Warhammer: The Time Traveler

Chapter 184 The LIA's Old Dog (Seventh Update)
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the abandoned town.

The once barren land has been completely transformed.

The hastily dug trenches crisscrossed the area, and bunkers hastily built from abandoned vehicles and broken concrete blocks were scattered everywhere, with light and heavy machine guns mounted on them forming crossfire points.

The soldiers of the Ghost Hound, dressed in a mixed set of equipment and supported by basic exoskeletons, are making their final preparations for battle: checking weapons and ammunition, reinforcing fortifications, and testing communication equipment.

The air was filled with swirling dust, the cold smell of corroded metal, and a subtle, unmistakable tension.

Mann's squad was deployed on a relatively forward defensive line.

Rebecca's face was filled with undisguised excitement as she vigorously wiped her signature heavy bomb gun as if it were a precious toy.

Dorothy remained silent, intently examining the built-in vibration generators in her arms to ensure that every joint moved freely.

While adjusting the fuel output valve of the flamethrower, Pila kept muttering about the various possible situations.

At the command node further back, Sasha and Qiwei had already connected to the tactical network. Their consciousness was linked to sensors scattered throughout the battlefield, constructing an invisible information defense line.

Falco, in his heavily modified vehicle, waited in the rear of the defensive line, his engine humming low, ready to provide mobile support at any moment.

Mann stood behind a makeshift observation post made of sandbags, his burly figure resembling a silent iron tower in the fading light of the day.

Through the added optical lenses, he carefully scanned the vast wasteland in front of him, which was tinged with dark red by the setting sun.

The surroundings were unusually quiet, with only the faint sound of the wind whistling across the open field.

He was all too familiar with this deathly silence before a major battle.

A strong sense of déjà vu suddenly seized him.

The scene before him—trenches, bunkers, soldiers waiting for orders, and an open assault zone—overlapped seamlessly with fragments of the unification war from the depths of his memory.

The neon-lit street battles seem like a distant memory, replaced by muddy open fields, deafening artillery fire, and smoke-filled skies.

Those past experiences he tried to bury are now surging up uncontrollably.

Fragments of memory surged uncontrollably: the muddy, slippery trench walls, the empty eyes of comrades dying beside him, and the suffocating oppression brought by the heavy, rhythmic, metallic footsteps of the enemy power armor as they marched.

In these images, there is always one figure present—Solomon Reed.

Just hours earlier, an unidentified encrypted communication request abruptly entered his private channel.

After a brief hesitation, he chose to answer the call.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the channel, then a voice came through, hoarse from the wear and tear of time and alcohol, but the familiar, slightly cynical tone was still clearly discernible.

"Mann? Is that you, old man?"

Mann's grip on his weapon tightened almost imperceptibly. He was silent for a moment before responding in a low, hoarse voice, more gritty than he'd expected: "Li De? Which forgotten grave did you crawl out of?"

A short, bitter laugh came from the other end of the line: "More or less. I heard you've been doing really well lately, making quite a stir..."

"Stop with the pleasantries, Li De," Mann interrupted him, his tone devoid of any interest in small talk. "Let's get straight to the point. The FBI's got you on another assignment? What are they trying to extract from me this time?"

He knew Li De too well, just as Li De knew him just as well.

This old dog would never come knocking at this sensitive time just to reminisce, especially now that the Ghost Hound has raised its flag again and the battlefield is once more engulfed in smoke.

A brief silence fell over the communication channel, broken only by a faint crackling of electrical noise.

A few seconds later, Li De's voice rang out again. The previous lighthearted teasing had disappeared, replaced by a weary honesty: "You're still so direct, you haven't changed at all."

Okay, Mann. They want more information about your 'boss.' His objectives, his bottom line, any details you can get your hands on.

“I won’t tell you anything, Reed.” Mann’s answer was firm and left no room for negotiation. “The boss gave me a new life and… strength.”

I'm not his mouthpiece, much less a spy serving the new America. Go back and tell your boss to give up on that idea as soon as possible.

“I guessed so.” Li De’s response didn’t reveal much surprise, but rather a long, drawn-out sigh, as if he had let down his guard. “You know what, Mann? Seeing the Ghost Hound’s flag planted in this wasteland again, I fucking… felt a fucking nostalgia.”

This sentence was like a rusty key, suddenly prying open the long-sealed gates of memory.

"Nostalgia?" Mann sneered through his nose, his sharp gaze still sweeping across the desolate open space in front of the defensive line. His professional instincts kept him from relaxing for a moment. "Nostalgia for what? Nostalgia for eating tasteless synthetic rations in knee-deep mud? Nostalgia for watching the people around you get blown to pieces?"
Or do you still miss the days when you were easily sold off by your own people, like a used bargaining chip?

“I miss the days when we could put our backs on each other and charge forward side by side for a seemingly clear goal.” Li De’s voice lowered, carrying a rough texture worn down by reality, “even if that goal turned out to be a complete joke.”

Mann fell silent. Some long-faded images flashed through his mind: covering each other as they infiltrated behind enemy lines, sharing their last crumpled cigarette in a cold shell crater, dragging each other, wounded, back to a relatively safe area amidst a hail of bullets.

Those days were filled with death, filth, and pervasive fear, but strangely, they were also mixed with an unusually pure camaraderie that existed only among soldiers.

“The war has never changed, Li De,” Mann finally spoke, his voice filled with a deep-seated weariness. “It’s just a different stage, and a different cast of actors.”

We used to fight each other over the so-called slogans of 'unification' and 'freedom,' but what about now?

For the company's benefit? Or for some mysterious boss? Essentially, it's no different; it's all dogs fighting, leaving a mess behind.

“Yes, the war has never changed.” Li De repeated the sentence, his tone carrying a fatalistic acceptance, as if reciting an ancient prophecy, “But we have changed, Mann. You have found new strength and… direction. And I,”

He paused, a hint of self-mockery in his voice, "After going around in circles, I'm back on this damned game board, with different pieces, but playing a familiar game. Protect yourself, old man, this time... don't die again."

"You too, old dog."

Communication was cut off. Mann slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, refocusing his attention entirely on the deathly silent battlefield before him, as if the conversation just moments before had been a brief interlude of interference.

(End of this chapter)