"Rogers! What are you waiting for?!" the Lieutenant screamed in my face. "Ammunition! Get those crates to the heavy gun nest, now!"
I ducked as something (it looked like an axe) whistled over my head and thunked into a sandbag.
Right. Clearly. The delivery quest isn't over.
I looked from my Humvee (parked safely in the center of the circle) to the M2 Browning (.50 Cal) nest... 15 meters away. ...15 meters of open, exposed killing floor.
RAT-TAT-TAT! TAT! TAT! The .50 Cal gunner was firing... but he was firing in short, controlled bursts. He was conserving ammo.
"These Romans are too tough!" a private next to me yelled. "Their shields are deflecting our rounds!"
I took another quick peek. My gamer brain scanned the battlefield... and I saw the problem instantly.
You idiots... I thought. You're shooting the wrong target!
The US soldiers were wasting all their ammunition shooting the Roman 'Shield Wall'—the 'Tanks'—who obviously had sky-high DEF (Defense) stats. The Romans just stood there, taking the hits, yelling something in Latin. They were just holding aggro.
The real damage dealers... were the Orcs. They were green, had random axes, and were wearing no heavy armor. They were using the moment our bullets pinged off the Roman shields... to charge the sandbag line!
"You're wasting bullets on the Tanks!" I screamed at the Lieutenant.
"What the hell are you talking about, Rogers?!" he snapped back.
"Shoot the green guys! Stop shooting the shield guys!" I yelled. "The green ones are the DPS! Kill the DPS first!"
The Lieutenant looked at me like I was insane... but the .50 Cal gunner nearby heard me. He swiveled the barrel away from the 'Shield Wall' and aimed it at a 'mob' of Orcs that were grouping up for another charge.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!
This time, he didn't "burst." He held the trigger down. The .50 Caliber rounds didn't care what the Orcs' HP (Hit Points) were. They just deleted them from the server. Green bodies exploded. Blood and bits went everywhere.
The remaining Orcs... faltered. Their formation broke.
See! Low DEF!
"Rogers!" The Lieutenant slapped my helmet. "Great call! Now, get me that AMMO!"
Crap.
I saw the opening. The Orcs were 'retreating' to regroup. The Romans were in 'Defensive Stance.' This was my window.
"Okay... Sprint... Sprint skill..." I muttered to myself.
I burst from cover behind the Humvee... ripped open the back... grabbed a crate of .5A0 Cal rounds (which weighed a ton)... "LEEROYYYYY!!!!" I screamed (mostly for my own morale). And I ran.
The longest 15 meters of my life. I heard an arrow thwack into the side of the Humvee. I heard the Romans yelling.
Don't trip... don't drop the ammo... that's a 'Quest Failed' condition for sure...
WHUMP!
I slid into the machine gun nest, crate and all. "Mana... uh... Ammo... delivered!" I panted.
The gunner (a huge guy named "Grizz") gave me a nod. He was about to open the crate...
Fwwwiii...
A whistling sound. I'd never heard that sound before. It was followed by a wet THUD.
"Urk..."
I turned and looked at Grizz. ...There was a javelin sticking out of his chest. It had punched right through his body armor. His eyes went wide. He slumped over the gun... and didn't move.
Oh... shit.
Where's the Healer?... Oh. Right. We don't have one.The team's Main Tank... just got 'Crit-Hit' and went down.
"Gunner's hit! Gunner's hit!" the Lieutenant screamed. "Rogers! You're right there! Get on that .50 Cal... NOW!!!"
I looked at Grizz, lying in a growing pool of blood. Then I looked out at the Orcs and Romans, who had seen our main gun go silent. They started to "roar."
...They started to "charge."
This is a DPS check. This is a classic DPS check.
Me... the guy who was complaining about a Gacha game raid boss an hour ago... was now sitting behind an M2 Browning machine gun... facing a real army.
"Okay..." I muttered, my hands shaking, gripping the butterfly trigger. "What's the DPS... on this thing...?"