This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 328.2: Bombardment and Psychological Warfare

In order to deal with those small aircrafts, Gold Fang pretty much handed over all the 10mm heavy machine guns to the clan's craftsmen for modifications.

However, someone was currently telling him that all of those... were gone?

"..." Faced with the grim reality, Gold Fang was at a loss as he fell into long silence.

He could still remember how Dillon had firmly assured him that they would only sacrifice at most 10 tanks to secure Dawn City's industrial zone and farmlands before their departure.

Exchanging limited equipment for unlimited supplies was a guaranteed, profitable deal.

However, they had never even seen a trace of Bluestone County, let alone Dawn City, and artillery shells were already falling into their stronghold!

Gold Fang's clenched teeth gradually emitted a grinding sound. His chest began to heave as he squeezed out a string of bitter curses through his gritted teeth, "These bunch of good-for-nothings! Where’s Dillon?! That idiot, where is he now?! Tell him to come see me!"

Listening to the thunderous roar of curses, the trembling aide dared not breathe as he knelt on one knee, fearing the wrath that could befall him. He hastily and nervously spoke in a quivering voice, "I–I don't know... We were near the foot of the mountain to the north of Pinewood Forest Valley, when we saw the New Alliance troops there. They had set up artillery and stationed many people in defensive positions. There were even scouts on patrol in the nearby woods. Thinking that you were waiting for us to return with the news, we dared not get too close and decided to search for any routed soldiers nearby, yet we haven't found a single one."

Upon hearing that, Gold Fang, who had been seething with anger just moments ago, felt a sudden chill running down his spine.

A drop of cold sweat unconsciously dripped from his forehead, dampening his burning rage.

Not a single routed soldier?!

It meant that the New Alliance had completely wiped out his 5 brigades in a short period... while his troops were under the protection of many armored units.

The brigade commanders and trusted aides surrounding him exchanged frightened and troubled looks in silence.

At that moment, a brigade commander spoke up, "The 4th New District is a marshland, and the underground areas are flooded with water. There’s no way for us to build artillery bunkers here, and the shelters on the surface can't withstand continuous bombardment... I suggest we relocate slightly to the north."

"To the north? Are you suggesting we fight against the guerrillas for underground tunnels?"

"The guerrillas are to the east!"

"What's the difference? The underground tunnels in this city are all the same. They know the terrain there, and if we hide in there, it's a dead end! Besides, how can over 20,000 people hide in there?!"

Just then, someone brought up an idea. "Why don’t we retreat to the north? West Continent City doesn't have much resources left for us anyway. We can just hand over this wretched land to the New Alliance."

Upon hearing the suggestion, many people expressed their agreement. "That makes sense..."

"Indeed, besides rats, there are only endless guerrillas and paratroopers here."

"... And the airstrikes."

"Worst case scenario, we can head east, join forces with the Snake Clan, and make our way around to the eastern provinces..."

Some remained silent, looking cautiously toward their leader.

However, at that moment, Gold Fang slammed the table abruptly, "Enough! All of you shut your mouths! Anyone who dares to bring up retreat, I'll cut out their tongues and feed them to the dogs!"

The room fell silent.

Watching his subordinates shut their mouths and refrain from speaking, Gold Fang slowly calmed the anger in his heart and eased his heavy breathing.

He admitted that he did not have Dillon's commanding abilities, but that did not mean he was foolish.

Retreat?

There was simply no possibility for retreat!

Not to mention leaving all those spoils of war and slaves behind, once they retreated, it would mean death for the Fang Clan.

Those foreign clan members who had been drawn to him by his reputation would quickly abandon him, either establishing their own stronghold, or returning to where they came from.

After crossing the Heavenly Water Province, his troops, which had 20,000 people, would be left with only 10,000 at most. Since they would be losing troops one way or another, they might as well choose to reduce their people on the battlefield and fight the New Alliance to their deaths!

He still had over 20,000 men. If he really engaged in a street battle with the New Alliance, he might still have a chance of winning!

Seeing his subordinates, who had shut their mouths and were afraid to speak, Gold Fang angrily ordered, "Take your subordinates and spread them out throughout the city. Keep every window and every building under surveillance! Since those despicable gophers dare to come to our doorstep, let's see what they got! As for the artillery fire and bombardment... Let them waste their shells. I’ll see just how many shells they have!"

No one dared to resist, and no one dared to speak up.

Even though they were in a state of despair, at that moment, they could only obey.

As their figures left and disappeared at the door one by one, Gold Fang slowly relaxed his tense muscles and shoulders as he leaned back in his chair.

Gazing up at the shaking ceiling amidst the blasts of artillery fire, a hint of madness appeared on his face.

Bring it on!

Let's see who has more people, and who has faster blades!

...

"These fireworks are quite spectacular..."

On a partially-collapsed tall building, Ample Time, who was holding binoculars in his hand, was now standing in the rain, gazing westward with a faint smile on his face.

Standing not far away from him, Old White was cross-referencing a map and maintaining contact with the Goblin Corps artillery through a VM and earpiece equipped with cameras. "Adjust the artillery strike coordinates 500 meters to the northwest... Don't worry, we've recorded it all. We'll send it to you once we're offline."

