Bloody Battle at Hill 330!

Dusk had just fallen over Hill 330. Sitting on a bench inside the observation post, Centurion Yote of the 11th Support Company stared out the slit, gazing vacantly at the gravel plains gradually swallowed by the night. Several hours ago, he had received word from the frontline command post: the barbaric Alliance had massed all its forces in a surprise assault against the Legion's defensive lines, and Position G40-1 had already fallen. At the latest, Alliance tanks would roll up to the foot of Hill 330 within forty-eight hours. Four frontline cohorts were pulling back to regroup and defend. Sovt had given him only one task—to coordinate with the retreating units and stall the Alliance armored columns thrusting into their depth. Yote couldn't help feeling bewildered. Just the day before yesterday, their friendly units had been crowing on the radio about pummeling the Alliance black and blue. How had their lines suddenly been punched straight through? Regardless, headquarters wouldn't joke about something like this. Yote had no desire to gamble with his own life either, so he immediately dispatched a scout squad and an engineer squad to plant explosives at the base of the hill. Aside from the crews operating the radar and antiaircraft guns, everyone else had been sent to dig trenches and set up defenses along the midway slope of the hill. Just then, a sentry jogged in, snapped to attention, and saluted. "Report! Troops are approaching from the rear!" The rear? Yote's heart stirred. Rising from his bench at once, he stepped briskly out of the observation post and headed straight to the road on the northern side of Hill 330. Through the gloom of night, billowing clouds of dust rose as dozens of trucks packed with heavily armed soldiers rolled toward them in grand fashion from the direction of the command post. "What's going on over there?" Yote's adjutant was also standing beside the road. He had clearly noticed the commotion from the north as well and had come out to check. Yote didn't answer immediately. Raising the binoculars hanging around his neck, he took a look and counted thirty light trucks in total. After staring at the convoy for a moment, he blurted out, "It's the directly attached cohort." "The directly attached cohort?!" The adjutant beside him turned in astonishment. "What are they doing here?" Wasn't the directly attached cohort responsible for defending the command post and providing tactical support? Could General Sovt be planning to relocate headquarters to Hill 330?! "Don't know." Yote tossed him the binoculars and signaled to the distant watchtower to grant passage. "Let them in!" The checkpoint opened. The convoy rolled onto the position before long. The artillerymen of the 11th Centuria lined both sides of the road, watching truck after truck rumble onto the position. Gazing at their well-equipped comrades riding in the beds, envy showed plainly on every face. "Damn, an automatic rifle for every single man." "I heard those directly attached bastards get three times the standard ammo load of regular frontline troops!" "Three times? You kidding? Far more than that! In the whole legion, they're the only ones who never lack ammo." Unlike the clone troopers used as filler, the soldiers in those trucks were pure-blooded Wilmorites. Not only did every man carry an assault rifle, but each was also equipped with a set of light or heavy ballistic armor. The glossy, pitch-black plates glinted chillingly under the moonlight; anything less than a full burst wouldn't even penetrate that armor! And it wasn't just their top-tier gear—their military training and discipline far surpassed ordinary line-fillers. They were truly the trump card of the entire 4th Legion! The convoy came to a halt. A man nearly two meters tall jumped down from the front passenger seat of the lead truck. He wore a steel helmet over sharply chiseled features, his physique towering and brawny. Though his combat fatigues bore no obvious insignia of rank, Yote recognized him immediately. The newcomer was none other than Chiliarch Simond of the directly attached cohort. Back when Yote had first joined the 4th Legion, he had served as a decurion under this very man. Snapping a customary salute, Yote stepped forward and greeted Simond with a smile. "Commander Simond, what brings you out our way?" Without wasting time on pleasantries, Simond stated bluntly, "Orders from general headquarters. I am to proceed to Hill 330 and take over defense of this position." At those words, Yote stared at Simond in astonishment. General headquarters bypassing the chain to move frontline units directly? Bypassing intermediate command like that? And mobilizing the directly attached cohort at that... He could practically picture General Sovt flying into a rage. Noticing the shock on Yote's face, Simond added impassively, "Pay it no mind. Continue your assigned duties; leave the defense to us." Yote snapped back to attention and saluted. "Sir!" Simond nodded and waved to his adjutant, who took the cue and jogged over to the trucks. Over a thousand