This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 469 What kind of outrageous BUG is this?

Chapter 469: Chapter 469 What kind of outrageous BUG is this?

In the camp.

The gunfire had gradually subsided, but the flames continued to burn.

A Vellante soldier lay on his back on the ground, his bulletproof vest completely shattered, his right leg, hit by two bullets, bleeding profusely, his expression twisted in pain.

As he watched a power armor pass by him, a glint of panic flashed in his eyes, and he quickly drew his pistol, aiming at it and pulling the trigger.

However, there was only a click sound of the firing pin striking nothing coming from the gun chamber.

"Damn—"

He spat out blood-stained saliva, tossed aside the pistol as if he had made up his mind, and with a trembling right hand, removed a grenade from his bulletproof vest and forcefully pulled out the pin.

A trace of madness appeared on his face twisted by pain, and the Vellante soldier let out a hysterical roar at the power armor,

"For Marshal His Majesty—"

"Bang—!"

A short gunshot interrupted the Vellante soldier’s final frenzy.

"You’ve got the wrong person."

With his smoking pistol put away, Old White extended his steel-clad right hand and picked up the pin-pulled grenade from next to the hanging hand.

Then he squeezed it hard.

The grenade contorted under the immense pressure, just like a can of cola, with the fuse, firing pin, and timer all bursting off the grenade body.

Tossing the dismantled grenade next to the corpse, Old White walked away without looking back, heading towards the rendezvous point.

Not far from the roadside, a dozen officers sat with their heads in their hands, their faces ashen.

Four players in exoskeletons stood by, keeping watch over them.

Seeing Old White approaching, Night Ten, who had a sniper rifle on his back, walked up to him, cursing and swearing.

"These guys are real bastards, smashed all the communications equipment to pieces, burned all the maps, documents, and whatnot! We only managed to salvage some charred fragments."

"It doesn’t matter, the one who burned it will make up for it, and that’s that."

Old White glanced at the row of officers squatting on the ground.

"Where are the people?"

Night Ten knew who he was referring to and chuckled, saying,

"We caught him. That guy was trying to escape with his adjutant, but I’ve been watching him with a drone for a long time. He gave in easily enough when he saw the situation had turned, saving me a lot of trouble... Look, the one squatting at the very end, that’s him."

Following Night Ten’s gaze, Old White saw an old man squatting on the ground.

If not for his uniform and the flashy shoulder patches, he would not have recognized that this guy was actually a leader of an army—the Ten Thousand Leader, the same rank as Dylon, who previously led the Chewing Bone Tribe.

His hair, mixed with strands of grey, was unkempt; his deep-set eyes seemed to hold pieces of dusty stone, devoid of any shine; and that face, crisscrossed with wrinkles, bore no trace of vigor, resembling an ordinary old man.

"How come these guys are so weak?"

Wild Wind wore a frustrated expression.

"+1, are there really any direct thousand teams here?"

It felt like since their arrival, they hadn’t encountered any real resistance worth mentioning.

It felt as though this job was a fake one.

Old White made a helpless gesture, looking towards the highest-ranking old man squatting on the ground, and asked in imperfect United Human language,

"Why are there only so few people here?"

Seeing that the power armor was speaking to him, Softe hesitated for a moment, his expression stiffening with a hint of sad anger.

"You have won. Why must you insult me with these sarcastic questions..."

The players were momentarily stunned.

Even Old White’s face showed a hint of puzzlement as he continued questioning.

"What do you mean?"

"Griffin... it was his order; he transferred my direct thousand team to the high ground seventeen kilometers south." Softe gritted his teeth and continued, "He assured me in the telegram that the Alliance’s paratroopers would definitely appear there."

If he had his direct thousand team with him, he wouldn’t have been so easily knocked down by a bunch of paratroopers dropping in on him.

And even if he had lost, he would have had a chance to escape.

