The charging formation of over a hundred players, like a drawn blade, fiercely met the steel torrent of the Boarboys.
There was no dodging, no flanking, and not an inch of retreat.
On the dune, two surging waves collided with a roar. The moment of contact was an extreme explosion of flesh and blood.
Players' bodies were easily shattered by the immense impact, the crisp sound of breaking bones drowned out by the roar of chainswords. Yet, the players, fearless of death, before being sent flying, used all their strength to thrust their weapons into the enemies in front of them.
Chainswords tore open the metal shells of Cyber-Boars, cleavers hacked into the flesh of War Boars, and power weapons directly impaled riders and mounts alike. This was the most primitive, most brutal exchange, where life became the cheapest consumable.
The battle started quickly and ended even faster. When the last Boarboy rolled over the corpse of the last player, this brief and tragic skirmish drew to a close.
All hundred-plus players who initially counter-charged were annihilated.
In return, over seventy Boarboys and their mounts also fell forever on this dune, their remains mixed with the players' corpses, forming a horrifying barricade of flesh and blood.
After all, not everyone could precisely seize the timing like the first player to charge, thrusting their weapon perfectly into the War Boar's brain under immense impact. Moreover, for the 'Explosive Cyber-Boars' with thick cables and exhaust pipes attached to their bodies, whether their vital point was truly the brain, or even if they still possessed a biological brain, was an unknown.
And when the captain announced the exchange ratio of one hundred for seventy from his system log, everyone's eyes lit up.
"Holy crap! The casualty ratio is almost one-to-one!"
"What one-to-one? Our squad barely got any kills, we lost out!"
"Lost out my ass! We can revive! Can they? This is a huge profit!"
"Guys, what are you waiting for? It's just a head-on charge, isn't it? Let's do it!"
The word 'cowardice' had never existed in their dictionary!
Suddenly, the situation on the battlefield became incredibly bizarre. Without even waiting for the greenskins to charge into the trenches, players in the trenches actively jumped out, shouting various slogans, launching wave after wave of suicidal counter-charges against the surging greenskin army.
Such fanatical and fearless actions genuinely surprised warboss Redeye, who was observing from afar. He watched those ummies actively charging out of the trenches, dying with his Boarboys, and his thick eyebrows furrowed.
He stroked his chin and mumbled in a booming voice, "I didn't expect these hummies to have some courage; I misunderstood them before!"
If Redeye was greatly surprised, then Joker, in the rear command post, was utterly startled.
"What the f—?" He swore on the spot, feeling his blood pressure rapidly rising. He snatched up the communicator and roared at the top of his lungs, "No matter what, the people at the artillery and heavy firepower positions must never charge forward! Control your weapons and continue providing fire support! Do you hear me?!"
What he feared most now was that players operating crucial heavy weapons would also get hot-headed, fix bayonets, and engage in melee combat with the greenskins.
Fortunately, reassuring reports soon came in. Most of the artillery and heavy weapon operators in the rear remained in their positions, firing dutifully. The reason was very simple and realistic:
For ordinary infantry players, it took dozens of people to concentrate fire at the position to eliminate one Boarboy, and the exp gained felt like trying to grab money with a claw machine; it was better to charge out of the trench and attempt a one-for-one trade.
But for heavy weapon operators, every time they fired, whether it was heavy bolter rounds or autocannons, they could create large areas of kills and assists in the greenskin formation. Their firepower was like scooping up money with sacks, incredibly efficient.
Therefore, they had no need whatsoever to abandon their comfortable and high-income money-making positions and run to the front to play one-for-one.
Originally, according to Joker's plan, a close-quarters battle was certainly going to erupt. This would be a brutal tug-of-war inside and outside the trenches, with greenskins surging into the players' positions like a tide.
Then, he would command the company and platoon units to conduct an organized counterattack and segmentation, turning every inch of the trench into a meat grinder, maximizing the use of terrain advantage to deplete the enemy's effective strength. Every position would be repeatedly contested until one side bled dry.
Now, a close-quarters battle had indeed erupted, and the dune had indeed turned into a meat grinder.
However, it wasn't the greenskins charging into the positions, but the players actively charging out of the positions, yelling and looking for a fight with the greenskins. The entire battlefield was completely out of control, turning into a boiling pot of porridge, with green waves and human torrents mixed together, indistinguishable from each other.
Joker's meticulously detailed battle plan, precise down to every platoon, instantly became a dead letter in the face of the players' surging enthusiasm for 'suicidal charges'.
"These disobedient bastards!"
But in war, constant change is a very normal thing. After a brief loss of composure, Joker quickly accepted the current reality and began to force himself to think about how to improve upon this chaos.
The first thing he thought of was his side's heavy firepower support.
Originally, according to his plan, even if the greenskins charged into the positions and became entangled with the players, because the battle was mainly confined to the vicinity of the trench line, the heavy firepower in the rear could still strike subsequent enemies charging up the ridge line without reservation, forming an effective fire blockade.
But now, the players had actively charged out and were completely mixed up with the enemies on the ridge line.
This led to an extremely fatal problem—friendly fire.
In just these few minutes, Joker personally saw several infantrymen killed by shrapnel from heavy bolter explosions, and the communication channel, naturally, relayed the angry roars of players after they revived.
"F*** you! That bastard on the heavy machine gun! You hit me!"
"Artillery! Where the hell are you f***ing shelling?!"
This couldn't go on! If the heavy firepower continued to indiscriminately bombard, the greenskins wouldn't be wiped out, but their own people would start infighting first.
"All heavy firepower units, attention!" Joker immediately grabbed the communicator and issued new orders, "Raise your muzzles and use a parabolic trajectory to strike enemies in the rear!
"Raise your muzzles, use a parabolic trajectory to strike the enemy! Repeat, use a parabolic trajectory to strike the enemy! Do not directly bombard areas in contact with our personnel!"
This order was very timely. The artillery and heavy machine gunners in the rear immediately raised their muzzles, and the destructive rain of bullets bypassed the fiercely engaged close-quarters combat zone, cutting into the subsequent greenskin infantry and vehicle formations like the scythe of death.
For a time, the ork's rear line erupted, and the pressure in the forward melee zone drastically decreased.
The players in the front continued to expend lives at an astonishing rate, but they also firmly held the greenskin vanguard in front of the positions, making it impossible for them to advance. The entire dune ridge became a massive, bloody meat grinder, with players and orks constantly falling, and new players constantly charging out of the trenches to fill the gaps.
Joker looked at the tactical map and let out a long sigh. He gave up on the idea of further refined command.