death of hope

Chapter 976 "Psionic Storm" (51) Like-minded

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lynch, it's been so long since I came to see you."

The tall, thin man removed his felt hat, bowed slightly, and looked solemn.

He stared intently at the crooked, decaying log, his short blond hair disheveled by the howling wind.

"There's a reason we're late. We haven't had an easy time these past few years; things have been very tense."

The FBI is constantly monitoring not only the federal government but also civilians, corporate soldiers and bounty hunters, and even ordinary federal citizens.

After all, our organization is designated as a terrorist organization by the federal government, and I am a wanted terrorist with a high bounty on my head, one of the core members of the organization. My head is worth a fortune.

Recently, the climate on Terra has become increasingly harsh, with wave after wave of cold waves, forcing FBI agents in Novosibirsk to take leave.

The nearby geological exploration camp, the animal protection organization outpost, and the potato settlers all retreated back to the city.

This cemetery is deserted, and the surveillance cameras are out of service and no one is maintaining them, which is why we dared to come and see you.

Let me briefly introduce myself. I am Pavel Korchagin, the organization's secretary and political officer. I met you once when I was a child (Chapter 421 of "Corporate Warrior").

The two men behind me are elite agents of the organization, comrades loyal to our great cause.

This girl is Tonya, and the bearded man is Sergei. We have traveled a long way to reach this place, and on behalf of the commune, we extend our sincerest respects to you.

"I'm sorry, Captain Lynch, for disturbing your rest..."

·
Having said that, Paul put on his hat, pulled down the felt ear flaps to cover his earlobes, which were already red from the cold, and turned to reach out his hand to the bearded Sergei:

"Old Xie, give me the entrenching tool."

The bearded man muttered, "First he talks a bunch of nonsense to the dead, then he wants to dig up someone's grave. On this gloomy day, it's so unlucky..."

The young woman raised an eyebrow: "You're such a country bumpkin, so superstitious. Stop talking nonsense. Just do what the secretary tells you to do!"

"In terms of seniority, I'm a veteran guerrilla fighter, a former soldier who followed Guevara!"

"Old soldier, I think he's more like a grumbling soldier!"

"Haha, 'Grumbling Soldier,' I like this nickname~"

Sergei's hearty laughter echoed across the wilderness. He took off his backpack, loosened the straps, and untied a heavy tungsten alloy entrenching tool.

“We clearly have a light, portable aluminum alloy short-handled shovel, but you insist on carrying this heavy, long-handled… clumsy, big, and bulky thing.”

“The permafrost is solid, and you can’t dig with a portable tool,” Paul patiently explained. “Thank you for your help along the way, Lao Xie.”

"You little brats, you treat me like a fucking mule."

"This thing is really heavy. I'll just throw it away after I'm done using it and won't carry it back."

·
The bearded man kept complaining, but his hands were surprisingly busy.
He took out three metal tubes, which were the three extension handles that came with the shovel. Once screwed together, they formed a standard-length trench shovel, which he handed to the young man.

"Thanks~"

Paul took the shovel, held the blade perpendicular to the ground, stomped it hard with his boots, driving it several centimeters into the soil, then pressed down on the end with both hands, using leverage to pry it up.
"It feels like... they're digging concrete..." "Do you need my help?"

"I will do it myself."

Each shovelful required a great deal of effort to dig out just a tiny bit of soil, and this process was repeated over and over again.
Ordinary people's strength and endurance would be far from sufficient to accomplish this task. Even Paul, a seasoned and battle-hardened fighter in his prime, was exhausted and panting heavily.

The shovel became more cautious when it touched metal, carefully peeling away the soil bit by bit until it was dug out.
The urn was not made of wood, but was an extremely simple aluminum can. The outer shell was completely undecorated, without even a paint finish. It looked like a large, thick aluminum can, ridiculously shabby, which was very much in line with the deceased's 'heinous' status.

"Finally, a long-cherished wish has been fulfilled."
"Thank you for your hard work, Lao Xie. Take this back to the LS Cemetery on our planet for burial. Wrap the urn with some padding, but make sure it's not dented."

Sergei followed the young man's instructions, wrapping the urn in his sleeping bag and stuffing it into his backpack. As always, he was quick and efficient, though he kept complaining.

"Risking arrest, trekking a long way, exhausting themselves to this godforsaken place, just to move a grave for these wandering ghosts..."

·
"Donya is right, you old rascal, you're such a 'grumbling soldier'."

Paul threw away the shovel, stuffed a Marlboro cigarette into Sergei's mouth, which was surrounded by a beard and was talking incessantly, and lit it for him with a windproof lighter.

"Wow! The government lit my cigarette, that's so cool!"

"It's getting late. Let's walk and set up camp at the abandoned outpost."

Paul led the team back, sharing his thoughts as they walked:

"Marcus Lynch, Spartan heavy airborne company commander, has spent his entire life fighting against the enemies of humanity."
Aliens, bio-monsters, rampaging machines, warlords, pirates, and the vampires, parasites, unscrupulous businessmen, and corrupt officers within the Federation…

And the final boss, the powerful and influential senator known as the "Queen of Spades," whose battle back then was truly earth-shattering.

Unfortunately, the tombstones in that mass grave were all weathered and eroded, and the remains of Captain Lynch's comrades could not be found.

At least we found Captain Lynch's remains. Heroes shouldn't be forgotten in this wasteland, that's what I think.

·
After listening to Paul's words, Tonya was moved to tears, while Sergei had a different opinion:

“I know this man is a hero… but he didn’t join our organization, he’s not our comrade-in-arms.”
After retiring from the military, this guy became a corporate soldier and even aided and abetted the evildoers, assisting the company's armed forces in sweeping through our base... (Corporate Soldier 339)

I don't know if he's qualified to be buried in the Lie S Cemetery on our main planet…

“He is more than qualified,” Paul said.
"His father, Patricia Lynch, was a close friend of Mr. Chi Gowaler and a pioneer of the organization, sowing the seeds of thought for the great cause of liberating humanity."

"But he failed to inherit his father's spirit, failed to inherit Mr. Patricia's spirit, and failed to be a lackey of giant corporations and federal security agencies. For that alone, he is not worthy to be buried with the heroic comrades who sacrificed their lives."

“A gentleman judges by actions, not intentions,” Paul said. “Don’t just focus on someone’s dark past; look at what they specifically did and what impact it had.”
This Spartan company commander is not a comrade-in-arms of our organization, and his motives are mostly revenge rather than righteousness, that's true.

However, the heroic act of him and his comrades, who sacrificed their lives, greatly weakened the factional and evil forces entrenched in the Federal Parliament.
Although this cannot change the corrupt and decadent state of the Terra Federation, its achievements are still beyond our reach.
Let's be honest with ourselves, what we've done over the past ten years, combined, has had an impact that's even half as great as theirs?

·
Tonya gazed at Paul's retreating figure, thinking with admiration: (As expected of the government, their ideological awareness is truly different~)

·
On the way back, the bearded Sergei didn't utter a single complaint.
When setting up camp, he carefully placed his pack down, afraid of denting the urn containing the ashes wrapped in his sleeping bag, so as not to disrespect the spirit of the fallen hero.

Deep down, this old guerrilla fighter had already come to regard Captain Lynch as his comrade-in-arms.

·
(Note: Comrade, Russian товарищи, same as zh1.)