Chapter Five: Special Forces

The Dachen Republic 0611 Special Forces is the most mysterious unit in the entire republic, and even among the upper echelons of the military, few know of its true nature. Though nominally under the Seventh Army Group, all of its budget and administration are directly managed by headquarters, independent from military command. This force has existed since the very founding of the Dachen Republic. To enter its ranks, outstanding military prowess alone is not enough; only after rigorous examinations of political background, military skill, and a host of other criteria can one hope to be accepted. Here, generals are forged—or talent is crushed—for in the initial two-year selection phase, seventy percent of candidates are eliminated. Only thirty percent make it to a second, three-year phase of training, and of those, fewer than ten percent survive. That final tenth then enters the last phase: a single year, the most brutal of all, for it consists of nothing but real combat.

There are no limits in these battles—no backup, no military support, only verbal orders for a mission. It is war in the rawest sense: real bullets, real fire. If you die, the country offers no honors or condolences. If you fail or fall in this year, your body will vanish with the thunder of artillery, be buried by desert sands, gnawed by wild beasts, or swept away by rivers. One thing is certain: you will not be draped in the national flag, your name will never be recorded, and you will never return to the land that gave you birth.

Thus, each year, only a precious few graduate and receive their commission from Unit 0611. Of course, if you survive both phases—a full five years of study—you may choose to leave the 0611 and join a regular unit, where what you have learned will make you an elite commander. But for many years now, no one has made it through to the end, and no one has received the highest medal granted by headquarters: the "Enigma" Medal.

Cao Yefu stood before a small three-story building, watching as military vehicles continued to gather on the outer edge of the training grounds, the scene flickering on his display. His uniform, sharp and immaculate, made his figure appear tall and imposing, his features marked by a scholarly grace, though the stars on his shoulders left no doubt as to his authority.

In the past twenty years of the 0611 unit, only two cadets have completed the full six-year training and graduated with the rank of major general: one is Chen Fugui, commander of the famed "Ever Victorious Army"—the Seventh Army Group; the other is Cao Yefu, supreme commander of the 0611 Special Forces.

“Principal, everyone’s here. They’re waiting for you to call the roll,” a lieutenant colonel approached Cao Yefu and spoke slowly.

“Oh, is that so? I see. I just don’t feel it yet. Qiu Yu, you’ve worked hard this time, being the one to select the recruits.” Cao Yefu turned to the lieutenant colonel, a faint smile on his lips.

The name of the lieutenant colonel was clearly Qiu Yu. From his jaw to the corner of his eye ran a jagged scar, glaring and serpentine, like a twisted centipede.

“It’s my duty, sir. Let’s start the roll call. I can’t wait to see if this year’s batch of rookies will give me something to be excited about!” Qiu Yu grinned, and the centipede on his face shuddered grotesquely.

“Oh? I’m looking forward to it as well. The miracle that has eluded all my predecessors—perhaps it will happen at last in my hands!”

With that, Cao Yefu straightened his uniform, stepped in front of Qiu Yu, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go. The elimination round begins now!”

...

Chen Cao followed Lin Xiong for only a short distance before glimpsing, among the distant mountains, clusters of low buildings. As Lin Xiong was about to leave the training grounds, he made a mischievous face at Chen Cao and called out cheerily, “Bye-bye!” Then, without a backward glance, he strode off the way he had come.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Chen Cao, watching the enormous yet swift-moving Lin Xiong recede, cursed his ancestry up and down.

“What kind of arrangement is this? Shouldn’t there at least be someone from the staff to meet the newcomers?” Staring at the looming mountains, Chen Cao muttered, “Damn it, I’m here now—at least I’m officially assigned. There’d better be food!”

Rubbing his empty belly, Chen Cao thought back to last night’s bright lights and revelry; now, clad in oversized fatigues and facing a desolate wilderness, it felt like another lifetime.

A wave of disappointment passed through him. Gritting his teeth, he tightened his pack. “Damn it, what’s the worst they can do to me?” And with that, he strode toward the cluster of houses in the woods.

