Chapter 868: The Surprise Raid

Chapter 868: A Surprise Assault

"Fire!!"

Rows of raised artillery muzzles spat tongues of fire, and the deafening roar of cannons echoed across the wilderness.

A total of fifty-two "Firebolt" self-propelled howitzers, divided into five artillery positions, unleashed six full volleys at the enemy artillery positions on the east bank of the river, which had been exposed by their own opening fire.

As a self-propelled howitzer independently developed by the Southern Legion, the "Firebolt" was deeply beloved by the entire Legion for its excellent support efficiency, second only in popularity to the 902mm giant cannon and the shallow-water heavy gunboats.

Although its chassis still used the Conqueror series armor, its autoloading system, fire control system, and even that thick, long 200mm cannon were all independently designed by the Southern Legion based on their own battlefield needs.

Beside the five artillery positions, twelve anti-aircraft vehicles stood ready in three air defense positions, guarding against threats from the sky.

Although the Hornet was monitoring this airspace, considering that the Alliance was equipped not only with propeller planes but also next-generation fighters, the Legion ultimately refrained from moving the anti-aircraft guns to the front line to assist, as they had done when fighting the natives.

At one of the artillery positions, a man in an officer's cap squinted at the thunderous cannon fire not far away, a cold smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

His name was Toran, commander of the 36th Myriarch Support Unit, holding the rank of Chiliarch.

Minutes earlier, the Alliance's artillery group hidden across the river had been unable to resist and opened fire. He immediately retaliated against the enemy's coordinates under the orders of Myriarch Woolf.

As expected, those few 155mm cannons belonging to the Alliance had been reduced to scrap metal by their counter-battery fire.

The adjutant standing beside him chuckled, a hint of mockery in his brow.

"This round of shelling should be enough to give the Alliance a real headache."

From the moment the enemy opened fire, they could confirm that their opponent was undoubtedly the Alliance.

Toran let out a faint laugh.

"Not just a headache—I'd say two headaches would be more like it."

The adjutant: "Hahaha!"

Just as the two were chatting and laughing, the communicator hanging on Toran's shoulder suddenly vibrated.

Seeing that it was a command from headquarters, Toran immediately suppressed his joking expression and pressed the connect button.

Soon, the voice of the headquarters communicator came through.

"...A myriarch unit is advancing toward your position from the southeast. They are equipped with a certain number of vehicles; preliminary assessment suggests it's the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division from Golden Harbor Port."

Toran raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Have they declared war on us?"

"No, obviously the same as the Alliance—those so-called volunteers, you know the drill... But don't worry, they won't get near you. The 37th Myriarch is moving toward their direction. I need you to provide support for the 37th Myriarch. I'll temporarily transfer your communication channel to them."

Equally unconcerned about this unit, Toran's expression remained calm, though he began to worry about his frontline comrades.

The Hornet had just arrived in this area and hadn't yet dropped anchor. He feared that without their artillery cover, the first thousand-man unit crossing the river to scout might encounter unexpected trouble.

"Understood... And what about our frontline troops?"

"They have already engaged the Alliance's frontline forces. We have dispatched ground reinforcements. The engagement distance is currently too close for you to assist them."

"Copy that."

Toran put down the communicator, his brow slightly furrowed, a lingering unease gnawing at his heart.

But since headquarters had given such orders, he could only comply, ordering each gun battery to cease fire, set new firing data based on the coordinates provided by headquarters, and aim toward the direction of the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division from Golden Harbor Port.

At that very moment, Toran and the other officers and artillerymen did not notice that a hummingbird circling in the sky had already locked onto them.

On a small hillside less than two kilometers away, Gale and Night Ten lay behind a dirt slope, one operating the drone for observation, the other communicating with the main force.

"...This is Night Ten. We have confirmed the location of the enemy artillery units. Coordinates have been updated on the map."

After a brief pause, a voice soon came through the communication channel again.

"Received... Can you find a way to lock onto the enemy artillery group's command post?"

