Counterfeit Hero

Chapter 1181: Chapter 8-14: Breakout (Part 1)_3

Because he had personally learned and played before, he knew just how difficult it was to peek and shoot like Fatty, constantly moving, hitting static or dynamic targets with every shot being lethal!

Some warriors counted that Fatty fired a total of thirty-two shots, killing thirty-two enemies. Those who have never been on the battlefield find it hard to understand what a terrifying statistic this is. It’s no myth to be a hundred percent accurate. A qualified sniper might miss only a few times in a lifetime. However, Fatty’s kind of sniping was not done in the manner of a sniper.

He didn’t have long periods of hiding, didn’t spend time observing, nor did he sneak and relocate over long distances. He was like a groundhog, darting back and forth on the hundred-meter-long position. Every time he poked out his head, it meant a death. This efficiency in killing was unmatched even by ten snipers or machine gunners.

Efficiency is what is truly terrifying.

With such a monster like a life-reaping machine on the battlefield, it’s imaginable the psychological pressure on the charging Jiepeng Soldiers was immense. Their ultimate collapse into retreat wasn’t just because their Mecha were destroyed. The more significant factor was indeed the corpses of officers who were shot down right beside them.

When their Mecha fell, the accumulated fear burst like a breached dam. Once the first person turned to run, the rest naturally followed.

Nash was straightforward, with keen insight, and he understood the value of recognizing the right opportunity.

What kind of officer leads what kind of soldiers. Nash understood this principle from the day he enlisted. He could see that in Fatty’s Mixed Soldiers, few were mere amateurs.

Who would excitedly play rock-paper-scissors for a Mecha when the enemy’s shells were raining down like a storm?

From the young Mech Knight’s demonstrated Mechanical Control skills, Nash could conclude that the seven or eight people playing rock-paper-scissors couldn’t be found anywhere else in the whole of Chuckna!

They appeared lazy on the surface, carefree. Yet, deep down, they had been forged into confidence through relentless battle. Even if they were rookies with guns, they were survivors of a hundred battles!

Nash wasn’t a fool.

Since luck from the heavens had struck like gold at the most dangerous moment, he would follow it. Only proud, inexperienced fools, who had never been on the battlefield nor faced life and death, would let self-esteem get in the way of good fortune.

Fatty welded on some external armor plates to cover up the hole Cosmo had created and jumped off the Fushan Mecha.

This Mecha was fundamentally undamaged, and Cosmo was precise with his handiwork, precisely as guided by Fatty, like a surgical strike, nothing less. In less than five minutes, Fatty had restored all of Fushan’s functions. Now, if recharged, it would be as good as new.

Hearing Nash’s question, Fatty wiped his hands with a maintenance cloth and asked back, ”What do you think?”

”General...” Nash flattered, ”Your will is our life. The entire First Company of the 1792nd Battalion follows your commands.”

Fatty squinted at this Lieutenant Company Commander, admiring him internally. No wonder he was a seasoned veteran; even when throwing burdens, he did it with such decisiveness.

”How is the situation below?” Fatty signaled to Hagrove, who came second in rock-paper-scissors, smiled broadly, and delightedly ran over to take over the Mecha.

”There’s nothing happening yet. But I suspect...” Nash glanced at the over-fourty Hagrove and said worriedly, ”That foolish battalion commander plans to make a desperate gamble.”

A desperate gamble?! Fatty, who hated anyone going all out with their life, was both angry and resentful, glaring, ”Afraid of him for what!...How many of them do they have left?!”

”According to our calculations, roughly one hundred and twenty remain,” Nash checked his battlefield recorder computer. ”Altogether, they left at least three hundred in front of our position.”

”One hundred and twenty men, four Mecha,” Fatty breathed a sigh of relief, quickly calculating in his head, ”Let me see the map.”

Nash projected the battlefield map onto the Fushan’s hull.

The Jiepeng’s launch position was about three hundred meters in front of Height 347, behind a small hill. The area was lush with trees, flanked by straight cliffs on both sides. It looked like a grand master’s chair.

Height 347 occupied the backrest; the terrain was treacherous. The hundred-meter-wide position was enough to block all pathways for the Jiepeng. This was why their battalion had only launched two flank incursions in eight to nine hours of frontal attack. The steep terrain on the flanks made the flanking more difficult than the frontal feints. Among the twenty-odd Mecha surrounding the position, ten were destroyed during the flanking attempts.

”You say nothing’s happening?” Fatty looked at the hillsides on the map on either side of the position and frowned suddenly.

”Yes, General,” Nash replied.

”Cosmo! Hagrove!” Fatty tossed the cloth and grabbed his sniper rifle, putting on his helmet urgently, ”Immediately sneak along the trenches to the wings, take out the approaching enemy Mecha, and reinforce the position! Remember, don’t be too heavy-handed. We can still use the Mecha.”

”Yes!” Cosmo and Hagrove each quickly got into their Mecha and started the engines.

”General...” Nash widened his eyes, somewhat confused.