Crack! He had barely walked a few steps when a sharp gunshot struck the ground at his feet, spraying dust painfully into his face.

The instant he heard the shot, Chen Cao instinctively dove and rolled into a nearby thicket, wiping mud from his face. “Damn! That’s a real gun—they’re playing for keeps!”

Flattened in the bushes, Chen Cao dared not move, unable to judge the bullet’s trajectory. Another shot rang out, so precise it seemed the shooter could see him. With a jolt, Chen Cao wondered, “I’m just here as a soldier—do they really have to go this far in peacetime?”

As he fretted, something black and lumpy dropped onto the ground above his head with a click, followed by a furious buzzing.

“Not good—wasp nest!” Realizing he wasn’t shot, Chen Cao guessed his assailant wasn’t out for blood, but a wasp’s sting was no joke. With a yelp, he grabbed his pack and bolted through the undergrowth.

Within minutes, all was silent.

In the dense woods, a spot shivered slightly; the black muzzle of a rifle swayed, searching for its mark.

“Aha, found you!” With a wild shout, the sniper in hiding flinched, swung the rifle around, and instinctively squeezed the trigger—only to find it jammed. Somehow, a finger had wedged itself between the trigger and the guard.

Chen Cao’s grinning face appeared from the brush, daubed in black paint, his white teeth flashing. “So this is the special forces? I’m not impressed by your welcome for new recruits—hey, your hands are pretty smooth!”

The sniper’s panic lasted only a second; then, with practiced skill, she twisted free her unrestrained hand, grabbed Chen Cao’s, and spun. With a crisp motion, she wrenched his arm behind his back, pressing an icy blade to his throat.

Chen Cao was certain that if he made a single wrong move, the sniper would slit his throat without hesitation.

Gulping, Chen Cao forced a smile. “Hey, come on, I’m a rookie here. Can’t you cut me some slack? Let’s call this game over, all right?”

But the sniper showed no sign of relenting. Blade pressed to his neck, she reached to her waist, pulled out a two-finger-wide cord, and tossed it to the ground—all without uttering a word.

“Now this is hardly fair. I, Chen Cao, am a man of some repute—if you tie me up, how am I supposed to keep my dignity?”

Even as he joked, Chen Cao flashed his white teeth beneath the black grease paint. Yet in a split second, the sniper sensed something amiss. As she instinctively yanked back the knife, Chen Cao twisted, using sudden force to topple her. Seasoned as she was, she couldn’t help but grunt as she hit the ground.

In that instant, she lost her grip on the blade. The flash of steel was followed by the sound of tearing fabric—by sheer reflex, she knew she must have cut Chen Cao’s skin.

“Heh, how do you like my Chen-style Scissors Hold?” Chen Cao showed no sign of pain, instead wrapping his legs around her neck and arms, hugging her thighs, and thrusting awkwardly with his hips, trapping her in a most indecent position.

“Do you give up?”

“You little rookie, how dare you!” The sniper’s voice was like a songbird’s, but concern crept in. “Are you hurt?”

“She’s a woman!” Chen Cao realized, but he was no chivalrous fool—especially given that she was fully armed and clearly formidable. One slip, and she’d have him in her power.

Her words made him aware of a cold pain in his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth. “Do you surrender?”

“Fine, I give up. Let me go, and I’ll dress your wound—don’t let it get infected.” She relented, her body going limp. Chen Cao felt her tremble slightly.

“Okay.” Realizing the awkwardness of their position, especially in a military setting, Chen Cao quickly released her and stepped back. Only then did he notice how blood had soaked his camouflage from the wound on his shoulder.

When he moved, the sniper cried out, “Don’t! Don’t move or you’ll bleed faster!” She pulled gauze from her sleeve pocket.

“Heh, not bad at all,” Chen Cao muttered, noticing her large, moon-bright eyes and anxious expression beneath the heavy grease paint. He swallowed, and the pain in his muscles made him grimace.

“Let me bandage you. Hold still.” The sniper, unfazed by any threat from Chen Cao and oblivious to his lascivious thoughts, knelt beside him and pressed him down onto the grass.