This afternoon, the New Alliance had pushed its artillery forces from Bluestone County to a valley 5 kilometers north of Pinewood Forest Valley, bringing the entire southern and western city areas of West Continent City under the coverage of indirect artillery fire.

The bombardment had officially begun at 9:00.

In coordination with the Burning Corps, the Goblin Corps artillery had been launching continuous rounds of artillery fire at Fang Clan's crucial military outposts and defensive fortifications in the 4th New District.

However, firing artillery was a rather tedious task.

Especially since the Hummingbirds had not been deployed yet, they could not even witness those explosions, let alone hear them.

If they wanted to know the effectiveness of their shots, they either had to rely on frontline players providing descriptions on the radio, or wait till they were offline to have their fellow players upload videos to the official website.

"Those marauders are quite smart. They actually know to extinguish the flames," Night Ten remarked with surprise as he watched the gradually dimming fires in the distance.

Old White offered a brief response, "It's normal. Long-range indirect firepower requires guidance from frontline units, so that we could constantly adjust our firing parameters. They probably know that we are reporting coordinates nearby, but they just don't know exactly where we are."

Matter of fact, those marauders were rather slow to react.

It seemed that Dillon's failure had dealt a significant blow to the reputation of those staff officers within the clan.

Normally, when the first shell was dropped, they should have realized the problem and extinguished all visible flames on their positions.

"Enough talk, let's get to work," Carrying a bunch of wires and loudspeakers on his back, Gale patted Night Ten's shoulder, "Lend me a hand."

...

At a campsite located several kilometers away.

Players gathering around the 100mm artillery were discussing the targets for the next round of artillery fire.

Over the past few hours, they had fired over a dozen rounds each hour, releasing nearly 200 100mm shells toward the 4th New District.

At the same time, not far from the artillery positions, a war prisoner with headphones was nervously reading from a script in front of a recording device inside a tent, “... I am Wabu, a company leader under Bear Fang's command from the Bugra Free State. I used to have a proper job, but I made a foolish mistake, misled by greed, and ended up here.”

“I repent for the crimes I committed in the past, and I hope those from the Bugra Free State or other regions who are just like me can wake up in time... There is no land flowing with milk and honey ahead at all. Only rivers of blood and mountains of corpses...”

“Snap out of it! How long have we been stuck in West Continent City? How many brothers have died in meaningless battles? Sleeping with rats, feeding on corpses... How long have we not had a decent rest and meal?... How long are we going to be deceived by that fat pig sitting on a pile of human bones?"

As he continued to read, Wabu felt increasingly aggrieved. Back in Bugra Free State, he could at least get a drink once every few days, but since coming to West Continent City, let alone a drink, even staying alive became increasingly difficult.

As emotions surged within him, he could not help raising his voice as he shouted, “... Marauders of West Continent City, the New Alliance's great army has surrounded the city. The artillery barrage last night was their final ultimatum!”

“Your Chief of Staff, Dillon, has been killed. Bear Fang and other brigade commanders have surrendered. Facing the New Alliance's aircrafts and artillery, you have no chance of winning. The outcome of this war has long been decided; surrender is your only way out!”

“The New Alliance doesn't kill prisoners of war and offers preferential treatment to those who voluntarily surrender themselves. As long as you carry the leaflet, whether you seek the local guerrillas or approach the New Alliance's patrols in the south, the alliance will guarantee your safety."

“If someone persists in their delusions... They will pay for their sins with death!" After finishing the script in his hand, Wabu nervously turned back and looked at the azure-colored exoframe standing at the entrance of the tent, "S–sir, I have finished reading the script you provided me... Do you have any further instructions? Your most loyal servant is willing to do anything."

His face was filled with flattery and sycophancy. However, Chu Guang paid him no attention and just looked at the soldier standing nearby. "Take him away."

The soldier nodded solemnly and saluted. "Yes!"

After that, there was also a tank commander whom Chu Guang had prepared another script for. The script was mainly addressed to the former officers of the Army.

Once news of Dillon's disastrous defeat in Pinewood Forest Valley spread, the status of those officers in the Bonechewer Clan would undoubtedly plummet.

Those individuals were also targets of the defection operations.

Even if it couldn't make them surrender, it could also give them a bit of psychological pressure.

Tomorrow, when the H-1 Dragonfly gunship flew over and air-dropped the leaflets, the dozens of loudspeakers deployed near the 4th New District by the Burning Corps would be continuously broadcasting surrender messages during breaks in the artillery bombardment.

After Wabu was taken away, a man covered in bandages was brought in.

His name was Bagro, a tank commander. Surprisingly, he had jumped out of his tank before it was blown up.

Of course, what was even more surprising to Chu Guang was that Bagro was neither one of Dillon's subordinates, nor did he belong to the 21st Division. Instead, he hailed from the 14th Division of the Army Expeditionary Force, a division equipped with tanks, infantry fighting vehicles, and other armored units.

Seeing the recording device, Bagro had already guessed what the man in the exoframe intended for him to do. So he straightforwardly asked, "Do you want me to improvise, or should I just follow the script?"

Chu Guang gestured to the table next to him with his chin, "The script is right there. You can also choose to improvise first, then read from the script afterwards. But before we begin, I have a question for you.”

Bagro, who was heading towards the recording device, stopped in his tracks. "What is it?"

Chu Guang glanced at him with keen interest, "Did you people plan this?"