Los Angeles defector

Silent Frontline

Many times, the environment and atmosphere can determine a person's behavior. Now, with the Second Platoon and Ninth Squad sitting at two adjacent tables, if the new soldiers around them mind their own business and do their own thing, there wouldn't be any issues. In fact, Slashmaster and the Second Platoon couldn't care less about Jason and his group. Unfortunately, these new soldiers all had a spectator mentality, not eating, not talking, just staring wide-eyed at the two tables, eagerly anticipating something to happen, reveling in potential drama. How annoying is that? How awkward is it? Can they just back off?

Robert Wealthy really had no idea what was going on; no one from the Ninth Squad had told him about the situation, and the new soldiers were looking at him disdainfully, leaving him completely puzzled. Unable to bear it, he tugged at Martin beside him and said, "Martin, what's going on here? Are they unhappy because we're not dressed well enough or because we haven't washed our faces? These brats are making me feel so uneasy!"

Robert Wealthy was at odds with the new soldiers, often swearing under his breath. He was referring to all the new soldiers in the yard without singling out anyone in particular. Although he spoke in a lowered voice, in such a quiet environment, his words were crystal clear to those around him.

Before Martin could even respond, without waiting, there was a loud slap as a Second Platoon soldier slammed the table and stood up, face flushed, pointing a finger at Robert Wealthy, "Who are you calling a brat?"

With a thud, Robert Wealthy was so startled by the loud slam on the table that he couldn't sit still and slipped right under the table. Goodness, it was so quiet, and then suddenly this happened out of nowhere. Is this person crazy?

Martin stood up, feeling it necessary to clarify the misunderstanding to prevent any further complications. "He didn't mean it that way, please don't misunderstand. What he meant was..." Martin suddenly faltered, finding it difficult to explain. How should he put it? Should he say he didn't mean Second Platoon or the new recruits? It wouldn't be appropriate to call the new recruits brats either, right? With dozens of new recruits staring around the yard, who would want to be called a brat? Inwardly frustrated, Martin thought, "Robert Wealthy, can't you watch your mouth?"

"Martin, you little punk, stop pretending to be a good guy here. Following a deserter from the government army, what right do you have to speak? Get lost!" The Second Platoon soldier turned his hostility directly towards Martin.

Martin's face flushed with anger as he couldn't help but retort, "Can you watch your mouth!"

"You want my mouth to be clean? You should first clean up the mess in your Ninth Squad!"

Military personnel all have a sense of honor, especially collective honor. On the battlefield, the Independent Regiment represents collective honor, and no one would compromise on that. However, at other times, soldiers value the honor of their platoon even more. Martin could tolerate attacks on Robert Wealthy or himself, but now the scope of the attack has expanded to the 'Ninth Squad,' which really makes Martin feel unable to bear it. Like not finding fault with one's own family, or abandoning a poor home, no matter how bad the Ninth Squad may be, it is their own collective, and this is a matter of military principle.

Martin's face darkened as well, "At least our Ninth Squad still has asses to wipe, your Second Company's asses have been wrapped up in bandages long ago, you can't even reach to wipe yours!"

This remark was a veiled criticism of the current situation in which the Second Company is filled with wounded soldiers, which infuriated the soldiers from the Second Company. Another soldier from the Second Company stood up abruptly and said, "You lackey Martin, I think it's time you got a beating, isn't it?"

Here, Emily also stood up abruptly, her braided hair flipping, her big eyes widening. She raised her small hand and pointed at the soldier who had just spoken, her clear and tender voice ringing out, "I don't believe it, you try making a move! We'll just curse at you! Your Second Company is a bunch of turtles, your Second Company hasn't even grown up!"

The soldier from the Second Company was so infuriated by this rude girl that he clenched his fists, wishing he could go up and give this troublesome girl a good beating. She was so impudent, disrespectful, and unreasonable, like a reckless and illogical child. However, he couldn't actually hit her. If he really did, it would be a huge loss of face. Emily's actions left him gnashing his teeth in anger but also feeling helpless, stuck in a dilemma.

From the beginning until now, Jason has also remained silent. He lazily crossed his legs, staring idly at a chopstick on the table. Without looking, he could sense the intense gaze from the unfortunate Slashmaster, almost as if it could burn holes through his clothes. Though the trees may wish for calm, the wind continues to blow. I am a man. If you insist on pushing this further, I'm sorry, but whether you are an injured soldier or a patient, I won't hold back. An invisible chill began to emanate around Jason.

The entire courtyard fell into silence once again.

Alex rushed into the kitchen in a panic and approached Uncle Bull, who was still calmly kneading dough. "Uncle Bull, why are you still working on this? Hurry up and go outside to take a look. The weather in the courtyard is about to change drastically."

Uncle Bull continued his work unhurriedly, not bothering to look outside as he could discern everything just by listening inside the house. Without lifting his head, he replied to Alex, "They are all soldiers, full of vigor, thinking they can handle anything. Bumps and scrapes are nothing to them. As long as they don't draw weapons, nobody is allowed to interfere."

Uncle Bull's words almost made Alex's jaw drop. "What? This is considered nothing? Even if they don't draw weapons, throwing punches and kicks recklessly is still reckless. What if they end up hurting the young girl?"

Uncle Bull remained unperturbed. "Doesn't matter, that silly girl brought trouble upon herself, let her deal with it. Stop wasting time with me and go serve them their meal."

"Ah? Given the situation, you still want to serve them food?" Alex noticed Uncle Bull giving him a sidelong glance and quickly added, "Alright, I'll go serve them their meal. I'll do it right away." He turned to prepare, refraining from saying more aloud but silently adding in his mind: "Let them eat well, get energized, and maybe they'll have the strength to dismantle the kitchen staff directly."

"Food's here! Hey, why are you all standing? Sit down, quickly, everyone sit down and eat." Alex's words broke the deadlock between the two sides. Steamed buns, pickled vegetables, and rice soup were served, offering a face-saving way out for both parties. Those who were standing took their seats, but the atmosphere didn't improve much. Both sides were still glaring at each other, none of them moving their utensils, almost trying to stare each other to death with their eyes.

Robert Wealthy also crawled out from under the table at this point, and finally he understood something. It seemed like he was the only clueless one, with all the new recruits in the courtyard as spectators, and the main characters being the Second Company and Ninth Platoon, right? Judging from the situation, a storm could erupt at any moment. If a real fight broke out, the Second Company had over a dozen people. His heart couldn't help but race a bit. Should he crawl back under the table again? But then he looked at Jason, acting nonchalant, the arrogance of the young girl, and Martin's unyielding attitude, and thought back to the annihilating battle on the valley path. Finally, he gained some confidence. Jason was a ruthless killer, judging by his demeanor, so there must be a plan. If the Second Company with so many people hasn't dared to come over, why should I be afraid? Let's eat first!