283: Chapter 283 The Gift Requested

"Contact with Group A and Group C is still intermittent... interference is very strong," the communications officer whispered. "The last intermittent message received from Group A said they had landed, encountered electronic interference and some drone harassment, and were rallying at LZ-1. They told us to close in as planned."

"What about Group C?"

"Group C's attempt to establish a support point on the border failed. They were driven off by an unidentified armed patrol and have retreated to a safe position. They are temporarily unable to provide effective support."

Major Calvin felt something was wrong. Things were going too poorly. However, he hadn't experienced the same firsthand, terrifying encounters as Group A, so he was still inclined to believe it was due to an accidental strengthening of Myanmar's border defenses and a complex electromagnetic environment.

"Speed up. Group A might have been exposed; we need to rendezvous as soon as possible to complete the mission or evacuate," he ordered.

The team continued forward. They were equally professional and equally vigilant, but they lacked that specific fear of being hunted. They didn't know that every move they made was being faithfully recorded by micro-drones circling high above and vibration sensors hidden under the fallen leaves, transmitted back to the command post.

An even larger net was quietly spreading out toward them.

Preset Ambush Zone 3 was a relatively open forest hollow, surrounded on three sides by steep slopes, with only a narrow exit to the west. At this moment, that exit was more than half-blocked by several "naturally" fallen boulders and dead trees.

When McLean staggered into this hollow with his final seven scarred and exhausted team members (including two seriously injured men who couldn't walk), the last flicker of hope in his heart was extinguished. The terrain was too perfect for an encirclement and annihilation.

"Find cover! Prepare for final defense!" he ordered hoarsely, his voice filled with exhaustion and despair. The remaining members silently complied, finding positions behind rocks and tree roots and checking their dwindling ammunition. The atmosphere was tragic and oppressive. They were "Gray Wolf," and they had never imagined that during an infiltration mission, they would be driven into a corner like prey, without even seeing the true face of their opponent.

The hollow fell into a deathly silence. There was only the heavy breathing of the wounded and the wail of the wind blowing through the treetops.

Suddenly, on the slopes directly ahead, to the left, and to the right, several faint but steady red laser designator dots lit up simultaneously, landing on the chests or heads of McLean and several other key team members. Those were sniper lock-on marks.

Immediately following, a voice processed through an electronic voice changer, speaking in clear and standard English, echoed over the hollow through loudspeakers hidden who-knew-where:

"Colonel Richard McLean, and the remnants of 'Gray Wolf' Group A. You are completely surrounded with no way out. Drop your weapons, disarm all explosives, and step out of cover with your hands behind your heads. This is your only chance for survival."

The voice was calm and devoid of emotion, yet it contained an unquestionable sense of oppression.

"Fuck you!" one team member with an injured arm roared, firing a burst toward the general source of the voice. The bullets disappeared fruitlessly into the darkness.

Responding to him was a precision shot that knocked the FAST helmet off his head. The searing heat of the bullet grazing his scalp and the fear of a brush with death made him freeze instantly.

"Next time, I won't miss," the voice rang out again.

McLean leaned against the cold rock and closed his eyes. As the commander, he was responsible for the lives of his men. Continuing to resist would only result in total annihilation. The opponent had the capability to do it, and they clearly wanted them alive.

"Colonel..." the Sergeant Major looked at him with a complex expression.

McLean opened his eyes and looked at his remaining subordinates, whose eyes were a mix of fear, resentment, and a sliver of the will to survive. He took a deep breath and made the most humiliating decision of his military career.

He slowly stood up and threw the HK416 rifle in his hand onto the open ground in front of him, followed by his pistol, dagger, the grenades on his tactical vest... Finally, following instructions, he removed all his gear, including the emergency latches of his exoskeleton.

"Do it," he said hoarsely to the others.

After a moment of silence, the sounds of clattering rang out. The remaining members, including the wounded, painstakingly laid down their weapons.

"Hands behind your heads, walk slowly to the center of the hollow, and kneel," the command came again.

McLean was the first to walk out, kneeling on the cold dirt. The others followed. Moonlight filtered through the thin clouds, illuminating their wretched, blood-and-dirt-stained faces, as well as the shock and humiliation that had yet to fade from their eyes.

Only then did the hunters reveal themselves.

Not from the front. Instead, from behind the rocks they had just leaned against, from the shadows beside them, and even from the trees above them, twelve figures slowly emerged like mercury spreading across the ground.

They were all clad in uniform gray-black skintight armor, their streamlined helmet visors reflecting a faint light, their weapons pointed steadily at them. These people moved in perfect coordination, silently, as if they had truly "grown" out of the environment. Most heart-wrenching of all was that even after revealing themselves, their silhouettes remained somewhat blurred under night vision and the naked eye, their boundaries with the background indistinct.

These were the "Shadow Dancers." McLean finally saw the true face of the ghosts that had hunted them. A sense of powerlessness brought about by a technological generational gap gripped him deeply.

Two Shadow Dancers stepped forward, their movements swift and professional, binding McLean and the others' hands behind their backs with specialized restraints, placing black hoods over their heads, and injecting them with sedatives just in case. The entire process took less than two minutes.

A Shadow Dancer squad leader walked up to McLean (though hooded, McLean could sense him) and whispered in English: "Colonel McLean, welcome to Myanmar. Your subordinates will receive medical treatment in accordance with the Geneva Convention. As for you, you are a 'gift' requested by our President by name."

A gift... McLean chewed on the word before his consciousness plunged into darkness, feeling an immense sense of irony and coldness.

Almost at the same time Group A was dealt with, in the Naypyidaw Command Center.

Old K received the confirmation signal from the hunting squad: "From the 'Gray Wolf' Group A commander down, eight captured, the rest confirmed killed. No casualties on our side. Seized some complete individual equipment, including two damaged exoskeleton prototypes."

"Very good. Initiate the 'Limited Live Stream' push. Content: Footage of Group A surrendering (faces blurred), close-ups of seized US military standard equipment (especially items with 'Gray Wolf' unit markings and US military serial numbers), and a close-up of McLean's dog tags. Target audience: Preset list," Zhang Cheng ordered.

A few minutes later, the secure terminals or lines of the heads of the Pentagon in Washington, CIA headquarters in Langley, Pacific Command in Hawaii, and the intelligence departments of several key allies simultaneously received an extremely high-level encrypted video stream of untraceable origin.