7: Chapter 7 Night of the Showdown

Two days later, the surprise arrived right on schedule.

Saturday, December 17th, nightfall.

The temperature had dropped to minus four degrees. Chunks of ice floated on the Hudson River, and the temperature in the dock area was even lower; the wind blowing from the river felt like tiny knives.

Yan Zheng was crouching in the abandoned gantry crane operator's cabin on the east side of the dock, about fifteen meters above the ground, with a field of vision as vast as a natural lookout tower.

The glass of the operator's cabin had long since shattered, and the cold wind made his face stiff, but the image in his binoculars was much clearer than it had been two days ago.

The Skeleton Soldier curled up in the shadows in the corner of the operator's cabin, its flat cap tilted on its skull, its scarf hanging loosely; it was as quiet as a discarded Halloween prop.

In the direction of the warehouse, the lights were still on.

The number of guards tonight had doubled; twelve burly, bald, armed men were distributed around the perimeter of the warehouse, three of them carrying assault rifles.

"Vladimir has spared no expense," Yan Zheng said in a low voice, slowly scanning the entire position from left to right with his binoculars. "Twelve men, three rifles, at least six pistols, and there should be more people inside the warehouse."

"This scale is enough to deal with ordinary gangs."

"But if the Irish Gang really intends to forcefully seize it, with a force of over twenty people, their firepower won't be lacking."

"Enough to get quite a few people killed."

Yan Zheng: ( ˇ ꒳ ˇ )

He put down the binoculars and checked the time: 11:07 PM.

Then, he heard the sound of engines.

It wasn't just one car.

It was a convoy.

A low roar of motors came from the entrance on the north side of the dock. The sounds of at least four or five cars intertwined, and the noise of tires crushing the gravel road was exceptionally clear in the silent night.

The Russian Gang bodyguards around the warehouse perimeter became alert simultaneously. Someone spoke a few words in Russian into a walkie-talkie, and the others raised their weapons and scattered toward the direction of the sound.

Three modified pickup trucks and two SUVs rushed out from the end of the container aisle.

The headlights were off; they were driving with dimmed lights.

Half a body leaned out from the passenger seat of the lead pickup truck, holding a light machine gun.

"The feast has begun," Yan Zheng's voice was devoid of any emotion.

The sound of gunfire tore through the night sky the next second.

The continuous fire of the light machine gun sounded like a string of firecrackers, and bullets pinged and clattered against the iron sheet of the warehouse's outer wall.

The Russian Gang immediately returned fire. Three-round bursts from assault rifles and single shots from pistols rang out in succession, flashes of light flickering in the darkness.

"Damn it, how many of them are there?" a Russian Gang bodyguard hissed at his companion while crouching behind a container.

"At least twenty, maybe more, and there are more cars coming from the north."

"Tell Vladimir to send reinforcements."

"I'm trying, I'm trying, the phone signal is being jammed."

Yan Zheng: ( ⌐ ■ _ ■ )

He put away the binoculars and switched to observing with his naked eyes.

At a height of fifteen meters, combined with the angle of the gantry crane operator's cabin, the entire battlefield looked like a miniature sand table before his eyes.

The Irish Gang members jumped down from behind the pickup trucks, using the vehicle bodies and containers as cover as they advanced toward the warehouse.

The firepower of both sides crossed at a distance of thirty to fifty meters, with bullets sending sparks flying across the surfaces of the containers.

The first person fell.

When a young man from the Irish Gang leaned out from behind a container to fire, he was hit squarely in the chest by an assault rifle from the Russian Gang. He fell backward, and the pistol in his hand flew away.

Then came the second, the third.

When a bald Russian Gang member tried to change positions, he exposed his side. A shotgun blast from the Irish Gang blew his entire shoulder apart.

"One, two, three," Yan Zheng counted silently, his tone like someone taking stock of inventory on a shelf. "Four, the fifth just fell."

"Decent efficiency."

His gaze swept over the bodies on the edge of the battlefield that were no longer moving, his eyes filled with the kind of satisfaction only a merchant feels when taking inventory.

But he was in no hurry to make a move.

"It's not time yet," he whispered to the Skeleton Soldier in the corner. "Only when they've fought enough and their attention is entirely on each other will it be the best window for us to appear."

The phosphorus fire in the Skeleton Soldier flickered.

The shootout lasted for nearly eight minutes; the dense sound of gunfire began to become intermittent, as both sides had consumed quite a bit of ammunition.

There were at least six or seven corpses lying on the open ground in front of the warehouse, some still twitching, others completely still.

Yan Zheng: ( ˘ _ ˘ )

"That's about it, the first batch can be collected."

Just as he was about to give the order to the Skeleton Soldier, a sound that definitely didn't belong to firearms suddenly came from the far end of the dock.

It was the sound of bones breaking.

Then, a scream.

A burly man from the Irish Gang was thrown down from the top of a three-story stack of containers, hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud, his limbs twisted at impossible angles.

Everyone's gun barrels turned toward the top of the containers.

A dark red figure stood on the edge of the topmost container, the cold wind blowing against his exposed jawline under his mask.

"Drop your weapons."

The voice was hoarse and powerful, carrying an unshakeable sense of oppression as it came down from above.

"This shipment does not belong to either of you; leave here immediately."

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ° ꒳ ° )

He slowly lowered his half-raised hand and leaned back against the metal wall of the operator's cabin.

Daredevil.

Red suit, masked, looking down from above.

"A variable has arrived," Yan Zheng muttered to himself, his voice devoid of tension, possessing only the subtle interest of a researcher observing a new species. "However, it's good that you're here."

"With a three-way battle, there will only be more deaths."

"My harvest will only be greater."