Thud.
Jill was hurled back violently, crashing onto the filthy snow-covered ground. Lying on her back, eyes wide open, her pupils contracted sharply as she stared in disbelief at the comrade who had stood by her through countless life-or-death battles.
In the next instant, the autocannon roared, the rocket pod ignited—
The car serving as their cover exploded as the 70mm rocket warhead detonated in a dazzling burst of flame. Chris, standing close to it, was caught in the blast and flung by the searing shockwave.
Something was torn apart—blood sprayed.
A severed arm still holding a Militech Crusher shotgun spun uselessly in the firelit air before landing on the ground.
"Chris!"
Jill cried out involuntarily. She scrambled up, lips pressed tightly, gripping her weapon with fingers trembling in fury.
"Damn it, damn it, don't die, Chris—don't you dare die..." She forced herself to stay composed, firing in bursts while backing into a side room for cover, dragging along a downed BSAA teammate who had been hit by shrapnel.
Her peripheral vision never left the smoke-covered area where Chris had fallen.
She was furious and devastated—desperate to rush over to help him—but she also knew full well: charging in without cover was suicide.
She had to divert that damned BOW's attention first!
"Brad, fire!"
"Keep your distance, stay safe!" she shouted, not recklessly sacrificing her teammates' lives. Making the rational call, she pressed her comms, yelling, "Barry?! You old bastard, if you're alive, say something! Everyone else, spread out and cover me!"
Bullets clanged against the Talos Tyrant's frontal armor. Unfazed by the gunfire, it discarded its spent rocket pod. The 20mm autocannon and missile launcher on its shoulders once again spewed fire.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Shrapnel shredded a modified Humvee's windshield, pierced through the BSAA operator in the driver's seat, struck the rear seats, triggered an ammo detonation—then came the blood and the scorching heatwave that filled every corner.
Clunk—
Inside a Humvee modified with a Militech Type-1 auto-turret, Brad jerked the steering wheel, veering into a narrow alley to dodge incoming tracking missiles—BOOM!
Bricks, tiles, laundry poles, and debris rained down, clattering against the hood and roof.
Brad stomped the accelerator, surged forward, then drifted into a village cross-alley. Spotting the Talos advancing a hundred meters away, its ammo-chain backpack in tow, Brad aimed at its lower body.
RATATATATATA—!
Spaced tracer rounds fired like glowing steel rods, hammering the Talos Tyrant's knees.
ROAR! Armor pierced, several hits landed. In pain, the Talos staggered and let out a low growl toward Brad's direction, lifting its deformed left arm to shield its frail legs.
Exactly what Brad wanted.
Using the turret's periscope optical sight, he fine-tuned the parameters and aimed at the flexible feed belt connecting the ammo chain to the Talos Tyrant's back.
The Talos moved fast—but not fast enough. The closed 7.62 ammo belt was hit first, snapping. Bullets within detonated, sparks flying.
ROOAARR—!
This roar was especially thunderous. The Talos stopped targeting the retreating BSAA operatives, stopped finishing off corpses. The launcher on its right shoulder let out a whoosh, sending a trailing missile skyward.
"Jill, go save Chris!"
Seeing this, Brad floored the accelerator and drifted through the village alleys, shouting rapidly, "We can't win this! Who knows what other traps Umbrella's lunatics have set—retreat first, I'll find a way to draw it off!"
With that, Brad took a deep breath. Shrapnel and rubble clattered against the vehicle. His heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest. The rapid-fire gun on Talos' left arm was gone, but the autocannon and missiles were still targeting him.
Still—nothing to be afraid of. He wouldn't run again like in the Arklay Mountains or Raccoon City. Not this time. Brad told himself that in his heart.
Eyes shut, heart steeled, he slammed the pedal to the floor.
He might not be good at fighting—but no one could outdrive him.
Brad Vickers—arguably the weakest in S.T.A.R.S. when it came to combat and mental fortitude—but when it came to vehicles—cars, helicopters, any craft—he was the best.
Veteran driver. Rock steady.
...
Blood.
Warm human blood seeped into part of Chris' vision.
The spinning dizziness, the suffocating heat in the air, the sharp pain throughout his body, and the shock-like fatigue...
Cough, cough... pffft... cough...
Spitting out the taste in his mouth, Chris stretched out the only limb he could still feel. With the last of his strength, he tore off his cracked visor and mask, gasping for dry, smoke-choked air.
