"Retreat!"
The thunderous roar of the helicopter's rotors echoed across the village, and the second-in-command—who had first led the assault—shouted in panic, his expression twisting in alarm.
At his command, the surviving mercenaries scrambled to their feet. Some carried their unconscious comrades; others dragged away the bodies of their own. They ran for the forest with desperate urgency.
Every body left behind risked exposing them: names, origins, affiliations—any one of those details could link them to their mercenary outfit. And everyone knew how delicate the U.S. government's relationship with Native tribes was. Had the village been wiped out with no witnesses, maybe nothing would have surfaced for a long time. But with helicopters arriving mid-attack, the situation had changed completely. Now, escape was their only hope.
"Why are you running?! I haven't gotten what I came for yet!"
The man in hiking gear, still holding the dog, shouted in a panic. But it was no use. The mercenaries weren't amateurs—they were professionals, hardened by years of war. They took orders only from their chain of command. With the squad leader incapacitated, command passed to the second-in-line. As for the civilian employer?
A nobody.
"You bastards! Don't you want your money?" the man yelled, red-faced with fury.
Hearing that, the second-in-command paused and turned back, glaring at the man.
"I don't know how much you promised our boss," he snapped, "but this whole mess is your fault. Your intel was trash, and we've lost too many men. If you dare withhold even a cent, I swear you won't live to spend it."
With that, he turned and sprinted after his retreating squad.
"Goddamn bastards..." the man spat, his fists clenched.
He turned to glare one last time at the people inside the stone house, then turned to flee.
"Don't let that dog leave!" the tribe leader shouted.
Jiang Hai didn't hesitate. He stood up, calmly raised the AUG, and with a single shot, put a bullet clean through the dog's head. It dropped instantly. Seeing the animal fall, the man shrieked in rage, threw the leash aside, and bolted into the woods.
As the last of them began to flee, Jiang Hai rolled out of the stone house.
But the moment he emerged, he came under suppressing fire. The mercenaries' retreat was swift, but disciplined—clear evidence of their training. Despite the chaos, they didn't panic. Worse, they had left behind cover points to provide rear protection.
Jiang Hai cursed. The AUG's range was impressive, but those firepower points made a direct counterattack near impossible. His Desert Eagles had the stopping power, but not the range.
Letting them escape without a fight? Unacceptable.
After a quick calculation, Jiang Hai dropped the AUG, braced himself, and launched forward with explosive speed.
At that moment, gunfire erupted again. But Jiang Hai moved like a phantom. His physical enhancements—eight times stronger and faster than a normal human—made him a blur. He vaulted over a low wall, then sprang onto a rooftop.
The sudden movement threw the enemy into disarray.
"He's on the roof!"
They couldn't get a visual. Worse, the helicopter's approach was becoming deafening. The rear guard hesitated—but they made their call.
"Fall back!"
Those who had reached the edge of the village broke into a sprint, heading into the forest.
The Appalachian Mountains in midsummer were cloaked in dense greenery. Once inside, tracking would become almost impossible. These mountains spanned much of the eastern U.S. and extended into Canada. If the attackers made it past the initial pursuit, escape would be easy.
Following the retreat order, the remaining four mercenaries made their move. But Jiang Hai was already one step ahead.
From the roof, he had dropped down behind them, entering the room beside their path and slamming through the exit just as they passed. The timing was perfect.
Two gunshots—one to the head, one to the leg—took down the first mercenary in an instant. As he dropped, the others spun and opened fire.
With no cover, Jiang Hai had no choice but to dodge. He ducked and grabbed the body of the downed mercenary, using it as a shield. Bullets tore through the corpse, but Jiang Hai waited, patient.
Then, from behind the body came a sudden yell:
"Too late! Run!"
It was the wounded mercenary. Bloodied but conscious, he shoved his comrades away, pulled a grenade from under his vest, and charged at Jiang Hai.
His companions didn't hesitate. They fired suppressive bursts and broke into a sprint, aiming for the forest.
Jiang Hai gritted his teeth. He hurled the shredded body aside and raised his weapon to fire.
