Chapter 861 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 861: The Iron Cavalry of the Alliance! Wasteland OL Official Website. Hidden Mole of the Canyon: "... Ahem! Guys, did the server just go down for maintenance?" Quit Smoking: "???" Tail: "0ω0?" Edge Drifter: "What??" Fang Chang: "Generally speaking, we refer to this situation as the respawn CD." Maka Bazzi: "Hahaha! This is killing me!" Spring Water Commander: "Bro, can you handle it? (Funny)" I'm the Darkest: "If you really can't, let us step in. (Grin)" Hidden Mole of the Canyon: "Get lost! Everyone has their off days, man and horse alike... Damn it! What a mess!" Fang Chang: "Indeed, everyone has bad luck at times. At least our Mole brother's teammates are still in the game, so it shouldn't be too big of a problem." Night Ten: "Is it just my imagination, or has a similar conversation happened before? (Funny)" Elaine: "You should ask which day doesn't have a similar conversation. (Funny)" Elf King Wealth: "This game is too realistic. (Funny)" Hidden Mole of the Canyon: "Whoa, why are you two down too?!" Elaine: "Aren't we here to laugh at you? We'll be back in a sec. (Funny)" Elf King Wealth: "Safe travels, commander! (Funny)" Hidden Mole of the Canyon: "@#@!" ... As it turns out, showing off won't get you struck by lightning, but underestimating your opponent will certainly cause issues. The 340,000-strong Southern Legion is merely a "mechanized infantry division," and although caught off guard, they're not as easily defeated as the Mole imagined. In fact, compared to the Southern Legion's still-unrefined armored units, the mechanized infantry, who work in concert with artillery, are their true ace in the hole! The term "reserves" is just a strategic label and doesn't imply that the whole unit is comprised of rookies. Let's wind back to thirty minutes earlier. With the Trumpet Ship already deployed to the front lines, the Legion's 300,000-strong unit, personally led by Commander Ryan, charged ahead with unstoppable momentum. The 340,000-strong unit had to rely on their own reconnaissance company and periodic UAV scouting to gather intel. Truth be told, given the current course of the war, capturing Lion City was a foregone conclusion. Nearly no one within the Southern Legion doubted they would seize the entirety of Lion State by month's end, forcing the Nation of Borneo to sign a ceasefire agreement, allowing them to focus on taking down the Mammoth Nation controlling the three northern states. Under such circumstances, the 340,000-strong unit wasn't overly concerned about the likelihood of a counterstrike from Borneo's army. The reconnaissance units mainly focused on rooting out those pesky tunnels and "rat holes." However, in a twist of fate, as they were engrossed in whack-a-mole, they collided head-on with the advancing Skeleton Corps in the southern Reed Bull County. The two forces clashed on a gentle slope where forest met farmland. The 340,000-strong unit of the Southern Legion immediately paid the price for their overconfidence. The unfortunate "Grayhound" reconnaissance vehicles had just detected the wave of steel rushing towards them when they were obliterated by oncoming 155mm high-explosive shells that tore through their armor. The players' choice to use high-explosive rounds over armor-piercing ones stemmed from a desire to avoid over-penetration. The armor of the "Grayhound" reconnaissance vehicles was paper-thin against the Alliance's Type-3 tanks; an armor-piercing round might go straight through, while the high-explosive provided a more assured destructive effect. Having taken out ten armored units at the first encounter, the Skeleton Corps' spirits soared! Mole gave the order to press forward, planning to join forces with the Goblin Corps' air unit to swallow the entire division in one bite. Yet, the Welantians weren't pushovers. Reeling from the initial strike, Commander Gibson of the 340,000-strong unit quickly recovered, calling for air support while issuing battle commands. Not stopping there, he executed a clever maneuver, splitting two mechanized infantry units from the armored carriers, unloading infantry and anti-tank equipment, and deploying them into the dugouts and "rat holes" previously excavated by the Borneo soldiers. Meanwhile, self-propelled artillery and light armor were positioned behind these dugouts. This tactic proved somewhat effective. Though those "rat holes" were cramped for the