Chapter 106 Siege
While Alan was deep in the pursuit of the Nazi officer, the combined might of the three groups ensured a resounding victory over the Nazi forces within the compound. Their triumph was symbolized by Cachellos. The mercenary leader emerged from the school building, the weight of his battles evident, yet his body remarkably untouched, a testament to his skill and prowess. He had single-handedly taken down three of the SS's elite fighters, and as the last seconds of the countdown ebbed away, there remained no Nazi soldiers to threaten the captive players.
A heavy silence settled over the area, interrupted only by the faint cries and whispers of the rescued. However, Cachellos's gruff voice shattered the quiet. "Where the hell is that damned Nazi officer? Did anyone get him?!"
As players began sifting through the defeated, identifying friends and foes, an ominous sound drew their attention. The rhythmic march of boots grew louder, and as they turned their gaze to the horizon, they witnessed a sea of gray uniforms and glinting helmets. A battalion of 1,000 Nazi soldiers was advancing, laying siege to the entire compound. They moved in unison, their steps synchronized, marching relentlessly over the 300 meters of open fields that separated them from the compound.
Cachellos's gaze locked onto Marcus. The frustration was evident in his eyes. "You! It's because of you!" Cachellos thundered, "Not only did you sound the alarm prematurely, but your recklessness tore a gaping hole in the fences. Idiot! Puta Madre!"
Marcus's face reddened with anger and embarrassment. He clenched his fists, battling the rising tide of his own fury. "If that's the gratitude I get for trying to help, then perhaps I should leave," he shot back, his voice dripping with disdain. Without waiting for a response, he sharply signaled his men, and they began making their way to the parked truck, eager to put distance between themselves and the impending showdown.
But just as they neared the truck, a whistle cut through the air, culminating in the sound of an arrow embedding itself into one of the truck's front wheels. The vehicle lurched to a sudden stop, effectively pinned in place.
A voice, cold and unyielding, echoed from the shadows. The mercenary leader stepped forward, the bow still in hand. "You aren't going anywhere," he declared, his voice devoid of emotion, "You're going to face the consequences of your actions."
Marcus's face was a mixture of rage and disbelief, veins pulsating on his forehead, eyes wide with fury. "You! You utter bastard!" He spun on his heel, fists clenched, ready to charge at Cachellos.
The tension in the air was palpable. Every player and soldier felt the weight of the impending clash between the two leaders, but just as the first blows were about to be exchanged, a strong hand gripped Marcus's shoulder. Lieutenant Summers stood between the two, his stern face conveying the urgency of their situation. "Enough!" he bellowed, his eyes darting toward the approaching Nazis. "This isn't the time! We have bigger problems!"
Understanding the gravity of their position, the leader of the US special forces swiftly activate his [Military Radio] communicator connecting him to the main army command center. Captain Carter's gruff voice came through, "Report, Lieutenant."
"We're surrounded, Captain," Summers relayed swiftly, "Request backup."
Captain Carter's response was immediate, "Platoon dispatch. ETA 30 minutes, Hold the fort."
The words were not comforting. Half an hour might as well have been an eternity given their situation. With over 200 prisoners, including many unarmed players, the compound was a vulnerable target. They had to prepare.
"We're bracing for a siege!" Lieutenant Summers announced, rallying the troops and players. He gestured to the cafeteria, a structure that seemed the most defensible. "Inside, everyone! Arm yourselves!"
Though there were limited weapons, they were distributed swiftly among the prisoners. It was a small consolation, as only 50 could be armed, but their fighting strength had now effectively doubled.
"For those without weapons, Barricade yourselves in and stay hidden. We'll handle the frontline," the lieutenant commanded.
As the last of them scrambled for cover, the unmistakable cacophony of a battle cry rang out. Hundreds of Nazi soldiers, with their weapons raised, stormed into the compound. Then, the deafening staccato of machine-gun fire erupted.
TRATRATATATATA...
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In a dimly lit section of the building, Alan found himself cornered. The heavy thud of boots and echoing gunfire outside was a stark contrast to his immediate environment, which felt suffocating silent. Before him stood two Elite SS guards, their armor gleaming menacingly under the sporadic lighting. Each detail on their armor was a testament to their rank and might. Beside them, the Nazi officer they were tasked to protect eyed Alan with malicious amusement.
