Li Juxu was the last to board the vehicle, but his seat was furthest inside. Everyone else was a seasoned veteran, experienced enough to sit by the door so they could exit at the first sign of danger. He knew full well that there would be no time to escape through the door.
As others scrambled toward the exit, he flipped open the roof hatch. Pushing off with his feet and lifting with his arms, he launched himself onto the roof. Without a glance at the others, he dove toward the roadside. The instant his body hit the ground, the rocket struck the armored vehicle.
Boom —
The massive explosion nearly flipped the vehicle. Blinding fire lit up the night. Li Juxu rolled several times, narrowly escaping the shockwave. He tucked himself behind a waist-high rock, ignoring the stinging pain from gravel and debris. In record time, he pulled out the Burster-002B and assembled it.
The Burster-002B was 1.35 meters long. When not in use, it was stored in sections. Carrying a full‑length weapon would have been far too awkward.
Explosions echoed one after another. The enemy had fired at least twelve rockets. All vehicles were hit to varying degrees except the second, which had sensed danger early and dodged. Despite their heavy armor, two vehicles were disabled. Li Juxu had no time to check the casualties.
Through his scope, half a kilometer away, he spotted his first target. His eyesight was naturally superior; with the scope, he could see far better than others even at night. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
Bang —
The enemy soldier carrying a rocket launcher had his head blown apart, bursting like a smashed watermelon. The powerful kinetic energy of the sniper round sent the body flying backward.
That shot relied on fifty percent luck. He had not had time to calculate wind speed, humidity, or air pressure — only instinct.
He shifted his aim. A Type 38 submachine gunner around 150 meters away entered his view, a brute of a man firing recklessly while running. Li Juxu adjusted slightly and squeezed the trigger.
Bang —
The Type 38 fell silent. This time, he did not aim for the head, but put a bowl‑sized hole in the man's chest. Headshots looked impressive and satisfying, but chest shots had a higher hit rate. Against stationary targets, he might attempt a headshot; against moving targets, the chest was the primary target.
Gunfire erupted from all directions. A rough estimate suggested the enemy had over thirty guns, meaning more than thirty fighters, positioned on both sides of the road.
Pu Shaoyun's men returned fire, bullets pouring out like water. Most had no choice but to take cover behind the vehicles; only a few had reached rocks. The enemy had chosen this spot for a reason — the terrain was flat, with almost no natural cover.
Li Juxu had reacted faster than anyone, jumping out immediately. A one‑second delay would have put him out in the open, with no rock to hide behind.
Screams rang out. The enemy's fire was fierce, but the rockets were the biggest threat. Li Juxu could only pray none locked onto him. His scope picked up dozens of enemies, but they were not his targets. Snipers were not meant to waste shots on grunts.
Rocket gunners were his priority. Yet he dared not fire recklessly. The enemy had prepared too thoroughly — they must have their own sniper. His greatest fear was being targeted. On a battlefield, being spotted by an enemy sniper meant a ninety percent chance of death.
Bang —
Another machine gun fell silent.
Li Juxu ducked his head like lightning. A searing hot round grazed his temple and buried itself in the ground. Staring at the black bullet hole and wisp of white smoke, he broke out in goosebumps.
He had cheated death again.
His heart hammered. The worst had happened — he was targeted by the enemy sniper.
The rock was too small, only covering one direction. The enemy was closing in from both sides. He had nowhere to maneuver, yet could not stay still. His mind raced for a solution, but came up empty. He could only hope his teammates would hold on.
Then he spotted the huge man who had sensed danger at the same time as him. The brute had pulled out a Gatling gun from somewhere and was about to charge out.
The maximum rate of fire for a Gatling could reach 6,000 rounds per minute — the undisputed king of suppression in small‑scale battles. To reduce recoil, portable versions sacrificed power. This one likely fired 2,500 rpm. Even at one‑third strength, it was devastating against infantry.
Li Juxu's best move would have been to stay quiet. If the brute charged out, he would draw every enemy's attention, and the sniper would shift focus. Li Juxu would have his opening.
But the thought flashed and died.
He shouted:
"Sniper! Don't move out!"
The giant, already halfway out of the vehicle, froze and jerked back. He glanced at Li Juxu, gratitude in his eyes. Any veteran knew that once the Gatling roared, he would become the center of the entire battlefield. Rifle and submachine gun fire was dangerous, but survival was possible while suppressing the enemy. A sniper was different — he would never know where the shot came from, yet become an easy target.
A Gatling was no pistol. Even without ammo, it weighed over a hundred pounds. Carrying it, he would be as slow as a tortoise.
"Flashbangs! Smoke!" the giant shouted toward Pu Shaoyun.
His teammates reacted instantly, throwing seven or eight flashbangs and smoke grenades. Li Juxu squeezed his eyes shut, cursing not having special goggles. It all came back to being poor — he knew life‑saving gear was essential, but could not afford it.
After the blasts, gunfire and screams exploded in his ears. The whine of bullets made his skin crawl. Every second felt like an eternity.
When he opened his eyes, his team was counterattacking at full force, pushing the enemy back. A good sign — but he still did not move.
Then he saw a teammate's chest erupt in a spray of blood, a cup‑sized hole blown through him.
Li Juxu shouted at once:
"Enemy sniper at 10 o'clock! 1,000 meters!"