Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1253 Truck Bomb
The bulletproof off-road vehicle bounced wildly on the bumpy dirt road, its modified suspension system groaning in pain.

Sanders gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, his sharp gaze sweeping across the rearview mirror.

In the back seat, medic "Patch" was kneeling in the cramped space, pressing hard on a young mercenary's abdominal wound.

Blood continued to seep from between his fingers, flowing down the non-slip floorboards.

"Hang in there, newbie! We're almost there!"

Sanders growled at the back seat and pressed the accelerator even harder.

In the mirror, the wreckage of the destroyed pickup truck was burning in the distance behind them, a thick column of black smoke standing like a tombstone on the wasteland—

That was brutal proof of the ambush that had befallen Mans's squad half an hour earlier.

When Sanders arrived with reinforcements, the 1515 militants' attack had temporarily ended, leaving only devastation in its wake.

The water-fetching team, originally consisting of 6 people, has now lost 3 members and 1 member seriously injured, suffering more than half of its original strength.

"Boss! There's movement on the hill at three o'clock!"

The hoarse alarm of the last vehicle, the "Bison," came through the car radio.

Almost at the same time he heard the alarm, Sanders caught a faint glimpse of a reflection flashing behind the earthen slope to his right.

"Those guys are still nearby, watch out!!"

He jerked the steering wheel, directing the vehicle to proceed along a zigzag path.

“Da da da da—!”

Scattered machine gun bullets swept in from a distance, kicking up a cloud of dust on the dirt road to the right of the vehicle.

The bullets struck the modified armored vehicle door with muffled "bangs".

"Bison! Suppressive fire!"

Sanders roared into the radio as the car lurched violently, crashing into a crater.

The M2HB heavy machine gun in the cargo bed of the last truck immediately emitted a dull and terrifying roar.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The 12.7mm bullets, like the scythe of death, instantly sent soil and gravel flying everywhere from the edge of the slope, and the PKM machine gun, which was still firing intermittently, suddenly fell silent.

"Clear them out! They must be stragglers."

The bison gave a brief report.

Sanders did not relax; his nerves were as taut as a bowstring.

This stretch of road back to checkpoint 4 is no more than five kilometers long, yet it feels like a death highway leading to hell.

The 1515 militants emerged like ghosts from every corner of the wilderness, firing a few shots and running away. Their purpose was clear—to delay and wear them down, preventing them from safely withdrawing to their stronghold.

"All units, take turns providing cover during the retreat! Bison, you go first, I'll cover the rear! Maintain distance between vehicles, watch out for IEDs!"

Sanders issued instructions, and tactical hand signals were clearly transmitted to another vehicle via the vehicle's communication system.

Two battered bulletproof off-road vehicles began to move in standard tactical formation.

The Bison's vehicle accelerated forward, while Sanders slowed down slightly. The gunner on the roof nervously rotated the M240 general-purpose machine gun, pointing the muzzle at potential threats on either side.

A tense atmosphere filled the air.

Sanders could hear his heart pounding heavily in his chest, and he could also hear the increasingly faint groans of the wounded in the back seat.

He glanced at the GPS; there were only two kilometers left.

Suddenly, from behind a patch of low bushes to the left front, another figure stood up carrying an RPG rocket launcher!
"RPG! To the left!"

Sanders' pupils contracted sharply, and almost instinctively he slammed on the brakes while making a sharp right turn!

"call out--"

The rocket, trailing a conspicuous plume of flame, whizzed past the left front wheel of the SUV and exploded with a bang not far behind, the blast wave causing the vehicle to lurch violently.

"FUCK!"

The machine gunner on the roof, nicknamed "Scarecrow," cursed angrily and turned his gun around almost as soon as the rocket missed its target.

“Da da da da—!”

A long burst of precise shots riddled the RPG shooter, who hadn't had time to reload, along with the bushes behind him.

"Kill confirmed!"

The scarecrow's voice trembled with the shock of surviving a catastrophe.

Sanders, panting heavily, regained control of the course.

"here you go."

He gave a brief compliment and stepped on the gas again.