His eyelids felt heavy as lead. He couldn't fully open them. Half his body was completely numb. He could only squint up at the lightly snowing sky.
"Chris! Chris..."
His comms were busted. All he could hear were faint, muffled cries—maybe Jill's, maybe the others'—along with the Tyrant's roars and the chaos of gunfire... It was all a blur. Chris knew—his eardrums had ruptured.
He was dying...
The cold from blood loss and hypothermia crept into his senses. In this strange lull in the battlefield, he found himself reflecting on this mission.
Undoubtedly—he had been impulsive.
Maybe he should've waited for Militech's support team before acting.
Over the years, BSAA's biohazard prevention missions had been successful thanks to global deployment backed by the U.S. military and Militech's support. There were setbacks and difficulties, but they'd always overcome them. He was prepared this time too—but still, he'd fallen victim to experience-based overconfidence.
He'd only thought of one thing: investigate, faster, even faster. The quicker Umbrella was uprooted, the fewer biohazard incidents, the more innocents saved. But in doing so, he had neglected the safety of himself and his comrades...
"Fuck... where the hell is Militech's team..."
His stomach turned. Chris coughed up blood by the mouthful as he muttered.
He didn't care if he died—but he didn't want Jill, Brad, Barry, or any BSAA comrades to die because of him.
"Jill, don't do anything reckless..." Chris prayed. He truly hoped Jill wouldn't rush over now...
"Chris!"
A hoarse female voice, full of concern, rang in his ears.
"You..." Seeing Jill suddenly at his side, Chris opened his mouth—"Cough..." Blood surged up—he coughed violently.
Jill knelt beside Chris' mangled body. Even for a battle-hardened woman like her, her eyes brimmed with tears.
She first sprayed his shredded right arm with physiological saline mist, then pulled out a Militech-branded hemostatic foam from her medical pack and began performing battlefield first aid.
"Damn it! Chris, stay with me! Look at me—don't fall asleep..."
The more she worked, the more despair crept across Jill's face.
Chris was severely injured—far too much.
Not just his severed right arm—half of Chris' body had been directly exposed to the explosion. Severe burns, flames licking the cotton and synthetic fibers on his gear, a fractured lower leg, skin and flesh sliced off by shrapnel, thick tendons exposed to open air.
Even after emptying the entire can of hemostatic foam, Jill still couldn't fully cover the bleeding wounds on his body.
Szzzt...
"So... this is the end?"
It was Sergei Vladimir. His voice echoed once more from the village-wide broadcast system.
"Dear friends from BSAA who've come from afar, thank you for providing such valuable combat data for Talos' first engagement. One destroyed, one disabled—you have every right to be proud."
"As fellow warriors, I understand the thrill of battle and the joy of surviving a fierce fight. But as your enemy's commanding officer, I must show you the full extent of my respect... by ensuring none of you escape."
As his voice faded, Jill's sharp eyes caught movement—the central logistics warehouse gates were opening. From inside emerged not just infected villagers and workers but—
Thud! Thud! Heavy footsteps.
Wearing restraint coats, nearly 9 feet tall—Tyrants.
There were also squat creatures covered in green lizard-like scales—Hunters. Giant, long-haired spider-like insectoids. And various unidentifiable BOWs.
Two BSAA operatives carrying a stretcher to evacuate Chris immediately grasped the gravity of the situation. Their faces went pale.
Elsewhere in the village, the sound of vehicle-mounted machine guns and autocannons had ceased—replaced by the ferocious roars of the Talos Tyrant, and the thunderous crash of buildings being torn apart.
Brad had pushed that monster into Phase Two.
BOOM BOOM BOOM—!
Three more Tyrants strode out of the warehouse, heavy steps accelerating with each pace. Following post-revival commands, they charged straight toward the BSAA in the road center, tossing aside wrecked vehicles like plowing bulldozers.
The old threat wasn't even neutralized—and new ones had arrived. With the field now overrun by Tyrants, BOWs, and hordes of undead, BSAA's chances of victory were gone.
Someone had to stay behind—or no one would make it out.
"Get Chris out of here!"
"No, Jill—"
"I said GO!"
Jill turned, eyes bloodshot, face resolute. She picked up a discarded revolver-type grenade launcher and scooped up scattered grenades. Then she marched straight toward the BOW-led wave of undead.
