"Boom——!"
The first rocket hit the last SUV with precision. The 7-kilogram PG-7V shaped charge warhead pierced through the bulletproof body instantly, vaporizing the three agents inside.
"Enemy attack! Get out! Establish a defensive periter!"
Mc Carthy kicked open the car door, rolling out while pulling out his pistol to fire blindly towards the woods.
But the ambush by the GRU Team was far more professional than they had anticipated.
"Ratatatatata——!"
The roar of the PKP "Pecheneg" machine gun ca from the three o'clock direction, and the 7.62×54mm steel core bullets turned the door of the second car into a beehive.
One agent who had just jumped out of the car had his upper body blown apart, his blood and visceral fragnts splattering on the bullet-proof glass.
Mc Carthy crouched behind the car hood, his earpiece filled with his team mbers' screams, his heart trembling.
He risked peeking and quickly noticed at least a dozen unknown gunn fanning out in a standard Russian Special Forces tactical formation.
"Headquarters! Group C is under ambush! Request——"
"Bang!"
A .338 Lapua Magnum bullet pierced through the eyepiece of Mc Carthy's night vision goggles, exiting from the back of his head with a spray of brain matter mixed with bone fragnts.
Three hundred ters away, a GRU sniper slowly moved his scope, searching for the next target.
The remaining four CIA agents ford a circular defensive line back to back, but the GRU's suppressive fire made it impossible for them to even raise their heads.
"Change the magazine! Cover !"
Just as one agent shouted, he was struck down by a 5.45×39mm SP-5 subsonic bullet shot from the side — the Russians were even equipped with silenced weapons.
Suddenly, three RGD-5 hand grenades flew out from the woods, landing in a perfect triangular pattern.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
After the fragnt storm, all that remained on the highway were mutilated bodies and the burning wreckage of vehicles.
By the ti Song Heping arrived at the scene, the battle was nearing its end.
When he ran over and crouched down next to Zu, after watching the battle for a while, he lost his composure.
"Zu, you call this a precision rescue?"
Song Heping grabbed the tactical vest of the cook, pointing at the still burning car wreckage. "RPG barrage, machine gun sweep, sniper's clean-up shot — you trying to send Ferrari and the CIA to heaven together?"
Seeing the GRU Team's crude thods, any normal person would be livid.
Everyone knows the style of these Russian Special Forces.
Famous by reputation, awkward in person.
This damn RPG and grenade frenzy, how does this even resemble a rescue operation?
It's a complete annihilation operation!
"Relax, there's a asure to it!"
The cook reassured Song Heping.
"Ferrari's my brother too, I'd never let him die."
He said it lightly, yet Song Heping was deeply uneasy.
In less than five minutes, the battle ended.
Twelve bodies of CIA agents lay scattered in various twisted positions on the highway, the air filled with the sll of charred at.
The cook erged from the woods with several GRU Team mbers surrounding him.
He ca to the overturned SUV, looked into the driver's seat, and turned back to laugh at Song Heping: "He's not dead!"
He was, of course, referring to Ferrari.
Song Heping imdiately rushed over, and by the ti he reached the car, the cook was already dragging Ferrari out of the smoke-billowing driver's seat.
"See, he's alive!"
Song Heping crouched down, used a tactical knife to cut the restraints, then reached out to feel Ferrari's pulse.
Thankfully.
Clearly alive.
After checking over his body, besides the torture marks, there weren't any other fatal injuries.
He reached out and patted Ferrari's face: "Ferrari, wake up!"
Ferrari weakly opened his eyes, glanced at Song Heping, then cast a sidelong look at the cook, a familiar mocking smile curling on his lips: "I knew...you would co..."
"Save your breath and energy to heal."
Song Heping turned back and said to the cook, "We need to retreat quickly. Once Wright realizes he's been deceived, he'll mobilize all forces to hunt us down. We must leave Romania imdiately."
In the distance, sirens wailed, but Song Heping knew the Romanian police would take at least fifteen minutes to arrive — the GRU's cyber warfare team had long since disabled the nearby alarm systems.
"Relax, we've prepared the escape route. We'll enter Moldova Dzuo Region near the border directly, and then catch a flight to Moscow from there. Everything's arranged."
The cook looked confident and, after speaking, signaled all the GRU mbers: "Retreat!"
As the convoy disappeared into the eastern dawn, the burning vehicle wreck intermittently exploded again, the soaring fire column becoming the final signature of this perfect ambush.
On the runway of Krolassi Private Airport, Wright kicked aside the MKK Group president who was handcuffed to a chair. The Middle Eastern arms dealer's bodyguards lay sprawled across the ground, each wearing expressions of confusion and fury.
"What the hell are you waiting for?!" Wright grabbed the president by the collar, his voice hoarse: "Tell ! Who exactly sent you?"
"I've said it thirty tis already!"
The president replied in heavily accented English.
"We're just here to do business! What's this GRU? Who is Song Heping? Are you Aricans crazy?"
An aide approached, handing Wright a docunt quietly: "We've verified their identities, found no issues."
Wright released his grip, stumbling back two steps.
His temples throbbed, and a cold premonition crawled up his spine. Suddenly, urgent reports flooded through his earpiece:
"Sir! Escort convoy ambushed! All...all mbers dead! Ferrari was taken!"
The entire world seed to revolve around Wright.
He chanically raised his wristwatch — only 23 minutes had passed since the convoy set out.
Such a precise ambush, such a professional clean-up... this wasn't a spur-of-the-mont operation.
"Imdiately head to the scene!"
He shouted into the communicator, his voice sounding distant.
When Wright's convoy arrived at the site of the ambush, the sunset painted the highway in blood reds.
Twelve bodies lay twisted in a variety of contorted positions, like dolls tossed by a colossal force. The third SUV's wreckage still burned, black smoke streaming into the sky.
The agent responsible for the scene investigation approached: "Extrely professional thods, and heavily ard, we found the tail fragnt of a PG-7V shaped charge among other things..."
He handed over an evidence bag, which contained several deford warheads.
"7N13 armor-piercing bullet, standard issue for Russian Special Forces."
Wright crouched down, fingers brushing over a fresh skid mark on the road.
His eyes fell on a few brass cartridges — 5.45×39mm, subsonic ammunition, exclusive to the VSS special sniper rifle.
"Three-layer nesting..." he suddenly understood Song Heping's entire plan, "We were played."
"Sir, what now?" his deputy cautiously asked.
Wright's mind was a blank, a faint buzzing sound filling it.
After a mont of bewildernt, he abruptly turned: "Catherine! The female journalist in the mob's custody! Imdiately contact the Romanian Special Service, we need two counter-terrorism units!"
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