Faint muzzle flashes flickered in the dim room. Using the Firebird's two bulletproof doors as cover, Jack and Clay's precise bursts of fire were like the Grim Reaper's scythe, rapidly harvesting lives.
Langston's men, after all, were former police officers and outnumbered. After a brief moment of shock, they used the data center's cabinets and equipment as cover to return fire.
The Wanted Squad's command vehicle was at a distance, but the powerful directional speakers on its roof, combined with a door knocked open by the Firebird, meant that even the intense gunfire couldn't completely drown out the climax of "Ride of the Valkyries.
"All we need now is a Huey helicopter capable of launching rockets to defeat the Vietnam War," Clay exclaimed with a laugh.
Compared to the Korean War, which Americans rarely mention, the Vietnam War has become a popular cultural symbol in this country, joining jeans, rock music, anti-war protests, hippies, and a certain imaginative president in shaping the shared image of that golden age for all Americans.
"Reload!" Jack emptied his second magazine.
Clay's short bursts immediately turned into long bursts. After emptying his magazine, Jack also finished reloading. His red dot sights framed the fleeing Lanston. With a slight jerk, the muzzle of his rifle deflected, knocking to the ground a man in a suit protecting him.
It wasn't time to kill him yet; they needed to spare his life so they could extract the location of the upcoming transaction.
Perhaps because Jack and his men's assault was so intimidating, the enemy seemed uninterested in a fight. Only a few men remained behind various cover, firing furiously with their submachine guns. The rest followed Lanston to the other exit.
The converted factory building, now a data center, was vast, at least sixty to seventy meters long from east to west and over twenty meters wide. Therefore, numerous entrances and exits were provided. The roller shutter door that Jack and Clay had entered was on the east side. Lanston and his men were desperately trying to retreat westward.
On the helipad west of the data center, the massive wings of the AS332 Super Puma helicopter began to slowly rotate, but it wouldn't take flight for a while.
Unlike smaller helicopters, this large transport aircraft took at least ten minutes to warm up, inspect, and finally take off.
Outside the factory, Jubal and his men, backed by two female snipers, were steadily advancing, clearing out the armed security guards occupying high ground and hiding behind cover.
Then, another explosion erupted. A large door on the north side of the factory exploded, followed by two stun grenades. Three heavily armed soldiers, two men and one woman, joined the fray.
With the arrival of Lavoie's three personal bodyguards, the pressure on Jack and Clay eased. At least half of the submachine guns that had been firing furiously in their direction were now turned.
Clay fired a few shots, knocking a gunman hiding behind a filing cabinet to the ground. Just as he was about to aim his gun at another man hiding behind a server cabinet, a figure like a giant bear rushed out from the side.
With the sound of shattering glass, the security guard was pinned against the server cabinet by Reacher. He watched helplessly as the muzzle of his AR-15 slowly slid towards his forehead under the opponent's immense force.
His finger on the trigger felt a pain, and blood and pudding sprayed all over Reacher's head and face.
"Big guy!" Jack slid in beside him, lowered his shoulder, slung the MDX508 slung over his shoulder into his arms, and pulled two magazines from his chest and tossed them to him.
"Can you cover me?" Reacher had been hiding a little too close to where Lavoie's three personal bodyguards were charging, and had been hit by a stun grenade. He had just regained some sight and hearing.
But he clearly didn't want to let Lanston go. His red, swollen eyes were fixed on the spot where Lanston disappeared.
"Don't worry, our men are all outside. Lanston can't get away." Jack patted Reacher's shoulder, motioning him to follow.
A stubborn resistance here might prove troublesome. The factory's interior is vast, stun grenades are ineffective, and there are so many objects that could be used as cover that clearing them piecemeal would be a chore.
But Lanston and his men clearly had no desire to fight. They were intent on escaping in the transport helicopter. After all, with $65 million on the line, who wanted to risk their lives here with a bunch of lunatics?
"We have to complete the deal, get the money, and get out of this damn country before the police and FBI show up!" Lanston crouched behind a filing cabinet, staring at the small door just around the corner and shouting encouragement to his men.
The roar of the AS332 Super Puma's engine was already audible. All they had to do was push open the door and run a few dozen meters to escape.
Three of Lanston's men remained, and one of them shouted, "What about the others?"
"I'll send the money to their families!" the old man babbled, raising his submachine gun above his head and unleashing a barrage of fire before kicking one of his men.
"Open the door, you idiot!"
The gunfire gradually faded. Both Jack's men and Lavoie's three bodyguards were using silenced weapons, and the deafening roar of gunfire was mostly from Lanston's men returning fire. The significance of this was self-evident. The man who had been kicked out of cover stumbled to the door, but as soon as he touched the handle, he was met with concentrated fire from Lavoie's three bodyguards.
The body's fall to the ground also unleashed the doorknob, causing the small door to swing open. The air currents from the helicopter's propellers, carrying dust and dirt, blew the door back, only to be caught by the fallen body, offering hope for the others.
"Run! Run! Run!" The wily old Lanston emptied his magazines randomly across the road, taking advantage of the opportunity to hide behind one of his men, using him as a shield and rushing out the small door.
"Get on the plane!" The old man stumbled towards the helicopter, his two remaining men following behind him, occasionally firing rounds at the small door, trying to prevent anyone from pursuing him.
Just as Lanston placed his right hand on the side handle of the helicopter and was about to pull the hatch open, a sharp sound of air piercing through the air whistled.
The old man froze for a moment, feeling his arm, which was exerting force, suddenly become lighter. Then the muffled crack of the Barrett's gun reached his ears. The carrot-thick .50mm bullet easily severed his arm, and the remaining force continued to tear a hole in the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Ah!"
Lanston, exerting too much force, stumbled and nearly fell to the ground. Only then did he realize what had happened and knelt down, clutching his bleeding arm, wailing.
The helicopter door was flung open. As Lanston's last two men stared in bewilderment, O'Donnell and Dixon pulled the trigger, unleashing their fury and bullets on them.
(End of the chapter)