Click-click
Two mechanical sounds echoed as Swagg and Fred, still unable to locate the enemy commander, each selected a random target and opened fire. Simultaneously, the rest of the team also began firing. In an instant, at least ten enemies dropped.
Chaotic gunfire rang out from the enemy, but not a single bullet came near Omega's position. At this distance, only those with optics had a visual advantage. The Serb militants couldn't even locate a target—only shouting and dropping flat to the ground in confusion.
Pfft pfft—pfft pfft
Short, controlled bursts rang out. More enemies were hit. Those who had exited the treeline moments ago were almost completely wiped out.
Omega's range advantage gave them complete control. More Serbs continued to fall. Those still hidden in the forest attempted to fire back from behind trees, but through the optics, too much of their bodies remained exposed.
One militant hiding behind a tree suddenly let out a yell, prompting others to howl and charge. They clearly realized staying at a distance only meant being picked off. Only by getting close could they change the situation.
About a dozen more emerged, rushing the building. A few tried to flank.
Swagg slowed his breath and pulled the trigger—one of the shouting squad leaders was shot through the head, collapsing behind a tree. The rest of Omega fired in rotation.
Boom—
A bullet struck the brick wall where Owen was hiding, reducing it to dust. The enemy had finally closed enough distance to identify Omega's position and began pouring suppressive fire.
It looked like Omega was getting pinned down—their return fire slowed. But just as the Serbs reached around 50 meters away, a terrifying roar erupted.
Bayev had yet to fire until now—no point in exposing his position early. But at this range, the full power of the RPK could be unleashed.
RATATATATA! The machine gun roared, spitting a continuous stream of fire that mowed down the attackers. Bayev's RPK was set up on its bipod at the wall breach, feeding from a slim, curved 40-round magazine. He hadn't chosen the usual 75-round drum. Instead, he had taped two 40-round mags together for a quick reload—flip and insert.
Nothing on the battlefield rivals the suppressive power of a machine gun. The Serb assault stalled. Caught in between attack and retreat, and with their commander already sniped by Swagg, they were left leaderless. That question—"What now?"—never got answered. Metal slugs, heated by friction, tore into flesh, spraying blood and snuffing out lives.
The entire wave was cut down like weeds. But more kept coming from the forest. General Bourbon had scattered several search units in the area for the missing pilot. Now, they were converging on the sound of gunfire.
"They've called for reinforcements. At least ten more teams are inbound!"
Herman, still huddled beside Owen, relayed what he heard from the Croatian chatter over the radio. From the start of the battle, he hadn't left Owen's side—after witnessing his marksmanship, he figured this was the safest place to be.
Owen didn't even glance at him. He quickly popped up, fired two bursts, and dropped two more enemies, then ducked back behind the crumbling wall.
"Reloading...!"
Ghost called out while changing mags. Heartbeat provided covering fire. Fred shouted that he was changing as well. Owen rotated his fire to cover their direction, ensuring suppression didn't falter.
"RPG!"
Swagg shouted after dropping an RPG operator. The rocket arced up into the sky as the man fell.
More RPG gunners were arriving with the reinforcements. Omega's priority shifted toward eliminating them. Owen flipped his G33 aside and used only his holographic sight. Just after dropping one RPG operator, he saw a trail of white smoke streaking toward him.
"Shit!" he cursed, diving prone—and grabbing Herman on the way down.
An explosion rocked the area. Another chunk of the wall they were using as cover collapsed. Bricks fell all around them, nearly burying them both.
"Move! Get out of here!"
Owen shoved the stunned Herman and crawled toward another section of the wall, quickly returning to the fight.
Bullet time activated. Owen fired three quick bursts. His muzzle barely shifted as three RPG gunners dropped. One of them reflexively pulled his trigger as he died—the rocket exploded just ahead, dragging several comrades into the blast.
A pained grunt—Ghost took a hit to the shoulder and fell back. Owen immediately laid down suppressive fire to cover him while Ghost crawled behind the wall to patch up.
"Diviner, go support Ghost!"
Owen ordered while firing. Fred slung his rifle and sprinted, bent low, toward Ghost's position.
RATATATATA! The machine gun still roared. Bayev had emptied two magazines. The space before him was littered with corpses, but he'd drawn serious attention. Two RPGs streaked toward his position.
Bayev dove backward with the RPK in hand. The spot he'd just been in erupted into rubble.
Bang bang bang—
Heartbeat's AK-12 clicked empty. With no time to reload, he drew his pistol and fired. A militant rushing toward him dropped from his shots. Heartbeat finally found time to slap in a fresh mag.
"Prepare to retreat. Night Owl, cover us!"
Owen issued the retreat order over comms. The enemy kept multiplying, while Omega's ammo was being rapidly depleted.
"Night Owl, roger!"
Bayev's machine gun fire intensified. The others coordinated their withdrawal. Enemies were now appearing from all directions. Omega abandoned the crumbling wall and fell back into the house, using windows to mount a second defensive line.
Quickly, they secured firing positions. Bayev ceased fire, grabbed the RPK, and sprinted hunched over. He dove through a window, crashing to the floor just as another rocket exploded behind him.
BOOM—
Owen had just cleared space with a grenade when he felt a twinge between his eyes—danger. His instincts screamed. He ducked left.
A bullet punched a hole into the wall where he'd been. A sniper.
"Sniper!"
Owen shouted, kicking Herman hard. The man flew sideways, hitting the wall. But when he got up, he looked at Owen with gratitude—the spot he'd just been in had been obliterated by a sniper round.
"AQ125294!"
Fred shouted a coordinate. Swagg instinctively adjusted, located, aimed, and fired—all in one smooth motion.
At that location, wearing a blue tracksuit, Sasha was reloading. He suddenly felt danger and rolled aside, tossing his rifle. A heartbeat later, Swagg's shot shattered the AWP's scope, rendering the sniper rifle useless.
"Did you hit him?"
"Hit the gun. Don't know if he's dead."
Swagg and Fred scanned the impact zone continuously. The sniper rifle remained in the grass—still and unattended.
Far away, Sasha touched a small cut on his cheek caused by the shattered lens. Had he not trusted his instinct just now, it wouldn't have been the scope that got shattered—it would've been his skull.
In that instant, Sasha realized—these weren't ordinary enemies. These were experts.
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