Jason pulled a pair of binoculars from his backpack and observed carefully for a while, his face turning grim. "This is serious trouble."
The others, equally surprised, exchanged their binoculars and took a closer look. At the top of the small bunker, which was covered in vines, two long gun barrels could barely be seen protruding through the camouflage. It was none other than a World War II-era classic Oerlikon 20mm twin-barrel anti-aircraft cannon.
The positioning of this anti-aircraft gun was excellent. If it weren't for an occasional gust of wind gently lifting the camouflage net, it could have easily gone unnoticed.
A collective chill ran through the group. Fortunately, the Mexican government's refusal to cooperate had prevented them from considering a direct helicopter assault from the start. Otherwise, they might have faced a disaster akin to another "Black Hawk Down" scenario.
The previous operations had been challenging, but since the battles were mostly confined to Mexico City's urban areas, the drug cartel's displayed firepower had been manageable. While they were well-armed with automatic weapons, their heaviest firepower consisted of a few RPGs.
This was why, despite knowing the enemy had laid a trap, they had still recklessly walked into it, driven by the slim chance of uncovering a lead.
The cartel's gunmen relied on sheer numbers, but even with numerical superiority, they were disorganized. As long as the team held out for a while, reinforcements would arrive, and the danger, though apparent, was manageable.
However, now in these remote regions, the cartel's equipment was on an entirely different level.
Don't underestimate the Oerlikon cannon, an old relic from World War II. Even the most advanced modern attack helicopters are no match for it in an ambush scenario. While heavily armed helicopters equipped with armor plating could resist 20mm rounds, they would still need to flee its range at full speed before counterattacking. A direct hit to the vulnerable tail or top engine would still spell disaster.
And if this anti-aircraft gun was lowered to fire at ground targets, it would be a nightmare for infantry. The SEALs, made of flesh and blood, were no superheroes with vibranium shields like Captain America. A single 20mm round to any part of the body would mean instant death.
Whoever placed this weapon here was undoubtedly an expert, likely a seasoned veteran with extensive combat experience. The Oerlikon's effective range at a 45-degree angle exceeded 4,000 meters, perfectly covering the only open area nearby—the polo field they had planned to use for their evacuation.
The person who set up this cannon likely intended it to prevent a helicopter assault on the polo field, but it inadvertently blocked the SEALs' planned escape route as well.
"We have to take them out," Jason said through gritted teeth. Without securing the evacuation route, the operation couldn't proceed. They were special forces, not a suicide squad, and couldn't recklessly charge in like lone action heroes without a way out.
"It's useless. There are too many of them, and we can't be sure whether there's anyone inside the bunker. As long as someone fires even a single shot, all our efforts will be for nothing," Jack immediately opposed the idea. "Besides, I don't think they would deploy just one anti-aircraft gun. The original evacuation plan has to be scrapped."
The principle of air defense is that "nine out of ten targets escape." If the enemy had the foresight to set up an anti-aircraft gun, they wouldn't rely on just one defensive position.
"Then what do you suggest? This is our last chance!" Jason was frustrated, but he knew Jack was right. The CIA had arranged for a civilian helicopter, which wouldn't stand a chance against anti-aircraft fire. Even a single anti-aircraft machine gun nearby could be disastrous.
"Leave the way we came," Jack suggested, glancing at the dense jungle behind them. The thought of trekking six hours back through the rainforest was daunting, but there didn't seem to be a better option.
The terrain around the villa was highly complex, including a back garden filled with tropical plants. Once the sun set, as long as they avoided entering open areas, they wouldn't have to worry about being targeted by the anti-aircraft cannon. The cover of night would be their greatest advantage.
No matter how far the Oerlikon's range was, it still required someone to operate it. At night, these guys might be able to spot a helicopter using moonlight, but trying to aim at the villa from that distance would be wishful thinking.
With the night vision capabilities of their drones and their state-of-the-art quad-lens night vision goggles—the most expensive in the world—once they slipped into the jungle, they would essentially vanish like dragons diving into the ocean, leaving no concern for pursuers.
