A Storm Sweeping the Desert!

Night hung heavy. In the southeastern reaches of Sunset Province, twelve Orca transport planes skimmed across the boundless desert, churning up rolling clouds of dust behind them as they raced toward Oasis No. 9. To avoid detection by the Legion, the air formation flew at extremely low altitude, hugging the terrain less than fifty meters above the ground. While their faint blue electrical arcs were far less conspicuous than the exhaust plumes of fuel-burning aircraft, anyone on the ground with functioning eyes could spot them against the cloudless night sky. What was more, the Legion possessed aircraft and radar of their own. Even if technologically crude, they were by no means harmless. Especially now that the Legion realized the Enterprise had entered the war. They would inevitably deploy more anti-aircraft equipment and anti-armor weapons to the front line, perhaps even unsealing weapon stockpiles mothballed for over a century. Assuming they weren't fools. When the Enterprise transport convoy captain first heard Chu Guang's plan, he flatly refused to carry it out. After all, they were merely a logistical transport unit and had received no orders to enter an active war zone. Dispatching defenseless transport craft to the front line without air superiority or fighter escorts was practically playing with the pilots' lives. Even if they did, it would require authorization from the Enterprise's Armament Department. Yet opportunities in war were fleeting. The Alliance communicated with the Lion Kingdom via carrier pigeons, and with the Enterprise via aircraft. By the time approval arrived from the Enterprise Armament Department, the trail would have gone stone cold. Fortunately, Yi Chuan and Wu Mu pitched in. After exhausting every argument, they persuaded the stubborn transport captain to turn a blind eye, permitting the flight formation to take a detour on their return route—an exception that took them across the border into Sunset Province. Even so, they had to exercise extreme caution. Never mind losing a plane; if even a single extra bullet hole appeared on an airframe, it would be a nightmare to explain to the Armament Department's Logistics Bureau. As for the pilots, they required little convincing. The moment those young men heard they were headed to Sunset Province, they cheered in excitement. War mobilization in Ideal City had begun well before the battle of Ruigu City broke out. The boys flying the transport planes had arrived at the front with blood running hot, itching for a chance to brawl with those big noses. Especially after watching that video. Inside the cabin. Construction Site Youth and Brick was plastered against the window, wishing he could jam his entire head through the glass to get a clear look at what this legendary "man-made oasis" actually looked like. Word was that Oasis No. 9 was the largest oasis in Sunset Province, its 100,000 square kilometers roughly equivalent to an entire Zhejiang Province. Unfortunately, they were flying far too low. He could only make out a vague silhouette in the darkness; whatever lay concealed behind that lush horizon remained completely obscured. "Fuck! Why can't we fly a bit higher?" Hearing his gripe, Indebted Big Eye, sitting in the next seat, rolled his eyes. "Are you fucking worried they won't know you're coming?" Hearing their banter, other players nearby chimed in one after another. "Speaking of which, we haven't even entered Oasis No. 9 yet, have we? The Legion's flak guns couldn't possibly reach all the way out here, could they?" "Hard to say. Maybe they've got anti-air missiles and just never bothered using them against ordinary survivor settlements." "Is there a chance the map over there just hasn't been built yet?" "Makes sense!" "Not necessarily. That's Brother Guang we're talking about! With how meticulous he is, he's definitely finished it—he's just hiding it so you can't see it!" "Damn, that's brutal!" Not a trace of nervousness could be heard in that hearty laughter. Looking back from the cockpit, the copilot couldn't help but feel a swell of admiration. As expected of the Alliance's elite! Just this spirit of embracing death without fear demanded his profound respect. At this moment, every player seated in the cabin was one of the Death Corps' 200-silver brothers. But the gear they carried now was worth far more than 200 silver coins. In fact, it easily exceeded 20,000 silver! Just the Vanguard Type I military exoskeletons on their bodies were worth 12,000 Cr, triple the price of the Miner-series exoskeletons! Not to mention the infantry support weapons and individual heavy armaments stowed in the hold. Considering the Death Corps had prior desert combat experience, Chu Guang had weighed his options carefully before