Under Mikhail's command, the bandits intensified their assault on the rooftop.
Things on the rooftop were anything but optimistic.
Swagger had emptied all of his sniper rifle magazines—seven in total, with seven rounds each. Ghost, manning the M249, had burned through seven of the nine ammo boxes, leaving only two remaining.
"Magazine!"
Monica and Owen shouted at the same time. Enemies were charging in from below every second, and their ammo was depleting fast.
"Here!" Catherine slid the magazines down the slanted rooftop to them.
Owen grabbed a loaded mag and reloaded without even turning his head, smoothly sliding the empty mag back toward Catherine and continuing to fight.
Pop… pop…
Two more enemies fell to his shots. With ammo running low, Owen had stopped using burst fire. Each shot was a single round, each one lethal. With bullet time engaged, every enemy fell to just one shot.
Bang bang bang~~~
Gunfire rang out behind him. Turning, Owen saw Catherine with her gun raised. Near her, at the entrance of a skylight, an enemy had just peeked out—only to be shot down instantly.
This had been Owen's special task for her—not only to manage their ammo, but also to guard the only access point from below.
"Bullseye, check it out..."
Owen called out to Swagger, who at the moment had the least to do.
With no more sniper rounds, Swagger had resorted to using his Glock 18 like a mini-SMG. He carried extended 31-round mags that stuck out of the grip—ugly, but great for firepower.
Ratatatatatatatatata~~~
Without exposing himself, Swagger stuck out his hand and sprayed down the skylight. One bandit climbing the stairs took several hits and fell, screaming. Swagger peeked to confirm, then emptied another burst. The screaming stopped.
"Magazine!"
This time it was Heartbeat calling out. Catherine smoothly slid a mag to him. Then to Monica. Then Owen. Her performance had been flawless. She hadn't fired a single shot in the main fight, but her logistics work had been impeccable—she'd never once delayed them.
No one said anything, but Catherine was worried. They were running out. A crate of loose rounds didn't go far when reloading mags.
Bullets pinged all around them. Another RPG exploded nearby. Owen didn't even flinch—didn't blink. He was used to this now.
Ghost's machine gun went silent. The M249 was dry. He picked up his assault rifle and joined the others in firing.
"Magazine!"
Heartbeat shouted for the third time.
"We're out."
He froze.
"There's no more. Every mag went to you guys."
Everyone turned. The ammo crate was empty—no one had noticed when.
"Use mine."
Ghost handed out his backup magazines. Each teammate got one, but it wasn't enough. Thirty rounds each—at most. But the enemy below...
The battle continued. Owen was the first to switch to his pistol. With his last mag, he took down at least six enemies. Then Monica, Heartbeat, and finally Ghost followed suit.
They were still fighting hard. Though no one had suffered serious injuries, all of them looked battered and worn.
Monica's hair was caked with dust from RPG blasts, yet the gum in her mouth remained—she kept blowing bubbles now and then.
Heartbeat wasn't doing much better. A gash on his bald head bled into the dirt, giving him a filthy, rough look. His signature sunglasses were still on, but the cool factor was long gone—he just looked ragged.
Seeing them switching to pistols, the enemies below knew the team was running out of steam and pressed the attack.
"We have to go down there. We can't hold this with pistols. We need their weapons..."
Ghost said in a flat tone, his skull mask and red goggles unreadable. It was a risky move—but there was no other option. The team all agreed.
Swagger volunteered to go first, but Owen refused. With bullet time, he had the best odds of surviving. He swapped weapons and ammo with Swagger and prepared to move—any later and the enemy would flood the building, and not even bullet time could save him.
Just as he braced himself to leap into the fray, the thump of a helicopter engine echoed overhead, followed by a voice over the comms: "Unicorn, this is Little Bird Three. Hope I'm not too late... whoa, looks like you're in rough shape."
