Chapter 852 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 852: Fireworks Blooming on the Ground At the very same moment that the Alliance's players were readying themselves for battle, the Third Aviation Brigade of the Southern Legion was also fully prepared to engage. A hundred "Dagger" fighter jets formed a fierce assault formation in the sky, charging towards the incoming enemy aircraft like a pack of wolves hunting sheep. To the Vilanteans, the fighter planes from Borro were clearly not to be taken seriously. Although the cost of training pilots for propeller planes wasn't as extravagant as that for jet fighters, it still required at least five to six months of training. And that was just the basics. To ensure adequate combat capability, it took no less than 10 months of training and a minimum of 400 hours of flight time. With the Vilanteans' combat aptitude, their training efficiency was about 1.5 to 2 times that of ordinary people. Yet, even at that rate, three months was the minimum required to form effective combat readiness. In stark contrast, the so-called Borro nation, which evolved from the Heavenly King Army, hadn't even been around that long! Even if they could procure some civilized equipment from the Alliance, they couldn't scrape together even a few decent pilots. Because of this, the hundred "Daggers" showed no hesitation as they accelerated to their maximum speed, rushing towards the frantically flying medals, eager to score before the distant airships or ground-based anti-air units could claim the glory. "Die!!" With a roar that vented his courage, Milton, who had set his sights on the nearest enemy aircraft, squeezed the trigger without hesitation. The pair of 10mm machine guns beneath him spewed fiery tongues. "Bang! Bang! Bang—!" The deafening roar shook the cockpit with cracking noises, the long hail of bullets like spears thrust from his hands! This would be an utterly one-sided battle! It could hardly even be called a battle—it was a slaughter! The opponent racing towards him might very well have completed only half of their training hours, possibly still shouting to their comrades where the weapon's safety catch was as they struggled to fire their guns. Exaggerated as that was, the reality wasn't far off. Milton's lips curled into a mocking sneer. He could almost see the fireball crashing to the ground, and his peripheral vision began searching for the next victim favored by death. But then, to his utter shock, something unexpected happened. That supposed-to-be-destroyed plane suddenly veered to the side. Just as it seemed about to be torn apart by the long stream of tracers, it swerved like a nimble bird, riding a swift current. It used the lateral thrust from air resistance to complete a wide, barrel-roll motion, effortlessly dodging the cannonade and charging forward at undiminished speed. The fluid motion was like the flourish of a sword in the hand of a fencing champion. And the hidden danger within had silently revealed its lethal edge. Milton's eyes widened, his eyeballs seemingly turning into ping-pong balls, while cold sweat instantly soaked his back. This guy was no rookie! No— This guy couldn't possibly be a pilot from the Borro Province! The skilled flying technique and effortless real-time reaction could not be honed through exercises alone. Only countless brushes with death and the chains of fate repetitively broken could forge such skill, enough to toy with death itself. This opponent was an ace! He was in trouble! "Damn it!" Cursing under his breath, Milton desperately stomped the rudder with his right foot, pulling up the controls, trying to realign the sights with the flight path of that plane for another burst. But the enemy didn't give him the chance. At the same time as the barrel-rolling maneuver was completed, the W-2 retaliated with a burst of short but deadly cannon fire. The 20mm armor-piercing incendiary rounds traced a deadly arc in the air, like a slash from above blocking Milton's trajectory. The battle was already decided. "Doomed—" With no time to dodge, Milton could only watch in despair as the fleeting shooting window passed, and inevitability crashed upon him with the barrage of lethal cannon fire. "Boom—!" Amidst the explosive flames surged a cloud of hot, thick smoke, as a "Dagger" with broken wings spiraled rapidly towards the ground. "First kill secured... farewell," Feng Qing casually remarked as she watched the enemy plane plunge downwards. She then deftly grabbed a marker from her pant leg and drew the first stroke of a tally on the side of the cockpit. Not bad. But still too inexperienced. That guy was anxious for the first kill, firing from such a distance that she didn't even need to activate her agility