This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 328.1: Bombardment and Psychological Warfare

9:00 at night.

That was precisely when the Fang Clan's patrol teams changed shifts.

"I’ll leave the rest to you." Greyhound said with a yawn, his face marked with exhaustion.

As usual, he slung his rifle over his back, descended the stairs, and boarded a wooden raft to head to the military outpost on the outskirts of the 4th New District for shift change.

Recently, things were not going well for them.

The New Alliance's paratroopers seemed to have made contact with the local guerrillas, and the sound of gunfire in the eastern region was becoming more frequent.

He could clearly feel that the combat skills and firepower of those guerrillas had become significantly stronger.

Originally, those gophers only dared to snipe them with their iron pipe rifles in the dark, but now that had turned into hiding behind windows and firing at them with automatic rifles; some even with rocket launchers...

It became very hard to defend against!

Those paratroopers were not idle either. In addition to training the guerrillas, they were also planning their own attacks, and the scale was gradually increasing.

Although the Torch's apostles were able to take out those groups from time to time, these people would always quickly emerge from elsewhere.

Greyhound had a strange feeling as if there were more people the more they fought.

Due to a large number of armored forces and heavy firepower being redeployed to the frontlines, the Fang Clan found themselves in a relatively disadvantaged position when facing guerrilla attacks.

They had been forced to abandon many checkpoints and military outposts in the eastern city district, practically losing control of the area.

Even though the patrol team had been increased to over 100 people, they only dared to patrol during the day.

"I hope we don't encounter their paratroopers today..." Greyhound, who had jumped onto the wooden raft, silently prayed in his heart as he sat down next to the other marauders.

It was unusually quiet.

As the raft was about to leave the 4th New District, it began to rain. Seeing the sudden rainfall, many people sighed in relief.

It was known that the New Alliance's planes only appeared on sunny days.

Although rainy days were unpleasant, at least they did not have to worry about what was above them.

"How much longer is this war going to last?"

"It should be ending soon," The man with tattoos on his face placed his rifle on the ground, looking up at the rain as he continued, "Our captain said the attack will begin when heavy rain falls."

"The heavier the rain, the closer their demise."

The New Alliance's planes would be weakened on rainy days.

Usually, they only needed to deploy 1 tank to easily conquer a survivors’ stronghold consisting of 1,000 people. Now that they had so many tanks heading to the frontlines, as well as being under the command of the self-proclaimed God of War, Dillon, victory seemed as easy as breathing.

With that thought, the people, who were previously harassed by guerrillas and paratroopers, felt reassured. Although the process was tough, as long as they could win, everything was worth it.

It was said that the northern suburbs of Clearspring City were a land flowing with milk and honey, with endless treasures and an abundance of delicious food.

Just as Greyhound was fantasizing about the good days ahead, a sudden whoosh came from overhead. Before anyone could react to what had happened, a 6 story building several meters away exploded, forming thick clouds of smoke.

Concrete blocks were blasted apart, landing on the flooded streets, creating splashes and ripples. Amidst cries of shock and curses, people crouched down, seeking cover.

Startled by the explosion, the Crackleclaw Crabs nearby let out a grating, hoarse roar, restlessly darting about in the shallow waters.

Amidst the chaos, the marauders' wooden raft tilted by the roadside.

"What just happened!"

"Artillery?!"

"Damn it, were those artillerymen still half-asleep? How did they manage to fire shells all the way here?" A marauder with a ferocious-looking face cursed loudly.

The marauder beside him shivered as he spoke, "No... Even with their bad aim, I don't think they'd be that inaccurate."

As if confirming his guess, soon, another shell fell. However, it was farther away from them this time, landing about a few hundred meters behind them.

Looking at the pitch-black water surface, Greyhound nervously said, "Let's find a place to hide for now... There are quite a few Crackleclaw Crabs around here."

Everyone agreed with his suggestion.

They tied their worn-out wooden raft by the roadside and quickly rushed to the second floor of a partially-collapsed building nearby to seek cover.

Explosions continued outside as shells fell one after another. Some landed as far as 500 or 600 meters away, while others landed on the street just right beneath their feet.

Listening to the thunderous sounds of artillery, the eyes hidden in the darkness were filled with fear and confusion.

No one knew what was happening.

Their location was at least 20 to 30 kilometers away from Bluestone County, with nearly thirty tanks and five brigades in between.

