diymy Chapter 52 was fiercely loved by modern firepower!
Chapter 52 was fiercely loved by modern firepower!
"Report the situation! Report the situation!"
Carl Jensen leaned against the brick wall of the town hall, cement dust falling from the ceiling and accumulating a thin layer on his bulletproof vest.
The shelling had just stopped, and the buzzing in my ears hadn't completely subsided.
He pressed the call button on the walkie-talkie, and his voice sounded exceptionally clear in the empty hall.
Although as a veteran I had anticipated artillery barrage, the sheer scale of the first wave of attacks—with twelve heavy artillery pieces firing simultaneously—was still beyond my expectations.
Responses came through the walkie-talkie one after another.
"In the North District, the two returned to the divine realm. The main road was cratered into three places, obstructing traffic."
"Half of the church tower collapsed, but there were no casualties. A fire broke out in the eastern warehouse area, and firefighters are currently battling it."
"The dock area is intact. There is a gap in the western wall, about ten meters wide."
"The western power plant was severely damaged, and three brothers returned to the Lord's embrace."
……
Karl closed his eyes, and the [Blood Flag Domain] unfolded.
While giving strength to his brothers, he also gained a sense of awareness of others.
More than two thousand points of light were scattered inside and outside the town, five of which had already gone out.
The remaining light spots have stable brightness and move in an orderly manner.
"The five brothers returned to God's Kingdom."
He opened his eyes and spoke into the walkie-talkie.
The town's official name is Red Harbor, and it is located north of Detroit.
Once a vital steel port in the Great Lakes region during its golden age, it is now just another industrial hollowing-out remnant on the Rust Belt.
But precisely because of this, most of the buildings here still use old-fashioned construction methods: brick and stone structures, thick walls, and steel beams riveted to the roof.
The Kirdi family chose this place as one of their strongholds precisely because of its industrial heritage that was difficult to destroy with conventional firepower.
"Proceed according to plan."
Carl said,
"Don't fight to the death. The path to redemption must be walked while alive."
He turned and walked toward the fire escape at the back of the hall.
The iron gate was pushed open, leading down to concrete steps.
Thirty meters underground, an abandoned transport tunnel extends east and west.
This was once a dedicated freight line connecting the power plant, steel mill, and river port. The sleepers have long since rotted, but the tunnel structure remains intact.
People are already moving inside the tunnel.
The beams of flashlights crisscrossed, and the sound of footsteps echoed in the enclosed space.
Fully armed soldiers are moving to their respective defensive positions according to the pre-arranged plan.
The sound of artillery fire traveled through the soil, turning into a dull tremor.
On the chimney watchtower, David Miller retreated to his sniping position.
"Smoke tower sniping position in place."
He spoke into the headset, his eyes never leaving the scope.
The sky was leaden gray, and the clouds were low.
Then he saw the black dots.
Small quadcopter drones, in swarm, entered from the southeast at low altitude.
There were twenty of them, each with a cylindrical load suspended beneath its fuselage.
"Shit, there's a drone in the sky!"
David raised the muzzle of his gun.
boom! boom! boom!
Twenty sparks bloomed in the air.
It was his lock-like precision combined with his rapid reloading.
"Shit, military drones too! Aren't those only available in Seris?"
More drones are approaching.
In addition to the same swarm of drones, there are also military reconnaissance and strike integrated machines that fly tens of thousands of miles in the sky.
This distance is beyond the range of a rifle.
David quickly shot down several suicide drones that were rushing towards him and then immediately turned around.
"Air superiority has been crushed."
He shouted into his headset, put away his gun, and turned to climb down the iron ladder.
The suicide drone began its dive, its target clearly the high ground.
He had just stepped into the ground floor passage when a series of explosions sounded behind him. Pieces of concrete tumbled down the stairwell.
The blast door at the tunnel entrance closed behind him.
In the command center, Gordon Jose pressed his throbbing temples.
The footage transmitted back by the drone shows:
Seven armored personnel carriers were parked on the dirt road leading to the gas station, with bullet holes in the driver's side window.
Further away, the gas station building had completely collapsed, with concrete debris piled up like a small mountain.
"Let's use artillery to bombard the area."
He said.
The order was issued.
Eight miles away, at an artillery position, twelve M777 howitzers have completed parameter setting.
First volley.
The whistling sound of shells tearing through the sky overlapped into a continuous sonic wave over the town of Hegang.
The explosions started in the west of the town and moved eastward.
The flames were particularly glaring against the gray sky, and each explosion caused the drone footage to shake violently.
Gordon looked at the screen.
The brick and stone buildings trembled in the shock wave, and many of the glass windows shattered, but most of the main structures remained standing.
Only those already abandoned steel-structured factory buildings twisted and collapsed after being hit repeatedly.
"Damn rust belt."
He muttered a curse under his breath.
As a legal immigrant of Mexican descent, he had no liking for this bulky and stubborn complex of buildings designed for the industrial age.
Their very existence is a mockery of "openness," "modernization," and "freedom."
The shelling lasted for six minutes, with four salvos firing a total of forty-eight 155mm high-explosive shells.
The town of Hegang in the picture is shrouded in smoke and dust.
The streets were riddled with craters and some buildings were on fire, but the church, town hall, and dock warehouse complex in the core area still stood.
Gordon packed up all the edited shelling footage, especially the shots of buildings collapsing.
The terminal was sent to Senators Howard and Tom.
The accompanying text briefing stated: "Fire suppression has been implemented on the target, destroying the outer defensive nodes with significant results."
He needed this victory to offset the earlier defeat of the entire advance team being wiped out.
Shells are consumables, and data can be embellished, but the patience of the big spenders is not unlimited.
"alright."
Gordon switched back to the command channel.
"Get the security detail ready to advance. First wave, clear the area from the main road to the town square."
The order was passed down to the Detroit Police Department's Special Operations Group, which was temporarily incorporated into the National Guard, dressed in mixed gear, with most of them wearing police badge shirts under their bulletproof vests.
They were the first wave of "regular troops" to enter Hegang Town, totaling four hundred people.
Two kilometers behind them, elite National Guard companies, formed from the private armies of the Ford, Simpson, and other families, had just completed their assembly.
These soldiers, uniformly equipped and well-trained, are now sitting quietly inside their armored personnel carriers, waiting.
Gordon brought up the drone monitoring split screen.
The four images correspond to the four main roads leading into Hegang Town.
Two drones accompanied each advance team, transmitting real-time images back to the ground.
"This drone is really useful for monitoring operations."
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the table.
On the screen, Detroit police officers use vehicles as cover as they slowly move into the town.
They stepped over the broken bricks at the edge of the crater, their guns pointed at every shattered window.
From the drone's high vantage point, everyone's position and movements are clearly visible.
Gordon didn't care about these casualties.
Their pensions are paid from the municipal government budget and have nothing to do with him personally.
He only needed them to scout out the defensive line, deplete the enemy's ammunition, and ideally draw out a few firing positions.
Then—oops, I was accidentally hit by friendly fire!
As for those family private soldiers?
That's the real powerhouse; we should save it for the most crucial moment.
He glanced at the troop status table on the side screen.
The Detroit Police Department's roster shows: 398 officers online, 0 on standby, and 2 casualties (accidental injuries from artillery fire).
The numbers are clean.
Gordon picked up his coffee and took a sip.
The coffee had gone cold and had that characteristic bitter taste of instant coffee powder.
He frowned and put the paper cup aside.
"Pah! What a load of crap, not even as good as a single Gelazzi."