"What a shame."
Gu Hang, holding his binoculars, let out these two words.
He regretted that the enemy had reacted so quickly, having already started to move before the shelling began; otherwise, the results of the artillery fire could have been even greater.
He regretted his side's lack of firepower. If he could swap the 60mm mortars for large-caliber howitzers, the infantry would only need to clean up the battlefield; the main problem could be solved directly by the artillery.
But given the current conditions, there was no other way.
All told, after two rounds of shelling, the enemy lost one-third of their combat power. Although there was likely a chance for two or three more rounds, the effect probably wouldn't be as good.
The remaining enemies still needed to be dealt with by the infantry.
Patel, standing nearby, watched with great satisfaction.
From the prisoner's intelligence, he already knew that his people, aside from the deceased, had mostly been transferred to the Doomed Captives' Home Base and were being guarded, so there was no worry about collateral damage from shelling the Temporary Camp.
Thus, watching these bandits who had endangered his home get bombed, leaving a mess of chaos and countless casualties after several rounds of fire, he was ecstatic.
By the Governor, kill all these bandits! I, Patel, am willing to serve you for life!
Just as he was thinking this, he saw the Governor put away his binoculars, signal the nearby soldiers to advance.
He quickly followed.
Accurately locate the target, fire, and kill.
Feeling the slight heat transmitted from the HS3 'Eagle' electromagnetic rifle in his hands to his cheek, Yan Fangxu felt much more relieved.
Battlefield situations are always volatile. He had initially expected that, catching the enemy unprepared, multiple rounds of mortar shelling would inflict devastating damage on these native bandits. The survivors, mostly dazed by the explosions, would then be easily mopped up by his advancing infantry, only needing to finish off a few stragglers.
But unexpectedly, the enemy was very alert.
Even if they were just Wasteland Raiders, they couldn't be underestimated.
The enemy had already scattered several small squads, forcing him to launch the attack immediately, or risk being discovered. The shelling was initiated a few minutes early, and the infantry he led had to first annihilate those small enemy squads hundreds of meters from the enemy camp.
Eliminating these bandit squads was not difficult.
But the subsequent battle annoyed him slightly.
The casualties caused by the mortars were less than anticipated, forcing him and the infantry to take on the heavy lifting.
Winning wasn't the issue, but what about the losses?
If they suffered significant casualties fighting a group of Wasteland Bandits, even with the advantage of surprise, it would be extremely embarrassing. Moreover, excessive losses would impact the Governor's plans.
He had full confidence in the thirty Marines he personally brought down from the Starship, but the Servitor Soldiers were another matter. They were originally positioned as cannon fodder, with rubbish equipment. More critically, the combat instincts implanted in the Servitor Soldiers' brains were geared toward cannon fodder—emphasizing a fearless rush to death.
Being cannon fodder is a virtue; being a regular soldier is not necessarily the same.
He genuinely feared these Servitors might be too reckless and suffer too many fatalities.
However, once the battle began, he immediately felt much more at ease.
While eliminating the peripheral raider squads, these Servitor Soldiers didn't show too many special qualities, as he and the Marines had already dealt with the primary targets. The special operations style was precisely what the Marines excelled at, especially since they were equipped with aiming assistance, rapid target acquisition, and precise shooting units... various types of attachments. In both training level and equipment quality, they had an overwhelming advantage over the raiders, so winning without casualties was normal.
The Servitor Soldiers, who hadn't had much chance to show off, displayed exceptionally high discipline during the attack on the camp.
They didn't rush out recklessly like cannon fodder; each squad maintained a skirmisher formation, advancing in groups of three. There was an assault trooper, fire support, and a squad machine gun providing suppressing fire while accompanying the advance. Although the mortar position a kilometer away couldn't deal significant damage anymore, it continuously lobbed shells to cover the advancing soldiers and suppress enemy firepower.
These Servitor Soldiers' tactical movements, though somewhat rigid in the eyes of an elite like him, were sufficiently standard and effective.
The raiders trying to break out were pinned down inside the camp.
They could only occasionally fire some inaccurate bullets from inside, not daring to show their heads, let alone aim and shoot.
Soon, multiple assault teams had entered the camp. The Servitor Soldiers maintained their discipline, executing alternating advances, cross-cover, multi-angle cutting, and covering blind spots... all the necessary technical movements were employed.
The bandits had expected to finally launch some substantial counterattacks at close range, but they were met only with the Servitor Soldiers' merciless slaughter.
Of course, the Servitor Soldiers were not invincible. Casualties were inevitable in close-quarters gunfights, but the losses were far better than Yan Fangxu had previously estimated.
Did the Governor's training actually work?
It wasn't just a show of force; they had truly and genuinely increased their combat effectiveness in battle.
Three hundred cannon fodder turning into three hundred regular soldiers in such a short time—he truly found it incredible.
But this was a good thing.
With the Servitor Battalion at this level, he finally didn't have to worry about excessive losses in the assault.
The bandits couldn't resist the Servitor Soldiers'attack at all.
This battle was secured.
If Yan Fangxu found it incredible, Kaga was truly in despair.
His reaction was swift, but it still couldn't change his fate.
His brothers, trapped in the camp, were now reduced to less than half their original number.
The whistling mortars had stopped firing, likely to avoid collateral damage. He had thought this would give them a breathing spell, or even a chance to launch a counterattack, but it did not. The attacking soldiers with mechanical eyes were the most despair-inducing element.
He had heard of the 'Servitor' type—some large factions had them, but they were just a kind of slave labor.
They don't think for themselves, only follow orders to do low-level, repetitive physical labor, and are unsuitable to be trained as soldiers. Trying to do so would only yield a pile of cannon fodder. Their only real virtues are absolute loyalty, absolute obedience, and the inability to disclose secrets.
And these, these were Servitor Soldiers?
Could Servitors be this ridiculous?
In their cold eyes, there was no hint of idiocy, only ruthlessness. They were well-trained, swift, and systematically slaughtering his subordinates.
Counterattack?
Many of his seasoned bandits did attempt to counterattack, but sporadic resistance was useless. Occasionally, a Servitor Soldier was wounded, but that didn't affect their demeanor at all. Hiding in makeshift shelters made of construction debris and rubble was also futile. The Servitor Soldiers would throw two or three grenades consecutively, then charge in with their guns without hesitation, heedless of casualties. Yet, they often suffered no casualties themselves, quickly killing the entrenched bandits.
Now, he knew, everything was over.
His Temporary Camp was blasted to ruins, covered in debris and shell craters. His brothers were dead and wounded everywhere—killed by explosions, sliced by shrapnel, bodies ripped apart by the well-equipped soldiers with electromagnetic rifles from a distance, or executed at close range by the Servitor Soldiers...
The 'Doomed Captives' were doomed.
But Kaga had one last resort.
His tribe was beyond saving, but perhaps he still had a chance to survive.
Pulling a palm-sized bottle of green, dirty glass from his chest, he looked hesitant. He had seen what happened to people who drank this stuff; it might be little better than death.
But if he didn't drink it, he would die now.
Finally, he gritted his teeth, pulled out the stopper, and gulped down the elixir.