been wildly unscientific on Earth. But this was an alien world far from the Milky Way, so it was understandable.

So, in a little over an hour, the group had reached the foot of the mountains. The chieftain could even make out the whole ridge, which looked just like the head of a terrifying, round-faced beast ready to devour anyone who came near.

Chief Tieluo hesitated, then waved for everyone to stop, intending to send a few scouts up to investigate. But when he tried to call on them, all the red- and yellow-scaled Sandfolk huddled behind the tanks. Not one dared show his face.

The chieftain flew into a rage. He was about to drag over two more servant soldiers to feed to his mount when the tank commander climbed out through the hatch above and said, "The gentleman sent by the other side made things clear. These hairless monkeys have suffered heavy losses! Every one of them is wounded, and they only have lightly armored troop carriers. We have five tanks and overwhelming superiority. They can't possibly stand against us! The terrified Earthlings must have fled into the mountains by now."

Tieluo thought that made sense. The giant speedrunner beneath him had been restless for a while, clearly scenting the delicious smell of its favorite food. The beast had eaten people before, and it especially liked the taste.

It was obvious the hairless monkeys' fleeing group was close.

"Get ready to—" Tieluo began, when he seemed to hear a sharp whistle cutting through the air. Before he could react, the tank commander's head burst into a spray of blood and flesh that splattered across his face.

The speedrunners and Sandfolk erupted into chaos. Even the tank drivers and gunners were thrown into confusion. As for the chieftain, he remained dazed for nearly half a minute.

Only after a long while did the other tank crews instinctively fire toward the front. Their ion beams struck the distant mountains, dislodging a pile of rocks without killing a single enemy. The only benefit was that their blue glow brightened the pitch-black night a little. It was nothing like a proper flare, but it let the sharp-eyed Sandfolk just barely spot the enemy. A few figures hurriedly slipped into a gorge at the foot of the mountains, then vanished without a trace.

The gorge wasn't very wide, and it was easy to miss among the steep, uneven mountains. Even in daylight, you wouldn't notice it unless you were looking for it. But on closer inspection, it seemed wide enough for tanks and speedrunners to pass through.

"Kill those hairless monkeys! I want their heads pickled in wine!" the Khagan Tieluo bellowed. Wearing composite armor he'd received from the "collaborators" and carrying a two-meter-long, high-carbon crystal saber, he charged at the head of his enormous speedrunner—no, the head of the pack.

That was how it went for leaders in the martial city-states of the nomadic age. Their personal strength and courage determined their prestige, so they had to be brave.

The tank crews and Sandfolk followed. The former hesitated somewhat, but with their commander dead, they didn't know who else was in charge. They had received professional armored-vehicle training, but their level of expertise was limited; they were nowhere near deserving to be called elite.

The Sandfolk charged blindly into the gorge, carried away by the heat of the moment. Within minutes, the terrain had compressed them into a single-file line. The head of the snake was the fearless Chief Tieluo. At its tail was a cautious yellow-scaled Sandfolk who kept looking around, riding the smallest, skinniest speedrunner and looking ready to flee at any moment... Oh, he couldn't escape. A boulder had fallen from nowhere and smashed him and his mount flat. As it rolled, the boulder also completely blocked their way back.

"Boom!" "Boom!" "Boom!" The mines buried in the gorge—actually grenades converted for the purpose, not proper anti-armor mines—still caused serious casualties and tremendous chaos in such a narrow space. Drivers swerved wildly to dodge the explosions, crashing into the canyon walls, rear-ending the tanks ahead, or running over their own comrades riding speedrunners. The resulting chain reaction was enough to send the whole force into a collapse.

The tank crews tried to fight back, but they didn't even know where the enemy was, and their guns couldn't elevate high enough. A few brave ones opened their hatches and stuck their heads out to operate the machine guns, only to be picked off one by one by the dense fire from both sides.

As for Chief Tieluo... He and his enormous speedrunner were caught in the dense barrage at the front. Their bodies were mangled together in a bloody mess, neither of them left intact.

"Charge!" an impassioned voice rang out faintly through the gorge, only to be drowned out by a louder one.

"Charge what? If you can still move, keep shooting!"

The Sandfolk were desperate, but could only fire blindly around themselves as they dodged. Their shooting reminded Yu Lian of that vast, mysterious continent back home that claimed to be the birthplace of humanity. He couldn't help glancing at Sergeant Youyou, who had just shouted, "Charge!"

The big man ducked his head, doing his best to pass himself off as an emotionless killing machine as he focused on firing at the enemy in the gorge.

His shooting form was textbook-perfect, and his accuracy was pretty good too—far better than that of his compatriots on that vast, mysterious continent.

Yeah, he really was starting to miss home. Maybe he should set himself a small goal, like going home or something?

Lost in thought, Yu Lian watched as every Sandfolk still able to move was shot down. Only then did the soldiers in powered armor slowly emerge from their hiding places and cautiously approach the tanks. As Yu Lian had instructed beforehand, they put a bullet into each wailing Sandfolk and speedrunner on the ground, then opened the hatches of the immobilized tanks and tossed in a grenade. After they'd done that four times, cries and screams came from inside the last tank. Several blue-scaled Sandfolk scrambled out and fell to their knees in surrender.

And so, at just before 3 a.m. on November 14, the soldiers of Outpost 12 brought their fifth battle in three days to an end.

But this time, they had suffered zero casualties.