This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 487.2: The Monstrous Skeleton Corps

Oasis No.2, on the outskirts of Bist Town, a concrete-fortified iron-barrel settlement.

Wiedler stood beside a bunker, clutching a pair of binoculars, nervously scanning the endless sand dunes in the distance.

The soldiers around him wore the same anxious expressions.

In just three short days, over 10,000 Army soldiers had passed through this place, yet not a single unit was willing to stay behind and stand with them.

The new defensive line was set at the edge of Oasis No.2. Compared to concrete fortifications, General Griffin seemed to prefer deploying troops along the old Levee structures left behind from the Prosperity Era.

But that also meant the fortress outside the oasis had lost its strategic value.

What disappointed Wiedler wasn’t just the lack of reinforcements, but that no one even told him what to do next.

They had been completely abandoned...

Just then, a messenger came running toward him. “Report! Orders from central command, ”

The moment he heard the voice, Wiedler’s eyes lit up with hope.

It was like a drowning man seeing a straw. Even if the chances of retreat were slim, he still reached out desperately, grabbing the messenger’s collar. “Quick! Tell me! What did Lord Griffin say?!”

Trembling, the messenger pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Wiedler.

Sensing something wrong from the look on the man’s face, Wiedler immediately let go of the man and snatched the paper from his hands.

[Effective immediately, the garrison at Bist Fortress is to seal all eastern checkpoints and hold the fortress for no fewer than 15 days, awaiting reinforcements.]

[Note: In a crisis situation, all supplies and fuel in storage are to be destroyed. Centurions and above are permitted to surrender only after casualty rates exceed 90%.]

As he read the last line, Wiedler’s face turned ghostly pale.

No one else was coming back from the frontlines... They were now the frontlines. That meant that the Wislanders had completely abandoned them...

Wiedler’s face went from pale to full despair, and his hands began to tremble uncontrollably. Finally, a strong sense of dread crept into his chest.

Another messenger came running in from the southeast, panting and shouting, “Tanks! New Alliance tanks! They’re advancing on our position from the southeast!”

Wiedler instinctively asked, “How many?”

“I, I don’t know... Maybe 50, maybe 100, maybe more...” the messenger stammered.

The surrounding officers and soldiers gasped audibly, holding their breath.

100 tanks?!

The last unit to evacuate from here had taken nearly all the Iron Fist Rocket Launchers with them. Their total remaining anti-tank ammunition probably didn’t even reach 100 rounds!

Wiedler felt like his heart had stopped. Standing in place, his mind froze and he was completely at a loss of what to do.

Bist Town had only 300 men!

Even counting the untrained laborers, they couldn't muster even a full battalion. Those anti-tank obstacles wouldn’t stop the New Alliance’s iron flood for even a second!

In fact, the enemy didn’t even need to storm in, just park outside and shell them the whole morning, and the casualties would already be devastating.

The adjutant beside him looked at Wiedler with his heart pounding in his chest. “Sir... What do we do?”

“What do we do...? What do we do...?! I’d like to know that myself!” Suddenly, Wiedler exploded like a gasoline barrel that was ignited, shocking everyone with his outburst.

“Those big-nosed cowards! Gutless bastards! Always retreating when it matters most, leaving us to face the enemy!”

His anger only grew as he ranted, his face flushing red.

This war had dragged on so long that all experienced officers were transferred to the frontlines. Rumor had it even royal attendants were given ranks like Decurion or Centurion and tossed into regular units.

But someone like him, a logistics officer dragged up just to make up the numbers, had barely even fired a gun. How was he supposed to fight the New Alliance?

“... And that damned Griffin! That lying bastard! We endured over a decade of hardship following him, and this is how he repays us?! Where are the reinforcements from Triumphant City? Where are those tens of thousands of Conqueror tanks he bragged about? Is this his idea of being invincible?”

No longer holding back his fury, Wiedler cursed out the Wislander nobles, people usually untouchable. From the lowest soldier to Griffin himself, anyone whose name he remembered got a full dose of his wrath. If he had enough spit, he would have spat twice on all of them!

Seeing all the stunned eyes on him, Wiedler took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. After a long pause, he issued his first command.

“Take down the Army’s banner.”

The soldiers exchanged glances.

No one moved, not even a single step.

Wiedler awkwardly realized, no one was actually listening to him.

Just then, the distant rumble of artillery echoed in the southeast. Moments later, whistling shells and bursts of fire erupted along Bist’s southeastern line.

Just as he had predicted.

The concrete tank traps and bunkers couldn’t withstand the New Alliance’s steel onslaught. The New Alliance hadn’t even bothered sending infantry to storm the bunkers, they just started shelling from beyond range of their guns.

Nobody knew what the hell those New Alliance members mounted on those treads.

One forked barrel sparked with blue light, and a half-meter-thick concrete wall crumbled, leaving nothing but twisted rebar hanging off the rubble.

A soldier crouched behind the wall was shredded by the debris, not to mention the old machine gun mounted nearby.

