The Ambush Begins

A burst of gunfire rained down in a relentless stream, and the first American sergeant to rush out was struck in the arm. The limb that gripped the vehicle door was severed cleanly in two, but he had no time to feel pain before another round punched through his chest—his standard-issue body armor as useless as paper, easily pierced. A third bullet tore away half his face, slamming his corpse back into the soldiers behind him.

A second American soldier, following close behind, reached out to support the sergeant, only to have his face splattered with brain matter. Before he could react further, a round from the M60 punched through the sergeant's body and struck him as well, driving him back until he collapsed inside the Stryker’s compartment.

Next, another soldier was hit, then another, each one jammed in the narrow doorway becoming nothing more than a target. The Americans were pinned tight inside the armored vehicle by the fierce fire from the M60.

“Well done, keep them pinned!” an excited voice shouted over the comms. Everyone could see that under Rocky’s gun, not a single American managed to break through; any who tried were shredded to pieces.

The ambushers on this flank, centering their fire on Rocky’s position, spread out and pressed the attack, mowing down panicked convoy soldiers on the highway, their dying screams echoing. Bullets hammered the armored Humvees, sending sparks flying and making it impossible for the Americans using the doors as cover to even return fire.

But the moment Rocky’s machine gun opened up, their position was exposed. The Humvee’s .50-caliber machine gun was quick to retaliate, several deadly lines of fire converging on Rocky’s position, kicking up dust and forcing him and his team to duck for cover in an instant.

With this brief respite, the Stryker armored vehicle tried to start up, perhaps hoping to move away from the deadly doorway and find a better angle for return fire. But a 40mm grenade launcher round flew miraculously through the open door and detonated inside, killing every soldier within in a single blast.

The American machine gunner howled in rage, his .50-caliber sweeping wildly. The position from which the grenade had been fired was instantly raked by hundreds, if not thousands, of bullets—God alone knew whether little Tommy, who’d fired the round, survived.

Seeing the Americans fight back, the scattered government troops rallied. Spurred on by their officers, they began firing at Rocky’s position from the road embankment. Their AK-47s might have lacked accuracy at range, but sheer volume of fire lent them a brief surge of momentum.

A single, chilling rifle shot cracked out at this crucial moment—Elf had finally joined the fray. An American machine gunner, operating the .50-cal, slumped to the ground, a small hole in the back of his head and his face blasted nearly beyond recognition.

The shot was the signal. Two team members hidden in the sand threw off their camouflage, raised their assault rifles, and unleashed a hail of fire at the nearby government soldiers. Thirty-round magazines were emptied in a blink, and when they ran dry, the shooters switched to sidearms, mercilessly gunning down the soldiers caught with their backs turned on the left side of the embankment.

With terrified faces staring lifelessly from the ground, nearly every enemy on the left side of the road had been wiped out. Any survivors were finished off by Elf’s precise shots. Now, with Elf and Rocky anchoring the left and right flanks, their crossfire dominated the remaining enemies on the right side of the road.

Gunfire of every caliber thundered along the highway—no words needed in the face of death; kill the enemy, and you might survive.

A grenade launched by little Tommy exploded beside a Humvee raining suppressive fire, the shrapnel shearing off both legs of an American soldier firing from the door. As the crippled soldier writhed and screamed on the pavement, the Humvee’s driver lost control, barreling straight at Rocky’s position. As it tore up the hillside, the machine gun on its roof fired at point-blank range, shredding a forward team member.

“Take out that Humvee! Take it out, now—!” another team member screamed desperately over the radio, soon replaced by a cry of agony as he was hit.

Elf fired a shot at the Humvee, but it bounced harmlessly off the armored gun turret. The Humvee kept coming.

“Come on! Come on!” In the crisis, Rocky—silent until now—sprang up, blood streaming down his face, bracing the M60 and returning fire with reckless fury. In a matter of seconds, both sides exchanged hundreds of rounds. The result: Rocky and his weapon were torn to pieces, but the Humvee’s bulletproof windshield finally shattered under the barrage, riddling the driver’s torso with M60 rounds.

