"Fire!!"
Erect gun barrels spewed tongues of flame as deafening roars reverberated across the open wilderness.
A total of fifty-two "Fire Crossbow" self-propelled artillery pieces, divided across five firing positions, unleashed six full salvos at the enemy artillery positions on the east bank of the river that had exposed themselves by opening fire!
As a self-propelled artillery piece independently developed by the Southern Legion, the Fire Crossbow was widely favored across the ranks for its outstanding fire-support efficiency, second in popularity only to the 902 mm siege cannon and the river monitor.
Although its chassis was still based on the Conqueror series armor, its autoloader, fire control system, and even the massive 200 mm cannon had all been independently designed by the Southern Legion according to its own operational needs.
Beside the five artillery positions, twelve anti-aircraft vehicles were split among three air defense batteries on standby, guarding against threats from the sky.
Although the Clarion monitored the airspace, considering that the Alliance fielded next-generation fighters in addition to propeller aircraft, the Legion hadn't rolled its anti-aircraft guns all the way to the front lines to assist like they did when fighting primitives.
At one of the artillery positions, a man in an officer's cap narrowed his eyes at the roaring artillery in the distance, a cold smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
His name was Toran, commander of the 36th Myriad's support unit, holding the rank of millurion.
A few minutes earlier, the Alliance artillery hidden on the opposite bank had lost patience and opened fire. Following Myriad Commander Wolff's instructions, Toran had immediately retaliated against their coordinates.
Undoubtedly, those 155 mm guns belonging to the Alliance had already been blasted into scrap metal by their counter-battery fire.
The adjutant beside him chuckled, a trace of mockery between his brows.
"That barrage ought to give the Alliance plenty to chew on."
The moment the other side opened fire, they were able to confirm without a doubt that their opponent was the Alliance.
Toran gave a faint smile.
"Forget plenty to chew on—they'll be choking on it twice over."
The adjutant laughed. "Hahaha!"
As the two were laughing and chatting, the communicator clipped to Toran's shoulder suddenly buzzed.
Seeing an order from headquarters, Toran wiped the smile from his face and pressed the connect button.
Soon, the voice of the headquarters dispatcher came through.
"...A myriad-sized force in the southeast is heading toward your position. They are equipped with a number of vehicles, preliminarily identified as the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division of Golden Gallon Port."
Toran raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Have they declared war on us?"
Dispatcher: "No. Clearly, just like the Alliance, it's that 'volunteers' nonsense again, you know how it goes... But don't worry, they won't even get close to you. The 37th Myriad is advancing toward them. I need you to provide fire support for the 37th Myriad. I will temporarily patch your comm channel to theirs."
Likewise paying little heed to this approaching force, Toran showed not the slightest panic on his face; instead, he grew concerned for his comrades on the front line.
The Clarion had only just arrived in this sector and hadn't yet dropped its anchor chains. He worried that without their artillery cover, the 1st Cohort crossing the river to scout ahead might run into an unexpected disaster.
"Understood... What about our frontline forces?"
Dispatcher: "They're already engaged with the Alliance frontline forces, and we've dispatched ground reinforcements. The fighting is currently at close quarters; you can't help them right now."
"Understood."
Lowering the communicator, Toran frowned slightly, a lingering trace of worry refusing to leave his mind.
Still, with headquarters giving direct orders, he had to comply. He ordered the gun crews to cease fire, plotted new firing data based on the coordinates provided by command, and aimed toward the path of the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division of Golden Gallon Port.
At that very moment, neither Toran nor any of the officers and gunners noticed that a Hummingbird circling high in the sky had already locked its gaze onto them.
On a knoll less than two kilometers away, Kuang Feng and Ye Shi lay prone behind an earthen embankment. One operated the drone for reconnaissance while the other maintained contact with the main body.
"...This is Ye Shi. We have confirmed the positions of the enemy artillery units; the coordinates are updated on the map."
After a brief pause, a voice soon came through the comms.
"Copy... Can you find a way to pinpoint their artillery command post?"
Ye Shi exchanged a glance with Kuang Feng, then pinched and zoomed on his VM screen, quickly locking onto several men who looked like officers.
