"Three minutes! Three minutes until support arrives!"
Owen shouted. It was a rallying cry—but also a grim reminder. Three minutes, neither long nor short, but judging by the enemy's momentum, it was impossible to know whether they could hold on.
Tat-tat-tat!
The Quick Response Team took cover behind the overturned pickup, exchanging fire with the attackers. Bullets clanged and thudded into the truck's battered frame. Windows shattered, the metal skin was riddled with bullet holes, and the tail light exploded just inches from Owen.
He and Monica were crouched on one side of the truck, angling their weapons for quick peeks and return fire. Heartbeat and Ghost were on the opposite side. Heartbeat, trying to get a better angle, overextended—only to be shot squarely in the chest. Ghost pulled him back. Fortunately, the round struck the insert plate in his vest.
There wasn't a moment's reprieve—rounds kept hammering the truck every second. Owen and Monica each dropped a target, but the enemy's numbers seemed endless. As Owen returned fire, he noticed several figures attempting to flank them. By the time he realized, they were already dangerously close.
Both Owen and Monica spotted them simultaneously. They turned and opened fire, dropping the would-be ambushers with precise, controlled bursts.
"Reloading!"
"Got it!" Monica called back.
Owen ducked behind cover, swapping mags while Monica covered. But just as he slammed the new mag into place, Monica jerked and fell backward, blood blooming across her arm.
"Target Eye! Cover!"
Owen yelled, dragging her to safety behind the truck. She'd been hit when her arm was exposed during a transition. Had Owen reacted slower, she would've been gunned down completely.
Swagg answered with a sharp nod, snatching up Monica's M4A1 and rejoining the fight. With his skills, filling in as a marksman was effortless. Within seconds, another enemy dropped under his fire.
Owen quickly assessed Monica's wound—it was a graze. The bullet had torn skin but missed the bone. It looked bad but was considered minor in combat terms.
He bandaged her swiftly, and the two returned to battle. As Swagg passed the rifle back, a chilling sound tore through the air—a heavy machine gun roared to life on the enemy side.
"Incoming!"
Ghost tackled Heartbeat as the front of their truck disintegrated under the hail of .50-cal rounds.
Shit!
Owen peeked out—another technical had arrived, a pickup with a mounted M2HB in the bed. The metal storm it unleashed was pure devastation.
"Target Eye! Take it out!"
Owen roared. They couldn't afford to let that gun fire unchecked. During the chase it was inaccurate—but now that they were stationary, the .50-cal was a death sentence.
"Got it."
Swagg had already switched to his M200. His scope locked onto the gunner.
BOOM!
The gunner dropped. Another replaced him—BOOM!—then another—BOOM!
Swagg's message was clear: touch that gun, and you die. Three men fell before anyone dared try again.
Taking advantage of the lull, the team focused their fire on the technical's surroundings, mowing down the infantry clustered around it. Then Swagg turned his scope toward the truck's fuel tank.
One shot.
Two shots.
On the third, the tank exploded, consuming the truck and its gun in a fireball.
A breath of relief washed over the team—
Until an RPG screamed overhead.
Goddammit…
Owen nearly swore aloud.
BOOM!
Swagg took down the RPG shooter. The rocket spiraled wildly and detonated harmlessly in the trees.
BOOM!
A second shot. The launcher exploded at the shooter's feet, killing him and several nearby fighters.
With Swagg holding the line, the team surged forward. Owen activated bullet-time again, scanning for RPGs. Anyone carrying one, aiming one, or just touching one—he gunned them down with surgical precision.
Monica, Ghost, and Heartbeat cleared the infantry. Monica lobbed a 40mm grenade into a dense cluster. It detonated with brutal efficiency.
Pfft-pfft!
A mist of blood sprayed. Ghost took a hit to the thigh and fell to one knee. Heartbeat moved to help him—only to take a round to the chest, stumbling and collapsing as well.
The chaos had allowed several enemies to flank around the other side of the truck. The team hadn't noticed—and it nearly cost them.
Monica turned just in time, dropping both ambushers with two clean shots. Ghost and Heartbeat crawled back behind the wreckage under their own power.
Owen didn't have time to check on them. He saw Swagg tumble back behind cover as his sniper position was saturated with lead.
The enemy's pressure mounted. The team was pinned, bullets chewing into dirt and steel like a torrential downpour.
Thankfully, Ghost and Heartbeat's injuries weren't fatal. Their armor had stopped the rounds, albeit barely. They slapped on quick field dressings and returned to the fight.
BOOM-BOOM!
Two RPGs detonated nearby. The attackers weren't sharpshooters, but there were just too many of them. Even if the team was more accurate, they were being worn down.
Seeing more RPGs being prepped, the team acted immediately. Ghost hurled two M67 grenades toward the enemy's staging area. One man tried to throw a grenade back—but Owen shot his arm mid-motion. The explosive dropped at his feet and detonated.
The chaos gave the team a brief advantage. Several RPG gunners were taken out, but one rocket still flew their way.
"RPG—DOWN!"
Everyone hit the dirt. The rocket struck the truck, flipping it and sending Owen and Ghost flying.
Owen hit the ground hard. Everything spun. He spat dirt and fought to stand. His ribs screamed, but he forced himself to crawl to Monica.
"You okay?"
"Cough, I'm fine…"
Relieved, Owen turned just in time to see another flanker coming from the side. He raised his M4A1—click. Empty.
The enemy leveled his weapon. Owen dropped the rifle, drew his pistol, and emptied the mag. Both hostiles fell.
Breathing hard, Owen reloaded both weapons. That had been sheer luck—if the enemy had better aim, they'd all be down.
Ahead, Swagg groaned—he was hit too. He switched to his sidearm, a Glock 18. Before the mission, he'd opted for automatic firepower over the standard P226. With 14 extended 31-round magazines, it could function like a compact SMG.
But even so, at full auto, a mag emptied in seconds. And 14 mags wouldn't last forever.
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