Upon receiving the combat order, the Third Squad, having just gained vehicle access, immediately sprang into action. The squad leader unhesitatingly selected the two fastest-reacting players in the squad, and the three of them squeezed into the newly-minted Wyvern, beginning to familiarize themselves with the controls in the somewhat cramped cabin.
The rest of the squad members quickly fanned out around the vehicle, forming a temporary circular defensive line, vigilantly watching their surroundings to ensure their vehicle wouldn't be ambushed by enemies sneaking up.
With the help of the game's built-in auxiliary system, the basic operation of the driving and weapon systems wasn't difficult for the players, and they quickly got the hang of it. But soon, this three-person crew discovered the crux of the problem.
The Third Squad's squad leader, acting as the commander, locked onto the distant enemy position through the periscope on the roof. He skillfully operated the eyepiece, supplemented by the simple rangefinder and wind sensor displayed by the system, and quickly calculated the target information. He pressed the internal communication button and issued commands to the gunner in as professional a tone as possible:
"Gunner, attention! Bearing 11 o'clock, reference point is that half-collapsed red brick building. Extend approximately fifty meters to the left of the reference point, there's a temporary fortification piled with scrap. Distance 850 meters, target is the cultists cluster behind the fortification. Wind direction three o'clock, light breeze. Prepare for a rapid-fire volley, suppressive fire!"
However, after the order was given, there was a moment of silence from the gunner's position, followed by an embarrassed reply: "Uh... squad leader, this thing... it doesn't show a ballistic trajectory! I also couldn't find any firing tables or anything. I have no idea how far it will fly at different elevation angles!"
The squad leader was stunned upon hearing this. Only then did he realize that this was indeed the case. Previously, when they threw frag grenades, the game also didn't provide an auxiliary trajectory; everything relied on the player's feel. It was just that the game's realism was so good that everyone subconsciously accepted this setting, and no one realized that when throwing projectiles in a game, there should ideally be a trajectory display.
After all, grenades are thrown with a flick of the wrist, and everyone has thrown things like stones in real life. After weighing it, they roughly know where it can be thrown. But a mortar... who the hell has personally operated one of those in real life?!
The squad leader scratched his head, unable to come up with a solution for a while. In the end, he could only throw caution to the wind and say: "How about... you just go with a feeling, fire a volley first, and we'll see where it lands?"
The gunner's voice immediately rose an octave: "...squad leader, are you serious? One volley is four shells, that's 120 Contribution Points! You'd be hard-pressed to earn that much even if you single-handedly took on a hundred cultists!"
"What's there to be afraid of!" The squad leader waved his hand grandly, "The captain is paying!"
"Alright! Then I'm firing!"
Hearing this, the gunner had no more reservations. He adjusted the quad-barreled mortar to an angle he felt was reliable via the main console, then unhesitatingly pressed the fire button.
Meanwhile, on the other front line, the Seventh Squad was acting as a spearhead, fiercely disrupting the enemy's formation. Although the cultists, caught by the sudden attack, were desperately trying to resist, under the Seventh Squad's storm-like offensive, signs of collapse were already evident. At this rate, they would soon be easily routed by the players, without even needing other squads to intervene.
After all, Cain, the leader of the Seventh Squad, was a genuine ogryn. In terms of pure physical strength, he was a terrifying existence capable of arm-wrestling with the predecessors of the space marines—the Thunder Warriors. Although he would definitely be the one to lose in the end, he was by no means something that a mere hundred miscellaneous cultists could withstand.
However, just as the Seventh Squad was in the thick of the fight, enjoying the feeling of being unmatched, a sharp whistling sound suddenly came from the sky. These players, who had never personally experienced artillery fire, and at most had only heard the sound from afar, subconsciously looked up... It was this fatal movement that delayed their last chance to react and evade. By the time they realized what was happening, it was already too late to do anything.
"Boom—Boom boom boom!"
Amidst a earth-shattering series of explosions, four Storm Mortar shells accurately covered the entire cultists' position—and the Seventh Squad located in the center of the position. The violent explosions threw sand, gravel, and dismembered limbs into the sky. When the thick smoke and dust slowly dissipated, nothing remained on the original spot, only a huge cluster of shell craters announcing everything that had just happened.
The other players responsible for fire support from a distance watched this scene, all falling into shock.
"Holy crap... The power of one artillery volley is that immense!"
"I retract my slander about the Astra Militarum's lack of heavy firepower."
"But I heard this one volley alone costs 120 Contribution Points."
"I once again unleash my slander about the Astra Militarum's expensive heavy firepower."
"Chameleon this part."
Amidst the players' lighthearted banter, the Seventh Squad, unfortunately located in the center of the artillery strike, respawned at the Chemical Refinery behind. Cain's burly figure stormed over to his squad's walkie-talkie, grabbed the microphone, and roared, "What the hell, buddies! Are you guys the only ones playing this game?! Look where these shells landed!"
Inside the walkie-talkie, the Third Squad's squad leader was also in extreme embarrassment. He cleared his throat and quickly apologized, "Sorry, brother, a mistake, purely a mistake! I'll buy you guys a new set of equipment in the mall later, it's on me!"
"Forget it! We're all brothers, damn it!" Although Cain's anger had not completely subsided, he ultimately waved his hand and said gruffly, "Anyway, our gear wasn't worth much. Just don't go blasting shells all over the place next time!"
Robert, who had witnessed all of this, did not show much anger on his face; instead, there was a calm mixed with helplessness and expectation.
Player infantry-artillery coordination resulting in friendly fire was, in his opinion, almost inevitable. To be honest, the Third Squad's first blind shot actually hitting the enemy position accurately was already far beyond his expectations.
However, the subsequent problem caused him genuine headaches.
One test shot cost 120 Contribution Points. If every squad that took over this Wyvern had to go through this learning process of finding the feel and calibrating the trajectory with expensive shells, then this friendly fire incident would be secondary, at least it hit the enemy. More often than not, it would probably be blank shots, or even worse, missing the enemy entirely and hitting allies instead.
Robert vaguely realized that he might have thought too simply. Compared to the two thousand Contribution Points spent on purchasing the vehicle itself, the real money pit in the future would likely be these constantly needing replenishment shells. Could his remaining Contribution Points last through this round trip?
He still needed to quickly bring over that Tech-Priest and that squad of cultists...