Chapter 35: Joslin's Infiltration Technique

"Although you’ve just crossed the ocean to arrive here, I’m afraid there’s no time for you to rest."

The group was greeted by a man who was evidently a military officer of this place. There were no pleasantries exchanged; after a brief handover of reports, the officer got straight to the point.

"You are all elite soldiers, so naturally you won’t be sent to the front lines as cannon fodder. However, you must realize your mission will be even more dangerous than that."

As he unfolded a map, a bold red X leapt out at them.

"According to the intelligence we have analyzed, this spot is the main stronghold of the terrorists."

He pointed to the red cross. Though he had not finished speaking, everyone present understood what their mission would be.

"That’s right—just as you’re thinking, your task is to bypass the front lines, infiltrate this location, and take out their leader."

"Although their main force is tied down at the front, the garrison inside this base is still considerable. With our troops here, a direct assault would be impossible, so we must rely on you."

At this, the officer sighed and handed out several forms. "To prevent leaks, the support we can provide is limited. But you may list any equipment or supplies you need here, and we’ll prepare them as quickly as possible."

He spoke the truth—stealth missions such as this required absolute secrecy. Even the map was known only to a handful of the highest-ranking officers in the base.

Such secrecy ensured the mission remained hidden, but for Joss and his team, it was an immense challenge.

The front lines were, of course, perilous—entering that meat grinder meant certain death, and any who returned did so purely by luck.

But their mission was even more fraught. A handful of operatives sent deep behind enemy lines... What exactly were they expected to accomplish?

In short, compared to the battlefield, their supplies were limited, there would be no reinforcements, and the mission itself was harrowing—a journey with no hope of survival, death almost certain.

But that was the price of being the elite. With greater rewards and honors came the expectation to do what others could not.

For this reason, no one on Joss’s team uttered a word of complaint; they quietly filled out the forms with the supplies they needed.

...

"Sir, is there a mistake on this requisition?" A quartermaster scrutinized one of the forms several times before finally looking up at his superior.

The officer glanced sidelong at the list, a subtle headache flickering across his face. There were only two items: a compact backpack and purified water—ordinary supplies, nothing unusual.

But the second item...

The request was emphasized with elaborate markings, as if the requester feared it might be missed. The officer could only shake his head.

So be it. These were true veterans—what did someone like him, stationed safely at the rear, know about real combat experience?

"Does it look like a mistake? Go and prepare it quickly."

He waved the soldier away, but his gaze drifted into the distance, a sudden melancholy rising within him.

"It’s true I withheld information about the enemy’s strength, but no matter what, you couldn’t have come back alive anyway. You won’t hold it against me, will you?"

He had never told Joss and his team that the enemy’s garrison was nearly five times the size of their own base’s.

...

With war looming, the efficiency of the camp was astonishing. In barely ten minutes, supplies began to arrive in succession.

"What did you all request?" A scar-faced giant fiddled with his Gatling gun, glancing at his teammates.

Soon they would be fighting—and possibly dying—together, so they took this opportunity to learn a bit more about each other.

Everyone had basic competencies—endurance, hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship—but each had his own specialty.

"Sniper rounds, drinking water, grenades..." replied a short man with a sniper rifle slung across his back.

"Assault rifle, knives, pistol—nothing special," said a bald black man with two keen eyes, raising his gun.

With Joss, their squad numbered twenty-two. Introductions went quickly, and with conversations on the plane earlier, most were already vaguely acquainted.

"Strange, where’s that kid Joss?" someone asked, and only then did they notice his absence.

"I heard he requested so much gear that it couldn’t all be moved at once, so he went to fetch it himself."

The scar-faced man frowned. "He might be a good fighter, but I heard he’s a recent recruit—seems that’s true after all."

"Tch, a rookie? No wonder. Does he think we’re going camping?"

Their irritation was understandable—carrying excess gear slowed everyone down. If one man’s load endangered the whole team, he’d quickly become the group’s enemy.

"Wait—he’s coming!"

Amid the grumbling, someone spotted a figure approaching.

Or rather, a moving mountain.

Joss appeared, burdened with a package so enormous he looked like a character from a Disney cartoon.

For a moment, the others didn’t know whether to be more astonished by Joss’s strength or the sheer size of his pack.

"Joss... what on earth did you requisition?" the scar-faced man asked, swallowing hard.

Joss, a hint of embarrassment on his face, grinned. "Oh, nothing much. Just some C4."

Just some C4—what’s there to be embarrassed about?!

Everyone present silently cursed, but the bald black man’s eyes narrowed as he realized something was off.

"Wait—are you saying that entire pack is C4?"

"Yep. One thousand three hundred and forty kilograms," Joss replied proudly.

As a great assassin once said: as long as you kill everyone, no one will know you were sneaking in.

By the same logic, if you blow up the base, there’s no way the raid can fail!