Chapter 915 - This Game Is Too Realistic

**Chapter 915: The Smart and the Unsuspecting** The creaking of the tank's treads mingled with the cicadas singing by the roadside, yet the triumphant squad remained deathly silent. Not long ago, they had coordinated with infantry aboard a wheeled armored vehicle to raid a village at the foot of a mountain. There weren't many decent buildings in the village, and the only valuable items were the diesel generator and tractor they'd bought from the Weyland folks. It was a miracle the scouts even found this godforsaken place. There wasn't a half-decent road from Mirjans County to this village. Yet, the truly despicable ones were those soldiers from the Boro Nation. Those guys left their stolen equipment and supplies here and even riled up the villagers to attack them. So they had no choice but to fire back at the villagers... Thinking this way offered them some small comfort. Carver still remembered the journey to the battlefield earlier, where the team's gunner, Valk, had been bragging about breaking his "111" record, and the radio operator, Jerstan, and loader, Joe, were arguing heatedly about which bar in Seapoint had the prettiest girls. Now, Valk was mute, not uttering a word about the number of people he had killed. Jerstan and Joe continued their awkward chatter, but their strained topics made one's toes curl with discomfort. In the end, only their crew commander, Buck, remained as silent as ever, always doing what needed to be done and saying only what needed to be said. Carver suddenly recalled how it had been much the same at Evernight Port. Everything seemed different, yet unchanged... In a moment of reflection, Carver was struck by a thought he’d never had before. If only he hadn’t picked up that recruitment flyer back then but had instead walked a few more steps to the familiar farmers’ market and used his saved scholarship money to buy a tractor to take home. The one at home was already quite worn out. His father had always talked about wanting a new one, and he intended to surprise the old man. Instead, just like most Weylanders, he got carried away and headed straight to the recruitment center with the flyer in hand, chanting for the Marshal as he climbed into the tank. However, once on the battlefield, what he saw and heard was nothing like he had imagined... While lost in thought, a broad hand suddenly clasped his shoulder. “Watch the road.” The commander’s voice snapped Carver back to reality. He steered the tank back onto the barely discernible path, narrowly avoiding driving one of the treads into a ditch. To ease the tense atmosphere in the tank, Joe chuckled at him. “Hey, are you up for it, or should we let Valk take over?” “Yeah, okay.” Carver managed an awkward smile, secretly agreeable to the idea. Nevertheless, Valk, who sat just behind him, stayed silent as if he hadn’t heard a thing, absorbed in his own thoughts. The atmosphere quickly descended into an awkward silence. No one uttered another word. Carver thought the second half of the journey would pass in this oppressive quiet. Then, unexpectedly, a sharp, short whirring noise pierced his ears. “Whoosh—!” A flickering flame, like a dagger slicing through the jungle, trailed a stark white plume, aimed squarely at the wheeled armored vehicle not far ahead of them. Sparks erupted all around, followed by black smoke billowing from the engine hood of the armored vehicle. Its rear doors burst open, and soldiers in exoskeleton suits leaped out, rifles in hand. Simultaneously, the rapid burst of gunfire echoed through the forest, with tracer rounds raining down toward the Weylander squad, using the armored vehicle as cover. “It’s the Iron Fist! Damn it, our rocket launchers!” Carver shouted, instinctively yanking the handbrake. Chaos erupted in the cabin as loader Joe hurriedly jammed a high-explosive round into the cannon, and radio operator Jerstan yelled into the radio, desperately trying to contact their allies up ahead. The skirmish had begun in seconds, and everyone was thrown into combat mode almost instantly! “It’s the guerrillas!” “Ten o’clock!” “Fire!!” Valk’s movements were as swift as ever. With his shout, a precise and fierce shot was unleashed, detonating into flames in the nearby forest. Without pause, he fired another high-explosive round before swiftly adjusting the cannon, strafing the forest with the tank’s coaxial machine gun. Cooperating with the stalled armored vehicle, the two vehicles unleashed a barrage of bullets that stitched a deathly net across the dense forest! The Boro soldiers’ gunfire faltered momentarily, as if they had suffered significant losses. However, their