soldiers hauled wooden crates as they swiftly disembarked, hurrying toward the forward edge of the hill. Fanned out into ten-man squads, some dug while others hauled earth, working in seamless coordination to expand the fortifications outwards. Simond was not idle either. He asked Yote for a more detailed regional map, freshly marked by scouts with shortcuts leading up from the foot of the hill, priority defensive sectors, and other key points. After studying the map for a long while, Simond suddenly frowned and looked over at Yote. "Take me to the vantage point with the best view." "Yes, sir! Follow me!" Yote immediately led the way, bringing Simond to the forward observation post. From this post, the entire eastern, southern, and western faces of the hill were fully visible. "Why are there no firing positions on the southwestern side of the hill?" Yote froze for a second, then quickly explained, "There are positions, sir, just no machine guns deployed there... We're an antiaircraft company; the entire unit only has two heavy machine guns. Both are stationed on the south and southeast faces—those are the ones overlooking the road—" Simond cut him off and asked, "How many antiaircraft guns do you have?" "...Four." "Then dismantle one and move it here." Simond reached out with his index finger and tapped a salient on the contour lines to the southwest. "There is a gap in the southwestern defenses. It must be closed." Yote leaned in close to look at the spot Commander Simond had picked on the map, then looked up with a wry smile. "Sir... there are no roads at all to our southwest. It's nothing but mountains as far as the eye can see! Nobody is going to come from that direction!" "Besides mountains, there is vegetation. There is no more perfect position in the area than that," Simond said, glancing out the slit. Across the distance, on the hills shrouded in darkness, tufts of fluffy sea buckthorn grass swayed in the wind. And not just vegetation—boulders and outcrops jutted out all over. There was ready-made cover right there. "Still, they can't just fly over," Yote couldn't help pointing out. "Even if their tank tracks were made of titanium alloy, they couldn't traverse a hundred and fifty kilometers of off-road mountainous terrain with no roads. Not unless they plan on dragging their feet until next month." "They very well might fly over," Simond said coolly. Yote was taken aback. "...What do you mean?" Simond continued, "The 4th Legion's command post is the objective of the Alliance's armored forces. They will likely leave Hill 330 to their paratroopers." Yote glanced sharply out the observation window into the night sky. It was completely clear, without a single cloud, let alone any sign of paratroopers. Yet Simond's words made him turn grave. If the Alliance truly intended to infiltrate infantry into his position from the southwest... With only his antiaircraft crews on hand, they might really not have been able to hold. Seeing Yote's shaken expression, Simond spoke again: "If I were the Alliance commander, I would drop paratroopers behind the hills to the southwest, using the cover of night and vegetation to infiltrate Hill 330 on foot." With that, he clapped the centurion on the shoulder. "Hill 330 dictates how far they can advance. Have your men brace themselves; there will most likely be a brutal fight tonight." Yote swallowed hard and snapped to attention. "Sir!" Even as Simond briefed Yote on the defensive plan, neither man realized that several stealthy figures were already lying right under their noses. Behind the reverse slope of the ridge on the hills southwest of Hill 330. Brother Edge and several teammates lay behind swaying clumps of sea buckthorn grass, silently observing the enemy position ahead. The time was eight o'clock in the evening. A hundred and fifty kilometers of cross-country terrain, and they had completed the forced march in just eight hours! No modern vehicles, not even roads—nothing but desolate gravel plains and sand dunes in the middle of nowhere the whole way! In reality, this wouldn't just make military history; it would shatter Guinness World Records! Yet Brother Edge wasn't getting cocky. Reaching the combat position was only the first step. Being fast wasn't something to brag about yet. It wouldn't be too late to brag on the forums once they took the position in front of them. "Holy crap, there are quite a lot of people on the opposite hill!" Gazing at the nearby hilltop through his binoculars, Indebted Big Eye couldn't help smacking his lips. Laplace, lying beside him, looked just as surprised. "This is supposed to be a single centuria?!" "I'd say there are way more than a hundred just on the southwest position alone!" Yang Youbao grumbled. Indebted Big Eye glanced at the silent Brother Edge and whispered, "Feels like they have a lot of troops... Should we swing a bit further west? Circle around to their north and hit them from behind!" Brother Edge shook his head. "Swing any wider and we'll stumble into another unit's sector. This is the optimal spot." Ten to twenty kilometers further west