Wiedler instinctively ducked as dirt flew past his head. Like a panicked hamster, he yelled, “What are you all waiting for?! The Wislander bastards have abandoned us! Do you really want to die with those cowards? For the sake of the Spirit of the Desert, get that flag down, hang anything white!”

At last, the soldiers and officers stirred into action, scrambling to the highest point of the fortress to tear down the Army’s flag.

But then, they realized there wasn’t a single white cloth in sight to use as a surrender flag. Someone suddenly recalled that Wiedler’s undershirt was white, and so they rushed back to him, stripped him bare despite his protests, and finally fulfilled his order.

The Wislander enforcement officers had already left with the last retreating convoy. No one remained to stop their betrayal.

The whole time, they had held out only for military honor and loyalty to the crown. But now...

Even someone like Wiedler, a noble who once held honor above life, had surrendered. They had no more reason to keep fighting.

They could only hope the New Alliance really did treat prisoners as well as the rumors said, and wouldn’t make life difficult for powerless nobodies like them.

“... Tsk. That’s it?”

Peeking out from a tank turret, Escaping Mole who was holding his binoculars smacked his tongue in disappointment when he saw the white flag rise.

Just two days ago, the Death Corps had been bragging on the forum about capturing cities in two hours.

After confirming the Bist Town’s deployment with Battlefield Cheerleader, he’d planned to put on a show. But one volley of artillery fire, and the enemy surrendered.

What a letdown.

Not far off, a disheveled man emerged from the wreckage of a checkpoint, hands raised, followed by several soldiers.

He seemed to be pleading for them not to shoot. With no interest in slaughtering unarmed people, Escaping Mole waved his hand.

Three steel-plated trucks rolled forward, stopping in front of the disheveled officer. Irene jumped down from one, holding a submachine gun, ready to crack a joke, but before he could speak, the man suddenly fell to his knees.

He pressed his forehead to the dirt, ignoring the sand and grime, and sobbed. “... Praise the Spirit of the Desert, you’ve finally come...”

Caught off guard by the theatrics, Irene froze in place.

The joke got stuck in his throat. Turning to look at Elf Wang, Irene mumbled, “What the hell is this?”

Elf Wang was equally baffled. “No idea...”

The players climbing down were all confused.

The man was crying so pathetically, it felt wrong to mock him.

Wiedler peeked up at the bewildered soldiers, saw they weren’t shooting, and breathed a sigh of relief. Keeping his sorrowful expression, he bowed and wailed, “I’m Baron Wiedler of the Falcon Kingdom. My ancestors farmed the oases for generations. We were just honest, peaceful folks until the Wislanders came!”

“Those big-nosed liars deceived us, captured our king and his court, seized our shops and lands, forced us to labor and bleed for their ambition to conquer the world... Praise the great administrator! Praise the mighty New Alliance! Thank heaven you’re here at last!”

Irene’s expression grew more awkward by the second. He cleared her throat and said, “Alright, alright... Get up already.”

Wiedler didn’t get up. He pressed his head even harder to the dirt, muttering nonstop, so fast even the translator couldn’t keep up anymore.

Elf Wang sighed, walked over, and tapped the man’s knee, then pointed to the roadside.

“We’re not interested in hurting you. If you want to kneel, fine, just do it over there. Don’t block the way.”

Hearing that, Wiedler finally smiled through his tears, scrambling away from the path with flattery all over his face.

“Thank you for your mercy, sirs! We’ll get out of your way, please, go right ahead!”

Bist Town had fallen.

The Skeleton Corps took it without shedding a drop of blood, spending only a few dozen 155mm shells and a few 60 kilogram rounds.

Honestly, they had acted too quickly. Had they waited a few minutes, they might not have needed to fire at all.

The defeated garrison emerged one after another, placing their rifles along the roadside, crouching with their hands on their heads beside the bunkers.

Dust-covered and pitiful, they were impossible to hate.

Over their communication channel, Irene reported to Escaping Mole while securing the prisoners. “Damn... we missed the parade at Oasis No.3, but caught one at Oasis No.2.”

“Well, that means its ending soon,” Escaping Mole replied with a smile, waving his hand forward.

The armored grenadier trucks rolled into the checkpoint at the fortress gate with swagger.

After confirming there were no ambushes inside, Escaping Mole picked up the radio again and ordered the tanks to advance.

As they passed the disgraced Wiedler, Escaping Mole gestured for the tank to stop. He leaned over and tossed a blank notebook at the groveling man.

Hearing something land in front of him, Wiedler flinched, only opening his eyes once he realized his head was still attached.

Without any unnecessary words, Escaping Mole looked down at him and gave a curt order. “Here’s your chance to atone for your sins.”

“For every unit that passed through here in the past week, their numbers, designations, gear, which road they came in on, which gate they left through, how much they resupplied, whether they stepped out with the left foot or the right... Write everything you know in that notebook.”

Wiedler nodded frantically. “Yes, sir! I’ll do exactly as you say!”

Seeing him preparing to kowtow again, Escaping Mole waved impatiently. “Less groveling. More writing.”