Fragmentation grenades are designed for one thing: chaos. When the MK2 detonates, the internal casing shatters into a storm of steel teeth, propelled by an explosive force that turns everything within its radius into a bloody mess.
The roar of the dual explosion hadn't even faded before four Imperial operatives were cut down.
[TACTICAL DATA UPDATED: ENEMY NEUTRALIZED +20][SKILL PROGRESSION: THROWING LV2 +2]
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
Roger leveled his M1 Garand, methodically picking off the survivors who were still dazed by the concussive blast.
Ping!
The empty magazine ejected with a sharp metallic ring. Roger didn't wait to reload the rifle. Instead, he snatched two more grenades from his gear, yanked the pins, and launched them.
The distance was greater this time, pushing the limits of his Throwing (LV2), but his aim was uncanny. The hissing MK2s sailed through the air like heat-seeking missiles, disappearing directly into the dark maw of the underground trapdoor from which the squad had emerged.
A muffled cry of alarm echoed from the hole before—BOOM. BOOM.
Smoke, dust, and debris geysered out of the tunnel entrance. A string of nearly a dozen kill messages flooded Roger's vision.
He didn't stick around to count them. He grabbed his Garand and sprinted.
The ridge had come alive, and not in a good way. It wasn't just the one tunnel. Across the entire sector, hundreds of Imperial operatives were pouring out of hidden spider holes and subterranean galleries. It was a literal swarm, emerging from the very earth they had just "cleared."
Unless Roger was a superhero, staying in the open was a death sentence.
The commotion of Roger's grenade work had served as a grim alarm clock for the sleeping Federation troops. They scrambled from their foxholes, eyes wide at the sight of the khaki-clad figures appearing in the morning mist. Rifles, machine guns, and mortars opened up in a desperate, frantic symphony.
Roger reached the foxhole where Doss and Smitty-Rick were already laying down fire. He slid into the dirt, lungs burning, and immediately began emptying his Garand into the advancing line.
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
Once the magazine was dry, he switched to his last few MK3 defensive grenades, lobbing them one by one. Each one had a lethal blast radius of nearly ten meters—enough to give the Imperial swarm a reason to hesitate.
But the hesitation didn't last. The Imperial Guard was utilizing a relentless, high-pressure assault that the Federation's loose defensive line couldn't contain. Roger had seen "Human Wave" tactics in history books and movies, but experiencing it was different. It was like a tidal wave of steel and shouting, a flood of bayonet-fixed rifles that refused to stop no matter how many men fell.
The Federation's line, built on the assumption of a static defense, began to crumble like a sand levee in a hurricane.
"Move! Move! Get your asses out of there!" Captain Jack Glover's voice was barely audible over the cacophony. "Full retreat! Fall back to the cliff!"
But in the heat of the melee, few could hear him. The air was thick with the smell of cordite and the screams of the dying.
Smitty-Rick was lying beside Roger, his Browning chattering as he tried to stem the flow. He was swearing under his breath, clearly regretting the Browning's limited magazine capacity and slow cycle rate in the face of such numbers.
"Medic!" a cry echoed from the distance.
Doss glanced at Roger and Smitty, a flash of conflict in his eyes, before he bolted out of the hole without a word, heading toward the scream.
Ping!
Another empty clip flew from Roger's Garand. He reached for a grenade, but his fingers met empty canvas. He was out.
In that split second, three Imperial operatives forty meters away leveled their Type 38 rifles directly at him. Roger could see the muzzle flashes in the dim light. His skin crawled with the visceral sensation of impending death.
"Roger, get down!" Smitty roared.
Roger didn't drop. Instead, he triggered the one card he hadn't played yet.
[INNATE TALENT ACTIVATED: COMBAT FOCUS]
The world slammed into slow motion.
The roar of the battlefield distorted into a low, underwater thrum. The flying lead, the erupting flames, even Smitty's panicked expression—everything slowed to a crawl. In this pocket of dilated time, the only things that felt real were Roger's own heavy breathing and the thunderous beat of his heart.
He didn't waste a millisecond. He stepped laterally, watching the tracers of the enemy bullets hiss past the space his head had occupied a moment before.
With movements that appeared impossibly fast to anyone else, he seated a new magazine into the Garand.
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang.
The eight rounds left the barrel in what sounded like a single, continuous roar. He wasn't satisfied. Before the empty clip could even hit the ground, he had already jammed a second one home and pulled the trigger again.
The five seconds of Combat Focus expired.
The world snapped back to its frantic, deafening reality. To Smitty, it looked like Roger had blurred into a whirlwind of motion for a heartbeat.
Thud-thud-thud-thud...
Sixteen bodies hit the dirt in rapid succession. The first eight had been the immediate threats; the second eight were the reinforcements pushing up behind them. Two of them wore the insignias of NCOs.
[TACTICAL DATA UPDATED]
Imperial Squad Leaders Neutralized: +30 Combat Data
SYSTEM ALERT: USER LEVEL INCREASED TO LV2
REWARD: 1 SKILL POINT GRANTED
Roger slammed a fresh magazine into the chamber, the bolt resetting with a sharp clack. He looked at Smitty, whose jaw was practically touching the mud.
"What are you standing around for?" Roger barked. "Move, or we're going to be overrun!"
Smitty didn't need a second invitation. He scrambled up, clutching his Browning, and followed Roger's lead as they sprinted toward the rear.
"They came from the tunnels!" Sergeant Howell shouted as he reached Captain Glover's position.
Glover was already on the radio, his face grim. "Artillery strike is authorized. Battery 1, impact on my coordinates! Clear the ridge!"
"Retreat! Out! Now!" Howell screamed to the remaining men.
Watching naval shells level an enemy position was a spectacle, but being under them was a nightmare Roger had no intention of experiencing.