This Game Is Too Realistic

At that moment, an officer dressed in military uniform, looking annoyed, was quickly walking towards him.

Piman recognized the man. He was Antonite, the assistant to the logistics commander of the northern troop, and had come over to inspect the work two days ago.

He also checked the inventory of the warehouse.

The guy was extremely cautious, almost to the point of being neurotic. He had to open every box and check, as if someone was interested in stealing a few bullets.

Piman noticed that he wasn't wearing a sock on his left foot, and there was a patch of gray on his left knee that probably came from falling out of bed. "What exactly happened?"

Antonite growled in annoyance, "I need an explanation!"

Piman suppressed a laugh and reassured him, "It's a small issue, just a guerrilla raid."

"Guerrilla? Weren't those people chased away?" Antonite frowned.

"Maybe they came back, who knows?" Piman patted the logistics officer's shoulder, smiling calmly. "Don't worry, my friend, just a bunch of small fry, they'll be dealt with soon,"

Antonite shot him a warning glare.

"You better take this seriously. The equipment stored in the warehouse is crucial to the next round of offensive plans on the northern front! You know the consequences if you delay General Griffin's plans!"

Watching the stern-faced logistics officer, Piman laughed, "Don't worry, buddy, I know the consequences, my subordinates will be very careful to root out those rats... But speaking of safety, you'd better hide with me in our bomb shelter for a while. Those barbarians are furiously throwing rocks at us, and it would be too unjust if you got hit by one of them."

Antonite knew getting upset was useless, so he calmed down and nodded. He followed Piman into the shelter. Anyway, the loading time of those low-class bombs was slow. Several minutes passed without the next round falling on them.

On the contrary, in the Army's camp, eight mortars were continuously firing, sending three rounds of regional fire suppression at the approximate target area, then immediately firing a round of illumination shells into the air, lighting up the southern part of the desert like daylight.

The first Weasel reconnaissance vehicle to set off had already locked on the source of the fire.

Under the vehicle commander's guidance, four 20mm heavy machine guns and eight 10mm machine guns deployed on the southern side of the camp aimed at the sky and opened fire in unison, conducting indirect fire at the resistance army's positions.

Tracers twinkled in the night sky, and large-caliber bullets poured down from the air like a celestial maiden scattering flowers, raining down on the artillery positions hidden behind the sand dunes.

Gas canisters that had just been placed on triangular supports, not yet ignited, saw the gunners beside them killed or wounded in an instant. Only a few experienced old soldiers desperately rolled into nearby shelters, barely saving their lives.

But the beyond-visual-range indirect fire was just the beginning.

With the assistance of their reconnaissance, the Army's mortar team recalibrated their coordinates, directing counter-battery fire to land precisely on the resistance army.

At the same time, a 100-man infantry team had completed assembly, boarding four light tracked vehicles in batches. They headed out in a majestic fashion.

Dazed by the continuous bombardment, Yard held his rifle while crouching in his trench while firing outwards to resist the approaching pairs of headlights. He screamed loudly at his comrades beside him.

"Hold on!"

"At all costs, hold this position!"

"Your Highness, their firepower is too fierce!" A captain crouched not far away shouted hoarsely, his voice carrying a hint of despair. Both the density and power of the firepower from the military base five kilometers away exceeded their expectations.

In just ten minutes...

The artillery positions were completely overrun, infantry casualties had also exceeded a hundred, and the situation was at a critical moment, yet the support from their allies had not yet arrived.

Yard clenched his teeth, his veins bulging as he nearly crushed the grip of his rifle. "Hold on anyway!"

Without sufficient supporting firepower, without reliable anti-armor capabilities, they could only crouch there and take hits passively. But even so, he was still willing to believe in that one in a million chance.

He believed that his allies wouldn't betray him. He believed that the New Alliance's reinforcements had already arrived and it would be their turn to counterattack.

Even if he had bet wrong... If Prince Wint had deceived him... If the New Alliance's reinforcements had never existed from the beginning...

Dying while fighting back against his enemy was still better than dying pathetically in his trench!

Far away, at the Army's base.

The sentries on the watchtower looked at the distant flames, smacking their lips. "Tsk tsk... I can already smell the burning flesh."

"Since they can't find anything valuable anyway, let those beasts clean up the battlefield later."

"An entire 1,000-man army, they really dare to come..." One sentry chuckled.

"Who knows? Maybe they knew they couldn't win and wanted to take a gamble." Another sentry shrugged.

"Too bad they picked the wrong opponent."

Elsewhere, inside a concrete-reinforced bomb shelter.

Having learned from the communications channel that the frontline troops were about to engage the enemy, Piman looked at his watch, estimating that the battle should be about over.

Then, he looked at Antonite beside him and joked, "Let's make a bet."

"Bet on what?" Antonite replied absent mindedly, feeling uneasy since a while ago.

Why did they attack this place?!

The timing was too coincidental.

And if assuming the enemy already knew the strategic value of this military base, the intensity of their attack seemed too perfunctory.

Frankly speaking.

The combat strength they displayed was barely stronger than cannon fodder. They were basically delivering themselves to their death.

Maybe he was overthinking it, but he couldn't figure out any meaning to their attack other than a suicide mission.

Unaware of anything wrong, watching Antonite with furrowed brows, Piman spoke animatedly, "Let's bet whether my men can take down that bunch of small fry five kilometers away within five minutes."

Antonite's eyebrows rose, about to say something, when suddenly, a deafening explosion came from outside their shelter. The ground shook, interrupting his train of thought.

Stabilizing himself against the wall, having nearly lost his footing, Antonite looked out the observation window, but only saw drifting smoke. He failed to see what exploded.

He cursed, masking a slight panic on his face. "Damn, why are there bombs falling here?!"

Yard's face was also full of surprise, and soon that surprise turned into a hint of fear and he murmured, "... No, that sound is definitely not from guerrilla homemade cannons!"

There was no warning! They were even unable to hear the whistle of shells tearing through the air!

Two explosions occurred almost simultaneously, and correctly eliminated his mortar positions. Obviously, it wasn't from the weak guerrillas.

Those bombs fell vertically from the air! Since the Lion Kingdom had no airplanes...

"What is that?" Antonite stared blankly at him, waiting for an answer.

However, Piman didn't respond to him but instead rushed to the table, grabbing the phone.

Rapidly dialing a few buttons, his face no longer showed the confidence it once had. The moment the phone was in hand, he screamed with all his might, "... Calling frontline air command, this is Military Base 530, we are under air attack!"

"We need support immediately!"