The wind and frost were like knives, cutting through the frozen soil.
It was mid-autumn, but the bricks and gravel were covered with a layer of frost.
The boots stepped on the rubble between the broken walls and made a squeaking sound. The cold muzzle of the gun swept past every shadow in the ruins, occasionally letting out one or two cold gunshots. The black cotton gloves searched through the blood-stained corpses and didn't let go of any spoils of war.
Even if it was a cold suit that was blown to pieces, they would take out the cotton core and temperature control chip that had not yet been burned and take it to the nearby supply truck.
As for the corpses that were stripped, they were randomly piled up in the open space, allowing the mutant cockroaches, rats, and other hungry scavengers to nibble on them. They even skipped the need for cremation.
Cremation required fuel, and it was almost winter. They didn't want to waste any fuel, let alone waste it on the dead.
Five hundred meters away from the Badaling military outpost, hundreds of tanks of various models quietly parked in the open space, surrounded by dozens of half-tracks the size of old railway carriages. The millstone-sized tires sank into the mud, and the quadruple tracks supported the entire carriage.
Rows of soldiers wearing kinetic skeletons were patrolling around the camp with rifles. Even the mutants as strong as the Death Claws smelled the scent of death from the neat formation. They lingered at the edge of the shadows and rubbed their fangs, but they didn't dare to take half a step closer.
These Russians never set up camp.
The base vehicles surrounded by tanks were their barracks, warehouses, and even factories. Putting down the bracket on the chassis, the workers could pick up hammers and files to work.
They used to be the CCCP border guards stationed on the frozen land in the easternmost part of Siberia, fighting against the UA in Alaska across the sea. They inherited the legacy of the Soviets, ended their mission in the tenth year after the war, and began to migrate south.
Without organization, they were like nomads a few centuries ago, and the city was their pasture.
From the wasteland in the easternmost part of Siberia, they went all the way south to the land of Pan-Asia Cooperation. Like locusts passing through, they trampled the fire of civilization into ashes, and gnawed the ruins of the city into skeletons …
In order to survive, they had already pushed their survival skills to the limit. No one knew the essence of scavenging better than them. Even the most experienced scavengers in Wanghai City, if they went to a city once visited by the Russians, they would feel despair.
And now, they had finally made it through the ice-cold wasteland and arrived at the legendary land of wealth …
"Compared to Uelian, the weather here is as warm as spring."
Sitting on the chair, the man with a full beard looked out the window. He grinned, and the wrinkles on his face twisted together. If he were to wear an eyepatch and a captain's hat, he would look just like an olden era pirate.
On the table in front of him, there was a small bottle of vodka. The galvanized sickle and hammer on the bottle had been worn away, leaving only a bare surface.
He had been drinking this bottle of wine for almost half a year and usually kept it in the box. Only when he was in a good mood would he take it out and unscrew the cork to take a sip or two, reminiscing about that beautiful era.
Obviously, he was in a good mood.
And it was pretty good.
Just as he stared out the window, the door of the MCV was pushed open. A boot stepped into the room, and a middle-aged man in a CCCP military coat walked in. After he stood in front of him, he gave a neat military salute.
"Supply statistics completed."
"How's the harvest?" Yegor asked lazily.
"Quite rich! More than fifty boxes of C-level nutrient supply are enough for us to use for half a month, "Sminov replied.
"Should I say it's worthy of being the legendary land of wealth?" His eyebrows raised slightly, Yegor smiled cruelly, and the wrinkles on his face became even more hideous. "The harvest of a military outpost is almost as good as the survivor settlements in the Siberian wilderness."
He smiled happily, although in the eyes of others, this smile was so hideous.
"In addition, in the personal belongings of their commander, we found this." Sminov took out an aluminum can from his waist and handed it to the commander.
The smile on Yegor's face froze.
It was replaced by shock, disbelief, and ecstasy.
He grabbed the can on the table, grabbed the dagger on the table, and cut a hole in the can. The oily meat juice immediately seeped out along the cut. In less than ten seconds, the entire room was filled with the aroma of braised beef.
Sminov gulped, looked away, and tried not to look at the can.
He wiped the knife on his mouth and felt the aroma spread along his taste buds. Yegor smacked his lips, trying to make the delicious taste stay on the tip of his tongue for a while longer. At this moment, he was almost about to shed tears of excitement.
Suddenly, Egor came to his senses.
He first glanced at Sminov and saw that he was not looking at him. He then pressed his thumb against the crack on the can and turned the can to the back. At the bottom of the can, there were lines of small text engraved.
[Fishbone Brand Canned Beef]
[Ingredients: beef, salt, monosodium glutamate, spices …]
[Date of production: 2192]
Sure enough, it was produced after the war!
Yegor only felt his heart pounding, as if a beautiful woman stripped to her toes was standing in front of him, tempting him to come forward.
Canned beef!
He couldn't remember the last time he had a big bite of meat.
Ten years ago? Fifteen years ago?
However, what made him most excited was that Fishbone was afraid that people didn't know where it was, so it added a line of words after the date of production.
[Origin: Wanghai Sixth Street Food Processing Plant]
Yegor put the canned beef aside and stared at Sminov.
"How many of these cans are there?"
Sminov bowed his head, trembling, and replied, standing at attention.
"That's all. But in the personal luggage of other soldiers, we also found some compressed biscuits, instant noodles, and other things … "
"They are all Fishbone brand?"
"Yes …" Sminov nodded and replied.
"Okay!" Yegor inserted the knife into the aluminum table, stood up abruptly, and laughed. "Good Fishbone! God bless our East Siberian Border Guard! Sure enough, heaven is in the south! "
Then, Yegor's eyes widened and he ordered Sminov.
"Pass my order, the entire army will advance 20 kilometers to the southeast. In addition, let the 13th Tank Company set off and now go into the city to test the strength of the Shangjing survivors! If the city is full of fat sheep, then we will advance directly! "
"Yes!" Sminov saluted and left.
"After we take down Shangjing, we will go all the way south to Wanghai! See how many fat cattle they have and how many acres of fertile land they have! "
Looking at the canned beef on the table, Yegor laughed wildly.
All resistance would be turned into dust under the tank's tracks!
No one could stop his steel torrent!
No one! Any organization!
Yegor licked his thumb that was dipped in the gravy and looked into the distance with excitement.
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