respite was brief, and soon enough, the gunfire resumed, more intense than before. Before long, a rocket-propelled grenade emerged from the trees, striking beneath the turret of the armored vehicle. The metal jet pierced through the armored plates, precisely hitting the ammunition rack shielded behind the armor! “Boom—!” The explosive blaze tore the turret off the armored vehicle, followed by a cascade of smaller blasts. Caught unawares, the ten-man team using the armored vehicle as cover was half-decimated by the ammunition's chain explosion, while the survivors, left in tatters, scrambled for the relative safety of the woods under relentless machine-gun fire. “Damn it! We’ve got to get out of here!” Barked Buck, slamming his fist inside the cabin. “The Boro are returning for revenge...” Radio operator Joe was trembling, his lips pale with fright. Loader Jerstan was equally rattled, cursing incessantly as he shoved shells into the breach. “Why now?! Why didn’t they come sooner?!” There were no aircraft in the vicinity carrying out missions, and they had no air support to call upon. Even if their air force colleagues scrambled from Seapoint Harbour, they wouldn’t make it in time. “Carver! Drive! Wait, what the hell are you doing?!” “The tread snapped! I’m going down to fix it! Cover me!” “No! Stay in the tank, send Joe instead—” Commander Buck yelled, but it was too late to stop him. Overcome by bloodlust, Carver had already popped the hatch above the driver’s seat and clambered outside. Perhaps sending the radio operator was a better choice, and crawling out from the bottom of the tank might have been safer, but even he wasn’t sure why he was doing this. Bullets whistled dangerously above, but he seemed deaf to their lethal song. The adrenaline rush had deadened his senses and quelled his fear of dying. War—this was damn well what war was! By perhaps the Marshal’s divine favor, none of the wildly flying bullets struck him. He grabbed the toolkit hanging off the back of the tank, ignoring the relentless gunfire and booming cannons above his head, rolling to the front of the treads to try and replace the broken links. But his luck seemed to vanish as a shaped charge blasted against the tank's side armor, barely two meters from him! The deafening explosion nearly shattered his eardrums, and the searing shockwave almost knocked him unconscious. Luckily, it was a shaped charge! Had it been a high-explosive or something worse, he might already be at Heaven's gates. “Damn—!” The ripping pain from his calf made Carver suck in a breath. He dared not check the injury, struggling to his feet, retrieving the fallen track link, virtually moving on autopilot as he reconnected the broken tread. Thanks to his relentless efforts, the tank miraculously started moving again. Just as this happened, Boro soldiers burst from the jungle, rifles in hand. “Charge!” “Kill them!!” They fired wildly, trying to draw the tank’s fire, charging forward with reckless abandon. Amid the chaos, one soldier, crazed with fervor, waved a fiery satchel charge while hurling himself forward. Instinctively, Carver drew the pistol from his waist, pulling the trigger at the assailant. His marksmanship lessons from military academy finally paid off. The gunshots, somehow more effective than the rattling coaxial machine gun, felled the man clutching the satchel charge. Another deafening explosion echoed, the dispersing shockwave slamming into his chest. Carver grunted, slipping into unconsciousness. Through the haze, he seemed to overhear his comrades arguing within the cabin. “We have to leave!” “Carver’s still outside!” “There’s no time!” “...” Perhaps there wasn’t even a dispute, but thinking there was eased his heart a little. The tank sped forward, leaving the idea of rescuing Carver behind. After all, it was a light tank. Despite the poor road conditions, it could still move far faster than any man on foot. In a daze, Carver felt himself being yanked by the collar, surrounded by a group who pulled him out of the muck. A bloodied man drew a knife, presumably intending to cut out Carver’s heart, but he was stopped by another Boro soldier. "That's enough. Too many have died already." The man, dripping in blood, shouted angrily at someone who appeared to be an officer. "But he killed my brother! My own flesh and blood! And the village! How do we settle that?!" Carver, breathing heavily, looked between the two men, then at the eyes filled with hatred around him, fear etched across his face. However, the officer’s next words surprisingly brought Carver a sense of warmth. “They are victims too, survivors of this hardship just as we are.” The officer continued speaking, and whatever he said was a sort of magic, calming the rage-filled man who had seemed like a demon. Carver saw the man approach him. