Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1620: 743: Meili Soft Is on My Shoulder! (2)

Chapter 1620: Chapter 743: ili Soft Is on My Shoulder! (2)

A scream pierced the air as a soldier hiding behind a half-wall nearby was directly hit, his body dismbered, with blood and flesh splattering against the adjacent ruins.

Rice tightly covered his ears, curling into a ball, trembling uncontrollably, as fear gripped him again, more intensely than during the first firefight.

The artillery strike lasted what felt like a century.

As the explosions gradually dwindled, the surviving soldiers raised their heads from behind cover, their ears still buzzing.

“Check for casualties! Report the situation!” Jenkins’ voice was laced with urgent breaths.

“Vehicle 1-2 hit! Lost power!”

“Team B, two KIA, one critically injured!”

“dic! We need a dic here!”

In the chaos, the outskirts of the factory erupted with dense automatic weapon fire and the roar of engines!

“Enemy infantry accompanied by armored vehicles! Nurous forces!” The lookout shouted, voice hoarse and strained.

A large number of soldiers wearing Indiana National Guard camouflage appeared in the ruins and at the forest edge surrounding the factory.

“Open fire, hold them off!” Jenkins yelled, eyes red with fury.

The remaining Illinois soldiers desperately returned fire using the factory ruins as cover. The roar of M16s and M249s rged into a continuous barrage.

But the enemy was too many and their assault fierce; they had evidently received reinforcents and aid to retake this crucial position.

“Hound 1-1, Hound 1-1! We’re under enemy battalion-scale counterattack! Requesting artillery support! Coordinates Echo-Charlie-Seven-Niner…” Jenkins shouted into the radio.

“Hound 1-1, command acknowledges, hang tight, support is on the way, I repeat, hang tight!”

“Damn!” Jenkins cursed and grabbed his rifle to join the shooting.

Pressure mounted on Marcus and Rice’s Team A. The west gate of the factory they were defending beca one of the enemy’s main points of attack, bullets peppering the cover with relentless pings.

“Bang!”

The dull thud of a sniper rifle echoed as one of Team A’s gunners jerked backward, a hole appearing in his helt, collapsing silently.

“Curry!!! Damn it, there’s a sniper! Three o’clock direction, water tower!” soone scread.

Suppressive fire weakened imdiately as Indiana soldiers seized the opportunity to advance another ten ters, throwing hand grenades into the factory’s interior.

“Hold the line! Hold the line!” Marcus shouted angrily as he fired, his voice barely audible amidst the deafening gunfire and cannonades.

Rice watched as comrades kept falling around him, as waves of enemies surged forward from afar, as the bloodstains remained from the soldier who was blown apart. He felt close to suffocation.

At that mont, a completely different engine roar was heard in the sky, deep and powerful.

Four A-10 “Warthogs” attack aircraft, wings loaded with ammunition, dove from the clouds. The iconic 30mm seven-barreled Gatling cannon on their nose began to spin, emitting a terrifying sound like tearing fabric—

“BRRRRRRRRT—!”

The first round of strafing ripped through the assault formation on the factory’s outskirts like a burning razor. The depleted uranium armor-piercing shells from the GAU-8 cannon whipped through, tearing apart human bodies, bricks, and even light armored vehicle side armor with explosive force.

The advancing Indiana soldiers’ line was shattered in an instant.

An M113 armored personnel carrier bore the brunt, with 30mm shells easily piercing its relatively weak top armor, triggering a violent internal explosion. The vehicle was blown open like a toy box, with the turret thrown ters high amid flas, shattered tal, and the remains of the crew spraying across the surrounding ruins.

The sniper at the water tower was silenced, as the Warthog pilot prioritized these high-value targets. The upper structure of the water tower collapsed under precise cannon fire, spilling concrete chunks mixed with tangled rebar and human tissue.

“Suppress! Suppress! Don’t let them raise their heads!”

Marcus’s voice was hoarse with excitent and adrenaline, nearly leaping as he fired his M4, indiscriminately aid toward the stunned enemy.

Rice watched the hellish scene before him in disbelief.

The enemies who surged forward monts ago now scread under the A-10 cannon barrels!

The burning scent of hot tal, thicker than before, mingled with the aroma of seared flesh. Not far away, an Indiana soldier caught at the edge of the cannon fire was nearly bisected, only his legs standing for a brief mont before collapsing.

Sothing seed lodged in his throat, Rice’s fingers dug into the concrete debris beneath him, drawing blood.

The Warthogs clearly needed another pass.

They turned agilely in the sky, cutting into another attack run. This ti, they dropped smoke grenades to mark the area for the next precise strike, followed imdiately by aerial bombs.

“BOOM!!!”

The enormous shockwave rocked the factory’s foundation, ten tis more violent than before.

The scorching air mixed with dust and debris spread forward, striking helts and armor plates with sharp pats. An already teetering load-bearing wall collapsed under the near miss impact, burying several soldiers who couldn’t escape.

“Hold position, use cover!” Lieutenant Jenkins roared over the radio, but his voice was intermittent, completely drowned out by explosions.

Marcus pulled back his head, coughing violently, spitting out sand and dirt. He glanced at Rice beside him; the rookie’s face had lost its previous blankness and fear, replaced by a numb, nearly dazed calmness, eyes staring at the death zone ahead enveloped in flas and smoke.