Chapter 49: The Battle Begins
Ron climbed out of the truck and yanked off the tarp, revealing the menacing steel beast underneath. "Alright, time to get to work!"
Whether it was pure luck or some kind of divine intervention, Ron discovered that his natural marksmanship skills actually applied to the M270 multiple rocket launcher!
Could this thing even be considered a precision weapon? A huge question mark formed in Ron's mind, and his Mossberg shotgun suddenly felt woefully inadequate.
"Damn, I should have brought my M32 grenade launcher instead," Ron muttered.
"Isn't a multiple rocket launcher enough firepower? Do you realize how devastating this thing would be if it were fully loaded with high-explosive warheads? It could literally erase that laundromat from existence!"
Hank rubbed his ears. Did he hear that right? The firepower wasn't sufficient?
"Can't help it. I grew up watching too many action movies. The fear of being outgunned is burned into my DNA," Ron shrugged with typical American bravado.
"Are you talking about video games?" Hank asked, confused, double-checking his M4 rifle.
His new boss had a tendency to make bizarre and inexplicable comments, and even though Andy had advised him to just ignore them, Hank couldn't help but be curious.
"No, I'm talking about past lives." Ron used some mystical-sounding phrase that left Hank completely lost. Fortunately, Ron didn't seem interested in elaborating.
"See that narrow alley in front of the laundromat? You can loop around to the rear exit. There's a warehouse directly across from the back of the building. Take position there. After I lay down some artillery, people are gonna come running out. Any hostiles you see, put them down. Don't advance without my signal. Copy?
That weapon you're holding isn't a BB gun. I don't need to explain proper engagement protocols to an ex-soldier, do I?"
Hank nodded rapidly, then shook his head, unsure how to respond properly. Ron waved him off and began moving toward his designated firing position, completely undetected by anyone inside the laundromat. After adjusting the rocket launcher's targeting angle, Ron finally pressed the firing button.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!" The first salvo of four tear gas warheads streaked into Los Pollos Hermanos' industrial laundry facility.
"We're under attack!" The people inside screamed in panic and immediately hit the deck, expecting massive explosions that never came.
Instead of detonating, the four rockets began venting thick black gas at an incredible rate. Anyone caught in the cloud immediately started choking, eyes streaming with tears, wracked with violent coughing fits.
"It's tear gas!" Some of Fring's crew reacted quickly, scrambling to their feet and fleeing in all directions, desperately trying to escape the chemical cloud. However, the laundromat only had two exits - front and back - and most immediately made a beeline for the main entrance.
Meanwhile, Ron calculated the timing perfectly, adjusted his firing angle toward the main entrance, and pressed the trigger again.
"Whoosh..." Four more rockets left their tubes almost simultaneously, landing among the fleeing cartel soldiers outside the laundromat. This time, they were all high-explosive warheads.
"BOOM!" With a thunderous roar, the thugs at the entrance were launched skyward by the blast before they could even process what had landed among them, then shredded by flying shrapnel.
Ron conservatively estimated he'd taken out at least seven or eight hostiles with that barrage, and finally allowed himself a satisfied grin: "Textbook execution!"
"Cough, cough! Shooters at the front entrance! Cough, move to the back exit!" A Hispanic man among the crew, apparently a squad leader, barked orders while wielding an AK-47, then immediately rushed toward the rear door.
Bursting through the exit, the squad leader immediately gulped down fresh air greedily, finally saved from the chemical hell...
But before he could finish his first clean breath, Hank, who'd been lying in wait at the back door, opened fire with a controlled burst, dropping the squad leader where he stood.
"Fucking feds, they've got the back door covered too!" Without needing further explanation, the remaining crew members inside understood their tactical situation and immediately pulled out various weapons, coughing and firing blindly toward the rear exit.
Unfortunately for them, it was completely ineffective. Hank, following Ron's strict orders, simply maintained his overwatch position at the back door, ready to engage any cartel soldiers attempting to escape.
Ron waited patiently, manually loaded the flashbang grenades he'd prepared with high-explosive rounds instead, and fired another salvo into the laundromat. Without pausing, he jumped into his pickup truck, fired up the engine, and floored the accelerator straight toward the building.
"BOOM!"
A massive explosion sent the remaining thugs, who'd been repositioning to ambush incoming law enforcement through the back door, flying through the air. Severed limbs and moaning bodies littered the concrete.
"CRASH!" Ron's pickup truck smashed through the storefront, crushing a cartel soldier trying to escape through the main entrance and blocking the exit with its armored bulk. The survivors, still combat-effective after two artillery barrages, immediately opened fire on the vehicle, but their bullets had no effect.
Nobody in the driver's seat?!
The bolder thugs approached and yanked open the door. The pickup's driver seat, engine still revving at full throttle, was completely empty except for a cinder block wedged against the gas pedal.
They'd been played again.
"What a bunch of amateurs! Fighting idiots like you actually makes me dumber," Ron called out, channeling Sherlock's condescending tone from that morning.
"Where?!" The gunman immediately spun toward the voice coming from the entrance. But the only response he received was a single blast from Ron's Mossberg 12-gauge. The cascading buckshot instantly perforated the cartel soldier with dozens of lead pellets.
Meanwhile, Ron, sporting his baseball cap and dressed like a weekend tactical operator, stepped through the doorway with his shotgun at the ready.
Finally, one drug dealer, unable to withstand the relentless assault, completely broke down, stumbling out from behind his improvised cover while sobbing and screaming, "Don't shoot! We surrender!"
"BOOM!" Smoke billowed from Ron's shotgun, and the cartel member collapsed. With practiced efficiency, Ron immediately chambered another round.
"Sorry, we don't accept surrenders. Die, scumbag!"
Drug dealers didn't deserve to live. This was one of Ron's core beliefs, shaped by years of seeing what these parasites did to communities. If it weren't for his mission to completely drain every asset from that drug kingpin, Ron would have already leveled Fring's entire operation with the M270.
End of Chapter
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