Click click. Grenade loaded. Hand grenades strapped together.
At that moment, thud thud!—the lead Tyrant was less than thirty meters away. Its footfalls slammed into the road like boulders, each step trembling the ground.
"Come on, you Umbrella mutt."
Jill pulled the pins on three or four combined thermite and high-explosive grenades, muttering under her breath.
With a windmill motion, she hurled the cluster.
BOOOOOOM—!
Blinding light.
The ground trembled violently. The thunderous explosion was deafening. Jill staggered, knocked back by the blast wave, instinctively shielding herself with one arm as her mind blanked at the sight.
The filthy snow had melted. Amid burning flames, she saw the blood-soaked corpses disintegrate. Scattered limbs littered the intersection, tinged with pink mist and the sharp stench of scorched protein.
Dozens of unknown BOWs and zombies were obliterated. Several humanoid figures were slammed into walls and smashed into pulp.
Did I do that?
Jill stared, wide-eyed.
WHIRRRR—!
Before anyone could process the shock, the roar of helicopter rotors and engines approached from afar.
"This is Militech, M.S.F. Division. Calling Mr. Chris Redfield—we've arrived. Commencing riot suppression operation. All personnel, disengage from close-quarters with BOWs."
Through BSAA's public radio channel, Militech's comms officer announced their arrival. In the distance, streams of bright air-to-ground guided missile exhaust flared out, locking onto BOW targets within the village—
BOOM BOOM BOOM...
A series of thunderous blasts surged through the small Caucasus mountain village, shaking the air with terrifying shockwaves.
Blazing yellow flames engulfed the Phase Two Talos Tyrant, now crouched like a beast. Jets of molten metal scattered as the mutilated corpse collapsed.
Militech's VTOL[1] deployment team had entered the village.
CLANG!
Floodlights ignited. 20mm incendiary rounds and micro-rockets tore through the battlefield. In a torrent of fire and light, autocannons swept a 200-meter path from the village edge to the central logistics warehouse.
BOWs and undead were shredded by the dozens. Corpses ignited in place.
"That's a high-speed helicopter? Didn't expect Militech to roll them out this fast..."
Brad pulled his half-wrecked Humvee near Jill's position, then ran over, head tilted up at the aircraft overhead.
He recognized the multipurpose transport and gunships in the formation—but several flat-bodied, rotorless new models were way beyond his tech knowledge.
BANG! BANG!
Gunfire. Semi-auto. Large-caliber.
One of the rotorless aircraft hovered above. The side bay opened, and a Militech gunner laid down suppressive fire. As the VTOL slowly descended, several figures in white-and-green suits, carrying oversized kits, jumped out.
"Where's the casualty... Confirming target—Chris Redfield. Move! Assess client status."
The soldiers bore the red Asclepius staff emblem—Medtech division. They cautiously approached Jill's team. Just as they prepared to verify their identities, they saw Chris being carried by two BSAA operatives.
"TT-133 Maximum Force Tactical Division Trauma Unit calling command. Target critically injured, life-threatening condition. Initiating emergency treatment."
"Lay him down. Step back five meters. Make room for safe treatment."
Two Militech medics stepped in, replacing the BSAA team.
One operated a dedicated hemostatic clamp and tissue suture tool. Another snipped open Chris' chest gear with scissors and saline spray. After basic decontamination, they pulled a pneumatic resuscitation unit from their emergency kit and pressed it to his chest.
"Patient Chris Redfield—critical but stable condition."
"Bleeding stopped. Stimulants injected. 70mg dopamine, 110mg norepinephrine, 1100 units fibrinogen... Diagnosis: patient in urgent need of transfusion."
Chris was rapidly loaded into the sleek vertical-landing new-gen aircraft. Jill, though still worried, calmed herself after spotting the trusted Militech logo on their gear.
...
Meanwhile—San Francisco, North America. The former Umbrella California branch building, now Militech HQ.
CEO's Office.
"Huh?"
Vera Adelheid, closely monitoring Chris' BSAA team and preparing to scoop up Umbrella's final assets, blinked in surprise at the report.
"Mm. Understood. Do everything you can to save Mr. Redfield."
Click.
She hung up. Leaning back in her chair, she glanced pensively at the Caucasus region holographic projection floating above her desk.
"Chris Silverhand? No... better give him a Blackhand instead."
[1] Vertical Take-Off and Landing