Old White and Night Ten exchanged knowing looks, seeing the same wry amazement in each other’s eyes.

Well, isn’t that something.

They had thought this time would be a glorious moment of showing off.

Turns out they were once again just running errands!

Seeing the man fall silent, Softe hesitated a bit, but ultimately couldn’t hold back from voicing the confusion in his heart.

"I don’t understand... if you’re here, then who is attacking No. 330 high ground?"

He just couldn’t wrap his head around this question.

If it was also the paratroopers there, the Alliance’s space-borne troops were far too numerous.

And to deploy twice in succession, with not even an hour in between...

They must have built how many airport runways and prepared how many planes!

"The Death Legion." Old White casually mentioned.

"The Death... Death Legion?" A look of bewilderment crossed Softe’s face.

Not the Burning Corps?

Clearly, the name of the Death Legion had not yet reached the ears of the army; it was only somewhat known in the Southern River Valley Province.

Old White smiled and continued,

"Yeah, those guys are also a pretty ruthless bunch. With their fearlessly aggressive tactics, I even feel that they’re even tougher than us."

Softe asked anxiously,

"But how did they appear on No. 330 high ground? Impossible! You must be lying to me! I’ve studied every road leading to the front line! Unless your trucks can fly on the ground, there’s no way they could have gotten there in such a short time!"

That’s a hundred and fifty kilometers!

On those winding roads, the actual distance could even be twice that number!

Where on earth did these guys come from!?

"Why must you stick to the main roads when you can—"Night Ten looked at him strangely, about to mock him with a few words, but he stopped at Old White’s light cough.

"Even if I told you that they reached No. 330 high ground on foot, I reckon you wouldn’t believe it," Old White shrugged his shoulders at the despondent Softe, "Anyway, it’s over now. How it was done is no longer important to you."

...

On the bridge of the Steel Heart,

Chu Guang, who had been quietly waiting for the first good news from the front line, finally received it.

"... Army’s Fourth Ten Thousand Leader command post has been seized! Ten Thousand Leader Softe, his deputy, the staff officer, and a host of other military officers have already been controlled! We’ve captured the maps and a large amount of documents from the command tent, though many have already been burned."

Hearing Old White’s report, Chu Guang nodded in approval.

"Well done."

Old White respectfully said,

"Requesting further instructions!"

Chu Guang glanced at the holographic map spread out in front of him and, after a moment’s thought, gave his orders,

"Set up a defensive garrison on the spot, assign a few people to tally the spoils of war."

Old White replied crisply,

"Yes!"

The capture of the highest-level front-line command post.

This meant that the entire defensive line from the 40th to the 49th, and all logistics hubs and support positions within a one hundred fifty-kilometer depth, had lost the coordination and dispatch of the command system, and their locations were even exposed on the map.

The Fourth Ten Thousand Army was basically crippled.

And the Steel Heart, being a mobile command center, could also move safely and smoothly into the strategic depth originally belonging to the Fourth Ten Thousand and continue to push forward.

The only weak point of this behemoth was its propeller.

This part is exceptionally troublesome to fix, and it’s the only power system for this airship. If it were to be stranded at the front line, the Army wouldn’t be able to handle the deflection shield for the time being, but it would become quite troublesome.

Looking at the map with arrows piercing deeply, a wave of emotion crossed Chu Guang’s heart.

It was just after nine in the evening.

In less than twelve hours since the full offensive had begun, they had not only shattered a ten-thousand-sized force but also advanced the front line by 150 kilometers.

In any world, this achievement would be enough to become a military miracle.

"... Originally, our plan was to have the paratroopers coordinate the armored forces to assault, but now, the tanks are chasing after the paratroopers instead."

Vanus, who was standing aside, didn’t speak.

To be honest, he was quite astonished.

Although plans never match the pace of change, it was rare to need to make more aggressive adjustments due to extraordinarily smooth progress.