Welantians, they could still squeeze in. High-explosive shells tend to have an upward spread, with limited damage below ground. Once the Skeleton Corps entered the field of vision of the dugouts, the Welantian soldiers hidden inside reported the positions via radio, calling in artillery. Fifty-two "Fire Crossbow" self-propelled artillery unleashed a salvo, raining shells down upon the Skeleton Corps' 1st Battalion. Truth be told, the Type-3 tanks' armor was tough enough that indirect long-range artillery posed little threat unless hit directly. And hitting a tank from afar with indirect fire is akin to winning the lottery. But lo and behold, sometimes luck just isn't on your side. A 200mm wind-top armor-piercing shell struck Mole's tank precisely, penetrating the weak top cover and causing a catastrophic explosion. The whole process—from penetration to explosion—took less than a second, sending Mole offline before he realized what hit him. Simultaneously, the air force urgently launched from Port West Sail arrived on the battlefield, dropping hundred-kilo bombs. Fortunately, the Goblin Corps, taking off from Skydome Airport, entered the fray just in time to prevent the Skeleton Corps from becoming easy targets. Two hundred "Daggers" took on two hundred "Mosquitoes," clashing in the sky amidst swirling clouds, engaged in a tumultuous aerial battle. Amidst this fierce combat, four "Thunder" aircraft from Gold Gallon Port and six "Razor" jets from Eternal Night Port joined the battle. The former, Alliance's next-generation fighters, featured advanced yet unstable plasma thrusters. The latter, relics of the Legion's century-old designs, boasted traditional yet highly refined jet engines, nearing the pinnacle of "chemical-powered engines." The use of jet engines wasn't strictly a case of "path dependence." On the barren wasteland, the only forces capable of forcing the Legion to deploy supersonic aircraft were the corporations and the Alliance. Missiles from these high-speed jets far exceeded the cost of those from propeller-driven planes, and they couldn't carry much cannon ammo. Neither the Legion's ground forces nor their air force favored them, keeping them mostly for parades. During the Autumn Dawn Province campaign, Luoyu, piloting the "Lingyun" fighter, had once faced off against such aircraft, barely winning due to his fusion with Xiaoyu. Today, however, neither he, Xiaoyu, nor the Alliance's aircraft remained at that beginner's level. Even in a four-on-six or a one-on-six scenario, he had the confidence to revisit the battlefield in three days! Gripping the control stick and taking a deep breath, Luoyu sank his consciousness into his bio-neural interface. Xiaoyu's drones permeated the cockpit. Through these "biomaterial sensors," he could sense the airflow against the canopy and the vibrations of the wing tips! The entire plane seemed a part of him! His "vision" extended beyond the clouds, almost sensing the enemy pilot's heartbeat and breath, while a missile skimmed the cloud's edge, homing in on him. Fearless, his chest surged with battle fervor. Against the Torch's aerial units, opponents maxed at 200 knots. Now, he faced a worthy adversary! "Xiaoyu, let's begin!" As the missile radar activated, a gentle call echoed from the depths of his mind. "Eeeeek!" Behind a tracery trail, an array of airborne dogfights erupted, with missiles occasionally streaking by, sometimes seeing aircraft igniting into fireballs with parachutes drifting below. Most were Welantian parachutes. Goblin Corps pilots had no use for such things; their mosquitoes didn't bother equipping themselves with them. The aerial clash escalated to fever pitch, the outcome uncertain. Meanwhile, ground combat continued. Despite Mole's early demise, the command chain of the Skeleton Corps remained intact, drawing laughter from the trailing vehicles' commanders. "Damn, that Mole's luck is too crazy." "How the hell did he get hit?! Must be using hacks!" "Damn developers increased the difficulty." "That's what you get for slacking; getting punished." The communication channel filled with jovial banter, with many seizing the absence of Mole to voice their frustrations. However, the battle raged on, and instead of letting all their time slip away in chit-chat, the group quickly refocused on the task at hand. Even if it was just to avenge Mole, they knew they had to pull out their best skills. Elena quickly took command, shouting into the