Chapter 469.2: What The Fuck Kind Of Bug Is This?!

Hill 330

The scarred battlefield burned with scattered flames. Around the shattered sandbag walls lay corpses and blackened blood mixed with dirt.

Sideline Slacking flicked the blood off his entrenching shovel. Glancing at the mangled body at his feet, he looked away, unable to bear the sight.

The realism of the game felt... somewhat excessive.

Every time he cleaned up a battlefield, it reminded him of the fires he had passed through in his other life.

The choking smoke was exactly the same.

He preferred the casual exploration side of Wasteland Online, but those fun parts only existed because others did the dirty work.

A strange thought came to him.

If the developers kept their promise not to wipe any progress, and the closed Beta players finished all the wars before open Beta began, what would they even call the game?

Would it still be Wasteland Online?

Or would they just rename it to something like ‘Brave New World’?

Just then, a teammate’s voice pulled him from his drifting thoughts. “Damn, it’s finally over!”

Lapulasi, who had his rifle slung on his back, walked over.

His miner’s exoskeleton was gone, probably scrapped during the fight.

Thankfully, it didn’t look like it exploded.

As for his mount...

It lost control halfway up the slope and he had to put it down himself.

“Where’s Eye Owe Money?” Sideline Slacking asked.

Lapulasi laughed. “Sheep Bun said he saw him. He brought a bunch of newbies to charge the frontlines, and the newbies made it. Too bad he’s now a corpse halfway up the hill.”

Sideline Slacking coughed awkwardly. “Bullets don’t have eyes... That’s normal.”

Rifle slung over his shoulder, Lapulasi grinned again. “So what’s the call? Are we moving forward or are we digging into the ground?”

Sideline Slacking thought for a moment before responding. “We’ll wait for Construction Boy.”

This battle had lasted a full hour.

Though they’d secured Hill 330, the Death Corps had suffered heavy losses. They were attacking uphill, after all.

60% of the their 500-man crack squad were slain. 120 of the Wolf Cavalry were killed. 78 Deathclaws were lost.

Most of them didn’t have exoskeletons. Taking on anti-air guns with just flesh and bone was pretty much what one would expect. No matter how strong their fleshy body, they were done for the moment a bullet hit.

And with the EMP frying their neural devices, some players had been forced to put down their mounts.

At that moment, Sheep Bun, the one who led the charge, approached to report.

“We recovered four mortars, one anti-air gun, two light machine guns, and some ammo. Any new orders from command?”

Before Sideline Slacking could answer, Lapulasi grumbled. “Our VM is showing blank. What orders? Damn, these guys hit hard! Didn’t look like they were short on ammo at all.”

Sheep Bun scratched his head. “Think they got resupplied?”

Sideline Slacking chuckled. “Doubt it. Elite troops always carry more bullets. Ours is double what the Lion Kingdom infantry gets.”

That said, the Wislanders were truly fierce. Not a single one surrendered.

Their commander didn’t just refuse to surrender... He fought to the end with his personal guard.

Compared to the units they faced at Oasis No.9, the force they faced was on a whole different level.

“Looks like there’s a fire to the north,” Lapulasi said, squinting toward flickering lights on the northern horizon.

“Probably the 4th Battalion’s command post.” Sideline Slacking replied, lifting his binoculars. “Saw the Goblin Corps escorting Dragonflies that way earlier.”

It was most likely the Burning Corps again.

With those psychos involved, even the Defense Battalion wouldn’t stand a chance.

By the time they finished mopping up where they were, the fight over there was probably already done.

Sheep Bun clicked his tongue in envy. “Damn, those guys beat us to the good stuff again.”

“Heh... They’re the doggy developer’s sons after all,” Lapulasi muttered, also envious.

“Don’t say that,” Sideline Slacking laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re all one team. Everyone has their role, there’s no first or last to the battle.”

As for the Skeleton Corps, the supposed main force of Plan C... Those fools were stuck in traffic.

Both infantry teams had finished their job for them.

If anything, it was Escaping Mole who got screwed,

...

Forward base.

One transport plane after another dragged its battered fuselage back to the airfield.

The ground crew waiting by the runway quickly swarmed forward.

Seeing a pigman pilot jump down from the cabin, a young man in work clothes couldn’t hold back his curiosity and asked, “How’s the situation at the frontline? Is the progress going smoothly?”

Although the pigman looked rather fierce, after working together for so long, the ground crew had already gotten used to it.

