Chapter 11: Artillery Fire Striking Friendly Forces!

Retreat? Why such a sudden retreat!

Although Andrei was glad to be withdrawing from this godforsaken hell, he desperately wanted to know the reason. Was someone already prepared to relieve his company, or was there some other situation, perhaps the fact that they had been soundly defeated?

Andrei quickly grabbed the messenger and demanded to know what was going on. The messenger seemed to recognize Andrei, or at least knew his status, for he showed no impatience. He immediately saluted and reported, "Reporting to Captain Vorontsov! According to the latest intelligence, a composite division of the Black Eagle Empire’s heavy cavalry has breached our left flank, and the right flank is also in critical condition. If we don’t withdraw now, we will be encircled!"

"You have approximately 30 minutes to pull back to the rear. After 30 minutes, our own artillery will bombard the front line to block the enemy's advance."

Andrei nodded and dismissed the messenger, immediately ordering his men to pack up and prepare to move out. Retreating was one thing, but they were not yet routing; everything portable, including equipment and ammunition crates, had to be taken. Anything that couldn't be moved was to be destroyed on the spot so as not to leave it for the enemy.

Meanwhile, drawing on knowledge from documentaries he had once watched, Andrei instructed his soldiers to rig booby traps using hand grenades. Even though they had to abandon their position, he was determined not to make it easy for the enemy to take it.

Upon hearing the order to retreat, most of the soldiers breathed a sigh of relief, eager to put as much distance as possible between themselves and this hellish battlefield. In the preceding fight, despite the full support of the players and the medical care provided by Yelena, the nun, Andrei’s company had lost twelve men.

Staring at the row of corpses, Andrei felt an inexplicable wave of sorrow, even though he lacked the memories to recognize any of them. Beside him, other soldiers wept softly for their fallen comrades. These were companions they had known for months—men they had joked with only moments ago and slept beside just last night—now reduced to cold, lifeless husks.

Even the players summoned by Andrei were touched by the scene, removing their steel helmets to observe a few moments of silence. To Andrei’s surprise, he finally confirmed something: his summoned players did not seem to strike anyone else as odd. To the surrounding soldiers, these players were indistinguishable from any other comrade; their interactions and greetings were completely natural. Under normal circumstances, the sudden appearance of so many new faces in a company would surely be noticed—like ten transfer students walking into a classroom—but no one seemed to suspect a thing.

"Damn! This system of mine is truly something else," Andrei thought, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. If his summoned players didn't cause suspicion among allies, the tactical possibilities were endless. Frankly, while their current performance was merely adequate, in a brutal urban battle, a building that could endlessly pour forth fresh soldiers would make for a truly interesting stalemate.

However, as Andrei pondered new ways to utilize his players, a strange sound cut through the air. Hearing the high-pitched whistle tearing across the battlefield above, his heart tightened. Before he could react or identify the source, a soldier screamed, "Incoming! Artillery! Take cover!"

Without hesitation, Andrei shouted to his men and grabbed the hand of Yelena, the medical nun, pulling her toward the dugout. It was a purely instinctual reaction; he didn't know if he did it because his subconscious deemed her the most important member of the company, or simply because she was the first person he had seen when he opened his eyes. The players also scrambled toward the bunkers, dragging along several soldiers who had been caught off guard.

The players were remarkably nonchalant, still excitedly discussing in their chat channel whether this barrage was a scripted "plot-kill."

"Damn it, what is happening with this bombardment?" Andrei watched the shells hammering the position in shock and fury. The fire was coming from their own rear! He realized that the 30-minute window mentioned by the messenger had been bypassed by at least twenty minutes. They were still busy packing, caught out in the open before they could even begin their withdrawal.

"Damn it! Was that messenger incompetent? Did he get the time wrong, or was it some brainless commander in the rear who gave the order? If I ever catch him, I’ll shoot him myself!" Andrei cursed internally, silently praying to whatever gods were listening that his dugout was sturdy enough. Such improvised shelters could withstand the blast radius, but a direct hit would leave no survivors.

The soldiers around him were also cursing, bewildered as to why their own artillery was pounding them. Meanwhile, Andrei noticed that several icons in his player interface had turned black—five of them had been wiped out instantly. He realized that the bunker they were hiding in must have been destroyed. Fortunately, the players simply respawned in other bunkers. He just didn't know how many people his designated respawn point could hold. If more and more players died and were forced to respawn in the same spot, things were going to get very interesting.