This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 490: The Alliance’s Pilots Have Bodyguards?!

Chapter 490: Chapter 490: The Alliance’s Pilots Have Bodyguards?!

Falcon City.

Atop the hundred-meter-high "river levee."

The soldiers of the Falcon Kingdom were crouched behind cover, ready for action.

The Alliance had announced a few days ago that they would bomb Falcon City tonight, but they hadn’t specified from which direction the air raid would come.

In the entire Falcon City, there were only thirty-two anti-aircraft guns, of which eight had been moved to the Royal Palace in the city center. Along the tens of kilometers of the alloy giant wall, only twenty-four guns could be allocated, so one could imagine the sparseness of the firepower.

Horet was in charge of the defense for the southeastern section. Until a month ago he was serving as a Centurion in the King’s Guard.

However, due to the tense war situation at the front, a large number of officers from the Retinue Army had been transferred to the Regular Army of the Corps. In just one short month, he had been promoted three ranks to become a Centurion of the city defense forces.

It should have been a happy occasion to rise smoothly in one’s career, yet he couldn’t muster a single optimistic emotion in his heart, instead consumed with worry.

Until last month, his salary was enough to keep his two wives and family fed and warm. Now, despite his salary more than doubling with the rank of Centurion, his large family was struggling even for basic sustenance.

This was supposed to be the Oasis.

Even if every Waste Land Wanderer in the world was starving, the people here shouldn’t have to worry about food and drink.

It was all because of this damn war.

To drive away the annoyance and to invigorate himself, Horet walked to the position and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Everyone, be vigilant! Open your eyes wide! The Alliance’s planes will approach us under the cover of the clouds! Aim the searchlights at the edges and gaps in the clouds, and watch carefully! Under no circumstances should a single plane make it into the Royal City!"

"Long live the Falcon Kingdom!"

"Long live!"

The soldiers responded loudly, but their boisterous shouts could not dispel the bitterness and confusion in their eyes.

On a three-kilometer front, there were only one hundred and twenty men, two light machine guns, and an anti-aircraft cannon.

Not to mention that it was now night.

Hoping that their weapons could shoot down the Alliance’s planes was less likely than the Alliance pilots reading their maps wrong and plummeting right onto their faces.

Horet knew he was demanding the impossible, but he had no other choice but to boost his troops’ morale.

Just then, a white blurry light flashed across the distant horizon, followed by a dull rumble of thunder from afar.

Was it going to rain?

Perhaps tonight’s air raid would be called off ...

No, wait!

Horet suddenly changed color and bellowed.

"Take cover!"

Almost the instant his words fell, a fiery red plume of smoke plummeted from the sky and struck the farmland hundreds of meters in front of the levee with force.

The roar of the explosion drowned out the brief hiss of flight, and orange flames instantly surged a hundred meters high, pushing out scalding waves of heat.

Scorched wheat, burning wood shavings, earth, stones, tiles etc ... all of it was taken up into the heaven by the thick smoke.

The first shot missed.

But no one was careless.

Soon enough, another streak of white gleamed within the distant clouds, and the deafening boom seemed to descend upon the vicinity of the levee along with the rolling cannon fire.

Although the 400mm main cannon wasn’t accurate from such a distance, its immense power brought fear to nearly every defending soldier’s face.

It could make a lot of mistakes.

But for them, there was only one chance ...

It seemed like their neighboring forces had run out of luck when the third artillery round fell, striking straight down in front of them.

The intense shockwave instantly dented the smooth alloy shell downwards.

Even if the relics of the former civilization couldn’t be destroyed by conventional weapons, that terrifying power was enough to sweep away all the cover piled on top of the levee ...

The echo of the blast lingered in his ears; Horet felt his guts trembling with fear, and so did his deputy standing next to him, hands and feet icy, eyes filled with terror.

Just now –

That one cannonball had eradicated at least one of their hundred-man teams.

"By the Spirit of the Sand Sea... they’re over seventy kilometers away from us; how can they still hit us?!" the deputy’s voice trembled, almost ready to turn and flee.

"It’s the rocket-assisted shells..."

Regular shells couldn’t fly that far.

But rocket-assisted shells were another story.

Horet swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he stared dead at the smoke filling the sky three kilometers away.

