Counterfeit Hero

Chapter 1157: Chapter 8-7: Broken Mecha (Part 2)

The Chuckna Warriors found it a bit unbelievable—are these rookies, who don’t even know how to hold a gun, treating this battlefield as their vacation spot?! Do they not realize that everyone’s life in this position might only last until the next charge of the Jiepeng people? Perhaps in a few minutes, a shell will fall on their heads.

The Chuckna Warriors felt a bit disdainful. Their exhausted bodies also dissuaded them from the notion of exchanging pleasantries and getting to know each other.

This matter is better left to the officers. No matter where these rookies are from, the most important thing is to not let them cause trouble and hinder operations on the battlefield. Otherwise, it would be disgraceful for everyone to die. In the brief silence, the warriors saw their platoon leader Nash speaking excitedly with Sunx Ping, while the Deputy Platoon Leader of the second platoon, Sergeant Jonathan, headed towards the Fatty clad in Major General’s uniform with a grim expression.

Fatty stood up from the muddy trench, ready to find himself a handy weapon.

Milan’s random-made Mauser pistol, although powerful, had too small an energy capacity. It could be used for self-defense against a small number of enemies, but in such a battle, it was useless. The way those few Jiepeng Soldiers had pounced on him like madmen still made Fatty shudder at the thought.

Damn it, are they all attacking me because they’re jealous of my beautiful flesh?!

Fatty spat angrily into the mud, shivering all over as he looked around like a moose caught in the cold rain.

He’s fought countless battles, in Miloke, in Gazalin, in Mars, facing countless dangers, even forced to jump off cliffs. Yet, old habits die hard. No matter how much he has been tempered, the shaky reflex he has when encountering danger remains deeply ingrained.

This is not a habit that can be changed. Nor is it a fault that can be cured merely by making up one’s mind and undergoing more experiences.

This is his physiological trait. It stems from his bones and genes.

When faced with danger, both the psychological fear and the physiological outflow of adrenaline cause his body to tremble uncontrollably. Once he’s plunged into the reckless abandon of excessive danger, the rate of his trembling is comparable to that of a vibrating egg.

At those times, Fatty would think, if he were to tremble like that during some XOXO action, the performance would rival that of a concrete vibrator! Shaking one unconscious within seconds, with climaxes throughout the night, how mighty and imposing would that be?! He was plotting to find an opportunity to give himself a good scare during the deed!

A few Chuckna standard rifles were tossed aside by Fatty. He wanted to find a gun with a longer range and higher accuracy. Preferably something like the sniper rifle in Feng Laos’ hands. In positional warfare, a skilled sniper can create enough psychological stress and panic to rival ten energy machine guns or portable energy cannons.

He knows his own limits well. The non-combat members of the bandit army, who spend their days flying in space, cannot be relied upon. The truly useful defenders of the position, including himself, could barely be counted on one hand.

Five or six men are a mere drop in the bucket for such a position. If he doesn’t pull out his skills and get a bit ruthless, even enduring the next attack might be out of reach.

However, judging by his level of understanding of weapons, none of the firearms in sight met his requirements.

Fatty walked while rummaging through the piles.

It was around noon, the sun overhead a fiery red sphere, baking the already deforested position at the hilltop. The outside and inside of the winding trenches were a charred black. Large and small craters were interconnected. Scorched remnants of mecha, countless broken parts, and twisted firearms and weapons lay scattered around.

The whole position had obviously been shaved off by artillery fire. The metal bulletproof walls meant for underground use were exposed by at least ten centimeters. Several communication trenches had collapsed. Many of the explosion-proof pits dug beneath the position had also caved in.

The corpses and flesh piled like mountains in front of the position. Severed limbs were scattered everywhere. Blood flowed down into the trenches, mixing with the scorched smell to create a pungent odor. The ground at the bottom of the trench was perpetually damp. The muddy earth mixed with broken leaves would squish with a sound as it was stepped on, and lifting a foot would draw up a puddle of water.

After rummaging a bit and failing to find a suitable gun, Fatty lifted his head, deciding to find Sunx Ping first and have him quickly locate the highest commander of this position to discuss with everyone.

Honestly, he had no idea how to hold this position without any mechas. Still, for two unfamiliar groups to work together, some level of consensus was necessary.

Cautiously climbing to the edge of the trench, he peeked out toward the mountain’s base. There, on the Jiepeng side, he could vaguely spot a Jiepeng ”Fushan” class Eighth Generation standard mecha.

Fatty’s expression was stormy.

The enemy attacking this position should be a battalion. The mechas dropped before the position numbered about twenty. This meant that the enemy still had at least four or five mechas.

Once these mechas joined the assault, even a single one would pose a serious threat to this position. Strolling along the front line, not only did Fatty fail to see any mechas, but even portable missiles and energy cannons had been discarded due to lack of ammunition. Although the enemy couldn’t see this, they could infer it from the intensity of the previous barrage.