This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 463.2: These Commanders Are Real Fucking Assholes!

Chapter 463.2: These Commanders Are Real Fucking Assholes!

Wait... Is that tears?!

"Tastes like home."

Sniffling, he took another spoonful, mumbling through his emotions.

"Damn... The chefs in Sunset Province don’t understand flavors like this. I haven’t had anything like this in five, maybe six years." He brought the bowl to his lips and started shoveling it down. The soot-colored soup clung to his mustache, but he didn’t even notice.

Battlefield Cheerleader couldn’t believe it. "Isn’t beet soup supposed to be... red?"

Cowley paused. "Red? Is it red in Brocade River Province?"

Battlefield Cheerleader gulped nervously. "Yours is... black?"

Cowley nodded with a weird expression. "The texture and flavor are more balanced this way. The pepper really comes through. But yeah... The color’s about right."

"..."

These guys ate this stuff every day?

He suddenly felt bad for these big-nosed bastards.

Before he knew it, Cowley had slurped down every last drop. Staring at the empty bowl in his hands, he finally came back to his senses and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Uh... sorry. I ate the delicious meal Miss Penny made for you... I’ll go ask her to make another one."

Battlefield Cheerleader quickly waved it off. "No need! Just get me two roasted beef legs."

If word got out that he still had an appetite, his whole undercover mission would be blown to bits.

Cowley looked surprised. "Are you sure your stomach can handle that with injuries like that?"

Without hesitation, Battlefield Cheerleader nodded. "No problem! I injured my limbs, not my stomach. Gotta load up on protein to recover fast... It’s the doctor’s orders."

Cowley didn’t press further and nodded. "Alright, I’ll have someone bring them over shortly."

As Cowley turned and exited the tent, Battlefield Cheerleader exhaled deeply in relief, lifted his bandaged arm, and wiped his forehead, grumbling under his breath, "Dammit... Should’ve just stayed unconscious."

...

That evening, back on the forums.

Battlefield Cheerleader: Isn't beetroot supposed to be red in this game???

Makka Pakka: Yeah, I saw red beets at Brown Farm.

Beating Tiger: +1. I’ve even seen purple ones.

Battlefield Cheerleader: Then why the hell is the Army’s beet soup black?!

Teng Teng: What kind of disgusting...

Yaya: Terrifying. (◞‸◟๑)

Tomato Eggs: They’re probably mutated.

Ample Time: Yeah, if animals can mutate, why not plants... Why the sudden curiosity?

Battlefield Cheerleader: Hehe... well, a pretty girl made me some beet soup. It’s look scared me, but thank god it wasn’t poisoned!

Night Ten: Damn, bro pulled it off!

Construction Boy: Son of a... I’m sending a barrage of rockets your way!

Battlefield Cheerleader: Hahaha! Fire away, I’m not on the frontline anymore! <(˘ ˘ ˘)>

Spring Water Commander: Alright, stop basking in it. Plan C is about to begin. You’d better think about how you’re gonna escape before the newbies blow your cover. (¬_¬)

Old White: Yeah, come home once in a while. Haven’t seen you around in ages. (grin)

Night Ten: Bro, it’s been nearly two months since you backed up your data, right? (≖⩊≖)

Darkest: Dammit, I’m this close to putting a bounty on Pangolin!

Eye Owe Money: Hahahaha +1. Never seen someone lose a whole 10 levels in one go. (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Battlefield Cheerleader: WTF! Can you guys be a little more empathetic?!

Mosquito: MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

...

In the airstrip north of Dawn City...

A line of desert-camoflage painted H-1 Dragonfly transport planes sat idle on the runway. Loaders in exoskeletons pushed crates of supplies up ramps and into the cargo bays.

Though the Enterprise’s Orca transport planes had the advantage of high-speed flight and terrain-agnostic deployment, their availability was limited.

The East Coast to New Alliance supply line remained critical, but the Enterprise couldn’t allocate more Orcas to the war effort. In the end, the New Alliance had to take on the burden of this logistics route from Dawn City to the frontlines.

The 1,000 kilometer route exceeded the H-1's standard range, forcing the Ironworks Factory No. 81 to replace some of the aircrafts' batteries with volatile metal hydrogen ones.

At the same time, Chu Guang reached out to the Lion Kingdom and requested their cooperation in expanding the airstrip in Lion City. That location would serve as a logistics hub for the war effort.

With that, an air corridor from Dawn City to the frontlines was finally secured.

The day of the decisive battle was drawing near.

Every department, every person in the New Alliance was like a tightly wound gear, spinning toward the looming showdown...

"Be good, alright? I’ll be back in a few days."

"Yiwu!"

"When I return, I’ll take you for candy, okay?"

"Yiwu!"

"... Fuck!"

"Fuck!"

"Ahem, don’t learn that."

Beside the hangar.

Falling Feather was half-laughing, half-crying as he looked at Little Feather, who was grabbing him and refusing to let go. He tried to explain that he was only leaving for a few days, and he would be back soon.

But... Little Feather’s face was still full of reluctance. Several tendrils were wrapped tightly around his arm and simply refused to let go.

