EFB Is Chapter 49 really that accurate?!
Is Chapter 49 really that accurate?!
The dirt road at the foot of the hill was scorching hot from the afternoon sun.
Smith Domiwich leaned against the door of the Hummer, smoking a cigarette.
It's not a leaf, it's a legitimate Marlboro.
After all, the leaves were bought by those Armenians; he's rich and doesn't need to buy them.
The smoke rose straight up in the dry air.
He was wearing a modified MultiCam combat uniform, with German-made bulletproof plates and medical tape wrapped around the rifle grip.
A habit I developed while having enjoyable and friendly interactions with fellow countrymen in the Middle East: preventing my hand from slipping.
"We were among the first to arrive,"
He flicked the ash from his cigarette.
"It feels like they're just sending themselves to their deaths."
Humphrey Taylor squatted nearby, chewing gum, his cheeks bobbing rhythmically. His helmet sat at his feet, revealing his short, shaved blond hair.
"It can't be that bad,"
Humphrey said,
"The report only mentioned a group of veterans, the highest-ranking of whom was only a colonel."
He spat out his chewing gum, which stuck to the wheel fender.
"Even if the report mentions that they possess small nuclear weapons, they don't have anything to deploy; at most, they might just detonate them on the spot."
"That's true, Mr. Ford wouldn't cheat us out of such a small amount of money."
Smith nodded.
He looked up at the hillside.
Riverport is five miles away, and from this angle you can only see the rooftops of a few warehouses and water towers.
"That……"
He had just turned his head.
boom!
A short gunshot rang out from the three o'clock direction.
Humphrey's helmet made a crisp "clang".
A cluster of sparks flew up from the side.
He fell backward, tumbled off the rock, and landed on the dirt road.
His body twitched twice and then stopped moving.
There was a dent in the right temple, and blood seeped out from under the helmet rim, quickly accumulating into a dark red pool.
The edges are slightly curled up, revealing the yellow cross-section of the Kevlar fiber inside.
Smith didn't shout.
His body moved faster than his brain; he pulled open the car door with his left hand, pushed off with his right leg, and rolled sideways into the driver's seat.
The movements were so fluid, as if they had been practiced thousands of times.
The engine starts as soon as it's started.
It's truly a treasure he just repaired.
He stepped on the gas, turned the steering wheel half a turn, and the car lurched forward three meters, blocking the path in front of Humphrey's body.
The bulletproof vehicle body was aligned with the direction from which the bullets were fired.
The other three people in the car woke up instantly.
There were no questions asked, and no panic.
The three men simultaneously grabbed the rifles placed at their feet, cocked them, and moved in unison, their movements as synchronized as machines.
boom!boom!boom!boom!
Four gunshots rang out.
Almost simultaneously, the four Level 4 bulletproof windows in the driver's seat, passenger seat, and rear left and right side windows shattered, revealing spiderweb-like cracks.
There is a bullet hole at the center of each crack.
Precise positioning.
Smith leaned forward, his forehead resting on the steering wheel.
He gripped his rifle in his right hand.
"opposite……"
He hadn't finished speaking.
boom!boom!boom!boom!
Four more gunshots rang out from a distance, less than half a second apart.
All four bulletproof glass panels shattered completely at the same instant.
It wasn't broken, it was shattered.
The entire pane of glass collapsed inward, turning into a pile of fingernail-sized shards that crashed into the car.
However, the bullet's potential energy was not completely neutralized.
The first shot hit the lower abdomen of the player on the left side of the back row.
The bullet cut into the ballistic plate three centimeters below the bottom edge, pierced the lateral abdominal muscles, tore open the lumbar vertebrae, and brought out a mass of dark red internal organs as it exited from the other side.
The man opened his mouth but no sound came out, and his body slumped to the side.
The second and third shots hit almost simultaneously.
The shot hit the right side of the back row player squarely in the chest.
The ceramic insert shattered instantly.
The man groaned and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the shattered car window frame.
However, he didn't die; he simply rolled over and hid under the car seat.
