As the men toiled away, Axel noticed his team working diligently in other parts of the mines at different locations. Their observational skills were no less keen than his. Suddenly, he witnessed a moment of human ingenuity, the men in pairs communicated using Morse code. One member of each pair used the sound of a shovel for long signals, while a pickaxe produced the short tones.

  It dawned on him that the earlier sounds he had heard lacked such patterns. These operatives, skilled and aware, wouldn’t be involved in this endeavor if they were lacking. It was possible that this method of communication was used so infrequently that the huechromixix and chrysalica operatives had overlooked it.

  He translated the words he’d heard, and they shocked him. ‘Boom in fifteen minutes, spearhead go.’ These men were prepared for a mission with no intention of returning. They understood the risks and what would happen if they were surrounded. Axel hardened his resolve to move forward with their plan.

  He signaled to his teammate, touching his ear to convey the message, but when he observed them using their own signals to stop, look, and listen, he felt relieved. He knew that the success of their mission hinged on precise execution.

  The intermittent communications ceased after the third repetition, with the final version echoing, ‘Spearhead fifteen go’. These operatives were incredibly cautious, striving not to alert the enemy. One of the miners collapsed, foaming at the mouth and pretending to be extremely exhausted, while another started a brawl over stolen bread to distract attention from the opposing operatives, who were trying to blend in among them.

  Axel and his team were now waiting for the explosion to occur, knowing full well these men had a plan in mind to make them able to move swiftly towards their objective. However, he was not sure how sound their plan was and chose to act when the situation arose.

  Meanwhile, a gentleman who had once been a wealthy merchant and held the rank of Marshal in this era observed the brewing unrest. He had long been attuned to the whispers of rebellion among the laborers and understood the dire implications of their struggles.

  Out of the kindness of his heart and having witnessed the untold horrors that humanity had yet to confront, he knew he had to act. He trusted in his tactical skills and recognized that if this malevolence persisted, humanity would find itself grappling with unspeakable abominations.

  Blending seamlessly into the crowd with a group of trusted retired comrades, he resolved to charge the very heart of this malevolent stronghold and bring it to ruin. Although he was already sixty-one, age had not dulled his fighting spirit. He understood the risks he faced that he might not return alive, but he concealed his trusty sword within a pickaxe, ready to inflict as much damage as he could.

  As he observed the operatives communicating in a manner he did not yet understand, his intuition whispered that they were planning something significant. Sensing an alliance, he knew these men were also preparing for action.

  He decided to hold off on initiating the rebellion until the moment was right, eager to join the fray when it began. What he remained blissfully unaware of, however, was that some of the operatives surrounding him were masters of disguise, watching his every move with contempt and ridicule. A huechromixix operatives, posing as his comrade, sniggered at his display as if watching a farse of a senile old man.

  The human operatives, who had been stationed here for at least a year, had fully observed the presence of the pretending miners, who numbered around twenty-one. The human contingent, composed of four teams totaling thirty-seven members, began to maneuver discreetly around the oblivious huechromixix observers.

  “Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”

  As if on cue, the men sprang into action with precise coordination, two human operatives for each opposing foe. One aimed for the heart while the other targeted the head. After executing their plan flawlessly, they quickly converged on a single target. Four of the leaders engaged the remaining combatants, while the one they believed to be the strongest was overwhelmed by a group wielding their Winston weapons, forged from advanced alloys designed to combat unimaginable horrors.

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  They struck the stunned huechromixix juggernaut with all their strength, targeting his spine with five blows, aiming four strikes at each of his limbs, and three men focused their efforts on his head. In their fervor to ensure he would never rise again, they turned him into mincemeat, venting their pent-up anger and frustration over the horrors they had endured. However, amidst this fury, a slight problem emerged.

  “How dare you! That was my comrade!” the old marshal shouted. His voice thick with righteous indignation as if he had been gravely wronged.

  “Murderers! We were here to help, but how could you do such a thing? How?” The man, not one to act rashly, demanded an explanation, tension evident in his posture, ready to explode if they said the wrong thing.

