Chapter 1170: Chapter 12: Where Did Pipi Go?

"Clang!"

Taixing gave a casual toss, and Fushan crashed down into the Mecha trench, making the surrounding heap of scrap metal jump and splashing mud everywhere.

Before Cosmo even jumped out of the Mecha, seasoned Mechanics had already rushed up to open Fushan’s cockpit. A few Mixed Soldiers who’d been hiding bored in the rear of the position swarmed forward and yanked the terrified Jiepeng Mecha Warrior out like a rabbit.

The Jiepeng Mechanic’s face was deathly pale. He let the Chuckna Warriors curse and manhandle him without resistance, and with gun barrels pointing at him, he put on an extremely cooperative act, forcing himself not to do anything that might anger the enemy. His pair of small triangular eyes carried a touch of pitifulness and a touch of panicked confusion, desperately trying to awaken some sympathy in the victors.

At this moment, you simply could not connect him with that Mecha which had just been pouring out firepower recklessly in front of the position, swaggering and domineering.

There is no such thing as someone who isn’t afraid of death in this world.

Anyone who beats their chest and says they’re not afraid of dying is only in a momentary transcendent state; if you really dig into it, no one dares claim they’ve viewed death with indifference their whole life.

If there really were such a person, Fatty would probably walk up and spit right in his face. "Fuck you, trying to make me look like a coward, huh?!"

The fighting on the position was already over.

The routing Jiepeng people, under the chasing fire snapping at their heels, finally never managed to rally and counterattack.

These soldiers in gray uniforms had thrown away all their courage, scrambling and crawling as they fled into the bunkers of the position at the foot of the hill. Even a Jiepeng Officer on the line, who was waving a pistol and gunned down several of the soldiers running at the very front, couldn’t stop this tide of panic.

Once an army is broken, it collapses like a mountain; once you choose to run and turn your back on the enemy, you always feel like something is staring at your spine, cold to the bone. Under the crushing fear of death, you can’t stop even if you want to.

Faced with such a rout, the battle-hardened Chuckna Warriors naturally weren’t about to let it go.

Unlike the fighting before, during the pursuit by fire, all they had to do was aim and shoot.

It was a brief but brutal massacre.

The Jiepeng Soldiers who were frantically charging downhill to break out were shot down in rows. Those gray figures scrambling and rolling either went stiff and dropped to their knees, or staggered and crashed to the ground. Corpses lay crisscrossed all over the slope. Between the sparse trees, all that echoed was soul-chasing gunfire and heart-rending screams.

No matter how fast a man’s legs are, they’re still no match for bullets. Of the more than two hundred Jiepeng Soldiers who had taken part in the assault, when they turned and ran, only about a hundred and fifty were left, and in the end only sixty or seventy made it back to their position.

This was the twenty-third attack the Chuckna Warriors had beaten back. A downright miraculous battle.

That whiplash of going from being certain they would lose and die, to a sudden reversal and victory, was just too much of a rush for these men who were exhausted to the limit.

They yelled at the top of their lungs, veins as thick as fingers bulging and jumping under their reddened necks, clearly visible. Even after they passed through the communication trench and stepped into the Mecha trench, their faces were still flushed as if soaked in blood. Those pairs of excited, shockingly bright eyes made them look like a herd of bulls that had just won a duel.

And when they saw the group of Mixed Soldiers again, the look in the warriors’ eyes was completely different. After a fight like that, even an idiot could tell this bunch of "Mixed Soldiers" in front of them were nowhere near as simple as they looked on the surface.

Say nothing else—just that sniper work from that Fatty Major General alone was worthy of being called godlike. That’s not something you can brag out of your mouth; that’s real skill forged by countless drills and life-or-death battles on the field!

And then there was that Mechanical Warrior. Everyone here knew their stuff; even if you swapped in those Armored Division Special Forces Camp bastards who have their eyes growing on top of their heads, they still wouldn’t be his match!

The Chuckna Warriors, having dropped their prejudices, started making up for not having eyes earlier. They all walked the line between life and death; right is right, wrong is wrong—there is no such word as "pretentious" in their dictionary.

As soon as they stepped into the Mecha trench, this bunch of Chuckna men blended into the bandit soldiers’ crowd like they were reuniting with long-lost family, natural and seamless. Handing out smokes, passing around food, trying to get chummy, laying on the flattery—everyone was busy as hell.

"Bro, have a smoke." The Private First Class whose face still carried the mark of Fatty’s slap plopped down next to Baz. "Just now... heh, we were too busy, didn’t get a chance to say hi. Where’d you guys come in from?"

Baz glanced at the Private First Class with sparse blond hair, a big head, and a nose and cheeks sprinkled with freckles. He took the cigarette the man handed over, which counted as accepting the explanation of "too busy just now," and said with a smile, "Just came over from the Longbow Star System."

"Longbow Star System?" The Private First Class exchanged a look with the Corporal on Baz’s other side, who also had a handprint on his face. He flipped open his lighter and asked, "Saleria?"

"Mars." Baz leaned into the flame and lit his cigarette. "We just fought a battle in the Longbow Star System, took out two Elephant-class Fleets of the Binart Empire. Heard you guys were in trouble, so, you know, we came."

"Took out... two Elephant-class Fleets..." The Private First Class and the Corporal stared, dumbfounded. The lighter in the Private First Class’s hand trembled, almost setting fire to the strand of hair hanging over Baz’s forehead.

"Got a problem with that?" Baz’s smile was half amused, half not.

"Sorry, sorry." The Private First Class snapped the lighter shut with a flick. "Bro, I admit, we misjudged you guys just now. But this brag of yours is really a bit too far-fetched..."