assigning this glorious yet grueling mission to Brother Edge. This operation was meant not only to relieve pressure on their allies to the north and sever the Legion's supply lines from northern River Valley Province, but also to field-test the new equipment the Alliance had imported from the Enterprise. As such, the gear deployed was lavish in the extreme. All they lacked was a full suit of powered armor! And because they were operating cut off from supply lines, every man carried 2.5 times the standard ammunition loadout. Eagerness was written on every face. Brother Edge had never fought such a well-supplied battle in his life, and his heart was racing with excitement. From the moment he boarded the aircraft, he had kept his eyes glued to the map, poring over the operational plan written along its margins, fully prepared to treat those foreigners from the west coast to a magnificent fireworks show. He had fought tooth and nail to snatch this chance away from Brother Spring; he couldn't let the Administrator or the folks back in the Alliance down! The flight formation crested a cliff edge. The copilot came back carrying two cups of black tea and offered one to Corps Commander Brother Edge. "Care for a cup, friend?" One had to admit, Enterprise engineering was truly something else. Even skimming the ground at high speed, there was practically zero turbulence, and not a single drop spilled from the cup. Brother Edge took the cup and glanced at it. "Thanks... could you swap it for plain boiled water?" Catching the hesitation in his eyes, the copilot smiled. "Don't worry, it's been decaffeinated. It will perk you right up without making you run to the head." Reassured, Brother Edge tipped his head back and drained it in a single gulp, handing the empty cup back under the copilot's astonished gaze. In the best-case scenario, the battle would conclude before dawn, but they would still have to remain in the field for a while. Extra hydration never hurt. Seeing the Alliance corps commander looking so relaxed, without a shred of anxiety about venturing deep behind enemy lines, the copilot raised an eyebrow and struck up casual conversation. "Looks like you have a plan already?" Brother Edge replied casually: "Of course. Command drew up the operational plan overnight. We'll strike the military base from the north... coordinating with friendly forces conducting a feint from the south to seize their ammunition depot. If everything goes smoothly, our allies walk away with a haul of Legion gear, and we choke off their northern supplies." The copilot nodded. "Pity we haven't fought a war on this scale in quite some time. We can't do much to give you an edge... You'll have to handle this tough fight on your own." Brother Edge grinned, folding up the map containing the battle plan. "No matter. This is more than enough!" After exchanging a few more words, the copilot turned and headed back to the cockpit. Before long, the pilot's voice came over the intercom: "We are about to enter a sandstorm zone and will experience heavy turbulence. You'd best return to your seats and fasten your seat belts." "That is, if you don't want to get banged up before you even step off the plane." At the NPC's warning, the players moved away from the windows, sat down in their seats, and buckled up. Barely thirty seconds after the announcement, the airframe began shuddering violently, the howling of grit and sand echoing through the cabin walls. The sandstorms of Sunset Province contained traces of iron oxide that disrupted electromagnetic waves, effectively concealing them from radar, infrared thermal imaging, and other active reconnaissance methods. They were very close to the front line now. Extreme caution was vital. ... Skimming the outer rim of the storm, the flight formation traced a wide arc, circling around to touch down behind a dune to the north of Oasis No. 9. The cargo ramps slammed down against the ground, throwing up clouds of dust. Fully armed soldiers slinging rifles sprinted down the ramps in pairs, each pair hefting a meter-wide crate between them. "Disembark! Move, move, move!" Spurred on by Brother Edge's shouts, all personnel and gear were deployed in just under a minute. Faint blue arcs surged downward as the engines dialed up output, blasting hot swirling sand in all directions. A staticky voice came over the comms: "...Transports returning to base... Soldiers of the Alliance, good luck!" "Roger that. Safe flight back!" The twelve transports departed as swiftly as they had arrived. Once the drop was complete, they didn't linger for a second, spooling up their thrusters and heading back along the route they came. Time was life. Brother Edge wasted no time either, immediately calling on the corps' brothers to unpack equipment and