Great Victory at Akale County!

In the southern part of Akale County, a massive encounter battle erupted across the open wilderness. On one side was the Southern Legion's 37th Myriad, led by Baldwin; on the other was Golden Gallon Port's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division, accompanied by two armored regiments hailing from the Tiger Army and the Black Panther Army respectively. The latter's objective was to advance toward the bend of the Yongliu River to sever the retreat route of the Southern Legion's 36th Myriad, while the former's goal was naturally to prevent them from thrusting into their friendly forces' rear. Fierce fighting broke out the moment both sides made contact. Two Chimera armored vehicles took the initiative by firing Dove missiles, blowing up a Conqueror 5 light tank and a Beast wheeled infantry fighting vehicle in rapid succession. The Southern Legion's 37th Myriad refused to show weakness. Two light armored units quickly surged forward, destroying three of the Golden Gallon Port mechanized division's Chimeras one after another. Just as the 37th Myriad's armored units were on the verge of devouring the vanguard of Golden Gallon Port's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division, an iron torrent of over a hundred Conqueror 10 tanks suddenly crashed into the Southern Legion's lines! Before the two light armored units could even process what was happening, howling tank shells punched through their side armor, blasting them into burning heaps of scrap metal in the mud. "Advance!!!" the regimental commander of the Tiger Army's armored regiment roared over the communication channel, leading his troops as they spearheaded the assault into the 37th Myriad's flank positions. Seeing their own model of tank charging right at them, the Wilante soldiers of the 37th Myriad were dumbfounded. The Conqueror was unmistakably their own tank. If the Alliance had somehow gotten their hands on one or two, that would be one thing, but how the hell had they cobbled together two whole armored cohorts' worth?! Facing the Southern Legion's limited anti-tank firepower, the Conqueror 10 tanks advanced as if into an empty land, pursuing the enemy's IFVs and scout vehicles as they scattered in frantic flight across the wilderness! Reviewing the casualty reports submitted by his frontline officers, Baldwin, overseeing the battle from his command post, felt his heart bleeding. The two light armored units he had just sent forward were his personal core units and the elite under his command! Seeing that the opposing force was made up of natives from Brahma Province, he had intended to let his own men go up and scoop up a couple of easy medals. He had never imagined two full armored cohorts would suddenly burst out from the enemy lines! In just a few short minutes, twenty of his Beast wheeled IFVs had been blown to bits, along with five Greyhounds and two armored personnel carriers. Seeing that both light armored units were on the verge of being crushed, he grabbed his communicator without hesitation and roared at the top of his lungs: "Light armored units, fall back! 1st Cohort, push up and hold the line! Knock out their tracks!" "Support cohort, prepare to fire! Use HEAT shells! Target the tanks with broken tracks!" As the orders came down, the two light armored units of the 37th Myriad quickly pulled back toward the rear. In their stead, ranks of Wilante soldiers clutching anti-tank weapons surged forward. Across the entire open field, only the undulating ridges between the paddies offered meager cover. Moving along the edges of the ridges, they returned fire with anti-tank rocket launchers to cover the retreat of their light armored units. At the same time, over a thousand accompanying Glorious Army soldiers gripped crude anti-tank weapons and launched a suicidal assault against the Tiger Army's armored regiment. Battle cries reverberated across the terrain, but that chaotic charge slammed headlong into a sweeping barrage of 37 mm fragmentation rounds. Bursts of fire blossomed across the fields amidst flying flesh and shattered limbs. Clone soldiers were cut down in swathes like mowed wheat. Yet, urged on by their decurions, they had no choice but to stumble forward with wide, terrified eyes. A brutal slaughter had begun. Having gained fire support from friendly forces, Golden Gallon Port's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division immediately halted its retreat. The twenty Chimeras leading the vanguard quickly wheeled around, matching the tempo of the Tiger Army's armored advance. Using their 37 mm cannons, they helped the tanks eliminate encroaching infantry while launching Dove missiles to hunt down fleeing Conqueror 5 light tanks. In contrast, the Southern Legion's 37th Myriad was locked in a bitter struggle. Whether it was the recoilless