Fortunately, the 400mm main cannon hadn’t destroyed the levee.

The dented but unbroken alloy shell brought a bit of comfort to many hearts.

At least the gods were on their side.

But –

Before they had a chance to cheer, dots emerging from beneath the clouds on the levee spread panic among the defenders.

"Look over there!"

"The Alliance’s planes!"

Those shadows getting closer and closer, like vultures soaring through the sky, Horet could almost see those beasts baring their fangs and claws.

"Damn it... how many of them do they have?!"

Without hesitation, ignoring the boisterous cannonade in the distance, he roared.

"To the guns!"

"Stop them!"

...

Hundreds of planes bore down on them, and the Falcon Kingdom’s defenders were in a panic.

However, it wasn’t just them that were in a panic.

Sitting behind Night Ten’s butt, Old White’s heart had likewise risen to his throat. He bit down hard on his teeth, fearing that any slip of air would blow his soul away.

Unpowered glider.

As the name implies, it is an aircraft without an engine.

For the aircraft to obtain horizontal speed, it must dive, and once its speed surpasses the optimal lift-to-drag ratio, it must pitch up to recover kinetic energy.

Therefore, the flight trajectory of the aircraft was as thrilling as a roller coaster, gliding forward amid the ups and downs of waves.

In some distant time and space, this thing was called an "assault glider," and like anti-aircraft balloons, it was not a hugely imaginative piece of black technology; it could be found anywhere from garden markets as giveaways to the "Operation Oak."

Compared to parachutes that stay aloft for a long time, these unpowered gliders have a short hang time with gliding speeds of up to three hundred yards, the same as the "Harmony" bullet trains. And, compared to paratroopers’ backpacks, the larger body of the glider allows paratroopers to carry more equipment and ammunition.

However, despite so many advantages, this thing has a significant drawback: the accident rate is too high; it’s a bit of a waste.

In the early days, this thing was towed and launched by cars, winch vehicles, or other planes, tossed out like a paper airplane, with accident rates not lower than those of heavy bomber belly pods.

That’s why, after World War II, these two things were sent to the grave of history together; only in extreme sports could one see the shadow of a glider.

Mosquito probably thought of using the unparalleled altitude advantage of the Iron Heart and picked this thing out of the historical rubbish pile, replacing the booster with two rockets removed from their warheads.

The distant flickering tracer fire unexpectedly brought some comfort to Old White’s heart.

Whether or not they land safely,

they will reach their destination anyway.

"Night Ten! Aim!" Wild Wind’s face was tense, his hands gripping the control stick, his eyes flickering with rare excitement and madness.

"Okay! Give me a dive angle!"

Night Ten chuckled, his hands on the handles of the heavy machine gun, the barrel extending out of the cockpit, pre-aiming above the riverbank.

The moment the nose of the glider tipped down, he pulled the trigger.

The rapid gunfire and scorching shell casings were left behind by the glider, and streaks of orange-yellow tracer bullets rained down the riverbank like droplets.

A hundred and fifty gliders opened fire together, and the ground anti-aircraft guns were pressed so hard they couldn’t lift their heads.

However, due to the angle restriction, the glider group’s strafing lasted only a short half-minute, and the Falcon City guards quickly returned to the anti-aircraft guns.

But they soon found that the previous strafing was just the prelude to a storm; the real nightmare was just beginning.

Twenty W-2 attack aircraft escorting the group broke away from the formation and swooped down over the riverbank, dropping bombs from beneath their wings after a dive and strafing run.

In an instant, flames from explosions blossomed on the riverbank.

On the ten-kilometer-wide line of defense, the only four anti-aircraft guns were blasted into scrap metal.

Watching the burning flames, twisted steel, and those soldiers holding "Opener" rifles, cycling the bolts and firing into the sky, Horet’s face was filled with despair.

At that moment, a blood-stained Ten-Husband limped over from the side, gasping to report to his senior officer.

"Report, Commander! The Alliance has destroyed our anti-aircraft guns! We... no longer have any anti-aircraft weapons to use."

"I’m not blind; I can see."

Interrupting the Ten-Husband, Horet raised his hand to adjust the officer’s cap on his head and turned to look toward the Royal Palace in the northwest.

