Chapter Eighty-Five

This time, both A and B squads were fully mobilized, leaving only the necessary defense force behind in the prison. Wei Tao did not accompany the team on this operation; command was entrusted entirely to Zhao Qiang, while the specific combat tasks were handled by Deputy Commander Cai Jiashu. As for transportation, the bus was once again put into service.

The bus moved slowly, unable to pick up speed on streets swarming with zombies. The iron sheeting on the exterior clanged dully under the blows of the undead. The soldiers, long accustomed to such surroundings, sat cradling their rifles, dozing off as the bus rocked from side to side, utterly unconcerned about the impending fight.

No one knew which unit Wei Tao had come from. The enigmatic “Military Knife” was even more secretive, never once revealing his affiliation. Occasionally, someone might overhear words like “logistics” or “Warehouse 026” during conversations between Wei Tao and Military Knife, but that was all. What everyone did know was that, when these two joined forces to train soldiers, their ruthlessness exceeded even the wildest rumors. A single mistake by one meant punishment for the entire group. Others might manage dozens or a hundred push-ups; here, it was timed, with a forty-kilogram load, sometimes even a hefty man perched atop you. Two hours—fail to last, and you were dismissed.

Lufeng Correctional Zone was a facility specifically established for official offenders. All those held here were former party, government, or enterprise officials at division level or above. It boasted a canteen, complete with a notice board publicly listing inmates’ violations. Along the corridor walls, every few meters, hung exquisitely decorated wooden plaques engraved with calligraphy, most of them inspirational and philosophical in nature, all penned by inmates whose skill was astonishing. The indoor training ground was located here; with no inmates left, all the cells had been converted into different functional simulation environments—living rooms, offices, anything one might encounter in daily life could be found here.

The squads trained here each day. Team A would assault, while Team B acted as hostages indoors. Then B would attack and A become the hostages. All exercises used live ammunition. Wooden human silhouettes stood everywhere, the dummies originally intended to serve as bandits long since blasted to pieces, and even the backup boards bore irregular, golf-ball-sized holes at the throat and brow.

Today’s mission was anything but ordinary. In past battles, such as those against Li Zixin, the soldiers had mostly fought on their own, relying heavily on Wei Tao’s and Zhao Qiang’s personal abilities. Later, when the squads were formed, their tasks were simply to face unarmed zombies—numerous, but lacking ranged attack or organized assault. Today, however, they faced an unknown armed enemy: numbers, weapons, equipment—all unknown. The only certainty was that the other side held over a hundred hostages and was led by ruthless men with blood on their hands.

Zhao Qiang himself felt little anxiety about the coming operation. He casually checked his weapon as he intermittently questioned ** about the layout inside the airport.

** was extremely familiar with the interior and, without much prompting, spilled everything he knew about the airport as easily as pouring beans from a bamboo tube.

Huanghua Airport officially opened on August 29, 1989. It was a 4E-class civil airport with thirty-five stands, a 3,200-meter runway capable of accommodating large aircraft such as the A380, a 340,000-square-meter T1-A domestic terminal, a 132,000-square-meter T1-B international terminal, and a 6,100-square-meter T1-C express building. Annual passenger throughput exceeded ten million.

The airport’s internal structure was intricate. Most survivors lived in the T1-A terminal. When the attack occurred, ** had been on duty outside and knew nothing of what transpired within. Although familiar with the environment, he was now as blind to its current state as anyone.

Still, that was not a major obstacle. With **’s recollections, a series of rough airport floor plans was sketched out. Though not exhaustive, each room and exit was clearly marked—enough intelligence for Zhao Qiang and his assault teams.

To avoid detection, the bus stopped well short of the airport. After a round of tactical assignments, the squads entered silent attack mode and slipped up to the airport perimeter.

According to **, the invaders were dressed as civilians, which gave Zhao Qiang and his men a major headache. The airport wasn’t occupied solely by the enemy—there were countless hostages as well. If the invaders blended among them, any rescue attempt would be a disaster.

Inside the airport, after taking control, Li Zixin and his men immediately began looting. With the world outside overrun by zombies, they had little worry—any soldier who escaped was likely torn to shreds. To keep his gang of thugs in line, Li Zixin alternated reward and punishment, and now that a relatively secure refuge had been found, there was no need to roam endlessly. Ordinary people, in his view, were good for little except the occasional amusement and were otherwise a useless drain on supplies, so he let his men act as they pleased.

Chaos erupted. The airport echoed with children’s cries for their mothers, the screams of women, and the heavy breathing of men. The invaders paid no heed to decency, tearing off their trousers and stripping the unfortunate women bare, their brutish bodies thrusting relentlessly against pale skin. Beneath the black muzzles of guns, the men’s eyes blazed with fury, their fists clenched so tightly the knuckles cracked.

Li Zixin, living in the same city as Zhao Qiang, knew full well they might cross paths again at any moment. His rabble could handle ordinary survivors, but against Zhao Qiang’s formidable skills, they were hopeless. It had taken them over a thousand rounds just to deal with a few dozen common soldiers at the airport perimeter. The only consolation was the unexpected capture of Peng Sha—a trump-card hostage.

Li Zixin was in no hurry to harm Peng Sha. Such a valuable hostage was hard to come by. He ordered his men to keep her under close watch and to accommodate her as much as possible, short of granting her freedom. She was to be his trump card against Zhao Qiang. If they damaged her now, or provoked Zhao Qiang too soon, it would be a costly mistake.

“Boss, look what I found!” The only person who dared interrupt Li Zixin at such a time was Wu Hai. Since Li Zixin’s betrayal, most of their schemes had been Wu Hai’s idea, earning him a reputation as a cunning adviser. Though the two had once been colleagues, Wu Hai never mentioned their prior relationship, always maintaining a subordinate’s deference, which Li Zixin appreciated.

Looking up, Li Zixin saw Wu Hai, who had somehow acquired a bizarre black costume—helmet, mask, cloak, pauldrons, greaves, all present. The entire outfit exuded a sinister, mysterious aura. Li Zixin had a vague memory of seeing such attire in a movie years ago, though he couldn’t recall exactly which one.