talents—just a simple barrel roll was enough to evade it. His next move was predictable; having missed, he'd try to recover somehow. She only needed to use her cannon to preemptively cut off the enemy's movement path as his twin machine guns tried to zero in on her. Thanks to their arrogance, the shooting window she had was quite generous. Around the same time, Ghost's voice crackled through the comm channel. "Whoa, nicely done, Feng Qing!" "Ha, it was alright..." Feng Qing offered a shy smile, humbly responding, and then skillfully locked onto her next target. Since the formation of the Goblin Legion, she'd been flying planes—her flight hours easily surpassing a thousand, not to mention the time spent respawning. Countless deaths had honed her flight skills to mastery. It was no exaggeration to say the plane she piloted felt like a part of her body, allowing her to even sense the airflow brushing against the flaps. At this moment, a disgruntled voice erupted over the comm channel. "Damn! You stole my first kill!" Ghost: "Haha! The Captain's got some work to do. Can't let the newbies catch up." WC Really Has Mosquitoes: "Hah! Not a chance." Newbie One: "Hehe, you never know! Captain, want to have a go?" WC Really Has Mosquitoes: "Compete? You’ve barely touched a plane compared to how many crashes I've had! Focus on your mission—get those bombs on target before you start talking!" Newbie One: "Damn! Mosquito's biased against newbies! I'm posting about this on the forum!" WC Really Has Mosquitoes: "%#￥@!" Newbie Two: "Woo-hoo!! All hail the Administrator!" Newbie Three: "Whoa, what a rush! Beats War Thunder any day!?" Ghost: "Uh, maybe it's ‘cause there are more players? Feels like newbies are getting crazier..." Imagining her friend's exasperated facepalm, Feng Qing wasn't sure what to add and could only chuckle. "Haha... but I think the Captain actually quite likes them." In the clouded skies, the first fireball bloomed. A parachute drifted from the burning cockpit, the pride of the Southern Legion's Third Aviation Brigade falling to the ground. Seeing a comrade shot down at the first engagement, every Vilantean pilot was stunned. None of them had expected the first loss in battle to happen on their side. And even less did they anticipate the enemy's attack to be so clean, swift, and decisive. "…They're Alliance pilots." The squadron leader's expression darkened, fierce light burning in his tightened eyes. Even the dullest among them now understood. These planes, under the guise of the Borro insignia, did not carry pilots from the Borro Province survivors! They were Alliance people! The fiery blaze was like a slap across the face of every pilot in the Third Aviation Brigade. Nonetheless, they were a race born for battle. Instead of being terrorized by the sudden casualties, the pilots in their cockpits were stirred into a battle-ready fervor, shedding any vestige of arrogance and underestimation. The Southern Legion had anticipated the Alliance's participation; they were not surprised to the point of disbelief. They might not have expected the enemy's reaction to be so quick, starting off seriously from the get-go by sending both their planes and pilots into the fray. But in a way, it was preferable. Rather than constantly watching for hidden foes, a straightforward battle was welcome! "…You wish for death, I'll grant you that!!" The squadron leader roared, bringing his flame-spitting cannons to bear on the closest W-2 aircraft. A kilometer disappeared in the blink of an eye, and soon both sides were locked in fierce, close-range combat. The sound of cannons filled the battlefield as tracer rounds streaked through the sky, leaving glowing trails in their wake. These fiery trajectories, resembling lances in the hands of cavalrymen, danced through the low-hanging clouds. Planes continuously plummeted from the sky. Among them were both the Legion's "Daggers" and the Alliance's "Mosquitoes." Despite the adversary's strength, these Vilantean pilots proved formidable, surpassing even the Falcon Kingdom's auxiliary pilots in skill. Their aircraft, unlike the simplified export models used by the Falcon Kingdom Air Force to streamline production, performed exceptionally well. Even though using the same propeller mechanism, there were stark differences with regards to maneuverability and speed, setting them leagues apart. After bringing down four planes, Feng Qing began to feel the strain. Her left wing was moderately damaged, the leading-edge flap seemed broken, and her remaining ammunition was scarce... However, none of these issues were the most critical. The most critical threat was the dirigible steaming back into defensive position, and the ground's anti-aircraft systems which had