N-M Is there a mistake in the world line in Chapter 260?
Is there a mistake in the world line in Chapter 260?
Cheyenne Mountain Military Base, Colorado.
This underground fortress, built by hollowing out an entire granite mountain, was once the core of the North American Aerospace Defense Command and was said to be able to withstand a direct hit from a nuclear bomb.
However, at this moment, the atmosphere inside this impregnable fortress was even more oppressive than the apocalypse outside.
Seventeen people were sitting in the three-story underground conference room.
These seventeen individuals are the highest-ranking officials in the United States who are currently still alive and whom we can contact.
The highest-ranking person present was Harrison, the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, a bald white man in his fifties.
He sat at the head of the long table, a cup of coffee that had gone cold in front of him, his face ashen.
"Gentlemen, everyone is aware of the situation."
Harrison looked around, his voice hoarse.
"The East Coast is finished, the Great Lakes region is finished, and in the South, except for parts of Texas that are still holding on, the rest has basically fallen."
The situation is slightly better on the West Coast, but communications in San Francisco and Seattle also went down two hours ago.
No one spoke.
A middle-aged man in military uniform sat in the corner, with two stars pinned to his chest.
Major General Burns, deputy commander of the 4th Infantry Division.
His division commander was killed in the Battle of Denver a day earlier, and the entire division now has fewer than two thousand men left.
"How much military force do we still have at our disposal?" Harrison asked him.
Burns flipped through the documents in his hand, his expression grim:
"Within my contact range, there are approximately 12,000 people. They are scattered across six bases, three of which are running out of ammunition."
"Twelve thousand people..." Harrison closed his eyes.
At its peak, the United States had 1.3 million active military personnel.
Twelve thousand.
When this number was mentioned, everyone present thought it was absurd.
"What about the Air Force?" someone asked.
"We still have seventeen fighter jets and four transport planes ready to take off," another officer replied. "Our fuel reserves should be enough for about two weeks of combat operations."
"navy?"
"The Pacific Fleet has lost contact."
Across the Atlantic, the USS Ford carrier strike group is currently on standby in the Bermuda Triangle, but the captain, fearing infection, has refused to dock.
Upon hearing this answer, the meeting room fell into a deathly silence once again.
Harrison rubbed his temples, trying to get his brain working.
But in the current situation, even if he racked his brains, he couldn't come up with any good solutions.
He didn't even think he had a chance of survival.
"Gentlemen, we need a solution. Any solution will do."
However, he was met with silence.
"We can't just sit here and wait to die, can we?" Harrison's voice rose a little higher upon hearing this.
A middle-aged woman sitting to his right spoke up.
She is the acting administrator of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, and her name is Monica.
"Mr. Harrison, I have an idea, but you probably won't like it."
"explain."
Raccoon City.
As soon as those two words were uttered, several people's expressions changed.
Monica ignored the stares and continued:
"According to our intercepted intelligence, Raccoon City is currently the only stronghold on the North American continent that has successfully repelled a large-scale attack by the Shoggoths. Moreover, its defenses are still being reinforced."
"What do you mean?" Burns frowned.
"What I mean is... we can try to contact them. They not only control a private armed force, but also possess some kind of biotechnology that we have no idea about."
He used those...zombies to build a biohazard defense line covering a 50-kilometer radius around Raccoon City.
"so what?"
"So, I suggest contacting him," Monica said calmly, "to request support, cooperation, or even..."
"Are you kidding me?!"
She was interrupted by a middle-aged man with a red neck, a deputy assistant minister in the Treasury named Greg.
"You expect us government officials to beg a Chinese person? And a Chinese person who has established a private armed force on our soil at that?!"
Monica glanced at him.
"Mr. Greg, you're sitting in a cave right now, with countless monsters waiting to get in. Do you even know where your family is?"
Upon hearing this soul-searching question, Greg's face flushed red, but he opened his mouth without saying a word.
"Everyone, I'm not talking about saving face."
Monica looked around the conference room.
"I'm discussing survival issues."
That Lin Fan, no matter who he is, he has something we don't.
His zombie defenses can counter the Shoggoth infected; they are our only hope now.
As she finished speaking, the conference room fell silent once again.
Although no one wants to admit it, that's the truth.
Harrison stared at the table, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the edge.
After a while, he looked up at Burns.
"General, what do you think?"
Burns was silent for a few seconds, then said something that left everyone present with mixed feelings.
"Three weeks ago, the Pentagon was discussing how to contain China's military expansion. Three weeks later, we're discussing whether to ask a Chinese person for help."
This is an absolute disgrace.
But it is an undeniable fact.
Helpless, he closed the file and threw it on the table.
"The world is changing too fast."
Harrison took a deep breath.
"Send someone to make contact first, under an unofficial guise. Test the waters and see what their demands are. If the price is acceptable..."
He didn't finish his sentence.
But everyone present understood the second half of the sentence...
If the cost is acceptable, then I'll accept it.
face?
In the face of those elusive infected monsters, face is nothing.
However, just as the meeting was about to end, a communications soldier burst in, his face looking as if he had seen a ghost.
"Report! Urgent communication from the southern border!"
"What's going on?"
"Texas, El Paso border crossing..."
A large number of civilians are storming the border, attempting to cross into Cactus Country! Border patrols have lost control, and armed personnel from Cactus Country have opened fire!
Upon hearing this report, everyone in the conference room was stunned.
Harrison slowly leaned back in his chair, his expression transcending anger and sorrow, transforming into a pure sense of absurdity.
Is the free spirit trying to smuggle himself to the cactus?
Damn it, is there something wrong with the timeline?
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