rifles in the hands of the anti-tank teams or the Glorious Army clone soldiers charging with anti-tank grenades and Panzerfaust rocket launchers, they were utterly helpless against the heavy Conqueror 10 tanks. The spaced armor provided near-absolute protection against shaped charges, while the peashooters on the Conqueror 5 light tanks couldn't even scratch the paint off a Conqueror 10—at most, they could only blow off its tracks. Long ago, the Alliance had run an experiment pitting two Conqueror 10 tanks against each other in a duel. After expending every single round of their ammunition, neither had managed to inflict any meaningful damage on the other. When it came to weapon design philosophy, the Legion and the South Sea Alliance seemed to represent two polar opposites. The latter's doctrine was built around checks and balances, whereas the former appeared never to have considered the possibility of fighting its own kind. In that sense alone, the Wilante were indeed remarkably united. Yet when a backstab occurred, that very unity unexpectedly became an immense liability. These Conqueror 10 tanks were the very ones the Eastern Legion had channeled through arms dealers along the Death Coast to sell to the warlords of Tiger State and Leopard State! Golden Gallon Port's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division soon seized the upper hand, though their opponents were hardly pushovers either. After thrusting forward for a stretch, the Tiger Army armored regiment's offensive quickly ground to a halt. Over a dozen tanks had bogged down in the mud due to their immense weight, and nearly five tanks had had their tracks blown off. Akale County was naturally a floodplain with soft, silty soil, and it happened to be the rainy season; several consecutive days of heavy rain had left the ground even more treacherous and muddy. Seeing those tanks trapped out in the open, Myriad Commander Baldwin immediately ordered his self-propelled artillery to open fire. Guided by infantry spotters, 200 mm armor-piercing high-explosive shells slammed down upon the tank-strewn wilderness. One Conqueror 10 soon took a direct hit. An AP shell struck dead center on its turret roof, plunging directly downward into the fighting compartment. A towering plume of smoke erupted into the sky, accompanied by exploding shells from a catastrophic ammunition rack detonation. The crew inside died instantly, leaving behind not even an intact corpse. Witnessing their comrades' gruesome fate, the crews stuck in the mud were forced to abandon their vehicles and flee on foot. "Blow them to smithereens! Hit them harder!" Watching the Brahmas scurrying away in disgrace, Baldwin's eyes turned bloodshot, a sinister sneer twisting his face. Fools! Artillery was the Southern Legion's true trump card! The Conqueror 10's invulnerability was relative, not absolute. They were not entirely powerless against Conqueror 10s! The clamorous artillery barrage continued, and in the blink of an eye, the turret of another Conqueror 10 went flying into the air. However, Baldwin's triumph was short-lived. Amidst the distant roar of cannon fire, several ear-splitting explosions suddenly mingled into the din. That didn't sound like self-propelled artillery firing—it sounded like shells detonating on impact! Baldwin's sneer gradually froze on his face. When he spotted a plume of thick smoke rising from his artillery positions, his heart skipped a beat, seized by an ominous premonition. "Damn it!" Cursing under his breath, he immediately grabbed his communicator and switched to the support cohort's channel. "What was that explosion just now?! What's happening over there?!" Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a denser chain of explosions tore through the air from the direction of the artillery positions. This time, it wasn't just a wisp of smoke, but an entire billowing cloud! Even the dullest mind would realize what had happened: the previous explosion had been a ranging shot. This barrage was the real deal! Static crackled alongside booming blasts over the communication channel as the support cohort's millurion howled in panic: "We're taking artillery fire! It's coming from the 36th Myriad's artillery positions! Damn it, tell them to cease fire!" "The 36th Myriad?!" Baldwin was struck dumb, his mind going completely blank. A flurry of possibilities flashed through his head before settling on the only plausible one. His friendly forces' artillery battery had been overrun! The fifty-two Fire Crossbow self-propelled artillery pieces that were supposed to be aimed at their enemies were now pointed directly at them! Cold sweat rolled down Baldwin's forehead. It took him a mere three seconds to make his final decision, roaring into the communicator: "Glorious Army, continue engaging the enemy! Stall them at all costs!!" "All