The beach area had already been cleared, and a new batch of landing ships brought in mechanical equipment.
Armored cars, motorcycles, mortars, and a small number of tanks.
For this amphibious assault, Anke Coke Industry had even developed a special track for use on sand.
Wider treads and deeper metal teeth gave the tanks enough traction on the beach as well. "Hurry, faster!"
A Sergeant and a Private carried a crate of mortar shells and ran forward with their heads lowered. The enemy's firepower beyond the beach was too strong now. They had to find a way to clear part of the area as quickly as possible, or the landing force would be pinned down on the beach and shelled.
The Private's face had long since gone pale. He looked only about twenty years old. After receiving three months of basic military training, he had been thrown onto the Nagaril battlefield.
He had once thought the fighting on the Nagaril battlefield was already the fiercest imaginable—until this moment! Countless bullets and shells flew wildly overhead. Even more frightening was that danger sometimes came not only from the enemy, but from behind! Just moments ago, a shell had landed behind him, blasting a young soldier to death.
Yet at the instant the soldier was killed, perhaps driven by bodily instinct, he suddenly clamped down on the trigger.
Twenty bullets instantly killed the three comrades in front of him...
The Private had nearly been hit as well. A bullet grazed his shoulder, leaving a searing wound.
He wanted to say that he needed medical attention, but the Sergeant found him and ordered him to carry the mortar shells forward with him.
At a time like this, disobeying might mean not surviving the next second. He could only comply.
War was not romantic