The battle had reached an incredibly intense state.
These mechanical monsters had already suffered devastating losses, and they should have realized that this was not a successful offensive, perhaps retreat would have been the better choice at this moment.
But they didn’t do so.
Or rather, they no longer had the possibility of retreating.
Their main forces were still behind, undergoing the fiercest artillery bombardment of the Alliance, facing an assault by an elite Composite Camp. They were there to secure a retreat path for the main forces.
In total, they numbered over two thousand, with drones and tanks, but they were blocked by a small infantry platoon, which was unacceptable. In their combat command logic, this was to be taken down at any cost.
Their mission was to break through step by step.
Unfortunately, the mission of the 9th Platoon was to intercept the enemy here at all costs.
They had done well enough, suddenly engaged in battle and bombarded by a barrage of long-range artillery after which they still retained their combat effectiveness and even managed to eliminate a large number of the enemy’s living forces during an aggressive attack, including three tanks.
Valen Zu’an turned the barrel of his gun towards the fourth tank, and its cannon also turned towards him. But he was confident that before the enemy could fire, he would be able to destroy it with a heavy bomb.
It was at this moment that the heavy bomb in his hand suddenly extinguished.
He glanced sideways and saw that the private who had been reloading his weapon at his side, a recent recruit, had taken several shots to his body and had already stopped breathing.
The wounds on his leg, waist, and shoulder were not all incurred at the same time; they must have been there for a while. But during this time, perhaps the noise of the heavy-bomb gun had been too loud, for he hadn’t heard a cry of pain.
It was also possible that the young soldier had indeed made no sound.
He had just silently endured the pain and persisted in his task until a combat drone in the sky drove a bullet into his skull, causing his death and ending his duty.
With nobody to operate the external hand-cranked ammunition feeder, the string of bullets running out meant no more were loaded onto the chain.
Valen Zu’an’s face was grim, showing no panic; in the last moment, he was still thinking of a solution. He planned to load the ammunition chain himself and then call for other warriors to help.
However, all these thoughts had not yet translated into action when the tank cannon already aimed at him emitted an orange flame, and a shell came flying at him.
The shell exploded next to the protective shield in front of the bomb gun, penetrating it. The destabilized shell, grazing Valen Zu’an’s face, also took half of his head and a shoulder with it.
Blood splattered on the heavy bomb gun, his remaining eye blinked twice, but he could do nothing, falling backwards.
With the heavy bomb gun extinguished, those cautiously suppressing enemies were able to charge at full speed once again.
In a short time, the Challenger tank that had killed Valen Zu’an, along with its accompanying infantry and mechanical dogs, had come within a few hundred meters of the 9th Platoon’s position.
At this range, the soldiers’ rifles could unleash their full power, but at the same time, the weapons in the hands of the modified men became more deadly, with mechanical dogs breaking rank and sprinting forward, their mounted submachine guns starting to fire. Although at this range the accuracy of the submachine guns was dreadful, the increased density of fire was still troubling for the warriors of the 9th Platoon.
The battle on both sides had entered its most fierce phase with the casualties in the platoon rising significantly.
More critically, with the lack of the core firepower of the heavy bomb gun, there was a subtle trend that was becoming hard to withstand.
But in the next moment, the bomb gun roared back to life.
This time, it was the platoon’s instructor who took over.
In fact, it wasn’t only him; many soldiers attempted to take control of the heavy bomb gun, but these attempts all failed. At least four soldiers had lost their lives in a valiant succession.
However, under their cover, the typically gentle instructor managed to rush over. Dragging an injured leg, he vigorously cranked the ammunition feeder, and at this moment, another soldier rushed in.
“You fire!” the instructor yelled, his voice already hoarse.
The Sergeant operating the heavy bomb gun successfully blasted the leading Challenger tank that was charging, avenging their platoon leader.
But before they could fire for long, multiple drones attacked. The platoon’s sharpshooters, already taxed, shot down several with red laser beams, but one still got close to the heavy bomb gun’s point and rained down a burst of submachine-gun bullets from above.
When the bullets ceased, the two men in the foxhole were motionless.
Then came the third group to take over.
But this third group hadn’t fired many rounds before the mechanical monsters seemed to lose their patience.
New whistling sounds came from the sky, signaling yet another barrage from enemy artillery positions at least a dozen kilometers away.
And this time, the duration of the bombardment was particularly long, and the number of shells dropped was particularly high.
After the explosions, the entire position of the 9th Platoon fell silent.
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The foxhole that housed the heavy bomb gun, the tactical core of the platoon, had been filled with bodies, but the bomb gun that should have been fixed in place was still there.
The metal shield in front of it was severely deformed, its stand was skewed, but it itself remained intact, only now it was stained with the blood of who knows how many.