supplies from the crates. With payload capacity limited, the twelve Orcas could deliver only half a thousand-man unit to the objective area. Thus, he had brought only the top five hundred highest-leveled elites in the corps. Though they lacked numbers, these brothers were more than enough! Surveying the deployed gear and looking down at his exoskeleton, Brother Edge felt surging confidence. "I thought we'd be paradropping right onto their heads," Construction Site Youth and Brick grumbled, wheeling over a tricycle. "Wait, we're riding these things?" The tricycle's tires were widened to handle desert terrain, and a mortar rested in the rear cargo bed. Another tricycle nearby looked even more ridiculous, sporting a welded mount on the handlebars with a light machine gun locked in place. One hundred and twenty modified folding tricycles, along with the quadcopter drones piloted by Intelligence-type players, were all domestically produced Alliance gear. Meanwhile, the Hellhound quadrupedal robots not far away and the Seagull fixed-wing drones currently being assembled had been imported from the Enterprise at tremendous expense. "Parachuting? What, you want their ground machine guns to pick you off like clay pigeons?" Laughing off the complaint, Brother Edge looked at the dense crowd of figures behind him, his expression turning solemn as he spoke: "All centurions, listen up! Take your men and gear, advance to the staging point, and await the signal to attack!" "Move out!" In hushed voices, everyone responded in unison: "Understood!" Aside from Big Eye, who remained behind with his squad to operate the Seagull fixed-wing drones, the remaining players piled onto the tricycles, each pedaled vigorously by a Strength-type beast of burden toward their designated combat positions. Sitting on a tricycle, Brother Edge took a deep breath and unfolded the map once more to verify the operational plan. Everything had progressed smoothly according to plan so far, yet an uneasy premonition nagged at him. Was it just his imagination? But he was a Perception-type... Just then, a sudden explosion in the distance shattered the silence of the night. Heads snapped up across the ranks toward the sound, eyes wide with shock. "That's the target military base..." Construction Site Youth and Brick muttered, pedaling furiously in confusion. "Weren't we supposed to hit them at midnight? Why did it start early?" They weren't even in position yet. Without shared radio frequencies, they had no way to contact their allies and ask what the hell was happening. Brother Edge knitted his brows. A realization struck him, and his expression shifted. "What time zone was specified in the operational briefing for midnight?" "What time zone? Sunset Province time, obviously—" Construction Site Youth and Brick froze mid-sentence, realization dawning. "Holy shit... did they use Alliance time?!" The Alliance Army Command would never make such a rookie mistake; any designated time zone would have been clearly annotated on the plan with appropriate conversions to guarantee pinpoint synchronization. The only explanation for such a discrepancy was that the allied command had bungled the relay down the chain of command, mistakenly interpreting it as Alliance time... Or perhaps there was a mole within the Lion Kingdom who couldn't transmit intel back to the Falcon Kingdom in time and resorted to doctoring orders to sabotage the operation. Either way, the net result was that the two sides were operating on mismatched time zones, kicking off the battle an entire hour early! Fuck! We got screwed! There was no time to lament. Brother Edge reacted instantly, hitting his comms button and barking: "All squads, attention!" "Allied forces have engaged ahead of schedule. Position assumed compromised... Switching to Plan C." "Execute!" ... Several tens of minutes earlier. Across the night-shrouded desert. A man draped in a khaki cloak lay prone along the crest of a dune, gripping a pair of binoculars as he watched distant campfires flickering in the dark. His name was Ade Honey Badger, eldest prince of the Honey Badger royal house and marshal of the Honey Badger Kingdom's Restoration Army. The thick beard on his jaw resembled a broom. His angular face and brawny frame bore an uncanny resemblance to his father—unlike his younger brother, Samer Honey Badger. Checking his watch, Ade savored the night's final moments of serenity, his thoughts drifting on the evening breeze. Roughly two months ago. Backed by the Legion, the Falcon Kingdom had launched a surprise assault on the Honey Badger Kingdom, overrunning the entire realm in just a single week. His father had died defending the royal capital. Ade had led the remnants of their people, escorting his younger brother and sister across the