From any point on the riverbank to the Royal Palace, the straight-line distance was ten kilometers. For an aircraft, that distance was just a matter of minutes.

He closed his eyes in pain and murmured softly.

"It’s over..."

...

The defense line to the southeast had been breached by Alliance planes, and the adjacent anti-aircraft guns were still firing into the sky.

But because of the distance, the meager firepower was a futile struggle.

Tracer fire danced in the night sky, like sparks rising from a bonfire.

Lit by searchlights, the Guard Commander Middel, standing on the castle tower in the city center, finally saw the shadows approaching from afar.

And at the same time, his face turned deathly pale.

Fifty?! No— At least a hundred!

Didn’t Air Squadron No.1 deal a heavy blow to the Alliance air force at Oasis No.3?! How come there are still so many?!

Those planes were obviously not from Bister Town; they must have come from the Iron Heart, entangled by anti-aircraft balloons.

Just minutes ago, he had received news from the command post that Centurion Adem’s Air Squadron No.1 had engaged with the Alliance’s flight formation.

Both sides had each committed hundreds of propeller aircraft, fiercely battling on the edge of Oasis No.2.

Just how many planes does the Alliance have?! No— It should be asked how many pilots does the Alliance have?!

According to the merchants who came from the east, the entire Qingquan City had only five to six hundred thousand survivors, but he felt an illusion that these people could never be completely eradicated!

As Middel had anticipated, the anti-aircraft guns scattered on the riverbanks could not stop the Alliance’s planes.

The Alliance simply separated a few planes from the flight formation to deal with the anti-aircraft positions along the way, and the remaining cluster of planes continued to fly past the riverbanks non-stop, rushing toward the Royal Palace where the King resided.

As the last three or four kilometers to the planes closed, Middel bellowed an order.

"Fire!"

The eight quadruple anti-aircraft guns deployed atop the castle fired in unison, sending thick jets of fire toward the Alliance’s fleet, momentarily illuminating the outlines of the aircraft.

However—

This dense fire did not last long.

Swift as lightning, dark shadows separated from the aircraft bodies, like arrows shot from a bow, striking accurately at the towers holding the anti-aircraft guns.

"Damn it!"

Watching the towers and anti-aircraft guns get engulfed by explosive flames and thick smoke, Middel’s eyes reddened in an instant, swearing furiously.

"What the hell is that?!"

The city defense commander standing beside him was also completely baffled.

Missile?

Impossible...

A missile launched from a kilometer or two away hitting their anti-aircraft gun position with pinpoint accuracy, that was just too preposterous.

But it couldn’t be a missile either, as he hadn’t seen any trace of a missile tail flame!

Watching the distant flames, several Intelligence System players seated in the glider were excitedly high-fiving the teammates beside them.

Obviously, it wasn’t a missile, but a six-rotor self-destructing unmanned drone— "Spring Knife" stored inside the glider.

This device didn’t need a professional bomber to drop the bomb; it could simply be thrown out from the cargo hold, and the Intelligence System players, equipped with neural connection devices, could switch to the drone’s view for precise guidance.

The fifteen-kilogram warhead was enough to rid the tower of its anti-aircraft gun.

"Hahaha! Nicely done!"

Night Ten, seated at the machine gun position, excitedly swung his fist, and still in midflight, he peppered the Castle with a burst from his machine gun.

Watching the severely vibrating fuselage and the buildings speeding by beneath him, Old White was incredibly nervous, but he also knew that this was the time to trust his teammates.

"We’re going to land!"

"I know."

Glancing calmly outside the cabin, Wild Wind opened up the variable angle air brakes on the fuselage while also deploying the parachutes from the rear.

The glider’s speed dropped sharply, and its belly struck solidly against the rooftop of a civilian house.

"Shit!"

"Damn you! Give me a heads up next time!" With the rooftop rapidly approaching, Night Ten hurriedly moved the machine gun back into the cabin.

Large pieces of roof tile were sent flying.

The two wings broke off instantly, not from being crushed, but from controlled detonations to prevent rollover during the emergency landing.

The fierce impact almost knocked Old White out cold.

But after all, as a Strength Type powerhouse, he remained conscious until the plane came to a complete stop on the street.

He took the rifle from the cabin, cursing as he clambered out of the deformed cabin, loading his rifle in the process.

