Chapitre 165: Prelude to War
"Noooo!"
Seeing the death of his comrade, another man from the group roared with bloodshot eyes and rushed towards the car parked in front, trying to grab the weapon from the other side.
"Huh?"
Seeing the man running madly, the soldier at the front frowned slightly but didn't care. He moved the weapon in his hands and fired.
But at the moment he pulled the trigger, apart from the man who fell to the ground lifeless, the others who were still alive rushed forward.
"Damned bastards, do you really think this will make a difference?"
Although the soldiers were massacring a large number of enemies, not all of them were shooting, as that would attract too much attention. They kept watch over their surroundings in case they encountered any enemies.
Seeing this situation, the soldier sneered and put away his weapon without hesitation, knowing he didn't need to waste ammunition on these people.
Drawing his own machete, the soldier slashed at a fatter man who ran forward faster.
The fatter man dodged to the side, easily evaded, and then grabbed the soldier's arm holding the machete, shouting, "I got him; hurry up!"
Seeing this, the rest of the people rushed forward one after another. One of the young women took a gun and kept aiming at the soldier's head, hoping to kill him with a shot, but her companion's figure kept moving back and forth, and she hesitated to pull the trigger.
Looking at the crowd still alive, the soldier, who was being held tightly by one arm, still had one hand free, so he did not panic at all. With his other hand, he grabbed the neck of one of the men charging at him and kicked him.
Then he grabbed the man in his hand, slammed him down hard, and then struck the fatter man who had grabbed his arm, throwing them both to the ground.
The survivors, accustomed to using melee weapons against the enemy, seemed so vulnerable in front of the soldier, who appeared to have much more combat experience than they did.
The soldier, still wearing the helmet that covered his face, looked coldly at the survivors struggling on the ground and said in a deep voice with the machete in his hand, "Bastards, killers, welcome to the end of the world."
Crack! Crack!
Swinging his machete, the soldier cut down some of the enemies in front of the car, protecting the civilians. But before he could kill them all, an agile figure suddenly jumped from the side of the car and crashed hard into the soldier.
Caught off guard by the blow, the soldier staggered back but quickly stabilized himself.
Immediately after, the soldier was punched in the face by one of the figures on the ground. Though he wore a mask, the blow still dazed him slightly.
When the second punch came, the soldier grabbed the opponent's fist and struck the figure's stomach hard. Strangely, none of the survivors he had saved moved, as if frozen, unsure of what to do.
Seeing the man kneeling on the ground, clutching his stomach in discomfort, the soldier reached out and grabbed the hair of the man who had collided with him, turned the man's face towards his, and said coldly, "The attempt of a dead man..."
As he said this, the soldier looked at the woman still standing in the field, trembling with a gun, and said, "Right now, there's a sniper aiming at your head, watching you! If you pull the trigger, you'll die in seconds, and the last thing you'll feel will be the warm blood spilling from your head."
The woman seemed unable to bear the pressure; her hands and legs kept trembling, and finally, the gun fell to the ground. She sat on the ground, covering her face, crying bitterly.
"That's good. We need to ask you some questions."
Throwing the man with the hair to the ground, the soldier looked at the woman, then ignored her as she fell to the ground, crying bitterly. He picked up a shotgun, grabbed the ammunition, prepared to reload, and waited for the man behind him to remind everyone of what was about to happen.
But as he took out the ammunition, he suddenly noticed that these people's companions were completely dead, and occasionally a shot could be heard in the distance.
The soldier frowned slightly, inserted the ammunition into the barrel, and closed it tightly, squinting to see what was happening there.
But soon, in the depths of the dense alley beside him, he saw a figure slowly walking towards him.
The soldier removed his helmet, revealing his face, which was none other than Morgan, who maintained a cold expression. Seeing someone approaching, Morgan sighed with relief, signaled to check the people behind, and said, "Why did you take so long to get here? Quickly check their bodies; we don't know if they are truly survivors or enemy deserters."
But the figure didn't seem to hear his words and kept walking without a hurry.
Morgan immediately felt something was wrong. He instinctively raised the shotgun in his hand and shouted, "Who are you?"
"Morgan, the enemy is right behind you."
The figure slowly approached, gradually revealing his form. It was a young man, about twenty-five years old, holding a rifle, his clothes stained with blood, calmly observing Morgan in front of him.
Then footsteps were heard from the buildings, and all the soldiers slowly descended, gathering in the middle of the street, where numerous corpses lay.
"Sir, we are all gathered, ready to launch a counteroffensive and take the enemy base in half an hour!"
Looking at the crowd around him, Morgan understood what was happening. He walked towards the figure with the hidden face and said, "Dominic, I heard what happened on your side. These people are definitely not someone you can negotiate with!"
Unlike the indifference of the enemies, while these people were in their hands, they could learn a bit about the enemy's defenses and might attack more effectively. This is what he had learned all this time, having lived through numerous undesirable things.
As for whether it was right or wrong, did it really matter?
Dominic's people had classified that refuge as one full of unreasonable, crazy people willing to die for absolutely nothing.
"The situation has changed, Morgan. The other community has accepted their surrender, so now we're just thinking about how to attack these people. So far, there's no reason to make an effort to reduce their casualties."
With the rifle in hand, Dominic looked at the people kneeling in front of him, then at those who had fallen to the ground. He frowned slightly and told the figures following him, "Take them to a building and ask them if they have any anti-air defenses!"
Then he slowly turned around, looking at the area behind where the blood was even redder, and the corpses and weapons were scattered all over the ground, saying, "We won't take any risks. Two Apache helicopters are on their way to clear the enemy base as best as possible."
No one around said anything; not even Morgan cared much. He didn't want to take these people to a future where his son would remain; he definitely wouldn't.
"Zz… Sir, we have found the submarine, and a dozen men in the vicinity have been eliminated. Currently, we are on the shores of a beach, and it appears this submarine was washed ashore after its crew ran out."
"Very well, prepare for the attack!"
"Yes, sir!"
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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Power Stone 
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