of Hill 330 sat another antiaircraft position. If spotted, they would face interlocking crossfire from both east and west. Nearly the entire mountainous region was under Legion control, with units dispersed across various defense sectors and peaks, leaving very few tactical options for attackers. He could only choose the options with the highest odds of success among the few available. "There seems to be movement on the opposite ridge," an Agility-type player suddenly said. "Is that... a heavy machine gun?" "It's an antiaircraft gun!" another Agility-type player whispered. "Looks like they're trying to move an AA gun over to the southwest position!" Hearing this, the players lying on the reverse slope exchanged glances. "Did they spot us?" "Not necessarily. More likely they realized the gap in their southwestern defenses," Brother Edge said with a frown, watching the engineers busy setting up the gun. "There's an engineer platoon at the base of the hill and another up top—that's almost a full company of engineers right there. No way this is just a single centuria." "I agree," Yang Youbao nodded earnestly. "An engineer company is practically regimental-level support! There's got to be at least a whole cohort on that hill!" "What do we do now?" Looking at Brother Edge, Midnight With Umbrella No Knife said in a low voice, "Maybe we wait until the Construction Site guys catch up before attacking." They were outnumbered, and assaults on fortified positions were already reckless enough. Waiting for the brothers pedaling tricycles behind them so all three thousand could push together would be far safer. "We can't wait any longer. Wait any more and they'll have pillboxes built, damn it!" Brother Edge lowered his binoculars and looked at Big Eye beside him. "Where are your drones?" Seeing that the fight was on, Indebted Big Eye perked up excitedly. "All ready to go!" "Good," Brother Edge nodded and instructed, "Deploy all the drones. Remember to paint the targets first, and wait for my command to strike! We want to knock out their firing positions in one fell swoop, giving them no room to breathe!" "You got it!" Indebted Big Eye nodded eagerly and slipped down the reverse slope. Brother Edge then turned to Yang Youbao, who was lying beside him. "Take five hundred infantry, swing fast around to the southeast of Hill 330, and launch a feint attack up the hill along the edge of the road!" "Roger!" Yang Youbao nodded quickly and dashed off in the direction Indebted Big Eye had gone. Backing down the reverse slope, Brother Edge glanced at the time displayed on his VM screen by its faint glow. It was 20:15 Alliance Time. Fifteen minutes. Those "little guys" should be well-rested by now. Tapping his headset with his index finger, Brother Edge switched the comms to the general channel and whispered: "All squads, heads up. The operation begins in ten minutes!" Free of even a shred of fear, eager confirmations came flooding back: "Copy that!" ... 20:22. It was still quiet around Hill 330. Glancing at the engineers working halfway up the slope, Yote breathed a sigh of relief as he patrolled the position and switched off his flashlight. It was already this late, and still there wasn't a sound. It seemed the Alliance planned to push their operation to the second half of the night. At that thought, as Yote relaxed, an edge of annoyance crept into his mind—clearly, there would be no good night's sleep for him tonight. Walking alongside Yote, the adjutant remained silent for a long time before finally asking, "I don't understand. If General Griffin was certain the Alliance would attack tonight and deploy airborne troops... why didn't we just scramble planes to intercept them?" Yote answered casually, "Our aircraft are already on standby, but the Alliance's planes are bizarre—standard airborne radars have a hard time detecting them." Commander Simond had told him that. Even without being told, he could have guessed it. At those destroyed antiaircraft positions in Defense Sector 40, radar hadn't picked up anything until enemy aircraft were within visual range. From that perspective, the Alliance really could use the cover of darkness to drop paratroopers right under their noses. No matter how fast the Saber fighters cruised, the moment they detected those transport planes, they would hardly be able to destroy them before the paratroopers jumped. Seeing his adjutant's worried look, Yote clapped him on the shoulder and reassured him, "Don't worry. General Sovt sent his directly attached cohort here. Even if the Alliance drops paratroopers right in front of our faces, we'll swat them like mosquitoes halfway up the hill—" Before his words had fully faded, a sharp crack of gunfire shattered the quiet night. A light halfway down the slope wobbled wildly as an engineer digging a trench dropped dead from a gunshot. The nearby engineers hastily shut off their flashlights and hit the dirt. Yet their reactions were half a beat too slow. Less than half a second later, dense gunfire erupted like firecrackers across the southeastern slope of Hill 330. The engineer squad