This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 464: Lightning-Fast Offensive!

Chapter 464: Chapter 464: Lightning-Fast Offensive!

To avoid affecting morale, the news of Pangolin’s injury was not made public within the Army, and even today’s broadcast didn’t report the glorious achievements of Area G53-7, but rather aired news unrelated to the frontline situation.

Position G40.

At the entrance of the anti-cannon hole, a large pot was supported. Fragrant bubbles floated in the broth within the pot, and sliced bread was placed on a rack beside it. Under the Centurion’s lead, the Clone soldiers had lined up, and the chef, holding a ladle, shouted impatiently.

"Next."

The Clone soldiers weren’t very smart, their thoughts simple.

Absolute obedience was one of their strengths, yet conversely, without someone instructing them, they wouldn’t do anything.

If the chef didn’t tell them they could leave, they would just keep waiting in front of the pot.

A spoonful of broth, half a sausage, and a piece of hard bread—that was the simple meal for the Clone Group.

Occasionally, the broth and sausage would be replaced with stewed meat or canned food, but that distinctive hard bread seldom changed.

The kind of bread that needed to be dipped in soup to soften, tough enough to break a rat’s teeth and, in a pinch, not only bulletproof but also usable as a sandbag or blunt weapon to strike the enemy.

Beside the large pot for boiling soup, a two-person-high wooden pole stood with a loudspeaker attached with wire, broadcasting today’s headlines from the Triumph Newspaper.

Although the newspaper also reached the front, supply vehicles didn’t come daily, so the latest news was only available through the broadcast next to the mobile kitchen.

Having received his boxed meal, Daniel sat on a small stool beneath the loudspeaker, casually picking up another small stool to use as a table.

Officers born in the Falcon Kingdom weren’t typically fussy, but as a Vellante and a Centurion, he naturally wouldn’t dine in the trenches like those common soldiers.

Just then, his adjutant, Peterson, came over and picked up a stool to sit opposite him, setting a small bottle of liquor on their "table."

Daniel raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of the gin, a smile of pleasant surprise forming on his face.

"Nice find, where did you get this?"

"A while back, when the northern trade route was still open, I bought it from a merchant there, 500 Dinar a bottle."

Peterson grinned, twisting the cap open with a hiss, conjuring two cap-sized cups as if by magic. He poured a drink for his superior first, then filled his own cup.

"... Those damned old turtles, cutting off our business with Bugra Free State. We have plenty of food at the front, but genuinely good liquor is too hard to come by."

Daniel took up his cup and sipped, his face expressing rapture as he relished the taste.

"Getting it isn’t cheap either, 500 Dinar... could buy a slave with two bottles of this."

Not all officers owned their estates, and Centurions of the lowest rank generally lived off their salaries, earning just two or three thousand Dinar a month. Centurions earned a bit more, but if they were young and not from noble families, they generally didn’t have much savings.

While this sum might sound considerable, enough to buy two or three strong slaves in a month, it was just barely adequate for maintaining a decent lifestyle.

Especially in places like Triumph City, a major city directly governed by the Army, there were strict regulations concerning the working environment and living standards for slaves.

In remote areas like Luo Xia Province, no one would bother them, and the nobles’ domains and manors were also a different matter, but in Triumph City, they had to provide slaves with an 8 square meter room and ensure three meals a day for them, so they could live healthily beyond the age of fifty, otherwise, they would have to pay a hefty fine to the local authorities.

Furthermore, once a transaction was completed, unless the slave resisted an order, the owner was not allowed to terminate the slave contract arbitrarily.

This sounded more like a form of lifetime employment.

Although it restricted personal freedom and had a coercive nature, it was still more "civilized" than the majority of the practices in the Survivor Settlements where they put shackles on slaves.

And this was one of the few rules personally established by His Excellency the Marshal.

"It will be enough for me to drink in the pub on 70th Street in Triumph City for half a month," Peterson grinned.

Daniel laughed heartily, a glint of longing in his eyes.

"The pub on 70th Street? That place is indeed great, with the scent of pine drifting across the street... I used to drink there often when I was at the officer academy. Damn, it’s been five years since I went back."

"Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what we’re really here for," Peterson swirled his gin-sized cup, his face filled with melancholy, "There’s indeed a lot of food here, but the oasis is only the size of a palm, barely enough to feed the people of Triumph City, not to mention getting past the Great Desert... It’s not easy for us to visit home, let alone transport food."

"That’s not something we should worry about." Half sober from his drunken haze, Daniel quickly cut off the topic.

Peterson also realized his slip of the tongue, glancing toward the radio beside him and diverting the conversation away from home and the future.

"...It’s strange that there’s no news from 53 today."

Daniel’s lips curled up in a smile.

"It seems even those barbarians can be intimidated."

Thinking about it, they had already lost three thousand lives at one position, yet it was only defended by a hundred men cobbled together from Attendant soldiers and clones.