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to express his gratitude, but words failed him. The man spoke first. “Your name?” “...Carver.” “I am Amin,” the man said, adjusting Carver’s collar. “Carver, you have been captured.” His manner of speaking was such that Carver almost felt as if he were back in Evernight Port. “I... surrender.” Oddly, when he said this, Carver didn’t feel any guilt. Rather, he felt a sense of remorse and apology. He thought of the villagers he had a hand in killing—though he hadn’t pulled the trigger, he had been there in the tank. And the young man with the satchel charge flashed through his mind; he regretted pulling the trigger, despite knowing he’d have died otherwise... “We accept your surrender,” Amin said, smiling kindly at Carver’s remorseful face, “and we hope you’ll cooperate with us.” ... At the Grey Wolf Command Post, Commander Gopal was pacing back and forth in front of the map, venting a rare bout of anger through curses. “That bastard! He’s completely lost sight of who he answers to!” Operation North Wind had seen incredible success, well beyond initial expectations, yet he found no joy in it. News had just arrived: a hundred thousand troops were advancing toward Snake Province. Such fierce aggression was typical on the northern front, but unprecedented in the south. Unlike Gopal, Sava stood calmly inside the command tent. As Gopal finally simmered down a bit, Sava spoke. “Mr. Zayd anticipated that the vindictive Weylanders would retaliate. But there’s no need to worry too much—our enemy’s ranks are not completely unified.” Gopal paused, looking at Zayd's aide with interest. “If we contacted our informants now, had the southern corps’ logistic systems get involved...” Before he could finish, Sava interrupted his unrealistic notion with a slight cough. “No, General Gulian authorized this action to specifically pressure the southern corps’ logistical system. We’ve already offended a few contacts by not following typical protocols. Asking them to help with such a thing would only sever the valuable connections we’ve painstakingly cultivated.” Gopal steadied himself. “Then what should we do?” Sava: “Bear it.” Gopal’s eyebrows twitched at this unexpected answer. “What if they breach Snake Province?” Sava smiled slightly. "Then it would be perfect. Sharook has constantly undermined us, treating us as expendables and wanting to squeeze us for all we're worth. We'll use their might against them, this hundred thousand strong force to seem like a million!" “If their momentum isn’t grand enough, we will amplify it for them! If Sharook doesn’t want to risk his own guard, he’ll have no choice but to untie the ropes around our necks, give us guns! Food! And more men!” Occupying Snake Province is unlikely. From a strategic standpoint, Gulian wouldn’t disperse resources into the low-threat south, angering his own logistical system and risking the entire operation for an underwhelming objective... Unless General Gulian were irrational, he wouldn’t do it. Only Grove still clung to the belief that clever tactics could tilt the battlefield's outcome, turning Snake Province into another focal point. True intelligence follows the flow, whereas those relying on clever tricks are eventually crushed by it. An understanding dawned in Gopal’s eyes, studying Sava intently. “…Was this all Zayd’s plan?” Sava smiled softly, choosing not to directly answer. “Except for General Grove’s unexpected real actions that deviated from his expectations, it was all personally orchestrated by him. Abhsayak presented him with two tough challenges, and both seemingly insurmountable problems have been resolved.” Gopal laughed heartily at these words. “This is interesting, truly interesting.” Finally finished laughing, seeming more at ease, he looked at Sava. “So what do we do with Grove? Though he’s under my command, his insubordination is worrisome. If you want to deal with him, don't worry about my opinion. I’d even do it myself.” “General Grove isn’t inherently bad, merely places too much value on honor. Why dispose of a good person from a reputable family? Besides, his initiative has your and the sir’s signatures. Doing away with him would harm our own reputations, as well as the alliance's.” Sava gave Gopal a peculiar look, mimicking Zayd’s tone. “Good work deserves reward, and a generous one at that!” ... “...Recently, per reports from our correspondent stationed in the Boro Province, the southern army of the Boro Nation launched a surprise