American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 144 A good strategy works even if you use it twice.
The Los Angeles 405 Freeway was paralyzed during the morning rush hour, with traffic coming to a standstill.

The police convoy escorting former drug lord Don Louis struggled through congested traffic. The six-car convoy, sirens flashing and lights on, urged oncoming vehicles to make way.

Leading the way were two all-black Chevrolet Suburban SUVs, with concealed police lights on their roofs flashing blue and red. Following closely behind were two Ford Taurus police cars in standard Los Angeles Police Department livery, their black and white paint jobs standing out prominently in the traffic.

Don Louis was held in the back of one of the vehicles, isolated from the outside world by bulletproof glass and armored steel plates.

The two Chevrolet Express vans at the rear maintained a distance, and the vans were filled with SWAT team members ready to respond to any emergencies.

Their riot gear clanged softly in the dimly lit carriage as everyone silently counted down the final stretch before reaching the courtroom.

The entire convoy remained synchronized, with instructions from the dispatch center constantly coming through the police radio.

The glass curtain walls of the tall buildings on both sides of the highway refract sunlight onto the highway.

Beta stood by a bridge that spanned the highway, watching the convoy come into view.

Katalia sat behind Beta in the Jeep Wrangler parked by the roadside. Her injuries hadn't healed yet, and Beta needed to take her with him first. The matter of crashing into the convoy and the firefight was left to Faldy, McCree, and the mute who joined them halfway through.

Beta turned to look at the far end of the bridge and raised his right hand to make a gesture.

Two hundred meters away, a heavy truck turned on its hazard lights, its diesel engine emitting a deep roar. Its tires rolled over the puddles, screeching as it accelerated.

The sirens were now clearly audible, and the Suburban SUV at the head of the convoy was about to reach the bridge. When the truck was fifty meters from the guardrail, Beta spread his five fingers and pressed down.

Thick black smoke suddenly billowed from the exhaust pipe of the heavy truck as its engine unleashed its power. The thirty-ton truck accelerated abruptly, its front end aimed directly at the bridge railing, and crashed into it.

Foldy kicked open the car door before the truck hit the guardrail, and using the momentum, he flipped out of the cab. His back landed heavily on the asphalt bridge, and he rolled twice before barely regaining his balance.

This was originally McCree's task. But time waits for no man, and McCree's reaction speed was no longer what it used to be, so in the end, this dangerous job fell to Fowdy.

The out-of-control heavy truck smashed through the concrete guardrail and plunged down the highway below, sending steel scraps flying everywhere.

The first two Suburban SUVs in the police convoy were just entering the shadows under the bridge when a heavy truck, falling from the sky with devastating force, slammed into the roof of the first Suburban.

The deafening roar of the clashing steel was deafening.

The 30-ton truck, under the force of gravity, crushed the full-size SUV into a twisted pancake. The truck bed, propelled by immense inertia, continued its forward momentum, slamming the second Suburban against the bridge pier like a giant hammer.

In the blink of an eye, the two security vehicles were turned into a pile of black smoke and scrap metal.

Officers in the two Ford Taurus police cars behind them slammed on their brakes, leaving charred marks on the asphalt.

But the distance was too close. The first police car crashed into the deformed wreckage of the Suburban ahead with a "bang," and the second car immediately followed, rear-ending it, with its bumper inserting directly into the trunk of the car in front.

Amidst the ear-piercing sound of metal being crushed, the airbags deployed one after another inside the cockpit.

Before the officers, still dazed and confused from the impact, could even hear the screeching of brakes from the Chevrolet Express van behind them, an armored vehicle full of SWAT team members sliding toward them.

The heavy van couldn't brake fully in such a short distance, and with a screeching metallic scraping sound, it crashed hard into the trunk of the second Taurus.

The impact spread like dominoes, driving the first police car deeper into the twisted wreckage of the Suburban, its roof almost flattened.

The van at the back of the convoy came to a stop at the last second, its bumper barely managing to press against the rear door of the vehicle in front, making a squeaking sound.

The entire escort convoy was now completely paralyzed. The six police cars were squeezed together like compressed springs, with no gaps between them.

The Taurus police car, stuck in the middle, emitted a metallic groan as its fuel tank began to leak under pressure, gasoline slowly flowing through cracks in the asphalt road.

As the SWAT team members opened the truck doors, preparing to deploy into tactical formation, a series of deafening crashes suddenly echoed from the direction of the ramp. A modified semi-trailer truck roared down the ramp, its massive wedge-shaped snowplow welded to the front gleaming in the sunlight.

"Bang bang bang-"

The semi-trailer truck, like a bulldozer, shoveled away one car after another that was blocking the ramp. The overturned vehicles spun and crashed into the guardrails, shards of windshield flying through the air.

The SWAT team members stared in horror.

"boom!"

The wedge-shaped shovel plunged hard into the rear of the van with its door open.

The immense impact ripped the van off the ground. SWAT team members inside were thrown into the air, their bulletproof helmets and tactical vests flying through the air.

The van completed a full front flip in mid-air, its roof sparking as it fell against a lamppost before crashing upside down onto the opposite lane with a loud bang.

Gasoline began to gush out from beneath the twisted chassis, spreading across the asphalt road along with scattered ammunition.

The semi-trailer truck continued its unstoppable charge, its massive steel shovel slamming into the penultimate van.

With a metallic twisting sound, the van was pushed and slid toward the guardrail like a toy.

"crunch-"

The van's bulletproof steel plates began to twist and deform under immense pressure, and the windows shattered into a spiderweb pattern.

The vehicle body was squeezed thinner and thinner until, with a deafening cracking sound, the entire vehicle was lifted up by the bulldozer head and rolled onto the road.

The semi-trailer's tires left two charred tracks on the road, and thick smoke billowed from under the hood. It finally came to a stop after being jammed by the crushed wreckage of the van, its massive diesel engine still roaring.

Highway 405 is now completely paralyzed.

Twisted police car wrecks, scattered weapons and equipment, spilled gasoline and engine oil, and SWAT team members lying on the road groaning.

In the distance, sirens were coming from all directions, but it was too late.

Beta secured the carabiner to the bridge railing and wrapped one arm around Katalia's waist. The wounded female assassin gritted her teeth, her right arm hanging limply at her side.

Fuldi followed closely behind, pushed off the bridge, and swung down towards the gasoline-smelling accident scene below.

The two men landed and simultaneously pulled back the bolts of their AR-15s, producing a crisp metallic clang. They approached the two crushed police cars at a crossfire angle, their guns locked on any doors that might suddenly open.

Twenty meters away, McCree, wearing a pale clown mask, leaped from the cab of the semi-trailer. The butt of his AKM rested against his shoulder, his gloved fingers never leaving the trigger guard. He warily scanned each of the still-moving SWAT team members.

Beta kicked open the deformed car door.

The glass had shattered, and shards mixed with blood and foam fell in a flurry. In the back seat, the Mexican man, his face covered in blood, was trying to kick the seat with his broken leg.

Beta pressed his rifle against the man's temple, grabbed the back of his blood-stained Armani suit with his left hand, and dragged the 200-pound drug lord out of the car like a dead dog.

"boom!"

Don Louis was slammed onto the glass-sharded pavement, his broken leg twisted at an eerie angle.

He howled, blood and foam spurting from his gold-toothed mouth. Beta pressed his foot on his throat, the AR-15's sights firmly aimed at his forehead.

(End of this chapter)