All they wanted to know was where were those shells coming from?!

...

The people suffering in the artillery fire throughout the city were not only the scattered patrol teams, but also the marauders in the prison cells, gathering to seek pleasure...

Even their bosses and leaders suffered the same fate.

"Where are these shells coming from?!" Inside a reinforced concrete artillery bunker, a furious roar echoed.

Due to the entire 4th New District being submerged in water, most of the artillery bunkers were built in partially-collapsed buildings rather than underground.

Hiding in the dark, damp, and cold artillery bunker, Gold Fang's dark face now displayed both wrath and terror.

Just minutes ago, he was curled up in his warm blanket, playing with the toys he had exchanged using Dinar from a traveling merchant from Bugra Free State.

However, he had just started to get into the mood, and before he could fully engage, an artillery shell landed in the stinking ditch not far from his window.

Soon, a series of artillery blasts followed.

The deafening explosions shocked him so much that he fell out of his bed. He had not even remembered to put on his coat as he dragged his 200 plus kilogram body and ran frantically to the artillery bunker.

The people with him in that artillery bunker were his close associates and loyal followers.

At this moment, everyone's faces expressed the same fear and uncertainty, not knowing what to do.

Reaching out and grabbing one of his trusted subordinates by the collar, Gold Fang shouted loudly in his face, "Go to the south and find out what's happening!"

"Yes, yes!" His subordinate quickly nodded and scrambled out the door.

Watching the figure disappear at the doorway, Gold Fang gradually calmed down and forced himself to think rationally... Although his pair of tiny eyes still continued to dart around as it was filled with fear and suspicion.

Grabbing clothes from his subordinate's hands and getting dressed, he found himself a sturdy chair to sit on, then started pondering on the situation.

Honestly, when the shells first started falling, he never even considered blaming the New Alliance, but thought that the frontline forces had betrayed him.

That was his greatest worry.

The Army's commander had indeed helped him in winning numerous battles, and Gold Fang was also willing to acknowledge that without Dillon's help, he could never have achieved such smooth victories. Yet, he still never dared to delegate authority to those people, fearing that they might break away from his control.

Even if he was slow-witted, he could still sense it.

The bond that bound the former officers of the Army was far stronger than the connections between him and the other Brigade Commanders as well as Company Leaders.

That loyalty was something he had never witnessed on the faces of his own people.

If he let Dillon gain command, once Dillon started replacing the commanders with his former subordinates, substituting him would be a matter of minutes.

Marauders were just a group of bandits adhered to the law of the jungle, where the strong were honored. Not to mention that in the current Fang Clan, two-thirds of people were outsiders who had joined them halfway, showing him no loyalty.

However...

That thought only lingered in Gold Fang's mind for 2 seconds.

He quickly realized that the frontline forces he sent to Pinewood Forest Valley were not equipped with that kind of indirect firepower.

In that case, there were only 2 possibilities.

It was either the New Alliance had developed super artillery capable of effectively striking targets 20 or even 30 kilometers away.

Or, they had relocated their artillery positions to Pinewood Forest Valley, maybe even to the north of Pinewood Forest Valley...

Whichever possibility it was, it was undoubtedly bad news for him.

After spending several hours in a long wait, if it were not for the occasional sounds of explosions, as well as the oppressive feeling weighing on him, Gold Fang would have dozed off while sitting on his chair.

Just then, footsteps were finally heard from outside. One of his trusted aides, whom he had sent to gather intel, hurriedly rushed in.

Seeing the expression on his aide's face and the avoidance of eye contact, Gold Fang's heart suddenly quivered. He had a vague sense of what had happened.

However, he still did not anticipate that the actual situation was much worse than he had imagined...

"Pinewood Forest Valley has fallen under New Alliance’s control?!"

How could this be!!

After hearing the report from his aide, Gold Fang abruptly stood up from his chair. Having the urge to grab the man's collar, he asked again, "What about the 5 brigades stationed there?!"

The aide kowtowed, as he replied with his trembling voice, "All gone..."

The chair creaked as it struggled under his weight.

Gold Fang, who had slumped back into his chair, had a series of indescribably complex expressions, such as fear, suspicion, disbelief... Flashing through his eyes.

27 tanks!

50 anti-aircraft vehicles!

That was almost the entirety of the Fang Clan's assets!