156: Chapter 156 Rent is the enemy's life

Ethan's brain completely short-circuited.

He felt like his auditory system might have been damaged in the explosion just now; otherwise, how could he have heard such an absurd combination of words?

A unit price of one hundred and fifty million US dollars? Leasing? Paying rent with the lives of enemies?

Was this even human speech?

The nine team members behind him were no better; every single one of them stood there dazed, as if struck by lightning, their mouths hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.

They had seen arms dealers who took advantage of crises and smugglers who asked for sky-high prices, but they had truly never seen an "ally" whose opening words completely shattered their worldview.

"Is there a problem?"

Ethan jerked, suddenly snapping back to reality. He looked at Hunk, who was a head taller than him, and then at the three metallic giant scorpions standing quietly by the burning wreckage of the armored vehicle, and swallowed nervously.

A problem? There was a massive problem!

But did he dare say it?

He did not.

"No... no problem!" Ethan practically shouted, fearing that if his voice were too low, the other party would think he had an objection. "Welcome, friends! Please follow us; our underground bunker is very safe, and you can rest and reorganize there."

Regardless of where these people came from, they had just taken out an SDF armored patrol in less than a minute.

This was the greatest "battle achievement" they had secured in the past month.

However, Hunk only tilted his head slightly, his red goggles scanning the pitch-black ruins behind Ethan.

"Unnecessary."

His answer was simple and direct, a clean and decisive rejection.

"Our supplies are all down there." Hunk raised a finger and pointed toward the distant black submarine, which sat silent like a deep-sea behemoth.

Ethan followed the direction he was pointing, feeling that the sense of pressure brought by that submarine was even more intense than that of a carrier strike group.

Just what kind of background... did these people have?

While Ethan was lost in thought, Hunk took a black walkie-talkie from his tactical vest and handed it over.

Ethan subconsciously took half a step back, his face full of wariness.

"Don't worry," Hunk seemed to see through his thoughts, his voice remaining flat and straightforward. "No tracking, no bombs, just a communicator. My boss doesn't like playing petty tricks with these things."

Ethan hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the heavy walkie-talkie. It felt cold and hard in his hand, clearly a military-grade product.

"You can continue fighting at your own pace—harassment, sabotage, creating chaos. How you fight is your business," Hunk's voice came through, leaving Ethan stunned.

"And what about you?" Ethan asked in confusion. They weren't going to act together?

Hunk's red goggles turned toward the east, the direction of the Israeli army's frontline positions.

"We will raid their frontline military base."

This single sentence caused the breathing of Ethan and all his team members to hitch.

Raid... a frontline military base?

Was he joking?!

Israel's frontline bases were steel fortresses filled with minefields, barbed wire, automated turrets, and thousands of regular troops! Their group of several hundred people hid underground and couldn't even get close for reconnaissance, yet this group... with just over a hundred people and three monsters, was going to launch a frontal assault?

Ethan felt this was even crazier than hearing the unit price of one hundred and fifty million.

"You... with just this many people?" a young team member couldn't help but blurt out.

Hunk ignored him, merely continuing in that emotionless voice: "This is our way of operating. All you need to know is that from now on, the nights in Gaza will become very lively."

Having said that, he paid no more attention to the dumbstruck Ethan and the others.

*Splash—*

Behind them on the sea, several more hovercraft landing boats rushed onto the beach.

But this time, it wasn't soldiers who came off, but massive cargo crates tightly wrapped in waterproof tarpaulins.

The soldiers on the landing craft used crowbars to open one of the crates, revealing neatly stacked ammo boxes painted with green markings.

"7.62mm rifle rounds, five hundred thousand rounds."

"RPG-7 rockets, one thousand units, with thermobaric warheads."

"Compressed biscuits, self-heating rations, purified water, enough for five hundred people for one month."

"Also medicine: sulfonamide powder, morphine, antibiotics, as well as ruisu and healing factor produced by Umbrella... they are all in those two crates."

A soldier also wearing black combat gear, but without a mask, stepped forward and recited the manifest expressionlessly.

Ethan and his team members' eyes instantly turned red.

They stared fixedly at the supplies overflowing from the crates, especially those golden bullets and brand-new rockets; their breathing became heavy one by one.

They had an average of less than fifteen rifle bullets per person...

Less than twenty rockets in total...

They had run out of medicine three days ago...

Commander Adjutant Hassan's desperate words were still echoing in their ears, and now, supplies sufficient to support a small-scale campaign were nonchalantly piled up in front of them.

"My God..." An old soldier could no longer control himself, his knees buckling as he knelt on the sand, his hands plunging into a crate of bullets as if stroking the most precious treasure, tears streaming down his face.

"These... these are all for us?" Ethan's voice was trembling; he couldn't believe his eyes.

The soldier who read the manifest nodded: "If you want the horse to run, you have to feed it first."

Looking at the mountain of supplies and thinking back to what Hunk had just said, Ethan finally understood the true meaning of the phrase "the rent is the enemy's life."

These people might not be allies at all.

What they wanted was to make this war burn even brighter, to let more Israeli soldiers die here!

He no longer hesitated, pressing the talk button on his walkie-talkie and doing his best to suppress his excitement as he reported toward the underground bunker.

"Boss! It's reinforcements! They are messengers sent by God!"

Behind them, Hunk had already organized his troops.

One hundred "soldiers" marched with perfectly synchronized steps, like a single entity, silently merging into the dark city ruins. The three metallic giant scorpions known as "Walkers" followed on the flanks of the team like ghosts, their eyes scanning the broken walls and debris, bringing a silent threat of death.

Hunk walked to a relatively intact building ruin, raised his wrist, and pressed his communicator.

"Sarah."

"Go ahead."

"First phase of contact complete, supplies delivered," Hunk reported succinctly.

"Very good." Sarah's voice held no trace of emotion. "The next target is thirty kilometers to your northeast; coordinates have been sent. It is the frontline command post and supply center for the Israeli 7th Armored Brigade."

"Requirements."

"Clear it out."

"Understood."