"Observation of the 5th defense line. The distance between each defense line is 200 meters, and it has been confirmed that they are structured to allow for retreat at any time. The main construction materials appear to be... trailers and train cars."

"This is insane, seriously. What is this place? Containers and trailers... and what's with the train cars?"

"They’ve taken blocks from cargo trains. American freight trains are 5 kilometers long, and at maximum length, they can reach 7 kilometers. By removing the containers or wheeled blocks and modifying them here and there, they can form a massive defensive line."

On the way to Seattle.

As the closest port city to East Asia and the gateway to Alaska, this city was undoubtedly the very heart of logistics. From the sprawling metropolis that immediately comes to mind when thinking of Seattle, just a dozen or so kilometers south, a vast collection of warehouses existed.

Its size was enormous—tens of square kilometers—filled with containers laden with export and import goods, thousands of cars waiting to be shipped overseas, and long-abandoned freight trains.

These forsaken items, left unused for at least two years, caught the attention of the Allied Forces who were in need of construction materials, and they succeeded in constructing a remarkably sturdy defensive line, cleverly made.

Harmony, who had been quietly watching the scene, grumbled.

"Isn’t this the kind of stuff you see in movies, where the air force just blows it all to pieces and easily breaks through?"

"Good point. In that case, our Monimoni could be a fighter pilot. They say they have tons of planes just sitting there because they don’t have enough maintenance crew to operate them. Maybe they'd happily take her on?"

"True... Ugh! Mortar!"

Bang!

With a loud "thump," the flying shell was intercepted by a shot that curved through the air and struck it before it could hit the ground. Of course, it was Eugene’s work. It was always an almost impossible feat, but Harmony and the others just shrugged it off.

Beyond that, Eugene's words—"Why are there still so many fighters left? Why not just wipe them all out?"—instantly resonated in their minds. It was the obvious conclusion with just a little thought.

The reason there was no bombing support was simple.

Since six out of seven Americans were lost to the virus and the great war, the resources were stretched to their limits. This meant that the UAVs flying overhead or the occasional transport planes dropping unmanned vehicles were all part of the United States’ attempt to operate at maximum capacity.

The American military, once capable of breaking any adversary's knee with just its air force, was gone. All that remained were nations fighting desperately to survive and carve a future.

Still, despite this…

Boom!

"Wow! That’s insane!"

"How does it land so precisely?"

"Alright, let's move. Time to go."

The U.S. still had the ability to send invaders to the bottom of Seattle’s waters.

When a native axe fell into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, clearing everything inside, the mortar shells that had been falling from the sky began to subside. Although they couldn't handle all the artillery units firing from tens of kilometers away, this was still a significant achievement.

Only then did numerous users charge forward, leading with unmanned tanks. Ultimately, as the number of usable resources dwindled, warfare returned to its primal roots. With less air superiority to crush the enemy fortifications from a distance, the situation was starting to resemble WWII.

In the midst of Seattle’s descent into chaos, one thing remained certain:

Boom!

"The tanks...!"

"Seems like the enemy is using their heads after all."

The enemy wasn’t just sitting back and taking it.

They focused their firepower on the unmanned tanks breaking through the defense lines. After that, they immediately sent coordinates for artillery strikes to wipe out the advancing enemy forces. If that didn’t work, they retreated to the next line of defense.

The problem was that there were dozens of defense lines stacked on top of each other.

But it wasn’t just that. Recently, the enemy forces, despite their obsession with futile fantasies of reinforcement, were operating at peak efficiency. They had memorized the coordinates of all the defense lines, and with just a few words over the communication network, they could request accurate artillery support at the right time.

The command post operated similarly. Real-time data was collected, allowing them to issue the appropriate orders. If a defense line was breached beyond a certain point, they would quickly relocate the command post to the rear. This was all possible because the command post itself was built using containers and similar materials.

Looking at the bigger picture, it was clear that the Allied Forces had a real chance of achieving reinforcements.