According to the third plan of the original offensive scheme, the Alliance would complete the first phase of the offensive within a day, seizing the 40th position, and on the third day, begin the second phase, attacking No. 330 high ground, which was only seventeen kilometers away from the enemy command post.

No one expected the battle to go so smoothly that they completed the second phase in just one day.

Chu Guang extended his index finger and tapped the holographic screen.

There was no news from No. 330 high ground yet, but from the aerial footage captured by the drones sent by Xiao Qi, there were only sporadic flames left on the high ground.

The battle was basically over there.

On the other hand, the Goblin Corps, entangled with the Army’s flying squadron, was at a disadvantage compared to the smooth-sailing ground forces.

Although pilots of the W-2 were highly skilled, the gap in hardware couldn’t be bridged in a short time.

The "Eagle Type" fighter planes had been in service in Luo Xia Province for eight years or even longer, while the W-2 Attack Aircraft hadn’t even been in production for a full year.

This was inclusive of the time the Goblin Corps’ engineers spent "archaeologically" in another world.

Even though subsequent improvement versions also integrated some new technologies provided by Shelter 101, having just one or two components that are technologically advanced has a very limited impact on the overall performance of the equipment.

Production and technology are often mentioned together, but in reality, they are two different dimensions.

Looking at the screen with only five remaining W-2 Attack Aircraft, Chu Guang ordered,

"Steel Heart, pull up the anchor chain and move forward one hundred fifty kilometers."

"Additionally, notify the Goblin Corps that their mission is complete, and tell them to come back quickly."

Soon, Xiao Qi’s voice, full of vigor, came through,

"Right away, Master!"

Chu Guang still didn’t know the situation on Falling Feather’s side.

Right from the start, both the Alliance’s "Soaring Clouds" and the Army’s "Peidao" were not on the radar of Steel Heart.

And now, they’ve gone beyond the communication range.

Fighting at a pace of "one kilometer per second"—just standing and watching was akin to witnessing a fight among immortals; it would be no surprise if the battle spilled over into the neighboring province.

Without satellites, Chu Guang could only roughly sense through the Administrator System that that player was probably still alive.

"... If Falling Feather comes back into communication range, notify him to return to the ground airfield."

Xiao Qi: "Received!"

No. 330 high ground.

Flames burned across the pockmarked position, and bodies lay next to the damaged sandbag walls, mingled with black blood mixed with mud.

After shaking the blood off his engineer shovel, Edge Shoveling glanced at the mangled corpse on the ground, unable to bear the sight, and averted his gaze.

This model was a bit too realistic.

Every time he cleaned up the battlefield, he couldn’t help recalling those infernos he had once traversed.

The suffocating quality of the air was exactly the same.

Compared to that, he still preferred the leisurely exploration fun of the Game, but that fun was based on peace.

Someone had to do these things.

Suddenly, a strange thought crossed his mind.

If the operators kept their promise not to reset the game, and these closed beta players finished all the fights before the open beta, the developers would rack their brains and couldn’t come up with new work—could this game still be called "Wasteland OL"?

Or would they simply change the name—

Perhaps to "Beautiful New World" or something.

At this moment, a teammate’s voice came from the side, reeling in his drifting thoughts.

"Damn, it’s finally over!"

Holding a rifle in hand, Laplace walked over from the other side.

The miner’s exoskeleton he had worn previously was gone, likely discarded after it broke. In any case, it was a relief he didn’t blow up with it.

As for his mount.

It lost control midway up the slope, and he had to put it down himself.

"Where’s Big Eyes?" Edge Shoveling asked.

Laplace smiled and answered, "Sheep Again Pack seems to have seen him; that guy took some newbies up there to feed, but while those newbies actually went up, he ended up lying dead on the mountainside."

Edge Shoveling coughed dryly.

"Bullets don’t have eyes... It’s normal."

With the rifle slung over his shoulder, Laplace grinned and continued,

"So what’s the plan? Keep going or stay put and defend?"

