An alarming misunderstanding was suddenly resolved.
Though the fighters on both sides remained on guard against each other, the tension in the atmosphere had eased significantly.
Talulah and Patriot each withdrew the Originium Arts they had been preparing.
Avoiding a conflict was undoubtedly the best outcome; otherwise, once the garrison on the other side reacted, it would truly be a case of the snipe and the clam grappling while the fisherman reaped the benefit.
Just as Talulah was about to strike up a conversation with Patriot, the latter lowered his shield and raised a hand to signal her to stop.
"(Encrypted transmission)... Static... 'Carrier Pigeon' established, did you receive the message..."
"Message received. The pigeon coop has eggs."
Talulah looked on in bewilderment as Patriot suddenly muttered a string of incomprehensible jargon.
Although Patriot's "face" had been replaced by overgrown bone structure, Talulah could still sense his tension, and beneath that tension, the excitement unique to a general.
"Lay the eggs."
"Artillery, prepare!"
As the Guerrillas' mortar crews simultaneously fixed their mounts and began calculating ranges, Talulah instantly understood what they were doing.
This wasn't some "strange talk"—it was the Guerrillas' internal code!
"Bang—boom!"
A sharp explosion erupted from the mining camp ahead. As a red flare shot into the sky, another massive blast suddenly echoed.
Flames soared into the air, the peripheral searchlights all went dead, and sentries scrambled frantically running inward.
Visible to the naked eye, the Ursus mining garrison had descended into utter chaos.
"Enemy! The enemy is attacking us!"
!"All squads, move to combat positions! Quick! Move, move, move!!!"
"(Whistle)—!—!!!"
The emergency assembly whistle blew, exposed sentries withdrew, and fighters rushed back onto the machine gun emplacements.
At that exact moment, a few sporadic gunshots echoed through the camp.
"...Static... Don't crack the cans, drop the eggs, drop the eggs..."
"Mortars! One sighting round, fire!"
Though slightly taken aback by his daughter's instructions, Patriot chose to trust her.
"Thud! Thud!..."
CTW-60 82mm mortars and CTW-59 60mm mortars eagerly hurled their shells into the air.
Talulah's gaze followed the screaming projectiles slicing through the sky, locking fiercely onto the enemy machine gun positions.
"Boom! Boom—"
The explosions rang out once more.
The frozen earth was blown apart; dark gray soil and rubble mixed with white snow bloomed into flowers across the ground.
Accompanied by this was a red mist like blooming begonias...
Yet out of several machine gun emplacements, only one was completely obliterated.
Talulah could hear the wailing voices now...
"Good shot! South 22! Two birds East 15, three birds extend! Watch the cans and provide cover!"
"They've seized the infantry fighting vehicle! Cover them!"
"Thud! Thud! Residents..."
A few more howling shells, a few more dazzling explosions, another wave of wailing...
"Our infantry fighting vehicle!"
"Thud-thud-thud-thud..."
As two Ursus garrison soldiers went flying backward to "clear the path" in front, a long burst of gunfire clearly reached everyone's ears.
Talulah's face twitched repeatedly, but in the end, she couldn't suppress the smile at the corner of her mouth.
A BTR-60 suddenly burst out, smashing through the sandbags at the gate, shattering the guard post, pushing aside a DSHK heavy machine gun, and charging out like an excited pack beast.
The KPVT heavy machine gun mounted on top was still firing backward.
"Hahahahaha, Sergei, this thing is way more fun than that old piece-of-junk AK, hahahahaha—!"
"Slap."
Talulah slammed a hand over her face.
…………
Just two minutes earlier.
Sergei and his three companions had timed their arrival perfectly at the BTR-60 infantry fighting vehicle.
And the heavy machine gunner had just finished his maintenance work.
"Hey! Buddy, what are you trying to pull?"
Hearing footsteps below, the gunner thought someone had come looking for him, the camp's "fix-it-all"...
Then, a flying knife pierced straight through his windpipe.
"Khh, khh..."
Sergei didn't care about that; exposure was already imminent anyway.
