Chapter 867: Death Charge!

Chapter 867: Death Charge!

On the bridge of the Hornet airship, John sat in his chair, idly toying with the bullet-casing pendant around his neck while gazing listlessly at the smoke-shrouded hills in the distance.

A man in a white lab coat stood beside him, his fervent expression a stark contrast to John’s boredom.

The man’s name was Martin, a biologist from the West Coast colony of the Great Wasteland, said to be a Vault dweller as well.

John didn’t particularly like him.

It wasn’t because the man was a Blue Rat, but because everything about him, from head to toe, felt unsettling.

Perhaps due to his frequent dealings with corpses, he carried the stench of death.

Still, the man came with a letter of introduction from General Gurion.

Even if John disliked him, it wouldn’t be proper to throw him off so disrespectfully.

Besides, in these times, finding a Blue Rat who favored the Legion was no easy feat.

At least this one was on his side.

“Death Agent… just a capful can wither plants! Cause organ failure! Kill the land! And turn it into a breeding ground for new toxins!”

Listening to the rambling mutterings, John yawned with little interest.

“…We have at least twenty toxins stronger than that. What makes your ‘Death Agent’ any better?”

Martin let out a sinister chuckle.

“It’s the aftereffects! Like complications, contagion, and so on! It won’t kill our enemies quickly—it will torment them, make them suffer in sickness, and spread to more people.”

John, who had been dismissive, suddenly jolted upright in his chair.

“Contagion? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

As he spoke, his gaze fixed on the soldiers outside the window, building a bridge to cross the river.

They were, after all, his countrymen.

Though they were fools on the ground, he couldn’t watch them march to their deaths.

“Heh heh… Don’t worry,” Martin said with a dry laugh, seeing the chieftain’s alarm. “That’s the intended effect—like extreme contagion, affecting only humans, and only specific groups.”

“These effects aren’t realized yet, but soon… And I’ve controlled the toxin dosage. With the Willant’s immunity, they’ll develop antibodies within an hour, so they’re basically safe from this toxin.”

“Basically.” John gave him a meaningful look, unsatisfied with the vague qualifier.

“Yes.”

Martin didn’t deny it; he nodded frankly, admitting it outright.

“…I can’t guarantee 100%, just as I can’t guarantee today will be sunny. But 99% is assured, and the high command considers that probability acceptable.”

He paused, then continued with fervor.

“Once the final version of this virus is complete… it will cleanse this land of most Brahmin, like the ancient Black Death.”

“And what good does that do us?” John glanced sideways at him. “We don’t need another wasteland—one Great Wasteland is enough.”

Sometimes he truly couldn’t fathom what the high command was thinking, including Ryan.

Compared to other natives in their colonies, the Brahmin were far too docile.

They were practically slaves gifted by His Majesty the Marshal; wiping them out would be a waste.

But Martin didn’t grasp his meaning, merely smiling as he said.

“How would it become a wasteland? It’s already a wasteland! Rather… it’s a blood transfusion for the wasteland.”

The fanaticism flickering in his pupils made John uneasy, but he said nothing.

In the distance, the 1st Thousand Cohort of the 36th Ten-Thousand Corps, under Chieftain Woolf, was crossing the river.

Due to major gains on the eastern front, General Gurion had dispatched two additional ten-thousand corps here and sent a batch of officers to Lion City to train auxiliary forces.

The 36th Ten-Thousand Corps was one of those reinforcements—they had severely mauled the Alliance’s elite armored division, the Skeleton Corps, in western Riddleburg County.

Chieftain Ryan’s main force was advancing from the Lion City area toward this location. The Hornet airship had been deployed to the front lines first, coordinating with the 36th Corps to establish an outpost on the opposite bank.

According to Chieftain Ryan’s judgment, if the Alliance and the Brahmin Kingdom planned to ambush their supply lines, they would surely scheme at the bend of the Eternal River.

Akkale County was the most likely spot.

Whether or not Brahmin guerrillas were on the opposite bank, they had to go check…

At the same time, in a nameless village in western Akkale County, less than 20 kilometers from the Eternal River, the headquarters of the 36th Ten-Thousand Corps was stationed.

Famine seemed to have arrived here before the Willants.

The local villagers had long since fled, leaving only empty shacks and crumbling mud walls.