"The last mile! Everyone, get the hell together!"

When the outline of checkpoint No. 4, filled with sandbags and blast cages, finally came into view, everyone secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

But Sanders' heart was still in suspense.

The searchlights on the checkpoint's watchtower were already on, their beams sweeping across the twilight-covered wilderness. The sentries on duty had already sensed the unrest outside.

Tonight is destined to be anything but peaceful.

"Thunder-4, this is Shepherd, requesting entry! Repeat, Shepherd requesting entry, carrying wounded personnel!"

Sanders grabbed the radio and called the checkpoint.

"Thunder-4 received, open the door! Quickly!"

The anxious voices of those who remained behind could be heard.

The heavy steel gate slowly opened, and the tires of the bulletproof SUV screeched against the rough concrete. Before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop, Sanders had already pushed open the door and jumped out.

"Quickly! There's a seriously wounded soldier who needs immediate treatment!"

His roar echoed in the relatively enclosed courtyard.

The few mercenaries who had been waiting on the front lines and the only medic in the team hurriedly carried the wounded out of the vehicle and quickly sent them to the temporary medical point set up on the first floor of the main building.

Watching the wounded being carried away, Sanders finally felt a slight relaxation in his tense shoulders. Inside the main building, under the dim emergency lights, the atmosphere was oppressively suffocating.

The young mercenary, shot in the abdomen, was carefully positioned in a relatively sturdy corner.

His face was as pale as paper, his breathing was weak and rapid, and the thick bandages used to stop the bleeding were almost instantly soaked through with the constantly seeping blood, turning an ominous dark red.

The wounded man's consciousness was beginning to fade; his lips moved, uttering murmurs that no one could understand.

Sanders crouched down, examined the wound, and frowned.

The situation was worse than expected; the bullet may have damaged internal organs, and although first aid was administered, it wasn't enough...

Surgery is necessary immediately, otherwise...

He patted the wounded man's cold cheek: "Hang in there, kid. The helicopter will be here soon and take you home."

After he finished speaking, he stood up and looked around.

Checkpoint No. 4, a former border outpost converted into a base, now resembles a lone boat on a raging sea.

The two-story concrete main building was the last fortress, while the outer blast cages, sandbag walls, and barbed wire formed a fragile ring defense.

"Signalman! Bring the radio here!"

Sanders shouted.

"Yes, boss!"

A blond mercenary with a buzz cut, carrying an AN/PRC-155 individual radio, strode forward.

"Connect to the Bakda Company duty room, use the emergency channel, priority Alpha (highest)."

Sanders spoke quickly, while simultaneously pulling a worn-out waterproof card from his chest magazine pouch. The card bore a complex identification code and a backup frequency.

"understand!"

The novice crouched down, placed the radio on a relatively stable surface, and rapidly operated his fingers on the keyboard and knobs, producing a soft clicking sound.

Soon, a static noise characteristic of encrypted signals came from the radio speaker, which was then decoded into a clear but slightly electronically delayed female voice.

"This is Bakda Thunder. Please state your identity and request."

The woman's voice was calm and professional, as if it came from another peaceful world, completely out of place with the deathly atmosphere that permeated the checkpoint.

Sanders took the receiver from the rookie and shouted, "Eagle's Nest, Eagle's Nest, this is Thunder-4 checkpoint, codename 'Shepherd'. Authentication code: 01TFNSW. Repeat, 01TFNSW."

After a brief pause, the faint sound of keyboard tapping came from the other end of the radio.

"Verification successful. Please report the situation."

"I was ambushed at 21:45 local time, 5 km northwest of checkpoint 4. There is one critically wounded soldier with unstable vital signs, urgently requiring medical evacuation. The patient's condition is critical and cannot withstand the rigors of land transport. Requesting immediate dispatch of a medical helicopter to my location. Coordinates: Grid 38S MB 45132 87659. The landing area is the checkpoint's internal courtyard, which has been cleared and marked and can be identified using smoke grenades or IR strobe lights. Warning: The landing area is only defended by light weapons; the area threat level is… high. Repeat, high threat level."

