"Pupupupu!" A dozen men hacked their way out with blood‑hot fury, eyes gone red, iron‑hard arms dragging their steel rifles, steady as bedrock, faces frosty‑cold, icy eyes locked dead ahead, killing intent roaring skyward as every round carried their hatred and rage forward. Under the moonlight they were like one terrifying combat machine after another, blocking the enemy's charge to the death, until bullets hit and they went down.
Luo Zheng held up his binoculars, watching it all, seeing these men fight to the last without retreat—worthy sons of soldiers—and felt a deeper respect. He looked back over the battlefield: the five Snipers had been torn apart by Zhou Yang's team, already almost all dead or wounded. With no cover at all, those Snipers simply couldn't bring their combat strength into play, nor could they evade Zhou Yang and the others with their superb marksmanship.