other units, fall back to the west! Regroup south of Ridepur County!" With the retreat order issued, the Wilante troops engaging Golden Gallon Port's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division began disengaging from the battlefield. Even though several of their cohorts still held a clear advantage, they withdrew without hesitation, ordering the clones to charge in their place. The clones were quickly wiped out, but the Wilante used the time they bought to board their armored personnel carriers. In their hasty retreat, they didn't even have time to recover the bodies of their fallen comrades, leaving them behind on the field along with abandoned equipment. One APC after another sped away from the battlefield, abandoning an entire front more than a dozen kilometers wide... Humiliating as it was, one had to admit Baldwin had made a smart call. Because shortly after they began their retreat, burning white phosphorus rained down upon their positions, drenching the ground from north to south. After capturing the self-propelled artillery, Yokale's men showed no mercy whatsoever, immediately breaking out the most vicious ordnance in the arsenal. Had they delayed by even a single minute, the Wilante soldiers hunkered behind the paddies would have been writhing in flames and mud, caught between life and death in agonizing torment... Gazing at the roaring sea of fire and charred corpses, the Golden Gallon Port soldiers crouching behind the field ridges stared in amazement. "The Wilante... retreated." Several Golden Gallon Port soldiers exchanged glances, seeing the same disbelief reflected in one another's eyes. "Holy shit..." A young lad swallowed hard, murmuring under his breath, "...We actually won." No one could believe it was real. From the soldiers on the frontline to the officers commanding in the rear, shock was plastered across every face. Before stepping onto this battlefield, none of them had ever dreamed they could defeat the Legion in a head-on clash—yet here they were, having actually pulled off a victory. Once the flames died down, a veteran cautiously stood up and crept forward to scout. Sure enough, the Wilante were gone, leaving only abandoned gear and half-burnt corpses. Unable to contain the excitement in his chest, he raised his rifle and screamed at the top of his lungs: "Victory!!!" That ecstatic shout soon merged into an earth-shaking roar echoing across the fields. "We won!!!" "Oooohhh!!!" Meanwhile, inside the retreating armored personnel carriers, the faces of the Wilante soldiers were etched with humiliation. They had actually lost to a bunch of natives! "Damn it..." A Wilante soldier pounded his knee guard in fury, producing a dull thud. The soldiers beside him remained silent, their grim faces stony and expressionless. Baldwin inside the command vehicle looked just as grim, though his dark expression wasn't purely from a temporary defeat—it was because he had lost all contact with his neighbor. From the moment the shells began falling, he had been trying to reach Myriad Commander Wolff, but no signal came through. "Dammit!" He slammed the communicator onto the desk, his scowl deepening. Beside him, his adjutant said in a heavy voice, "I fear the 36th Myriad is doomed... In the worst-case scenario, their command post might have already been taken." "What the hell is that fool doing?!" Baldwin cursed foully, glancing toward the faint silhouette floating in the distant sky. To suffer a defeat right under the nose of an iron airship! What a disgrace to the Legion! He might as well shoot himself! ... Just as Baldwin had anticipated, the situation with the 36th Myriad was grim indeed. First was their support unit. The fifty-two self-propelled artillery vehicles had just adjusted their firing coordinates to support the fight when the Burning Corps, having crept up close, disarmed them entirely. It was the most humiliating battle of all: Alliance soldiers clad in power armor charged right up into Millurion Toran's face! Confronted by dark muzzle after dark muzzle, Toran was stunned, but without hesitation, he decisively raised both hands in surrender. Surrounding them was not just the Burning Corps, but also the State of Brahma's 11th Myriad wearing Legion-issue exoskeletons. With only a single support cohort's fighting strength, there was not the slightest hope of breaking out. Even putting up a desperate last stand would achieve nothing but needless casualties. "...Give it up, Phil. They won this battle," Toran said calmly, glancing at his adjutant who was still trying to draw his sidearm. "But..." "Even if you don't care about yourself, think of your men. They have families too." Hearing his superior say this, the adjutant named Phil finally surrendered his sidearm, humiliation stamped across his face. Taking the pistol, Lao Bai raised an eyebrow at the millurion