Landing at Evernight Port!

"Brothers! For the Administrator! For the Alliance! Charge!" "Roaaar!" Across the vast, boundless sea, waves surged, and in the skies above the blue waters, a cacophony of shouts echoed just as furiously. Accompanied by the roar of propellers and Brother Mosquito's mic-peaking bellow over the comms channel, swarms of aircraft swept toward Evernight Port like locusts. The strike formation consisted of two components. The first formation cruising above the cloud layer was composed primarily of next-generation fighters equipped with plasma engines. Led mostly by L-10 Thunderbolts, followed by P-2 Lightnings, their primary mission was to suppress enemy airfields and contest air superiority against the Sabre jet fighters today. As for the second formation, it was comprised mainly of Goblin Corps' W-4 fighters, flying ground-support missions! The W-4 was the Goblin Corps' latest propeller-driven fighter, designed around the combat conditions in Brahma Province. Resembling the Lavochkin La-11, it was armed with two 20mm autocannons, and its wings could be mounted with guided or unguided rockets as well as aerial bombs depending on operational needs. Yet despite its classic retro airframe, its propulsion components, weapon systems, and onboard radar had been redesigned from scratch by Goblin Tech engineers, powered by the latest metallic hydrogen fuel cells manufactured by the Lister Group. In truth, while this series of high-tech overhauls elevated its combat effectiveness by a whole tier, its cost-effectiveness was far inferior to the "Flying Stick" W-2. Not only that, but with higher flight speeds and greater agility, the piloting demands of the W-4 rose accordingly. For reasons such as these, this model would likely be the final propeller-driven aircraft Goblin Tech would ever design and mass-produce. Beyond this lay the era of plasma engines! Perhaps to leave no regrets behind, Brother Mosquito had relinquished the VTOL Thunderbolts and the faster Lightning fighters to other elite pilots in the Goblin Corps. He had climbed back into this vintage classic himself, leading the corps' rookies and veterans in Goblin Corps' signature charge. Seeing the swarm of aircraft swoop in like locusts, the Southern Legion officers garrisoning Evernight Port were completely dumbfounded. Like water spiders, these machines had sprung without warning from the calm sea. Before this, their radars hadn't detected a thing larger than a modest-sized bird! Many instantly recalled the Alliance's submarine carrier—a vessel rumored to launch aircraft straight out of the deep ocean, which had previously showcased its might during the civil war in the Southern Sea. Yet the terrifying operational efficiency required to pull off all the military and logistical mobilization in such a short window sent chills down the spines of the military experts present. The first to recover his wits, City Defense Force Commander Stanford acted decisively, grabbing his communicator and bellowing, "All units, battle stations! Second Aviation Formation, scramble immediately to engage the enemy!" "Understood!" Hearing the crisp replies over the channel, Stanford let out a breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Yet gazing at the green dots closing in rapidly on the radar screen, his heart pounded wildly nonetheless. So many planes... The Alliance had really gone all out for this strategic bombing run! Although most were propeller-driven and only a rare few mounted those troublesome plasma engines, shooting them all down would still prove difficult given Evernight Port's air strength and anti-air defenses. He could only pray the port's strategic infrastructure would suffer minimal damage so frontline logistics wouldn't be disrupted. At this moment, Stanford had no inkling of the sheer gravity of the situation. He did not know that the South Sea Alliance fleet and Enterprise's oceangoing landing ships were already on their way, nor did he have the faintest clue that his own main fleet had already been completely wiped out near Seric Island. Southern Legion General Command had clamped down on all news detrimental to Legion Commander Tyr's rule, leaving every department utterly blind to anything beyond their immediate sector. What they saw and heard seemed to exist in a parallel world entirely disconnected from reality. This discrepancy was even starker on the front lines. Soldiers clashing with the Snake State guerrillas under Myriarch Gibson might well have heard a version where Legion Commander Tyr's forces had already landed at Port French Fries, captured the South Sea Alliance president dead drunk in a bar, rejected a groveling letter of surrender from the Alliance Administrator, and sent Supreme Leader Absaik of the State of Brahma fleeing in disgrace. Information warfare was an integral part of war. Nor was the