Chapter 483: Beyond-Visual-Range Shooting
Following the trail of splattered blood, tracing back along the direction from which the bullets had co, through the air where tallic storms continued to rain down, a few kiloters away at the heavy machine gun position, the scene was entirely different.
Kyle held a telescope in his hand, shouting anxiously.
“Damn it, stop, stop now! There’s no one left alive on the other side! If they’re all dead, how the hell am I supposed to write my report?”
“Captain, please, let fire just one more burst! Ever since joining the Expeditionary Army, this is the first ti I’ve pulled the trigger!”
“Shut up! I’m telling you, there’s no shortage of enemies. We’ve declared war on the entire Northlands—how could we ever run out of targets? Besides, you’re so far away you can’t even see what you’re hitting, what’s the point?”
The soldier scratched his head and looked at the machine gun emplacent beside him.
This was a position they had set up in advance. While the coalition of the Three Grand Dukes was still marching leisurely forward, the Expeditionary Army had already aligned their heavy machine guns in a row, calculated their firing paraters according to the shooting tables, and prepared for beyond-visual-range fire.
The Resistance Army had long been ready for a direct confrontation with the massive northern forces, so there was no shortage of heavy firepower. The weapons were simply unloaded from the train and fixed into position, forming a heavy machine gun line.
The coalition army’s marching formation was dense, and they kept to the roads, making it extrely easy to calculate their coverage area. To the Expeditionary Army, they were simply targets delivered on a platter.
When the machine gun positions opened fire, the distance between them and the coalition army was still over a kiloter. Under the Expeditionary Army’s deliberate masking, the enemy couldn’t even hear the gunfire.
They heard no shots, saw no flashes—only the whisper of bullets slicing through the air, the low murmur of Death itself. By the ti they heard it, it was already too late to take one last look at the world.
The coalition’s destruction was one of pure despair. Until the mont of their deaths, they had no idea what had struck them—nor from where the attack had co.
That was the terror of beyond-visual-range bombardnt.
In two minutes, more than thirty heavy Gatlings poured out over fifteen thousand rounds. And that was them holding back. If they didn’t care about barrel lifespan, the number could have doubled—and truthfully, they didn’t have to care. Spare barrels were stocked by the crate on the train.
The coalition’s tight formation and stunned immobility turned them into perfect targets. The first waves of bullets each claid several lives, while the later ones rely churned the mangled flesh on the ground into finer paste.
At Kyle’s command, a cavalry squad that had long been on standby charged out from near the train. They were responsible for securing the battlefield, galloping off in high spirits under the envious gazes of their comrades.
Their enthusiasm didn’t last long—because what they rode into was hell itself.
The Gatling Gun, which in Blue Star’s history had also been translated as the “Gerin Gun” or “Gete Gun,” had been redesigned by Hughes before being officially issued to the army.
The Holy Guard preferred to call it the Gatling Cannon, precisely because of its terrifying firepower.
It was originally designed as a heavy weapon, not for rifle ammunition, but for specially made rounds—each with nearly double the gunpowder charge of a standard rifle cartridge.
Wherever a bolt-action rifle hit, there would be one bloody hole.
Wherever a heavy machine gun hit, there would be no flesh left at all.
It could easily tear through the human body—flesh, bone, armor—it made no difference.
So when the cavalry arrived at the site of the coalition army, they were completely dumbfounded.
The place was filled with severed limbs; barely a few bodies were even partially intact.
If they had been cut down by cold steel, the remains would have been in chunks. But the sheer kinetic force of heavy machine gun rounds twisted flesh and bone together like rags.
Many n’s limbs were shattered, their exposed muscle fibers curled outward from pulverized wounds.
To call them corpses was generous—it was a field of minced flesh.
A few lucky survivors remained alive, but they had lost all will to fight, sitting dumb and vacant like lambs awaiting slaughter.
Later, one Expeditionary Army soldier wrote in his report, “Those corpses looked like waterlons crushed under a train—there wasn’t a single complete bone left.”
Hunter crawled out from beneath a heap of corpses.
He stared blankly at the world around him. The ground was red, the air was red, even the sky seed red.
His dulled mind had stopped working altogether—and that, perhaps, was a rcy.
Twice he tried to stand, but couldn’t. Sothing had tangled his hand—it was a loop of intestine. He looked down and confird his legs were still attached, his feet sinking into the soft, warm ground like half a ter of wool carpet.
He saw Expeditionary cavalry approaching, their black gun barrels trained on him.
Hunter let out a breath of relief, a faint smile spreading across his bloodstained face. “Thank God, you’re here—are you going to kill or take away? Either’s fine, just get out of here. Anything’s fine.”
His words were so sincere, so honest, that the soldiers hesitated, their barrels trembling. He and the few other survivors were soon escorted to the rear.
Near the armored train, Kyle stood by while the Political Commissar scolded the soldiers. After a long while, the Commissar sighed and ca over.
“How’s morale? From what I see, they’re still pretty excited.”
“Sigh, Captain Kyle,” the Commissar said, shaking his head. “The troops are getting cocky and complacent. We need to find them a real fight soon—if we keep winning like this…”
He glanced at the soldiers bragging beside their machine guns and sighed again.
Kyle quickly nodded. “No problem. I’ll do my best to overco the difficulties—and find them so proper opponents.”
As for where to find such opponents—
“The Northlands are so vast,” Kyle muttered. “There’s no way we can’t find a proper battle sowhere.”
As he fretted, a tallic clanging sound rose behind him.
The Expeditionary soldiers turned together, slowly lifting their eyes.
Three towering Steel Giants appeared before them, their heavy tal armor dragging along the ground. Six arms held various weapons, with Dragon’s Breath Cannons and Gatling Guns mounted upon their armor. Beneath their helts, a pair of dimly glowing eyes shone like heralds of hell tolling the death knell of their enemies.
They were Banshees.
“Where are the enemies? We’ve co to support you. You haven’t engaged yet, have you?” a deep voice rumbled from beneath one helt.
“Uh…”
Kyle awkwardly scratched his head.
“We haven’t engaged—but our bullets have.”
Ti seed to freeze. After a mont, the leading Banshee removed her helt, letting a cascade of golden hair fall down.
Nini’s voice was half exasperated, half angry. “It’s already over!? In just a few minutes? You’re that fast? Then why did we even co?”
“Uh… perhaps you could do so interviews—write a report, maybe? After all, you did co here under the na of the War Correspondent Team…”
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