Sanders speaks quickly, but every word is clear and distinct, ensuring that the information is conveyed accurately.

"Received, Shepherd. Checking available aviation assets. The current airspace situation is complex; reports indicate sporadic anti-aircraft fire in the area. Please confirm whether you have the capability for temporary air control or suppression of enemy air defenses?"

"No, Eagle's Nest. We lack effective air defense weapons and suppressive fire. We only have small arms and a small number of M72 LAW anti-tank rocket launchers. We request priority deployment and strongly recommend that the medical helicopter be equipped with armed escort or enter via low-altitude penetration."

Sanders emphasized that he must make it clear to those behind him the extreme danger ahead.

"Understood. Coordinating with the 'Dagger' flight team, estimated arrival time (ETA) is approximately 45 minutes. Ensure the landing area is secure and prepare signal markers. 'Dagger-21' will establish direct contact with you on frequency 122.5 MHz. Keep communications open."

"45 minutes... Received, Eagle's Nest."

Sanders broke out in a cold sweat.

In 45 minutes, with the enemy situation unclear and heavy casualties on their own, anything could happen at any second.

"We will hold the landing zone. Please act quickly! Repeat, please act quickly!"

"Command confirmed, Shepherd. 'Dagger-21' calls using identifier 'Blue 6'. Keep the channel clear. Eagle's Nest complete."

After the call ended, Sanders handed the receiver back to the communications officer. Just as he was about to order everyone to check the ammunition, reinforce the fortifications, and prepare to receive the helicopter, the urgent and tense voice of the outer sentry came from the individual radio hanging on his shoulder, breaking the brief silence.

"Boss! There's something going on! About 150 meters to the east, there's a civilian pickup truck, a Toyota Hilux, an old model, moving very slowly!"

Sanders' brow furrowed instantly, and he grabbed his personal radio to respond: "Outpost One, report vehicle status! Are there any crew members on standby? What is the vehicle's load?"

"The rear compartment of the vehicle is covered with dark tarpaulin, making it impossible to confirm the load inside! There's only the driver in the cab, but... his movements are stiff, and he barely pays attention to the road! Through the night vision goggles, the windows are unusually dark, suggesting additional armor! It feels... very suspicious, boss! They don't seem like lost civilians!"

The sentry's voice was filled with barely suppressed tension.

Sanders' heart sank.

This description is too typical.

"Attention all personnel! Unplanned vehicle approaching! Asymmetric threat warning! All to your positions! Outpost One, continue observation, activate 'tripwire' protocol, marksmen in position!"

While quickly issuing instructions, Sanders dashed out of the room like a cheetah, sprinting down the rickety concrete stairs toward the rooftop observation platform.

Combat boots creaked rapidly as they stepped on the gravel and dusty steps.

He had just rushed to the corner of the second-floor staircase, and before he could even step onto the last few steps leading to the roof, a sentry's almost piercing scream, filled with despair and terror, suddenly erupted from his personal radio:
"VBIED! It's a car bomb! He's accelerating! He's charging towards us! Open fire! Free fire!"

That was the voice of the duty squad leader.

"Damn it!"

Sanders let out a low growl from deep in his throat, slammed his shoulder through the rusty iron door on the roof, and rushed out.

In the dim light of dusk, through the green-glowing vision provided by the quad-vision panoramic night vision goggles, he witnessed that chilling scene—

The pickup truck, which had been moving slowly, now roared hysterically, its exhaust pipe spewing thick black fumes, and its headlights suddenly blazed like the eyes of a beast, two ghastly white beams tearing through the deepening night.

This thing is charging straight and straight toward the relatively weak eastern wall of the checkpoint with a resolute attitude!
The speed reached its peak in just two or three seconds!
"FUCK! Suicide truck!"

As Sanders screamed, he rushed to the rooftop railing, raised his SOPMOD-M4 carbine, and fired repeatedly at the driver's side of the windshield.

blah blah-

blah blah-

Sparks flew as the bullet struck the target.

"They've added steel plates! SHIT!"

　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)