But then—he saw it. The wounded mercenary, grenade in hand, lunged toward him, screaming:
"Let's go to hell together!"
Jiang Hai's face darkened.
Hell? This guy might have reserved himself a spot, but Jiang Hai wasn't going with him.
Bang!
One shot. The man's chest exploded in a spray of blood. His heart was blown apart, and he died instantly. But his grip had already released the grenade.
Jiang Hai's reaction was instantaneous. If that grenade hit the ground, it was over. It was a military-grade frag grenade—packed with steel pellets. The blast radius alone could shred a man to ribbons.
No hesitation. Jiang Hai kicked the grenade high into the air. Then, grabbing the dead attacker's body again, he crouched low and used it as a human shield.
BOOM!
The grenade detonated mid-air. Steel pellets rained down like a storm. The fleeing mercenaries were just beyond the blast radius—close enough to hear it, but too far to be hit. The tribe members, huddled near the stone house, were unscathed.
As for Jiang Hai, when the dust settled, he rolled out from under the corpse. At least a dozen steel balls were embedded in the body that shielded him.
Without it, they'd be in his back.
Up ahead, the two remaining mercenaries had reached the edge of the forest. The rest of the squad had already vanished into the trees. At that moment, two helicopters swooped low. Their mounted machine guns roared, spitting lead toward the fleeing men.
But these weren't ordinary grunts.
With uncanny agility, the pair dodged the strafing fire, twisting and rolling like animals. Within seconds, they disappeared into the forest.
"Damn it," Jiang Hai muttered. Watching them vanish, he sighed. Once they entered the mountains, there was no catching them. Unless they made a mistake, even U.S. law enforcement wouldn't be able to track them.
At least he had two bodies. Without them, he'd have no idea who they were.
As his mind wandered, the helicopters finally landed at the village entrance. Police officers poured out. Seeing them, Jiang Hai immediately tossed his weapon aside and squatted on the ground.
He knew better.
This wasn't a country where a man could afford pride—especially not when dealing with police.
In the U.S., when a cop yells at you, you'd better get down fast. Or you risk getting shot.
There had been a case not long ago: a Black man on a road trip with his wife and daughter. Pulled over by police. Told to lie down, but he couldn't due to his seatbelt. He reached to unbuckle it, and they shot him dead in front of his family.
The cops weren't even punished. Just had their badges taken away.
In America, sometimes the police were scarier than the criminals.
So, when two officers ran up and pinned Jiang Hai to the ground, kicking away his weapon and cuffing him, he said nothing.
After securing Jiang Hai, they moved into the stone house.
Inside, they spotted the tribespeople and hesitated. This wasn't like detaining one armed suspect—this was a Native tribe, an isolated community, unfamiliar with city laws and customs.
One man—Patan—stood up. He had picked up the AUG that Jiang Hai had dropped and now aimed it at the officers, stone-faced.
The cops instinctively raised their weapons, but hesitated when they saw his traditional garb. Today was a ceremonial day, and the tribe wore their ancestral attire.
Shooting a Native American here would lead to a tribal uprising—and the full blame would fall on the department.
Even American cops had limits.
A tense standoff began. Just then, a senior officer arrived and motioned for the men to lower their weapons.
He stepped forward and addressed the group calmly.
"Does anyone here speak English?"
"I do, sir," the tribal leader replied, stepping forward.
As the two men began to talk, the tension eased slightly.
Meanwhile, Jiang Hai was escorted over, still in handcuffs. The officer-in-charge looked him over and frowned. Something about the man seemed familiar.
"This gentleman is our tribe's benefactor," the leader said firmly. "He was the one who called you—and he helped us drive off the attackers."
The officer nodded but didn't remove the cuffs.
"Sir, I'm sorry—we can't release you just yet. Could you explain your presence and identify yourself?"
Jiang Hai smiled faintly. "Oh, I'm just here for fun. Been camping in the forest a few days. Name's Jiang Hai. I live in Winthrop."
The officer's expression changed.
"Jiang Hai… from Winthrop?" he repeated, frowning deeper.
That name… it rang a bell.
(To be continued.)