communications channel. "... Anti-air squad, do you see anything nearby, like drones or anything?" The response came swiftly. "Negative! No sign of drones; there isn't even a bird in the sky." The enemy's air force was still entangled with the Goblin Corps' fighters, which left this section momentarily unguarded. Elena nodded. "Good... it seems their 'eyes' and radios are somewhere ahead of us." This was a skirmish, giving neither side much time to deploy in advance. In such a short timeframe, it's unlikely that the enemy's 340,000-strong force had time to position infantry on both wings of their forward path. Such a move risked exposing their own artillery to our armored units. Gauging their likely deployment, Elena swiftly made a decision and issued a series of commands over the channel. "Support squad, proceed to the designated map location and await further instructions." "First and second armored battalions, flank left; third battalion, flank right. Target the enemy's self-propelled artillery and light armor units, and watch out for anti-tank weapons. Fifth mechanized infantry battalion, cover the advance of the fourth battalion!" Battalion Leaders: "Roger that!" Pausing briefly, Elena continued. "Also, anti-air squad, flatten your anti-air guns! Push your Defenders forward, and if anything looks suspicious or if you suspect infantry trenches, lay down some fire first!" FK-1 "Defender" Crew: "Understood!" With orders given, the Skeleton Corps immediately adjusted their formation as they pushed forward. The frontline units switched from Type-3 main battle tanks to "Chimera" armored vehicles, with the heavy armor on the flanks charging like twin axes toward the artillery positions of the 340,000-strong unit. The Skeleton Corps' assault did not falter despite the loss of their commander. Indeed, it was precisely because Mole had the confidence that the Skeleton Corps could continue without him that he had dared to lead the charge in the first place. Each main battle tank was equipped with a dedicated "offline operator" who filled the role of communications officer, relaying strategic deployments from offline to online. The tank commander handled in-game communications, coordinating in real-time with other units. This was a lesson learned during the Battle of Autumn Twilight. Even if the entire reinforced regiment were hit by a strategic-level EMP weapon, the tank crews would still be able to communicate in near real-time. Upon noticing the maneuver, Commander Gibson of the 340,000-strong unit realized the gravity of the situation. Despite the shelling, they hadn't rushed toward the infantry positions but flanked around the forward deployment. With air support taking too long to materialize and the enemy armor fast approaching, Gibson was forced to order a tactical retreat for the self-propelled artillery, commanding nearby APCs to follow suit. As for the over 3,000 infantry left behind, they were instructed to dig in and conceal themselves. With such an expansive area, it would be difficult for the Alliance to locate each soldier, and unlikely they would waste time searching. Gibson's judgment was sound from a commander's standpoint, but it left the ambushing infantry as sacrificial pawns. Without supporting artillery fire and light armor cover, the scattered infantry become isolated targets. Once the enemy ceased fire, Elena promptly ordered the deployed support squad to launch drones for fire guidance, targeting suspected enemy positions with three rounds of incendiary ammunition. Fiery blazes ignited across the open fields. Though the flames didn't spread widely, they proved devastating for the Welantian soldiers hiding in their burrows. Cramped already in tight holes, the flames siphoned the oxygen, forcing some to emerge while others suffocated within. Seeing that the fires had effectively cleared the area, Elena shouted "Dismount," then led over three hundred troops from the fourth battalion out of their vehicles. With "Chimera" armored cars, they advanced in teams of three, searching forward. Since the "Extinguishing Battle," the Skeleton Corps' mechanized infantry had been outfitted with Type-5 lightweight exoskeletons, combining mobility with defense. Supported by helmet-mounted guided battlefield systems, they merely needed to "look" towards likely enemy spots, with iris-recognition sensors instantly transmitting target data to gunners in the armored cars behind them, who could then