He motioned for the others to jump down from the top hatch and quickly move to their respective combat positions.
As for Sergei, his previous job as a tax collector often required driving cars, and his familiarity with the "GAZ-26" jeep allowed him to quickly take over the commander's seat.
Ivan swiftly leaped into the machine gunner's seat he had dreamed of for so long.
His experience in the Infected Inspectorate quickly made him realize that this machine gun was unlike any other he had ever seen. Then, looking at the palm-sized bullets on the ammunition belt and the red markings painted on their tips, the Lupo was so excited he almost screamed out loud:
"KPVT! Oh crap, Sergei, do you have any idea how long I've wanted to use this thing?"
"Step on it and let's charge out!"
Though the instrument panel and controls in this infantry fighting vehicle were vastly different from the jeeps he had driven, he successfully started the heavy vehicle and slammed his foot down on the accelerator.
For the first time, he felt a desperate need for a pair of sunglasses, preferably with a string of nameless beads hanging from the dashboard and gearshift, and maybe a little bobblehead ornament on the front panel that would sway back and forth with the vehicle's vibrations.
Feeling the steel behemoth tremble with excitement, the blood in his veins grew hot.
"Sit tight, boys! Let's move!"
He floored the accelerator, and the BTR-60 roared forward. At that exact moment, a massive explosion rocked the warehouse behind them...
…………
Patriot felt that this machine gunner's skill level was somewhere between amateur and professional.
To call him professional—that long burst of fire didn't actually provide much suppression; it relied more on the formidable piercing power and lethality of the 14.5x114mm rounds to kill enemies through cover, and the accuracy wasn't great either.
To call him amateur—he at least knew how to use long bursts so ammunition wasn't wasted needlessly, and he was able to instantly sweep away the enemies trying to charge up.
Thinking of this, Patriot felt a surge of pride.
The elite marksmen he had personally trained with live rounds almost exclusively fired short bursts; a single listen told you their aim was razor-sharp and effortlessly precise.
Still, considering the combined total personnel of both assault squads, even if their kill-to-death ratio reached some abstract number like 1:10, they would still need reinforcements.
This wasn't special operations; it was merely a small-scale infiltration raid. They needed backup.
Patriot hoisted his shield. Talulah raised her sword once more.
As for the other members of the Reunion Movement, very few held decent weapons; most carried improvised javelins or old hunting rifles.
They had witnessed the scene just moments before, and they ground their teeth in frustration, wishing they were the ones manning the artillery. Their eyes burned with a red glow, as if fresh blood might spill from them at any second.
"We are each other's shields and blades! Leave no one behind! Together, charge—!!!"
"Charge!"
"Together!"
At Talulah's command, a massive sea of Reunion members surged forward.
It made Patriot's heart skip a beat.
*Kazdel curse*, you *Ursus curse* motherfuckers, are you out of your minds charging like this?
If the enemy machine gun positions hadn't been wiped out by the artillery, anyone watching would honestly think they'd stumbled into McDonald's kitchen.
In all his years of campaigning, the last time Patriot's heart had raced like this was when he rescued Yelena.
Oh wait—in the span of a single day, this organization called the "Reunion Movement" had already given him heart palpitations twice.
Sure enough, wherever there is a Zhuge Liang, there is a Pang Tong.
Patriot suddenly felt very fortunate about the timing of this raid.
As the saying goes, there is no time like the present; the two forces appearing here simultaneously might truly be a unique twist of fate.
"Covering fire! Assault squad, leap forward! Follow me!"
For a commander—especially one who has weathered countless wars—to say he is not interested in war is a lie.
Though Patriot had long since transitioned from a captain to a grassroots commander, that truth still applied to him.
Under the covering fire of several PKM, DP-28, RPD, and DSHK machine guns, the Guerrillas' assault team swiftly leaped out from behind cover, keeping low with their rifles in hand, bounding forward.
The barrage of bullets formed an unbroken sheet, instantly forcing the enemy gunners—who had just poked their barrels out to fire—to shrink back inside.