named Toran. "I like people who know when they're beaten. Saves us a lot of time." Looking at the handcuffs offered by a soldier beside him, Toran compliantly held out his wrists. But just before he was led away, something seemed to cross his mind, and he spoke up: "Are you the commander of the Burning Corps?" Seeing the NPC looking at him, Lao Bai nodded and replied crisply, "That's me." Toran pondered for a moment. "May I venture a question?" "Go ahead," Lao Bai said. Glancing at the Brahma soldiers clad in Legion equipment not far away, Toran asked in a measured tone, "I don't understand... What kind of benefits did they offer you? Why are you helping them?" Lao Bai answered bluntly, "Because if we don't, the wasteland will never end." Hearing this unexpected answer, Toran visibly froze. "...The wasteland will never end?" "That's right." Lao Bai nodded, then glanced at the self-propelled artillery nearby and jerked his chin toward them. "Can those things end the wasteland?" "With enough of them, they certainly can," the officer named Phil snapped back defiantly, glaring at Lao Bai. "At the very least, they can clean up meddlesome mole rats like you." Lao Bai wasn't angry in the least. He just chuckled and retorted, "Is that so? Then your wasteland should have ended long ago. Why come all this way looking for land under the sun? I suppose wasteland survivors must be breaking their necks trying to flee into your territory, instead of dodging you like cockroaches." Toran suddenly let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "If someone like that really existed, I'd bet he's lost his mind." Phil stared at his commanding officer in bewilderment, seemingly unable to believe those words had come from his mouth. Hearing this unexpected reply, Lao Bai gave Millurion Toran a second look, his eyebrows lifting slightly. It seemed not all Wilante were lunatics; there were still a few sane ones... All fifty-two self-propelled artillery pieces were captured. Myriad Commander Yokale ordered his men to hold the Wilante gunners at gunpoint, forcing them to calculate new firing coordinates based on data provided by Golden Gallon Port's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division, and then bombarded the 37th Myriad's artillery positions with a devastating barrage. What happened next was precisely what Myriad Commander Baldwin had seen. Facing tanks charging into their faces and friendly-turned-enemy artillery pounding their rear, the 37th Myriad had no choice but to break into small groups and scatter. Compared to "routing into total chaos," "breaking into small groups" was merely a more polite way to put it. Fortunately for them, they ran fast. Had they been any slower, they wouldn't have had the chance to run at all. The routing of the 37th Myriad and the fall of the 36th Myriad's support cohort were merely the beginning. Facing the joint offensive of the Death Corps and the State of Brahma's 3rd Myriad, the eight cohorts that had crossed the river suffered catastrophic casualties. Against the Death Corps' infiltration and encirclement, nearly ten thousand soldiers who had advanced into the forest were cut straight in half! One portion, having pushed too aggressively, was surrounded on a hill less than five kilometers from the riverbank, while the reinforcements that had just crossed were pinned down along the water's edge, trapped in a no-win position. The latter faced the most horrific fate. As the pontoon bridges were blown up one after another, the Wilante troops stranded by the riverbank lost all retreat. They could only endure the torrential storm of bullets sweeping out from the forest in despair, watching their casualties mount by the second. Unable to bear the sheer terror and finding nowhere to take cover, some threw themselves into the Yongliu River, attempting to swim back to the western bank. Blood stained the beaches red, and the eastern bank of the Yongliu River was littered with corpses! Among them were clones and Wilante alike. Some died from machine-gun sweeps, while others were torn apart by mortar shrapnel or had their internal organs ruptured by concussive shockwaves. Explosions resounded continuously. In the sky, the airship finally dropped its anchor cables, firing its guns at the ground in an attempt to break up the Death Corps' encirclement of the 36th Myriad with close-range artillery fire. Before long, however, thick smoke capable of jamming signals rose from the forest. Lacking guidance from ground troops and stripped of visual line-of-sight for direct aiming, the aerial gunners could only stare helplessly at the thick fog shrouding the woods. The Southern Legion air squadron scrambled from West Sail Port fared no better. Twenty Daggers arrived over the battlefield, but without ground guidance, they couldn't find an opening to strike. The Sabres