dognovel Chapter 925
Chapter 925
As the word "return gift" fell, the switch called terror was pressed hard by the six gun barrels that were already faintly red from the high temperature.
That was not a battle in which the two sides had even the slightest possibility of being "evenly matched".
In that inferno where the temperature remained at 100 degrees Celsius even under the sea breeze, Major Hansen's last trump card—the 90mm thick main armor of the M48 Patton tank, the courage of the veterans who had been baptized by the Normandy battles, and the so-called tactical coordination—in an instant became a childish joke.
Che Guevara and his two comrades did not charge forward like berserkers, but rather with the composure of someone trimming a bush, directly smashing through the last psychological defenses of the American troops.
They roamed through a hail of bullets, tearing apart tanks—the kings of land warfare—like opening cans with a storm of thousands of rounds per minute. The scene, where technological disparity was embodied in pure violence, transformed the battle from a so-called "military conflict" into a darkly humorous massacre.
In the end, only a very few "lucky ones" who had been deliberately let go and were almost out of their minds remained, carrying those indescribable, terrifying memories, stumbling and fleeing towards the now desolate beach...
"Squeak—Buzz—!!"
The sound of the high-speed rotating electric motor, even before the roar of the six-barreled machine gun, was like a sharp scalpel, cutting a bloody gash in the delicate eardrums of those people.
"Quickly...retreat!"
The tank commander, who was already terrified, shrank back into the turret. Before he could even close the heavy hatch, he could only shout into the microphone with his hoarse voice.
"Back up! Back up! Get away from it!!"
The 45-ton steel behemoth M48 let out a mournful cry as the driver frantically shifted into reverse. The massive tracks kicked up sparking gravel as it tried to escape the "red-eyed reaper" pointing at its forehead.
late.
“BRRRRRRT——!!”
The first chain of dark red fire burst forth from Che Guevara's left arm.
That wasn't a bullet. It was a continuous solid-state laser beam with intervals too fine for the naked eye to detect.
It was almost an instant of contact.
Sparks flew from the tank's frontal armor, sending shivers down the spine. The cast steel armor, which was originally capable of withstanding large-caliber anti-tank guns on the Korean battlefield, now resembled cheap cardboard meeting a red-hot knife.
Countless dark red armor-piercing projectiles danced merrily in the firelight, burrowed in, and then—detonated the ammunition rack.
"boom!"
There was no exaggerated fireball like in the movies. It was an internal catastrophic explosion. The heavy turret, like a lid blown off a pressure cooker, flew several meters at an angle with a loud crash, slamming heavily against the rock wall next to it and crushing two unfortunate ammunition handlers who were still trying to load their bazookas.
The steel car body continued to move backward due to its last bit of inertia, leaving behind a trail of burning oil and scarlet graffiti sprayed from its interior.
"Scatter! That's a machine gun! Scatter now!"
Major Hansen hid behind a boulder that had cracked from the intense heat, his M1911 long since lost. He clutched the walkie-talkie and shouted, but even he could barely hear his own voice.
Because the noise in the valley was just too loud and too terrifying.
The three armored vehicles separated.
It's no longer about standing still.
The massive propulsion packs behind them spewed out blue-white plasma trails. These steel contraptions, weighing several tons, leaped high into the air with a litheness that defied all physical intuition, like demons flying off a ghost ship.
"Boom!"
A "Broken Army" vehicle leaped directly to a high point halfway up the valley. The rocks beneath its feet were shattered by the enormous impact.
The heavy machine gun positions below it, which had been well hidden, were suddenly exposed, like a flock of chicks being watched by an eagle.
Tony, the black machine gunner, was completely stunned. He was still clutching the empty ammunition belt tightly in his hand, his large, bloodshot eyes, filled with fear, staring blankly at the huge black shadow falling overhead.
"Oh...that's..."
His last words had not yet been fully uttered.
A torrent of metal, like a spit from the Grim Reaper, descended from the sky, pinning him and his prized M2 heavy machine gun to pieces, turning them into a dark red mass of flesh and iron that was indistinguishable.
The blood splattered on the black armor plate, without leaving a trace, was instantly evaporated into red mist by the extremely high body temperature.
"What kind of monster is this?! What kind of monster is this?!"
The platoon leader pulled the last two white phosphorus incendiary bombs from his waist and rushed out like a madman.
"Go to hell! Go to hell!"
He roared as he threw the grenade.
The aim was excellent. The two grenades struck the armored chest of the advancing Cheyne precisely.
