Chapter 48: Lieutenant Colonel, You Bear Full Responsibility for This Rashness!

"Despicable vermin! I'll wipe them all out!"
"Aaaaaah!"
Lieutenant Colonel August roared with fury, bordering on madness.

He could not fathom how the troops crossing the bridge, who had been advancing so smoothly just moments ago, could be reduced to this by enemy bombs in the blink of an eye!

What baffled him even more was when the enemy had managed to plant those explosives.
Even though the infantry battalion that previously attacked this place had been completely wiped out, they had at least cleared out all the explosives in the area. Surely, the subsequent Cambu army shouldn't have had the opportunity to rig the place with bombs again?

The sudden explosion not only instantly wiped out the Black Hawk troops on the bridge deck, but it also cut off the retreat of the vanguard Black Hawk forces further ahead.
Although these vanguard troops were currently sweeping through the trenches and pushing deep into the town—meaning they weren't heavily caught in the blast wave from the rear, with only a few unfortunate souls struck by shrapnel—the realization that their retreat was cut off, leaving just this small handful of isolated soldiers stranded here, still managed to crack the morale of the remaining Black Hawk troops.

Meanwhile, players who had either set up ambushes beforehand or had respawned after falling in previous battles, alongside other fully prepared Cambu soldiers, swung into action.
The seemingly tranquil town instantly transformed into a treacherous killing field rife with mortal peril.

Bullets rained out simultaneously from tightly shut windows that looked vacant, from gaps in wooden walls, and even from roadside flowerbeds and wooden barrels stacked haphazardly in narrow alleys.
The barrage of gunfire originating from all directions immediately mowed down a large swath of the infantry accompanying the armored vehicles.

Before the remaining Pacifier mechs could even react, ambushes by anti-tank hunters and cluster grenades hurled from surrounding buildings blasted all those mechs into scrap metal.

Boom!
An anti-tank gun, concealed within a pile of lumber with its protruding barrel masked by a wooden barrel, finally opened fire.
Because the fire suppression from the forward trenches had been overwhelmingly intense, this anti-tank gun hadn't been positioned in the trenches at all; instead, it was simply tucked away at the dead end of an unassuming alley.

The sudden artillery strike instantly pierced through the final Pacifier mech crossing the bridge, igniting its fuel tank and shattering the machine into a flurry of flying debris and components.

The town, which had transformed into a deathtrap in a split second, left the already stunned Black Hawk troops with virtually no room to fight back.
Even though a handful of quick-reflex soldiers attempted to raise their weapons and return fire, players with even swifter reflexes snatched away their lives first, preventing them from mounting any effective counterattack.

In truth, compared to positional warfare, urban combat was the domain where players truly excelled.
Within the game, players rarely engaged in combat at extended ranges. While opposing forces might trade fire across hundreds of meters, players were far more accustomed to close-quarters combat during urban skirmishes.
Under such circumstances, players might not have perfected other skills, but their reaction times were undeniably top-tier.

Both sides wielded automatic firepower, and players were fully prepared to close the distance and shove a bayonet right into the enemy's face. In moments like these, survival hinged entirely on reaction speed: those with fast hands lived, while those who hesitated died.

Therefore, despite having prepared themselves for a shootout with the enemy, the remaining Black Hawk soldiers still could not withstand such blindingly fast reactions and dense automatic firepower.

In particular, when a panicked Black Hawk soldier scrambled to escape into a building, only to encounter a muscle-bound maniac wielding the jagged half of a glass bottle, his mind went completely blank.
What kind of absurd enemy uses this sort of trash as a weapon? Were they out of their minds?

Yet, as the sharp shards of the beer bottle effortlessly plunged into his chest, instantly stripping him of his ability to resist, he realized the enemy wasn't out of their minds at all—they were genuinely insane!

As the searing pain coursed through his chest right before death, just as his vision faded into absolute darkness, the soldier still found it hard to believe: As a proud soldier of the mighty Black Hawk Empire, he was actually going to be stabbed to death with half a liquor bottle!
What an absolute, utter disgrace.

"Regrettably, Lieutenant Colonel, the troops we sent across have been completely annihilated!"
"Your operation was far too reckless, leading us to squander the lives of so many soldiers in vain!"

Standing beside Lieutenant Colonel August was a bizarre figure clad in an officer's uniform, wearing a bird-face mask and gripping a scepter topped with a hexagram. The stranger crushed an eyeball in his hand, then spoke indifferently to the lieutenant colonel.
Strangely enough, this individual bore no insignia of military rank whatsoever. Furthermore, judging by his tone, he showed not the slightest bit of awe toward the imperial lieutenant colonel beside him, radiating an air of haughty superiority instead.

"Master Schmidt, if you have the energy to spare for cynical remarks, you'd be far better off casting a few more spells to fiercely punish those vile vermin!"
Lieutenant Colonel August retorted bitterly, glaring at the mage and the squad standing behind him—soldiers sporting orange-red armbands, flame-skull insignia printed on their chests, and holding bundles of strange, thick orange-red tubular firearms.

"Lieutenant Colonel, earlier you assured me with absolute certainty that this war had no need for my wicked sorcery to slay the enemy, and that I only needed to act as your scout and spotter!"
"I hardly think I can be blamed for failing to provide timely spell support under those circumstances, can I?"

Hearing Master Schmidt's words, Lieutenant Colonel August, already boiling with fury, felt a surge of humiliated rage.
If time travel were possible, he would gladly strangle his own self from a few dozen minutes ago.
At that time, he shouldn't have indulged in such absurd arrogance, nor should he have underestimated the enemy standing right before him!

A string of successive victories had inflated his confidence to the point where he had begun worrying about pompous, useless formalities in the middle of a war.

"Have our Defilers keep suppressing the opposing bank! Dispatch the medical teams and combat engineers!"
Disregarding the mage beside him, Lieutenant Colonel August turned back and barked orders to the remaining soldiers.

He had no idea how many people were still alive on the bridge deck. He could only pray that the bridge could be restored to working order as quickly as possible; otherwise, they were going to have serious trouble ahead.

The inspection results were grim.
Although quite a few people on the bridge deck had not died on the spot, those soldiers had suffered severe internal trauma. Leaving aside how many could ultimately be saved, purely in terms of combat capability, there was no way they could recover anytime soon.

Dammit, their Black Hawk Empire lacked Medical Nuns like the ones in the Cambu Empire, making it impossible to rapidly heal injuries of this magnitude!

As for the bridge itself, it had sustained fundamental structural damage. Beyond the destroyed bridge deck, the piers supporting the structure underneath had also fractured.
In other words, it was virtually impossible for them to capture this bridge directly and push through in one go anymore.