Without warning, the one of the two guards lunged at Alan with a force that spoke of deadly intent. His fist, clad in iron knuckles, drove into the wall with such power that the concrete crumbled, leaving a gaping hole.
Kenny, from his vantage point, grasped the precariousness of their situation. Without hesitation, he pulled out the pistol Alan had handed him earlier and aimed at the officer. But as soon as he squeezed the trigger, the second SS guard stepped in, deflecting the bullets with an armored forearm. The bullets pinged off harmlessly, doing minimal damage.
As expected in a virtual realm like theirs, the shots from Kenny's Glock drew the attention of the first guard, who now saw Kenny as a threat. Kenny's heart raced. He shot a quick glance to Izzie, the skilled player next to him. "Izzie," he said, voice dripping with urgency, "I'll draw this brute away. Can you handle the officer?"
Izzie, her eyes gleaming with determination, responded with a grin, "Alright. "Izzie happy to help a friend." As she spoke, Kenny unleashed another barrage of bullets at the SS guard, ensuring the behemoth's focus remained squarely on him.
The Elite SS might have been a formidable foe with their raw strength and endurance, but they had a weakness: their agility. Alan capitalized on this, darting around his opponent with nimble footwork, a dance honed from countless hours in the game. Kenny, however, was at a distinct disadvantage. Being only a level 12 player and armed with just a low-damage pistol, his strategy relied heavily on evasion.
Drawing upon his extensive gaming knowledge, Kenny keenly observed the guard's punching pattern, predicting its trajectory.
BAMM!
A fist collided with the wall, obliterating the concrete. The sheer force of the punch made Kenny's heart skip a beat – one direct hit, and he'd lose a significant portion of his health points. With sweat beading on his forehead, he sidestepped, deftly predicting the next punch and evading with a swift left, followed by a quick dodge to the right.
Across the room, Alan danced a deadly ballet with his foe, his blade flashing in the intermittent light. Each thrust, parry, and swing was expertly executed. After a series of masterful strikes, leaving the Elite SS disoriented, Alan decisively ended the confrontation. Pulling out his sawed-off shotgun, he aimed squarely at the guard's head and fired. The echoing blast reverberated throughout the building.
[You have killed the elite soldier]
[You gained 800 XP and 400 survival points]
Drawing a deep breath, Alan's gaze sought out Kenny, fully intending to assist. Yet, to his surprise, the younger player seemed to hold his own, weaving through the onslaught with impressive agility. Time was of the essence, and another adversary awaited Alan's attention.
Turning, Alan found himself face-to-face with the Nazi officer. The officer's statistics blinked in Alan's peripheral vision:
[Nazi Officer]
[Type: Human]
[Rank: E+]
[Remarks: High Survival Instinct]
Despite lacking the physical attributes of the Elite SS, this officer boasted a high health pool of 500 to 600HP. Sensing the turning tide with the fall of his guard, the officer swiftly drew a distinctive weapon – the Thompson Submachine Gun. Without hesitation, he unloaded a barrage of bullets at Alan while simultaneously attempting a retreat to the nearest exit.
However, as the officer neared the door, his escape was abruptly halted. A shadowy figure, dense and foreboding, materialized, blocking his path. The officer's confident demeanor crumbled into pure horror. "What the hell is this?!" he gasped.
Alan watched in astonishment as the silhouette ensnared the officer, the eerie sound of bones crunching filled the room as he dropped his weapon. Afterward Izzie, the girl approached her prey with a bounce in her step, an unsettling joy in her movements. Drawing the knife Alan had handed her earlier, she began her grim task, singing a haunting rhyme with each thrust:
"One… two… one, two, three…"
Though familiar with Izzie from past lives, Alan was unprepared for this visceral display of her prowess. The grim dance continued until the officer lay motionless. Then, two dozen stabs later, another announcement echoed in the game:
[Nazi Officer has been defeated]
[Prisoner restriction successfully lifted]
[level D quest - Free captured players completed]
x x x x x x
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