The Quick Response Team's pickup truck sped off. With Owen and Monica no longer suppressing the entrance, the enemies at the gate finally charged out, firing wildly at the fleeing vehicle.
"Pfft, pfft-pfft~~"
From the distance, Swagg sniped three more enemies. The gunmen at the gate, knowing there was a sniper outside, hesitated to push forward. None dared to step out rashly.
Swagg, lying in the grass, didn't care. He stood up from his sniper position, slung his M200 over his back, and started running at full speed. The team had already left—his job was done. Now, he had to reach the extraction point within the time limit.
In his ghillie suit, Swagg sprinted across the hillside. Back in the truck, the rest of the team faced yet another problem.
"Tat-tat-tat~~~"
A storm of bullets hammered the truck bed, pinging off with a metallic ding ding dang dang. Luckily, the truck had been specially reinforced. All three interior panels of the bed had been lined with thick steel. Without that, the 7.62mm rounds from behind would've shredded them.
Just moments ago, at a fork in the road, they had run into reinforcements from Mikhail's group—only about 100 meters away from getting boxed in.
Fortunately, they escaped just in time. But the four vehicles of Mikhail's reinforcements had switched roles from support to pursuit. Worst of all—one of them was a gun truck, a pickup fitted with a heavy machine gun in the back.
"Target Eye, exfil now! Proceed to A2 extraction point. We're under pursuit and can't stop!" Owen barked into the comms while returning fire.
"Target Eye copies. En route to A2."
On the hillside, Swagg ignored the bullets whizzing past him, sprinting like a madman. Standing upright made his ghillie suit useless—he was now a clear target.
"Tat-tat-tat, tat-tat, tat-tat-tat~~~"
Gunfire exploded all around. Owen and Monica lay low in the truck bed, not daring to peek out. Owen managed to fire off two rounds during a brief opening—but with no visible results.
They had to thank the rough mountain terrain. It made shooting from a moving vehicle difficult—for both sides. At least that .50-cal M2HB heavy machine gun on the gun truck hadn't managed to hit them yet. If it did, reinforced or not, the truck wouldn't last long.
"BOOM~~~"
Good luck doesn't last forever. A .50-cal round tore through the truck bed's armor, pierced the cab, and exited clean through the front windshield.
Fuck!
Ghost flinched. The windshield was now a web of cracks, impossible to see through. Heartbeat didn't hesitate—he kicked the front windshield out entirely. Better visibility now… though his boonie hat went flying.
"Take that thing out, Cowboy! You have to take it out!" Ghost yelled.
Owen and Monica knew they had to destroy that gun truck. That last shot had nearly killed them. With that thing behind them, it was just a matter of time before they got wiped.
Owen sat up and opened fire—activating his "bullet time." Rapid bursts rained down on the moving target. Shooting at a moving enemy from another moving platform was hell, but after a series of recoil-controlled bursts, Owen managed to hit the gunner. The man collapsed backward off the truck.
But before they could celebrate, another shooter replaced him, and the heavy machine gun roared back to life.
Another barrage. Owen ducked back down. That truck was second in the chase line. The one right behind them was a regular sedan. Its passenger leaned out with a UMP45 and sprayed wildly.
"Thump~~~"
Monica launched a grenade. Like how Owen carried explosives and Heartbeat had a Claymore, Monica had an M203 grenade launcher mounted beneath her rifle, loaded with 40mm high-explosive rounds.
"BOOM~~~"
The grenade exploded in the distance—but missed. Just as she fired, the truck jolted from a bump, and her aim was off.
Without hesitation, Monica reloaded. The M2HB resumed its growling roar. She couldn't afford delays. Judging the distance again, she adjusted her aim slightly upward and pulled the trigger.
"Thump… BOOM…"
Direct hit. The gun truck exploded into a fireball, veering into the roadside forest, engulfed in flames. The shock of the explosion stunned the pursuers behind it.
Perfect timing. Owen popped up and triggered another burst of bullet time, sweeping the sedan's windshield with fire. The driver took multiple rounds and slumped—causing the car to swerve off the road and down a ditch.
With two vehicles down, the Quick Response Team had a window. Ghost kept the truck floored. No bullets came—everyone in the truck finally exhaled.
"Catherine, are you okay?"
Owen tapped the back window, worried. She'd been silent for too long. What if a stray bullet had hit her?
"I'm okay…" Catherine replied, shaken.
She was a field agent, but her work had always been intel-driven. She'd never experienced a situation like this.
Relieved, Owen keyed his comms. "Unicorn to Nest. Unicorn to Nest. Come in."
"Nest reading you," Jenny's voice crackled through.
"We're en route to A2 to link up with Target Eye. Please coordinate a new extraction point."
"Understood. New LZ is designated. Unicorn, keep heading forward. Turn right at the second junction. I'll have Thunderbird waiting for you."
"Unicorn copies."
Owen relayed the new directions to Ghost. The A2 point was originally set up just to retrieve Swagg, not for the entire team. Their planned rendezvous with the chopper had been invalidated by the route change. Now, they had to improvise.
The truck bounced violently along the narrow dirt road—a miserable ride for everyone.
Two enemy vehicles remained in pursuit. Owen raised his rifle. The one right behind them was another pickup—but no mounted machine gun this time.
"Oh, shit—RPG!!!"
Owen screamed. He was lining up a shot at the driver when a head popped out of the pickup bed—followed by a trail of white smoke streaking toward them.
Ghost yanked the wheel hard right. The RPG zipped past their left side and exploded ahead of them.
So damn close.
The blast nearly launched the truck off the road, but it landed hard and kept going. The pickup's sturdy frame held. They were still in it.
"BOOM…"
Monica's grenade launcher roared again. But the enemy driver saw her motion and slammed the brakes. The grenade's timing was off—it exploded just in front of the truck.
The enemy pickup accelerated again. Owen didn't let up, spraying bullets as it gained on them. Hitting the tires while moving was a fantasy—he focused on the driver and the RPG shooter.
The enemy wasn't dumb. The driver hunched down, barely peeking up to steer. The RPG guy was suicidal—he didn't care if he got shot, as long as he could fire.
"Whoosh~~"
Another RPG launched. This time the aim was terrible—it spiraled off into the jungle. These things were never precise to begin with. The first shot was pure dumb luck.
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