Chapter 52: The March

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After donning their heavy bulletproof vests, securing their helmets, and checking their gear, the four split into two teams and drove out of the garage.

Vroom vroom...

Two high-displacement SUVs rolled out and headed onto the main road toward the checkpoint.

Flora, sitting in the passenger seat, suddenly quipped mischievously, “Are we waiting for the traffic light?”

Milton rolled his eyes. “Waiting my ass. Even if I wanted to wait, the damn thing needs power first.”

“Wait a minute...” Flora’s smile faded, and she leaned forward. “Is something hanging above the traffic light? Why is it swaying?”

“Huh?!”

As the vehicle drew closer, Milton, aided by the high beams, made out several dark shapes swaying in the wind.

They were battered corpses.

Two of the faces were all too familiar — the wife and daughter of the recently executed sheriff, both suffered fatal gunshot wounds to the head.

The injuries and the glazed, dilated pupils spoke volumes about the torment they endured before death.

Silence fell inside the vehicle.

Flora stared ahead quietly for a long moment before saying, “This isn’t just a warning to you. It’s a warning to us.”

“This isn’t a warning. It’s a declaration,” Milton said, suppressing his emotions. “Pedro, Varta, Raul... and that entire interest group are spreading terror against us.”

Flora crossed her legs and lightly caressed the pristine M4A1 with her fingers. “Not scared, are you?”

“Bullying women and children doesn’t scare me,” Milton replied calmly. “What, are you scared?”

“Me? I’m just afraid you’ll kick us aside once you control the whole town’s tax system,” Flora snapped the butt of her gun sharply. “Besides, we used to be NATO. NATO, you know? They should be the ones scared.”

Tsk, the face of imperialism.

But no lie, when they stood on our side, it felt pretty good.

Milton pressed the accelerator harder. “You’re right — they should be the ones afraid, especially after today.”

Half an hour later, two kilometers from the checkpoint, Milton pulled the car aside and stopped in the woods.

The vehicle was too loud and too big to avoid the searchlight from the checkpoint tower.

From here on, it was best to proceed on foot.

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Without a word, the four quickly unloaded their gear.

Milton issued orders: “I’ll take the M24. ‘Bottle’ takes the mortar on his back. The other two carry ammo and the PKM. Double-check radios and equipment.”

“All clear.”

“All clear.”

Milton secured his noise-canceling headset. “Good. Move out. I lead, ‘Bottle’ covers the rear.”

“Roger.”

The four immediately moved swiftly toward the checkpoint.

The jungle terrain was rough and uneven, and their heavy loads combined with a full day without rest left them fatigued after only a few hundred meters.

Yet no one complained or fell behind; all silently followed the formation.

After over ten minutes, Milton spotted the familiar checkpoint ahead.

“‘Bottle’ and ‘Poison’ set up the mortars. Iron Anvil and I will scout.”

Milton found a slightly flatter reverse slope, put on his night vision goggles, zoomed in fully, and began a quick reconnaissance of the checkpoint.

Iron Anvil, responsible for fire support, did the same.

The position was just over 300 meters from the checkpoint, barely adequate for a support position under cover of darkness.

A few minutes later, Milton reported, “The checkpoint’s defenses are lax: each of the two watchtowers has only one guard; only three enemies patrol near the three key strongpoints we need to take; the warehouse guards appear to be resting. Our target truck is parked in the garage behind the warehouse. Avoid firing near it.”

It had to be said—the people guarding the checkpoint had almost no professionalism; even the checkpoint’s layout was poorly designed.

The entire station had only two exposed watchtowers with no mutual cover, and no concealed posts.

The sleepy sentries manned a single M2 heavy machine gun that was more for show; the patrols lacked any sense of cover, wandering about like headless flies, terrified they might all get wiped out at once.

Inside the checkpoint, all important buildings, including the guard posts and the station chief’s office, were brightly lit; Milton even felt the night vision goggles were unnecessary.

“Damn weak,” he muttered. “Even if they had twenty men, we could take them all out unscathed.”

From behind, Flora’s hoarse voice came through: “Mortars set up, machine gun positions ready. I’m prepared.”

Milton nodded slightly. “We’ll approach the checkpoint’s side entrance. Iron Anvil will snipe the sentries, then we’ll storm in quickly to seize the first building cluster. That’s where Varta’s loyalists are housed. Varta took many people away; there won’t be many inside.”

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“Iron Anvil provides fire support and intelligence.”

“I’m the point man; ‘Bottle’ covers the rear. Move out.”

During the dynamic breach, the point and rear positions alternate — after Milton clears one room as point man, Flora takes point for the next room, while Milton covers. This cycle repeats until all enemies are eliminated.

Flora lightly tapped Milton’s shoulder, then moved to the rear of the group. “‘Bottle’ copy that.”

Milton checked his M81 once more, then led the three-man squad cautiously to the checkpoint’s perimeter wall, inching toward the main gate.

The watchtower’s spotlight swept the road directly ahead, oblivious to how close the enemy had already crept.

Just as they settled into position, Iron Anvil’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Sniper position ready. Waiting for the enemy patrol to expose their flank. Once I fire, the patrol will be at the third checkpoint parking spot, 15 o’clock direction to the right of the gate, with no cover to enter.”

Milton’s heart involuntarily quickened. “Copy.”

At that moment, his noise-canceling headset picked up three sets of uneven footsteps approaching from the left, accompanied by drunken voices.

“Varta’s bitch... going to a feast without us.”

“Heh, you know, I saw him secretly stash a lot of money in his room. Always pretending to be clean, I spit on that...”

“Burp! Whatever, let’s drink!”

...

The voices and footsteps gradually faded to the right.

Suddenly, a sound of wood splintering came from the watchtower overhead, followed by the sudden disappearance of half a sentry’s head.

Half a second later, the silenced, stapler-like crack of an M24 sniper rifle echoed from the hillside.

“Iron Anvil has fired.”

Almost simultaneously, Milton leaned out, swung up his weapon, and fired!