Looking at the laborers nearby as dark as African people, he fired two shots into the sky and shouted in United Human language.

"Scram if you don’t want to die!"

The laborers, startled by the gunshots, lost their souls and scattered, dropping their tools and darting into the side alleys.

After confirming the direction of the Castle, Old White subconsciously pressed the side of his helmet to connect to the team’s full channel for casualty reports, but there was no response.

That’s when he remembered that Wild Wind was in command of this operation.

"Cough cough... don’t worry, I’ve just checked, and everyone has landed successfully, it’s not a big problem."

Coughing, Wild Wind climbed out of the cabin, wiping the dust off his helmet visor, and took the LD-50 Submachine Gun handed over by Night Ten.

Old White looked at him with a mixture of laughter and tears.

"You... you okay?"

"Perfectly OK." Giving a thumbs up, Wild Wind pulled Night Ten’s arm, yanking him out of the cabin.

Clutching his hot 12mm heavy machine gun and covered in dust, Night Ten showed no signs of fear, his face radiating a sense of wanting more.

"Mother of... this is way more thrilling than parachuting!"

Old White: "..."

"Don’t worry," spotting Old White’s concern, Wild Wind gave him a reliable look, "we’re not just messing around."

Locking eyes with that serious gaze, Old White paused slightly, suddenly realizing he might have been overly cautious, or perhaps too protective.

Unlike Fang Chang, with his game Talent fully leveled like a high-level player,

Wild Wind and Night Ten also had a strong grasp of the game, but not to that esteemed level of speechless admiration.

For that reason, he had always unconsciously adopted the role of the elder brother, thinking he should provide extra care, while neglecting their growth.

However, in reality, such worries were completely superfluous.

His buddies were indeed average people in the real world with no professional military training, but after so many battles and life-and-death trials, their combat experience had long surpassed that of himself when he first entered the game.

In terms of intensity and gruesomeness, this cruel Wasteland was second to none, even when compared to the darkest periods in real-world history.

This was a world destroyed by a great War.

A post-apocalyptic era even more barbaric than turbulent times.

In such a world, having been tested time and again, they were no weaker than anyone else and needed no one’s care.

Every player in the Burning Corps was a warrior capable of standing on their own!

Perhaps it was time for him to trust his teammates more.

"Yeah, I can see that..." Looking at that earnest gaze, Old White suddenly gave a relaxed smile, the tension in his brows easing slightly, "Then I’ll leave it to you!"

He acknowledged that the glider had his blood pressure maxed out.

But now it seemed...

They weren’t just playing around.

Giving him a grateful look, Wild Wind earnestly turned to Night Ten.

"Give the machine gun to Old White, you go find a higher ground nearby to support us... Our target is entry C, watch out so the guards don’t plant Dynamite at the entrance."

Taking the sniper rifle confiscated from the Academy and gesturing an OK sign with his hand, Night Ten still wore his non-serious, joking smile.

"Roger that!"

...

In comparison to the haphazard descent of parachutes, the glider had the advantage that there was no need to search the streets for one’s teammates.

The five hundred Burning Legion Soldiers who landed in the urban area quickly completed their formation and advanced towards the Castle in an orderly fashion, grouping into teams of three, three teams into a squad, and three squads into a platoon.

The streets were eerily quiet, with only sporadic gunfire and explosions.

Most of the city defense forces and militia were concentrated on the riverbank, ten kilometers away, especially since this area had been "pre-announced" for bombardment by the Alliance, leaving only a few daring guards patrolling in the city, where even a living soul was rare to see.

Some guards noticed the planes that were forced to land.

Though they had no orders from above, they still searched dutifully.

And then—

There was no "and then."

Against guards armed with "Opener" rifles, players didn’t even bother shooting.

The guards’ equipment was even crappier than they had expected; other than the guard captain, who was equipped with a 10mm Ten-Husband Long Pistol, the majority of soldiers were using either a slender military saber or bolt-action "Opener" rifles.

These rifles, which could be used as lances, were quite effective in the trenches, and the 7mm full-power bullets packed a punch.

But in the complex terrain of urban combat, they were a nightmare for their own forces.

Even with their familiarity with the terrain, they were no match for the sweep of LD-47 assault rifles and LD-50 submachine guns.