If the opposing commander knew what kind of adversaries he had been tactically outwitting for so long, he would probably be furious enough to bleed from his nostrils.

Awakeners like the "Pangolin" were not many, but as for those hundreds stationed in places like the G53-7 Area, there were as many supplies as needed.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough ammunition.

Otherwise, there would be no need to waste time here; they could simply advance the whole army and crush those indigenous people underfoot in minutes!

Having finished the food on his plate, Daniel returned his tray to the kitchen and took Peterson to inspect the frontline positions.

Today’s frontline was still calm.

Although the soldiers’ backpacks were running low on bullets, the Alliance was already tied down in Area 53, so he was not worried about any problems arising.

Picking up the binoculars and looking toward the horizon, seeing no trace of anything, Daniel decided to head back to the anti-cannon hole to rest.

However, just then, a majestic silhouette slowly emerged from the thick clouds, hanging in the air like a gleaming blade without warning.

Seeing the commanding bow and the forward hanging gondolas, Daniel was stunned for two seconds, then a light trace of fear spread across his face.

The Iron Heart!

Alarms rang out simultaneously, echoing throughout the entire battlefield.

Daniel shouted at the top of his lungs as he rushed toward the direction of the anti-cannon hole.

"Enemy airships!"

"Everyone! Take cover!"

Almost as soon as his words fell, twelve trails of fire sparked below the clouds, strings of white smoke drifting to one side and blending into the cloud layer.

Dragging orange-yellow tracers, twelve 155mm heavy shells descended like thunder from the heavens, heavily hitting the G40-1 area.

Apart from the initial alarm, there was no sign of warning before the explosions lighted up the battlefield like scattered flowers from the heavens.

The artillery strike came so suddenly that many clone soldiers were still engaged in their work, unable to react in time to the alarms.

Caught off guard, more than thirty people were killed instantly, while others were injured by shrapnel and shockwaves; buried by the stirred-up dust, half of the team of 120 Centurions lost their combat ability.

Those who survived wore shaken expressions, frantically gazing at the distant sky as fear gradually filled their pupils.

"Damn..."

One Centurion, his face pale and his hands trembling as he held his submachine gun, looked as though he had seen a ghost.

"Is this a 100mm cannon?!"

"Absolutely not!"

"I heard about it! The Alliance modified that airship! Someone from the front line said, they refurbished the forward gun deck, replacing it with larger caliber cannons—"

Before he could finish, the second round of artillery had already descended upon their heads, throwing mud and pebbles almost directly into the Centurions’ mouths.

Daniel, who had lucked out during the first wave of artillery, wasn’t so fortunate this time.

A shell landed right near the entrance of the anti-cannon hole.

"Boom—!"

Kitchenware from the mobile kitchen was blown sky-high and hot soup splattered everywhere, with pieces of bone and meat scattered all around.

He had barely heard the deafening roar when the spreading shockwave struck him heavily from behind like a hammer.

Blood rushed to his throat, and Daniel coughed violently, but he dared not stop moving.

He practically rolled into the anti-cannon hole along with the explosive debris and dust.

"Damn it!"

When the dust had settled, Daniel, cursing under his breath, got up from the ground, wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve, his face still marked by lingering fright.

Peterson beside him looked just as dirty and disheartened, fortunate to be alive but without a trace of joy at having survived the ordeal.

"What the hell is going on."

Daniel swallowed a mouthful of bloody spit, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"I don’t know..."

Iron Heart!

Ever since they had seized that big gun from McCullen, it had become the main force of the Alliance... But why would the main force of the Alliance appear here?!

They had faced setbacks at the G53 line; shouldn’t they regroup where they had fallen?

Why target them specifically here!

Although it was just an artillery bombardment for now, Daniel knew all too well that such bombardments were typically just the prelude to an attack. Soon, the Alliance’s ground troops would follow up, taking over the land that had been plowed over by the artillery fire.

Thinking of this, Daniel’s face turned grim.

Their own ammunition had already been evenly distributed to the Area 53, and though he was unclear about the situation with the thousand team, he knew all too well about the situation of his own hundred team.

The backpacks of those clone soldiers didn’t even muster twenty rounds of ammunition combined, and the entire team had only five Iron Fist Rocket Launchers!

He gritted his teeth and looked over at Peterson.

"I’ll go to the radio and call for reinforcements... you wait here. Once their cannons stop firing, you must hold the position with whoever is left!"

Peterson reluctantly nodded his head.

"Yes!"

After giving the orders, Daniel quickly walked deeper into the anti-cannon hole, found the only radio of the hundred team, put on the headset, and shouted loudly.

"This is G40-1 area! We are under artillery attack!"

"The Alliance is assaulting our position, we need reinforcements—!"

There was no response on the other side of the communication channel, only continuous busy signals.