completed their combat preparations. The enemy squadron was steadily withdrawing northward. If they pursued, they'd enter the airship's web of fire within five minutes. Choosing not to engage risked the threat from ground anti-aircraft fire soon catching up. Catching sight of multiple bullet holes piercing the cockpit, Feng Qing took a deep breath, mentally ready for a restart and called out over the communications channel. "...Captain! We're close enough now, begin phase two operations!" It was evident that Brother Mosquito agreed. After a brief crackling of static, his decisive voice quickly broke through the comms. "All units, heed order! We're moving into phase two! Remember your objectives! Ensure you expend every last round before you go down!" "We'll meet up on the forums!" "Awooo!!" With that, Brother Mosquito let out a series of cheers, pushing the nose downwards, diving towards the railway station below. His rousing battle cry ignited the fervor in every player's heart. Even Feng Qing, known for her calm demeanor, felt the fire in her veins and joined in the shouting. The remaining sixty W-2 planes suddenly broke formation like fireworks, veering towards the ground in unison, catching the "Daggers" guiding the battlefield northward off guard. The Third Aviation Brigade captain was alarmed, recalling the command from headquarters, he barked urgently into the communications channel. "Intercept them!" The Vilantean pilots, trained expertly, needed no orders to recognize the Alliance pilots' intent and promptly broke off the pursuit to intercept them. But it was already too late! The aircraft diving headlong towards the ground seemingly had no intention of pulling back up, their sirens blared, throttles pushed to the max. "Woo—!" The shrill wail reverberated through the sky, akin to a death-knell heralding doom. Each pilot targeted their objective, emptying the remaining few dozen rounds from their cannons. A fiery rain descended from above, startling Vilantean soldiers stationed near the railway who quickly sought cover. The workers were similarly affected, dropping everything in a mad dash out of the station, fleeing the blaring noise. One of the planes crashed headlong into a warehouse, triggering an instant chain reaction with explosions lighting up the roof, echoing like a series of firecrackers. These planes were powered by fuel cells based on solid hydrogen, making them akin to bombs once their safety mechanisms were disabled—and their energy density far surpassed any mere lighter. But this blaze was only the beginning! Aside from the W-2 attack planes with their cannons, several planes also carried 100-kilogram bombs beneath their wings. This metallic hydrogen was far more destructive than solid hydrogen alone, especially with enhanced explosive formulas mixed in. Planes piloted by "Goblin rookies" set their sights on trains waiting at the station. The northern train tracks and river-spanning bridges quickly found themselves under deadly threat! While halting the northern steel tide's advance was unrealistic, they could disrupt the logistics, delaying the 170,000-strong Legion and buying time for the Moonfolk resistance up north. A bomb-laden plane barreled towards a freight train, releasing its payload just moments before impact, colliding with the train. The Vilantean pilot trailing behind was dumbstruck, pulling up to avoid the approaching flames with gritted teeth. These pilots were madmen! Explosions resounded for five full minutes, each detonation drawing a wince from crawling Vilanteans as they bitterly regretted each loss. Sixty planes had blazed like fireworks, delivering monumental damage to West Sail Port and its surrounding strategic sites, leaving the "Daggers" chasing after them helpless. "Damn it!!" Screamed the Third Aviation Brigade's captain, fury bubbling over as he struck his thigh, inadvertently reopening a recently bandaged wound, gritting his teeth against the sting. A cannon round had previously pierced his cockpit, missing him but sending shrapnel grazing his arm, nearly severing his artery. Brimming with rage, he found himself powerless, angrily requesting further commands from the control tower and subsequently ordering the brigade to return. At the same time, four "Saber" jets rushing from Evernight Port arrived only to find an empty sky, circling briefly before being forced to return, having nowhere suitable to land or receive maintenance. Watching the radar display the disappearing blips at a discernible rate, General Gullion's face was as dark as the storm-laden sky above. He didn't need to ask his subordinates to know the extent of the air raid's devastation. Beside him, his adjutant swallowed painfully, rasping in shock. "Suicide