Chapter 706.2: The Crazy Gray Wolf Army |
They discovered that those encircling them were not demons summoned by the New Alliance, but local militia forces.
That realization filled the Wolffolk soldiers trapped in the market with fury.
To them, the actions of those peasants was nothing short of betrayal.
Fortunately, the militias’ combat strength wasn’t very high. They tried several feints under mortar cover, but with little effect, and eventually settled into a siege, firing occasional shots.
Even so, no one dared relax.
The memory of that rampaging giant crab was too vivid. No one could guarantee that the next assault wouldn’t see those crabs advancing alongside the militia…
Night fell.
The banner of the Gray Wolf Army still did not fly atop the Governor’s Manor, and the trapped Prince Dilip no longer had the luxury of indulging such unrealistic dreams.
Glancing at the signalman still adjusting the radio, he beckoned a guard closer and issued an order. “I’m hungry. Get me something to eat.”
Before long, a bowl of ginger-yellow paste dotted with beans was brought in. A basket followed, holding a small dish of onion juice and two sesame-sprinkled flatbreads.
Several guards in the room swallowed involuntarily, but Prince Dilip frowned. “Why is it all beans?”
The servant replied with a pained expression, “Sir, that’s all their kitchen has…”
Dilip’s brow twisted like a rope. The sesame flatbread was barely acceptable, with a buttery aroma, but beans were fodder for livestock, hardly fit for human consumption.
After hesitating for a long time, he still couldn’t bring himself to eat and pushed the food away in disgust. “Search other houses. I want meat.”
The servant didn’t dare say a word. A nearby guard snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Watching the guard leave, Dilip noticed the others swallowing their saliva, so he ordered the servant to distribute the food to them.
Seeing the guards wolfing it down, a mocking smile tugged at his lips.
A pack of uncouth lowborns.
His bruised sense of superiority seemed to recover itself elsewhere, and Prince Dilip felt much better.
Just then, the radio was finally repaired, and contact with the rear command was restored.
Overjoyed, Dilip immediately ordered the signalman to connect the call. He snatched the handset before Alyang could speak and roared, “What the hell are you doing?! I called for artillery support for ages, why didn’t I see a single shell?!”
Only static crackled from the receiver.
Assuming Alyang had been cowed by his outburst, Dilip took a breath and continued in a calmer tone. “Because of your terrible support, there’s been a bit of trouble at the front, but it’s nothing serious. In short, I need reinforcements. Give me another 5,000 men, 12 artillery pieces, more anti-armor weapons and explosives. The New Alliance has somehow gotten hold of a metal monstrosity, damn it, we should borrow some tanks from the Army!”
Alyang patiently waited for him to finish, then replied calmly with just two words. “Come back.”
Dilip froze, his face flushing crimson. “Are you giving me orders?!”
A long silence followed on the channel.
When no response came, Dilip’s anger suddenly gave way to a creeping panic.
Only then did he truly grasp his situation.
He wasn’t in the palace, playing war games with the emperor on a sand table, he was on a real battlefield, already surrounded by the enemy!
If that man abandoned him…
Dilip’s lips trembled. After a long wait, he finally forced a plea out of his dry throat. “Save me.”
At last, a reply came from the radio. “… At 5:00 in the morning tomorrow, I’ll attempt an artillery barrage on the districts around Kalaba Market to cover your breakout. A division outside the city will receive you. Listen carefully, this is your only chance to avoid capture by the New Alliance and make it back alive.”
Memorizing every word, Dilip nodded shakily. “Yes!”
Alyang paused before he continued, “… Also, it’s possible the enemy is deliberately leaving a route open to lure you out, only to grab you and wipe your troops out in one sweep. Remember, before moving, conduct several probing strikes to test the enemy’s firepower. Do not take the easiest route.”
With that, the transmission cut off.
Dilip felt sweat soaking his back as he collapsed into a chair with no energy left.
Staring at the last strip of sunset sinking behind the rooftops, it was as if he were gazing at hope slipping into darkness, despair etched across his eyes.
He hoped to survive the night.
Well, that was all he could do. He could only hope.
At the same time, far away at a command post more than 10 kilometers out, Alyang slammed the handset down onto the desk, then sat back in his chair with a pained expression, pressing his fingers to his brow.
The officers around him remained silent. No one spoke.
If he could bring that idiot Dilip back alive, that would already be the best possible outcome. If not, dying on the road during the breakout wouldn’t be such a bad result either.
At the very least, he must not be captured by the New Alliance, otherwise, the enemy would gain yet another bargaining chip.
As for the nearly 3,000 remaining soldiers… What would happen to them could only be left up to fate.
…
The long night finally passed, and a pale gray light appeared over the docks of Port Gallon.
But what tore away the last trace of nighttime tranquility was not the first ray of morning sunlight, but a series of deafening artillery blasts.
“Fire!”
Roars echoed across the Gray Wolf Army’s artillery positions as shell after shell of 100mm high-explosive rounds rose into the sky and fell toward the districts near Kalaba Market.
It proved that General Alyang did, in fact, know what he was doing.
Throughout the entire previous day, he had been probing the maximum range of the New Alliance’s artillery, and after finishing those tests, he had redeployed his guns beyond the effective range of the harbor’s 155mm guns.
The downside, however, was that the distance was also near the extreme limit of the Xilande Empire’s 100mm howitzers.
Shells scattered across the city. Only two-fifths landed around Kalaba Market, and roughly one-fifth even fell directly into the market itself.
As for the remaining shells, no one knew where they would land.
“Holy hell… these guys really don’t treat the survivors here as their own people,” Peepo muttered in astonishment as he stood atop the wall of Rowell Camp, gazing at the billowing smoke rising from the distant city.
If Dawn City didn’t look so different, he might have forgotten whose turf the fight was even on.
“It looks like there really is someone in Kalaba Market they’re desperate to retrieve, no matter the cost,” Kidney Fighter sighed helplessly as he looked down at the survivors packed tightly beneath the wall. “That said, shouldn’t someone explain to them that against this kind of indirect fire, this lousy wall doesn’t actually help much? Standing together like this is more dangerous.”
To put it bluntly, if a shell hit a rooftop, the occupants of that house were almost certainly dead, but most of the shrapnel and blast would be absorbed by the walls.
From a casualty-minimization standpoint, the safest place to be was inside one’s home, not crammed together in the street.
Especially since Rowell Camp was, at the very least, a strategic location. Even if it wasn’t the Gray Wolf Army’s main focus of attack that day, no one could say what the next day would bring.
Peepo sighed, “I’ll go try talking to them.”
Even though he felt it probably wouldn’t make much difference…
…
At the same time that the Grey Wolf artillery began bombarding the northern districts of Port Gallon, the nearly 3,000 routed troops trapped in Kalaba Market launched their breakout.
Soldiers clutching rifles gathered along the edges of buildings, advancing in companies from the east, south, west, and north, launching fierce attacks against the militia surrounding the market.
Gunfire echoed nonstop inside and outside the market, crackling like firecrackers, bullets streaking through the air like a sudden downpour.
Wooden stalls were pushed over into the streets as makeshift cover, only to be riddled with bullets moments later.
Soon, soldiers wrapped shattered bricks and dirt blasted loose by shells in bedsheets, piling them onto two-wheeled carts to form temporary barricades.
One man pushed a cart laden with obstacles forward while nine others followed behind, firing and charging for their lives.
From time to time someone was hit and fell, but another immediately filled the gap.