Chapter 1617: Chapter 742: I, Bramo, Am Victor’s Loyal “Friend!” (Part 2)
…
The dust from the artillery fire had not yet dissipated. The infantry of Company A’s 1st Platoon relied on the remaining cover of three M2A3 “Bradley” fighting vehicles to advance arduously through a muddy field and scattered warehouse area in the western suburbs of Gerry City. The air was filled with the strange sll of burning smoke and rubber explosives mixed together.
“Hound 1-1, Hound 1-3, suspected enemy defensive position at ten o’clock ahead, dirt slope behind the bushes! Do you see those sandbags?” The voice of Lieutenant Kyle Jenkins, the platoon leader, ca through the radio, accompanied by a hissing static.
“Hound 1-3 copy, identified.”
The commander of 1-3 responded, and imdiately the 25mm chain gun of his vehicle adjusted slightly, aiming at that area.
Corporal Marcus Coleman, belonging to Squad 1, made a hand gesture, and the eight soldiers behind him imdiately fell into a scattered line, either relying on a collapsed fence or curling up at the edge of a crater. Rookie Adam Rice tightly gripped the M4 carbine in his hands, his knuckles whitened from exertion, breathing rapidly. He could clearly hear the deafening sound of his heart pounding in his chest, almost drowning out the ongoing firefight and explosions in the distance.
“Steady, rookie,” Marcus growled lowly, his face paint mixed with sweat and mud looked particularly grim, “Wait for my command to fire, don’t waste bullets, and for God’s sake, don’t hit our own n!”
Suddenly, machine gun fire roared from the direction of the dirt slope!
“Rat-a-tat-tat—rat-a-tat-tat—”
It was an M240B machine gun.
Bullets sprayed over them like a rainstorm, stirring up the dirt in front of them with a thud, shattered wood chips and grass flew everywhere. A bullet precisely hit the dirt clod less than half a ter from Rice’s head, making him shrink his head in fright, and a warm liquid uncontrollably soaked his trousers.
Really, once you’ve been to the battlefield, it’s hard to control your bladder.
Easy to have urinary incontinence.
“Damn it! Suppression fire! 1-3, take out that machine gun point!” Lieutenant Jenkins’ voice roared through the radio.
“Roger that!”
The “Bradley” vehicle’s 25mm chain gun issued a more violent roar, “Boom—boom—boom—boom—!” The shells tore through, ripping apart and blowing up the sandbag fortifications and bushes at the edge of the dirt slope.
The shooting of that M240B stopped abruptly, but imdiately several M16/M4 rifles began to spit fire from other firing ports of the fortifications.
“They don’t have many people! But they’re very stubborn!”
The Squad Leader of Squad 1, Third-level Sergeant Derek Hawk shouted, “Group B, flank from the left! Group A, suppress with head-on! Grenadiers, use the M203 to take out those firing ports for !”
The battle instantly reached a fever pitch.
Hawk led a few people from Group A, quickly leaping forward using the terrain’s undulations.
“Huff, huff, huff…”
They could hear their own rapid breathing, and the helt on their head felt increasingly heavy.
The rifle in their hands conducted precise fire, suppressing enemy soldiers from showing their heads.
“Bang! Bang!” The gunfire echoed around them, and Rice felt as if his eardrums were about to shatter. He imitated the veterans, chanically pulling the trigger, the recoil hitting his shoulder hollow, but he had no idea what he was hitting.
Group B successfully maneuvered to the left side of the dirt slope, where a dry canal provided excellent cover. They poured fire from the flank, forming a crossfire network.
The resisters in the fortifications were suppressed almost completely, unable to raise their heads.
Hawk hid behind a discarded oil barrel, changed to a new magazine, took a deep breath, and shouted towards the dirt slope direction with all his might:
“Brothers from Indiana, listen up, this battle isn’t worth it! We’re not enemies, look around you, the federal governnt is finished! That Madman Little Bush dragged us all into hell!”
His voice was unusually clear during the lulls in gunfire.
“Drop your weapons and co out! Hands above your head! I guarantee on my honor as a soldier, you will be treated well, we’re all Aricans, stop fighting for that damned governnt!”
In response, there was a denser, almost hysterical burst of rifle fire! Bullets clanged off the oil barrel, sparking.
“Screw you Illinois traitors!” a vague but hate-filled shout ca from the fortifications, and then another M67 hand grenade was thrown out, rolling to a stop not far in front of Hawk.
“Hand Grenade!” Hawk’s pupils shrank as he threw himself to the side.
“Boom!”
The blast wave, carrying fragnts and dirt, swept past, Hawk feeling sharp pain in his calf. Looking down, he saw his camouflage pants were torn open, fresh blood was pouring out.
“Damn! They don’t know what’s good for them!” Hawk’s fury was completely ignited, the muscles on his face twisting as he roared over the radio: “They don’t want to live, so send them to hell! 1-3! Smoke grenade for cover! A group B group, get grenades ready, follow !”
“Bang! Bang!” Several smoke grenades were fired in front of the fortifications, dense white smoke quickly spread, obscuring both sides’ vision.
“Move!”
Hawk endured the pain in his leg, leaping out of cover first.
The soldiers of Group A and B also darted out like leopards from both sides, quickly closing in on the dirt slope fortification with the smoke as cover.
Rice was infected by the bloody and violent atmosphere, his fear seemingly replaced by a naless excitent, he too charged out, blindly firing towards the smoke behind while running.
Near the edge of the fortification, the sounds of enemies racking their guns and nervous whispers inside could be heard.
“Hand Grenade!”
Hawk shouted, pulling the pin of his last M67, and after a one-second delay, he hurled it through the gap in the sandbags. Almost simultaneously, another two or three grenades flew into the not-so-large ring-shaped defense work from different angles.
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