Facing Awakeners fully equipped with automatic weapons and Light Cavalry Exoskeletons, the first patrol team that scouted ahead instantly became pure victims, and within less than half a minute, they were sent running in a rout.

...

At the same time, atop a tower that had survived the explosion, Middel stared dumbfounded at the city district engulfed in battle smoke, still not understanding what had happened.

Just a few minutes earlier, several dark figures had destroyed his anti-aircraft gun position.

As he looked up at the sky in despair, thinking that the planes would climb and come back around for another pass, something unexpected occurred.

He saw the hundred-plus aircraft not climb again, but, like dumplings, nosedive into the city districts in front of the castle.

Standing beside him, the city defense commander Pofu muttered dumbfoundedly.

"What are they doing?"

A lieutenant said in a daze,

"...A flight accident?"

"Over a hundred planes having trouble at the same time? How can that be possible?"

Regaining his senses from the brief confusion, Middel’s face didn’t relax in the slightest due to the "end" of the air raid. His instinct told him that the real air raid had just begun.

He immediately turned to the lieutenant and ordered loudly,

"Who is in charge of the districts in front of the castle?"

The lieutenant answered immediately,

"Report! It is Centurion Adem!"

Middel remembered this name.

That guy was someone he had personally promoted from the militia to the guard. Not only was he adept in command, but he also was a powerful Awakener.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Middel immediately gave his order,

"Give him an additional hundred team! Tell him to head to the district immediately and search for those pilots! I must have one alive!"

The lieutenant stood up straight and saluted.

"Yes!"

...

With Middel’s order, Adem immediately led his hundred team, along with an additional hundred reinforcements, into the city district, preparing to capture the Alliance pilots alive.

However—

What no one expected was that the moment these two hundred teams entered the city district, a cacophony of crackling gunfire erupted, like dozens of firecrackers going off.

The flashes from the muzzles of guns flared across the dark city district, densely covering the area like the stars above.

Nearly as soon as they set foot on the streets, Adem’s hundred team encountered a hail of automatic gunfire. Caught off guard, they suffered heavy casualties with just one encounter.

The Falcon Kingdom’s pilots usually only carried a pistol, and the cockpit of a regular aircraft couldn’t fit any spare ammunition or weapons.

Let alone facing automatic weapons.

No one even considered that those pilots wouldn’t hide throughout the city, but would instead regroup and open fire on them.

Standing on the tower, Middel, dumbfounded, watched the flickering fires in the night-lit city district, at a loss for words.

The gunfire was, at the very least, comparable to the firepower of two thousand teams.

Could it be that the Alliance pilots were not only armed with assault rifles but also had stuffed a couple of bodyguards into the cockpit?!

While Middel was still marveling, Adem, who had rushed into the city district with two hundred men, was now cursing into the radio,

"The enemy’s firepower is too strong! We need reinforcements!"

An irritating buzzing filled the headset.

The other side seemed to be using some communication jamming devices; he couldn’t contact the rear and report on the situation here.

Bullets whizzed through the streets.

It was as if the enemy didn’t care about conserving ammunition at all.

With his brute power rendered useless, Adem could only pray in his heart that his superiors would deduce something from the sound of gunfire and send more people over.

However, it seemed like the enemy had no intention of a standoff; the gunfire coming from all directions quickly surrounded the street where he was.

Adem’s heart sank in an instant.

Even though he couldn’t ascertain the situation of his two Centurions, the direction of the gunfire allowed him to guess: the defense on both flanks had been breached!

In less than half a minute, the enemy had annihilated at least four of his ten-person teams and completely encircled his two hundred teams.

This could not be the work of just a few dozen pilots!

At the very least, there had to be a thousand men on the other side!

Looking at the severed limbs and the dense bullet holes on the walls in the street, Adem, who was still full of bloodlust just a few minutes prior, now had only horror written on his face.

Listening to the gunfire drawing closer, he clutched the radio sending nothing but noise and roared in despair,

"Damn it! These people... they’re not pilots at all!"

"We are surrounded!"

—

(Thanks to the Alliance leaders "Watermelon, Universe’s No.1 Fruit," and "Snow Yiwu Heart" for their rewards!!! I could have finished this Chapter, but I dawdled for a while, and now it’s six o’clock. T.T)

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