While there was nothing technically wrong with these Wilante soldiers' tactics and strategy, every single one of them was insufferably arrogant, acting as though their opponents didn't even exist.
Still, that worked in their favor, saving them time. Ye Shi promptly reported the finding to Fang Chang.
"Let me see... There are a few guys who look like officers near the Point C marker. Want me to take them out?"
Fang Chang answered calmly, "No need. Just keep your eyes on their vehicles. Don't let them get away."
Ye Shi: "Copy that!"
At the same time, in a weed-choked field ten kilometers away, figures clad in pitch-black exoskeletons stood along the edges of the field ridges.
Most wore Alliance exoskeletons, while a portion wore gear captured from the 34th Myriad, with bandages tied around their arms as IFF identifiers.
Though the Burning Corps players looked down on Legion exoskeletons, this captured gear was remarkably attractive to the soldiers of the State of Brahma.
After pulling out of Ridepur County, the Burning Corps under Lao Bai's lead had swiftly rendezvoused with Brahma's 11th Myriad, which had also withdrawn from the county, and guided them toward the Ox State sector.
To boost their allies' mobility, the Burning Corps players had even passed along the "Human Pack Mule" tactic: namely, one person wearing an exoskeleton carried a teammate without one on their back and sprinted.
Long ago, when the Alliance fought the Bone Chewer tribe, this was exactly how they moved around.
While it wasn't as fast as riding bicycles or horses, it was still far better than trudging on two bare legs.
The only downside was energy consumption.
Yet moving with the players meant this was hardly a concern.
The air force boys occasionally dropped supply crates, which included solid-state hydrogen batteries.
Not only that, the power armors powered by cold fusion were effectively walking power banks; plugging in an adapter allowed them to recharge the exoskeletons' fuel cells.
Standing beside Lao Bai, Myriad Commander Yokale, sporting a standard Legion exoskeleton, had an eager look on his face as he asked with high spirits, "When do we move?"
Having upgraded from shotguns to cannons, he could barely wait to teach the Legion a lesson.
Seeing the man clad in Legion gear saluting in Alliance fashion, Lao Bai couldn't help but chuckle.
"No rush. The air force boys take the stage next. We just watch from the sidelines and get ready to mop up."
Yokale blinked. "This time... we aren't capturing their gear?"
Fang Chang shook his head. "No need. We haven't studied those things, and even if we captured them, we wouldn't know how to drive them."
Mainly, they weren't really worth studying.
According to intelligence gathered by the Alliance, those things were just Conqueror tanks refitted with a new turret, their accuracy and rate of fire mediocre at best.
Yokale hesitated, then sheepishly ventured a suggestion.
"Um... could you leave a few of those self-propelled guns for us? Of course, we won't let you take any risks. Just like before, our men will handle capturing them!"
It wasn't that he was greedy.
It was mainly that the firepower was enviable, and once you fired, you could pull up your pants and run.
While the Alliance didn't think much of such machines, for Brahma, which could barely scrape together a few tractors, it was another matter entirely.
Fang Chang gave him a strange look. "Leave them to you? Do you know how to operate them?"
Yokale chuckled, shook his head, then quickly nodded. "No! But we can learn!"
Lao Bai and Fang Chang looked at each other and exchanged glances.
"Why not let them try?"
"Fair enough."
A guerrilla division equipped with self-propelled artillery—just thinking about it sounded wild.
He didn't mind their allies scavenging some more scrap; it might even work wonders in subsequent battles.
With that in mind, Fang Chang hesitated no longer and immediately pulled out his VM to call Luo Yu.
"Luo Yu, change of plans. Go support Edge and the others. Leave the artillery to us."
Heavy static buzzed over the channel; clearly, Luo Yu had already taken off and was en route.
"Copy... Are you guys good?"
Fang Chang teased, "Are you kidding? When do I ever have a problem?"
Luo Yu: "Haha! Brother Fang Chang is a badass! Best of luck!"
Fang Chang grinned, hung up, and turned to Myriad Commander Yokale, who was standing beside them like an obedient student.
