Los Angeles defector

Headache

Although the third platoon had taken cover in the open ground beyond the town, thankfully escaping the center of the storm, they were still not far enough away and were still affected by the artillery fire. The scattered impact points caused some shells to fall outside the town, and the area around the third platoon's cover had already been hit several times. Moreover, the biggest issue was the bricks and stones thrown into the air by the explosions within the city, continuously flying outward and turning into a rain of debris.

Jason hugged his head with both arms, crouching in the cover, his back and arms already bruised from the impacts. Jason continuously shouted to the third platoon inside the cover, "Don't lie down, crouch down, don't lie down." This was heavy artillery; if they lay flat, in case a shell landed nearby, the large surface area of contact with the ground could cause injuries or even death from the shockwave. Many new recruits were unaware of this principle and instinctively lay flat during artillery bombardments. As a result, many suffered internal injuries that went unnoticed, leading to death a few days later, with no chance of treatment.

Big Guy, Brown, and Silly Kid were basically scared out of their wits by the scene. Every now and then, sporadic bricks and stones fell into the bunker from above, and they felt numb, unsure of how many times they had been hit. If it weren't for Jason and Old Blackskin shouting reminders by their side, they might have collapsed long ago. Their sole desire was to rush out of the bunker and run far away, to escape this hellish ordeal.

After what felt like an eternity, the shelling finally ceased. No one knew exactly how long it had lasted; it might have been brief, but to everyone present, it felt like a lifetime.

In this shelling, over a dozen members of the Third Platoon were killed, including the platoon leader whose body remained buried under the collapsed rubble. Almost everyone who survived was injured, with several individuals sustaining broken legs or arms. Although alive, it was clear that they had lost their combat effectiveness, resulting in a significant reduction in fighting strength.

The battalion commander came by and only left a sentence: "The casualties in the Third Platoon are considered light. I don't care about anything else. As long as there is one person still breathing, you must hold that open ground for me. As for the platoon leader's issue, you figure it out yourselves. I don't have time for it right now."

Old Blackskin returned to the Third Squad's shelter, and Brown asked eagerly, "Sergeant, how's the situation in the platoon?"

Old Blackskin lit up a cigarette and said, "The platoon leader is dead, and half of the first squad is gone. Ah—now the last brother is gone too." The smoke he exhaled slowly seemed to carry a faint sorrow. The atmosphere fell into silence for a moment.

Jason cradled the g*n in his arms, opened the bolt, and took out the over forty bullets from his pocket, loading them one by one into the chamber. He used to enjoy playing with knives as a child, and now as a soldier, he found solace in handling guns. Apart from these two hobbies, he couldn't find anything else to occupy his time; they were both hobbies born out of necessity.

The sounds of the afternoon shelling and explosions were still echoing in his head, relentlessly replaying over and over. Since the moment the machine g*n platoon disappeared into the smoke, Jason seemed to have fallen ill. He became sensitive to the sounds of explosions, experiencing intense headaches every time such noises occurred. Involuntarily, he felt a rising urge to become irritable, almost like a spell that gripped him.

Jason felt like he was sick. Even though he knew he was alive, he always felt like a dead man, devoid of personality, temper, interests, and desires, just like a withered blade of grass in this vast expanse.

Jason regretted it. He felt he wasn't cut out to be a soldier and suddenly began to yearn for his youthful days as a bandit. Despite always being cursed at by others, at least he knew he was a living, breathing person, with personality and temper, knowing what he was doing and what he should be doing, free and unrestrained like a bird.

Old Blackskin broke the silence: "Jason, can you say, can we hold on for three days in the end?"

Although Jason had only been in Three Platoon for just one day, the recent intense shelling that they narrowly escaped had completely made several people regard Jason as the backbone, without exception. Big Guy and Brown also stared at Jason, waiting for his words to bring hope.

Jason snapped out of his numb thoughts and stopped what he was doing, saying, "I don't know about the distant future. All I know is that our battalion won't see the sun tomorrow morning."

The words hit like a bucket of cold water, leaving several people chilled on the spot. They had wiped out a vampire squad in the morning and endured a heavy shelling in the afternoon, with no other signs yet. If Jason had said this in the morning, no one would have believed it, but now, no one refuted it.

Several people's surprised and disheartened expressions were all seen by Jason, but he continued as if the matter had nothing to do with him, saying, "Throughout the day, the vampires have crossed over from both the east and west, at least a few thousand men. By nightfall, with a three-sided encirclement, a fierce night raid can break into the city."

The atmosphere fell silent again. What more could be said? Indeed, the vampires couldn't just stay outside the crossing waiting for Christmas. The current 638th regiment only had a few hundred people. What could they use to resist?

The big guy spoke up first, "Lieutenant, how about we report Jason's words to the regiment? Maybe our regiment will withdraw."

"Report？Jason may have thought of it, but those staff officers of theirs have a whole bunch of plans, how could they not think of it? The key is the orders are there. Do you think our regimental commander dares to retreat on his own?"

At this moment, Brown clicked his tongue and whispered, "Lieutenant, how about we run?"

A stone stirred a thousand waves, Brown's words stirred ripples in everyone's heart.

The big guy glared at Brown, "Run? Isn't that being a deserter? You'll be stabbed in the back by a whole row!"

Brown replied bluntly, "Damn it, do we even have a backbone in our three platoons? Even if we don't run, they'll be stabbing us every day. What's the difference?"

Old Blackskin initially remained silent, but seeing Brown getting a bit agitated, he spoke up, "Don't talk nonsense. Three platoons can't contain your big mouth, Brown."

"I'm not talking nonsense, I'm just telling the truth." At this point, oppressed by the known fate of despair, Brown's emotions erupted, speaking without restraint. Turning to Jason, he said, "Damn it, ever since you showed up, I've had no respect for you! A useless officer, like a damn walking dead, either shut your trap completely, let me die in confusion without any thoughts. You let yourself say anything, just sitting there like you're not involved. Trying to make yourself look smart, trying to appear fearless, huh? Well, I'll give you one sentence now, Jason, f**k you!"

"Enough!" Old Blackskin's shout cut off Brown's verbal attack. "Brown, if you act up again, I'll smack some sense into you, believe it or not."

Every word of Brown's tirade landed heavily in Huyi's ears. The headache and ringing in his ears caused by the shelling suddenly vanished, and the surroundings seemed to regain color, coming back to life, no longer in black and white. Especially the last sentence, the way Jason was cursed made Huyi feel so relieved, as if for a moment he had returned to the bandit's den, back to the days of high spirits...

With a crisp sound, Jason deftly loaded a bullet into the chamber, then forcefully kicked Brown in the face, sending him flying out of the cover. Following swiftly, he jumped out and stomped on Brown, who was lying almost breathless on the ground, pressing the icy barrel of the M1 rifle against Brown's forehead. "You f*****g remember this, I, Jason, would love for you to meet my mother. Now I'll fulfill your wish."