Chapter 51 Purely Irritable

"Right here!"

Song Heping, who had sprinted two kilometers away, finally came to a halt by the roadside.

Time and tide wait for no man!

If he guessed correctly, Saif was on the phone with Angel right now, and he had no idea how much longer the blonde woman could stall that old fox Saif.

He quickly slipped off the RPG rocket launcher from his back, unbuckled his tactical pack, pulled out two Claymore mines, swiftly screwed on the fuzes, and then positioned the two mines one to the left and one to the right.

The placement was meticulously calculated.

There was very little cover here, so the burial spots had to be set further away from the road to prevent them from being spotted by a driver. At the same time, the two mines had to point diagonally across the front, creating a fan-shaped coverage area.

After planting the Claymores, Song Heping swiftly hooked up the remote detonators to both devices.

He had to admit, the loot he had acquired earlier was truly top-notch.

Everything was complete.

The Yankees were indeed the Yankees; the gear on special operations soldiers always brought pleasant surprises. A penny-pinching mercenary like himself would normally never bear to spend money on such expensive remote-detonated mines.

Having finished all this, Song Heping quickly retreated to the roadside, found a mound of earth on the right side, and concealed himself behind it.

Then, he checked the RPG rocket launcher one more time, disengaged the safety, placed it right beside him, and swiftly inspected his ammunition.

At that moment, Angel's voice came through the earpiece again.

"He hung up! I can't hold him any longer!"

"Cook! Make your move!" Song Heping immediately issued the order.

There was absolute no time to wait any longer.

By now, Saif, hiding in the farmhouse, must have grown suspicious. He likely realized Angel wasn't falling for it and would connect the dots to his own dangerous situation.

Normally, waiting for him to flee on his own wasn't out of the question.

However, it was imperative to ensure he escaped northward.

Having received Song Heping's signal to initiate the attack, Cook and the others hesitated no longer. Bear, operating the M2HB heavy machine gun, opened fire on the patrol guards near the farm fence.

Thump, thump, thump—

The rate of fire of the M2HB heavy machine gun was not exceptionally high, but it always carried a sense of heavy, unhurried composure.

A 12.7mm heavy machine gun was forever an infantryman's nightmare.

The few suicide squad members patrolling the farm fence with guns were mowed down like dry weeds and shattered wood by the devastating hail of bullets. The unfortunate souls who weren't hit in vital organs fell to the ground, watching their severed limbs spurt blood as agonizing screams pierced the night sky, sounding especially hair-raising in the dark.

However, they didn't suffer for long.

Because when the second burst of gunfire swept across, they were usually clipped by a bullet, immediately ending their agony.

The suicide squad members responsible for the farm's security screamed, grabbing their weapons and scrambling frantically for cover.

Unfortunately, a heavy-firepower assault's primary trait was sheer violence.

There weren't many places to hide on the farm.

Mostly just stacks of hay and wooden carts.

They were completely incapable of stopping the onslaught of the M2HB heavy machine gun.

A few suicide squad members hiding behind makeshift cover were directly dropped when the bullets punched straight through their shelter, sending them off to meet their maker in no time.

Cook didn't hold back either, opening up with an RPG right out of the gate, sending a round straight toward a warehouse-like building.

The destructive power of an RPG warhead wasn't overwhelmingly massive, but the high heat ignited the dry hay inside, turning it into a rolling ball of fire.

The blazing light illuminated the grounds, providing even more convenience for the members of the "Musicians" mercenary group.

Discarding the RPG launcher, Cook hoisted his RPD light machine gun and began a fresh round of harvesting.

Initially, the mercenaries indeed held the upper hand.

The suicide squad members had been utterly dazed by the sudden assault, rendering them completely incapable of mounting an effective counterattack in the short term.

Down in the makeshift basement, a bodyguard rushed into the safe room and said to Saif, who was still staring blankly at a satellite phone: "Sir, we're under attack!"

Upon hearing this, cold sweat poured down Saif's back.

He had just ended his call with Angel moments ago.

The woman had been stammering, beating around the bush, and running in circles, babbling about safety concerns and demanding that he show his face first while she stayed at a distance, promising to reveal herself the moment he did.

As if he would show his face?!

He wasn't even in Sajir to begin with.

After a few minutes of nonsense, Saif suddenly realized—it was a trap!

He hurriedly cut the connection, powered down the satellite phone, and eliminated any possibility of signal tracking.

And now, with the bodyguard reporting an attack, how could Saif's heart not skip a beat?!

"It must be the Yankee special forces! Or CIA operatives!"

He firmly cemented this thought in his mind.

The bodyguard hastily urged: "Sir, I think we need to evacuate, before they seal off all our escape routes!"

"Good!"

Saif knew that once hit by an American assault, one had to retreat at maximum speed, or face a death without a burial site.

The farm was a secret safe house.

It had been specially operated for a long time, featuring an underground escape tunnel.

The tunnel stretched from beneath the main building to a makeshift carport dozens of meters away at the rear. Parked inside that carport were two SUVs and two pickup trucks designated for escape. These vehicles were fully fueled, and the pickup trucks were equipped with heavy machine guns to blast a path through any obstructions.

As Saif squeezed into the tunnel, navigated the dozens of meters of underground passage, and finally popped out of the carport, he hastily scrambled into the second SUV.

The lead vehicle smashed through the makeshift wooden door, roaring like an infuriated beast as it sped wildly northward.

The two machine gunners in the truck bed at the rear swiveled their barrels and began firing blindly at every potential spot where mercenaries might be hiding.

The purpose of firepower suppression wasn't always precise hits; large-caliber machine guns relied on the density of firepower and bullet storms to generate suppression.

Forcing the enemy to temporarily halt fire and take cover out of pressure was considered a success.

Little did the heavy machine gunner in the truck bed know, however, that on an earthen ridge about four hundred meters to the west, a Soviet-made SVD sniper rifle had already quietly locked its crosshairs onto them.

Bang—

The Queen pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation.

Through the scope, a mist of blood erupted from the body of the machine gunner in the rear pickup truck. A 7N1 specialized sniper round pierced straight through his skull, snuffing out his life instantly.

Seeing this, the other pickup truck gunner immediately swung his weapon around and began firing a frenzied barrage toward the Queen's position.

He was operating a DShK heavy machine gun, also a Soviet-made product whose firepower was by no means inferior to the M2HB.

Only, operating in the dead of night without night-vision goggles, and at a mid-to-long range of over 400 meters, such blind firing by a heavy machine gunner possessed virtually zero accuracy.

All the rounds struck the earthen mound a dozen meters away from the Queen, churning up loose soil a meter or two high. While terrifying, it posed not the slightest threat.

Queen Yulia lay flat on the ridge as steady as a rock. The chevron in the SVD's scope remained unswervingly fixed on the torso of the pickup truck's heavy machine gunner, never once drifting out of the glass.

Through a brief moment of breath control, she finally framed his chest, and gently squeezed the trigger that had already been pre-pressed.

Bang—

A steel-cored bullet with an initial velocity of 830 meters per second shrieked out of the muzzle.

In less than a second, that unfortunate heavy machine gunner vanished from the scope, never to rise again.

Queen Yulia raised her head slightly, watched the retreating vehicle convoy, pressed her comms button, and said in a low voice: "Ghost, they're heading your way."