And after some time together, he found that the pigman pilot’s personality was unexpectedly decent. He was quite an easy guy to talk to.

Sure enough, the pilot answered his question.

“We won.”

“Really?!”

Looking at the young man’s delighted face, Unprofessional Retort grinned. “Would I lie to you? The 4th Battalion was wiped out by us. Once we cross Hill 330, it’s just a matter of whether their two legs can run faster or our tanks can drive faster...

Ah

, it’s too much to explain, in a few days you’ll see it in the newspaper yourself!”

Hearing the good news, joy spread across the faces of the ground crew.

It was obvious those desert survivors hated those big-nosed bastards to the bone.

Some people waved their fists in excitement, some even whistled in glee, running off to spread the news of victory to others.

Just as Unprofessional Retort was wondering whether he had exaggerated too much, Star River walked over from the side and teased him. “You guys were a little too fast.”

Unprofessional Retort laughed heartily. “Of course. How long do those guys need to jump out of the planes? By the way, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be helping out our brothers?”

The two had known each other before playing the game. They were both from army aviation. One of them flew helicopters, the other flew fixed-winged planes to deliver helicopters.

However, they usually only talked about in-game matters when they were playing. They hardly spoke about their real lives.

Star River pulled a helpless face. “I’d like to, but they didn’t send us in.”

Earlier that day, they had teamed up with the armored units pressing the frontlines to flank their enemy. Before they could push deeper into enemy airspace, command had already ordered them back.

Still, he could understand why command made that choice.

Flapping-wing aircrafts could never compete with a fixed-wing jet.

Even if it folded its wings and switched to airplane mode, the Cloudfly’s top speed was only about Mach 1. It was an easy target for supersonic fighters that could exceed Mach 3. In fact, before switching into cruise mode, even propeller fighters might be a threat.

Until the Army’s Cutlass fighter was dealt with, the New Alliance’s aircraft would find it hard to roam freely over enemy skies.

Seeing his brother’s depressed look, Unprofessional Retort encouraged him. “Why don’t you try playing with Mosquito’s Goblin Corps? They get more chances to go to the frontlines, and I saw they’ve got a bunch of fancy weapons.”

“You mean more chances to die.” Star River rolled his eyes. “And those planes are so damn slow! Flying them is boring.”

Unprofessional Retort chuckled, “Even if it’s boring, it’s still way faster than whatever you fly.”

“That’s true... By the way, how’s yours? Are these to fly?” Star River stared at the nearby transport plane riddled with holes and couldn’t help clicking his tongue.

He could count at least 20 bullet holes.

The fact that it had made it back in such a state was pretty damn impressive.

“You mean our Dragonfly transport planes? It’s okay.” Unprofessional Retort followed his gaze toward his ride and smiled. “Steel Plant 81 has improved it a few times. Before, it could barely fly; now at least it looks like a proper machine.”

Since becoming a pilot in Wasteland Online, not only did he find his gaudy plane in real life easier on the eyes. His piloting skill and understanding of flying had also sharpened a lot.

Nothing was harder than making a brick with a propeller fly or saving a brick without wings from falling.

It was especially so when he had to handle many dangerous emergencies while flying.

Many maneuvers were rarely practiced in standard training or normal flights. But in Wasteland Online, he encountered those once in a lifetime scenarios every few days.

There was even once when the plane started moving by itself on the runway even after it had come to a stop because of a short circuit...

HUH?!

Gazing at the runway in the distance, Unprofessional Retort suddenly froze.

He saw a transport plane parked near the hangar slowly taxiing onto the runway. The propellers spun faster, and shockingly, there wasn’t a single person in the cabin.

Thinking he’d seen wrong, Unprofessional Retort rubbed his eyes instinctively, but before he could open them again he heard Star River’s strange voice beside him. “... Do you guys still have missions today?”

They had both seen it.

So it wasn’t a glitch in his helmet.

Unprofessional Retort lowered his head and checked his VM, shaking his head in confusion. “No...”

He had seen his H-1 Dragonfly move on its own because of a short circuit, but never one that could fly off by itself.

What the fuck kind of bug is this?!

It was so unbelievable he even wondered if Steel Plant 81 was secretly testing some unmanned secret technology.

Well, that was until he saw a player carrying a late-night snack dash out from the barracks, sprinting desperately toward the runway.

Running, the guy wailed at the top of his lungs. “My plane! My plane’s running away!”