flying in from Evernight Port faced the same dilemma. The latter had it worst of all; lacking ground-attack armaments, they fired off a couple of autocannon bursts and could only withdraw in frustration. In the end, the Clarion's cannons proved the most effective, pumping round after round into the fringes of the smoke, which in the chaos did manage to claim the lives of a fair number of Alliance soldiers. Yet those Alliance fighters seemed endless, braving the screaming shells to charge right into the teeth of the ground forces, determined to take an enemy with them even if it cost them their lives. Faced with such relentless momentum, the 36th Myriad was completely shattered mentally. Many young men from the colonies were experiencing such brutal combat for the first time. Gone was the arrogance they had worn when first setting foot on the battlefield; only panic and terror remained on their faces. There were no medals here to be won. Only ubiquitous death! It wasn't just the young men fighting on the frontline; the officers commanding from the rear felt the same. In truth, with the battle reaching this point, there was no longer any distinction between front and rear—the entire forest crackled with gunfire and ricocheting bullets. Still, not everyone was as "spineless" as Millurion Toran. Tote, for instance, who had been the first to cross the river, stubbornly proclaimed he would rather die than surrender. Seeing his command nearly wiped out, his eyes burned blood-red. Far from having any thought of retreating, he threw himself into the fight alongside his personal security detail. "No retreating! Everyone hold your ground! Our reinforcements are on the way!" "Damn it! Pull yourselves together!" Though the 36th Myriad had taken a devastating beating, he believed the Alliance and Brahma forces across from them had suffered heavy losses as well! The corpses scattered throughout the forest were not all Wilante; a considerable portion belonged to the Alliance and Brahmas. If he retreated now, his fallen brothers truly would have died in vain. Even if solely for the dignity of the Wilante, he would never allow himself to pull back. Yet right at that moment, a burst of gunfire chattered from his front flank. Two guards were killed instantly, while the other two took hits to the chest and thigh, collapsing to the ground in pooling blood. Tote drew his sidearm, but before he could flip off the safety, a kick sent him sprawling to the earth. He reached for the dropped pistol, only for a combat boot to stomp down hard on his wrist. "Aaaagh!!!" Tote let out a shriek of agony. Brother Edge held his Scythe rifle with its attached bayonet in a reverse grip and slammed it into the dirt right beside Tote's ear. "It's over. Tell your men to surrender." "Surrender... Heh-heh..." Enduring the pain, Tote grinned, his contorted face smeared with mud and filth, making him look like a demon crawling out of a swamp. "...Keep dreaming!" Having guessed he would say that, Brother Edge clicked his tongue and said nothing more. Whether this fellow surrendered or not wouldn't change the outcome of this battle. Just as he said: It was already over. The roar of fighter jets thundered overhead as two Thunderbolt fighters traced seductive streaks of blue light across the sky, darting toward the Daggers circling above. The propeller-driven planes scrambled toward the iron airship for cover, while the airship hastily trained its gun barrels and air-to-air missiles to guard against the two streaks of blue light. Piloting his Thunderbolt, Luo Yu did not enter the airship's firing arc. Instead, he banked along the edge of its range, firing thirty-two unguided rockets in tandem with his wingman. Those rockets did not fly toward the airship itself; rather, they accelerated straight for the anchor chains dangling beneath it! While the graviton-based deflector shield enveloped the entire airship, it evidently did not extend around the anchor chains below. Standing on the bridge, John realized the Alliance aircraft's intention and immediately ordered the anti-aircraft guns to open fire. A swarm of flak shells burst into an impenetrable wall of clouds in the air, yet they were a step too slow against rockets screaming past Mach 3. Rockets trailing exhaust plumes pierced through the dense shrapnel cloud like javelins! Although most merely grazed the anchor chains, five or six slammed squarely into the chains—each as thick as a man's embrace—and the steel gondola suspended from them! A violent fireball severed the anchor chains in two, and the kinetic shock of the explosion made the airship's colossal hull shudder. The steel gondola, mid-deployment, plunged heavily to the ground, billowing rolling clouds of dust across the plains. Watching the falling gondola, Millurion Tote, lying flat on his back in the mud, finally wore a look