On this side they were stunned; on the other side, they were horrified.

The stream had a 30-second delay; by the time the news went from Europe to Cuba and then to Skai's hands, the frontline was already on fire.

A dozen-odd Predators swept across the sky over the positions first, the roar of their turbine engines screaming past. The HD electronic eyes below rapidly locked onto the trenches and the Cuban Soldier positions inside, but they didn't attack. Even as several were shot down by ground-based AA fire, they didn't fire a single shot or shell—because they weren't carrying any weapons at all.

The target coordinates were instantly synced via digital link into Mongolian Toplaner's hands more than twenty kilometers behind the front. He almost didn't have to calculate a thing: the AI "Mother Hunter" spat out the firing solution directly, the Mechanic players corrected the howitzers accordingly, and then opened fire.

Besides the single remaining 155 and two 120s seized from the Chaotic Blade Association, they had also stolen six 125s from Hansen. As for the rocket trucks, those were still being further developed and modified. After all, the old ones were just emergency cobbled-together junk, couldn't plug into the information network, so naturally they'd been phased out.

As for the AI's name...

Mongolian Toplaner had actually wanted to call it Sagittarius or Aeolus—that sounded cooler. But in the artillery players' vote, "Mother Hunter" crushed all the other candidate names, so he could only wipe his tears and give the AI this name.

Thankfully, the AI itself didn't object—or rather, it didn't have permission to object. It didn't have human morals. If you really asked it, it would only give you one answer:

[What's wrong with hunting moms?]

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The massive blast wave from the guns firing even shook up a thin layer of dirt off the ground.

"Such a pain in the ass..."

The artillery Mechanic "Cheese Snow Leopard" muttered as he was about to climb into the vehicle, but Mongolian Toplaner heard him.

"A pain in the ass? You didn't even twitch a damn finger! Do you have any idea how hard I was yanking that lanyard back in Big Sur? My hands were shaking!"

"No."

Cheese Snow Leopard explained,

"I mean this body is a pain in the ass."

He patted the self-propelled howitzer's door.

"I just feel like, since all I've got left is a brain anyway, I might as well save the money for a prosthetic body and just stuff my brain straight into the vehicle. Then I wouldn't have to get in and out all the time."

Cheese Snow Leopard thought that was just too COOOOOOL!

It was already the cyber world anyway; he could brain-control his bound mechanical gear. Turning himself into a Cybertronian didn't really seem like a big deal.

Several seconds later, Mongolian Toplaner finally spat out,

"You're hardcore.

You can talk to Hathaway about that yourself when we get back. For now, just drive."

Since they weren't sure whether the other side had beyond-visual-range strike capability, Family Joy's order was to pull out immediately after three volleys and relocate the artillery position—couldn't waste even a single second.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

More than twenty shells landed evenly and precisely across Hokuma's forward line, and the system made damn sure there'd be no overlap of lethal radii.

In almost an instant, the entire slope on the plain erupted in flash after flash, then billowed up with thick smoke and dust. If your dynamic vision was good enough, you could even see a ring of white shockwave rippling outward.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

The Cuban Soldiers in the trenches had already sensed something was off when the first wave of drones swept over. They hurriedly shrank back into foxholes or dugouts, and that was the only reason they weren't turned into paste.

Even so, the blast left them with such ringing ears and dizziness that their heads felt stuffed with cotton.

Once they were sure the barrage had stopped and got back to their firing positions, what they saw was a sky full of drones and small six-wheeled transport platforms.

Across the battlefield, an invisible, intangible data link no eye could see had chained all those unmanned units together. Information passed between them in mere milliseconds.

"Why are there so many more than before?!"

"How the hell should I know?! Where's our artillery, hurry the fuck up and fire! They've already pushed into the forward depth!"

Same artillery support, same informationized gear, but on Cuba's side both speed and accuracy were clearly more than a notch worse. By the time he finished yelling, several seconds later shells finally came in from the rear and landed around the drone formation.

A few of the small six-wheelers were blown ass over teakettle on the spot, debris scattered everywhere.

Running out of the command post and ducking into the brush on the hillside to look down from high ground, Miguel's field of view was full of nothing but drones. Not a single Hell Diver in sight—totally different from the scene two days ago.

"Goddamn it, do these things not cost money or what? Where are the people? How have I not seen a single man yet?"

Someone very soon answered that question for him.

"Captain! They're attacking from the left side of the positions!"

"Right side! There's some on the right too!"

While everyone's attention was glued to the Mechanic and Sky Net–controlled unmanned forces, Good Bro and the Truth Department each led a squad of Hell Divers, slipping through the dusk-dark and closing in on both flanks of the line.

Since the livestream feed had been switched over to the drone POVs on the main front, literally nobody knew where the Hell Divers had gone.

But the big set-piece spectacle still gave most of the viewers in the stream a hell of a show.

[Where's the streamer? Why can't we see the streamer? Don't tell me he got blown up already?]

[Holy crap, this is my first time realizing how powerful howitzers really are. Anyone in those trenches has to be pulped into minced meat, right?]

[@Super Earth, the ad money I gave you wasn't for promoting Horizon Corporation's weapons. Switch the stream feed right now, or the contract's void!]

By the time the feed cut back, it was already Good Bro's first-person view, and he'd crept up to the very outer edge of the right side of the defensive line, no more than thirty meters away.

"Here we go, here we go! The streamer's back."

He reached up and pulled down the night vision goggles on his helmet, still pitching the product to his viewers.

"Military Technology GP-22 Night Vision Goggles—if your cybereyes don't have built-in night vision, this is the one you want. The tactical integrated HUD can link straight to your cybernetics and display ammo count, thermal imaging, enemy targets, and your body vitals. Lightweight and minimalist, compatible with all kinds of protective helmets—absolutely your best choice for night raids on enemy camps.

Click the link below right now for an exclusive Military Technology discount..."

(Super Earth Trio: using a meme pic from a Bilibili uploader—what can I say, the expressions on those three Getter bros are just eternal classics.)