This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 490.2: Did Those Bastards Shove Bodyguards Into Their Cockpits As Well?!

Chapter 490.2: Did Those Bastards Shove Bodyguards Into Their Cockpits As Well?!

Dropping bombs from one or two kilometers away and hitting their anti-aircraft emplacements with such precision was downright absurd.

But if they were missiles, that didn’t make sense either, there weren’t any visible exhaust trails!

As the fires burned in the distance, several Intelligence type players sitting in gliders high-fived their teammates excitedly.

Those weren’t missiles. They were Switchblades drones that had been loaded into the gliders.

They didn’t even need to be dropped by specialized bombers. The players could just toss them right out of the cockpit. Intelligence type players connected via neural links could switch to drone vision and guide them with pinpoint accuracy.

With a 15 kilogram warhead, one was more than enough to take out an anti-aircraft gun tower.

"Hahaha! Nice one!" Sitting at the machine gun mount, Night Ten pumped his fist in excitement. Before the glider landed, he sprayed a burst from the gun at the castle.

As the craft shook violently and rooftops sped past below, Old White was screaming on the inside. But he knew he had no choice but to trust his teammates.

“We’re landing!”

“Got it.”

Staying calm, Gale glanced out of the cockpit, deployed the variable-angle air brakes, and triggered the parachute at the rear of the craft.

The glider abruptly decelerated, and the upturned belly of the aircraft flew straight at the rooftop of a residential building.

“Shit!”

“Fuck you! Give a warning next time!”

Seeing the rooftop closing in fast, Night Ten hurriedly pulled the machine gun back into the cockpit.

Chunks of roof tile flew into the air.

The wings snapped off instantly, but not from damage. They were designed to detach on impact to prevent the glider from flipping over during crash landings.

The violent jolt nearly knocked Old White out cold.

But being a strength type brute, the strongest in the server at that, he stayed conscious even as the plane skidded to a stop in the street.

He grabbed his rifle from the cockpit, cursed under his breath, and clambered out of the twisted frame, chambering a round as he moved.

Spotting a few dark-skinned laborers nearby, he fired two warning shots into the air and yelled in his practiced Federation language, "If you don’t want to die, get lost!"

The gunfire scared the laborers out of their wits. Dropping their tools, they scattered in panic into the side alleys.

Confirming the direction of the castle, Old White instinctively tapped the side of his helmet, trying to access the squad channel for a casualty update, only to get no response.

That was when he remembered... Gale was the mission leader...

“Ahem... Don’t worry, I just checked. Everyone landed successfully. We’re good.” Crawling out of the cockpit coughing, Gale wiped the dust off his helmet’s visor and took the LD-50 Night Ten handed him.

Old White looked at him, half exasperated, half amused. “You... Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m great!” Giving a thumbs-up, Gale reached in and dragged Night Ten out by the arm.

Clutching the still-hot 12mm heavy machine gun, Night Ten was covered in dust from the crash but showed no fear, just a satisfied, exhilarated grin. “Damn... This is way more fun than parachuting!”

“...”

“Don’t worry.” Sensing Old White’s concern, Gale gave him a reassuring look. “We’re not just messing around here.”

Meeting that steady gaze, Old White blinked. He suddenly realized he might have been a little too cautious, or rather, overprotective.

Unlike high-skill players like Ample Time who maxed out their in-game talents, Gale and Night Ten weren’t unbeatable pros. Though they had excellent game sense, it wasn’t at that awe-inspiring level.

That was exactly why Old White often slipped into the role of their big brother, feeling like he had to look after them, and forgot that they, too, had grown.

In truth, his worry had been unnecessary.

His buddies might have been ordinary people in real life, lacking formal military training, but after so many battles and brushes with death, their combat experience had long surpassed what he had when he first entered the game.

In terms of war intensity and brutality, the cruel wasteland was no less savage than any dark era in real history.

It was a world ravaged by great wars, an apocalypse more savage than any era of chaos.

Having survived countless trials in the wasteland, they were no weaker than anyone, nor did they need anyone to protect them.

Every player in the Burning Corps was a capable warrior in their own right!

Maybe I really should trust my teammates more..

"Yeah... I can see that." Old White finally relaxed and smiled, the tension in his brow easing. “Alright then, I'll leave it to you.”

He had to admit that the glider had seriously spiked his blood pressure. However, it was clear they weren’t playing around.

Giving him a grateful glance, Gale looked seriously at Night Ten. "Give the machine gun to Old White. You find a good vantage point nearby and cover us. Our target is Entrance C. Keep an eye out and make sure the guards don’t plant explosives at the gate."

Strapping on the sniper rifle they had looted from the Academy, Night Ten shot him a thumbs up with his signature cheeky grin on his face. “Roger that!”

