Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 451 - 397: Firing Fury

Although it was January, it was still oppressively hot here.

Mosquitoes buzzed incessantly by the ear, hovering like bombers, ready to dive in for a bite at any mont, incredibly annoying.

"Damn mosquitoes!"

The guard on the rooftop cursed under his breath and slapped a desperately hungry mosquito dead on his neck.

He grumbled, filled with resentnt.

Today he was on lookout duty on the rooftop, and hadn't left since dusk.

The aroma of at and liquor drifting up from below was sheer torture.

He checked his watch.

At midnight he could switch shifts, when he would definitely head to the kitchen to grab so leftovers, pour a good drink to soothe his stomach, and then happily sleep till daylight.

Now, with bodyguards and ard guards inside and outside the house, and this being Batchai's territory, who would dare cause trouble here?

It made everyone nervously on high alert duty, which was absolutely unnecessary!

The guard walked to the edge of the rooftop railing and stretched his head out to look down.

Several SUVs were parked in front of the house, and beside the front door brothers were accompanied by a few hulking bodyguards who had arrived with the SUVs.

"Hmph!"

He had no fond feelings for these fierce-looking brutes.

He had seen these guys before.

They had visited once a month ago.

Lately, for so reason, there were always Caucasians coming to see the boss.

And these Caucasians brought bodyguards who were arrogantly overbearing, not putting his own group of the White Face gang in their eyes at all, as they snubbed their noses at them.

"Acting all high and mighty!"

He muttered under his breath, wanting to spit on the heads of those guys below, but he held back.

He looked around, the night deepening, and the small town quieted down; the guard's tense nerves slightly relaxed.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, carefully lit one, and greedily took several deep drags, indulging in the peace of blowing smoke rings.

Smoking was a guilty pleasure for him, and if the boss saw, he would definitely be scolded.

Because Batchai didn't smoke.

Um...

A white powder dealer who didn't smoke.

But he sold white powder.

Hehe.

They say smoking leads to cancer.

Cancer?

As if taking white powder could make one live forever.

Hypocrites!

He sneered coldly to himself.

Just as he was indulging in the relaxation of smoking, in the alley opposite the small red building, two dark figures were slowly approaching close to the building.

And on the other side behind him, two more figures stealthily made their way over, reaching about thirty ters from the small red building.

Since the economy of this place was extrely underdeveloped, the town was nearly devoid of any public lighting at night, everywhere was pitch black, even the few lit windows emitted only dim light.

At the front door, Batchai's n gathered and chatted, while Joyce's rcenaries seed not to mix well with them, standing several ters away on the opposite side, each group keeping to themselves.

Not far from the front door, hidden behind a wall corner, Song Heping felt a flicker of joy. He quietly asked over the channel, "Grey Wolf, report your position."

"In position."

He quickly received Grey Wolf's reply.

"Hunter, report the situation."

"The rooftop guard is smoking, those downstairs are chatting, no one in the courtyard, all inside."

"Understood."

He peered once more at those bodyguards and guards in front of the door.

They stood sowhat scattered.

But it was manageable. A sweeping fire from a PKM machine gun should resolve the issue very quickly.

But it must be fast!

Speed is the essence!

If they were fast enough, the enemy wouldn't have ti to react. If they gained reaction ti and hid behind the cars or took cover in the courtyard, it would complicate matters.

But no matter how difficult, it still wasn't as hard as those tis Illiguo had taken over others' dens.

Song Heping signaled to Disaster Star hidden across the alley, reminding him to strike hard and leave none behind.

Then, he gave the command over the channel.

"All groups, on standby—action!"

As soon as the word "action" was issued, the two assault teams opened fire almost simultaneously.

Dada dada dada dada dada dada—

At the front and back doors, the machine gunners Disaster Star and White Bear crisply played a deadly symphony with their PKMs.

At such a close range of thirty ters, the sweeping fire from the PKM was lethal.