border into the Lion Kingdom. With the backing of the Lion royal family, he reorganized their ranks and recruited refugees fleeing Oasis No. 3 to form the Restoration Army. By his original timetable, he planned to launch a counteroffensive by year's end to reclaim the royal lands from the Falcon Kingdom. However— that vicious vulture gave them no time to prepare. Even as letters of condemnation from the Three Kingdoms arrived at their gates, the Falcon Kingdom didn't pause to draw breath. Instead, they swung their armies eastward, driving their spearhead straight toward the Lion Kingdom that had harbored them. The war deteriorated at alarming speed. Although the Lion Kingdom was the desert hegemon and possessed national strength far exceeding the Falcon Kingdom's, the invaders had tightened their belts and prepared for war for over a decade. Bolstered by the Legion, their standing army actually surpassed the Lion Kingdom's in size. Furthermore, with the Honey Badger Kingdom previously serving as a buffer to the west, the Lion Kingdom had never directly faced threats from beyond the Great Desert and was caught completely unprepared. And now... the arrogant desert kings were finally paying the price for their foolishness and appeasement. They had hoped sacrificing a single lamb would satisfy the beast, forgetting that a jackal's hunger could never be sated. In less than a month, the flames of war spread from Oasis No. 3 to Oasis No. 9. The front advanced so rapidly that the Falcon's artillery sat less than a hundred kilometers from the Lion Kingdom's capital. Seeing the Falcon Kingdom strike with such ferocity that even the veteran hegemon was helpless to resist, both the Camel Hump Kingdom and the Golden Lizard Kingdom had lost their nerve. Though declarations of war had been dispatched, neither dared send troops. Standing alone against the coalition of the Falcon Kingdom and the Legion, the Lion Kingdom hung by a thread. To muster all available forces for the defense of the capital, the guerrilla bands operating in the north had pulled south, rallying beneath Prince Winter's banner in a bid to wear down the Falcon Kingdom behind fortifications and defensive bunkers. In Ade's eyes, that notion was pure fantasy. Never seizing the offensive meant never holding the initiative. The moment northern guerrillas withdrew behind the defensive line, the Falcon Kingdom and Legion forces on the northern front were free to push forward uninhibited, unconcerned with the safety of their supply lines. And hoping to exhaust those jackals was even more laughable. Even setting aside that the Falcon Kingdom had spent over a decade preparing for this day, the plunder taken from Oasis No. 3 alone would buy them enough supplies from the east to bleed the Lion Kingdom dry... Yet a turning point had emerged. Perhaps Samer's diplomatic maneuvering had borne fruit. The hegemon of southern River Valley Province had finally recognized the western threat and dispatched troops into the desert with Enterprise backing. The objective was a military base north of Oasis No. 9, reportedly a vital logistics hub for the Falcon Kingdom's northern front. Seizing this base would not only shatter the offensive plans of the Falcon Kingdom's northern forces, but could also sever supply routes descending from northern River Valley Province. Regrettably, the Lion Kingdom had no troops left to spare in the north. After heated bickering, the buck was passed to Ade. Prince Winter wanted the Honey Badger Restoration Army to replace the originally slated 12th and 13th thousand-man units, advancing to the objective to coordinate with their allies. It was an extraordinarily reckless gambit. The base lay behind the Legion's front lines, which meant they would receive no reinforcements whatsoever. If pinned down until enemy forces arrived, total annihilation was all but certain. Even without reinforcements, the mission was harrowing enough on its own. Stationed there were Legion elites. Having clashed with the Legion at Oasis No. 3, Ade knew better than anyone how lethal those elites were. Clearly, Prince Winter didn't want his own men suffering needless casualties, so he threw the Honey Badger Restoration Army into the breach—demanding it as repayment for sheltering them for over a month. Ade could have refused this near-suicidal order, but after agonizing consideration, he accepted. After all, this was likely an opportunity his sister had bought at the cost of her own happiness... Furthermore, the hegemon of southern River Valley Province had promised that captured supplies would be turned over to the Lion Kingdom to distribute, and Ade intended to use this chance to keep the seized hardware for himself. If tanks fell into Lion hands, those cowards would only park them in