However…

"24% of our forces have been lost."

"Well, no one really cares about that."

The users had arrived with the shocking cheat code of "infinite respawns."

The shadows numbered in the thousands, still rapidly dwindling, yet none had abandoned their positions. In fact, as time passed, their attacks became more intense, relentlessly pushing down on the Allied Forces.

The only saving grace was that none of the shadows had refused to surrender. On the contrary, they had hacked into the network and were actively encouraging surrender. As a result, while bullets and shells continued to fly, there wasn’t much blood spilled in the process.

But even that wouldn’t last long.

From deep within the defensive lines, antenna dishes erupted in a blaze of brilliant sparks. As axes fell from the sky and anti-air missiles were destroyed one by one, the users saw something unexpected.

• [Notification: Destruction of enemy air defense network confirmed. All conditions necessary for air support have been met.]

• [Notification: Deployment of AC-130Z Ghost Rider has commenced.]

Death was descending from the skies.

"Navigator, make a turning flight around Algona. Has the weapons controller checked the map?"

"Checked. Should we just avoid the UAVs?"

"Exactly. But don’t shoot the immortal friends down there, okay?"

Clank!

The dim ceiling lights and the sound of propellers outside, metal scraping sounds—inside the aircraft were not nine people, but nine machines. The crew, the sensor navigator, weapons controller, and loaders all had a look reminiscent of exo-skeletons.

They weren’t remotely controlling the machines; instead, they were remotely controlling the personnel inside. Not a single person was actually aboard. The call sign "Ghost Rider" matched the situation perfectly.

The weapons controller clicked buttons, and the Seattle landscape appeared on the screen. Numerous red marks indicating enemies, and the real-time updates showing an overwhelming number of foes that made even the observer shudder.

A firing command was given. However, there were still a few things to do. With a clunk, a round that had been loaded was fired. As it cut through the sky and fell, it broke into thousands of fragments just a few hundred meters from the target, scattering across the ground.

As the screen turned green, the battle system officer spoke.

"Send the data."

"Sending now. Will complete in 15 seconds."

"Good. Let’s see what our Allied friends have to say."

Bleep!

But the issue lay elsewhere. The panel turned red. There were still some remaining surface-to-air missiles targeting them, but none of them were worried.

Taking out the remaining air defense, the SEAD operation, was also their goal.

"Switch to anti-radar missiles. Drop all targets. Let’s crush the remaining air defenses."

"Reverse tracking complete. Magnum!"

With that, the rear hatch opened, and missile pods popped out.

Launched at regular intervals, the HARM missiles, along with countless flares and decoy systems activating, all designed with the grace of angels. Even the laser pod in the front intercepted incoming missiles.

One of the technologies gained from the development of Icarus Gear was putting a device that generates enormous power into a highly compact generator, which was naturally applied to high-powered laser launchers.

How much time had passed?

"Welcome to the negotiation table, General Sergey Lechenkov, Commander of the Southern Defense Line."

"...I heard buzzing from the sky. There was a reason for that. What do you want, machines?"

"Glad you’re quick to talk. I won’t beat around the bush. Cease unnecessary resistance and surrender."

The silence that followed wasn’t exactly quiet, as angry voices in Russian from the staff were heard all around.

Meanwhile, the missile pods were pulverizing what little remained of the air defenses, and time ticked on. Neither side spoke, but it was clear who had the upper hand.

The silence was broken by the Allied Forces.

"I just have one question. Did you create those immortals?"

"Not sure why you're asking, but no. What’s certain is that their direction is towards you. And we... we’ve come to help with that. So, last notice: Surrender and disarm all soldiers in combat in the south."

Naturally, there was no answer.

And everyone knew what that meant.

The battle system officer spoke.

"We’ll leave communications open. Hopefully, we’ll get a real answer in 20 minutes."

And just seconds later…

From the sky, the gates of hell opened.

Boom!

The 120mm M120 mortar shot out its round, followed by the continuous fire of 105mm and 40mm guns.