enjoyebooks Chapter 56 Why Fight? Different Stances.JPG
Chapter 56 Why Fight? Different Stances.JPG
dusk.
David Miller placed the Barrett on a broken windowsill, with the butt of the gun against his shoulder, but aimed it directly at his naked eye.
Aiming at the Apache tail rotor that was turning 800 meters away.
The helicopter, at an altitude of 300 meters and a speed of 80 knots, was tilting to the right in preparation for strafing another building.
The tail rotor rotates at approximately 1,200 revolutions per minute.
David took a breath and pulled the trigger.
boom.
The recoil hit his shoulder, and the gun jerked backward.
The bullet's flight time is approximately 1.2 seconds.
The spent cartridges clattered and landed on the cement fragments at my feet.
The second shot.
Pull the bolt, third shot.
The three bullets were fired less than two seconds apart.
The Apache's tail rotor took off, scattering debris in all directions.
The helicopter began to spin out of control.
David put away his Barrett rifle, picked up the Colt assault rifle at his feet, turned around, and jumped out of the window.
He landed, rolled, got up, and rushed towards the basement entrance twenty meters away.
An explosion was heard behind me.
The helicopter crashed directly onto the armored vehicle unit on the ground, creating a loud bang.
"Lord, thank you for your attention."
He crawled into the basement, lifted a camouflaged wooden plank from the floor, and jumped into the vertical shaft below.
The well is about 15 meters deep and its bottom is connected to an abandoned transport tunnel.
The air smelled of rust and damp concrete.
There was no light, but even with superhuman vision, one could discern the outline of the passageway in the dark.
He ran four hundred meters west along the tunnel, turned left, passed through a rusted iron gate, and entered a wider main road.
Small locomotives used to travel here to transport ore, but the tracks have long been removed, and the dents of the sleepers remain on the ground.
Every now and then, a figure flashed by; it was another soldier.
Five minutes later, he arrived at the assembly point below the abandoned smelter.
James Jones sat on a tarpaulin, holding a tablet computer, the light from the screen reflecting on his face.
There were six people surrounding him, all of whom were squad leaders from their respective defense zones.
A map of Hegang Town was spread out on the ground.
"The municipal government, the smelter, and the docks can still be held."
Jones circled three areas with a pencil.
"The brothers in other directions have already retreated into the underground passage."
He paused, then used a pencil to mark the location of the western factory area on the map.
"But ammunition is running low. Each person has less than two hundred rounds of rifle ammunition on average, and even fewer machine gun rounds. The rocket launchers are all gone."
A middle-aged man with a full beard spat:
"Those bastards have learned their lesson; they hide behind the tanks and don't show their faces. The drones keep circling overhead, and they call in artillery fire whenever we peek out."
"This is good for us."
Jones threw the pencil on the map.
"They don't dare come in to fight in the streets, and we won't go out either. If we stall for time, they'll definitely stop."
"Did you see those police officers who were sent to the front lines as cannon fodder? Those people aren't professional soldiers. They're paid eight hundred dollars a day; there's no reason for them to risk their lives for the councilor's property."
Jones said,
David walked over to the tarpaulin, squatted down, and placed Barrett on the ground.
The gun was covered in dust.
"I took down my third one," he said.
Jones glanced at him, nodded, and didn't ask any further questions.
"It's almost time."
Carl sighed and ate the compressed biscuits and water in his hand.
"Jones, David, you two stay here and lead the defense. Hold on as long as you can; things are going to get tough for you."
He turned to Stephen Taylor.
"Stephen, let's proceed according to plan."
Stephen grinned.
He took a modified AKM from the wooden box at his feet, checked the magazine, and loaded it.
"Yes."
He says,
"Undying in a hundred battles".
"Undying in a hundred battles".
……
Two kilometers outside the town is a temporary rest area for the National Guard.
Sam Hancock sat in a folding chair, holding a plastic package of yellow mustard.
He squeezed for a long time, but only a little sauce came out, leaving a broken, thin yellow line on the bread.
"you say,"
He stared at the bread, without looking up.
"Why are we fighting here? They're white, and we're white too."
Beside him, Mike Mody was stuffing a thin, translucent slice of bacon into his bread.
The bacon was cold, its edges curled, and glistening with white grease.
"You've paid."
Mike took a big bite, chewing as he spoke.
"Eight hundred a day, before tax. There's a subsidy if there's fighting. I don't care who I fight, I still have four years of student loans left, six hundred and seventy a month."
He reached into the waistband of his uniform pants, which had "Detroit Police Department" printed on them, and scratched it.
"Yo,"
Sam turned his face, the wrinkles on his face appearing even deeper in the twilight.
"I didn't expect you to be educated. How did you end up here?"
The mayonnaise was too sweet, and the bread was already a bit dry and hard.
He's fifty years old and still paying off his student loans.
He had a criminal justice degree from a community college and joined the Detroit Police Department after graduation, thinking he could work there steadily until retirement.
Then, some time ago, that Noah AI caused layoffs and budget cuts, and in the end, they were assigned to this "special operations group".
Eight hundred a day.
Before tax.
"It wasn't like this before."
Sam spoke in a low voice, more like talking to himself.
"People who are good at studying wouldn't do this kind of work."
Mike laughed, but the laugh was short and sharp:
"There's nothing I can do." Mike swallowed the bread, his throat bobbing. "I don't want to either. But a proper job? You try competing with those people."
"You know what I'm talking about!"
He bit the energy bar off hard, as if he were biting off those damned "non-binary" monsters!
"I'm not tough enough on myself."
Mike added, his voice lower.
"Fuck."
Sam tossed the unsqueezed sauce packet into the trash bag at his feet.
"Is this how it is now?"
He stuffed the bread into his mouth and chewed.
"We are clearly America's masters."
"Fuck."
Sam said.
"Fuck."
Mike repeated.
A few sporadic gunshots rang out from the other end of the warehouse.
It was far away, like a firecracker.
The two looked up at the same time.
"It's starting again?"
Sam said.
Mike shook his head, stuffed the last bit of bread into his mouth, and wiped his hand on his pants.
His pants were tactical pants issued by the police department, with the words "DPD" printed on the left thigh pocket.
Suddenly, an instinctive feeling made him turn his head unconsciously.
Several figures appeared behind them without their noticing.
boom!
The black guy who was squatting on the ground eating bread suddenly transformed into a Gundam.
"Crouch down and surrender."
Carl looked at the guard, who was about his age and also white, and began to speak.
After all, the red lines on the two of them were very light; at most, they were just firing blanks as part of the National Guard mission.
"surrender!"
Sam immediately knelt down, raising his hands above his head and opening them wide.
Seeing this, Mike stopped drawing his gun and knelt down, raising his hands above his head and spreading them out.
After glancing at Carl, his teammate immediately sliced a cross into the face of the black Gundam.
Meanwhile, the other two teammates rushed forward and knocked him unconscious with the butts of their rifles.
"Let's go."
After the two men were lying on the ground, Karl spoke.
The men, guns in hand, vanished like ghosts.