trenches and bury them in dirt to serve as static pillboxes. Better to arm his loyal soldiers. The Restoration Army needed that equipment. Both to reclaim their lost homeland and to ensure their independent sovereignty! To that end, Ade had brought nearly every elite the Restoration Army had, assembling a full thousand-man unit and leading them here in person. So far... at least the intelligence was accurate. Ade pulled a map from inside his robe, shook off the sand, and spread it across the ground. Tracing along the plotted lines with his index finger, he tapped a red circle and murmured softly: "...This is it." Beside Ade, a middle-aged man whose face was etched with deep wrinkles spoke in a low voice: "Do we attack?" His name was Klaf, formerly captain of the royal guard, now a chiliarch in the Restoration Army and Ade's most valiant lieutenant. "Yes." Ade nodded, tapping the map as he looked toward the dark encampment ahead, his voice hushed. "Our allies will attack from the north of the base. Before that, we must draw fire from the south and open an assault window for them." One officer couldn't help chiming in: "Do we really have allies?" Ade replied with unwavering certainty: "The Alliance will support us. They gave their word!" Aside from Klaf, whose expression remained impassive, the officers exchanged troubled looks, falling into uneasy silence. The Alliance... This was the northern end of Oasis No. 9. Even cutting straight through the Falcon Kingdom's northern front, a direct line from the Alliance to this spot covered more than eight hundred kilometers. The operational plan had been drawn up only two days ago. How could anyone cover that distance in two days? In the eyes of many, Prince Winter or someone else had likely sold them out. There were no allies. Not everyone in the Lion Kingdom shared the royal family's sympathy. In the eyes of many ministers and nobles, sheltering the refugees had dragged the kingdom into war in the first place. Those men would gladly see them dead, using their corpses to slow the Legion's northern advance and buy time to mobilize other kingdoms and court outside intervention... Perhaps the desert kings would prevail in the end. But they would die right here. Ade glanced back at his men, reading the bleak despair in their eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke in a calm, steady voice: "I know what you're thinking, but this is no time for such doubts." "We have only one shot. All we can do now is believe—believe in our compatriots and kin, believe in our brothers and sisters... and believe that justice will triumph over evil." "Even if we do not survive, even if our blood soaks into the yellow sand, our souls will live forever. We fought to the very end under the gaze of the Spirit of the Desert." Resolve hardened once more in their eyes. Not a single trace of doubt remained on their faces. "The Spirit of the Desert is with us." Pressing a palm to his forehead, Ade rose and walked back to the reverse slope of the dune, patting his men on their shoulders. "Go, warriors of the kingdom! Dig trenches chest-deep, chamber your rounds, set up our 'artillery'—and show those ugly devils what we're made of!" "Even if our bones are buried here today, we will not let our allies look down on us!" ... Several kilometers away, sparse lights dotted the military camp. A sentry perched on a watchtower yawned, counting down the minutes until shift change. This was Camp No. 350, the logistics transit hub for the Northern Army Group. Although its strategic value was significant enough that General Griffin had stationed heavy garrisons here, up until now the soldiers stationed at the camp hadn't seen a single battle. The only thing they did every day was bathe in sand or stare blankly at distant cacti. Rather than rot away here, they would have preferred the front line—at least they'd get to shoot something, instead of talking to the sand to pass the time. Just then, an earth-shattering boom erupted from afar, startling the sentry on duty so badly that he ducked behind the railing. Before he could collect himself, five gas cylinders trailing plumes of white smoke traced thick, lumbering arcs across the sky and slammed heavily into the camp. Boom—! Amidst deafening thuds like crumbling mountains, five fireballs erupted across the quiet base. Shrieking sirens wailed. Jarred awake from their sleep, soldiers tumbled out of bed, grabbed their gear, and scrambled to assemble at combat stations. Strapping a steel helmet onto his head, a centurion marched up to the guard post, grabbed a sentry by the collar, and barked, spitting with every word: "What the hell was that?!" The sentry was clearly a green recruit. He snapped to attention, words tumbling out in a panic: "Report! Guerrilla crude