laying explosives was decimated in an instant, leaving only feeble groans echoing along the mountainside. "Enemy attack!" Coming to his senses, Yote bellowed and lunged for the nearest cover. Almost simultaneously, piercing sirens wailed across the entire Hill 330 position. "From the southeast?!" Peering through the small window of the observation post toward the southeastern positions, Simond's expression shifted slightly. Still, this did not mean his assessment had been wrong. Even if they landed behind the hills to the southwest, they could have followed the reverse slope around to the southeast before attacking. Perhaps seeing that leveled antiaircraft gun had made them change their minds... Without hesitation, Simond raised his walkie-talkie and barked: "1st Support Company, fire illumination flares!" The moment the order went out, mortar crews of the directly attached cohort rushed to their combat stations. With a series of dull thuds, over a dozen flares shot into the sky, bathing the hills surrounding Hill 330 in harsh light. On the ridges to the southeast, human figures could be seen prone on the ground. Having dug crude foxholes, they had set up light machine guns and rifles, firing sweeping volleys up at Hill 330. The two sides were less than five hundred meters apart. Meanwhile, under cover of the night, two centurias had already crept to the eastern and southern foot of Hill 330, engaging in a furious firefight with nearby outposts and the squads rushing to support the engineers near the road. Gazing at the flashes of gunfire flickering on the nearby hills and at the foot of the slope, Simond knitted his brows. Two elements supporting, two elements assaulting, roles clearly defined, coordination seamless... They truly lived up to their reputation as elites. And with fire density like this, there had to be at least four centurias out there! Maybe even five! If he hadn't come here, Hill 330 would likely have already fallen into the Alliance's hands! A cold smirk tugged at the corner of Simond's mouth. Those barbarians probably never dreamed that what they faced was not the hundred-man support company they saw during the day, but the premier ace of the 4th Legion—the directly attached cohort! Raising his walkie-talkie, Simond ordered in a chilling voice: "All units, attention. The force before us is the Alliance's finest ace unit in the rumors—the Burning Corps." "These cockroaches are the ones who humiliated our airmen and stole the Heart of Steel." "Those softies in the Air Marines gave them confidence, but this time, they picked the wrong opponent!" "Hit them hard!" "Show them what a real ace unit looks like!" ... 4th Legion Command Post. The moment he received word that Position 330 was under attack, General Sovt—who just a second earlier had been cursing Griffin's mother—broke out into a cold sweat down his back. Hill 330 was only seventeen kilometers from here! Having studied the maps for so long, he knew all too well what losing that position would mean for him. Not only would his command post be exposed within the range of Alliance fire projection, but the four cohorts pulling back to reinforce would in turn face encirclement by Alliance armored units and supporting artillery. In the end, all that might remain of the 4th Legion would be its designation... "Those beasts... quite scheming, aren't they! Haha, eat shit!" Pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow, Sovt stared at the strategic map on the table, feeling lingering dread mixed with wild excitement. He hadn't expected the Alliance would actually dare drop airborne troops without air superiority—and threw down their ace right out of the gate. That had truly caught him off guard. His previous assessment had been a bit too absolute; "absolutely impossible" needed a caveat—"provided the Alliance commander isn't a gambler." Fortunately, he was a man who listened to advice and had executed General Griffin's orders; otherwise, he really would have capsized in a ditch. Sovt couldn't help exclaiming in admiration: "General Griffin truly is divinely prescient!" Glancing stealthily at his superior, the adjutant standing nearby wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. Who was it that had hung up the phone and warmly cursed General Griffin's entire family up and down?... Finally steadying his pounding heart, Sovt turned to his adjutant and ordered in an excited voice: "Radio Simond! Inform him that air support is on the way, and tell him he must wipe out the Alliance elites at the foot of Hill 330 at all costs!" "Win this battle, and the scales of victory are in our hands!" The adjutant snapped to attention and saluted. "Sir!" ... Meanwhile, at the Legion General Headquarters in Oasis No. 3. Inside the command tent, General Griffin was staring intently at the radio on the table. After a burst of static, a pilot's voice came through: "...This is Saber-1. No enemy aircraft detected in target airspace." Hearing an answer so contrary to expectations, Griffin's brow furrowed slightly. "Have they already withdrawn?" The staff officer standing