The rapid response team laughed despite themselves—again, a helicopter showing up exactly one second before they were doomed. They all grumbled in their hearts, but couldn't deny the timing was perfect.
Ratatatatatatata~~~~
Little Bird Three's Gatling gun opened fire without hesitation, red light flashing from the spinning barrel as bullets rained down like a storm, carving a path of death into the earth below.
The space in front of the house, ten meters wide, was obliterated. On the battlefield, the Gatling wasn't always the deadliest—but it was always the biggest morale booster. Its arrival instantly lifted the team from the brink of collapse.
"Little Bird Three, watch for RPGs. The enemy still has anti-air missiles..."
Owen warned. He hadn't seen any RPGs launched at the chopper yet, but it was only a matter of time. As for the missiles—well, that was a gamble.
Owen was betting that Mikhail didn't have an endless supply of missiles. They were expensive, even in the black market. Some small countries couldn't afford them in bulk—Mikhail was just a broker.
Maybe Owen jinxed it—no sooner had he spoken than several white smoke trails shot into the air. But Little Bird Three was ready. It maneuvered sharply, dodging all of them. RPGs had no tracking; one hard turn and they all missed.
The Black Hawk's gunner opened up again, raking the ground with another storm of lead. The area turned into a hellscape—bodies everywhere. A 12.7mm round didn't leave much behind when it hit.
Seeing the destruction, Little Bird Three's pilot felt a measure of satisfaction. Finally, he'd avenged his fallen comrades.
"Alright, boys—time to board!"
Rather than land on the rooftop, Little Bird Three hovered level with it, just off the edge. This gave it room to maneuver in case of another emergency.
The gunner on the outer side kept firing, suppressing everything in sight to cover the team's boarding.
The rapid response team began jumping aboard. Just a couple steps, and they could leap into the cabin. The Gatling covered the front, and the reinforced underbelly could take hits from below.
Heartbeat, Monica, Catherine, Swagger, Ghost...
The hatch was narrow—only one at a time. As team leader, Owen chose to go last.
One by one, his teammates jumped aboard. Then it was his turn.
This sight sent Mikhail into a frenzy. So many of his people had died—he couldn't let them escape now. He gave order after order. His men, high on adrenaline, poured from cover, throwing everything they had at the helicopter.
Bullets filled the air, along with wild, inaccurate RPGs.
Owen leapt—but just then, a bullet struck his chest mid-air. His body jerked, momentum lost. He fell, narrowly missing his teammates' outstretched hands.
Thud!
He hit the ground hard, the impact dazing him. His head spun, ears rang.
Above him, his teammates were shouting—but he couldn't hear. A few seconds later, his senses returned, and the urgent calls rang in clearly: "Owen, get up! Get up! They're coming!"
Owen slowly sat up. His vision sharpened. He finally understood—he'd landed in an alleyway. Shadows shifted at both ends—enemies were closing in.
Overhead, the Gatling roared again, desperately trying to hold them back. But its angle was limited—it couldn't cover everything.
Run!
Owen bolted, bursting from one end of the alley. Bullet time activated without hesitation.
At the mouth of the alley, the first enemies to appear were gunned down by his Glock 18. Then he slipped past the rest before they could react.
"Cover me! Four o'clock!"
Owen shouted into the comms, firing at anything that moved. Anyone in his way went down with a single burst.
He ran through a corridor, vaulted through a window. He'd spent hours fighting from above and knew the terrain well. From higher ground to lower, he sprinted through connected rooftops, house to house.
Bullets kept zipping past, but Owen ignored them. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding. Another house, another rooftop.
Then, at the perfect moment, Little Bird Three swooped in from the side. Owen leapt—caught the landing gear in mid-air.
The Gatling fired again, covering his position with a wall of lead.
As the helicopter pulled away, teammates helped Owen into the cabin. He looked down at the shrinking village.
For the first time in hours, he felt relief.
They had made it out alive.
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Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1418)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1422)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1452)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1504)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld!(Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 703)
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