of utter despair. In his worldview, the Legion's iron airships were invincible, unbeatable! Yet the reality unfolding before his eyes brutally shattered his faith. Tote was not the only one plunged into despair; Myriad Commander Wolff, who was just about to board the gondola, felt the same. His way back was severed completely. Golden Gallon Port's 1st Mechanized Infantry Division was already on his doorstep, and only two cohorts remained on the west bank. With just two cohorts, there was no way on earth he could fend off those ravenous wolves! And reality proved him right. Twenty Chimeras were the first to reach the west bank of the Yongliu River's bend. Their 37 mm autocannons sprayed a frantic sweep of fire, quickly sending the light infantry stationed along the riverbank scurrying for their lives. As the two armored regiments took up positions on the higher slopes to the west, Myriad Commander Wolff, sitting inside his command vehicle, abandoned all hope of escape. A white flag was raised from the command vehicle, and with utter reluctance, he gave the order to surrender. Hearing that voice over the comms, the defiance on Millurion Tote's face finally faded into ash-grey defeat. "Like I said, it's over." Not bothering to mock him, Brother Edge simply teased him dryly, then picked up the sidearm lying beside his hand. The mud-streaked face stared at him blankly, before forcing a sentence through cracked lips: "Kill me." Brother Edge chuckled. "We don't kill prisoners." Tote suddenly became agitated, scrambling to his feet. "Then give me back my gun!" Before his words had fully faded, a rifle butt smashed him back down to the ground. The one who struck was a Brahma soldier. He glared at the officer with murderous eyes, wishing nothing more than to sever his head. Ever since the Lion City Massacre, all Wilante were the same to him. His only regret was that he couldn't slaughter every last one of them! However, Brother Edge gave Tote no chance to die a "glorious" death. Reaching out, he stopped the friendly soldier from striking again. Stepping up to Tote, he looked down at the man panting in the mud like a stray dog. "...I won't do that either. We'll let you live until this war ends, and then the victims of this war will put you on trial, sending you to repent for your crimes in hell." Without sparing the fellow another glance, Brother Edge simply instructed, "Keep a close eye on him," and walked away. The battle on the ground was over. Whether trapped along the riverbank or holding out on the hills, the Wilante troops ultimately chose to surrender. Perhaps out of concern for friendly casualties, or perhaps to conserve ammunition, the airship suspended in the sky ultimately held its fire, retreating toward the west to link up with the main force before attempting to reclaim its dignity. Watching the receding airship, Ishel wore a look of utter disbelief. "...We actually won." "Don't get cocky. It's just this battle." Standing at the edge of the hill, Brother Edge looked up into the distance, his eyes slightly narrowing. Amidst the pitch-black storm clouds, a faint, chilling menace could be discerned. He knew where that chilling menace came from. At the very moment they achieved victory, four airships equal to the Clarion had already arrived at West Sail Port and were setting sail toward the eastern front. This intelligence had been provided by their allies in the South Sea Alliance and confirmed by Luo Yu. By now, the information had been posted to the official forums of *Wasteland Online*. Seeing Brother Edge's solemn expression, Ishel tucked away any lingering complacency, turning serious. "...What do we do next?" "Next... We celebrate, of course." Looking at Ishel, who looked as if facing a formidable enemy, Brother Edge's brow suddenly relaxed. He smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Cheer up a bit! We just won a pitched battle. And according to our allies, they caught a big fish beneath that airship—a myriad commander, by the sound of his rank." "The myriad commander of the 36th Myriad?!" A look of sheer delight instantly lit up Ishel's face. Small wonder he was so thrilled! After all, until yesterday, they had been taking a one-sided beating from the Legion. The number of Brahma officers who had fallen in battle could barely be counted on both hands, and now they could finally hold their heads high. Even though the Alliance had made the capture, it hardly made any difference! "Yeah, that bastard. An arrogant prick who looked down on us. I'll have to thank him in a bit... It's all thanks to how pig-headed they were, insisting on crossing this river." Looking at the delighted Ishel, Brother Edge smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "What did I say before? There's nothing to fear from that airship." "Step by step, everything's going to be alright."