"Cut the crap!"
"Go load the ammo. Don't be the first one to piss your pants when the time comes!"
Wang Meng strode past, hauling a case of cannon shells on his shoulder, not forgetting to jab at him.
Ground crews bustled between the eleven fighter jets, pushing ordnance carts.
The tension was palpable.
"Han Feng!"
Zhang Hao walked over quickly.
"What's the situation?"
"It's bad."
Han Feng was out of ammunition, the main reason he had landed.
He rubbed the bridge of his aching nose and quickly recounted what he had seen from the air.
"Tens of thousands of them, and something feels off about them."
"It's like they have no reason, just blindly charging forward. It's a total suicide attack."
Hearing this, Zhang Hao's expression grew even more solemn.
Meanwhile, beneath the farm's main fortress, a massive alloy gate slowly rose.
RUMBLE!
RUMBLE!
Fifty three-meter-tall Iron Wall-IV Battle Armors strode out of the gate with heavy steps.
They were like mobile fortresses.
