Wasteland Survivalist: A Scientific Guide to Post-Apocalyptic Survival

Zhao Xun stood barefoot on the beach, feeling the sand beneath his feet.

The young man in front of me, who called himself "Private First Class Song Zhong," was sharp-tongued and cunning, and was obviously very difficult to deal with.

He looked up at the gun barrel pointed at his head, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Faced with the threat of death, Zhao Xun took a deep breath, trying to ease the tense atmosphere.

"Comrade Song Zhong, look, we are all soldiers of the Dragon Kingdom, there is no need to be so tense."

You haven't been in the army for many years, have you? You're too young and impetuous.

As a veteran, I have a higher rank than you, though I'm a few years older.

I'll shamelessly call you Little Song, but you can just call me Old Zhao.

Let's sit down and have a proper talk, okay?

Gu Lang's gun barrel remained motionless, and he continued to wear a sour face.

"Don't give me that. According to regulations, I should call you Sergeant Comrade."

But these are special times, and your motives are unclear and your behavior is suspicious.

Saying anything won't change your current situation. Stop rambling and tell me the truth!

Zhao Xun's facial muscles twitched slightly, clearly not expecting the other party to be so unyielding.

His eyes flickered a few times, as if he were weighing some kind of decision.

In the end, the forced amiability on his face disappeared.

Instead, there was a sense of utter despair and a simmering anger.

"Okay, okay, okay...you're amazing." Zhao Xun muttered, then suddenly plopped down on the beach.

Gu Lang's eyes sharpened, and he immediately took two quick steps back to the side.

While maintaining distance and keeping the firing line clear, he hissed, "What are you doing! Stand up! Don't sit!"

Zhao Xun seemed not to hear him. He sat on the sand with one leg bent.

"I'm tired, let's sit down and rest for a while."

What's wrong, Private First Class? I've already taken my shoes off, can't I even sit for a while?

"You're pointing a gun at me, do you think I'm going to fly away?"

Zhao Xun adopted the tone of a seasoned veteran, casually resting his arm on his knee and looking up at Gu Lang.

Before Gu Lang could speak again, he suddenly asked, "Do you smoke?"

Gu Lang frowned, but didn't answer. He just shook his head slightly, keeping a close eye on Gu Lang's every move.

"It's good not to smoke; it saves money and is healthier."

Zhao Xun was talking to himself when he reached into the pocket on his chest.

"Don't move!" Gu Lang warned sharply, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Zhao Xun paused for a moment, looked up at Gu Lang, and seemed to twitch at the corner of his mouth.

But his hands didn't stop; he continued reaching into his pockets.

"Bang!" A crisp gunshot shattered the silence of the island, startling several seabirds in the distant woods.

Gu Lang fired a shot forward, the bullet whistling as it flew over Zhao Xun's head.

"The next shot won't miss!" Gu Lang's voice carried a chilling killing intent. "I'm warning you one last time. Slowly take your hand out and let me see what's in it!"

Zhao Xun seemed startled by the gunshot, but quickly regained his nonchalant, roguish demeanor.

He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, his fingertips clutching a crumpled, shrunken soft-shell cigarette case.

He waved the cigarette pack at Gu Lang: "Look, this is it. Don't be nervous, didn't you just search me? I didn't carry any weapons."

After saying that, he opened the cigarette pack and carefully pulled out the last two bent cigarettes.

One was held in its mouth, and the other was tucked behind its ear.

He crushed the empty cigarette box and casually tossed it onto the sand beside him.

He then pulled a plastic lighter from another pocket.

A few "clicks" rang out. The sea breeze was a bit strong, and Zhao Xun had to cup his hands around the fire to light the cigarette in his mouth.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly exhaled grayish-white smoke, a look of enjoyment mixed with exhaustion on his face.

As Gu Lang watched Zhao Xun's performance, he thought of "Chang Naichao" from the TV series "Bright Sword".

After taking a drag of his cigarette, Zhao Xun spoke again, his voice coming through the smoke, sounding somewhat faint.

"Xiao Song, where are you from?"

Gu Lang paused for a moment, then uttered three words: "A Chinese from the Dragon Kingdom."

"Hehe..." Zhao Xun shook his head with a wry smile, flicked his cigarette ash, "Your counter-surveillance awareness... I've almost forgotten how many years ago it was the last time I saw someone like you."

He glanced at Gu Lang's still expressionless face and knew that the other party would not take up the topic.

He sighed, as if he had made up his mind, and began to get down to business.

"Do you know about the battle that took back Yu Shan Island a while ago?"

Gu Lang's eyes flickered slightly, and he nodded: "I know, it was an extremely fierce battle."

The image of the white yacht riddled with bullets, billowing smoke, and eventually sinking flashed through his mind.

How could it not be tragic? He was just passing by when he was brutally beaten by a heavy machine gun and almost lost his life there.

Zhao Xun keenly caught the fleeting pain and heaviness in Gu Lang's eyes.

I breathed a slight sigh of relief; it seemed this topic resonated with the other person.

"I was on the island at the time. The squad I led... participated in the island landing operation."

Zhao Xun's voice lowered as he took a deep drag on his cigarette.

"On the morning of the second day of the island landing operation, the typhoon arrived."

Severe weather conditions resulted in high sea states, preventing ships from docking and helicopters from taking off or landing.

The fleet was forced to evacuate and return to port to avoid the storm.

We lost both naval and air fire support and were trapped on the island...

Upon hearing this, Gu Lang frowned deeply and couldn't help but interject with a question:

"A typhoon? Was there no weather forecast before the troop operation? How could the landing troops be exposed to such danger?"

Zhao Xun's face revealed a smile that was more like a grimace, a painful expression that was a mixture of mockery and helplessness.

"After I survived, I asked the same question at the temporary camp."

He paused, his tone becoming even more strained, "The answer I received was cruel; I still remember it clearly..."

"After the solar storm, most of the satellites in orbit became invalid and turned into space debris."

Later, the country urgently launched a batch of rapid response satellites, both military and civilian.

Then a nuclear war broke out, and all sorts of anti-satellite weapons flew everywhere...

Zhao Xun didn't say it explicitly, but his meaning was clear: those newly launched satellites had also been destroyed.

"So, we've lost our eyes in space. Accurate typhoon forecasting relies on meteorological satellite cloud images and specialized data models, and now those are gone."

"Then... what about the weather radar?" Gu Lang pressed.

"Long-range professional weather radars are mostly large-scale shore-based."

"Many critical facilities are either damaged or without power and cannot be restored," Zhao Xun explained.

"As for the fleet at sea... the ships are equipped with search radar and fire control radar."

The maximum effective range for detecting typhoons is only about 300 kilometers, making its typhoon prediction capability extremely limited.