Night Ten gave Gale a look, then used two fingers to adjust the zoom ratio on the VM screen, quickly locking onto a few figures who looked like officers.

These Warrants, though tactically and strategically sound, were not just a little arrogant—they seemed to have no regard for their opponent at all.

But that saved them time. Night Ten quickly reported the clue to Fang Chang.

"I'm looking... There are a few guys who look like officers near the C-point marker. Want me to try to take them out?"

Fang Chang replied calmly.

"No need. Just keep an eye on their vehicles and make sure they don't escape."

Night Ten: "Roger!"

At the same time, ten kilometers away, in a field overgrown with weeds, rows of pitch-black exoskeletons stood at the edge of the ridges.

Most of them were Alliance exoskeletons, with a portion captured from the 34th Myriarch, identifiable by a bandage tied around the arm as a friend-or-foe marker.

Although the players of the Burning Legion looked down on the Legion's exoskeletons, these captured pieces of equipment were still quite attractive to the soldiers of the Boro Kingdom.

After withdrawing from Riedburg County, the Burning Legion, led by Old White, quickly rendezvoused with the Boro Kingdom's 11th Myriarch, which had also withdrawn from Riedburg County, and led them toward the Ox Province.

To improve the mobility of their allies, the Burning Legion players taught them the "human packhorse" tactic.

That is, one person wearing an exoskeleton carries another teammate without one on their back.

Back when the Alliance fought the Bone-Chewing Tribe, they used this method for mobility.

Though not as fast as riding a bicycle or a horse, it was still better than running on two legs.

The only drawback was energy consumption.

But there was no need to worry about that when moving with the players.

The Air Force brothers occasionally dropped supplies, including solid-state hydrogen batteries.

Moreover, the power armor using cold fusion technology was essentially a mobile charging station—plug in an adapter, and it could transfer power to the exoskeleton's fuel cells.

Standing beside Old White, Myriarch Yokal, wearing a Legion-issue exoskeleton, looked eager and asked spiritedly.

"When do we move?"

With his upgraded gear, he couldn't wait to teach the Legion a lesson.

Seeing this guy wearing Legion equipment but saluting in the Alliance style, Old White couldn't help but smile.

"Not yet. Next is the Air Force brothers' job. We'll watch from the sidelines and be ready to finish them off."

Yokal was taken aback.

"This time... we're not disarming them?"

Fang Chang shook his head.

"No need. We haven't studied that thing yet, and even if we captured it, we wouldn't know how to operate it."

Mainly, it wasn't worth studying.

According to intelligence obtained by the Alliance, that thing was just a modified turret on a Conqueror tank chassis, with mediocre accuracy and rate of fire.

Yokal hesitated, then spoke with an embarrassed expression.

"Um... could you leave a few of those self-propelled howitzers for us? Of course, we won't ask you to take risks—just like before, our people will be responsible for seizing them!"

It wasn't that he was greedy.

The main thing is that thing's power is just too enviable, and after firing, you can pull up your pants and run.

While this thing isn't anything special for the Alliance, it's a whole different story for the Boro Kingdom, which can't even calibrate a few tractors.

Fang Chang looked at him with a strange expression.

"Leave it to you—do you even know how to drive it?"

Yokale chuckled, shook his head, then quickly nodded.

"No! But we can learn!"

Old Bai and Fang Chang exchanged a glance, swapping looks.

"Should we let them give it a try?"

"Sure."

A guerrilla division with self-propelled artillery—just thinking about it was thrilling.

He didn't mind the allied forces picking up more scrap; maybe it would work wonders in the coming battle.

With that thought, Fang Chang hesitated no longer. He pulled out his VM and called Luo Yu.

"Luo Yu, plans have changed. Go support Bian and the others; leave the artillery to us."

The comm channel crackled with obvious static—Luo Yu had clearly already taken off and was heading their way.

"Copy... You guys okay?"

Fang Chang teased.

"You kidding me? Am I okay?"

Luo Yu: "Haha! Brother Fang Chang, you're awesome! Good luck!"

