Ronik glanced at Jack, who seemed to be lost in thought, with a hint of doubt. He quickly opened his eyes, drew his pistols, crouched down, and dove into the snow.
After landing, Jack used his right elbow to support himself, using a roll to dissipate the force. Standing up, he instantly leaped several meters forward, leaning sideways against the left side of the bus's front. The entire sequence was smooth and efficient.
Ronik watched the "performance" with his mouth half open, swallowing subconsciously. Mustering his courage, he took two running steps inside the door and leaped down the steps like a vicious dog pouncing on its prey.
Jack could only sigh imperceptibly as he watched the man, elbows propped up, slide a full half meter through the snow before finally tumbling and crawling to his side.
Outside the back door was a large, barbed-wire-fenced area, serving as the police station's parking lot. Unlike the front door, which had buildings across the street, this area was completely open, with the nearest high ground about five or six hundred meters away.
Jack's earlier glance had already given him a pretty good idea of the sniper's likely location.
If he was right, the car, nearly covered in snow but still steaming from its rear, just outside a section of barbed wire cut into the parking lot to the left of the bus, was the target. The sniper must have been hiding there.
To be fair, it wasn't a very good sniping spot. Although the distance was only a hundred meters, the shooting angle was extremely narrow, and the bus's massive hull obscured most of the view towards the police station's rear door.
The black state trooper, driven by his desire to avenge his partner, had pursued him all the way out, only to be shot down as he left the bus's front cover.
Jack had also fired indiscriminately in that direction while covering Ronik's rescue efforts.
Logically, after exposing their position, the enemy should have relocated. However, thanks to the blizzard that had been raging since dusk, the temperature outside had already dropped to nearly -20 degrees Celsius by midnight.
If they were elite special forces soldiers, with their advanced equipment, they could have remained in the icy snow for an hour, but the likelihood of that was slim.
Furthermore, their goal was likely to prevent anyone from escaping through the rear exit of the police station, so hiding in a heated car was the best option.
Hugging the front of the bus, Jack ducked low and made a quick tactical peek. He glanced toward the car, his face covered in snowflakes from the cold wind. He could vaguely see the barrel of a gun through the crack in the window.
The enemy was patient, not fooled by his feint and firing recklessly. Jack didn't dare to test the waters any further. He nudged Ronik, who was standing beside him, and indicated he could enter through the right door of the bus.
The sheriff nodded, circled around the front of the bus to the right, and flung the door open. Just as he put one foot on the running board and was about to push off with his back foot to get on board,
a man in a white ski cap, head bowed, fiddling with something in the driver's seat, looked up in surprise.
"Damn it!" Ronik was about to raise his gun, but the man in the driver's seat reacted faster than him. He reached out and pulled the lever, and the door slammed shut again, trapping him halfway.
By the time Jack heard the noise and circled around the front to the right, the two men were already grappling on the ground.
Ronik's sidearm had fallen to the ground. The other man had apparently not had time to draw his gun. The two men were locked in a fierce embrace, gouging at each other's eyes and hair, then throwing punches.
"Bang!" Jack's shot shattered the white ski cap into a red and white one. Ronik, pinned beneath him, froze in shock as the armor-piercing pistol bullet, still carrying a stream of blood, brushed past his ear and sank into the snow.
"Get in the car!" Jack shouted, shoving the FN57 back into his waistband. He freed his hands to lift the body from his body and toss it behind him. He
then picked up the pistol on the ground and stuffed it into Ronik's hand. Ronik suddenly woke up as if from a dream, jumped up from the ground and got back into the car, but soon got out again and cursed.
"That bastard destroyed the radio and all the wiring in the bus." He barely finished his words when a bullet blasted through, sparking a spark against the door.
Jack yanked him back to the front of the bus, cursing inwardly. The sniper, previously hidden in a car further away, had apparently noticed something was amiss and emerged, now aiming at the right side of the bus.
"Carry the body on your back. I'll cover you." Jack lifted the body from the ground and placed it on Ronik's back, drawing his FN57 from his belt again.
Ronik didn't bother to ask why he was carrying the body. He crouched and sprinted toward the rear door. Jack followed him, firing both rifles simultaneously, sending plumes of white smoke billowing around the crouching sniper in the distance.
The sniper, startled, collapsed on the spot, unable to fire a second shot until both men had vanished through the door.
Jack sighed with regret, slammed the metal door shut with his heel, and dragged a nearby chair over to reposition the door handle.
If he'd brought that FK7.5, he might have managed to land a hit at this range, and then he could have taken the risk of rushing over to search the body.
This crappy police station had been relocated, and the gun room had been cleared out ahead of time. Apart from a shotgun brought by two state troopers, there wasn't a single proper long gun.
If he could get that sniper's weapon, none of those guys who had ruined his New Year's Eve barbecue would have escaped.
The temporary holding area, always boisterous due to the inmates' constant chatter, was now completely silent. All the prisoners, including the gang leader Bishop, stared, slightly glazed, at two murderous men dragging a brain-splattered corpse down the corridor.
—
"No ID, a Glock 17 with an erased serial number and a silencer. This guy must be one of the two who snuck in earlier,"
Jack said, ripping open the body's jacket. Following a tear in the coat, he found a corresponding tear in the bulletproof vest underneath.
He fished the deformed bullet he'd found from his pocket and placed it on the table. Apparently, the black state trooper, still unconscious on the couch, hadn't been lying during the surgery; he had indeed shot him.
Unfortunately, the trooper was too well-equipped, wearing not only a bulletproof vest but also bulletproof plates front and back—fully equipped for a gangster gunman.
"These bastards are better equipped than us, damn," Alice complained.
Alex, the psychiatrist standing next to her, though she claimed to have been on the front lines, acted like a normal person when faced with the mind-boggling corpse before her. She covered her mouth, trying to stifle the urge to vomit.
"No, he's not a gang member. His name is Danny Barbero, a police officer. I know him," Ronick declared, startling. Veteran officer Jasper stood there in shock, unsure what to think.
John, on the other hand, seemed relatively calm. After all, he'd seen the world and even had the leisure to explore his imagination.
"A corrupt cop? This Bishop is so powerful that he's willing to risk his life to storm the police station to rescue him. He must have a lot of information.
You, DHD, were a bit careless. You didn't even use SWAT to escort him, but instead put him on the same bus with the other prisoners."
(End of this chapter)