cannons!" Homemade mortars fashioned from gas cylinders were a common sight in Sunset Province—second only to cast-iron cannons whose barrels had to be swabbed out with brooms. Typically, desert dwellers packed the cylinders with sugar-based explosives, tossing in nails or gravel for shrapnel. While lacking the sheer punch of RDX or TNT, they were cheap to produce and remarkably easy to fabricate; a crude workshop could churn them out in bulk. The one thing the oases of Sunset Province had in abundance was crops, particularly sugarcane. A five-hundred-kilogram gas cylinder bomb could give even a Conqueror tank pause. Provided, of course, that it scored a direct hit on the turret hatch... Still, Legion troops were well-drilled, quickly recovering from the initial chaos. Two ten-man squads sprinted into mortar pits, laying down counter-battery fire based on the firing bearings reported from the watchtowers. Awakened by the thunderous explosions, Chiliarch Piman, commander of the thousand-man unit, threw on his uniform and stepped out of his quarters. Having deduced what had happened, he showed no sign of panic, calmly summoning a centurion and barking an order: "The shells came from the south, roughly five kilometers out. Take your men and teach those bastards a lesson!" "Sir!" Snapping a crisp salute, the centurion pivoted without hesitation and bolted toward the barracks to rally his men. Watching him run off, Piman's brow eased slightly as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Mere guerrillas. Nothing worth sweating over. Those five cylinder bombs had looked ferocious and made plenty of noise, but in reality they hadn't inflicted many casualties—just sent a few sandbags flying. The blast barriers throughout the base severely contained horizontal shockwaves and shrapnel, directing the bulk of the explosive force upward into the air. Wiping out an entire hundred-man company with a single shell was something that happened only to the Lion Kingdom's royal army. Even the Retinue Army they trained knew how to minimize losses under bombardment. The only thing Piman couldn't fathom was... with so many bases around, why had the Lion Kingdom chosen this one? Was it a coincidence? Or a leak... At that moment, an officer in uniform strode toward him in foul temper. Piman recognized the man. He was Antoniet, deputy chief of logistics for the Northern Army Group, who had arrived two days prior on an inspection tour. And to audit warehouse stockpiles. The man was neurotic about caution, opening every single crate as if anyone cared enough to steal a few bullets. Piman noticed his left foot lacked a sock, and a smear of dust coated his left knee—evidently he had tumbled out of bed. "What the hell was that just now?" Antoniet demanded furiously. "I want an explanation!" Holding back a smirk, Piman offered reassurance: "Minor issue. Just a guerrilla sneak attack." "Guerrillas? Didn't they withdraw?" Antoniet frowned. "Maybe they came back, who knows." Piman patted the logistics officer on the shoulder with an easy smile. "Don't sweat it, my friend. Just a bunch of rabble. We'll wrap this up in no time." Antoniet glared at him warningly: "I suggest you take this seriously. The gear stored in these warehouses is vital to the entire northern front's next offensive! If you derail General Griffin's schedule, you know the consequences!" Seeing how grave the officer looked, Piman chuckled. "Relax, buddy. I know the stakes. My boys will root those rats out with utmost care... That said, for safety's sake, come wait in the bunker with me for a bit. Those savages are throwing rocks in impotent fury; it'd be quite tragic to get brained by a stray pebble." Antoniet knew fuming wouldn't help. He composed himself, nodded, and followed Piman to the blast shelter. Reloading those gas cylinder launchers took forever; several minutes passed without a second volley incoming. In contrast, eight Legion mortars pounded away continuously. After three saturation volleys suppressing the general direction of the enemy, they launched a flight of illumination rounds into the sky, turning the southern desert as bright as day. The Weasel reconnaissance vehicles, which had surged out first, quickly pinpointed the firing position. Guided by vehicle commanders, four 20mm heavy machine guns and eight 10mm machine guns stationed along the southern perimeter angled skyward, opening fire in an arching barrage across the dunes toward the Restoration Army's position. Tracers streaked across the dark sky like a curtain of falling stars as heavy-caliber rounds rained down, mercilessly sweeping over the artillery positions scattered behind the dune. Cylinders had just been hoisted onto triangular frames; before the fuses could be lit, the crews standing beside them