nearby also fell into contemplation, speaking up after a moment: "That would be impossibly fast." According to General Griffin's deployment, the 4th Legion's directly attached cohort was to intercept the Alliance airborne troops, while the Saber fighters were tasked with annihilating the Alliance air cover protecting the paratroopers. Yet unexpectedly, the Alliance had sent no aircraft to support the airborne troops assaulting Hill 330, seemingly intending to leave the entire hill for the infantry to chew through alone. Not only that, they hadn't even spotted the transport aircraft that had delivered the infantry, and the ornithopters that had attacked the antiaircraft positions in Defense Sector 40 had vanished into thin air. *Could they have guessed our move?* Griffin's mind stirred, but he quickly dismissed the possibility. If the Alliance knew they had prepared a countermeasure, they wouldn't have dropped airborne troops onto Hill 330 at all. Could it be... The Alliance had never imagined the 4th Legion would reinforce Hill 330, and had gambled that the Legion wouldn't anticipate them repeating their trick of an airborne raid, leaving Hill 330 entirely to the infantry? A momentary flicker of bewilderment passed through those shrewd eyes; Griffin froze for a few seconds. Such a possibility wasn't out of the question. Yet given their past performance... They shouldn't suddenly act so foolishly. Underestimating the enemy was a fatal blunder. Griffin's brow knitted even tighter as he glared at the map, running through countless possibilities in his mind. At that moment, the staff officer beside him reminded, "Further south is the radar search envelope of the Heart of Steel... Our aircraft cannot advance any further." The antiaircraft guns of the Heart of Steel were rather ineffective against supersonic aircraft, practically unable to hit anything above Mach 3. Conversely, under the harassment of antiaircraft fire, their own fighters couldn't accomplish much either. Griffin nodded, turned to the signalman, and ordered: "Instruct the Sabers to provide one pass of fire support for the defenders on Hill 330, then immediately return to the frontline airfield on standby." "Also, scramble the 1st Air Squadron of the Falcon Kingdom to relieve the Sabers and provide close air support for Hill 330!" The signalman stood at attention and saluted. "Sir!" ... *Brrrrt—!* Southeastern hills of Hill 330. A howling storm of projectiles slammed into the earth almost simultaneously with the roar of autocannons, throwing up churning geysers of dust, shattered limbs, and torn flesh. The sudden air strike silenced the Alliance positions for two full seconds. Though gunfire quickly resumed, it had clearly lost its earlier momentum, growing noticeably more cautious and subdued. Evidently, that strafing run had inflicted heavy casualties on them. Deprived of fire support from their rear, the two assaulting centurias were immediately plunged into peril. Directing the fight from his post, Simond did not miss the opportunity. He immediately pulled a centuria from another sector and redeployed it to the eastern crossroads, intending to descend the hill and flank the Alliance assault force from behind, annihilating the two enemy centurias pinned halfway up the slope in one stroke! Though holding all the cards at this moment, Simond knew full well that his men carried limited ammunition. If they failed to wrap things up swiftly, the fight would soon bog down into a stalemate. "Haha! Beautiful!" Watching the screaming fighter jets peel away overhead, Yote pumped his fist in excitement. The adjutant beside him was also grinning ear to ear. The Alliance had to be reeling by now. Never in their wildest dreams would they figure out why a hill garrisoned by a single centuria during the day suddenly harbored over a thousand men. Trying to overrun their position with just five hundred men? What a pipe dream! Yet right at that moment, on the hills to the southwest, a dark silhouette suddenly burst out from behind the swaying sea buckthorn grass and darted down the slope at blistering speed. Watching from the observation post, Yote caught a glimpse of something, but didn't pay it much mind at first. After all, the thing moved too fast—so fast it hardly seemed human. Until the sentries on the southwestern position noticed something amiss as well. Tracking the darting silhouettes, they swept their searchlights toward the base of the hill on the southwestern flank... Under the glare of the searchlights, chilling claws and tails clad in scaly armor gleamed with a menacing luster. The instant his eyes locked with those amber pupils, Yote's vision blurred in shock, and the smug look on his face froze solid. The sensation of being locked on by an apex predator left him stiff all over, as if the blood in his veins had turned to ice and his legs were filled with lead. Even across hundreds of meters, even looking down from high ground, not a shred of security reached him. "Deathclaws..." It was Deathclaws! But this was Luoxia Province—how could those things possibly be here?!