Southern Legion alone in this; the Eastern Legion's Expansionist faction had pulled the same tricks during the Battle of Sunset. Still, sealing off information even from officers at and above the rank of myriarch was rare indeed. It only underscored that the Southern Legion had truly reached the end of its rope, to the point where even myriarchs could no longer decide the outcome of this war. In such a predicament, knowing the truth no longer mattered; it would only invite pointless anguish. After all, had Stanford known their main fleet was utterly obliterated, and Enterprise's army had arrived on their doorstep alongside the South Sea Alliance Navy, ready to land at any moment, it was doubtful he would muster the will to resist rather than surrender on the spot... With combat orders issued, aircraft scrambled from Evernight Port's airfield one after another. Meanwhile, jet fighters deployed to West Sail Port took off in waves, rushing toward Evernight Port. The thunder of autocannons erupted almost simultaneously with Evernight Port's air defense sirens. Tracer rounds crisscrossed the sky, and in an instant, a rain of death began pouring from the clear expanse above! Although both combatants deliberately avoided heavily populated streets, stray rounds tore into the avenues from time to time. These were 20mm aircraft cannons! To say nothing of a direct hit, the fragmentation sprayed when shells struck the ground was enough to mow down swathes of defenseless civilians. For survivors in Tiandu, the capital of Brahma, who were accustomed to air raids, such scenes were routine, but for the residents of Evernight Port, this was unprecedented. The blossoming fireballs in the sky and plummeting plumes of black smoke felt like hell descending upon them. Screaming crowds surged through the streets, some fleeing to their homes, others racing toward the nearest air raid shelters. Panic gripped the civilians and Evernight Port's officials alike, leaving them dumbfounded by the sudden breakout of battle. When it came to actual frontline conditions, they knew even less than the myriarchs embedded in the military system. Governor Ya Hui was a prime example. Just minutes ago, he had been fretting over City Hall personnel arrangements and pressure from the logistics department; then, in the blink of an eye, the air sirens wailed. At first he assumed it was some exercise, until dark specks grew larger in the reflection of his office window, finally snapping him to reality. "Damn it... Where did these bastards come from?!" He shrieked, stumbling back from the window. His face was fraught with terror and disbelief, his voice cracking out of pitch. Right at that moment, hurried footsteps rushed into the office. His secretary stood in the doorway, pale and panting, shaking as he gasped, "Governor, it's not safe here... We have to get to shelter immediately!" Administrative hubs like the Governor's Mansion were always prime targets for air raids. If it were merely a bombing, that would be one thing, but with this thunderous intensity, he felt this wasn't just an air raid—there was bound to be something following. Hearing his secretary's voice, Ya Hui regained a shred of composure and scrambled toward the door. The two rushed out of the office and fled toward the nearest underground shelter. In the air, the dogfight reached a fever pitch. Aircraft snapped and tore at each other like cavalry in pursuit, locked in close-quarters carnage across the azure wild! At first, supported by ground anti-air fire, the Evernight Port air force regained a bit of an edge. But as several tactical cruise missiles fired from afar penetrated the missile defense perimeter and slammed into the city, blowing several anti-air cannons and missile launchers into scrap metal, the ground-based anti-air fire that had been flexing its muscles went dead silent. Before the skies could yield a clear victor, another battle unfolded. While the City Defense Force was caught flat-footed by the air assault, frantically scrambling to maintain order and evacuate crowds, rounded helmets began breaking the surface near the sparsely guarded harbor docks. Like phantoms lurking in the tides, a single wave seemed to deliver them onto the shore. Alongside rows of hermetically sealed, modified K-10 Iron Wall exoskeletons, dozens of four-meter-tall King Crab Amphibious All-Terrain Infantry Armors came ashore with the Jungle Corps! Guards stationed at the docks stared in sheer horror at the gigantic behemoths, their hands and feet frozen like lead, unable to move a muscle. Shaking the wet seaweed clinging to his arm, Midnight Chicken Slayer strode briskly up to the nearest guard. He gave him a genial grin, plucked the trembling "water gun" from his hands, and tossed it aside. "That toy won't do anything to me. Go find a shelter." Staring at the cannon barrel and chainsaw welded