The other shot hit the co-pilot's left shoulder.
The bullet cut through the collarbone and tore apart the artery at the edge of the implant.
Blood gushed out like a high-pressure water gun, splattering all over the instrument panel.
Smith was no longer in the driver's seat.
The moment the glass shattered, he rolled directly onto the undercarriage, ignoring the shards of glass scattered everywhere, and leaned against the car wall.
Only this thickened bulletproof steel frame could give him a sense of security.
Shortness of breath.
I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, thump-thump-thump, like a drum.
"What the hell is this?!"
Even though he wasn't the one who was shot, Smith's heart was pounding.
For Level 4 bulletproof glass to be shattered by two shots, there are only two possibilities: either the Barrett's armor-piercing rounds will miraculously penetrate it.
Based on his experience listening for guns, it was at most an M416 or similar rifle, otherwise it wouldn't have been so quiet.
Either you hit the same spot twice in a row.
But those were four pieces of bulletproof glass! And every single one of them shattered!
The interval was less than a second.
What the hell is that shooting accuracy?
He had seen top snipers in Iraq shoot coins from 800 meters away with a TAC-50.
But that takes time, requires calculations, and requires data on wind speed, humidity, and altitude.
"Damn! Could it really be some kind of divine gift?!"
Smith squeezed out the word through clenched teeth.
He raised his hand and held the rifle over the shattered glass window.
Based on his instincts, he pulled the trigger in the direction from which the gunshots were likely coming.
Fellow villagers' tactics! Faith-based shooting!
I saw this with a fellow countryman from the Middle East, and he was quite disdainful of it at the time!
Now~
Da da da! Da da da!
It is a short burst of fire from a semi-automatic rifle, three shots at a time.
His superb marksmanship allowed him to hit the spot he felt might be the target with great accuracy.
After all, he is an elite who came from the real battlefield!
The other surviving team members were also firing.
Almost simultaneously, the people still able to move inside the car also opened fire.
There were no tactical maneuvers, no crossfire, and no alternating cover.
Everyone adopted the same posture: hiding behind seats or car doors, raising their guns above their heads, pointing the muzzles out the window, and holding the triggers.
Fully automatic firing.
Shell casings clattered and fell inside the vehicle, the scorching hot copper shells burning the skin, but no one cared. Muzzle flashes flickered in the dimly lit carriage, and the smell of gunpowder was pungent and acrid.
This is the tactic they hate most in the Middle East—the "hometown warfare" tactic. It has absolutely no precision and relies purely on suppressive fire.
But now they've used it.
Because of fear.
Bullets swept across the hillside like a deluge, hitting tree trunks, rocks, and earthen slopes, kicking up clouds of dust.
There was no retaliation.
Two magazines were fired.
Then--
boom.
A gunshot rang out, very close.
And it's very familiar, it's...
"Glock..."
Smith stopped moving.
He felt a cool sensation on the side of his neck, followed by a burning, stinging pain.
Warm liquid gushed blood down his carotid artery, splashing all over the car floor.
My head was twisting uncontrollably, and my vision began to spin.
A few brief shots rang out from under the Glock, and a figure appeared at the car door at some unknown time.
He was dressed in civilian clothes, work pants, and a plaid shirt.
He held an M416 in one hand, with a silencer attached to the muzzle, and raised the other hand to pull the trigger of a Glock.
"Is this all there is?"
The sound was very flat.
Carl crouched down, used his knife to cut open the straps of Smith's combat vest, and pulled out the insert.
The board surface is intact, with only a faint white mark.
"Still a level 4 board."
The man said,
"That's a big spender."
He tossed the power strip to the person behind him.
Down the hillside, the other rest areas were also quiet.
More than a hundred Humvees and armored personnel carriers were scattered on both sides of the dirt road.
On the ground next to the car, some people were squatting with their hands behind their heads, while others were lying down, transforming into Gundams.
The gunfire has stopped.
The only sound was the wind rustling through the pine forest on the hillside, like rain.