decide whether to open fire. Not long after dismounting, the troops came under sporadic fire from Welantian skirmishers. Bullets peppered the air with a sharp, piercing sound, like raindrops cutting through the silence. Ducking under a volley, Elena swiftly raised her LD-47 assault rifle and returned fire. The 7mm full-power rounds punched clean through helmets, skull fragments scattering like crushed watermelon as a Welantian soldier collapsed silently, half-propped against the trench edge. The comrade's death didn't instill fear in the remaining Welantian soldiers; rather, it fueled their fighting spirit. Gunfire erupted in waves across the field, suppressive fire pinning down Elena's squad behind the armored vehicles. Yet, despite the barrage, a "Chimera's" 37mm cannon far outmatched their small arms. "Three o'clock! Hit it with high-explosive rounds! We've got it covered!" Elena pounded her fist on the vehicle's door, then rested her rifle against the side armor, taking aim at an enemy crawling out with an anti-tank rocket launcher, dispensing bullets before he could load. The opponent's commander clearly underestimated the size of their trenches—ideal for Borneo troops with RPGs, but cramped and cumbersome for Welantian soldiers and gear. A more disposable "Panzerfaust" might have served them better. Against lightly armored targets, almost any shaped charge sufficed. With anti-tank infantry neutralized by Elena, her squad pressed forward, while the "Chimera" ferociously targeted remaining riflemen. The 37mm cannon fired relentlessly, casing clattering against the turret and hull, felling over half of the Welantian resistance within mere breaths. Amidst the "Chimera's" sustained artillery, the FK-1 "Defender," trailing not far behind, moved up. A 20mm "Red Dot" rapid-fire cannon, inspired by destroyer close-in systems, roared like a tear-gas siren, sweeping through fields of mud and targeting scattered trenches. Rapid-fire rounds stormed forward, eager to tear up even the earth itself. Just minutes had passed before the vehicle expended 6% of its mass. Though their armor-piercing potential was limited, these electromagnetic-accelerated lightweight rounds worked wonders against soft soil. Where high-explosive fragments failed, these metal projectiles effortlessly punched through, even piercing trenches. As the defensive positions fell silent, Elena cautiously probed with a few shots. Receiving no answer, she and her squad crept forward with Old Wang and another comrade. Reaching the nearest trench, they found it collapsed, buried under loose earth, its surface riddled with small holes like a honeycomb. "Damn... that's brutal," Elena muttered, swallowing her discomfort. Retrieving an entrenching tool from her exoskeleton, she unearthed the trench, snapping a photo of the remains inside. It wasn't out of morbid curiosity. Documenting weapon damage was part of operational duties, as this marked the FK-1 "Defender's" debut in battle. Gazing at the slurry of bloodied earth, even the battle-hardened Old Wang felt his stomach churn, muttering a resigned quip. "... Can't even salvage the equipment." "Why bother, in this version, it's obsolete." Since the Alliance's industrial growth, they've rarely used captured equipment. These items are typically passed to newcomers in transition, sold to interested wastelanders, or sent to Boulder Military Industries for research. Elena silently recited a prayer before burying the blood-soaked trench back under. It was too gruesome. The game sometimes offered an uncomfortably realistic depiction; no wonder Agwang restricts children from entering. If her brother saw this, he'd probably be scared witless. Meanwhile, the aerial battle seemed to be winding down. The Southern Legion's Third Air Wing steadily lost momentum, with even their ace pilot—famed for shooting down ten Alliance aircraft during the "Port Defense Battle”—falling here, just another tally in Fengqing's cockpit score. At Luoyu's front, the score was similarly impressive, downing two of the six "Razor" fighters. Two more enemies were taken by teammates. Though trading one for one, it was a manageable cost! Initially advantageous, the situation leveled the field, prompting the remaining two "Razor" jets to retreat. Running low on ammunition, Luoyu chose not to pursue but rather escorted a wounded ally back toward Gold Gallon Port. In terms of acceleration, the in-development plasma engines couldn't