Fang Chang grinned, hung up the comm, and looked at Yokale, the Warlord, standing nearby like a student.

"We've coordinated with the allied forces. Change from destruction to capture. Get your men ready—we're going in."

Yokale quickly replied.

"Leave it to us. You've already helped us so much—how could we trouble you further?"

Fang Chang raised a hand to stop him.

"Don't be so distant. Right now, driving out the invaders is what matters. We'll take the lead; you follow us. Remember to follow our commands—don't rush in recklessly, and don't hang back."

Fang Chang didn't mind these people wanting to join him, but he wasn't entirely comfortable leaving it all to them.

Even if they'd now upgraded their gear—over three thousand exoskeletons, automatic weapons, and light anti-tank equipment—whether they could use them well was still a question.

Watching Yokale, the Warlord, take careful notes, Fang Chang felt a sudden impulse and continued.

"Oh, and about enemy soldiers who surrender—remember to take them as prisoners. We'll help you remove the tracking devices from the vehicles, but we'll need their confessions on how to operate them."

Yokale straightened his chest and saluted.

"Understood!"

Fang Chang nodded approvingly, then waved his hand.

"Move out!"

...

Aboard the Hornet airship.

John, sitting on the bridge, stared intently at the pontoon bridge over the river and the forest on the opposite bank. His brow furrowed slightly as he turned to the adjutant standing beside him.

"Isn't it taking them too long?"

The adjutant paused briefly, then nodded with a grave expression.

"It is... a bit unusual."

Not just the time.

The men, too.

The soldiers of the 36th Ten-Thousand-Man Unit kept pouring across the river, vehicle after vehicle, while gunfire crackled incessantly from the forest—yet no one was seen pulling back.

Normally, this kind of back-and-forth should have been left to the clones.

Clearly, the allied forces had misjudged the size of the enemy in the forest and overestimated their own combat strength.

Martin, draped in a white lab coat, eagerly looked at John.

"Should we deploy the toxin? It has little effect on Warrants—negligible, really—and we could test it in real combat."

John shot him a glance, ignoring the madman, then reached for his communicator and switched to Warlord Woolf's channel.

"Warlord Woolf, are you encountering any issues over there?"

A reply came quickly through the channel.

"No, just a few little grasshoppers. We handled them easily."

"Is that so?"

Though he meant no sarcasm, the words came out and were misinterpreted.

Woolf: "Are you questioning our combat effectiveness?"

Did your combat effectiveness even need questioning?

John sneered inwardly but kept his tone as mild as possible.

"That's not what I meant. I'm just worried you might mess up Warlord Ryan's plan. If we want to conquer the Boro Kingdom within two months, we need to have our forces at the Heavenly Capital by the end of the month."

"Your concern is unnecessary. I will remember every instruction from Warlord Ryan," Woolf replied coldly.

His unit's situation wasn't great, but it wasn't yet troublesome enough to worry him.

He had already pushed five thousand-man units forward. According to the frontline commanders, they had turned the tide and were counterattacking the guerrillas in the forest.

Two 155mm artillery pieces had already been captured. The gas-masked fools, after a mindless charge, had suffered heavy losses. Soon, they would take the nearest hill to the riverbank.

Though their own casualties were also significant, considering the enemy were Alliance volunteers, these losses were acceptable.

There was no need to tell the Hornet about this, and even if he did, it wouldn't help.

At this range, the airship's artillery was useless, especially since the ship hadn't anchored.

They'd only get mocked by the air force for taking so long with a bunch of native guerrillas.

Woolf might not know his enemy well, but he knew his own people's nature all too well.

Hearing the line go dead, John's brow twitched sharply as he shoved the communicator back onto his shoulder.

Those ungrateful ground-pounders!

He had only asked out of concern, and they treated it like an insult.

"To hold out this long against the 36th Mechanized Ten-Thousand-Man Unit, the enemy's combat strength must not be underestimated," the adjutant said gravely.

Though he had initially dismissed them, now he had to take them seriously.

John let out a cold laugh.

