730: Chapter 411: Whether You Eat or a Horse Chews, It’s All Money!
730: Chapter 411: Whether You Eat or a Horse Chews, It’s All Money!
Shortly after the Armored First and Second Battalion of the 5th Division 179th Regint stord into the Kima Huakan Slum.
In the military base in Roma District, 372 fully ard Special Forces soldiers of the 141st Special Battalion of the xican Army boarded six ready CH-47 transport helicopters.
The dual rotor blades churned the air more wildly than the ladies in the Red Light District.
Two of these helicopters also carried heavy boxes containing NSV machine guns, intended for building up defensive positions.
Under the watchful eyes of their comrades in the military base, the six CH-47 transport helicopters flew towards the slum.
Their thunderous rumbling drew the attention of many below.
“My god!
Max!
Max!” On a bridge, a bearded father slapped his sleeping son awake, vigorously shaking his shoulders, pointing to the sky, “Look!
There’s a plane!”
The child, eyes blurred with sleep, half-opened his mouth and looked up.
His dad clamped his head in place, counting for him, “One, two, three…”
Max watched his dad, more excited than himself, and hung his head in indifferent agreent.
On the bridge, drivers stopped and got out of their cars, exclaiming loudly, so even took out caras they carried to capture the scene.
Such a spectacle was rare.
A husky man, panic-stricken, pulled out his phone, looking up in the direction of the helicopters, “Hey!
The Governnt Forces have dispatched helicopters, six of them, probably Special Forces, where are they going?
How would I know!”
“Hey, hey, hey!”
The beefy man shouted twice, but the line was already disconnected.
He cursed loudly, F***, and got into his car, “Let’s go.”
“Where to, boss?”
“Let’s get out of here!
First, head to a satellite town outside the city, f***, Victor’s getting serious.”
What?
You thought he was just ssing around?
The tanks of the Marine 3rd Division had pulled up to the slum entrance, the guns practically shoved into their mouths; are you still saying, “I bet your gun isn’t loaded”?
John McTavish, wearing a skull mask with his deep-set eyes visible, full of murderous intent, lifted his hand to check his watch.
14:37!
“Our mission is to secure the 6th District, capture the Goldlo Building, establish a periter, and wait for ground troops to link up.”
“According to Headquarters’ orders, this operation will be broadcast live globally!”
After John McTavish’s voice paused, he swept his gaze over everyone, “This is the first live combat broadcast; I have only one demand.”
“Kill any enemy you see in front of you!”
“To intimidate potential enemies watching on TV.”
“To terrify those enemies who haven’t yet surrendered!”
“Rember our motto…”
“Dare to oppose us, prepare for a graveless death!”
The two lieutenants inside the helicopter glanced at each other, exchanging looks.
Is that really our motto?
Forget it, never mind, the boss changes the slogan at any ti.
“Entering the combat zone, descend in five minutes, units 1, 3, and 7 sweep and clear the area.” The pilot commander’s orders ca through the headset.
“Roger!”
John McTavish switched the channel, pressing on the headset, “Everyone, check your weapons!”
Below, approximately three to four hundred gang mbers converged on the Goldlo Building, an iconic 13-ter tall structure in the 6th District within the slum, which had been overtaken by rioting civilians.
They fought the gang mbers leveraging the terrain.
But without ammunition replenishnt, their defensive line was quickly breached and the battle raged around the building.
“Ah!!!” A red-eyed teen wielding a cleaver burst from around the corner and, under the horrified gaze of a gang mber, struck him with a downward chop, splitting his head open like a waterlon, splashing red and white.
Before he could even celebrate, a hail of bullets tore through him, his body tumbling down the stairs.
More than twenty gang mbers stord into the room, ruthlessly killing all the weak and old inside.
Blood dripped through the cracks.
The gang mbers below looked up, greedily drinking it in.
It’s still liquid!
Hadn’t had water in a long ti…
completely drained.
The three ordered CH-47 transport helicopters peeled off from the group, circled around, and approached the front of the building.
The pilot, looking through the window, saw the horrendous scene inside and pressed the fire control!
Mounted on both sides of the craft were 20mm cannons and 19 round 2.75-inch rocket pods, which fired directly at the gang mbers inside.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop…
This firepower…
Those trying to find cover had no chance, turning into a mist of blood, limbs, and body parts flying everywhere, even the walls turned to “crust,” and glass rained down…
Below, gang mbers fired at the helicopters hovering in midair.
The other two CH-47s used M-5 40mm automatic grenade launchers, targeting places crowded with people.
The explosions caused continuous screams.
“Go down, down, down!!” John McTavish shouted loudly.
“Pal, may Victor watch over you!” The pilot gave a thumbs up.
The latter returned a gesture, took a deep breath, and quickly rappelled down!
They saw two CH-47s settle on the rooftop of the Goldlo Building, while four others dispersed around, taking advantage of gaps to secure a hold.
“Quick, shoot the Governnt Forces on the ropes,” shouted a gang leader hiding behind, lacking communication devices, relying on shouting, but the sound carried poorly, causing so to open fire while others were confused.
John McTavish, holding his gun with one hand, crouched and moved to a burnt-out vehicle, firing short bursts at gang mbers hiding behind the opposite building.
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