This gun had always been White Bear's love.

And for good reason.

Because this is a classic among machine guns, it is no less prestigious than the AK47 among assault rifles.

Over the years, it has sold more than one million units.

Designed personally under the supervision of Mikhail Kalashnikov, the father of the AK.

It adheres to the characteristic advantages of the AK family of firearms—simple, durable, and fierce firepower!

It uses 7.62X54MM bullets that can penetrate a 10mm steel plate even at a distance of 200 ters.

And it can be loaded with a 200-round magazine.

There are drawbacks too, typical of early Soviet weapons. The sight mount is poorly positioned and prone to loosening.

But for a distance of over thirty ters, who needs a scope? Just aim directly and sweep away!

The barrel blasted a long muzzle flash, illuminating the corner of the wall.

Disaster Star's face was as cold and rciless as forged steel, his eyes full of murderous intent.

The bullets whizzed like rain toward the front door.

The guards had no ti to react as bursts of blood mist exploded from their chests, and they imdiately collapsed to the ground.

However, a few bodyguards brought by Joyce reacted slightly faster.

After losing two n, the rest rushed towards three SUVs, taking cover behind the vehicles to catch their breath before organizing a counterattack.

But Song Heping didn't give them a chance.

Seizing the mont Disaster Star suppressed their fire, Song Heping charged forward with his gun raised.

This kind of charge was extrely risky.

If soone had appeared on the roof or on the second or third floor at that ti to shoot at Song Heping, he would likely have been killed.

But now they were few against many.

Without taking risks, there was no victory.

Not taking risks ant certain death.

Fast!

Fierce!

Ruthless!

This was the core of the tactics Song Heping had planned for today.

Once the opponents realized that there were rely six people on his side, they would likely quickly regroup and counterattack.

Just as Joyce's bodyguards reached the rear of the vehicles, before they could react, suddenly, a hand grenade slid under the car, rolling right to their feet.

"Hand grenade!"

One of the bodyguards shouted, trying to pick up the grenade and throw it back—after all, he was an experienced soldier, and hand grenades usually have a five-second fuse, even if it lands and rolls to their feet, there should be a second or two to spare.

He quickly picked up the grenade.

However, he made a fatal mistake.

Because the person who threw the grenade was called Song Heping.

He had anticipated the bodyguard's reaction, pulling the pin and letting the grenade linger in his palm for two extra seconds.

Boom—

The grenade exploded in the hands of the bodyguard.

Screams emanated from behind the vehicle.

Song Heping was incredibly fast; as soon as the explosion ended, he had already rushed to the SUVs, leaning out to fire at the bodyguards still rolling on the ground in agony.

One magazine was quickly emptied.

Several n t their maker.

Song Heping swiftly changed magazines.

By that ti, a guard on the roof, finally dropping his cigarette in a trembling hand, raised his gun to shoot Song Heping from behind the railing.

Pop—

His head was instantly blown open.

A 7.62 caliber 7N1 bullet penetrated his skull, blowing off the entire back of his head.

His gun fell from the rooftop, hitting the ground hard and causing the bullets to scatter in random shots.

"Grey Wolf, are you in the backyard?!"

Song Heping, sticking close to the front gate, asked Grey Wolf through the radio.

"I'm in! Backyard cleared."

"Cut the power!"

"OK!"

The power source was next to the restaurant in the backyard, where there was a large electrical box.

White Bear and Grey Wolf were old comrades.

The two coordinated with each other seamlessly.

White Bear's 200-round magazine wasn't empty yet; he positioned his PKM general-purpose machine gun in the corner of the courtyard wall and began to fire wildly at the upstairs windows.

The bullets shattered every window into fragnts.

Grey Wolf found the electrical box, stuffed a hand grenade inside, and then shouted out loudly, "Hand grenade!"

He dove into the adjacent restaurant.

Boom—

The explosion erupted, sending sparks flying.

The small red building was plunged into darkness across all four floors.