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“Why aren’t you doing anything, General Wilson?!”
Phil Burton roared at the top of his lungs, his complexion as pale as a sheet of paper. No, rather than a roar, it sounded closer to a scared child’s yell instead.
Hiss, screech…
The video feed appearing in the bunker’s monitors blurred and hissed with noise. But it was still possible to catch the scenes of the battle taking place outside, and they were… far more insane than Burton had bargained for!
“What are you doing?! Aren’t you in charge of an armored division?! You are supposed to be the pinnacle of our nation’s military! Yet you can’t even put one man down? One?!”
Burton’s intention wasn’t to blame the military. But the shock and fear made him sound that way. After all, his power of comprehension was simply not adequate enough to understand what was going on outside!
Of course he knew martial artists were physically strong. However, they still shouldn’t be strong enough to withstand the firepower of an armored division! Such a thing only happened in dreams!
The only reason for the sky-high evaluation martial artists received was because of their utility in urban combat, not an open-field battle like this!
If the weapons of mass destruction were excluded from the evaluation, a martial artist might be stronger than a well-trained soldier wielding firearms. However, this was in the middle of a desert. In this place, no such thing as cover to protect...
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