The Claymore anti-personnel mine, also known as a directional mine, is commonly referred to as "Claymore" and is probably the most famous and widely known type of anti-personnel mine.
It's a small, rectangular, slightly curved tal box often seen in military-thed movies and gas, containing less than one kilogram of explosives and nearly a thousand small steel balls.
Despite its na, this type of mine is rarely actually buried in the ground.
The usual thod is to stand it upright, insert its four prongs into the ground, point the observation port at the target area, and detonate it at the right mont. It can also be hung on a tree branch or even stuck in a puddle.
Its destructive power can cover an area of 60-120 degrees in front of it, within a 50-ter radius. In actual combat, it can achieve moderate lethality even at a distance of around 100 ters.
The airdropped ammunition crate contained a whole box of 24 small tal boxes, all now secured by the PMCs to trees lining both sides of the road, 12 on each side, spaced five or six ters apart, facing directly towards the center of the dirt road.
"Shebeck!"
Jack was shot again, this ti in the left leg, the bullet cutting a deep gash in his thigh.
"Detonate!"
With Shebeck's command, the 24 Claymores exploded simultaneously, scattering tens of thousands of small steel balls evenly across the 60-70 ter stretch of dirt road.
The gunfire ceased instantly; the world seed to be paused, save for the dust and shockwaves of the explosions.
Jack cautiously peeked out, only to see two figures desperately fleeing backward.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots rang out, and the two militants, positioned forward and just out of the Claymore's range, were imdiately taken down by the three arriving PMCs.
"Are you alright?" Shebeck approached and extended a hand to Jack, who was sitting on the ground.
"If you had detonated it a few seconds later, we would have been in real trouble."
Jack staggered to his feet, cursing through trembling lips, and helped Gaspare up. Gaspare was tough, and his shoulder abrasions hadn't bled much, but he was also pale and quite shaken.
"Leave the rest to us."
Shebeck waved his hand, and he and his two companions maintained a three-man assault formation, heading towards the chaotic convoy.
Jack pulled out the pistol they had brought, and Gaspare, carrying an original AK-47, limped behind them, intending to witness their victory firsthand.
The PMC's mine placent was extrely effective; the Claymores were mostly fixed to tree trunks about 2 to 3 ters above the ground, covering the entire road from top to bottom.
Whether it was militants who had just gotten out of their vehicles, those still clinging to the back of the pickup trucks, or even anyone whose face was visible through a car window, none escaped being riddled with pellets.
Bang!
Bang!
The three-man team slowly approached the paralyzed convoy, finishing off the wounded lying on the ground groaning.
Terrorists have no human rights, and on this small island with poor dical conditions, it's better to die quickly than to be slowly tortured to death.
However, the Claymore is only an anti-personnel mine; its own power is not great. It relies entirely on the dense steel balls it fires when detonated to kill unprotected personnel.
Therefore, less than half of the people died on the spot. Most were only injured, but almost none were able to remain combat-ready. At this distance, the flying steel balls could instantly shatter bones and penetrate deep into the body, damaging internal organs.
This resulted in a very horrific scene. Many people were still alive, but only alive, lying on the ground unable to move, only able to groan helplessly, slowly waiting for blood loss to take their lives.
Of course, there were always lucky ones who, because of the cover of their companions and vehicles, only suffered minor injuries, or even no damage at all, simply being terrified.
At the end of the convoy, several vehicles had not yet entered the range of the Claymore. Terrified by the aftermath of the explosion, they frantically turned their steering wheels to turn around.
Upon seeing the approaching PMC three-man assault team, the group abandoned their wailing comrades and slamd on the gas, fleeing the deadly road.
"That old guy's lucky."
Gaspare opened the door of an SUV and dragged out a blood-covered, one-ard old man — Radulan Sahiron, one of the biggest leaders of the Abu Sayyaf organization on Jolo Island.
It wasn't exactly a matter of luck; he'd been shielded by two trusted n in the middle of the seats, escaping death.
However, he was unlucky enough to have several steel pellets embedded in his forehead, not fatally piercing his skull, but suffering a concussion and still dazed.
"Do you think they'd be willing to exchange those two hostages for this old guy?"
Jack searched the old man, found a rope, tied his hands and feet together like a pig's, and then carried him by the hand.
Gaspare shrugged. "Who knows? Hopefully he still has enough prestige."
"Shebeck, leave one alive to go back and deliver a ssage. We've captured their leader; make them exchange him for two hostages." Jack quickly instructed Shebeck on the other side to spare a life.
Radulan Sahiron's n left nearly 80 corpses on this dirt road. Including those Jack had killed during the earlier ambush, the total losses exceeded one-third, and the crisis should be temporarily averted.
The PMC mbers were too lazy to clean up the battlefield; they didn't have the manpower. After releasing two lightly wounded n to go back and deliver the ssage, they spent the most ti repairing vehicles.
The pickup truck used to lure the enemy was completely totaled, leaving them with only four vehicles, which wasn't enough.
Fortunately, the Claymore's steel balls had limited damage to the vehicles; the shattered bodies didn't affect driving. They managed to salvage two vehicles with a few usable tires, and the rest had their fuel tanks blown out and were set on fire.
When the group returned to the abandoned mine, they were given a hero's welco, especially the two wounded n.
Gaspare, previously a prisoner, along with his skin color and muscular physique, was sowhat feared by passengers. Now, being flanked by two middle-aged flight attendants, it could be considered a form of acceptance.
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