attacks... have these blue rodents gone insane?!" To sacrifice their lives for a group of unrelated survivors! He couldn’t comprehend their logic. Didn't they think of their families?! General Gullion, though, was not as flustered. Staring intently at the map, he narrowed his eyes slightly in deep thought. "Previously, the general staff suspected the Alliance had some kind of remote-controlled clone technology... and it seems now, that might be correct." This theory had surfaced earlier when the Legion's general staff devised strategies against the Torch Church. Feedback from the soldiers suggested that despite ongoing casualties, the number of elite Alliance forces remained consistent. Only one explanation made sense. The military personnel of the Alliance was... Especially during the elite ranks...were clones or similar constructs upon death or injury. It might sound implausible, but it was the most reasonable hypothesis. It also explained why the Alliance's shelter residents rarely operated beyond communication zones and why the Alliance coveted pushing their cabling infrastructure so actively. From this, he surmised: The clones operated by the shelter's residents could only function within communications radius. Beyond those boundaries, they could only go themselves and risk perishing unequivocally. Just like the four blue rodents who had visited West Sail Port. The adjutant, stunned by General Gullion’s response, hesitated, perplexed. "But... if that's true, why didn't our jamming emitters work?" That concept of "remote-controlled clones" seemed far-fetched; even the idea of "Alliance shelter residents as androids" seemed more plausible. Yet General Gullion remained firm, convinced of his conjecture. "Electromagnetic waves aren't the only medium for signal transmission. Have you forgotten about those mutant slime molds? We still don't have a full understanding of what that psychic signal truly is." It's a tale as old as time: back when the Human Confederation discovered some form of planetary consciousness on Gaia, it served as the inspiration for developing the "psychic interference device" technology. This device could deter creatures with low cognitive abilities and communicate with those of higher intelligence. For a time, the academic world considered it the best tool for communication with extraterrestrial civilizations. After all, language exchange is often inefficient, needing lengthy decryption and risking misunderstandings. Whether a species could be influenced by these psychic interference signals was also a litmus test, gauging whether their intellect warranted dialogue and determining the best strategy for interaction. Even though "psychic interference technology" was birthed in the era of the Human Confederation, the nature of the so-called psychic signal remains a mystery, even in the wasteland epoch. The Alliance seems to face a similar enigma, yet this doesn't prevent those who wield the technology from using it. Seeing his aide and the other officers frozen in thought, General Gullion spoke with unwavering certainty. "...No matter what medium they use to control clone bodies, signals still need to be transmitted to the front lines via cables or signal towers, and such infrastructure can be tracked!" He then turned to an officer standing by the command table and issued a directive. "…The Vilanteans look too different from the locals, which complicates operations behind enemy lines. I need you to train a special unit composed of Borro nationals, tasked with infiltrating enemy territory to specifically target and sabotage their communication installations!" The officer snapped to attention, saluting sharply. "Yes, sir!" General Gullion turned back to the map spread across the command table, a steely smile playing on his lips. He admitted, the airstrike had caught him off guard, and the Alliance's swift response was unexpected. However, if these adversaries thought that such crude tactics could derail his entire plan, they were sorely mistaken. This war was just beginning. Since the Alliance's air force had joined the fray early, the equipment specially prepared for them could also be deployed ahead of schedule. While it wasn't cost-effective to use expensive missiles against natives, deploying them against the Alliance was a different story. No matter how cheap the clones might be, aircraft fitted with plasma engines and fusion reactors aren't, and exchanging missiles for them is always worthwhile. In addition to aircraft, there were also the naval vessels. Putting aside any prior underestimation, General Gullion focused intently on the map's southwestern sea region. If everything went as expected, the South Sea Alliance fleet should be arriving soon... To be continued.