No need to say they are not to be underestimated... That must be the Death Corps, which earned great military merits in Jinchuan Province. Our allies have kicked a steel plate.

He had once seen that iconic gas mask in the Triumph Gazette.

It was undoubtedly the Death Corps.

It was said to be the Alliance's elite force; during the Torch War, they had captured a hill that even the brothers of the Eastern Legion found troublesome.

Was the Alliance insane?

Sending wave after wave of elite troops to this godforsaken place, or were they indeed a bunch of clones?

John's face darkened; a sense of foreboding lingered in his heart.

His worries were not entirely tactical.

There was also a strategic dimension.

How did it feel that, as the fighting went on, he and the Torch were being labeled as 'calamities'?

This was not a good omen.

At that moment, he did not notice that Martin, standing nearby, instantly wore a fanatical expression upon hearing the name Death Corps.

“...Death Corps... hehe... so it's those guys.”

He chuckled eerily, his pupils faintly gleaming, his expression like that of a predator spotting prey.

John pondered for a moment, then raised his right hand.

He could not wait until the army cried for help before acting; he must prepare beforehand.

“Prepare to drop the anchor chain—”

Before his words had even faded, a barely perceptible ripple flashed across the radar.

Not missing that fleeting signal, the operator seated at the console immediately shouted.

“Enemy fighter group spotted!”

“Speed approaching Mach two!”

“Targets have entered our northeast direction!”

“They are moving along the cloud layer, ten of them!!”

“Damn! Their target isn't us, it's the ground!”

John was startled and immediately gave the order.

“Fire air-to-air missiles!”

“Yes!” The operator at the console responded without hesitation, then pressed the red button.

At the same time, a honeycomb-shaped missile pod rose from the top of the airship, aiming from afar at the airspace where the enemy had been detected.

“Woo—!”

With a series of urgent whirs, ten air-to-air missiles shot out, trailing long narrow flames, howling toward the ten rapidly approaching fighters.

Given the current firing angle and relative speed, there was not one in ten thousand chance those ten enemy planes could evade!

A pleased smile curled at the corner of John's mouth; he could already see the scrap metal turning into fireballs and fireworks blooming in the sky.

But just then, something no one expected happened: the ten air-to-air missiles, after approaching the target airspace, inexplicably missed.

They did not find the aircraft approaching at supersonic speed; after a brief search, they only discovered a missile emitting radar waves and racing toward them.

“It's a decoy missile!!”

The radar operator cried out in alarm, and John, sitting beside him, felt his pupils contract sharply.

“Switch to anti-aircraft guns! Quick!”

He gave the order quickly, but it was already too late.

At the very moment they noticed the anomaly, the incoming decoy missile exploded instantly, releasing an electromagnetic pulse strike into the surrounding airspace.

With their seeker heads destroyed by the electromagnetic pulse, the ten air-to-air missiles immediately careened wildly in the air like blind flies, some falling to the ground, others diving into the clouds.

And at the same time, a genuine Thunder fighter suddenly burst out of the clouds.

One and only one!

“Damn it!”

Realizing he had been tricked, John cursed loudly and abruptly stood up from his chair.

His eyes glared fixedly at the plane outside the floor-to-ceiling window, wishing he could shoot it down with his gaze.

But the plane paid him no heed, directly emptying the two rocket pods slung under its wings at the ground.

Twenty-four ground-attack rockets with seeker heads poured out, and as if they had eyes, they locked onto the infantry fighting vehicles of the 36th Division parked at the forest edge and raced toward them.

Everything happened in an instant.

The targeted vehicles had no time to react before the rockets raining from the sky blasted open their hatches.

“Boom!!!”

Explosions flared up one after another at the forest edge; nearly twenty infantry fighting vehicles were turned into scrap metal!

The firelight reflected on dazed faces; the Valiant soldiers crouching nearby with rifles clutched in their hands all had a look of disbelief and despair in their eyes.

Deprived of the fire support from their vehicles, the hard-won advantage of the 36th Division's frontline forces was quickly lost again at a visible pace.

Or rather, those advantages had been deliberately given to them by the enemy.

