Ten minutes. They had to hold out for at least ten minutes. The first thing Owen thought of was the Gatling gun on the helicopter. With a weapon like that, never mind ten minutes—they might even hold out for twenty.
With that in mind, Owen ran over to the helicopter wreckage for a closer inspection. Thank God—the aircraft was wrecked, sure, but the internal circuitry was intact, and the Gatling gun was still in working condition, along with its electrical system.
Thank heavens. Owen couldn't help but pump his fist in the air. It was like the heavens themselves were backing them. The Gatling gun was powered by an electric motor, and even though the Black Hawk had been practically torn apart—tail rotor completely gone—the motor still functioned. When Owen tested it, the barrel spun up without a hitch.
"Guys, over here! Help me out!"
Owen slapped the side of the chopper and shouted. The rest of the team immediately understood what he had in mind.
"Man, you're something else..."
No one was happier than Ghost. He knew exactly what that thing meant for them.
Everyone stopped firing and ran over to help push the chopper. Removing the Gatling wasn't feasible, so the plan was to push the wreckage to the edge of the roof so the gun could cover the area below.
They all worked together, straining with everything they had, but the Black Hawk barely moved. It was simply too heavy.
This wouldn't do. Time was running out. The enemy reinforcements could arrive at any moment. Owen could only imagine they were the same group that had been pursuing them earlier—no ragtag militia, but real fighters with serious skills.
"Unload the cargo inside the cabin!"
Once inside, Owen realized the back of the chopper was packed with gear. Everyone scrambled to pull it out. The items were heavy, but they carried them out with high spirits—these weren't just supplies, they were treasure.
Aside from an M249 squad automatic weapon, they found a massive stockpile of ammunition—nine 200-round ammo boxes, and an entire crate of loose rounds. No wonder the helicopter hadn't budged.
Once the cargo was out, pushing the Black Hawk became a lot easier. With a team effort, they rolled it to the edge of the roof. Someone would stay in the cabin to operate the Gatling.
Then there was the M249—a prize in its own right. Probably the original gun mounted on the Black Hawk, swapped out for an AUG-17 Gatling just for this mission.
The nine 200-round boxes were all for the M249, pre-linked and ready to go. As for the loose rounds, those were backup, but since they weren't belt-fed, they couldn't be used in the M249 right away.
"Who here's good with machine guns?"
"I'll take it. I used the M240 back in the army—this isn't too different."
Ghost volunteered.
"Good. Ghost will operate the M249. I'll handle the Gatling. Bullseye, focus on picking off the veterans. Heartbeat and IQ, provide support—prioritize RPG shooters. Everyone, pick your firing positions."
Owen gave out assignments. The team spread out, each finding a strategic firing point—everyone in position.
"What about me? What do I do?"
Catherine quickly asked when she noticed she hadn't been given a task. She had undergone firearms training and was actually a pretty good shot. She just hadn't experienced this level of chaos before. But after everything, she wasn't afraid anymore.
Owen hadn't planned to involve her. His team was battle-tested and tightly coordinated. Bringing in a newcomer, an outsider, was a risk that could do more harm than good.
He was about to tell her to stay put when he noticed the loose ammo.
The M249 used 5.56mm rounds—the same as their M4A1s. In fact, the M249 was designed to accept M4 mags, even though their small capacity wasn't ideal for a machine gun.
At once, Owen knew how to utilize her.
"Everyone, give me your empty mags. Catherine, your job is to reload as fast as you can. When someone needs a mag, get it to them. We're running low on ammo. You're our only hope. How long we survive depends on you..."
Catherine was stunned for a moment, but quickly understood. She didn't hesitate. Instead of complaining, she got right to work collecting everyone's empties. Soon, dozens of magazines were piled in front of her. After such intense combat, most were already halfway depleted. Owen was right—resupply was vital.
Catherine cracked open the ammo crate and began reloading, round by round.
Owen manned the Gatling. Since he wouldn't be using his assault rifle, he handed its ammo off to Monica and Heartbeat. Just as he finished distributing it, Ghost raised the alarm.
"They're here..."
Just three words—and the tension skyrocketed. Owen rushed into the helicopter, powered up the Gatling, and the rotating barrel began to spin, letting out its signature whirring sound. As soon as he pressed the trigger, bullets would rip through the air.
No one spoke. Every set of eyes locked onto the area below. Even Catherine, working in the back, could feel the pressure hanging in the air—like a storm about to break.
Below, Owen saw no convoy yet, but there were silhouettes creeping closer through the shadows.
Bang!
The first to fire was Swagger. He dropped an RPG-wielding fighter. The shot disrupted the launch, sending the warhead flying into a building off to the side—killing a few nearby enemies in the process.
That shot lit the fuse.
Gunfire erupted from all directions. Enemies who had been lurking in cover now burst forth, weapons blazing. The sneak attack had become a full-on assault. Several RPG operators fired simultaneously.
The rapid response team opened up at once, focusing on the RPGs. Those gunners got more attention than they'd ever bargained for—and died having received the highest caliber of welcome.
Owen's Gatling and Ghost's M249 began to roar.
Owen hit the fire button. Red flashes burst from the barrel. Shell casings rained down like a waterfall, soon carpeting the floor of the wreckage.
In an instant, every potential threat was eliminated. The ground was littered with corpses.
Owen swept the metal storm between key points. It was like the hand of death itself. The enemy quickly learned why this weapon was called the "Vulcan cannon."
If Owen locked onto a target, their fate was sealed. Cover meant nothing. Even behind a wall, the result was the same—the Gatling would shred both the obstacle and everything behind it.