35: Chapter 35 The Arrogance of the Royal Armor

North of Gaoyang, the hills undulated.

A cold wind swept close to the ground, whipping newly fallen snowflakes into the withered grass.

There were no trees here; the previous artillery barrage had cleared the vegetation completely, leaving only scorched shell craters and exposed frozen earth.

At the edge of the sight line, a dense silhouette of steel appeared.

Those were not Infantrymen; they were true steel behemoths.

They were arrayed in neat combat formations, their tracks crushing the icy mud, emitting a grating metallic screech.

Black smoke spewing from the exhaust pipes drew gray curtains across the mid-air.

Centurion Mk.3 heavy tanks, plus Cromwell cruiser tanks.

This was the elite armored battalion of the British Royal 29th Brigade, hailed as the 'Royal Avengers'.

Jack was prone behind a reverse slope, the stock of his M1 Carbine ice-cold in his hand.

He kept his body pressed low, revealing only his eyes to stare ahead.

Two hundred meters away, that massive gun barrel was slowly rotating, pointing toward this seemingly deserted position.

"This thing is too tough."

Brother Bao beside him was fiddling with a captured pair of binoculars. The lenses revealed the details of those steel monsters.

"The frontal armor exceeds 76 millimeters, and the sloping angle increases the chance of ricochet. What we have in our hands isn't even enough to tickle it."

"Is this what they call their 'Ace'?"

Jack spat out a mouthful of saliva tinged with the taste of blood.

Through Brother Bao's binoculars, one could see that the hatch on the first Centurion tank was open.

A British tank commander, wearing a black beret and a woolen scarf, had half his body sticking out.

He wasn't holding a gun, but rather something resembling a thermos, leisurely bringing it to his lips.

That posture looked less like a battlefield strewn with corpses and more like a stroll in London's Hyde Park.

"These British guys still think this is just an armed parade."

Brother Bao lowered the binoculars, his voice dry.

"They completely look down on the rifles and grenades we have."

"Then let's teach them a lesson."

Jack pulled back the bolt of his rifle.

"Don't be rash." Brother Bao pressed down on his hand.

"We don't have anti-tank guns, and we only have two Bazookas, and the ammunition isn't even compatible.

Charging head-on is just suicide. This is open ground; a tank shell sweeps a large area."

Before he finished speaking, the leading Centurion tank suddenly stopped.

The turret turned, and the thick, long 20-pounder gun barrel aimed at a foxhole on the flank.

A new player who had recently entered the game was hiding there.

Perhaps he was trying to see if he could snipe the vision port, and he had poked his head out for just a moment too long.

Boom!

A huge orange-red fireball exploded on the flank.

There was no scream; earth and snow were blasted fifteen meters high.

When the smoke and dust cleared, that foxhole had become a large, blackened pit.

The player who had been lying there left no data fragments; he was directly judged dead by the system and kicked out of the instance.

That British tank commander didn't even retract into the turret.

He merely put down his cup, picked up the radio handset, said something, and then the tank continued forward, its tracks grinding over the large pit, completely erasing the remaining trace.

Arrogance.

It was an absolute condescension etched into the bones, the industrial nation looking down upon the agricultural nation.

In their eyes, these Easterners wearing ragged padded coats and wielding weapons from a patchwork of nations were nothing more than ants relying solely on human wave tactics.

"Can we tolerate this?"

Someone roared in the team channel's voice chat.

The instance designed by Su Yun did not suppress player emotions.

On the contrary, the sense of powerlessness from being openly humiliated by a torrent of steel was genuinely transmitted to everyone.

"Tolerate it, even if we can't stand it."

Brother Bao's face was ashen. He quickly drew a simple diagram on the ground.

"Listen, the front armor can't be pierced, and the sides aren't easy either. The only way is to get close, blow the tracks, or..."

He pointed to the undefended engine cooling vents at the rear of the tank, then to the high-mounted turret roof.

"Climb on top and stuff grenades into their trousers."

Dai Dai huddled behind Jack, clutching her medical kit. Her face was pale.

As a Medic, she knew the consequences of being hit by those large-caliber high-explosive shells. That wasn't injury; that was instant vaporization.

"Can... can we win?" Her voice trembled.

Jack looked back at her.

He remembered the figures that turned into ice bridges in the Imjin River in the last chapter, and the leg that had been severed and then reattached.

"I used to think we couldn't win either," Jack turned his gaze back to the advancing line of tanks.

"Back then, I believed in firepower supremacy, that caliber equals justice. But now..."

He unfastened two anti-tank grenades from his waist and tightly bound them together with a strip of cloth.

Jack checked the fuses.

"Seventy years ago in history, our predecessors shattered these iron turtles on this very plain with flesh and steel bones!

Seventy years later, we cannot disgrace our old ancestors!"

In the distance, the charge signal had not yet sounded.

But on this position, hundreds of players had already stopped breathing.

They didn't need mobilization; the anger born of being looked down upon was burning in their veins, heating up limbs frozen stiff by the cold wind.

"Assault team, step forward."

This wasn't even an order issued by an NPC; it was a spontaneous organization by the players themselves.

No one retreated.

Dozens of figures crawled out of the trenches. They shed their cumbersome padded greatcoats, wearing only thin undershirts.

Each person carried a bundle of cluster grenades or satchel charges.

These items were heavy, and crawling forward in the snow while carrying them was not only slow but also conspicuous.

"Covering team!" Brother Bao shouted.

"All machine guns, all rifles, fire at the face of that commander! Don't worry about piercing it, just force their hatches shut!"

"Understood!"

Jack was also among the suicide squad.

He hung the bound grenades around his neck, the cold cast iron pressing against the skin of his chest.

"Dai Dai, watch the rear.", Jack didn't look back.

"If you see someone get run over, don't try to save them. You can't."

Dai Dai bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, but this time she didn't cry out loud; she just nodded heavily.

"We will definitely capture Seoul."

This was the dying wish of the young soldier who died in the previous chapter, and it had now become the obsession of the entire team.

"Don't worry."

Jack took a deep breath, and the air mixed with the smell of engine oil and the stench of frozen earth filled his lungs.

"Move out!"

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—

All light and heavy weapons on the position opened fire simultaneously.

Although the shots only sparked against the frontal armor of the tanks, the dense rain of bullets successfully forced the arrogant British commander to retreat into his turtle shell.

With a 'clank,' the hatch closed.

The steel monster had become blind.

"Go!"

Dozens of grayish-white figures darted out close to the ground.

They used shell craters and blind spots to wriggle toward the wall of steel.

This was not a symmetrical war at all.

It was a group of ants trying to trip up an elephant.