American Evil God, starting with the American rebel leader raising poisonous insects.

Chapter 50: Even five sheep wouldn't be this fast!

"...These are the weapons we seized, but a few still managed to escape."

David handed over the list, the edges of which were stained with dark dirt.

He stood at the warehouse entrance, with piles of gun cases and ammunition boxes behind him, their metal surfaces gleaming coldly under the emergency lights.

Carl took the list and glanced at the numbers.

Rifles: 527.

Handguns: 493.

Light machine guns: eleven.

Ammunition: Classified by caliber, totaling approximately 100,000 rounds.

Bulletproof plates: Level 4, 64 plates; Level 3, 303 plates.

"The inventory was checked three times during the inventory process."

David said,

"There weren't many people who ran away, maybe around twenty. They were all quick-witted; they turned around and sped off without even turning off their cars."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

"pity."

Carl folded the list in half and stuffed it into his breast pocket.

He held the cross pendant in his right hand, the metal surface warmed by his body heat.

"fine,"

He says,

"Leave some out, so that they may go back and tell others what the Lord's warriors are like."

David looked up.

"They have to launch a full-scale attack."

Carl continued,

"If the first wave of probing contacts turns out like this, those responsible for developing the plan will have no room for maneuver. The report will go directly to the decision-making level, and they will demand a swift resolution."

He turned and walked out of the warehouse.

"The legislators can only accept one outcome: a moderate win, a big win, or a super big win."

Outside the warehouse is the main square of Hegang Town.

The once empty concrete ground now has a huge cross-shaped pile.

It wasn't built with wood; it was built with Gundam materials.

A simple flagpole made of steel pipe is inserted in the center of the cross, and a hand-sewn flag hangs at the top:

White background with a blood-red inverted cross in the center.

Carl walked up to the pile of Gundams.

Behind him followed David, Stephen, and his former boss James Jones, who had just been blessed.

Behind them were the others, about 1,200 people, standing at the edge of the square, holding the rifles they had just captured.

Everyone wore a suppressed excitement.

His breathing was heavy, his eyes were shining, and his fingers were unconsciously stroking the gun.

"Alright everyone!"

Karl spoke.

The voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the square heard it.

He opened his arms.

"Under the Lord's watchful eye—we have achieved our first victory!"

A brief silence.

Then--

"Oh ho ho ho!!!"

The roars erupted simultaneously from more than a thousand throats.

It wasn't a neat chant; it was pure, cathartic howling.

The sound struck the surrounding warehouse walls, bounced back, and created a muddy echo.

On the other side of the square, nearly a hundred disarmed National Guard prisoners knelt on the ground with their hands tied behind their backs.

They were wearing the same combat uniforms, but at this moment their shoulders were slumped and their heads were bowed.

When the roar rang out, several people began to tremble uncontrollably.

At least they didn't switch to Gundam.

Carl lowered his arm.

The roar gradually subsided.

"Inventory the spoils, repair the fortifications, and check on the wounded."

He says,

"Two hours later, all squad leaders will come to the command post for a meeting."

He paused.

"Take our things and go home."

In downtown Detroit, the National Guard's temporary command center is located on the second floor of the former City Hall.

Gordon Jose slammed the tablet on the table.

A crack appeared in the plastic casing, and the screen flickered but didn't turn off.

The image is still there: a thermal image taken by a satellite, timestamped four hours ago.

On the outskirts of Hegang Town, orange dots representing the human body remain still, scattered along several dirt roads.

That was the advance team that should have been resting temporarily.

It was like it suddenly went out.

"What are you talking about?"

Gordon's voice was forced out through clenched teeth.

"Say it again. What the hell are you talking about?"

Prussian George, a Latino man standing in front of his desk, swallowed hard.

He hadn't changed out of his combat uniform yet, and there was a dark stain on his left shoulder; it was unclear whether it was blood or mud.

"An advance team...500 men,"

Prussia said,

"We were attacked while resting in the designated assembly area. The contact lasted less than fifteen minutes. The enemy force was estimated to be around one thousand."

"Total annihilation?"

"Yes."

"Where are the weapons?"

"It was taken away."

Gordon stared at him.

Five seconds.

Then he grabbed the metal ashtray from the corner of the table and swung it against the wall.

Clang!

The ashtray bounced back and rolled onto the carpet.

A dent was left on the wallpaper.

"Five hundred people!"

Gordon said,

"Those are five hundred fully armed men! Even if you left five hundred sheep there for people to catch, it would take them fifteen minutes. Are you speaking English to me? Answer me."

Prussia did not answer.

He looked down at the tips of his boots. The boots were covered in mud and a few bits of grass.

However, he pursed his lips, after all, he was just making a hasty retreat.

That's how much money it costs.

Gordon picked up the tablet again and swiped his fingers across the screen rapidly.

Request a higher resolution image and zoom in.

When the thermal imaging is switched to visible light mode, the resolution is insufficient and it is somewhat blurry, but the outlines are still visible.

Humvees and troop carriers were parked on the dirt road.

The car door was open.

A person was lying on the ground next to the car, in a contorted position.

There were no signs of battle, no shell craters, and no burns.

It's like a group of people suddenly collapsing at the same time.

Gordon felt a chill run down his spine.

"Get out of here!"

After getting rid of the annoying old Mexican, Gordon asked the sergeant standing to the side.

When were the satellite images updated?

he asks.

"real time,"

The sergeant said,

"The delay will not exceed two minutes."

"What about the troops in other directions?"

"We were on standby ten miles away as planned. By the time we received the distress signal, it was already... over."

Gordon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to suppress his inner turmoil as much as possible.

There was a knock on the office door.

The adjutant poked his head in, his face pale.

"Sir, phone call. Encrypted line three."

Gordon's heart skipped a beat.

He waved for the others to leave.

I walked to my desk, pressed the answer button, and brought the receiver to my ear.

"Feed? Sir—"

"How could you do this job?!"

The voice coming from the receiver had a heavy curry accent and spoke extremely fast, with each word shooting out like a bullet.

Gordon gripped the receiver tightly, his knuckles turning white.

The voice cursed for about twenty seconds, then suddenly stopped.

His tone became flat and businesslike, but the curry flavor remained.

"This is the gentleman's attitude."

"Your husband is very unhappy with your mistake. If you can't provide results immediately, your daughter's medical reimbursement amount may fluctuate this week. We suggest you expedite the process."

Gordon closed his eyes.

"sorry,"

He said the fawning in his voice disgusted even himself.

"Please tell the sir that we will immediately launch a full-scale offensive. We will definitely achieve results. We will."

"I will pass on the message."

The call ended. Busy tone.

Gordon put down the receiver, stood still, and looked out the window.

The Detroit skyline appeared blurred in the afternoon haze.

There was a faint sound of sirens in the distance, like the buzzing of mosquitoes.

He turned around and pressed the internal communication button.

"Commanders of all combat units,"

He says,