159: Target: Sixth-floor lounge

But on the chaotic battlefield, trying to use a rifle to shoot down a high-speed drone no bigger than a palm...

...was simply a pipe dream.

Several rebel Soldiers did spot the Walkera Alpha 800T.

They hurriedly raised their rifles and fired, but aside from wasting a bunch of bullets, they didn't even graze the drone.

"Damn, what is that thing? It's flying way too fast!"

"Who knows? It's like a fly, how are we supposed to hit it?"

Six o'clock in the evening.

As the sky grew dark, the Special Operations Regiment's tide-like offensive finally came to a halt.

The city, which had seen fierce fighting all day, temporarily regained a moment of tranquility.

Soldiers began to rest where they were, treating the wounded and replenishing ammunition, preparing for the upcoming night battle.

But for Zia Jackson, this brief calm felt more like the dead silence before a storm.

He knew the real test would come at night.

Eleven o'clock at night.

On the rooftop of an abandoned apartment building on the other side of the city.

Jose and his entire "Shadow" squad were all present, like a pack of cheetahs lurking in the darkness.

Cold gazes pierced through the night, locking onto the brightly lit six-story building five hundred meters away.

That was Zia Jackson's headquarters.

A young team member finished checking his gear, leaned in toward Jose, and asked in a low voice.

"Boss, there's at least a company's worth of troops inside and out, and quite a few fire points."

"With just a few of us sneaking in, isn't the risk too high?"

He paused, then continued, "How about... we just call for artillery support from the National Defense Force?"

"Let General Theodore's howitzers fire a few volleys; I guarantee they'll level this building for you."

"Level it?"

Jose was observing the target with tactical binoculars; he didn't even look back upon hearing this, only letting out a slight snort from his nose.

"That would be too easy."

He lowered the binoculars, turned his head to look at his team member, and his lips curled into a playful arc.

"Think about it, what would a blown-up Zia Jackson mean to us?"

The team member thought for a moment and replied, "It means we took out the rebel leader, mission accomplished?"

"No." Jose shook his head, his gaze becoming profound.

"A dead Zia Jackson is just an ordinary rebel leader."

"The whole world would think so, and even the US would probably issue a few hypocritical condemnations before the matter is forgotten."

He paused, his voice dropping even lower.

"But a living Zia Jackson, held in our hands, in front of the world's cameras..."

"...personally stating who is funding him, giving him weapons, and who instigated this war... what kind of scene do you think that would be?"

The young team member's eyes instantly lit up.

"Holy shit... then the US would lose face in front of the whole world!"

"So," Jose patted his shoulder, "we're not here for an assassination tonight; we're here to catch a witness."

"A witness who can leave those high-and-mighty Uncle Sams speechless!"

He raised his wrist and glanced at his watch.

11:25. Five minutes left.

"Everyone, synchronize watches. Prepare to move."

"Drone, take off. Let's see how many guard dogs are in the courtyard."

"Buzz..."

A palm-sized black drone took off silently, turning into an inconspicuous black dot as it flew toward the rebel headquarters.

Clear thermal imaging soon appeared on the tactical tablet in front of Jose.

"Two stationary sentries at the entrance, a four-man patrol in the courtyard, cross-patrolling, one lap every three minutes."

"There are also two sentries on the rooftop. Internal situation unknown, but the heat signals are most concentrated in the sixth-floor lounge."

Jose's fingers swiped quickly across the tablet, and a simple assault plan instantly took shape.

"Time's up."

He stood up and stretched his limbs, his joints letting out a series of faint pops.

"Move out!"

Before his voice had even faded, several dark figures moved like ghosts.

They slid down the edge of the rooftop, silently melting into the city's shadows.

A distance of five hundred meters was only a few breaths' worth of time for the members of the "Shadow" squad.

Using building shadows and ruins for cover, they reached the outer wall of the headquarters courtyard in the blink of an eye.

Jose made a gesture, and everyone immediately pressed against the wall to hide.

In the courtyard, two rebel sentries were leaning by the door smoking, chatting idly.

"Damn, this battle is so frustrating; so many brothers died during the day."

"Tell me about it. Those bastards from the National Defense Force are like they're on drugs; it's spooky."

They had no idea that death was already standing behind them.

Jose darted out from behind the wall, his silenced pistol held with practiced ease.

Thud! Thud!

Two barely audible soft sounds.

A small blood flower bloomed on each of the two sentries' heads.

Their bodies slumped to the ground, the cigarettes in their mouths falling and flickering with the last of their sparks.

With a wave of Jose's hand, two team members immediately vaulted over the wall and rushed to drag the bodies into the shadows.

One team member complained in a low voice while quickly stripping the jacket off a corpse.

"Holy shit, did this guy fall into a toilet? This smell is way too overpowering!"

Jose ignored the member's complaint, his gaze fixed on the building's entrance.

Soon, the two team members had changed into rebel uniforms.

They stood back at the door with swagger; from their appearance, no flaws could be seen.

Jose issued orders through his headset.

"All teams, pay attention: infiltrate according to plan. I'll take Alpha Team through the main entrance; Bravo and Charlie will enter from the flanks."

"Target: Sixth-floor lounge."

Zia Jackson, the warlord famous for his ferocity on the battlefield.

He was currently leaning comfortably against a leather sofa, resting with his eyes closed.

The day's fighting had left him somewhat exhausted.

Although the National Defense Force's offensive had been temporarily repelled, he felt something was off.

Those Government Army troops, usually as soft as dough, had fought with unusual tenacity today, unafraid of death, as if... they were on drugs.

"Spooky."

He muttered, opened his eyes, and picked up the wine glass on the table, preparing to take another sip.

Just then.

An extremely faint, almost imperceptible sound of metal friction came from outside the door.

Swish!

Zia Jackson's expression instantly changed.

He He slammed the wine glass to the ground.！

The crisp sound of glass shattering was exceptionally piercing in the quiet room.

With almost no hesitation, he rolled off the sofa.

He reached for the Golden AK hidden under the sofa cushions.

His hand had just touched the cold body of the gun.

Bang!

A muffled gunshot.

The bullet accurately tore through the calf of his extended right leg.

The intense pain made him let out a muffled groan, and his entire leg instantly went numb, losing all strength.

"Assassins!"

Zia Jackson didn't scream in pain; instead, he used all his strength to let out a thunderous roar.

His voice pierced the door and echoed throughout the entire building!

Almost at the same time, the door was kicked open with immense force!

Jose's figure rushed in like a cheetah, his dark muzzle pointing straight at Zia Jackson's head.

"Commander, don't move."

Jose's tone was calm, but there was no warmth in his eyes.

"Or the next bullet will blow your head off."