Players Invade Cyberpunk

After executing a horizontal slash and severing the opponent's head, he was also engulfed in a barrage of bullets and gunfire.

Once the infantry vehicles and tanks joined the front lines, the Chaotic Blade Association's advance noticeably sped up, yet the Mongolian Toplaner's artillery position remained silent.

This situation left not only the players at the frontline desperate for fire support but also the Mongolian Toplaner himself in disbelief.

While others are earning points like grabbing fries, those with heavy firepower are left watching from the sidelines—is this reasonable?

"How much longer do we have to wait?"

Besides two 105s situated beside him, three trucks were lined up. The trucks' rear compartments were equipped with rails over three meters long, resembling a pipe organ to some extent, except the latter half of the rails were fitted with one rocket after another.

Indeed, the players' industrial capabilities couldn't swiftly produce artillery with precise specifications.

But that doesn't mean they didn't have other solutions.

Not accurate enough? Craftsmanship lacking? No guidance capabilities?

Then compensate with sheer bombardment coverage.

Each truck can hold 16 rockets, theoretically capable of firing them all within 8 seconds, with one round's coverage and firepower greater than an artillery regiment.

Each rocket carries 25KG of explosives, and purely in terms of explosive power, it's above a 155 howitzer shell.

You ask why it was possible to manufacture in Night City?

Rocket launchers aren't against the rules.

It's just that I made a bit more and increased the explosive charge slightly, hiding it amidst other rocket production lines—who can tell mine is oversized?

The artillery players hadn't used this type of equipment, only glimpsed in movies before; all they had were Jianxue and others' factory release notes to go by.

Now, they could only pray for its reliability.

"..."

Wildman was silent as he watched the abrupt halt of the war-reporting footage from Position Seven.

This morning's offensive

The enemy didn't fire a single shot.

And according to Brother Ni, the enemy expanded their patrol range this morning, and while the enemy artillery's exact movements were untraceable, it was certain they had relocated.

He didn't believe the enemy had run out of ammunition.

Although Wildman knew his request was tough, he still persisted with gritted teeth:

"Wait a little longer... wait another two hours."

————

More than twenty corpses were piled in the trenches, many missing limbs, with barely a complete body to be found; even faces were unrecognizable.

Among them, one particularly eye-catching corpse was adorned with numerous RPG lights, though unfortunately, once the power was depleted, the light went out too.

Not far from these bodies, at the players' Position One, six truck-mounted howitzers were deploying their hydraulic stands, while the retracted barrels, operating under motor control, rose steadily.

Before dawn, Kevin led his artillery unit past the river valley's still-fierce entrance, driving all the way to Position One, where the soil remained hot.

From here, his artillery could cover almost the entire battlefield behind them.

Kevin, one of the few in the Chaotic Blade Association knowing how to command artillery, secured his position firmly regardless of other changes.

Moreover, no matter the target, the artillery unit was always surrounded by defenses—undeniably safe.

He had actually wanted to deploy the six self-propelled guns separately, independently calculating fire control data, attacking the target simultaneously and instantaneously from multiple positions and angles.

But, given the Chaotic Blade Association members' capabilities, achieving that was nearly impossible.

"Tell Walter I'm ready here, send over the bombardment coordinates."

"Yes."

"Coordinates received, entering instructions, three rounds of high-explosive shells."

The turret, raised high, automatically adjusted its firing angle under program control. Once the artilleryman had loaded the shells, he pressed the button.

Amidst a nearly ear-shattering roar, six shells sliced through the air, drawing an arc in the sky before rapidly descending upon Position Eight and detonating.

In a nearly 200-meter-long trench, this assault managed to cover almost half the area.

In thirty seconds, three rounds of eighteen shells successively bombarded the players, flattening parts of the trench altogether.

When the familiar sound once again resonated throughout the battlefield, a fierce glint flashed in Wildman's eyes.

"Where are they?"

"Seems to be coming from 101."

"Impossible, Red Barrel and his men aren't finished yet, who dares to position themselves on the mountain?"

Amidst the night, storming out of the tunnel to retake Hill 101, Red Barrel, locked in fierce combat with the Chaotic Blade Association from all directions in the back hill trenches, could roughly discern the flashes illuminating Position One from his vantage point.

"They're on Position One! Their artillery is positioned on Position One!"

Upon receiving this crucial information, Wildman almost roared with fury to the Mongolian Toplaner, who had endured two days:

"All artillery, target Position One, unleash maximum firepower!"

The Mongolian Toplaner, upon hearing this, could not contain his delight:

Ruined-headed Ruzuo, crouched in a trench, screamed:

"Damnit, did you hear that? Start firing!"

Mongolian Toplaner: "Heard it, heard it, why are you yelling—I'm still reading the instructions!"

The expert had surveyed and mapped numerous terrain coordinates around, with every high ground's position clearly charted; the only issue now was the stability and reliability of the contraptions Jianxue and the others built.

No hydraulic system, using hand jacks to stabilize the vehicles.

Activating the motor to raise the launch system, positioning it at a 90-degree angle to the vehicle, then having the captain adjust the firing angle using the electric chassis—the captain even had to follow the instruction manual step by step.

Once sure he had adjusted per the manual, the Mongolian Toplaner could only fatefully press the launch button.

"Ready, fire."

Eight rails, sixteen rockets in total, ignited in sequence, shooting off the rails like ignited skyrockets.

Five trucks, eighty rockets, the firepower density akin to a rainstorm, rocket trails drawing a gray streak across the sky, heading straight for Position One.

Kevin, having just fired three rounds, was holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee, ready to enjoy a lovely morning when he saw something appearing to fly from afar.

Was it a plane?

He squinted his eyes:

No!!!