12: Chapter 12 When Mercenaries Meet the Planetary Defense Force
The beeping of the Auspex broke the silence of the early morning.
Wade checked the situation immediately.
On the pale green scanning interface, thirty kilometers away, four red arrows were approaching the ranch from different directions.
Numbers flickered next to each arrow: 120, 130, 80, 64.
He pressed his communicator:
"My Lord, there's a situation."
"Four teams have appeared thirty kilometers away, with a total force of nearly four hundred men. Their equipment includes aerial and ground vehicles."
"They came quickly." Fu Haoran was not surprised by this.
Life-extension technology and near-universal healing techniques were no longer secrets in wealthy circles.
Even if he hid behind the scenes, Fu Haoran believed that those with intent could still easily trace things back to him.
"It seems some people think I'm a fat sheep holding a golden egg."
Fu Haoran turned to Wade: "Wait for the enemy to get close before firing. I want to ensure not a single one of them leaves."
"Yes!"
Wade paused slightly in his mind; his side's heavy firepower wasn't superior, and engaging at close range might result in heavy casualties.
But he suppressed these stray thoughts and responded in a low voice, "Yes!"
In the warhammer universe, casualties were always just numbers; victory was everything.
...
At the same time.
Graystone squatted by the command vehicle, staring at a tablet.
The screen was split into four frames—the real-time positions of the other three teams.
"Night Owl is three kilometers north-northeast; two Little Bird helicopters have already taken off for reconnaissance." The vice-captain, Anvil, lowered his voice.
"Lumberjack is on the west side; their mortar teams are setting up. Ghost's people are scattered in the southeast woods, and their snipers are in position."
"What are they waiting for?" The sniper, Phantom, chewed gum.
"Waiting for the other side to make the first move." Graystone sneered. "With a bounty of 120 million, everyone wants it all for themselves."
He pulled up the final infrared photo taken by a drone half an hour ago.
The outline of the ranch gave off a faint thermal radiation on the screen.
Several large heat sources were parked between the buildings, their heat dissipation patterns looking very strange.
As for those three thousand-plus people, Graystone didn't care about them.
They were nothing more than hired illegal immigrant laborers. Even if every one of them had a gun, how could they compare to special forces like themselves who possessed heavy firepower?
"Are they sleeping?" a subordinate asked with a frown.
"The thermal radiation of sleeping people doesn't look like this." Graystone shook his head. "Because they are setting up defenses—a very standard defensive deployment."
"They're setting up defenses? Impossible! Could they actually be regular army?!"
"That's exactly why it's strange." Graystone turned off the tablet and looked toward the ranch. "Notify everyone not to move. Let the others go first."
"What if they succeed?"
"Then we'll just rob the robbers." Graystone patted the gun at his waist. "120 million is worth taking a bit of a risk."
Static suddenly crackled over the communicator.
This was followed by the urgent voice of the Night Owl squad Commander: "Graystone! Those Lumberjack bastards are moving toward our flank! They're trying to outflank us!"
"Calm down." Graystone pressed the talk button. "Everyone maintain your positions. Whoever fires first becomes everyone's target—"
Boom!
A dull, massive explosion echoed far through the night sky.
The communication channel instantly exploded with noise.
"Lumberjack, have you fucking lost it?!"
"It wasn't us! We didn't fire!"
"Then how did the helicopter go down?!"
"It's the ranch! There's a flash of fire from the direction of the ranch!"
Graystone adjusted his binoculars.
In the direction of the ranch, it was pitch black.
But within that darkness, something flashed.
A crimson beam of light flashed again, and immediately after, the second Little Bird helicopter exploded into a fireball in the sky.
This time, everyone saw it.
The channel went dead silent for half a second.
Then Phantom's voice rang out, trembling with disbelief: "What... what the hell is that?"
Graystone didn't answer.
Because he saw something moving in the darkness at the edge of the ranch.
Finally, he saw it clearly.
"Tank!" Graystone roared. "They have fucking tanks!"
"Fire! All units fire!" Graystone bellowed into the communicator. "Concentrate fire on that tank!"
It wasn't any model he recognized. The hull was tall and broad, like a French tank from World War II, exuding an air of obsolescence.
However, as RPGs, howitzers, and rocket launchers were unleashed upon it, that "ancient" tank acted as if nothing had happened, remaining completely unscathed!
Even the exposed tracks were undamaged!
More critically, a large number of infantry were following behind the tank!
The machine gunner of Graystone's squad opened fire.
The muzzle of the M249 spat fire in the dark night, tracer rounds drawing bright trajectories as they shot toward those gray figures.
The bullets hit.
Graystone clearly saw at least three bullets strike the chest of a soldier in the front row.
And then they bounced off.
They didn't get stuck after penetrating armor; they were deflected.
The sparks from the bullet impacts were clearly visible in the dark, but the soldier only swayed slightly and continued forward without even changing speed.
"Armor-piercing rounds! Switch to armor-piercing rounds!" Graystone yelled.
It was already too late.
Those gray soldiers raised their weapons, and dense crimson beams of light swept toward them like flashlight beams, accompanied by high-frequency hissing sounds, like a swarm of venomous snakes flicking their tongues at once.
As the crimson beams swept past, rows of mercenaries were pierced through. Their body armor burst like paper, and they didn't even have time to scream!
There wasn't even any blood visible from the wounds!
"Retreat! Retreat!" Graystone shouted into the communicator. "Everyone retreat to the east! Helicopters, provide support!"
There was no response.
He looked up toward the position where a Black Hawk should have been hovering.
It was empty.
Only a ball of burning wreckage still floated in the distant sky, spinning as it fell—it was the third Black Hawk, its tail rotor section completely melted off.
Graystone felt a bone-chilling cold.
He grabbed his binoculars and looked at the ranch one last time.
The unknown model of tank slowly rotated its turret, aiming in his direction.
Graystone grabbed an anti-tank missile launcher and pulled the trigger. The missile shrieked out, only to be deflected by a glimmer on the tank's surface, exploding against a distant tree trunk.
Graystone threw down the launcher and turned to run.
*Sizzle~*
A bright red beam of light grazed past his heels.
Ten meters behind him, the turret of a Sherman M4 tank was completely melted through.
The main gun barrel bent and dripped like a melting candle.
The ammunition stored inside the tank ignited, and the shockwave of the secondary explosion sent Graystone flying.
He slammed heavily onto the ground, his ears ringing.
Through his blurred vision, he saw a gray soldier walk up to him.
The soldier wore a full-coverage helmet with a dark visor, making his face invisible.
The weapon in his hand—that long tube—still emitted a faint red glow from its muzzle, like freshly heated iron.
The soldier squatted down and poked Graystone's body armor with the gun barrel.
Then, speaking into the communicator inside his helmet in strangely accented English, he said:
"Sector A7 cleared. One prisoner captured, minor concussion, available for interrogation. Bodies can be used as raw material for Corpse Starch."
After speaking, he muttered quietly, "The weapons of these primitives aren't even as good as those of the Underhive gangs."
Graystone's vision went black.
He hadn't fainted.
He was blacking out from pure rage.