Is This a Servitor?

Is This a Servitor?

"Shame."

Gu Hang lowered the binoculars and uttered the word.

He regretted that the enemy had reacted so quickly, moving into action before the bombardment began. Otherwise, the bombardment would have achieved even more.

He regretted that his side still lacked firepower. If they could replace the 60mm mortars with large-caliber howitzers, the infantry would only need to go in and mop up the battlefield. The artillery could solve the main problem outright.

But those were the conditions they had to work with.

All in all, after two rounds of bombardment, the enemy had lost a third of their fighting strength. It looked like there might be time for another two or three rounds, but they probably wouldn't be nearly as effective.

The remaining enemies would still have to be dealt with by the infantry, one hard fight at a time.

Patel, standing nearby, was thoroughly enjoying the sight.

From the information they'd gotten from a prisoner, he already knew that aside from those who'd been killed, most of his people had been transferred to the Prisoner-Dead's lair and locked up. There was little risk of accidentally hitting them while shelling the temporary camp.

So, watching the bandits who'd threatened his home get shelled, their camp reduced to ruins after a few rounds, with casualties too numerous to count, filled him with joy.

May the Governor strike down every last one of these bandits! I, Patel, am willing to serve you for the rest of my life!

As he thought this, he saw the Governor put away his binoculars and beckon to the soldiers standing guard nearby. "Advance."

He hurried to follow.

Find the target, fire, kill.

Feeling the faint warmth travel from the HS3 "Eagle" Electromagnetic Rifle in his hands to his cheek, Yan Fangxu felt much more at ease.

The situation on a battlefield was always changing. He'd thought that, by catching the enemy off guard, several rounds of fire from the mortar positions would deal a devastating blow to these local bandits. The survivors would probably be dazed and disoriented, and all he and the infantry would need to do was sweep the battlefield and take care of a few stragglers.

But he hadn't expected the enemy to be so alert.

Even wasteland raiders shouldn't be underestimated.

The enemy had sent out several squads in advance, forcing him to attack immediately or risk being discovered. The bombardment had begun a few minutes early, and the infantry under his command had to eliminate those enemy squads from several hundred meters away from the camp.

Taking out the bandit squads wasn't difficult.

But the battle that followed was a little frustrating.

The mortars had inflicted less damage than he'd expected. Now he'd have to lead the infantry in and crack the hard nut himself.

Victory was assured, but what about casualties?

If they suffered heavy losses while fighting a bunch of wasteland bandits, despite having the initiative, it would be humiliating. Excessive casualties could also interfere with the Governor's plans.

He had complete faith in the thirty Marines he'd brought down from the starship himself, but the Servitor soldiers were another matter. They were meant to be cannon fodder, and their equipment was garbage. More importantly, the combat instincts implanted in their brains had been geared toward making them cannon fodder, with one defining trait: a complete disregard for their own lives.

That was an advantage for cannon fodder, but not necessarily for regular soldiers.

He was genuinely worried that the Servitors would charge in recklessly and die in droves.

But as soon as the fighting began, he felt a lot more at ease.

While eliminating the raider squads on the perimeter, the Servitor soldiers hadn't shown much that was special. After all, he and the Marines had taken care of most of the targets themselves. Special operations were the Marines' forte, especially since they were equipped with all kinds of attachments: assisted aiming, rapid target acquisition, precision shooting modules... They had an overwhelming advantage over the raiders in both training and equipment. Taking them out without a scratch was only natural.

The Servitor soldiers, who hadn't had a chance to show what they could do, proved highly capable during the assault on the camp.

They didn't charge out all at once like cannon fodder. Each squad maintained a skirmish formation, advancing in groups of three. There were assault troops, fire support, and squad machine guns laying down suppressive fire from the rear as they advanced. The mortar positions a kilometer away could no longer inflict much damage, but they could still keep lobbing shells ahead of the troops, suppressing the enemy's fire.

To someone as battle-hardened as him, the Servitor soldiers' tactical movements seemed a little rigid, but they were standard and effective.

The raiders who tried to break out were pinned down inside the camp.

They could only occasionally fire a few shots from within. Their aim was poor, and they didn't dare stick their heads out, let alone take aim.

Before long, several assault teams had made it into the camp. The Servitor soldiers were still displaying excellent discipline: advancing by turns, covering one another, sweeping their lines of fire from multiple angles, and keeping an eye on blind spots... They used every proper tactical maneuver.

The bandits had thought they'd finally be able to mount a meaningful counterattack at close range, but what awaited them was the Servitor soldiers' merciless slaughter.

Of course, the Servitor soldiers weren't invincible. Casualties were inevitable in close-quarters firefights, but their losses were far lower than Yan Fangxu had expected.

The Governor's training really works?

It isn't just for show. It actually gives them a real boost in combat effectiveness.

Three hundred cannon fodder had become three hundred regular soldiers in such a short time. He found it truly unbelievable.

But it was a good thing.

Now that the Servitor Corps had reached this level, he no longer had to worry about suffering heavy losses in a siege.

Those bandits couldn't possibly hold off the Servitor soldiers' attack.

This battle was in the bag.

Yan Fangxu found it unbelievable. Kaga, meanwhile, was simply desperate.

He'd reacted as quickly as anyone could, but he still couldn't change his fate.

His men were trapped in the camp, and fewer than half of them were left.

The whistling mortars had stopped firing, presumably to avoid hitting their own troops. He'd thought that would give them a chance to catch their breath, maybe even mount a counterattack, but it hadn't. The soldiers advancing on them, with their mechanical eyes, were the ones who truly filled him with despair.

He'd heard of "Servitors." Some major powers had them in their employ, but they were nothing more than slave laborers.

They couldn't think for themselves and could only follow orders to perform low-level, repetitive physical labor. They weren't suited to being trained as soldiers; if anyone tried, all they'd get was a pile of cannon fodder. If they had any advantages, they were that they couldn't leak secrets, were absolutely loyal, and obeyed without question.

But these soldiers in front of him were Servitors?

Could Servitors really be this terrifying?

There was no trace of stupidity in their cold eyes, only mercilessness. They were disciplined and swift, slaughtering his men in an orderly fashion.

Fight back?

Quite a few of his hardened bandits had tried, but their scattered attacks were useless. The occasional Servitor soldier who was wounded wasn't even fazed. Hiding inside makeshift shelters built from construction debris and rubble was useless, too. The Servitor soldiers would throw two or three grenades in a row, then enter without hesitation, guns at the ready. They didn't fear casualties, but more often than not, they killed the stubborn bandits without suffering any themselves.

Now he knew it was all over.

His temporary camp had been blown to pieces, with rubble and craters everywhere. His men lay dead and wounded across the grounds: killed by the blasts, shredded by shrapnel, torn apart from a distance by the well-equipped soldiers' electromagnetic rifles, or shot dead at close range by Servitor soldiers...

The Prisoner-Dead were dead.

But Kaga still had one last trick.

His tribe was beyond saving, but perhaps there was still a chance he could survive.

He pulled a palm-sized bottle of dirty green glass from his clothes and hesitated. He'd seen what happened to people who drank this stuff. It might not be much better than dying.

But if he didn't drink it, he'd die right here.

Finally, he gritted his teeth, pulled out the stopper, and gulped down the potion.