Anyone who has lived in the countryside knows that fermented farm manure has a slightly stronger smell than fresh, unfermented manure. Take, for example, the sewer they were currently passing through.
This awful place hadn't been cleaned in at least half a century. Goosby chose his footing carefully, trying not to dwell on the slippery, squishy substance beneath his feet.
After groping in the darkness for nearly 20 minutes wearing four-eye night vision goggles, just as the doctor was worried about methane gas poisoning, Mason, leading the way, led the group up a rusted metal staircase.
"Which one is the entrance to the tunnel?" Sonny muttered, looking at the five or six pipe entrances arrayed in front of him.
Sonny, responsible for fire support, still carried his beloved Mk46 MOD0 light machine gun as a secondary weapon. Second-in-command Ray Perry also carried an SR25 semi-automatic sniper rifle for long-range support.
Most of the other SEALs chose the Noveske N4 as their primary weapon, with the MDX508 short-barreled assault rifle, a weapon Jack was also familiar with, as their secondary weapon.
However, the barrel length of these SEALs' rifles was significantly shorter than the 8.5-inch barrels used by Jack's most wanted criminal team, at only 5.5 inches, making them barely larger than a standard submachine gun firing pistol ammunition.
Using subsonic .300BLK ammunition and equipped with a silencer, the sound of the gunfire was still quite gentle on one's eardrums in this enclosed environment, even without tactical noise-isolating headphones.
Seeing that Sonny had placed his hand on the iron bars of one of the pipe openings, Mason pointed to his left. "This one still leads to the sewer, and that one leads to the tunnel."
The burly Sonny stood at the passage he pointed to, bent slightly into a horse stance, and with a single effort, he removed the rusted barred opening with his hands.
"Thank you, Mr. Mason," Clay patted Mason's shoulder, a gesture of recognition.
The SEALs, including Clay, who arrived later, were unaware of the entanglements between Mason and the FBI. However, a veteran who had been held in secret by the FBI for decades was undoubtedly a farce.
They didn't know Mason well, but they trusted Jack, especially Clay, who knew how much Jack treasured his FK7.5.
Jack's willingness to hand over his prized spare gun, coupled with his earlier performance, was enough to engender a certain degree of goodwill.
After crawling through a short section of pipe and prying open another iron gate, a gust of cold, damp air washed over them. B5 Brock Reynolds, the lead officer, jumped first.
After confirming it was safe, he whistled, and the others followed suit, one by one, into the knee-deep sewage.
Goulsby had misjudged the height and let out a short cry almost as he hit the water. Fortunately, a strong arm grabbed his collar and lifted him from the brink of collapse.
"Be careful." Jack helped him aside, making sure he hadn't sprained his ankle before letting him rest against the edge of the filthy tunnel.
The tunnel wasn't long; they estimated they'd reach the base of the prison building a short distance further. The other SEALs were reconnoitering, giving them a moment to rest.
Goosby took a deep breath. This place seemed to have been converted into a storm sewer. While it still carried a faint stench of putridity, it was much better than the filthy sewers just now.
At least some of the squeaking, squeaking sewer critters, rats, had appeared.
Mason sat beside Goosby, watching with amusement as Jack used a Snickers bar as bait to catch more than a dozen Little Jerrys and stuff them into a bag.
"You seem to be enjoying this?" the pale Goosby asked, somewhat puzzled.
"At least this beats the monotony of prison life, isn't it?" Mason smiled at him, his white teeth catching brightly in the dim light of his tactical flashlight.
"In there, besides looking forward to the guards bringing me two new books every week, I could only ponder boring philosophical questions, and even had to be wary of being raped in the shower.
Things seem to have gotten better in recent years, perhaps because I've aged and lost my charm," Mason said with a touch of bittersweet humor.
"I thought you'd been in solitary confinement since those two escapes," Jack ruthlessly exposed his lie.
"But I'm curious." Jack sat down beside the two men, the bag in his hands now quite heavy. Little Jerry's desperate struggles and screams inside gave Goosebumps.
"Why don't you hand those things over in exchange for freedom?"
"Give them to that old bastard Womack?" Mason shook his head, a hint of disdain on his face. "Are you sure if I hand those things over, I'll get my freedom and not something else?"
Jack's expression faltered slightly. Well, he hadn't expected that.
His own chief's previous behavior had indeed made him somewhat disdainful. But on second thought, if Womack was truly an idiot, then why wasn't Rossi or Rossi's "Little Muffin" sitting in that position now?
He could only shrug. "Okay, but at least you can be assured of one thing: whether or not you're free after this is over, your daughter, Jade, is safe."
"Someone has made similar promises to me before. I'd like to know what your relationship is with him?" Mason asked, a half-smile on his face.
"David Rossi is something of a mentor of mine," Jack said bluntly. He had chatted privately with Rossi during a break before the operation.
As Jack had suspected, Rossi had participated in both of Mason's subsequent pursuits. They were old acquaintances, even developing a certain sympathy.
Rossi's exact words were, "If it weren't for duty, perhaps we could be friends."
Goosby had no idea what the two were talking about; he was more concerned with the creepy gadget in Jack's hand. "Jack, why are you catching so many rats?"
Jack raised the bag and gave him a mysterious smile. "You'll find out in a moment."
With the sound of water splashing and the faint flicker of the tactical flashlight's beam, Clay quickly approached the three and asked Mason.
"It's safe ahead. We've found the entrance to the prison bathroom. How far is it to the manhole you mentioned?"
"Ninety-seven steps. After that, we'll be under the bathroom." Mason stood up and continued to lead the way.
Behind the two, Jack's expression grew serious. Although he had lost many details from the original series, he still vividly remembered the famous scene where the commandos were wiped out in the bathroom.
