Chapter 324.2: Never Retreat

Seeing that the armored formation on the right was almost completely annihilated, Bagro, who commanded the first column, widened his eyes in disbelief and frustration.

The coaxial machine guns of seven tanks fired in unison, and nearby marauders holding rifles, automatic rifles, and light machine guns also opened fire, creating a dense curtain of firepower on the battlefield.

If it were quad anti-aircraft machine guns opening fire, they might just be able to stop those small drones.

But trying to intercept high-speed drones in a cloud of dust and flying bullets with a few rifles on a battlefield was nothing short of a pipe dream.

And to make matters worse, apart from drones, there were friendly troops crawling on the slope...

The armored spearhead on the right was completely shattered, and within a few heartbeats, nearly 10 tanks were turned into scrap metal, and the marauders who had charged alongside them suffered heavy casualties.

In the blink of an eye, the assault on the New Alliance's defenses, which had come from 3 directions, ended. Only the middle column was left intact.

And even that suffered heavy losses.

Watching a swarm of drones charging towards him, Bagro made a quick decision and climbed out of the tank, scrambling to escape into the trees behind him.

At almost the same time, a wave of intense heat and shrapnel struck behind him, knocking him unconscious before he could let out a scream.

The first column of seven tanks was quickly rendered useless, with no chance to escape.

Seeing the dire situation, the tanks from the fourth and fifth columns quickly retreated. However, they could not outrun the drones, especially as they were now stuck in the pine forest.

The retreating tanks were swiftly overtaken by the drones, triggering rapid explosions within the pine forest. The marauders who had been tailing the tanks scattered in disarray, fleeing in chaos.

In the midst of the confusion, apart from those killed by the explosions, many were grazed by stray bullets fired in panic.

In the distance, on the high ground to the north, the binoculars slipped from Dillon's hands.

Staring at the smoke-filled battlefield ahead and the iron coffins that used to be tanks, a hint of despair gradually appeared on his expressionless face.

27 tanks were completely wiped out...

More than half of the 50 anti-aircraft vehicles were destroyed, and the infantry supporting the armored forces suffered countless casualties.

The losses far exceeded his expectations!

The only thing worth celebrating was that all 50 gliders from the opposing side were destroyed, and their swarm of drones had also been used up... If those were all the assets of the New Alliance.

"... What should we do now?" Tumen asked nervously, looking at the commander.

Dillon gulped once before quickly regaining his composure. "Prepare the artillery and the third brigade... the New Alliance's resistance is on its last legs. We can't let the sacrifices of our frontline forces go to waste."

Looking at it from a different perspective, the enemy had already played all their cards.

Although their side suffered heavy casualties, the other side must be in a bad shape too!

In a trembling voice, Dillon gave the order. "At the very least, we need to take the high ground!"

"Yes..." Tumen swallowed hard, moved his stiff neck, and quickly nodded.

Even during their battles in the north against the Great Rift Valley, he had never seen that man with such a terrifying expression on his face.

Even then, their situation was much more dire than it was now...

...

On the New Alliance frontlines.

Looking at the chaotic battlefield below the mountain, Construction Boy, with blood dripping from his forehead, slammed his fist on the trench in excitement. "Hahaha! Good job!"

His nearly 21 points of strength almost created a pit in the ground.

It was a shame that in this kind of battlefield with bullets flying everywhere, the usefulness of his strength wasn't very obvious. But if it was hand-to-hand combat, he could take on a squad of 10 people single-handedly.

Drumhead Washing Machine, lying nearby, couldn't help but comment, "Damn, this is so satisfying."

Six months ago, when they were at war with the Bonechewer Clan, the only equipment they could rely on were the unreliable rockets made by Mosquito and the 20mm Lance rifles from Steel Plant 81; their firepower was completely overshadowed by that of the indigenous people who inherited the Army's equipment.

The only tank they managed to destroy was accomplished by relying on the cover of heavy snow and the explosive power of metal hydrogen batteries, which gave them an unexpected victory.

But now, they could fire the machine guns to their heart's content, and use swarms of drones to take out the enemy's armor units. Moreover, they had propeller planes that could dive from the sky to drop bombs, and 100mm artillery pieces that could bombard the enemy portion without interruption...

They had never fought such a well-equipped battle!

"Damn it, you guys are having a blast; but I almost passed out..." Eye Owe Money emerged from the bomb shelter in the trench, shaking his dazed head and muttering.

Operating 5 drones simultaneously had added quite significant strain to his brain.

He felt like he had 5 extra eyes, 30 extra hands, and the worst part was that those parts were located in different places.

Controlling rotor drones with full maneuverability was much more difficult than operating the Crawler with 4 legs. Even though the operating system developed by Little Seven simplified the process, it was still hard to manage without a certain brain capacity.

However, at this moment, no one paid attention to Eye Owe Money’s quiet complaints.

Firstly, everyone's ears were almost deafened by the artillery shells, and secondly, the entire position was filled with excitement and jubilation.

Without shouting loudly, no one could hear what anyone was saying.

"27 tanks are completely wiped out, and the marauders on the slope below are almost all dead or injured..." Sideline Slacking, holding binoculars, couldn't contain his excitement, "Holy shit, we just wiped out at least 1 brigade of marauders!"

Plus half of an armored company!

At this point, whether the position could be held was no longer important.

Even if they took the high ground on the south side of Pinewood Forest Valley, Fang Clan, without their armored forces, would completely lose the ability to attack Bluestone County.