Edge Shoveling thought for a moment and said,

"Let’s wait for the construction lads."

This battle had lasted for a full hour.

Although they had successfully taken No. 330 high ground, Death Legion had also suffered considerable casualties.

They were using less experienced troops against better-armed enemies, after all.

Over sixty percent of the five hundred kinds of feinting infantry were casualties, one hundred twenty out of five hundred wolf riders were killed, and seventy-eight Claws of Death perished.

The majority were those of the Claws of Death without exoskeleton armor; taking the quadruple machine gun firing was a bit too much for their flesh and blood bodies.

Furthermore, some players had to kill their mounts as a result of EMP causing their Mind Interference Devices to malfunction.

Now, Sheep Again Pack, who led the feint attack group, also came over and reported the cleanup situation.

"We’ve captured four mortars, one anti-aircraft cannon, two light machine guns, and a small amount of ammunition... Any new orders from the headquarters?"

Before Edge Shoveling could respond, Laplace, standing beside him, complained,

"VM is all white screened, there’s no orders from them... Damn, those guys had fierce firepower! They don’t seem to be short on ammunition at all."

Sheep Again Pack scratched the back of his head.

"Could their supplies have been replenished?"

Edge Shoveling laughed and said,

"That’s unlikely. It’s pretty normal for elite divisions to have a bit more baseline ammunition than line divisions, our ammunition is also two times more than the infantry of Lion Kingdom."

However, speaking of which, those Vellante People were indeed ruthless, not a single one of them surrendered.

The Thousand Leader BOSS not only refused to surrender but also had no intention of retreating, fighting alongside his Personal Body Guard until the end.

Whether in terms of combat power or morale, this army was completely different from the one they previously encountered at Oasis No. 9.

"By the way, it looks like there’s a fire in the north," Laplace glanced at the north side of the high ground, where tiny flames were flickering.

"It should be the command post of the fourth army of ten thousand troops," Edge Shoveling pulled out a telescope for a look, "I saw earlier the Goblin Corps seemed to be covering the transport planes heading that way."

It was probably the Burning Corps.

With those tough ones stepping in, even a direct thousand-team probably stood no chance.

In the time it took them to clean up the battlefield, the battle over there had likely already ended.

Sheep Again Pack clicked his tongue in envy.

"Damn, those guys have gotten ahead of us again."

"Pretty much the Developer’s darlings," Laplace also showed an envious look.

"Don’t say that," Edge Shoveling laughed and patted his shoulder, "We’re one unit, with our roles to play; there’s nothing about who’s ahead or behind."

At this moment, the Skull Corps, originally planned as the main attack force in Plan Three, were still stuck in traffic on their way; the two infantry units had already finished all the work for them.

If one really had to say, it was Mole Old Brother who had a bit tougher luck...

...

Frontline base.

Aircraft after aircraft dragged their battered bodies back to the airfield.

Ground crew members waiting by the runway quickly gathered around.

Seeing a pig-man pilot jump out of the cargo hold, a young man in a work uniform couldn’t contain his curiosity and blurted out a question.

"How’s the situation at the front? Is everything still going smoothly?"

Despite the "ferocious" appearance of this pilot, the ground crew here had long since gotten used to it.

And, after spending some time together, they found that this pig-man pilot actually had a pretty good personality and was very approachable.

Sure enough, the pilot answered his question.

"We won."

"Really?!"

Seeing the young man’s face light up with joy, the pilot chuckled unprofessionally and said,

"You think I’d lie to you? We wiped out the entire Fourth Ten Thousand Leader, and once we’re past No. 330 high ground, it’ll be a race to see whether their legs can outrun our tanks... Talking about this is too much hassle, just read the newspaper in a few days!"

Hearing the good news from the front, joyful expressions spread across the faces of the ground crew members.

It was clear that these survivors in the desert had grown to truly despise those big-nosed foes.