attack on the southern corps stationed in the Wolf Province area during the early hours of September 11th.” “Codenamed Operation North Wind, the attack was led by General Grove, the number two of the Grey Wolf Army, involving over 90,000 troops led by the Boro Nation’s 101st Division. The unit utilized large quantities of light equipment and human-powered transport to infiltrate nearly 100 kilometers into the area controlled by the southern corps.” “An interview with General Grove by the Survivor Daily’s Kinjal Port branch praised the operation's outstanding success, claiming that the southern army achieved over 30,000 enemy casualties with only 2,000 of their own! Additionally, over 50 logistics hubs, 17 production facilities were destroyed, with nearly 100,000 light weapons, ammunition close to a million rounds, 20 field cannons, and over 200 heavy machine guns seized.” “According to open-source intelligence from Seapoint Harbour media, the operation caused 500 Weylander and 3,117 auxiliary troop casualties. While the southern corps lost military supplies worth 90 million dinars, the damaged stations and production facilities have mostly been restored within a week. Meanwhile, thanks to drone units and new artillery, the southern army incurred nearly 10,000 casualties.” “Due to conflicting casualty numbers from both sides, we present their statements without endorsement.” “Furthermore, Abhsayak authorities praised the operation and condemned the southern army’s actions in Snake Province, highlighting high civilian casualties during the counterattack. Southern corps spokespeople, however, urged the guerrillas not to use civilians as shields, vowing that Weylander forces at the front lines would defend the corps and the empire’s covenant at all costs, aiming to eradicate all rebel elements.” “Sharook, the influential figure in the politically hot southern Boro Province, has yet to comment officially on the operation. However, our sources confirm it was indeed authorized by Sharook and senior Grey Wolf commanders.” “Sharook has faced criticism across Boro for inaction during the Wolf Province loss, and rumors persist about his ties with factions within the southern corps. The robust offensive serves as a rebuke to those claims to some extent.” "Analysts in Kinjal Port suggest that Operation North Wind, as the first large-scale offensive under Sharook's command, could be a turning point in the current stalemate. However, other analysts argue that this operation, in both scale and achievement, is unlikely to have a significant impact on the southern corps' strategic positioning unless Sharook commits more resources." "In response to the event, the southern corps quickly dispatched the 60th and 61st divisions, along with tens of thousands of auxiliary troops, to the southern region of Wolf Province, launching a massive military operation codenamed 'Fallen Leaves,' seemingly as a counter to 'North Wind.'" "Additionally, sources from Seapoint Harbour reveal that a new deck of cards issued in the Southern Corps' Boro Province theater now features General Grove's portrait, carrying a bounty of 100,000 dinars." "Currently, the highest bounty in this series of cards is still on Isher, with the Southern Corps having increased the reward to 5 million dinars..." "Furthermore, we remind everyone that any alliance citizen participating in unauthorized wars as a mercenary is engaging in illegal behavior. Those involved should take orders through official channels and refrain from taking reckless risks..." "Brought to you by Dawn City News!" In the bar of Weifu City, a TV screen hanging from the ceiling was showing a broadcast by Dawn City TV. Dawn City TV has been around for quite a few years. Back during the major reforms of Boulder City, this station and the Survivor’s Daily from Dawn City closely followed the city's developments. Now, its coverage extends thousands of kilometers away, much like the alliance's cables. Sitting beside the bar, a mercenary equipped with mechanical prosthetics sipped his beer, grinning at the screen’s footage. “Grove... yet another new name. Seems like there are plenty of second-in-command figures in Boro Province." A drunk seated next to him hiccupped, mocking him. "You’ve got it wrong. He’s the second-in-command of the Grey Wolf Army, not the province." The war had raged on for nearly half a year, with major events happening almost every other day. Only folks like him, who spent all their off time in bars, could remember every news broadcast like a storyline. Given that the alliance's print media and entertainment industry were still budding, even though TV sets and other media