Compared to parachutes that dropped players randomly, gliders had one major advantage. They didn’t have to go hunting all over the city for their teammates.

The 500 Burning Corps players who landed within the city quickly regrouped. Organized in squads of three, then grouped into teams of nine and platoons of 27, they advanced toward the castle in coordinated formation.

The streets were eerily quiet, only the occasional gunshot or explosion broke the silence. Most of the city’s defense forces and militia had been deployed to the Levee 10 kilometers away. Especially in their zone, marked as a bombing area in the New Alliance’s announcement, only a few brave guards remained to patrol, rarely even encountering another living soul.

Some patrols did notice the crash-landed gliders. Even without orders, they dutifully moved to investigate.

Well... Nothing usually happened next.

Against the guards wielding Ripper bolt-action rifles, the players didn’t even need to fire most of the time.

The guards’ equipment was even worse than expected. Aside from the squad leaders who had 10mm Centurion pistols, most of them were armed with long, thin sabers or the outdated Ripper bolt-action rifles.

These spear-like rifles worked fine in trenches, and their 7mm full-power rounds packed a punch.

But in tight urban combat, they were a nightmare for friendly fire. Even if they knew the terrain, they couldn’t match the firepower of LD-47 assault rifles and LD-50 submachine guns.

Facing fully automatic weapons and exoskeleton-clad units, the patrols were massacred in seconds. Within 30 seconds, they were routed and fled in panic.

At the same time, in a tower that had barely survived the bombing, Midal stood in shock, staring at the smoke-choked ruins of the city, still unable to process what had just happened.

A few minutes ago, black shadows had destroyed his anti-aircraft positions.

Just when he feared the planes would circle back for another strafing run, something unexpected happened.

Instead of pulling up, those hundreds of aircraft dived like dumplings into the city before the castle.

Standing beside him, the defense commander Beaufort muttered in disbelief, "What are they doing?"

An adjutant stammered, "... Is that an accident?"

"Hundreds of planes all crashing at once?! How is that even possible?"

Snapping out of his daze, Midal’s face didn’t relax despite the apparent end of the airstrike. His gut told him, it was just the beginning.

He immediately turned to the adjutant and barked, “Who’s in charge of the district in front of the castle?!”

The adjutant quickly replied, “Reporting, it’s Centurion Adam!”

Midal remembered the name.

He had personally promoted that man from the militia to the Royal Guard, a capable leader and a powerful awakened fighter.

Without hesitation, Midal gave the order, “Give him another company! Have him search the city immediately and capture one of those pilots alive! He cannot fail!”

The adjutant snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

With Midal’s order, Adam led his unit and an additional hundred reinforcements into the city, determined to take the New Alliance’s pilots alive.

However... No one expected what came next.

The moment the 200-strong force entered the city, a cacophony of gunfire burst from every direction like a string of firecrackers.

Flashes of muzzle fire lit up the night like stars in the sky.

Barely a step into the streets, Adam’s unit was met with an overwhelming barrage of automatic weapons. Caught off guard, they suffered heavy losses in seconds.

Falcon pilots usually carried only pistols. Cockpits barely had room for extra ammo or weapons.

Let alone facing automatic fire, no one had even imagined that instead of hiding, those pilots had organized a counterattack.

Midal stared from the tower at the flickering flashes throughout the city, momentarily speechless.

That amount of firepower... It was easily equivalent to two full battalions!

Had the New Alliance pilots brought assault rifles?! Did they shove bodyguards into their cockpits?!

As Midal reeled, Adam, still leading what remained of his troops, screamed into his radio. “They are too strong! We need backup!”

His headset buzzed with static.

The enemy was likely using some kind of jamming device, stopping him from speaking to the rest. Bullets whizzed across the streets as he failed to contact his superiors.

It was like the other side had no concern for ammunition at all.

All his strength was useless here. Adam could only pray that his superiors could hear the gunfire and send reinforcements.

Too bad the enemy didn’t plan to have a stand-off.

Gunfire erupted from all sides, completely surrounding the street.

Adam’s heart sank to rock bottom.

He couldn’t confirm the status of his two lieutenants, but from the direction of the shots, he could tell the flanks had already collapsed.

The enemy had wiped out at least four of his 10-man squads and encircled both companies in less than 30 seconds.

That wasn’t something a few dozen pilots could pull off!

At a minimum, the enemy had 1,000 soldiers!

Staring at the blood and bullet holes, at the shattered limbs strewn across the street, the once-fierce Adam now wore only terror on his face.

Hearing the gunfire closing in, he clutched the radio, still full of static, and screamed in despair, “Fuck! These guys... They’re not pilots at all!”

“WE’RE SURROUNDED!”