With his dying breath, the driver jerked the steering wheel, sending the Humvee rolling over. It tumbled down the slope, crushing an unlucky team member beneath it.

Another precise shot from Elf sent an incendiary round through the window of the last resisting Humvee. Instantly, white phosphorus ignited, fire erupting from the four doors and turret. Screaming, burning figures leaped out, rolling futilely on the ground until they were reduced to charred husks.

“The last minute—everyone, attack!” Seeing the battle nearly won, Elf finally gave the order to advance. The three on the left and the two remaining on the right charged, delivering the final blow to the shattered convoy.

A desperate government officer tried to call for help on his radio, but Elf, unmoving from his sniper perch, put a round through the man’s hand, then his radio, then his head, erasing the convoy’s last command.

With no leadership, the government soldiers scattered, only to be cut down from behind by Hou Rui and his comrades.

After over nine minutes of fierce fighting, the highway fell silent. Elf directed a quick search, then prepared to drive off with the intact truck—when suddenly, the distant thrum of approaching rotors filled the air.

“Down, everyone!” Elf shouted over the radio, a command that saved the lives of Hou Rui and the others.

Half a minute later, an Apache helicopter swept over the battlefield, followed closely by a CH-47 Chinook. The two helicopters circled briefly before the Chinook, under Apache cover, began to descend.

“Damn it, they’re deploying troops by helicopter. How did their reinforcements arrive so fast? It’s not even been ten minutes!” Little Tommy’s voice trembled with despair over the radio. Only six of the team remained; how could they fight two helicopters? The Chinook’s descent could only mean it was packed with American troops.

“There’s no other way. I’ll try to ambush one—after that, it’s in God’s hands.” The situation was dire, but Elf refused to give up, doing everything she could to salvage it.

“Damn, we must have run into Americans returning from a mission. Just my luck! I knew it—I shouldn’t have taken a red-level mission, shouldn’t have accepted this suicide assignment!” Twenty-three meters from Hou Rui, Spark lay prone, feigning death and muttering in a panic.

Hou Rui, for his part, lacked even the energy for fear. He had spent most of the battle observing, firing only a handful of shots, but with American helicopters now right overhead, the fight for survival was at hand. All he could do was grip his weapon tightly.

By now, the Chinook had dropped to just meters above the ground. Ropes unfurled, and the first four soldiers rappelled down swiftly. The moment their boots hit the earth, they raised their weapons, forming a cautious, back-to-back perimeter, scanning the battlefield for threats as they checked the bodies of the fallen Americans.

One of them passed right by Hou Rui, nearly stepping on him, making his heart pound in his chest.

At last, the lead soldier spoke into his radio, “These are brothers from Second Battalion. Looks like the attackers are gone; we’ve got lots of wounded here—continuing medical aid.”

Hou Rui watched as the immense body of the Chinook edged closer to the ground. Dust billowed so thickly he could barely see, but he caught sight of the rear ramp slowly opening, revealing a compartment packed with fully armed Americans.

Two squads? No, at least a full platoon. Hou Rui’s heart sank. Without the advantage of ambush, how could they possibly fight on?

Elf, still positioned atop the rocky hill, had no such doubts. She took careful aim with a tungsten-core armor-piercing round, firing directly at the Chinook’s rear engine.

With a metallic clang, the round sliced through the helicopter’s shell like a hot knife through butter, striking the engine. Hou Rui watched as black smoke billowed from the Chinook’s rear, then the engine exploded.

With forty-five meters left to the ground, the Chinook’s tail dropped, slamming violently onto the highway. Momentum dragged it forward until it lost balance and tipped to one side. Its rotors struck the pavement, shattering, and at last, the deformed tail skidded to a halt in the distance.