"We've coordinated with our allies. We're changing the plan from destroy to capture. Get your men ready; we're going in."
Yokale said quickly, "Just leave it to us! You've already helped us so much, how could we impose on you any further?"
Fang Chang raised a hand to cut him off. "Don't be a stranger. Right now, driving out the invaders is all that matters. We'll lead the charge in a moment, and you just follow us in. Remember to follow our orders—don't rush ahead blindly, and don't shrink back."
Fang Chang didn't mind them tagging along, but entrusting the assault entirely to them was still a bit too risky.
Even though they had upgraded their gear—boasting over three thousand exoskeletons, automatic weapons, and light anti-tank equipment—whether they could use it effectively remained an open question.
Seeing Myriad Commander Yokale nodding earnestly, Fang Chang had a thought and added, "By the way, prioritize capturing any enemy soldiers who surrender. We'll help you dismantle the tracking devices on the vehicles, but learning how to operate them will require their interrogation."
Yokale threw his chest out, held his head high, and gave a salute. "Understood!"
Fang Chang nodded approvingly and waved a hand. "Move out!"
...
Aboard the airship Clarion.
Sitting on the bridge, John kept his eyes glued to the pontoon bridge across the river and the forest on the opposite bank. His brows furrowed slightly as he turned to the adjutant beside him and asked, "Haven't they been in there a bit too long?"
His adjutant started, then nodded with a grim expression. "It is... a bit unusual."
It wasn't just the time.
It was the men as well.
The soldiers of the 36th Myriad were pouring across the river vehicle by vehicle, filling the woods. Gunfire crackled and popped relentlessly within the forest, yet not a single man had been seen pulling back.
By all rights, this kind of grinding war of attrition should have been left to clones.
Evidently, their allies had misjudged the size of the enemy force in the woods while overestimating their own combat capability.
Martin, draped in his white lab coat, looked excitedly toward John. "Should we deploy the poison? The effect of this toxin on Wilante is minuscule—negligible, even. This is the perfect opportunity to field-test it."
John glanced at him, ignoring the lunatic, and reached down to grab his communicator, switching over to Myriad Commander Wolff.
"Myriad Commander Wolff, have you run into trouble over there?"
A reply soon crackled across the channel.
"No. Just a few grasshoppers. We took care of them easily."
"Is that so?"
Although he hadn't intended any mockery, the words still came out sounding like something else.
Wolff: "Are you questioning our combat effectiveness?"
*Does your combat effectiveness even need questioning?*
John sneered inwardly, yet kept his tone as mild as possible. "That wasn't my meaning. I'm merely concerned that you might jeopardize Myriad Commander Ryan's plan. If we wish to destroy the State of Brahma within two months, we must march our troops into Tiandu before the end of the month."
"Your concern is misplaced. I keep every one of Myriad Commander Ryan's directives firmly in mind," Wolff replied coldly.
The situation among his troops was indeed far from optimistic, but it had not yet reached a point he considered troublesome.
He had already committed five cohorts forward. According to reports from the frontline cohort commanders, they had turned the tide and were launching a counteroffensive against the guerrillas in the forest.
Two 155 mm guns had already been captured, and those gas-masked bastards had suffered heavy casualties after a brainless charge. It wouldn't be long before his men secured the hill nearest the riverbank.
Although their own casualties were substantial, given that the opposition consisted of Alliance volunteers, the losses were acceptable.
There was no need to tell the Clarion any of this, and doing so wouldn't help anyway.
At such close proximity, the airship's guns were useless, to say nothing of the fact that it hadn't even anchored yet.
It would only invite ridicule from the airmen for taking so long to deal with a bunch of native guerrillas.
Wolff might not have fully understood his enemy, but he understood the nature of his own people all too well.
Hearing the line go dead, John's eyebrow twitched violently as he clipped the communicator back onto his shoulder.
These ungrateful ground-crawling idiots!
He reached out out of genuine concern, only to have it thrown back in his face.
"To hold out against the 36th Mechanized Infantry Myriad for this long, the enemy's combat strength is clearly nothing to scoff at," the adjutant standing nearby said gravely.