Some pumped their fists excitedly, others whistled with exhilaration, bustling around to spread the news of victory to others.

As the pilot wondered if he might have boasted too much, Star River stepped over and teased him.

"You guys are moving too fast."

The pilot laughed heartily and said,

"Of course, how long could it take to drop a few paratroopers... Hey, what are you doing here? Not going to help your navy aviation buddies?"

The two had known each other before entering the game, both from navy aviation backgrounds; one flew helicopters, and the other fixed-wing aircraft delivering helicopters.

However, when in the game, they usually only talked about the game and hardly ever discussed real-life matters.

Star River made a helpless gesture.

"I would if I could, but they didn’t assign us any missions today."

Their mission earlier in the day was to cooperate with the main attack of the armored forces for a flanking assault, but they hadn’t penetrated far into enemy territory when headquarters called them back.

He could understand why command would make such a decision.

The role defined for flapping machines on the battlefield ensured they could never match fixed-wing aircraft.

Even if they could switch to a fixed-wing mode and retract their wings, the "Cloud Dragonfly" could only reach a maximum speed of around one Mach, making them sitting ducks for supersonic fighters that could exceed speeds of three Mach. Even prop planes posed a threat before they could switch to cruising mode.

Until the Alliance dealt with the Army’s "Peidao" fighter planes, it was unlikely their aircraft could freely operate above enemy territory.

Seeing his buddy’s dejected face, the pilot egged him on.

"Why don’t you try joining Mosquito Brother’s Goblin Corps? They get to the front more often, and I’ve seen them with all sorts of fancy weapons."

"I think that means more chances to get killed," Star River rolled his eyes, "plus those planes are too slow to fly, not fun at all."

The pilot laughed it off.

"Even if it’s not as fun, it’s still a fixed-wing and far quicker than your transporter, right?"

"True that... Speaking of which, how’s this one? Easy to fly?" He looked at the nearby propeller transport plane, shot full of holes, and couldn’t help his astonishment.

Just the bullet holes he could count were in the twenties.

The fact that it made it back in such a condition was indeed impressive.

"The ’Dragonfly’? It’s alright," the pilot followed his gaze to his own craft and chuckled, "Factory No.81 has made several improvements. Before, it was barely airworthy, but now it at least looks the part."

Ever since becoming a pilot in "Wasteland OL," not only had he grown more fond of his aircraft’s green and red livery, but his flying skills and understanding of aviation had improved significantly.

Nothing was more challenging than "making a brick with a propeller attached fly" and "saving a brick that had lost its wings"!

Especially when it came to handling emergency situations.

Many maneuvers, which were rarely practiced in regular training and normal flights, came up frequently in "Wasteland OL" as those "once in a lifetime" scenarios.

He’d even experienced a situation where he had just parked his airplane on the runway, and after turning off the power, the plane had started moving on its own due to an electrical short... Huh?

Staring at the runway not too far away, the pilot was startled out of his reminiscing.

There was a transport plane, which had been parked by a hangar, slowly rolling out onto the runway, and its propeller began accelerating... and what was surprising was that there was no one inside the cockpit.

Thinking he had seen wrong.

The pilot instinctively rubbed his eyes, but before he could reopen them, he heard Star River’s uncertain voice beside him.

"...You guys have a sortie today?"

Both had seen it.

It wasn’t an issue with their helmets.

The pilot looked down at his VM, bewildered and shook his head.

"There’s none..."

He had seen the H-1 "Dragonfly" move on its own due to a short circuit, but this was the first time he’d seen one take off on its own.

What kind of outrageous BUG was this?!

It was so incredible that he even wondered if Factory No.81 was testing some unmanned aircraft technology.

Until he saw a player with a late-night snack running out from the direction of the mess hall, sprinting desperately toward the runway.

While running, the player wailed and shouted,

"My plane! My plane’s run off!"

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