terminals were becoming widespread, it was the news-hungry barflies keeping up with the broadcasts. The mercenary looked embarrassed, coughing to shift the subject. “Grey Wolf Army... what's that supposed to be? Never heard of it." “That’s not on you,” the drunk hiccupped, “because I watch the news every day, and they hardly ever make appearances. This must be their moment in the spotlight.” His words had barely settled when another middle-aged man nearby chuckled and chimed in. “Seems your memory’s fuzzy too. These guys made the headlines several times last year.” That sparked a conversation, with everyone at the bar chiming in. “Oh, I remember now—you mean the guys feeding fish over by Fry Port?” “And didn’t the Flaming Legion in Kinjal Port drown in Eternal Flow River during a retaliatory strike?” “Haha, that river dunk is ancient news. Heard the unit underwent McLaughlin's training and produced some standout officers.” “McLaughlin...” “Still the same defeated commander, isn’t he?” “Hahaha.” The tavern was filled with jolly laughter and chatter at the bar. Rumor had it McLaughlin was quite helpful to the Xilan Empire, but after things went awry there, he fell silent. Who knows what he’s plotting. Of course, maybe after some alliance-induced transformation, he’s turned over a new leaf. As for that Grove fellow, no one seemed to recall his name. But that was understandable. For survivors in Jinshuan Province, the second-in-command of some army in faraway Boro meant next to nothing. To be remembered, they’d need a nine-digit bank account or to have accomplished something monumental. Give it a couple of days, and last week’s Dawn City News will likely fade from memory... The TV began airing other news, particularly dwelling on a proposal submitted by Settlement One to establish an Immigration Bureau, which stirred quite a debate recently. Though criticized by radicals and "the overseen," the proposal received broad backing from conservatives and alliance citizens. After all, who wouldn’t want their identity to carry more weight? Especially after some unpleasant incidents previously. Currently, the alliance's representative assembly formally received the application from Settlement One’s local council and is publicly reviewing the proposal for any constitutional violations. It seems Settlement One's local council has prepared extensively and is unlikely to falter on such details. The proposal might soon enter the voting phase, and approval seems almost certain. Reports suggest it was proposed by a radical faction member. Apparently, stricter immigration controls have unwittingly become common ground for both radical and conservative factions. While the rest carried on with different topics, the mercenary at the bar remained absorbed in the earlier news about Boro. The increasing allure of the warfare there piqued his interest to earn some money. Not really for the bounty, since he preferred silver coins over dinars, plus justifying the source of riches would prove tricky. His main consideration was that his combat prosthetics had become less lucrative in East Central Continent. Heading to Boro Province for new opportunities seemed viable. Taking a long swig of beer, the mercenary mumbled aloud. “Come to think of it, surprising that the highest corps’ bounty target is a Boro man.” “Cuz Isher, right? Heard he made the southern corps reel in the northern three states.” The drunk next door laughed, proud of his memory. Another nearby drinker playfully cut in. “I mean, it’s a deck issued in the Southern Corps Boro Province theater. Who else would they feature, you?” The mercenary casually asked a sudden question. “So, who’s the highest bounty target in the whole Southern Corps?” “I’ve heard it’s our Administrator.” Everyone exchanged glances, leaving a momentary silence before muttering. “...” “Damn, these Weylanders have guts.” “Dream on. To go for him, you’d have to step over my dead body first!” “Hey, by that point, would you even get your turn to show off?” Maybe Chu Guang himself barely remembers those trivialities, but everyone here recalls him smashing the church’s monster into pulp with a single swing and leading Vault 404’s residents fearlessly into land ravaged by plague. It’s somewhat exaggerated, but not far from the truth. Perhaps it’s this escalating legend that, despite many Weylanders in the alliance, none dared covet that billion bounty on his head. Or maybe it’s something else. The Administrator genuinely values the wastelanders. Both the wastelanders of the Eastern provinces and the Weylanders from distant lands... At least those united around him stood for the same purpose. **To be continued.**