Falling Feather had a headache. Little Feather could definitely understand what he was saying!

Seeing the commotion, Mosquito strolled over, scratching his head and chuckling, "Stuck together again, huh? Maybe just take it with you to the front."

Falling Feather rolled his eyes. "Screw off! I’m flying a plane, what the hell would I take Little Feather for?"

Mosquito smirked. "You could fly together... Though now that I think about it, we don’t even have a two-seater jet. Maybe I’ll build one sometime."

Falling Feather gave him a reality check. "Little Feather weighs two hundred kilos."

Mosquito froze. "... Shit. That’s gonna be rough. You’d have to ditch a couple of bombs just to get her airborne."

Little Feather grumbled at the side, "Fuck!"

Falling Feather slapped a hand over his face in defeat.

After much effort, he finally managed to calm Little Feather down. It suddenly became obedient, which felt suspicious, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Plan C was about to launch, and the New Alliance would soon begin a full-scale offensive against the Army-Falcon Kingdom coalition occupying Oasis No.3, delivering a final blow to their already weakened forces.

But even a dying camel was bigger than a horse. Despite their severe supply issues, the Army still had a H44 Cutlass fighter that posed a deadly threat to the New Alliance’s air forces.

To protect the five Cloudfly aircraft assigned to provide support to the Skeleton Corps, Falling Feather would be piloting a modified Lofty Cloud fighter to the frontlines.

Even if he couldn’t take the H44 Cutlass down, he had to stall it at all costs, and buy time for the ground troops!

As he followed Mosquito toward the hangar, Falling Feather noticed staff loading some absurdly large crates onto the planes and asked curiously, "What’re those?"

Mosquito beamed. "’Fatty’ rockets! Latest from Goblin Technology. Official name of those are Propane Tank Bombs!"

Falling Feather was stunned, staring slack-jawed at the warehouse. "You’re kidding, those crates are full of them?"

Mosquito nodded smugly. "Damn right!"

Falling Feather nearly choked. "Didn’t the army already get 155mm guns? Why are you producing so much of this shit?!"

Mosquito coughed and explained, "Sure, we’ve got lots of 155mm guns, but our allies don’t. The administrator couldn’t stand seeing those natives still fighting with medieval muzzleloaders, so he told me to come up with a cheap and effective weapon to sell them."

Falling Feather couldn’t help but retort, "So you’re going to fob that crap off on them?"

"Fob off?! I’ll have you know they asked for it!" Mosquito glared at Falling Feather, trying to sound convincing.

Falling Feather’s lips curled upwards into a crafty smile.

Aside from raw power, those bombs had no redeeming qualities. Who in their right mind would buy them?

Any random backyard factory could make one. They could simply build their own!

Seeing the skepticism, Mosquito grinned and went on. "During those newbie trials by the Storm Corps and Death Corps, one of the soldiers from the Lion Kingdom, Prince Wint’s bodyguard, no less, saw the propane bomb’s power and couldn’t take his eyes off it!"

Falling Feather blinked. "No way..."

"Hell yeah! There’s no better place to promote a weapon than the battlefield," Mosquito said righteously. "They’re easy to deploy, simple to operate. One man with a donkey cart can set one up. Prince Wint was so impressed that he came to our camp that very night and placed an order of 5,000 units!"

Falling Feather raised an eyebrow and asked. "... How much per unit?"

Mosquito waved a hand and chuckled smugly, "Not much. 8,000 silver coins each."

Falling Feather nearly choked on himself. "Pfft!"

Good lord!

8,000?!

They could buy four Miner exoskeletons for that, or nearly a Type 5 Light Cavalry!

That markup was criminal!

Seeing Falling Feather’s expression, Mosquito realized he’d bragged a bit too hard. Afraid he would be exposed on the forums, he quickly added, "Ahem... Don’t think I’m making a fortune here. The administrator handled the pricing. The sale’s through the New Alliance. We’re just the manufacturer, earning a bit of pocket change. It’s nothing outrageous."

Falling Feather rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right! Like hell I’ll believe that."

Not caring whether Falling Feather bought it or not, Mosquito coughed again. "Anyway... This thing isn’t as low-tech as it looks. Costs aren’t that cheap."

"Thanks to feedback from our mighty Pangolin and those newbie testers, our engineers tweaked the design, added thickeners, high-energy fuels, and azide compounds. The blast yield’s gone up by 30%. Also, it now has a burn-on-impact effect! It’s great for flushing out enemies hiding behind cover!"

"Hehe." Mosquito scratched his cheek awkwardly as he chuckled.

Falling Feather stared at him in stunned silence.

What the fuc...

These veterans outdoing each other with war crimes!

He had thought Battlefield Cheerleader was just a tough drill instructor. Grueling, but manageable.

Turns out he’d only seen the tip of the iceberg. While he was clueless, weapons testing, arms sales, and black ops had all been piled on the poor guy without warning.

Falling Feather suddenly felt bad for his brother-in-arms.

The fact that he was still alive under the Pangolin alias...

His life truly wasn’t easy...