There were only two possibilities—

Either the enemy had used some kind of direct or indirect means to disrupt their communications, or the command center was also in trouble, currently unable to help themselves.

Daniel cursed, slammed the headset on the radio, grabbed the submachine gun leaning nearby, and strode toward the entrance of the anti-cannon hole.

Fortunately, the noise made by the enemy’s artillery was substantial.

Not to mention the thousand team headquarters twenty kilometers away, even the ten thousand team headquarters a hundred kilometers away could perceive the situation here.

Keeping to a rhythm of one round per minute, the artillery strike continued for a full five minutes, with the Alliance bombarding their position with at least sixty shells!

Daniel silently waited for the cessation of the artillery fire, then, taking Peterson with him, bent low and moved through the meandering trench, making their way to the observational post next to the anti-cannon hole.

The shadows of the Alliance Army had already appeared in the distance.

A cloud of dust surged from the horizon, and Daniel unconsciously gripped his rifle tighter, his heart rising to his throat.

He was a well-trained officer who had followed General Griffin all the way here, battle-hardened, certainly not one to be frightened by this lineup.

Daniel quickly calculated how he could survive this onslaught, hoping to at least hold out until the arrival of reinforcements from Area 41 and Area 39.

The Iron Heart was indeed trouble, but the air force could not simply land and seize territory—provided he stood firm like a pangolin, the final victory would surely be theirs—

However, just as he was thinking this, he caught a glimpse of a vague silhouette amid the overwhelming dust cloud.

That sight left him utterly frozen on the spot, his face turning pale, blood draining away.

Tanks!

And hundreds of them!

The long barrels looked like Gun Cavalry lances under the blazing sun, emitting a chilling gleam. The desert-colored steel armor merged with the horizon, blending into the rolling yellow sands, forming an advancing steel wall!

And it was not just tanks—

Hundreds of armored trucks, reinforced with steel plates, followed closely behind, the dust kicked up by their tracks joining the tanks in a raging torrent of steel.

One by one, menacing Alliance Soldiers sat in the backs of the trucks, automatic rifles, far superior to theirs, leaned next next to each steel helmet.

In less than a minute—

They would collide head-on with this steel torrent!

Witnessing everything before him, Daniel felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, the bone-chilling cold seeping down his back to his feet, pinning him to the spot.

He suddenly realized that the previous artillery fire was just an appetizer.

The real drama was just beginning...

"Damn it..." Peterson’s lips trembled as he forced out, "Did they bring all their tanks here?!"

Besides the models he didn’t recognize, this wave of steel also included about fifty Conqueror No. 10s and No. 5s.

He was very clear.

The armor-piercing rounds fired by the Iron Fist couldn’t penetrate the armor of the Conqueror No. 10 tanks.

In other words, they had no means to withstand this iron flood; they could only watch helplessly as their defensive line was torn apart.

In fact, that was already happening.

Hundreds of tanks fired simultaneously, and the Army’s trenches lit up with a burst of simultaneous attacks.

After a round of direct firepower coverage, over twenty trucks sped out of the formation, rushing forward under the cover of machine gun fire from the truck roofs, and directly approached the face of this hundred-man team.

"Infantry, off the trucks! Find cover! Quick!"

Elena, taking the lead, jumped out from the back of a truck and, with an LD-50 submachine gun in hand, charged ahead, firing a burst at the trenches ahead, sending clone soldiers who were trying to rise from the ground.

"Ah ah ah!"

A clone soldier hiding behind a sandbag suddenly sprang out, uttering a wretched scream, clutching his bayonet-fitted rifle and charging at Elena.

However, his clumsy move looked to Gnome King Riches, standing nearby, as slow as a wingless Mosquito. Casually, he pulled out his shotgun, loaded it, and with a bang, pushed the clone back behind the sandbag, sending him to meet their marshal.

Seeing that the Alliance Soldiers had already charged into the trenches, the Centurion in the trench let out a roar, ordering his clone soldiers to fix bayonets on their rifles.

Next, he pulled the pin from a smoke grenade, unleashing "delusional smoke" within the trench, preparing for a final stand.

"Tsk, it seems not many have survived..."

Brother Fu Gui, with his blood-vision activated, scanned the smoke-filled trench and quickly spotted two Old Sixes huddling in a corner.

Their tight grip on their rifles, ready to spring into action, clearly indicated they had no intention of surrendering.

So, he unapologetically switched to the LD-47 and swept a burst of fire their way, collecting their heads.

"The artillery and tanks have already done the heavy lifting; what’s left for us is just to clean up the battlefield," Elena said with a jesting smile.

After all, they’d prepared this operation for a full half-month, and it was proceeding much more smoothly than expected.

The Army had never anticipated that the Alliance would launch an attack at this time, nor at this location. While they had turned Area 53 into a fortress, the armored spearhead of the Alliance had already flanked them at Area 40, tearing a gap.