Unless they were willing to commit nearly 10,000 soldiers and endure several times, or even dozens of times, the casualties.

However...

Even if their leader had the courage, did those marauders, who were afraid of strong resistance, have the guts to follow?

The result of high casualties would inevitably be a strong aversion to war.

In the end, they were neither clones replenished every 3 years nor had they undergone advanced modifications like psychological castration. Even their most basic reason for the war was just for plunder.

The only thing that could unite a group of unorganized, undisciplined thugs was a continuous stream of victories and loot. Once the march of victory stopped, this seemingly sturdy fortress would turn into loose sand before long...

On the VM screen worn on Sideline Slacking's arm, a series of pop-ups appeared.

[Mission:

Defend the southern position of Pinewood Forest Valley (completed)

]

[Briefing:

Soldiers, with your flesh and blood, you blocked Fang Clan's tanks and thwarted their arrogant plans! Now our enemy has lost all their tanks, and without armored protection, they are like toothless jackals, powerless to touch our territory. You have gloriously completed the mission, and the New Alliance's counterattack will begin in 2 hours. Please return to the rear to take a break...

]

[Side Mission 1 (optional):

Destroy the supplies before going to the evacuation point for a rest.

]

[Reward:

‘Silver Shield’ medal, War Score determined by the number of survivors.

]

[Side Mission 2 (optional):

Fight to the last moment.

]

[Reward:

‘Golden Shield’ medal, War Score determined by the number of kills.

]

Watching the flashing text on the VM screen, Sideline Slacking curled up his dry lips into a smile.

Come to think of it, he seemed to have already received a Silver Shield medal.

The achievement for the Golden Shield had yet to be unlocked by anyone.

As his eyes gradually ignited with a fighting spirit, Sideline Slacking switched to the command channel. "All squads, report casualties!"

A synchronized responses quickly came through the headphones.

"Squad A1, 3 remaining! 7 casualties!"

"Squad A2, 4 remaining, 6 down!"

...

Of 3 groups of 30 squads, 10 remained, and most of the rest couldn't even form a complete squad.

During the earlier engagement with the marauders, the entire position had been like a meat grinder. When someone fell in the front, those in the trenches would immediately take their place. Even the mortar positions had seen changes in personnel thrice, with many bodies lying twisted and contorted near the machine guns.

Among them were both enemies and their own.

"102 people remaining..."

After counting, Sideline Slacking couldn't help but be amazed.

Out of 300 people in the entire corps, 198 people had been lost in the fight; they were just 2 short of a two-thirds reduction in personnel. Moreover, many people, although still alive, could barely make a sound.

Players focused on their physical attributes might not die immediately, even if their intestines fell out of their bodies. They could even stuff them back in and continue firing.

"God damn it, now my corps is really considered the Death Express..."

He silently calculated the remaining supplies.

After a moment of contemplation, Sideline Slacking switched to the all-members-channel and stood on top of the trench, facing his fellow comrades.

"Brothers! Our mission is already complete!"

"Now, the command has given us two choices. The first is to abandon the position, destroy supplies, and go to the evacuation point for a break."

"Or..."

He paused, glancing around his teammates.

"To fight until the last moment!"

This question seemed somewhat redundant...

The rear was 10 kilometers away from where they currently were. Running back was much slower than dying on the front line and then respawning again in the base.

Death penalty? It was only 3 days.

Sequence progress? The experience of a battle wouldn't level them up.

Wasteland Online was fundamentally different from traditional MMORGs. Their generic sequence levels were not the entirety of the game and made up only a small part of the game's content. Contribution points, Silver Coins, Regional Prestige, Professional Levels, Skill Proficiency... Even invisible favorability points could be factors that widened the gap in combat effectiveness.

Apart from character levels, there were other pursuits in this almost entirely realistic virtual world.

Players aiming for survival wouldn't be standing there.

And since they chose to stand on the same front line, it meant they shared the same understanding of this game.

Death!

That was the norm!

"Screw retreat! Anyone who wants to retreat, go ahead!"

Someone shouted first, and soon the battlefield was filled with voices echoing one after another. Everyone's eyes were filled with burning determination, and not a single person was afraid, nor did they show any signs of cowardice.

"Let's fight these bastards!"

"Never retreat!"

"Fight to the end!"

"Let's show our loyalty to the administrator!"

"Wait, you mentioned loyalty?"

"

Ahwoowoo

!"

Players began putting on gas masks, attaching bayonets to their rifles, or taking entrenching tools if they didn't have rifles, positioning them within easy reach.

Deafening roars echoed across the battlefield, causing more than 2,000 marauders advancing through the pine forest to shiver involuntarily.

Bear Fang, who was personally overseeing the battle, looked up at the heavily bombarded high ground, feeling an inexplicable sense of fear.

Clearly, the opposing side was already on its last legs, and the 2,000 men behind him could easily drown them by spitting...

Glancing at the wing fragments stuck in the mud and the wreckage of tanks not far away, along with the scattered corpses, the burly man couldn't help but mutter. "What are these gophers yelling about?."

His trusted companion beside him said nervously, "I, I don't know..."

He couldn't understand what those people were yelling, but he had no doubt they would not let them break through easily...

Were there 100 of them? Maybe 200?

Perhaps, they would be leaving behind a whole bunch of corpses...

In any case, it would be a tough fight!