Granted, Jason's SEALs were far superior to the seemingly elite commandos in the original series, and they carried the aura of the protagonists, but this wasn't their home turf, and it was hard to say whether that aura would hold true.
An ambush was naturally something to be avoided, but the bathroom was the best route to the prison building, as drones revealed the enemy's headquarters was located there.
Therefore, as Jason and his team were formulating their assault plan, Jack couldn't just say, "Dr. Goosby's theory was correct, and the VX missiles were hidden in the nearby prison hospital morgue. We could just go straight there."
The prison building was the island's most fortified structure. Just as it prevented prisoners from escaping, it also prevented outsiders from entering. With that two-ton iron door closed, even a SEAL would have a difficult time breaking in.
Jason and his team decided to infiltrate the prison building first. The best outcome would be to capture or kill General Hammer alive, or to disable the enemy's headquarters.
At the very least, this plan would yield one or two survivors, allowing them to extract the locations of all the missiles and launchers, making it the optimal solution.
Following the long-dried, two-meter-diameter bathroom drain for 97 steps, they arrived at the manhole Mason had mentioned, where a ladder led upward.
B5 Brock Reynolds extended the probe of a fiber optic camera through the manhole cover and, unsurprisingly, discovered a laser motion sensor.
"I can try to dispose of it. It's simple: an invisible laser beam shines through the top of the cover. When the laser beam is blocked, an alarm sounds,"
Brock said, about to retrieve his tool kit when Jack stopped him.
"Don't you think it's strange? If it were a simple laser sensor, they should have set it up in a far corner, where it would be less visible. Why put it so blatantly on the manhole cover?"
Jack's question stumped Brock. He hesitated for a moment before realizing it. He subconsciously stopped and lowered his voice.
"You're right. This is probably a trap. The sensor is likely vibration-sensitive. Maybe my movement just now triggered the alarm."
"Try it and you'll see." Jack smiled, handing him the bag.
"
The bathroom alarm's been triggered, sir! We have guests!"
A loud shout erupted from the command post within the prison's guardhouse, startling several soldiers dozing against the wall and General Hammer, who was staring out the window, silently smoking a cigar.
"Damn it! I knew they'd send someone!"
"Kill them!"
The soldiers grabbed their weapons and rushed down the corridor, shouting softly.
The prison bathroom was only a few dozen meters from the guardhouse, which served as the command post. Aside from the two groups stationed outside, General Hammer and his remaining nine soldiers rushed into the alarmed shower room in less than two minutes.
The shower room, which could accommodate thirty or forty people simultaneously, was quite large and had two levels. To facilitate surveillance, an open corridor on the second floor was designed.
The soldiers who rushed into the shower room quickly occupied the advantageous second-floor corridor, their guns pointed downwards.
As the switch was flipped, the old tungsten-filament bulb lit up. The soldiers pointed their rifles into the unprotected shower stall, only to be shocked to find nothing but squeaking rats scattered across the floor.
"Fuck!"
a black soldier, sensing a false alarm, cursed. He adjusted his black beret and sneered at his comrades. "Is this the little trap you said you'd set up? We've made this whole trip for nothing."
"Damn it! It's rats!" the Asian soldier spat on the ground, feeling rather embarrassed.
Two soldiers escorted General Hammer down the steps to the grate cover of the manhole in the middle of the bathroom. They shone their flashlights underneath, but found nothing.
General Hammer picked up the knocked-over motion sensor, his eyes thoughtful. A soldier beside him immediately dropped to the ground, pressed his ear to the manhole, and listened for a moment before shaking his head.
The general looked around at the bedraggled little Jerrys, running around with surprisingly little fear, then turned to the black soldier in the black beret.
"I remember you said you made some good stuff for cleaning the sewers. Bring one out and try it."
The black soldier shook his face, grinning fiercely. "Are you sure, General?"
"Of course I am, Captain. The pipes down there are like a complicated maze. There's no guarantee a bigger 'rat' might get in. We need a thorough disinfection."
—
Meanwhile, underground.
The SEALs had all retreated from the sewer pipes and stood knee-deep in water, clinging to the moss-covered walls of the tunnel, barely daring to breathe.
"What are we waiting for?" Goosby asked, his voice low, close to Jack's ear.
"Of course, to see if anyone from above will come down to investigate. If we can capture someone alive, we'll know their exact deployment."
Jack was in high spirits. The biggest hidden danger had been eliminated. Next came the real battle. With the strength of him and SEAL Team B, they were no match for even a foe of their level.
With a distinct "clang," a smile broke out on Captain Jason's face, painted with paint, as he stood on the other side of the pipe opening. He gave Jack an approving thumbs-up.
However, the smile didn't last long, as the sound only rang out once, followed by silence.
After waiting for a moment, Jason, somewhat puzzled, lowered his night-vision goggles and peered into the pipe. But nothing was found. No one had descended through the inspection hatch as they had expected.
Just then, Mason sniffed in confusion and muttered, "What's that smell?"
A smell? Jack was also puzzled. His golden finger could not only enhance his five senses, but also diminish them. Otherwise, he wouldn't have chosen to pursue forensic skills in the first place.
From the moment he entered that stinking sewer, he had reduced his sense of smell to the level of someone with severe rhinitis.
Just as he was hesitating whether to restore his sense of smell to normal, the air in the tunnel suddenly emitted a sharp whistling sound, followed by a scorching wave of air gushing out along the drainage pipe, and the flames instantly obscured everyone's vision.
Today is a big chapter, it's very difficult to write, please don't rush to update, I'm trying hard to make the story more complete, it's very brain-intensive.
(End of this chapter)