Though the suppression was intense, each machine gunner fired continuous short bursts of fewer than ten rounds; precise short bursts even sent some bullets flying straight through the firing ports, momentarily halting the enemy's sustained fire.
And just as Patriot had anticipated, Talulah, leading the charge at the very front, continuously parried several bullets with her sword and flames, while ordinary Reunion members fell in droves. Had the Shieldguards not successfully drawn the enemy's fire, even more of the Reunion might have died.
To be honest, even with Patriot present, he wouldn't dare order the Shieldguards to charge head-on against a KPVT heavy machine gun. Fortunately, these Reunion youngsters managed to hijack that BTR-60, otherwise who knew how many of his core troops would have been sacrificed here.
The Shieldguards rapidly surged forward, filling the gap on Reunion's flank. Maintaining a high-speed advance, from a distance they looked like a tide of metal violently crashing toward the sea wall not far away.
Talulah had also figured out a trick or two, but now was not the time for chatting, so she could only lead her troops blindly charging forward.
"If you don't want to live in this disaster, pick up your weapons, resist the tyranny here, and eliminate our common enemy! Charge together!!"
"Charge!"
"We're dead anyway, I'll fight you bastards to the death!!!"
A hoarse, desperate roar suddenly erupted from the rear of the camp, followed by dense, rolling gunfire.
Charles, having finished distributing the weapons and delivering this brief pre-battle pep talk, found that these Infected slave laborers wasted ammunition even faster than that unbridled Lupo.
He watched the continuous sheet of metal storm and the kind of killing power that practically guaranteed a recoil-induced headache, his mouth twitching continuously.
Damn it, even I just got my hands on a firearm and I wouldn't dare shoot like that. You guys are just blindly trigger-happy!
The warehouse went up in smoke, where the hell are we supposed to get ammo resupply?
You guys don't care about the waste, but my heart bleeds!
Guns were a luxury for Reunion; even those old muzzle-loading hunting rifles were items Talulah and Alina had practically begged and borrowed from local hunters, and they had to be returned after use.
Charles shook his head, forcibly suppressing the ache in his chest, and hoisted an AKS-74U assault rifle, taking the lead as he charged out.
His clothes had long since been changed back to the uniform of a Reunion assault team member. His white figure was like a beam of light rising from the ruins, and the Infected slave laborers following closely behind were people chasing after hope.
Their sudden charge provided powerful rear-guard support for the entire battlefield. Although friendly fire from flying bullets caused considerable losses among their own ranks, this split-second shock threw the Ursus garrison into utter disarray, allowing them to be completely annihilated in a three-way pincer attack.
Until everyone gathered together, the survivors excitedly embraced the "heavenly troops" who had come to rescue them, while the Infected shouted and cheered, holding their weapons high.
Blood stained the corner of Talulah's mouth as she raised her uninjured right arm, lifting her longsword high:
"We have won!"
"We have won!"
"We have won!"
"We have won!"
..............
This victory was the first step in special operations for the Guerrillas, and the first shot fired against the injustices of this earth for the Reunion Movement—both of immense significance.
And the newly joined Infected slave laborers rapidly swelled the ranks of the Reunion Movement.
Patriot watched the people clearing the battlefield, the hostility in his eyes long since replaced by calm.
Ivan and Francis were still tinkering with the BTR-60, while Sergei, Yelena, Patriot, and Talulah sat together once more inside the original military tent.
Yelena stared absentmindedly at the Snowdemon Squad and the Reunion assault team conversing not far away. Ice crystals continuously shifted shapes between her three fingers, and her face remained expressionless.
Sergei held a notebook and—heaven knows where he got it—a carbon pen, as if he had picked up his tax collector job once more, though now he looked more like a clerk.
Talulah's left arm was simply bandaged; the bright crimson blood on it brought a touch of warmth to this small area.
Patriot had set his shield aside, and the blood on his halberd flowed back into his body through the operation of his arts.
The four of them sat together like figures at a historical "Round Table."
It was Patriot who broke the silence first.
"You call yourselves the Reunion Movement, is that right?"