And the purpose was to lure them further forward!

John's eyes were wide, bloodshot, and his clenched fist slammed hard onto the armrest of his chair.

At the same time, Woolf's curses came through the communication channel.

“What the hell are your anti-aircraft guns doing? Why did a plane get right in our faces!”

John knew he was in the wrong but still shouted back, steeling himself.

“You blame us... where are your anti-aircraft guns?”

“We—damn it! I don't have time to argue with you!” Woolf started to say something, but then couldn't spare the words, and hastily cut off the communication.

The Thunder fighter that had broken into the battlefield did not linger in the nearby airspace; after its successful strike, it quickly disengaged and headed back toward Sky Capital.

By then, the airship's anti-aircraft missiles had been reloaded, but facing that receding exhaust trail, John could do nothing but stare helplessly.

At the same time, with the previous wave of air strikes over, a new counteroffensive from the enemy seemed to have begun.

The smoke of explosions and flickering flames were gradually changing from a zigzag line into a curve closing inward!

Like a giant mouth closing shut!

They wanted to swallow in one gulp the five thousand-man units trapped in the forest!

Even standing on the airship, John could clearly feel that the situation of the 36th Division was deteriorating rapidly, from a stalemate to precarious.

To reinforce his allies, Woolf committed the last five thousand-man units as well!

Including the only remaining twenty-odd infantry fighting vehicles and nearly sixty armored personnel carriers under his command!

John was burning with anxiety, turning to his adjutant and bellowing in urgency.

"Have the anchor chain been dropped yet? Hurry up!"

The adjutant, sweating profusely on his forehead, could only go and press the department responsible for dropping the anchor once more.

Under his frantic urging, the anchor chain was soon thrown down from the airship, crashing heavily onto the muddy plain, kicking up billowing clouds of dust.

Yet at that very moment, another message suddenly arrived.

"Report! A group of light infantry has been spotted 27 kilometers to our southwest!"

"They are advancing toward the artillery position of the 36th Myriarch!"

"Southwest?!" John's heart jolted, and he immediately looked at the map, his heart sinking with a thud.

We've been flanked!

How did these people slip behind them under their surveillance?!

No—

There was another possibility.

This group hadn't come from the direction of Tiandu at all; they had been lurking in the area of Rideburg County all along, and had followed them all the way to Ox Province!

Cursing the 7th Air Fleet responsible for reconnaissance, John immediately relayed this intelligence to Wulf, the Myriarch commanding on the ground.

After a brief silence, a dejected voice came from the other end of the communication channel.

"Our allies... the 37th Myriarch has run into the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division of Goldenport, or to be precise, they've run into the allied forces of Goldenport, Tiger Province, and Leopard Province."

"I don't know where they got over a hundred Conqueror Xs; our allies' infantry fighting vehicles can't penetrate those things... they're forced to retreat westward."

John held his breath for a moment, and even his previously composed expression couldn't help but show a trace of panic.

This was undoubtedly the worst news!

At this moment, nearly all the forces of the 36th Myriarch were bogged down on the opposite bank of the river.

If the 37th Myriarch couldn't hold back the Bharata reinforcements, then the 36th Myriarch would very likely be captured as a complete unit!

By a bunch of natives...

No matter how powerful the Hornet's firepower was, it couldn't fire over the heads of its allies or run aground on land to help.

The enemy had adopted an extremely unscrupulous tactic: waiting for them to get close, then sticking to them and fighting.

John's Adam's apple moved, and he squeezed out a trembling voice from his throat.

"...What do we do now?"

After a brief silence on the other end of the communication channel, a reluctant yet desperate plea finally came through.

"...Pull me out."

Faced with the rapidly deteriorating battle situation, Wulf was also powerless and could only swallow his pride and beg.

At least he couldn't be captured.

Otherwise, he would become the first Myriarch in the entire war to be taken prisoner.

This wasn't just about his personal pride; it was also about the face of the Southern Legion.

And at this moment, it was the only thing he could do for Myriarch Ryan and General Gurion...