"Bam—"
A blinding white death light exploded instantly. The phosphorescent fire, once it touched the black machine, was like a persistent, inextinguishable plague, immediately engulfing it. The temperature, reaching a staggering two thousand degrees, scorched and deformed the surrounding air.
"It's a hit! It's fucking a hit!"
Several soldiers who had already thrown down their rifles and were about to run stopped in their tracks upon seeing this scene, letting out a near-manic cheer, as if they had grasped at the last straw before drowning.
Major Hansen's pupils constricted instantly, his fingernails almost digging into the cracks in the rocks. This white phosphorus was enough to soften even the steel plates of a tank...
however.
The "fire man" enveloped in white light.
The next second, the huge mechanical left arm made a simple, human-like dusting motion.
It didn't even use long-range weapons.
"boom!"
The massive plasma thruster fired again. The metallic behemoth, its body wreathed in viscous flames, not only didn't fall, but instead, like a meteor bursting from the center of the sun, it crashed into the crowd at the front lines with unstoppable momentum.
"Click."
No gun was used.
That enormous, violently aesthetically pleasing hydraulically powered hand simply grabbed with such casual ease.
One of the sergeants, who had been cheering just moments before, didn't even see what was happening before he felt himself flying.
In mid-air, his neck, like a pitiful dry straw, made a crisp, even somewhat pleasant, sound under the grip that could easily crush a tank cannon barrel.
With a casual flick of his wrist, the tall figure tossed the limp corpse dozens of meters away like a tattered sack, sending it crashing through the canvas roof of a truck behind it.
The firelight burned on his outer armor, slowly peeling away to reveal its cold, black, and unblemished metallic nature.
It was as if he had just taken a hot shower.
silence.
Silence descended once more amidst the deafening roar of engines. Those faint glimmers of hope were extinguished in that instant.
If even the fire that could burn even God couldn't hurt this guy.
What about those little gadgets they have that can only fire a few lead bullets?
"Run...run fast..."
A young recruit, someone had spoken first, and he even forgot to take his helmet. He dropped the Garand rifle, cried out, and ran away. He couldn't bear to look at that red-eyed man again.
This emotion is like a plague more deadly than poison gas.
The entire camp collapsed.
Battle formations, honor, the pride of the First Red Division—all vanished before this incomprehensible, absolute inhuman power, turning into dust carried away by the wind along with the shattered stones.
"Don't run! Come back! Hold the line... Damn it! That thing is coming!"
Major Hansen emptied his last carbine, which someone had discarded. But now he was the only one still shouting.
Or rather, it wasn't that he didn't want to run away.
That thing was already in front of him.
The armored figure stood before him, its enormous shadow completely blocking out the sun, plunging him into the gloom of death.
Hansen's legs seemed glued to the ground, impossible to pull off. He could only slump there, shuffling backward with his hands and feet, his once sharp eyes now only showing disorientation and despair.
He saw the huge black head tilt to one side again.
Those emotionless red electronic eyes seemed to be scanning his soul.
But this time, Che didn't fire a shot, nor did he extend the large hand that could have crushed him.
The mech suddenly turned around, raised the machine gun on its right hand, and fired a series of precise shots at the infantry group in the distance who were trying to escape over the steep slope like startled ants.
"Boom boom boom——"
Dirt and blood splattered everywhere. It wasn't for killing. It was to block the road.
The already narrow exit was further narrowed by several high-powered munitions that missed their mark. But this only fueled the survivors' will to survive even more fiercely.
Instead of helping each other, people pushed down those who were slower and climbed over their comrades' bodies to get out.
“Tell...they.”
The synthesized electronic sound, seemingly emanating from the abyss, rang out again, the sound waves even causing the small pebbles on the ground to bounce.
The mech bent its mountain-like body, and the mask, though its expression was not visible, was almost pressed against Major Hansen's nose, which was covered in cold sweat and dust.
"This time, it's just... interest."
"Snap—Sizzle—"
The high-pressure gas released by the hydraulic system blew Hansen's hat off.
next second.
Suddenly, the engine of the "Broken Army" roared loudly, turned around abruptly, leaving Major Hansen, who had completely wet his pants and was barely alive, behind, and sped off in another direction deep in the valley.
Only the burning wreckage of a few tanks remained, occasionally emitting faint crackling sounds from the smoking bomb craters.
Like this elite unit once known as "Marine Vanguard," their last sigh was a pathetic lament.