47: Chapter 48 You think war is like a dinner party?

The searchlight beams, like the scythe of the Grim Reaper, cut back and forth across the dark, snowy plains.

The news brought by the Communication Runner was like a giant rock, shattering the last shred of hope in the foxholes.

The encirclement had closed, and the rumble of American tank engines no longer came from a single direction,

but from all sides, the booming sound making the scattered snow on the ground tremble.

"Retreat?" Brother Bao leaned against the trench wall, the half-eaten frozen potato in his hand still emitting cold air.

His always smiling face now only held an ugly pallor.

"Where do we retreat to? The back is blocked. This game is trying to kill us."

The bullet comments on the public screen, which had been complaining about

Everyone could see that this was not an exercise, nor was it a level that could be reloaded and replayed.

The Company Commander stood in the center of the crowd, his worn cotton hat covered in ice shards.

He didn't look at the approaching tanks, but turned around to face the only retreat route behind them—the mountain pass through which the main force was moving.

If this position couldn't be held, that mountain pass would become a graveyard for tens of thousands of people.

A blood-red dialog box suddenly popped up on the system interface, hovering before every player's eyes:

[Battle Situation Change: Main force is about to relocate.]

[Urgent Mission: Desperate Stand.]

[Option A: Retreat with the main force. Retain current level, equipment, military rank, no death penalty.]

[Option B: Hold the position to cover the retreat. Mission Objective: Hold off the US Armored Battalion for 4 hours. Failure Penalty: All personnel killed, account reset, equipment cleared.]

Jack stared at Option B, his throat feeling dry.

This was more than just a game choice.

In this extremely hardcore system,

"account reset" meant that all the attributes they had painstakingly leveled day and night for the past few days,

the good gun they had finally acquired, and even the special privilege skills only veterans possessed, would all vanish into thin air.

"Do we even need to choose?" someone muttered softly.

"Definitely choose A. Isn't this a sure-death system scenario? There's no point in fighting, and we'd lose our accounts. Who can stand that?"

Indeed, according to normal game logic, no one would choose B.

A no-win situation, no rewards, pure masochism.

A few players even started packing their equipment, preparing to move towards the mountain pass.

"Stop!"

With a fierce roar, the Company Commander suddenly drew the Mauser pistol from his waist—the only object on him that still had a shine.

"What do you think war is? Is it a dinner party? Is it writing an essay? Or is it just for you to come here and fill your stomachs?"

"Do you think that with just a burst of passion, rushing forward recklessly, the enemy will commit suicide, will surrender to us?"

The Company Commander's gaze swept over everyone's faces like a knife, especially those players who were preparing to retreat.

He strode up to a player who was about to slip away and grabbed him by the collar:

"You want to leave? Fine! I won't stop you! But look who that is!"

The Company Commander pointed at the dark, winding mountain road behind them.

There, countless wounded soldiers were supporting each other, struggling forward.

That was the main force,

the wounded,

the Cultural Troupe,

the Korean villagers bringing food,

the field hospital that hadn't had time to evacuate yet!

"That's your father! Your mother! Your brothers and sisters! Your future children!"

The Company Commander roared hoarsely, the veins on his neck writhing like earthworms.

"What? You're discouraged because we lost a battle? You're upset because you didn't get to eat meat? Did all those comrades sacrifice themselves for nothing?"

He let go, and the player slumped onto the snow, his face full of shame.

"When we won battles, you were all cheering, thinking you were heroes! How come now that we've hit a tough spot, you've all become cowards?"

The Company Commander looked around, his voice suddenly lowered, carrying a chilling gravity.

"I'm telling you, even if all of us die this time, even if we all fail! Even if only a single rock remains on this position in the end!

We still have to hold it for our comrades in the rear!"

"If we don't win this war, our descendants will have to fight it! If we don't endure this hardship, our sons and grandsons will have to!"

The Company Commander tucked the Mauser pistol into his waist, grabbed a satchel charge from nearby, and strapped it to his chest.

"Platoon Leader! Take your men and block that intersection! As long as there's still a breath left in you, don't let the Americans' wheels roll through!"

No one spoke.

Only the sound of the wind, and the increasingly close rumble of tank tracks in the distance.

Jack looked at the Company Commander's not-so-tall back and suddenly felt a warmth in his eyes.

He had played so many AAA games, been so many superheroes saving the world,

yet never before had he felt that an NPC with only a few lines of code was so... godlike!

He raised his hand, without hesitation, and firmly pressed the red [Option B].

[Player Jack has confirmed: Hold position.]

Immediately after, the public screen began to scroll madly.

[Player Brother Bao has confirmed: Hold position.]

[Player A Bowl of Braised Pork has confirmed: Hold position.]

[Player I Am Your Father has confirmed: Hold position.]

The player who had just wanted to run, got up from the ground,

and spat, red-faced: "Damn it, I'm not being a coward! At worst, I'll delete my account and start over!"

He also fiercely pressed B.

In less than a minute, not a single one of the thousands of players on the entire position chose to retreat.

"Good! All of you are real men!"

The Company Commander grinned, his row of teeth, chipped by frozen potatoes, looked particularly grim in the moonlight.

"Prepare for battle!"

The battle erupted without warning.

The moment the first flare ascended, American Sherman tanks crashed through the pine forest ahead like steel beasts.