From the Army’s perspective, this was the least likely place to be attacked.

After all, choosing here would mean extending the Alliance’s supply line by at least two hundred kilometers.

Every meter of those two hundred kilometers was a vulnerability, not to mention that Area 39 and Area 41, forming a pincer with Area 40, would quickly come to its aid.

Even if the Alliance fully captured Area 40, the reinforcements from Area 39 and Area 41 would close in like a folding pocket, trapping the encroaching knife.

This was why they had prioritized transferring ammunition from Area 40 to the attacked Area 53.

Springs, while drafting the specific attack strategy, clearly saw their hubris and decisively exploited it, turning their plan against them.

The Army would never guess that the Alliance, determined to launch a comprehensive offensive, had no intention of leaving any way out. As the vanguard of this full-scale attack—the Skeleton Corps that first stormed Area 40—had no thoughts of hitting the brakes.

This steel torrent would continue advancing, splitting the entire battlefield in two!

The voice of the field commander, Mole, came over the communication channel.

"Clear the trenches and anti-cannon holes! Find the Army’s command center! If you see a radio and maps, you’re right on target!"

"Gather the surrendering prisoners in the anti-cannon holes. We won’t be staying here long; the allied forces from the Lion Kingdom will look after them."

As the order was given, the fight in the trenches had essentially ended.

These armored grenadiers were all experienced players, having recently recruited a batch of novices composed mainly of drivers and gunners.

They didn’t require much direction.

They just needed a bit of time to familiarize themselves with the somewhat familiar equipment.

Leading a group of ten at the forefront, Elena quickly locked onto the enemy’s frontline command post.

The entrance of the anti-cannon hole was marked by a crater, and beside it, one could see fragments of a pan stand and lunch boxes, along with a ground covered in blackened food remnants.

Clearing his throat, he shouted into the hole in imperfect United Human language,

"Hey, is anyone alive in there? If not, we’re throwing Molotov Cocktails."

There were clearly people inside the anti-cannon hole.

Hearing this, the people hiding inside responded immediately and yelled in panic,

"Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!"

"We surrender!"

Seeing the opponents so cooperative, a pleased smile appeared on Elena’s face as she fired two shots into the sky.

"Then come out quickly! Don’t waste our time, you have ten seconds!"

Surrender was easy to handle.

Prisoners were worth much more than corpses.

Upon hearing Old Na’s ultimatum, the two from the anti-cannon hole scrambled out, were pointed at with guns by the players, and squatted in the corner with their hands on their heads.

"Wow, two Centurions squatting together, a chief and his deputy," Gnome King Riches remarked in surprise at the prisoners’ attire.

Elena also said with a smile,

"Well, that saves us some time."

Not even three minutes had passed.

The first section of the 40th defense line was occupied, exposing the entire flank of the 40th thousand team to the Skeleton Corps’ cannons!

However,

their target was not there.

Cleaning up the battlefield and clearing remaining enemies were tasks that allied forces could undertake.

What they needed to do now was to continue advancing, meet up with the Burning Corps parachuted ahead, and eradicate the 40th thousand team’s frontline command post!

As the two Centurions surrendered, tanks from the Skeleton Corps had already reached their positions.

Opening the hatch on top of the gun tower, a Mole peeked out, surveyed the fully occupied position, and holding a walkie-talkie, ordered various team leaders,

"Leave the prisoners here, all infantry mount up!"

"Leave this Area to allied forces, we move forward!"

"Quickly!"

The communication channel transmitted a series of unanimous responses,

"Roger that!"

Without any hesitation, the previously dismounted armored grenadiers swiftly boarded the trucks.

The heavily armed Skeleton Corps set off again swiftly, continuing their advance along the temporary road constructed by their army.

The allied forces were about a kilometer behind them and would soon arrive here.

These left-behind prisoners had lost their ability to resist; they wouldn’t stir up any trouble even if left untied.

If they dared to resist, they would just be subdued again.

Watching the gusts of dust raised by the steel torrent behind them, the dozen or so abandoned prisoners wore baffled expressions.

Less than ten minutes had passed.

They still hadn’t comprehended what had happened, and it was all over.

Peterson swallowed and said with a trembling voice,

"...Are these people really indigenous?"

Watching the direction of the disappearing steel torrent, Daniel also stood dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what those people intended.

However, just then, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind, and he seemed to vaguely understand something.

Turning away from the receding silhouettes blended with the horizon, Daniel relaxed his tense shoulders and sighed softly,

"It’s over."

Seeing the look of resignation on his superior’s face, Peterson frowned slightly,

"It’s over as..."

Having fully come to a realization, Daniel’s expression eased considerably.

Not looking at his deputy, he muttered to himself,

"Nothing... If all goes well, we’ll be home soon."

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