Though he had also dismissed the enemy initially, he now had no choice but to take them seriously.
John sneered. "No need to couch it in gentle terms... That's likely the Death Corps that earned such bloody renown in Jinchuan Province. Our allies have kicked an iron plate."
He had once seen those distinctive gas masks in the *Triumph Gazette*.
It was undeniably the Death Corps.
Rumor had it they were an elite Alliance formation that, during the Torch campaign, had stormed hilltops that even their brothers in the Eastern Legion found daunting.
Had the Alliance gone mad?
Sending wave after wave of their elite troops to this godforsaken place—or were they truly a horde of clones?
With a darkened expression, John harbored a persistent bad premonition.
His worry didn't stem entirely from tactical concerns.
There was a strategic dimension as well.
Why did it feel like, as the fighting went on, they were being labeled a "Scourge" just like Torch had been?
That was no good omen.
At that moment, he failed to notice the fanatical expression that broke across Martin's face upon hearing the name "Death Corps."
"...The Death Corps... Hehehe... It's actually those fellows."
He chuckled weirdly, his eyes gleaming faintly, looking for all the world like a predator spotting prey.
John pondered for a moment and raised his right hand.
He couldn't wait until the army cried for help to take action; he had to prepare beforehand.
"Prepare to drop anchor chains—"
Before his words could finish, a faint ripple flickered across the radar.
Not missing the fleeting blip, the operator seated before the console shouted immediately:
"Enemy fighter formation detected!"
"Speed nearing Mach 2!"
"Targets have entered our northeast sector!"
"They're moving along the cloud bank—ten aircraft in total!!"
"Damn it! Their target isn't us—it's the ground!"
Shocked, John immediately ordered:
"Launch air-to-air missiles!"
"Yes sir!" The operator at the console answered without hesitation and slammed the red button.
Simultaneously, a honeycomb missile pod rose from the top of the airship, aiming across the distance at the airspace where the enemy was spotted.
*Wuuu—!*
Accompanied by a piercing whine, ten air-to-air missiles shot out, trailing long tails of exhaust fire as they roared toward the ten approaching fighters.
Given the current firing angle and relative speed, there wasn't a one-in-ten-thousand chance for those ten enemy aircraft to evade!
A gleeful smile curled on John's lips; he could already picture the scrap metal turning into fireballs and blooming in the sky like fireworks.
Yet right then, something completely unexpected happened. When the ten air-to-air missiles drew close to the target airspace, they inexplicably struck empty air.
They found no supersonic aircraft; after searching briefly, they detected only a single incoming missile emitting radar signatures at high speed.
"It's a decoy missile!!"
The radar operator cried out in shock, and John's pupils contracted violently.
"Switch to anti-aircraft guns! Quickly!"
His order was swift, yet it was already too late.
At the very moment they realized the anomaly, the oncoming decoy missile detonated, unleashing an electromagnetic pulse across the surrounding airspace.
With their seeker heads fried by the EMP, the ten air-to-air missiles scrambled wildly through the sky like blinded flies, some plunging into the ground and others veering off into the clouds.
At that exact moment, a genuine Thunderbolt fighter burst from the cloud layer.
One, and only one!
"Fuck!"
Realizing he had been played for a fool, John cursed loudly and shot up from his seat.
His eyes glared viciously through the observation window at the aircraft, wishing his stare alone could pierce it from the sky.
The plane didn't pay him the slightest heed, directly unloading both rocket pods slung under its wings toward the ground.
Twenty-four guided air-to-ground rockets poured forth, hurtling as if endowed with eyes toward the 36th Myriad's infantry fighting vehicles parked at the edge of the forest.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
The targeted vehicles had no time to react before the descending rockets blasted through their top armor.
*Boom!!!*
Explosive fire erupted in succession along the forest's edge, blasting nearly twenty infantry fighting vehicles into scrap!
Flames reflected off dazed faces. In the eyes of the Wilante soldiers crouching nearby with their rifles, shock and despair appeared in equal measure.
Deprived of their vehicles' fire support, the hard-won advantage the 36th Myriad's frontline units had gained slipped away at a visible pace.