Though survivors in the Brahmin Province could eat red soil, not every place had it.

Only large population centers or noble estates had the basis for cultivating vast tracts of red soil.

People were key.

But numbers alone weren’t enough—exploitation had to be harsh enough to make some live like beasts.

After all, it was never real food; no one would eat that stuff if they could get a single bean.

Woolf sometimes felt they weren’t occupying the natives’ homeland but rescuing these savages, nearly degenerated into primitives, from their ignorant existence.

No matter how little freedom or dignity the residents of Westport Harbor had, they were far more dignified than under the rule of Witch Camel.

The residents of Lion City would soon be the same.

All they lost were some wooden shacks and beggars; soon they’d gain clean, orderly streets, even sewers they’d never had before.

On the command vehicle.

The adjutant stared intently at the screen, watching the repaired pontoon bridge and the troops safely crossing to the opposite bank. His tense expression finally relaxed into a smile.

“…The 1st Thousand Cohort has crossed successfully. Hah, seems we overestimated their cleverness.”

A staff officer beside him frowned and cautioned calmly.

“Don’t be careless. Our enemies aren’t just the locals—there’s also the Alliance.”

The adjutant smirked dismissively.

“I know. The Alliance is a nuisance, but they’re limited in numbers. They can’t cover everywhere.”

Like in the battle for Lion City, the Alliance’s forces only caused some trouble for Chieftain Ryan’s men outside the main front, then got wiped out on the plains, becoming a shiny new medal on his chest.

Even if they were about to face the Alliance, there was nothing to fear.

Woolf pondered for a long while, then suddenly felt a stir.

“I recall… the airship’s precision fire requires dropping anchor chains before deployment?”

The adjutant blinked, exchanged a glance with the staff officer, then nodded cautiously.

“That’s right. What’s the matter?”

The airship’s fire control system had two modes: one for spreading barrages, another for precision bombardment.

Due to recoil, wind resistance, and other factors, dropping anchor chains was often necessary for more accurate fire strikes.

In other words, if their forces were too close to the enemy, supporting fire would likely be of little use.

With that thought, Woolf made a decision at once, turned to his adjutant, and gave the order.

"Have the support team prepare, pre-aim the firing data toward the direction of our first thousand-man cohort's advance."

Though puzzled as to whether it was necessary, the adjutant dutifully acknowledged the order.

"Yes, sir!"

At the very moment the command was issued, nearly a hundred "Fire Lance" self-propelled howitzers split into three groups, drove from their concealed positions to the nearest firing points, and completed deployment.

Meanwhile, the first thousand-man cohort led by Centurion Taut had successfully crossed the Eternal Flow River without encountering any attack during the crossing.

The Bolo Kingdom's army seemed to be asleep, handing over the entire position without a fight.

Gazing at the silent woods, the decurion on the reconnaissance vehicle furrowed his brow, pressing his eye closer to the observation scope of the electric-rocking machine gun.

He was not the only one who sensed something wrong; the driver in the seat was the same, rubbing his palms on the steering wheel, his face wearing an alert expression.

"Something's strange about this place..."

Staring unblinkingly through the scope, the decurion muttered casually.

"Did you spot anything?"

"...It's precisely because I haven't spotted anything that I find it strange."

The driver shook his head, swallowed nervously, and continued staring at the dense woods.

"At the bend of the river, with hills beside it—there's no better ambush spot than this... yet they've vanished, handing this perfect position straight to us."

The soldier in the back seat whistled, grinned, and teased.

"Maybe our artillery barrage wiped them out."

The machine gunner sitting beside him chimed in with a laugh.

"Can't rule that out. I heard these natives don't even have gas masks."

"I really don't get what the brothers up front were doing, letting themselves be disarmed by these things."

"You remind me of that poor snot-nosed kid."

"Haha, I'd rather not recall that pathetic bastard—"

The words had barely fallen when a tremendous impact slammed into the side door.

A metal jet instantly pierced the door, and the scorching fragments blew half the body off the soldier carrying the machine gun.

The rifleman beside him was scared out of his wits, staring at the half-torso and the black blood splattered across half the compartment, cowering on the floor.

He didn't even notice that his pants were wet—half from his comrade's blood, half from the urine he couldn't hold back.

This was nothing like the Great Desert.