to the armor's arms, the guard turned pale, rendered speechless, completely dazed. Midnight Chicken Slayer paid him no further heed, merely waving at the players behind him. Against this murderous force of regular troops, the harbor guards had zero ability to resist. While some brave Wilante fired upon them, the outcome was obvious: before they could even chip the paint off a King Crab's plating, the 20mm autocannons mounted on the crab pincers blasted them—and the walls behind them—to bloody smithereens. The surrendered guards were rounded up by the players and sent to clear the remains of those foolhardy enough to fight. Looking at the shredded flesh hauled from beneath the rubble, even battle-hardened veterans felt their stomachs churn, while the young men who had never seen war threw up in violent heaves. Courageous though most Wilante were, not every single one was fearless. What was more, those who were truly courageous had long tasted the Southern Legion's iron fist; those remaining were either silent, enduring in secret, or utterly ignorant. Expecting them to sacrifice their lives for Legion Commander Tyr—the very man who had oppressed them—was far less realistic than hoping they simply wouldn't cause trouble at a crucial moment. After intense internal struggle, most harbor guards abandoned all resistance. In less than a minute, one thousand steel-clad muscleheads armed to the teeth had successfully landed at the harbor. Exactly like when Burning Corps assaulted Golden Gallon Port, they secured the police station first, then seized the nearest armory, repelled the arriving militia, and dismantled the entire harbor sector's defenses without breaking a sweat. As for how they knew where the armories were, the explanation was simple. Many comrades in the Wilante Expeditionary Force were former residents of Evernight Port. Not merely residents—they included veterans from the customs service, the logistics department, and retired frontline soldiers. They provided more than just intelligence; they chose to fight shoulder to shoulder with the Jungle Corps players! Shortly after Jungle Corps made landfall, they arrived in landing craft battalion by battalion, rapidly filling the defensive sectors Jungle Corps couldn't cover. Only now did Myriarch Stanford, commander of the City Defense Force, suddenly snap to the realization: this wasn't some damn retaliatory air raid at all—it was an amphibious landing under air cover! Yet by the time he realized it, it was already too late. The harbor docks had fallen completely into Alliance hands. For Evernight Port's defenders, this meant not only that their maritime supply lines were severed, but also that Alliance forces would pour ashore in an unending stream! Grasping the severity of the crisis, Stanford panicked. He immediately ordered the City Defense Force's 1st Myriad to redeploy to the urban sectors near the harbor and commanded the frontline officers to retake the docks at all costs. Though he still hadn't heard a peep regarding their main fleet or the Western Legion's fleet, Alliance ground forces had already shoved up into their faces. Even a fool would know catastrophe had struck. As orders went down, City Defense Force soldiers converged toward the harbor from across the city. Their sallow faces bore varying expressions of fury and dread. But whatever their expression, they were no longer facing unarmed compatriots this time. Meanwhile, the Alliance forces at the port had drafted their next operational plan. Midnight Chicken Slayer intended to keep part of the force at the harbor to secure vital piers and cover the landing of their Enterprise allies, while detaching another detachment to attack the radio station in the northwestern district. According to Wilante Expeditionary Force soldiers, its transmission tower covered all of Evernight Port. An officer named Kuluan had told him that if they took the station, he could rally the vast majority of survivors in the settlement and break the remaining defenders' will to fight. After consulting several other players, Midnight Chicken Slayer agreed the plan was worth a shot. He dispatched Crawling Model Worker with a company of brothers. With Jungle Corps' combat power, a single company hit as hard as a reinforced battalion. In addition, the Wilante Expeditionary Force detached a battalion to act as guides and provide medium-range fire support. Given the assignment, Crawling Model Worker's spirits soared, and he immediately rallied his men to move out. Though he was considered one of the more cautious members of his corps, that was only in comparison to his corps mates who loved charging straight into melee. Unlike Storm Corps, which excelled at defensive operations, the strength-build meatheads of Jungle Corps were, to a man, reckless berserkers, second in suicidal bravado only to Death Corps, who didn't