"What is that thing? When did the rebels get their hands on such a weapon?"
Covered in soot, Jamie Foss sat inside the bunker, his face filled with disbelief.
The sight of the ancient warship outside had been too much of a shock for him to process.
But he was a seasoned general, a battle-hardened veteran who had faced countless crises.
After taking a mont to calm himself, his rationality returned, and his commanding tone followed.
"Collins! Where is your air defense unit? Order them to shoot that thing down imdiately! I refuse to believe a wooden contraption can be that tough!"
As soon as Jamie Foss barked his orders, Collins, who was cowering in the bunker with him, looked up in panic.
"You want to go?"
"Yes! You're the commanding officer here! If you don't go, who else can lead them?"
"But... but..."
Collins lifted his head to glance at the trembling ceiling, dust falling from the cracks with every nearby explosion. His face turned pale as he listened to the relentless bombardnt outside.
Going out now to issue orders would be no different from walking to his death. If the enemy spotted him, he'd be obliterated before he could even speak.
Seeing Collins frozen with fear, Jamie Foss gritted his teeth and stood up abruptly.
"Useless! Hand your insignia! I'll go command them myself!"
"My... my insignia? It... it fell off when we were running earlier!"
"It fell off? You lost your command insignia?! You—!"
Hearing that the command emblem was gone, Jamie Foss's face turned a shade darker.
He raised his hand, intending to berate Collins further, but upon seeing the trembling and terrified man before him, he sighed heavily.
Not because he pitied him, but because berating him now wouldn't accomplish anything.
Scanning the bunker with a grim expression, Jamie Foss's eyes fell on another officer.
"You! You're a colonel, right? Besides Collins, you're the highest-ranking officer here! That ans the troops will recognize you. Get up and co with to lead the air defense unit!"
"W-What?!"
As Jamie Foss spoke, he didn't wait for the colonel's agreent. He motioned to his personal guards, who imdiately stepped forward, grabbed the protesting man, and prepared to drag him out.
The colonel, now pale as a sheet, began to struggle desperately.
"I'm not going! I'm not going! I'll die out there! Do you see their firepower?! Going out there is suicide! The air defense unit might already be wiped out! I'm not going!"
"Whether you go or not isn't up to you! Say another word, and I'll shoot you myself! Now move!"
With a wave of his hand, Jamie Foss barked the order, giving Collins a hard glare before leading his n—and the trembling colonel—toward the bunker door.
He knew staying in the bunker was a death sentence. Once the forces outside were obliterated, the enemy would find them sooner or later.
The only chance they had was to fight back and try to defeat or at least repel the invaders.
Jamie Foss had no idea if the air defense unit was still operational or if Collins's poorly trained soldiers could even handle the strange chanical army.
But no matter the odds, he had to try. Waiting to die was simply not the way of the Foss family.
However, just as Jamie Foss and his personal guards were about to force their way out of the bunker, a deafening tallic clang echoed through the room.
The tightly sealed steel door shuddered violently as a massive tal blade pierced straight through it.
Everyone froze in terror.
The sight of the blade sent the officers scrambling for cover. anwhile, the well-trained personal guards imdiately took defensive positions, their weapons aid at the compromised doorway.
Even Jamie Foss, a veteran of countless battles, dove behind cover and grabbed a machine gun from one of his n. His expression hardened as he aid at the entrance.
The screeching sound of the blade intensified as it twisted and sawed through the thick steel door.
Then, with a final tallic shriek, the door was torn apart, revealing a massive samurai-style ch.
The machine was a monstrous hybrid of wood and tal, standing over four ters tall. Its glowing red eyes burned nacingly within a skeletal, oni-like helt.
In its right hand, it wielded a massive katana, while its left hand carried a shield inscribed with glowing runes.
The sheer presence of the ch froze everyone in place, the oppressive aura it exuded suffocating the room.
"Open fire!" Jamie Foss roared, breaking the silence.
A storm of gunfire erupted from within the bunker.
Da-da-da-da-da-da!
The roar of machine guns and submachine guns filled the bunker as the defenders unleashed a hailstorm of bullets. The first ch, which had just torn through the steel door, was quickly shredded into pieces, collapsing into a heap of tal.
But before they could celebrate, more chs stepped over the wreckage of their fallen comrade. Wielding massive steel shields in one hand and strange weaponry in the other, they marched forward, firing energy blasts with every step.
On one side was the magical, ancient-styled ch army, and on the other was the modern technological firepower of Jamie Foss's personal guards.
Inside the narrow confines of the bunker, an intense firefight erupted.
Though the guards lacked heavy weaponry, their high-quality firearms packed enough firepower to tear through the advancing chs. One after another, the chanical samurai were blown apart, their steel plating no match for the relentless barrage.
However, there was a glaring problem—ammunition.
The personal guards had fled to the bunker in a hurry and hadn't brought enough supplies with them. Despite their best efforts to conserve ammo by alternating fire, the sheer number of advancing chs was overwhelming.
As the waves of enemies continued to pour in, the soldiers' bullets began to run dry.
Jamie Foss's machine gun clicked empty. With a grim expression, he tossed it aside, gritting his teeth as he looked at the seemingly endless tide of chs.
He reached down to his belt, pulling out a hatchet hanging at his side. Then, grabbing two grenades from the waist of a nearby guard, he hooked them onto his own belt.
With a loud battle cry, he bellowed:
"n! Prepare for close combat!"
The exhausted guards, now out of ammunition, drew their combat knives and bayonets, their faces hardened with determination.
Pressing their bodies against the makeshift barricades, their muscles tensed as they prepared for one final charge against the oncoming enemy.
The chs were getting closer and closer, their glowing eyes reflecting off the sweat-soaked faces of the guards.
It was a desperate mont, and every soldier was ready to fight to the bitter end.
But just as the chs were about to breach the final line of defense, an ear-piercing rattle of gunfire echoed from the entrance.
Da-da-da-da-da-da!
A hail of bullets tore through the bunker. The incoming chs were riddled with holes, their once-imposing figures now collapsing in heaps of broken machinery.
From the entrance, a group of helted soldiers stord in, their submachine guns spitting fire as they charged forward, shouting battle cries.
The chanical samurai, which had previously been able to withstand direct gunfire from standard weapons, fell apart like fragile tin cans under the relentless assault of these new soldiers.
As the tide turned, the thunderous roar of engines echoed from outside the bunker.
And then—boom!—a column of tanks appeared at the entrance.
The sunlight streaming in from behind silhouetted the tanks and the advancing soldiers, making them appear almost divine.
Atop the lead tank, a soldier leaned casually against the barrel, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his helt worn at a rakish angle.
"Yo, old man! Still alive down here? Tell —doesn't this feel like divine intervention?"
It was Qin Ming, grinning as he led his Hunter Corps into the fray.
(End of Chapter)
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