In the Great Desert, the deadliest threats were merely the natives' Molotov cocktails or remote bombs buried by the roadside; they had never encountered weapons that could penetrate their vehicles.

Even just recently, their allies had suffered setbacks from these very equipment.

Because of their arrogance, they suffered the same fate again in the same place.

The skewed front of the vehicle slammed violently into a tree; the driver's forehead nearly hit the windshield, and everyone inside lurched heavily, jostled and dizzy.

"Damn it—!"

"RPG!!! It's the Alliance people!!"

"Coming from the right!"

"Joe is down!"

"Get out! Hurry!"

The decurion now had a black eye, cursing as he swung the machine gun toward the direction of the rocket, firing a burst without even seeing anyone.

The driver shoved the door open with his shoulder, and the other soldiers scrambled out of the compartment, using the vehicle as cover, firing toward the direction of the rocket.

Soon another rocket came, slamming into the front hood.

The scorching metal jet instantly flooded the engine, and flying shrapnel pierced the driver's window glass.

"Damn it!!!"

Staring at the spiderweb cracks on the bulletproof glass, the decurion in the gunner's seat cursed, directing his men to spread out to both sides while calling for rear reinforcements.

"This is Recon Team One! We are under ambush by enemy guerrillas! We need reinforcements!"

A crackling static came through the earphones, followed by a calm, unhurried voice.

"Roger, report enemy numbers and location!"

"I don't know! Damn it! They're right on our faces!" The decurion, panicked, gritted his teeth as he controlled the electric-rocking machine gun to fire, trying to discern the direction of the enemy attack.

But the situation on the ground was too chaotic; bullets seemed to come from all directions, even some from behind them.

They had already scouted that area—where the hell did these guys come from?!

Apparently sensing the intensity of the battle,

the originally calm voice in the communication channel gradually turned serious.

"Understood, we have dispatched reinforcements to your position. Hold on!"

"Roger!"

The decurion roared back in response.

At the same moment, the barrel of the electric-rocking machine gun overheated and forced a cease-fire.

He cursed, grabbed the rifle hanging beside him, and hurriedly scrambled out of the open vehicle.

And almost at the same moment he stopped firing and got out, another RPG rocket came.

This time the rocket directly hit the fuel tank; the explosion's flames shot skyward, flipping the entire vehicle over.

The decurion grunted and fell to the ground; a soldier who couldn't dodge in time was crushed under the vehicle, dying without even a scream.

Watching the exploding reconnaissance vehicle, everyone's eyes were filled with terror; in their panic, they lost all composure, not knowing what to do.

"The team leader is down!!"

"Damn it! Who's going to wake him up?!"

"I can't get over there!!"

"@#%!"

The machine gunner holding the weapon cursed, fired a burst toward the distant woods, then handed the gun to a nearby teammate and crawled quickly toward the team leader.

But unfortunately, just as he left cover, a bullet whizzed over and pierced his helmet.

The machine gunner fell silent to the ground, and the surrounding soldiers fell into utter panic.

"It's a sniper!"

Meanwhile, on a dirt slope two hundred meters away, a player with a sniper rifle took a deep breath, moved his scope, and aimed at the next target.

"Machine gunner's down! Someone's taken his place!"

Another player placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't shoot them all down, leave a few for bait."

The player propping up the sniper rifle fired with a sharp crack, dropping the soldier who was about to take over the machine gun.

"Copy that! I'm keeping count."

Meanwhile, four armored personnel carriers led by an infantry fighting vehicle tore grandly away from the edge of the Eternal Flow River, heading toward the direction where their allies had been ambushed.

The 20mm cannons and 10mm machine guns sprayed into the forest with a furious rattle, their concentrated firepower briefly suppressing the hail of bullets raining down on the scout team.

Yet, the Wilanthians sitting inside the vehicles failed to notice the murmurs beneath the trees and bushes right beside them.

Even as they sped past to reinforce their comrades, two small squads carrying anti-tank equipment and light machine guns had already flanked them and finished setting up.

Watching the approaching hundred-man Wilanthian company draw closer and closer, Laplace slowly raised his hand, then clenched it into a tight fist.

"Fire!"

The moment his command fell, ten rocket-propelled grenades dragging tails of fire suddenly surged like a swarm of locusts toward the speeding infantry fighting vehicle and armored personnel carriers.