even care about losing EXP. Compared to cowering inside a turtle shell on defense, thrilling street-to-street offensive combat fired his blood far more! "Follow me, boys! Let's take this settlement before Mosquito finishes his fight!" Hearing him shouting over the comms channel, several greenhorns who hadn't seen much of the world called out, "Bro, Enterprise hasn't even landed yet!" "Aren't we just going for the northwestern district?" Crawling Model Worker barked a laugh. "Doesn't matter! No difference! Just smash through! Oh, and remember—don't hit any civilians!" "Roger that!" High-spirited shouts echoed across the channel. With their respective objectives assigned, each squad burst from cover under the suppression fire of allied units. Two King Crab amphibious armors charged ahead onto the wide thoroughfare. Relying on agile maneuvers, they sidestepped an incoming rocket. Before the Southern Legion soldiers defending the far end of the street could react, one King Crab strode cleanly forward, breaching the minimum safe arming distance of the rocket-launcher-wielding anti-tank soldier, and swiped its pincer, hurling the man over a dozen meters away. The soldiers cowering behind barricades stared dumbfounded at the beast lunging right into their midst. None anticipated this contraption could be so nimble, let alone rush their faces. A nearby scout car reversed frantically, its roof-mounted 20mm heavy machine gun rattling furiously in an attempt to sever the mechanical crab's legs with concentrated fire. But such an attempt could hardly escape the experienced pilot's eye. Giving the scout car no chance, the King Crab player surged forward in several swift bounds, overtook the reversing vehicle, and swept another pincer out, flipping the multi-ton scout car upside down. Faced with this unstoppable onslaught, the City Defense Force soldiers behind the barricades were utterly stunned. Forget that they were not front-line units—even frontline regulars might never have witnessed such warfare. Still, their fighting spirit and discipline were far superior to the city defense forces of the Xilan Empire, and Wilante combat capability and tenacity certainly outstripped ordinary wastelanders. They wouldn't discard their helmets and armor in headlong flight over a single setback. A Southern Legion soldier grabbed an explosive pack and detonator from an ammo crate, bellowing to banish his terror as he charged recklessly at the rampaging King Crab armor. With a deafening explosion, the searing shockwave blew him into a mist of blood, but it also sheared off two of the King Crab's legs. The crippled King Crab sagged, its front joint striking the pavement with a harsh screech. The violent jolt rattled the player inside the cockpit, leaving him dizzy for a few seconds before his senses returned. Seeing Southern Legion troops focusing fire from all around, he raised one pincer to protect the power unit while opening up with the 20mm autocannon welded to the other. He chewed through half a roadside building wall, and a soldier aiming a rocket launcher was shredded into paste before he could fire! Close-quarters slugging was intoxicating; the player in the cockpit felt his adrenaline spike, yelling in pure exhilaration instead of fearing encirclement. Yet thrills aside, he was surrounded by an entire century, and two pincers could not contest a hundred pairs of hands. Under fire from all angles, interspersed with anti-tank rockets, the control panel flickered with warning lights like a red lantern. Only then did panic finally creep in. He shouted over the comms, "Fuck... I'm hit! Get over here and pull me out!" A teammate's voice shot back, "Shit! Who told you to push so far ahead?! Hold on!" "Hurry the fuck up, cut the chatter—" Before he could finish, an anti-armor rocket slammed into the top of the cockpit. A searing jet of molten metal drilled through, obliterating half his body. Seeing the motionless iron hulk, the Southern Legion soldiers erupted into cheers of surviving the ordeal. Yet before they could take stock of their casualties, another identical King Crab swept forward, escorted by over a dozen exoskeletons. Staring at the murderous squad, chills struck every heart. The battle that followed held no surprises; the century guarding the street entrance was practically crushed in a one-sided slaughter. Credit where credit was due, however—these fanatics were just as blood-crazed as the players, and not a single one surrendered to the bitter end. Discerning the Alliance forces' push toward the northwestern district, Legion Millurion Finan grabbed his communicator and yelled into it, "This is the 11th Cohort! The enemy is pushing toward the northwest district! We are pinned down by Alliance amphibious armor... Front line needs tank support!" After brief static, a reply came relatively swiftly: "...Command copies. The 