Or rather, that advantage had been deliberately conceded to them from the start.
Its sole purpose had been to lure them further in!
John's eyes bulged, bloodshot, as he slammed his clenched fist onto the armrest of his chair.
Right then, Wolff's curses burst through the comm channel:
"What the hell are your anti-aircraft guns doing?! How did an enemy plane get right on top of our faces?!"
Knowing he was in the wrong, John still yelled back defensively:
"You blame us... Where the hell are *your* anti-aircraft guns?!"
"We—Damn it! I don't have time for your bullshit!" Wolff started to reply, but couldn't spare the breath and hastily cut the line.
The Thunderbolt fighter that had raided the battlefield lingered no longer; after striking its target, it swiftly disengaged and headed back toward Tiandu.
By then, the airship's anti-aircraft missiles had finished reloading, but facing that receding tail flame, John could do nothing but glare helplessly.
Meanwhile, as the airstrike concluded, a new round of counterattacks from the opposite side seemed to begin.
The billowing smoke and flashing flames of explosions were shifting from a jagged zigzag into an inward-closing curve!
Like a massive maw snapping shut!
They wanted to swallow the five cohorts trapped in the forest whole!
Even from up on the airship, John could clearly perceive that the 36th Myriad's situation was deteriorating rapidly, spiraling from an even match into a desperate crisis.
To reinforce his men, Wolff threw in his last five cohorts as well!
Including his remaining twenty-odd infantry fighting vehicles and nearly sixty armored personnel carriers!
Anxious as could be, John turned to his adjutant and barked urgently, "Are the anchor chains down yet?! Hurry up!"
Sweat poured down the adjutant's forehead as he rushed to press the anchoring crew again.
Under his frantic prodding, the anchor chains were finally cast down from the airship, slamming heavily into the muddy plain and kicking up billowing clouds of dust.
Yet at that exact moment, another report arrived out of nowhere.
"Report! A force of light infantry has been spotted twenty-seven kilometers to our southwest!"
"They're advancing toward the 36th Myriad's artillery positions!"
"Southwest?!" Shocked, John looked at the map at once, his heart dropping into his stomach.
Their rear was compromised!
How had these people managed to slip behind them under their very surveillance?!
No—
There was another possibility.
They hadn't marched in from Tiandu at all; they had been lurking around Ridepur County all along, dogging their tracks all the way to Ox State!
Cursing the 7th Air Group responsible for reconnaissance up and down, John immediately relayed the intelligence to Myriad Commander Wolff, who was directing operations on the ground.
After a brief silence, a defeated voice came through the comm channel:
"Our allies... The 37th Myriad ran into the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division of Golden Gallon Port—or more precisely, a coalition of Golden Gallon Port, Tiger State, and Leopard State."
"God knows where they got over a hundred Conqueror 10s, but our allies' IFVs can't penetrate them... They've been forced to retreat to the west."
John caught his breath, his previously composed demeanor giving way to panic.
This was unequivocally the worst possible news!
At this moment, virtually the entire strength of the 36th Myriad was bogged down on the opposite bank.
If the 37th Myriad couldn't hold off Brahma's reinforcements, the 36th Myriad could very well be captured down to the last unit!
Captured by a bunch of natives...
No matter how formidable the Clarion's firepower was, it couldn't shell its own allies' heads, nor could it ground itself to help on the turf.
The enemy had adopted a thoroughly shameless tactic: waiting for them to close in, then latching onto them in a messy brawl.
John's Adam's apple bobbed as a trembling voice squeezed from his throat.
"...What do we do now?"
After a brief silence on the other end of the comm line, a reluctant, desperate plea finally came through:
"...Pull me out."
Confronted with the collapsing battle, Wolff was powerless; he could only swallow his pride and beg.
At the very least, he could not be taken prisoner.
Otherwise, he would become the very first Legion myriad commander captured in the entire war.
This wasn't merely about his personal pride; it concerned the honor of the entire Southern Legion.
And at this point, it was also the only thing left that he could do for Myriad Commander Ryan and General Gulion...
Chapter 867