match the matured chemical engines, yet they boasted superior endurance and stability. With the aerial engagements concluded, the Mosquito aircraft didn't chase the retreating Southern Legion Third Air Wing but instead turned their sights on the retreating 340,000-strong unit moving toward the northern railway. Naturally, returning home without depleting his remaining munitions felt like a waste. Despite no bombs on this sortie, there was nothing stopping him from using his twin 20mm cannons to create some chaos for the fleeing Welantian soldiers. "Target the transport trucks, ignore the armored carriers!" Mosquito yelled into the comms, pulling down his goggles as he dived with a gleeful shout. As he pulled the trigger, twin 20mm cannons roared to life, shredding the cab of an armored personnel carrier. Panicked Welantian soldiers scrambled out of the back, sprinting towards the nearby woods under their officer’s orders. The once-orderly convoy devolved into chaos, with frustrated soldiers futilely firing their rifles and submachine guns skyward, neither touching nor seeing the retreating planes. "Are they really trying to shoot me down with a submachine gun? They must be insane—wait, oh shi—!" A light crack echoed as a bullet unexpectedly punctured the canopy glass. Taken aback while mid-boast, Mosquito hastily pulled up his aircraft. Thirty-nine prop planes swooped in turns, methodically disabling nearly every functional transport vehicle; those immovable even lost their tires, leaving only stubborn armored vehicles and light tanks on the field. Skeleton Corps would handle those leftovers. Having expended their final rounds, they'd completed their mission. As Mosquito and his squadron set their return course toward Skydome, the three armored battalions of the Skeleton Corps caught up with the collapsing remnants of the 340,000-strong unit. The unit was virtually shattered. Aside from the fifty-two “Fire Crossbow” self-propelled guns, which escaped in their robust armor, the rest of the soldiers, stripped of transport, scattered into the hills and forests. It's a pity the two mechanized battalions under Old Na couldn’t keep pace—otherwise, they might have wiped out the entire division. However, the blame couldn't squarely rest on him. He hadn't anticipated the tenacity of the Welantian troops, their refusal to surrender despite being cut off. Over three thousand nose-ringed troops with almost half a battalion’s worth of anti-tank gear, hiding across a battlefield spanning ten kilometers in length and breadth. Even if they expended all their ammo, clearing out these scattered troops would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Their numbers, a significant disadvantage. With only 600 men between the two deployed battalions, thoroughly sweeping a front this vast was a monumental task. More critically, they were now deep in enemy territory, a stationary target for encirclement. The other side grasped this fact—they wouldn't surrender without a gun pointed at their heads, despite coaxing. Elena sarcastically mused who the real moles were. Ignoring these soldiers was out of the question; a retreat would almost certainly see them ambushed. During Old Na's indecision, distant hoofbeats echoed. He instinctively aimed his rifle, only to find the riders raising their hands. "Friendly! Don't shoot! We're on your side!" The speaker reined in his mount, dismounting deftly. Elena eyed the non-uniformed stranger, letting her rifle lower. "Who are you?" The man's face beamed with warmth, his demeanor respectful as he delivered a crisp salute. "Borneo, 110,000-strong unit commander! Jokar!" Well now. This commander risking the frontline—was he respawn-capable, like a player? Elena observed him, then glanced at the other dismounted riders. "Where's your unit? Just the few of you?" Jokar replied swiftly, "Our troops are nearby; Officer Yudono tasked me with guerrilla warfare here! Upon hearing gunfire, I rode ahead; my men follow on foot, arriving in ten minutes or so." The Borneo army lacked transport, meaning most relied on their feet for mobility. Facing the Legion's mechanized forces, their reinforcements lagged far behind, often arriving too late on the battlefield. This strategic disadvantage meant the Southern Legion barely regarded Borneo’s 200,000-strong force. After all, no matter their numbers, tardy units were rendered moot. Caught in such predicaments, Borneo's frontline commanders