SCREECH—
The convoy skidded to a chaotic stop in front of the building. Fully armed soldiers leapt from the vehicles. The wounded were handed off to approaching DEA operatives, while the rest grabbed their weapons and sprinted toward the entrance.
The main gate, where they had previously entered, was now sealed with sandbags. DEA agents manning machine guns and other automatic weapons were engaged in a fierce shootout with cartel forces outside.
Bullets thudded into the sandbags with muffled thump-thump sounds. A spurt of blood followed as one of the machine gunners was grazed across the neck. Blood gushed out, soaking through his vest in seconds.
"Get him outta here!"
Bayev shouted to the DEA agents as he dragged the wounded man away from the firing position, handing him off to others before taking control of the gun himself.
Under Bayev's experienced hands, the M249 barked rhythmically, shredding a charging attacker into a mess of gore within moments.
Reinforcements had only just arrived, but already three of the original gate guards were down—one dead on the spot, two others injured. The wounded were quickly pulled to safety, and the new arrivals filled the gaps. Thankfully, they'd arrived just in time—there was only a brief drop in firepower, not enough to give the enemy any real opening.
"Reload!"
Owen shouted as he ducked behind cover and swapped magazines. The enemy outside was insane—cartel gunmen brazenly launching a daylight assault on a federal agency headquarters. It was madness.
Even more absurd, the DEA—an official arm of law enforcement—was actually being overwhelmed.
Fresh magazine in place, Owen rose slightly from cover and fired short bursts. Each time he fired, another gunman fell. But it did nothing to slow the tide—wave after wave of enemies advanced, trampling over their fallen comrades.
Omega and Phantom Team members covered each other while reloading. Owen's fresh mag was emptied in no time. Both sides were locked in a vicious firefight at a narrow choke point. Bullets flew in every direction. So far, only the DEA had suffered fatal or serious injuries—Owen's group had only sustained minor grazes.
Defenders always had the upper hand. And overall, while the attackers had numbers, they were mostly disorganized and sloppy shooters.
"I've already called in Mexican Marines—they should be here soon."
"Well, tell them to move faster!"
Not far off, Patrick was reloading his weapon while yelling toward Owen.
Owen popped up for two quick shots, dropping a man hiding behind a car, then quickly ducked back. Immediately, retaliatory bullets peppered his sandbag cover.
Clearly, someone had marked him as a threat—he'd killed too many.
Despite the DEA's superior accuracy, they couldn't stem the constant tide of reinforcements. For now, both sides were in a tense stalemate—until everything suddenly shifted.
"RPG!!"
Shepherd shouted as he dove from cover, diving laterally across the courtyard. Those nearby didn't hesitate—they all scrambled out of the blast radius, dignity be damned.
The rocket-propelled grenade slammed into the sandbags, erupting in a fireball. Fortunately, Shepherd's warning came in time. The RPG had clearly been aimed at Bayev's machine gun nest.
Bayev was a machine gun specialist. During the earlier missions, he had opted for a rifle because every DEA pickup already had a mounted MG. But back at DEA HQ, he picked up his weapon of choice—and instantly became a game-changer.
His machine gun suppressed the enemy like no one else could. It was no surprise someone had targeted him. Multiple RPG operators had likely been gunning for him, but Owen's sniper team had always prioritized them. Bayev had survived this long thanks to their cover.
But even the best make mistakes. Despite having three snipers, there were still blind spots. As everyone scrambled back into position, they returned fire, keeping the enemy outside.
Still, the tempo had shifted. Owen suddenly noticed something odd about the attackers' tactics—so did Shepherd and Ghost. The chaotic, thug-style assault was gone. Their movements now had structure, layered coordination. Even their shot placements were far more accurate.
"Boss, the new guys are professionals—watch yourselves…"
The Weaver's voice came through the headset from his elevated sniping perch. He had the clearest view. This new group wasn't like the earlier rabble. These men had clear signs of military training.
"Find their leader. Kill him."
Shepherd had barely issued the order when a powerful impact slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground. A round had struck him squarely in the chest plate. Luckily, all of them were wearing tactical vests with inserted armor plates. The bullet was stopped, but the impact had enough force to throw him flat.
At the same time, Weaver performed a sudden combat roll, tumbling from his sniper perch just as a bullet punched into the spot he'd occupied moments earlier.
Seconds later, Swagg adjusted his scope, located the enemy sniper, took aim, and fired in one fluid motion. The enemy's head exploded in a mist of blood. One shot—one kill.
Heartbeat moved to check on Weaver, but Weaver was already climbing back up, saved by pure reflex.
It was now undeniable: these new enemies were far more dangerous. They'd just arrived and nearly caused casualties.
"Owen, it's Dorok Sánchez. I can't get a clear shot—he's got serious counter-sniper skills…"
Ghost's voice came through the comms. With that, Owen finally understood what they were dealing with. No wonder the rabble had suddenly turned into precision killers.
Before the mission, Silly Sweet had included intel on Dorok Sánchez. He was Letta Sánchez's younger brother, and uncle to Mario Sánchez. Formerly served in the U.S. Green Berets.
He led the Sánchez Cartel's elite strike force. His men were former military and police from various countries, even ex-special forces. Their firepower and training put them in a whole different league compared to the average cartel thug.
This was why the six major Mexican cartels dared to challenge the government—they each had units like this.
These new arrivals were well-armed, disciplined, and had solid tactics. No wonder Shepherd and Weaver had almost been taken out so quickly.
Outside, the attack intensified. For the first time, Owen's team truly felt pressured. With enemy snipers in play, even Bayev's suppressive fire had lost some of its bite. And their RPGs weren't missing anymore.
The game had changed.
They'd be fighting for their lives now.
______
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