  As the scene unfolded, Winter 01 approached the lifeless body and began to rummage through it. He knew that dealing with someone like the old marshal required evidence to sway him.

  As the Marshal glared at him with bloodshot eyes, Winter 01 extracted the intact heart of the operative. To the marshal's shock, it was still beating, vaguely resembling that of an octopus and vastly different from a human heart. He then held it up for the seething marshal to see.

  “Does this heart look like the heart of a man?! You dare call this piece of trash a comrade! If so, Marshal, shall we take a look at yours too?” Winter 01 looked at him with disdain and sneered at the old man.

  The marshal's face turned pale at this sudden confrontation, he couldn’t retort or refute Winter 01's words, knowing well that this was no heart of a man. Having been on countless battlefields, he wasn’t senile to forget what a human heart looked like.

  “Marshal, I’ve seen your kindness to the community, your efforts for impoverished families, and even your work in building a school for those who want to learn how to read and write.” Winter 01 aimed to intimidate the marshal but was aware that if he pushed too far, he might break the man.

  “Marshal, it might sound unbelievable, but your comrade might be replaced while you were here, and they knew every move you were making. These are not men we are dealing with, but embodiments of evil and malice, not born of this land, not even of this Earth. These creatures have come from the sky to eliminate all of mankind. If you wish to dawdle, we shall leave you here.” Winter 01 pressed on, his experience as the former best spy of his era lending weight to his words. As if on cue, his men turned their backs against the marshal and began to ready their equipment.

  The marshal, a man who had spent his life on the battlefield and whose willpower was as strong as an iron fortress, began to shed tears. He remembered the days when he basked in the recognition of the citizens, waving to them left and right.

  The marshal was not an incompetent man, he could even be called one of the most righteous, loyal, and benevolent man of his era. Yet, in his mind, his small indulgences now sparked a deep guilt in his heart.

  He realized he had been deceived by these abominations all this time. As he looked around, he couldn't even recognize a single one of the men before him who had killed these malevolent creatures. It became clear that these individuals were here solely for the sake of the people, receiving neither gold coins nor accolades in return.

  This realization filled him with a profound sense of shame, inadequacy, and foolishness as he stared at his hands.

  “Marshal, if you feel you are too old for this kind of work, you are welcome to go home, no one will blame you.” Winter 01 said gently, patting the marshal's shoulder while shaking his head as if disappointed.

  “You have already done so much for the community. We men who operate from the shadows do not seek recognition or gold, nor do we desire support from any king. We do this because we want to, we never plan to stop serving the people until death takes us to her embrace. We have sworn our allegiance to mankind itself. That is all I have to say.” Winter 01 said, displaying a fierce determination in his eyes.

  “I, Jean Bureau, will join your cause. Even if my old bones break and my muscles weather away, I will not yield. I shall be the last man standing for mankind!” he declared, his dull eyes now alight with newfound resolve, like a fading spark transformed into roaring flame.

  “Marshal, you may not be aware, but we’re worried that someone could be looking for you.” Winter 01 said, his conviction in the Marshal now solid, yet a lingering concern gnawed at him.

  “Our identities must remain a closely guarded secret, and our missions extend beyond France to distant continents across the seas. What if an old comrade or a family member comes in search of you? How would you handle that?” he inquired as this might jeopardize their secrecy towards the common populace.

  “Uhm… well, it’s like this. I have someone I can trust as a body double. He’s as old and just as competent as I am. I felt that dying on a dull deathbed would be too boring for me, so I ventured out and stumbled upon this hellhole. To my surprise, it was worse than I had imagined, so I sought to save these people here.” The Marshal explained, sheepishly scratching the back of his head at his response.

  Winter 01 was taken aback by the adventurous spirit of this aging warrior. The massively built man, acting awkward and displaying an unexpected modesty, appeared almost shy, truly an amusing sight for one so formidable.

  [Mission Duration: 03:57:51 – Currently Ongoing]

  [France Time – 20:32]