After a moment of hesitation, Jason communicated with the operations center and ultimately decided to revise the plan, adding a last-minute Plan-C.
Standing off to the side, Lieutenant Lopez's eyes flickered, and he silently breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that these Americans would abandon the operation entirely, leaving him to face certain death alone.
Lopez had already resolved to take down Dozza, even if it meant sacrificing himself, to ensure his wife and two sons would no longer live under the cartel's shadow.
Under the original evacuation plan, they had a chance to capture Dozza alive and escape by helicopter. But carrying an uncooperative prisoner through a perilous jungle seemed like an impossible task. The only viable option was to leave the operation unchanged.
Before leaving, Ray Perry, the deputy team leader, left a parting gift. Using his natural stealth abilities, he sneaked around to the back of the small bunker and planted a remotely detonated C4 charge among a pile of messy ammunition crates near the unmanned anti-aircraft position.
Half an hour later, about a hundred meters from the polo field, the team lay quietly in the forest, waiting for nightfall.
Jack chewed on a high-calorie energy bar with little enthusiasm, scanning his surroundings with heightened senses. The bar's bland taste wasn't the problem—it was the humid, mosquito-infested environment that killed any appetite.
The forest floor, laden with decomposing vegetation, constantly emitted a nauseating stench. Ancient accounts of tropical rainforests as cursed, disease-ridden places weren't exaggerated.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the expansive luxury villa in the distance lit up with bright lights.
"Bravo 1, this is the operations center. You're clear to leave that infernal jungle," came the voice of Major Blackburn, signaling the next phase of the mission.
Lisa Davis, the support officer overseeing the drone feed, followed up. "We've identified a total of 12 patrol guards. Their movements are highly predictable. The closest pair is 35 meters east of your position."
"Roger that, operations center," Jason replied in a barely audible whisper that carried clearly through the earpieces.
"Take them out."
Muted gunfire sounded as several bullets found their marks in the chests and heads of the two guards. They dropped silently, their bodies hitting the ground with only faint thuds.
"Move." At Jason's command, Sonny and Clay darted forward, dragging the bodies into the roadside underbrush. This area, adjacent to the polo field, was the only open space leading to the back garden filled with tropical plants.
Successfully crossing this most dangerous section, the team took cover behind a flowerbed. Shortly afterward, another update came from the operations center.
"Team Bravo, be advised: six additional guards are heading your way."
Through Jack's scope, six guards armed with automatic weapons could be seen approaching from the polo field, spread out in a loose formation. It was clear the cartel had designated this as a critical patrol zone.
"Maintain concealment or take them out here?" Clay whispered.
"Eliminate them," Jason ordered decisively. "Wait for my command."
As the guards stepped into a shadowy area outside the lights' reach, Jason gave the command: "Fire."
Six suppressed HK416D rifles spat out barely audible shots. This was precisely why Jason had repeatedly drilled the team with Jack. They needed no specific instructions on targeting. Apart from Jason, who maintained overwatch, and Lieutenant Lopez, who was not required to fire, the others instinctively divided their targets based on position and intuition.
The six guards dropped simultaneously, their deaths eerily synchronized, as if the scene had been rehearsed.
"Move!" Regardless of whether their presence had been detected, speed now became the priority. The eight-man team formed a single file, each covering a direction, moving quickly yet methodically through the back garden.
Their strides were measured but rapid, legs switching at a high frequency to ensure minimal upper body sway, allowing for precise shooting while on the move.
"Pop, pop, pop!" Rounding a flowerbed, Clay opened fire, downing a guard on a staircase. He then stepped aside, letting Ray Perry take the lead. Perry swiftly climbed the steps and eliminated another guard smoking on the second-floor balcony.
Overhead, the drone had already marked every enemy position outside the villa through the battle data link. Each effortless kill was backed by years of rigorous, robotic-like training by these elite soldiers.
The team, now split into two groups, reunited at the villa entrance. Jason gently pushed open the intricately carved wooden door. Inside, melodious music echoed through the hallway.
Sometimes, luck plays a role in success. The loud music playing indoors had masked the gunfire outside, leaving the occupants blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding beyond.
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