were mowed down in bloody heaps. Only a handful of seasoned veterans who rolled frantically into nearby trenches managed to cling to life. Yet the indirect plunging fire was only the opening move. With the reconnaissance vehicle's assistance, the mortar squads inside the base corrected their targeting data, walking counter-battery fire directly onto the Restoration Army's heads. Meanwhile, a hundred-man infantry company formed up, boarded four light tracked trucks, and tore across the dunes in hot pursuit. Dazed and battered under relentless fire, Ade crouched in a trench, firing his rifle outward to suppress the four pairs of headlights racing toward them, bellowing at the comrades around him: "Hold the line!" "Hold this ground at all costs!" "Your Highness, their fire is too heavy!" a centurion hunkered nearby shouted, hoarse desperation cracking his voice. In both volume and lethality, the military base five kilometers away far exceeded their worst expectations. In a mere ten minutes... their artillery positions had been wiped out, infantry casualties topped a hundred, and their situation teetered on the brink. Yet friendly support was nowhere to be seen. Ade clenched his teeth so hard they creaked, veins bulging along his forearms as if he would crush the rifle's grip in his hands. "Hold out anyway, damn you!" Without fire support or reliable anti-armor weaponry, all they could do was huddle in the dirt and take the beating. Even so, he still clung to that one-in-ten-thousand chance. Their allies wouldn't betray them. The Alliance's reinforcements had already arrived! The moment of their counterattack was at hand! And even in the worst-case scenario—if he had gambled wrong, if Prince Winter had lied, if the Alliance's aid was a phantom from the start... dying on the offensive was a hundred times better than dying like a coward in a bomb shelter! Back at the military base. The sentries on the watchtowers clicked their tongues at the fires raging in the distance. "Tsk, tsk... I can already smell roasted meat." "They won't have anything worth looting anyway. Let those grunting brutes clean up the battlefield later." "An entire thousand-man unit... they really came all this way just to commit suicide." One sentry chuckled. "Who knows? Maybe they knew they couldn't win and decided to roll the dice." The other shrugged, cracking a grin: "Too bad they picked the wrong guys." Meanwhile, inside the concrete-reinforced bomb shelter, hearing over the comms that the sortie force was about to make contact, Piman checked his watch, figuring the engagement was practically over. Turning toward Antoniet, he joked: "Care for a wager?" "On what?" Antoniet replied absently. An uneasy dread had been prickling at him since the initial attack. Why attack here of all places? The timing was far too coincidental. And if the enemy knew the strategic importance of this depot, the strength of their assault seemed far too superficial. Frankly speaking, the combat power they displayed was hardly better than cannon fodder, practically offering themselves up on a silver platter. Perhaps he was overthinking, but he couldn't see any purpose to their attack other than throwing their lives away. Oblivious to any impending threat, Piman grinned at Antoniet's furrowed brow: "Let's bet... whether my boys wipe out those clowns five kilometers out within five minutes." Antoniet arched an eyebrow, about to speak, when a deafening roar of explosions thundered outside, violently shaking the earth and shattering his train of thought. Clinging to the wall to keep his balance, Antoniet peered through the observation slit. All he could see was billowing smoke; he couldn't even tell where the blasts had hit. He cursed angrily, masking a flicker of barely concealed panic: "Dammit, how are there still shells hitting us?!" Astonishment froze Piman's face as well, soon curdling into creeping dread as his lips moved in disbelief: "...No, that wasn't the sound of crude guerrilla cannons!" There had been no warning, no whistling shriek of artillery shells tearing through the air! The twin blasts had struck almost simultaneously, with pinpoint accuracy, completely wiping out his mortar positions. That wasn't arcing indirect fire. It had dropped almost vertically from the sky! The Lion Kingdom had no aircraft. Which left only one possibility— "What is it?" Antoniet stared blankly at him, waiting for an answer. Piman didn't answer. Like a madman, he lunged across the room and snatched up the field phone from the desk. His index finger jabbed frantically at the buttons. All his earlier composure had evaporated, and he screamed with every ounce of strength in his lungs: "...Calling Frontline Air Command! This is Base 530, we are under air strike!" "We need reinforcements!"