Because the rockets caught them right on the edge of the minimum safe distance, the proximity left the vehicle crews absolutely no time to react; they could only take the full brunt of the collision head-on.

The most unfortunate was the infantry fighting vehicle, where a single RPG blasted straight through the driver's seat, grinding to a halt by the roadside with a thunderous explosion as it slammed into an old tree as thick as a man's thigh.

Of the other four armored personnel carriers, two had their engines blown out, and one had its cabin torn open.

The last one flipped over due to a turn taken too sharply, though it proved to be a blessing in disguise as it missed the RPGs entirely.

Dazed and disoriented from the crash, the Wilanthians scrambled out of the vehicles, but before they could even figure out where the rockets were coming from, they were disoriented all over again by the sudden, stuttering roar of gunfire.

A crisscross of tracer rounds flew wildly through the woods, weaving fatal nets across the terrain.

"Spread out! Move!"

The centurion who was the first to disembark roared at the top of his lungs, then shrank behind a wrecked armored vehicle, trying to assess the surroundings.

Yet the whizzing bullets flew from all directions, making it impossible to discern where the enemy was dense or sparse.

A single armored vehicle was nowhere near enough to block such fierce firepower, forcing him to crawl wretchedly onto the ground once more.

With torrential fire assailing them from every quarter, the disembarked Wilanthian soldiers were utterly bewildered, able only to lie prone where they were and blind-fire back toward the source of the gunshots.

The entire battlefield was a chaotic mess!

Nothing could be heard but the rattling gunfire and sporadic explosions, yet the enemy remained completely invisible!

Seeing the desperate situation, the centurion lying prone beside the armored vehicle immediately ripped the communicator from his shoulder and bellowed into the channel.

"This is Team One! We are pinned down by an enemy ambush!"

"Their fire is too intense! There is at least a thousand-man regiment surrounding us!"

Hardly had his voice fallen when a sharp shriek suddenly echoed from the distance.

Before he could react, the fiery flash of an explosion blossomed across the position.

Two Wilanthian soldiers took a direct hit, their corpses encased in exoskeletons rolling to the side.

Barely managing to lift his head, the centurion swept a glance across the defensive line, a sliver of panic finally registering in his eyes.

"Damn it! Mortars!"

By the banks of the Eternal Flow River.

Centurion Taute, who sat commanding the front line, listened to the roaring in the communication channel with a heart filled with immense anxiety.

Still, his combat instincts held true, and he did not lose his footing to the sudden turn of events.

The enemy was in the woods!

And they were at least a thousand strong!

It might very well be the regular army of the Alliance!

Without a moment's hesitation, he immediately connected to the airship's communication channel.

"This is the First Regiment of the Thirty-Sixth Legion! Our forces are taking concentrated enemy fire, requesting artillery support!"

The moment he finished, Taute spat out the artillery coordinates at a rapid-fire pace.

After a brief burst of static, a reply soon came through the channel.

Yet it was a reply that sent Taute's heart sinking straight to the bottom.

"This is the Clarion. We cannot authorize your request... The airship is currently in transit, and we cannot conduct precision strikes. Firing directly will cover your position as well. If you still desire support, fall back at least one kilometer from the enemy units."

One kilometer?!

That would mean retreating all the way to the opposite bank of the river!

Taute cursed the ancestors of the voice on the other end a thousand times over in his mind, then cast a hurried glance at the opposite bank before quickly snapping his head back.

Why should he retreat?

The enemy was nothing more than a band of scattered stragglers who had merely caught a piece of his scout team and one hundred-man company.

According to the forward reports, the enemy was at most a thousand strong. As long as he pushed his remaining troops forward, he could crush the grasshopper biting his toe in a matter of minutes!

But if he retreated now, he would never escape the reputation of a coward.

Having sorted through the stakes, Taute hesitated no longer, grabbed his communicator, and barked loudly.

"All infantry disembark! Second and Third Companies, reinforce the flanks of the First Company!"

"All other combat units, advance into the forest! Destroy every enemy you see!!"

Hearing their commander's order, the Wilanthians along the riverbank erupted into high-spirited roars.

"Understood!!"

"Ooohhh!!!"

