282: Chapter 282 The Ghost's Dagger is Close to His Throat

"Prepare to move. Delta formation, I'm point man. Watch your step and the flanks. Wounded in the middle," he ordered. "Discard all non-essential weight. Only carry weapons, ammo, water, and first-aid kits. Move!"

The team began to move slowly toward the southeast. Every step was taken with extreme caution, trying to remain silent. However, it felt as if they were walking through a minefield.

A team member on the flank suddenly heard a faint 'click' beneath his foot. His face paled instantly. "Landmine—"

Before he could finish, a palm-sized device on a nearby tree trunk suddenly burst! There was no shrapnel, but it sprayed a large mass of viscous, rapidly expanding white foam, instantly trapping and covering most of his body and the two teammates beside him!

"Ah! I can't see!"

"It's restraint foam! I can't break free!"

"Don't move! Watch out for other booby traps!"

In the chaos, a gunshot rang out. It wasn't the 'Gray Wolf' team firing. It was a precise, single-shot burst coming from the darkness on their flank.

Puff! Puff! Puff!

Three soft, suppressed gunshots. Blood bloomed on the helmets of the three trapped team members, killing them instantly.

"Sniper! Eleven o'clock!" someone screamed, firing wildly in the general direction of the muzzle flash. Bullets peppered the trees and rocks with a rhythmic clatter, but there was no feedback indicating a hit.

The enemy had fired, but their position seemed to evaporate the moment the shot was taken.

"Don't panic! Cease fire!" McLean's eyes were bloodshot, but he forced himself to stay calm. The enemy was using booby traps to create chaos and then following up with precise kills. This was top-tier hunting tactics.

The team had lost three more men, leaving only eleven.

They hadn't even seen what their enemy looked like.

"Keep moving! Fast!" McLean rasped. Staying here made them sitting ducks.

They hadn't even covered a hundred meters.

Boom!

A small explosion occurred as the point man stepped on a real directional fragmentation mine. The flash of the explosion momentarily illuminated the jungle, revealing several flickering, fast-moving gray silhouettes in the surrounding trees!

"There they are!" the First Sergeant and two others pivoted their weapons, pouring lead toward the direction where the silhouettes had vanished.

However, their shots seemed to hit nothing but air. Those silhouettes moved and dodged with inhuman agility and at bizarre angles, disappearing into the darkness once more.

Immediately following, lethal bullets flew in from the opposite direction of their fire and from above.

Puff, puff, puff...

Precise headshots. Two more team members fell.

"Scatter! Find cover!" McLean rolled behind a rock, his heart pounding wildly. The enemy wasn't just in one direction! They were surrounded, and the perimeter was moving with them, maintaining constant contact and pressure without launching a frontal assault—like a wolf pack driving a flock of sheep, constantly wearing them down and weakening them.

This was a form of psychological execution by a thousand cuts.

"Colonel! Hampton's hit!" a team member shouted.

McLean looked over to see young Hampton clutching his abdomen, blood gushing through his fingers, his face deathly pale.

"First-aid kit!" McLean rushed toward him.

The moment he left the cover of the rock, he felt a vicious wind coming at his neck! Years of life-and-death combat experience allowed him to make an extreme evasive maneuver while simultaneously drawing the pistol at his waist!

Clang!

The crisp sound of metal clashing! A pitch-black, non-reflective dagger grazed his tactical vest, leaving a white mark on the Kevlar fibers. An almost completely transparent silhouette was less than a meter in front of him!

McLean fired. But the silhouette moved sideways with incredible speed, causing the bullet to miss. Immediately after, the opponent kicked his wrist, sending the pistol flying. Another hand, wearing a strange glove, snatched toward his throat like lightning!

McLean parried, elbowed, and knee-struck! Close-quarters combat was his specialty. However, the opponent's reaction speed, strength, and use of joint locks were not at all inferior to his own as a highly trained 'Gray Wolf' commander! Furthermore, as the opponent moved, that camouflage continued to ripple violently, adapting to the background and making it nearly impossible to lock on.

The two exchanged several blows rapidly in the darkness, their limbs colliding with dull thuds.

"First Sergeant!" McLean shouted.

The nearby First Sergeant turned his weapon but didn't dare to fire easily, fearing he might hit his commander.

In that moment of hesitation, the figure leaped backward, crashing into the bushes and disappearing again. Before leaving, McLean thought he saw a pair of eyes devoid of any emotion behind the mask, glancing coldly at him.

"Pursue..." McLean panted, just as he started to speak.

Boom! Boom!

Two rifle grenades landed near them from different directions, the explosions churning up dirt and broken branches. Though not direct hits, the shockwaves and shrapnel caused further chaos and injury.

"Retreat! To the... to the west! Get out of this area!" McLean knew the plan to rendezvous with Group B in the southeast was completely ruined. The enemy knew their intentions perfectly. Now, the only goal was survival—to escape this terrifying hunt.

The remaining fewer than ten men, supporting the wounded, turned west in a pathetic state, attempting to flee this hostile mountain forest that seemed to have come alive with malice.

They didn't know that on their flanks and rear, two members of the 'Shadow Dancer' hunting squads were following them unhurriedly, like ghosts. Through shared vision and data links within their helmets, every position, every stop, and even the status of the wounded were clearly marked and transmitted.

On the screen in Old K's command post, the red dot representing 'Gray Wolf' Group A was moving slowly, surrounded by several green dots representing 'Shadow Dancers.' Further out were blue markers representing the 'Swarm' drones and 'Iron Claw' reconnaissance robots, like a tightening noose.

"Group A has completely lost its organized offensive capability and is being driven toward the pre-set Ambush Zone 3," a staff officer reported.

"Group B's position?"

"Group B is still infiltrating slowly, having penetrated about five kilometers into the border. They haven't detected anything unusual. Their communication attempts are being deceived by our simulated intermittent signals from Group A, leading them to believe Group A successfully landed and is experiencing minor interference. They are moving toward the rendezvous point as planned."

Old K nodded. "Maintain monitoring and deception of Group B. Group A... is about ready. Order the hunting squads to close the net in Zone 3. Try to leave survivors, especially that commander. The 'gift' needs to be wrapped."

Meanwhile, 'Gray Wolf' Group B, deep in the jungle.

The twenty men of Group B were trudging through the hot, humid jungle. Without helicopters, they relied entirely on their legs, and their progress was slow.

The captain was Major Calvin. He was currently frowning at the GPS terminal and personal tactical tablet in his hand, which had lost their signals.