27th Armored Team is reinforcing your sector! Patching their comms to you now. Hold your ground at all costs!" Hearing that armored units were en route, Finan's heart steadied somewhat. Those six-legged "iron crabs" looked terrifying, but in reality they relied heavily on the city's complex urban terrain. Even man-portable shaped-charge munitions could penetrate them; pitted against proper tanks, one shell would finish them off. He harbored no doubts regarding the armor-penetration capability of the Conqueror 5 tank. Even if it was merely a light tank, it was not something a mere infantry armor could hope to withstand. Yet just as he was thinking this, a piercing howl tore through the sky. The sound resembled a prolonged air-raid siren, or perhaps the screech of the Grim Reaper. "Whooosh—!" He snapped his head up, only to see over a dozen planes diving toward the urban blocks. Ground anti-air machine guns opened fire hastily, but the tracer rounds streaming upward fluttered like feathers in the wind, failing to graze so much as the aircraft's silhouettes. Finan watched helplessly as the aircraft released their bombs. Moments later, an ear-splitting roar echoed from a neighboring district. "Boom—!" A blasted tank turret flew across the distant skyline, and utter despair surfaced on Finan's face. After a tense pause, a wheezing, half-dead voice crackled over the comms: "...This is Team 27... We were hit by an airstrike. Our armor took catastrophic losses... We can't reach you." How could the Alliance strike with such pinpoint precision?! Had their units already infiltrated behind the lines? Finan's expression warped from despair into total breakdown. Naturally, he could never have known that Alliance agents had long infiltrated the city. Even before these troops landed, they had already been embroiled in an unseen war—one waged by the very people they had neglected for so long. Under Jungle Corps' furious onslaught, his men suffered mounting casualties without armored support, and the defensive line finally began to show signs of collapse... Although ground combat remained fierce, the battle for the skies had reached its conclusion. As the South Sea Alliance destroyers entered the fray, the Southern Legion's few remaining aircraft tumbled from the sky like dumplings dropped into boiling water. At this point, City Defense Force Commander Stanford finally confronted reality. His men were thoroughly unprepared for an anti-amphibious defense, while the Alliance had launched a meticulously planned operation. Now, air superiority was lost, and South Sea Alliance naval guns were pointed straight at the harbor's edge. If he continued throwing men into the meat grinder at the port, all twenty thousand soldiers under his command would soon be slaughtered on the shore. After an agonizing inner struggle, he finally issued the order for all units to retreat toward the northern district. That area held Evernight Port's densest military infrastructure, fortified with extensive concrete emplacements, abundant supplies, and solid protection against aerial bombs and naval bombardment. Most importantly, it offered a chance to regroup. Though the City Defense Force numbered only around twenty thousand, nearly a hundred thousand registered military personnel were present in the port. These were not local residents of Evernight Port; most hailed from other colonies or the Southern Legion homeland. Though they did not belong to the local garrison table of organization, rallying them together would yield a formidable fighting force. Receiving the retreat order, City Defense Force soldiers exchanging fire with the Alliance breathed a collective sigh of relief, conducting an orderly withdrawal under covering fire. After two hours of fighting, the Alliance had essentially secured most of Evernight Port's coastal urban districts, compressing Legion resistance into the northern district and the sprawling slum known as "Blackwater Alley" north of Cartnode Prison. Meanwhile, Enterprise's landing ships finally drew alongside the piers. Having endured their superior's endless pontificating, an eager bunch of young soldiers finally planted their boots on solid ground. Yet once ashore, every single one of them stood dumbfounded. Forget any "counterattack by five divisions"—they couldn't even see the shadow of a single Southern Legion soldier. Looking at the bewildered young men, Midnight Chicken Slayer strode over with a chainsaw resting on his shoulder, chuckling heartily. "You arrived quite on time. Just an unfortunate lack of luck." Tang Feng's lips twitched as he couldn't help asking, "Where are the Southern Legion's five divisions?" Midnight Chicken Slayer patted him lightly on the shoulder and laughed. "Next time! I'll definitely save some for you next time." Next time, for sure! And if he forgot, well, just pretend he never said it.