A trench on the front line.
Gunfire crackled like popping beans, punctuated now and then by the muffled boom of artillery.
Since the early hours of the morning, the fighting had suddenly grown fierce.
The puppet troops on the other side were manageable. Though there were plenty of them, their poor military discipline and low morale meant that even with guns in their hands, they were little more than armed civilians. They weren't much of a threat to the soldiers on the front line.
The greatest danger came from the barbarians.
Today, the barbarians seemed to have gone mad, attacking with reckless fury.
"Rat-a-tat-tat..." A machine gunner manned a dual-purpose anti-aircraft and ground machine gun, spraying bullets at a figure racing toward them.
A dense stream of bullets swept through like a whip, punching holes through the ruined buildings on either side.
The barbarian racing forward suddenly burst into a cloud of blood, his body cut in half by the gunfire.
A low cheer rose from the trench.
"Damn it, we finally killed one!"
"Quick, quick, change the belt!"
In truth, the machine gun still had nearly half a belt of ammunition left. But on a battlefield, having so little ammo was undeniably dangerous. Especially when facing attacking barbarians: the snipers stationed nearby were utterly useless, and aside from sweeping fire over a wide area, there really wasn't much else they could do.
Once the bullets ran out, it almost meant certain death.
Even so, the barbarians still broke through the defenses from time to time, slaughtering large numbers of soldiers.
The loader hurriedly fitted the prepared belt onto the machine gun.
But then a full minute passed, and not a sound came from the other side.
A gust of wind blew by, carrying the thick stench of blood from