The explosives detonated by the squad leader transformed into a small sun, its blinding white light instantly engulfing the narrow position. Accompanied by a deafening roar, a shockwave mixed with metal fragments and flesh splinters violently spread outwards. In this furious, mutually destructive baptism, at least ten Kroot who had surrounded them were instantly blown into charred pieces, or had their limbs torn off by the impact, completely losing their combat effectiveness.
At the same time, players in other positions were not idle.
The Kroot in motion were like phantoms, difficult to hit. But now, they were fixed in place on the position we had just lost, gorging themselves. Could we still not hit them?
"Open fire! Plow that ground for me!"
Without the slightest hesitation, without a moment's delay, an overwhelming barrage of Heavy Stubber bullets and grenades immediately rained down on what had just been an allied position. The hail of bullets tore through the air, kicking up dust from the shattered ruins, and sending the Kroot who were feeding flying with blood and gore.
One Promethium Flamer even aimed his flamethrower nozzle directly at the spot, and a roaring stream of fire swept across, the scorching promethium thoroughly igniting the position, turning it into a burning hell.
Although the Kroot reacted extremely quickly, pulling back and fleeing before the sea of fire spread, this merciless barrage still successfully allowed the players to claim the lives of several more xenos.
"Chirp—!"
A sharp, high-pitched whistle, like a bird's call, cut through the battlefield. Hearing this signal, all the Kroot still attacking immediately abandoned the fight and retreated completely at a faster pace than they had arrived. Their figures disappeared into the layers of city ruins in a few bounds, leaving no trace.
This sudden turn of events left the players somewhat at a loss. They had just been pumped up, thinking the enemy was finally launching a decisive, full-scale assault.
Everyone felt a wave of frustration. They had been ready to fight to the death and go all out here, but the Kroot's sudden attack and equally sudden retreat left their pent-up energy with nowhere to go, an awkward and uncomfortable feeling.
A Helldivers reached up and touched his full-face helmet, wondering in the comms channel, "What was that all about?"
However, in the eyes of the Kroot Shaper, all these actions were in line with the hunter's logic. Understanding your prey is a prerequisite for becoming an excellent hunter. In the brief but bloody engagement just now, he had accumulated too many questions about these mad humans.
The main purpose of that seemingly reckless charge was merely to allow his kin to gnaw on the flesh and blood of these humans, acquire their genes, and thereby understand the secret of their fearlessness, even their utter disregard for their own lives.
However, the Kroot Shaper was quickly disappointed.
Those of his kin who successfully consumed the flesh and blood of the Helldivers did not sense anything special from the genetic memory. The physiological structure of these humans was no different from the normal humans they had hunted before; there were no special organs, nor any hidden powers.
In fact, his kin found it difficult to completely digest the flesh and blood and soon began to vomit violently, spewing out many colorful, viscous liquids with a chemical smell. Based on this phenomenon, the Shaper could only conclude: these humans loved to inject themselves with various combat drugs, causing their bodies to be full of toxins, and using them as food would likely give his kin stomach ulcers!
These humans were to their enemies, and even more to themselves. That unwavering determination to detonate explosives and die with the enemy, that coldness in indiscriminately covering what was an allied position just a second ago with firepower, made the Kroot Shaper decide to abandon the idea of active offense and instead use the terrain advantage for passive defense.
With the Kroot temporarily inactive, the Helldivers immediately sprang into action.
They showed no intention of resting for even a moment. After confirming that the enemy had ceased hostilities, a Platoon Leader immediately ordered in the channel, "First Platoon! Advance and scout! Find out if those Indian bird-people are lying in wait or if they've really retreated!"
The results quickly and clearly proved that actively attacking the Kroot, who held an advantage in complex terrain, was not a good choice.
this Helldiver Platoon, which actively left cover and entered unknown territory, was immediately subjected to a enemy ambush. After a fierce battle, after wildly throwing a massive amount of grenades, fragmentation grenades, and laser beams at every visible cover, window, and incline in their sight, all members were individually shot down by the Kroot hiding in the shadows, neatly teleporting back to the Platoon Leader of the First Platoon who was still at the rear position.
Fifty newly resurrected players stood before their Platoon Leader, the atmosphere somewhat awkward.
"How many did you take down?" the Platoon Leader asked in a deep voice.
All fifty players exchanged glances, looking at each other. Finally, a Grenadier hesitantly raised his hand and whispered, "Reporting, Platoon Leader... I took down one..."
"Only one?"
The Platoon Leader finally couldn't hold back. Such a casualty ratio was truly too unsightly, even for the Helldivers.
He immediately switched to the officer communication channel, his voice filled with barely suppressed anger, "Everyone! This fight is impossible! My Platoon just gave it their all, with that level of firepower, and we only took down one, damn it! Report it quickly, call in bombers to drop nukes, and we'll go back to our old business, nuclear assault!"
A moment of silence fell in the channel, then another Platoon Leader's voice came through, tinged with helplessness, "Why don't you look up at the sky? The T'au Empire's Air Caste and our air force are practically fighting like cats and dogs. I don't think we'll get air superiority anytime soon."
The Platoon Leader looked up, and in the distant clouds, fighter jet engine trails and flashes of explosions occasionally flickered, like daytime meteors, cruel and magnificent.
"Then let's try calling for a round of conventional artillery fire to see the effect?" someone suggested.
This compromise proposal immediately received unanimous approval from everyone. So, the Platoon Leader immediately ordered, "Communicator! Contact the rear artillery position!"
The company's communicator immediately knelt down, extended the walkie-talkie antenna on his back to its maximum length, and began adjusting the frequency to call out, "Black Dragon, Black Dragon! This is 7th Company, observer coordinates: Grid QL (3452, 2433), requesting artillery support, please respond if you hear me!"
Amidst the crackling of current, the call was unexpectedly smooth, and a steady voice soon came from the earpiece, "7th Company, Black Dragon received, please send target information."
"Target coordinates: Grid QL (359, 257), repeat, Grid QL (359, 257). Requesting high-explosive rapid fire, for suppression mission, over."
"That wide?" The other party's tone clearly held a hint of surprise; these coordinates almost covered a large area of ruins ahead.
The communicator was also quite helpless, "Because we don't know exactly where those Indian bird-people are hiding! They're like rats!"
...Received. Artillery fire will arrive in five minutes, take cover, over."