Without a word, their thick cannon barrels aimed directly at the makeshift trenches.

"Boom!"

Dirt splattered.

The first row of trenches was instantly overturned, and seven or eight players turned into white lights without even letting out a scream.

"Fire!"

Jack lay in the already frozen foxhole, his type 38 rifle aimed at the Infantryman behind the tank.

Gunshots rang out sporadically, but against the dense machine-gun fire of the American forces, it was like throwing pebbles into the ocean.

The bullets ran out.

No one knew who started it, but the players began picking up nearby rocks and throwing them down.

Some even smeared unknown red paint on the rocks, pretending they were grenades, trying to scare the enemy away.

But it was useless. This was a true war machine, not something that could be deterred by fear.

"Is the booby trap ready?!" Jack roared, his left arm already wounded, his health bar rapidly dropping.

"Ready!" Brother Bao lay in a shell crater not far from him, clutching a thin fuse.

His glasses were long shattered, his face covered in black ash.

The so-called booby trap was actually Brother Bao disassembling all the grenades on him,

and burying them on an unavoidable path. There were no detonators; those were modern gadgets.

The igniter was himself.

Two tanks rumbled over, right onto that spot.

"Hey, grandsons, Grandpa's taking you for a dirt flight!"

Brother Bao watched the huge tracks approach, and instead of hiding, he stood up from the pit and gave the tank the middle finger.

Then, he fiercely pulled the fuse in his hand.

There was no earth-shattering explosion as imagined, only a dull flash of fire erupting from beneath the tank's tracks.

The Sherman tank's track broke, leaving it stranded.

Brother Bao's figure was instantly swallowed by the flames; he didn't even have time to flash white before his screen went black and he disconnected.

System prompt: [Player Brother Bao killed in action. Account resetting.]

"Dai Dai!" Dai Dai shrieked.

She had been hiding in the deepest part of the trench; as a Medic, her first-aid kit had long been used up.

Not even a single roll of bandage was left.

Jack felt his consciousness blurring. Excessive blood loss coupled with extreme hunger turned his vision into a blood-red mosaic.

"Stop screaming," Jack gasped, leaning against the cold dirt wall.

"Give me... give me something to eat. Even that rotten potato will do."

Dai Dai crawled over, her hands trembling as she fumbled around on him, finally pulling out the half-eaten bag of flour from her bosom.

It was the last bit of rations she had been reluctant to eat.

"No potatoes..." Dai Dai said, her voice choked with tears, as she poured the half-bag of flour into Jack's mouth.

The dry, salty flour made Jack cough, but he still swallowed desperately.

"This is all there is... eat your fill, then go on your way."

Jack looked at Dai Dai's dirty little face and suddenly smiled.

"Thanks," he swallowed the sand-like flour, feeling something finally settling in his stomach.

"Next life... let's not play such a difficult game."

"Mhm." Dai Dai nodded vigorously, tears washing two streaks through the black ash on her face.

By this time, the position had been breached.

Countless American Infantrymen charged up, submachine guns in hand, their dark muzzles inches away.

The Company Commander fell at the entrance of the command post, still tightly clutching the un-detonated satchel charge.

The remaining dozens of players were forced back to the last line of defense.

No more bullets. No more grenades. Not even rocks were left to throw.

The Americans seemed to notice their predicament; the tanks stopped, and the Infantrymen slowly encircled them, seemingly wanting to take them alive.

Jack leaned against the trench wall, swaying as he stood up.

He glanced at Dai Dai beside him, then at the other equally shaky players around him.

Everyone's eyes held a strange look. No fear, only a sense of relief, and an almost insane calm.

"Remember that joke about the revive coin?" Jack suddenly asked.

The few players around him paused, then gave bitter smiles.

Yes, the streamer who wanted to buy a revive coin was standing right here now.

"Tell Su Yun that bastard."

Jack pulled out the last two 'Glorious Bombs' from his waist, which he had been reluctant to use—they were "special equipment" given to every new recruit by the system.

The instructions read: [For use only at the last moment.]

He pulled the fuse, and the hissing white smoke was particularly dazzling in the cold wind.

"This game... is really f***ing intense."

All the players, at this moment, seemed to be of one mind.

No command, no countdown.

Dozens of figures simultaneously pulled the fuses of their Glorious Bombs, or raised their already bundled cluster grenades.

Facing the approaching tanks, facing the American GIs with their carbines, they no longer hid, no longer sought cover.

Instead, like a swarm of moths drawn to a flame, they launched their final charge.

"For victory!!"

The roar shattered the darkness before dawn.

Immediately after, there was a series of dense, deafening explosions.

Flames shot skyward, illuminating the entire mountaintop as if it were daytime.

Those young bodies, those players who had once cursed and despised each other online,

now merged into one in the inferno, transforming into the hardest bedrock on this land.

[All personnel killed in action.]

[Battle of Dipingli failed.]

Jack's vision turned into complete darkness.

But in the deepest part of that darkness, these four blood-red characters slowly emerged.

This was the first true defeat since the server opened.

No clear animation, no reward settlement.

Only the silence in the direction of the mountain pass, after the main force had safely transferred.

The wind and snow continued to blow, as if to bury everything.

But the burning embers on the mountaintop, even in this extreme cold of minus forty degrees, did not extinguish for a long, long time.