relegated their units to guerrilla tactics. Elena surmised that with eighty-plus soldiers using a shared radio, communication might soon cause confusion, but they had no other options now. Watching the officer intently, she asked, "How many of you are there?" Jokar boomed confidently, "We have over ten thousand! We're ready to follow your command!" "Fantastic!" Elena gleefully patted his shoulder, then nodded towards the "potato field". "Those nasal-proud Welantians are holed up in burrows, refusing to emerge. We can't coax them out, so take your men and try. They're equipped with radios similar to what the Southern Legion uses; a few passwords and you'll be set." Beyond radios, exoskeletons, and rocket launchers—the Borneo troops weren't picky. Jokar's delight was evident as he eagerly agreed, vowing, "Leave it to us! We'll get them all out!" "Alright, it's in your hands!" Elena smiled, patting him again. "Move fast, though. We can't predict when reinforcements will arrive. Once equipped, head south; there's no catching the battle for Lion City now." After profusely thanking Jokar, Elena handed the "potato field" over to Borneo's arriving troops. Refusal to surrender suited her—taking prisoners was bothersome. She silently wished the stubborn Welantian fighters well before her team, their hooded captives in tow, boarded their vehicles. The logistics unit would later process those prisoners, sending them to a POW camp in the rear. “Fourth, Fifth Battalions, Support and Anti-Air Forces, move out! Target: Northern Railway!" The rumble of wheels rolled onward, ready to strike at the Southern Legion’s eastern flank. Unfortunately, localized victories failed to alter the broader campaign outcome. While the Skeleton Corps clashed with the 350,000-strong force along the railroad, centered on armored trains, Commander Ryan’s 300,000-strong unit breached the defenses at Reed Bull County's northeast, kicking open Lion City’s gates. Faced with the combined assault of three 10,000-strong units of the Southern Legion along with an iron airship, the six Borneo regiments stationed outside Lion City found themselves utterly disoriented and retreated within the city, preparing for urban warfare. While Yudono had managed to evacuate some civilians, others fled on their own, sensing trouble. However, Lion City was a bustling metropolis with a million residents, making a mass evacuation an arduous endeavor. Moreover, it wasn’t just Abusike who harbored illusions about the Welantians. Even after witnessing the disaster at Port West Sail, some Borneo citizens believed that those who perished deserved their fate and that the Southern Legion's brutal actions were, in a way, justified. Upon hearing of the 340,000-strong unit's defeat, Ryan remained unexpectedly calm and didn't lash out at Commander Gibson, who reported the news. Instead, he calmly proceeded with his orders. The war had reached a point where not even the most naive of the Welantians could deny that their real adversary wasn't the so-called filthy Borneans, but the Alliance. Facing their age-old enemy, a temporary setback was nothing to be ashamed of. Moreover, losing a couple of battles wouldn't halt their advancing triumph. However, since the local survivors had chosen to align with the remnants of the War Construction Committee against them, Ryan had no intention of showing mercy. Inside the command vehicle. Staring at the holographic display showing the settlement shrouded in black smoke, Commander Ryan impassively issued orders to the airship Trumpet. "Move your airship over the southern district of Lion City." The captain of the Trumpet understood Ryan's intentions and didn’t find them problematic, yet couldn’t shake the feeling that such actions might be excessively harsh. After all, what they needed wasn't a ruin. There were already enough wastelands scattered across the vast desert, unwanted even if given for free. "Does this have any purpose? What's left are just remnants. If you're worried about casualties among our troops, we could send a wave of 'dogs' in first. They're cheaper than shells." By 'dogs,' he referred to the unnumbered Glory Corps. Ryan didn’t bother explaining further, responding coldly, "Do what I say." He needed to crush the locals' spirit of resistance, to make them realize the consequences of opposing the Southern Legion. The captain of the Trumpet sighed, conceding, "Alright… ahem, I mean, as you command." To be continued.