On this bright and sunny day, the sky over the Wasteland was curiously dotted with clouds. This strange weather phenomenon was something that Mike, the young man who had traveled from another world, had never encountered in the Wasteland before. In his time here, this was the first time he had seen a cloudy sky.
But no matter how strange it seemed, this was certainly a welcome sight. With the sun's harsh rays dulled by the clouds, the otherwise blistering heat of the Wasteland suddenly turned much more bearable, a refreshing change. And for Mike, this was undeniably a good omen for the day ahead.
Today was the day of departure—the day when he and the team from Base 0005 would embark on their long-awaited journey toward Detroit. Early in the morning, every vehicle, every piece of equipment, and every member of the crew had lined up in a long procession outside the small town, ready to set off.
At the front of the convoy was a newly painted green M4 Sherman tank. Of course, this was not the same intimidating beast it once had been, rusted and forgotten. It was, instead, a relic from the past that had been given a fresh coat of paint by Old Hawk and his crew. While it had been restored to the best of their abilities, the tank's true value lay not in its appearance, but in its enhanced capabilities.
The weight-bearing and guide wheels had been replaced with modern excavator parts, making the tank faster by at least 15 miles per hour. The 76mm tank gun had been carefully cleaned and now boasted a full stock of 29 rounds, the one missing shot having been used during a test fire. Despite some slight recoil during the test, the barrel had held up, and the tank was now ready for action once again.
This old relic, though far from perfect, was no longer just for show. To add to its firepower, two 12.7mm heavy machine guns, acquired from a third-party dealer, had been mounted on the tank, giving it newfound strength.
Behind the tank, the convoy continued with fifteen dilapidated five-passenger vans, each covered in peeling, faded paint. These were clearly secondhand, used vehicles, most likely to be seized and impounded in any modern city, but here, in the Wasteland, they were invaluable. They could carry large numbers of men without question and were capable of driving on the most treacherous of terrains.
Thanks to Ajuan, who had tirelessly tracked down these battered vans, the vehicles had been procured at a reasonable price of 5,000 credits each. Mike hadn't bothered to haggle, not out of kindness, but because he knew he was getting a fair deal. Besides, Ajuan's outfit, consisting of smooth, silk stockings despite the sweltering heat, certainly had something to do with that decision.
These vans, despite their rough exterior, had been heavily modified. Extra steel plates were welded onto the body, and thick iron mesh had been added to the front windshields. This impromptu protection made them surprisingly resilient to attack.
The majority of these fifteen vans were packed with expendable infantry—an unfortunate reality of the mission, but a necessary one. Mike knew that it would be a waste of space, but he needed to ensure that there was room for fast reinforcements should things go south.
Following the vans was a massive excavator truck, followed by two bulldozers. Attached to the back of the last bulldozer was a small water tanker, which, though full, only accounted for 60% of the water the convoy would need. Mike understood that, in this heat, staying hydrated was essential to keep the team from overheating. With the bulldozer's powerful engine, hauling a small tanker was child's play.
Like the vans, these vehicles had been reinforced with critical protective measures, ensuring that they could survive the harsh conditions of the Wasteland.
Behind these came ten small cargo trucks, packed with spare water, food, ammunition, medicine, fuel, and generators. Among them was a fully charged "Broken Magic 2" battle mech, ready for action.
Five of these trucks had been specially modified to shield against radiation, offering a safe and sealed space for Mike and his team to take off their protective suits and rest, eat, and recover during long stretches of travel.
At the rear of the convoy were eleven pickup trucks, a mix of models, ranging from the newer Great Wall Cannon four-wheel drives to older, rusted Toyota Hiluxes, each with their own stories to tell. These trucks would be carrying Mike's core team as well as the rest of the expendable forces.
Mike had intended to purchase more of the five-passenger vans, but supply issues in the Wasteland had forced him to settle for the pickups. In the modern world, a convoy of this disrepair would have been a laughingstock, but here, in the Wasteland, it was a sign of immense wealth and luxury—if not in appearance, then certainly in firepower.
As the convoy gathered, there was an undeniable sense of pride among the crew. Despite the impending dangers, there was a certain swagger in the way they carried themselves. This was not just any routine mission—it was the beginning of something bigger.
Mike waved one final time to the gathered crowd as he climbed into a small cargo truck with air conditioning.
Just then, a slim figure broke through the crowd, running toward him. "Mike! Take me with you!" the voice cried. "I'm about to turn twelve—I'm practically an adult now! You can't leave me behind!"
Mike, recognizing the voice of young Li Hao, couldn't help but chuckle in spite of himself. "You think I'm just going to let you tag along for fun, kid?" he replied. "This is a life-or-death mission! You don't even know how to shoot a gun yet. Go back and wait. Don't slow us down."
To his surprise, Li Hao wasn't deterred by the scolding. Without warning, the boy swiftly snatched Mike's Beretta from his belt, flicked off the safety, and fired a shot into the air.
The sound of the shot echoed through the air, and a vulture, which had been flying above, dropped dead to the ground.
Mike stared, dumbfounded. The shot had been at least fifty meters away, and the boy's aim was startlingly accurate. "What the hell?" Mike muttered.
With a serious expression, Li Hao explained, "For my first birthday, I got a toy gun—my only gift ever. I've been training ever since."
After recovering from his shock, Mike weakly muttered, "Alright, fine. But you're sticking with me the whole time. No wandering off, got it?"
"Yes, sir!" Li Hao replied with a salute, a grin spreading across his face.