The grand army marched toward the forest, with seven hundred-man companies cutting in a straight line toward the heart of the hills, while two other companies closed in on the burning battlefield from the left and right like a pair of tiger claws.

He adopted this maneuver because Taute judged there were other ambushers in the forest.

It had to be said that his judgment was sharp.

Regrettably, however, he had clearly underestimated the number of ambushers.

Stationed here was no mere thousand-man regiment, but the Death Corps of the Alliance and the Third Legion of the Bharata State!

Throwing a mere thousand-man regiment into this was no different from sending them to their deaths, piece by piece...

"Well look at that, the Wilanthians are playing the 'Hulu Brothers saving their grandpa' routine."

Watching the units march into the forest one by one, Loaded Big Eye smacked his lips in surprise from behind the cover.

"Piecemeal reinforcement is a cardinal sin in warfare. I don't remember these big-noses being this stupid before?" Gg_Bond muttered beside him, utterly perplexed.

"They're too confident. This time, we might just hook a big fish."

Suppressing the excitement in his voice, Quit_While_Ahead, who had already crawled to the edge of the front line, flipped off his rifle's safety and shouted into the communication channel.

"First artillery group, open fire! Creeping barrage right up to the riverbank, blow their pontoon bridge sky-high for me!"

"Second artillery group, drop smoke! Withdraw to hiding points immediately after three salvos!"

"Brothers of the First Battalion! Follow me!"

With that, he placed the short whistle hanging around his neck into his mouth and blew hard.

"Whee——!"

The piercing sound, like an arrow through the forest, startled the Valiants advancing into the woods.

Especially the successive cannon blasts that followed, which threw Taote, moving forward with the frontline troops, into a panic.

Supporting artillery!!

The force stationed here was by no means just a thousand-man cohort!

Yet, by now, it was too late to realize.

The clamorous roar of battle cries, like a tidal wave, crashed upon his face almost simultaneously with the thunderous explosions!

"Charge!!!"

Those men seemed to have materialized out of thin air, as if the trees themselves had come to life.

They wore plain uniforms and gas masks, brandishing gleaming bayonets and rifles.

"Open fire!!!"

Taote bellowed into the communication channel.

In truth, his order was unnecessary.

At the very moment the whistle sounded, his troops had already engaged in a firefight with the force emerging from the forest.

The rat-tat-tat of gunfire wove through the woods, accompanied by unceasing death.

Their numbers seemed endless.

Like a tsunami crashing ashore, they instantly engulfed several of his hundred-man squads.

The reconnaissance unit, which had been calling for aid just moments ago, went silent; the two hundred-man squads sent to reinforce them were caught off guard by an ambush en route and could only flee in disarray.

Roars and screams echoed back and forth across the communication channel, and finally, a flicker of terror crept onto Taote's face.

What kind of force were they fighting?!

"Gas masks..."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he involuntarily swallowed.

Could it be...

the Death Corps?!

The Valiants were not the only ones shaken.

Ishar and the officers of the Third Ten-Thousand-Man Cohort, watching from afar, were also stunned.

What astounded them was not just the combat prowess of the Alliance soldiers, but also their unyielding courage and morale.

Life and death seemed cast aside; the moment the whistle blew, every single one climbed out of the trenches without hesitation and charged at the enemy.

And it was no reckless, suicidal assault.

They had aimed at the enemy's weak points, striking with a steady, precise, and ruthless bayonet thrust.

Faced with such a close-quarters ambush, the Valiant airships could only watch helplessly in frustration.

Standing beside Ishar, a centurion lowered his voice and muttered with difficulty,

"...Good thing they're our friends."

If given a choice, he would rather face the Valiants than these fearless fighters as opponents.

After all, even the Valiants, hailed as a warrior race, might surrender.

But these men fought with a relentless, death-or-glory ferocity that no one could withstand.

Ishar said nothing, his eyes fixed on the comrades fighting valiantly.

An officer, his heart ablaze with fervor, couldn't help but ask him,

"Are we really not going to help?"

Ishar shook his head.

"They said it's not our turn yet."

For now, their task was to learn; when the time came, they would have their chance.

Just then, a series of deafening cannon blasts rang out from afar.

The sound came from a great distance, and from the ground.

Hearing it, the watching officers' faces changed in unison.

"Valiant artillery!!"