You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Leon ignored the still-smoking gun barrel and glanced down at his left side.

The side panels of the bulletproof vest did not cover this area; the uniform had been torn open with a large gash, and blood was gushing out from the wound, quickly staining half of the body red.

It didn't damage any internal organs, but the ricocheting fragments cut very deep, tearing apart muscle tissue.

While this type of injury is not fatal, it is undoubtedly a huge debuff in the heat of battle.

Whenever he runs or exerts force, the wound will tear violently, which may even lead to hemorrhagic shock.

"I was still careless..."

Lyon took a deep breath and forcefully used his willpower to suppress the pain.

He quickly pulled a piece of hemostatic dressing from his tactical vest, roughly stuffed it into the wound, and then pressed it down firmly with his other hand.

"Well……"

The excruciating pain caused his vision to go black for a moment, but fortunately the bleeding stopped somewhat.

At least that sniper is gone.

Then, Leon took out the gauze, leaned against the muddy slope, gritted his teeth, and tightened it around his waist.

Waves of excruciating pain washed over him, and cold sweat mixed with rainwater streamed into his eyes, but he didn't utter a sound.

If his men found out that their new leader had been crippled so soon after he appeared, this ragtag group, which was just a makeshift band of men, would most likely scatter immediately, or simply leave him there to die.

He must be a god. At least tonight.

Leon adjusted his breathing rhythm until his voice sounded steady and strong before pressing the intercom:

"Harrison, respond if you hear me."

"I'm here! Boss, how's it going over there? We'll be there soon!"

"I've taken care of the sniper."

"The threat from the shadows is gone. Now, I repeat, take your men and come immediately to the railway crossing to support Carlos and his men."

"Remember, we are ACU, and we want this shipment to remain."

At this point, Leon paused, his words taking on a somewhat inflammatory tone:

"Tell those guys that if we get this done tonight, we'll be heroes of the entire West District Police Station, and no one will dare to mess with us here."

"Also, any cash, unclaimed equipment, or other valuables that fall out of the drug dealers' car..."

"As long as you hand over all the flour that's supposed to be submitted, and don't include the rest in the report, then it's up to us to handle."

"Hide it well, I can't see it, and neither will Chief Sterling."

"Do you understand?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the radio.

Clearly, these words had a much greater impact than an order.

Honor is important, but real money is what makes these guys risk their lives against drug dealers. In a way, they are also mercenaries, only they are employed by the police.

For Lyon, as long as he could stop the drug dealers, this matter was irrelevant.

"...Roger that, boss."

Harrison was visibly shocked, and also couldn't hide his excitement:

"You... you took care of that? That sniper? Less than a minute?"

"I have my own methods, otherwise why should I be your leader?"

Leon chuckled softly, though the laugh aggravated his wound, causing his lips to twitch in pain.

"Now, enough talk, let's get moving!"

"I'm at a high vantage point. And now I have a sniper rifle, which can provide you with long-range cover."

"Any bastard who dares to show their face, I'll name them."

"Understood! I'll be there right away!"

Harrison asked no further questions.

Since the leader was able to kill the enemy sniper unscathed in such a short time and also occupy the high ground to provide cover, the chances of winning this battle have increased significantly.

"The injured brother has stopped bleeding and is out of danger. One person is staying to take care of him."

Harrison yelled into the channel, "Everyone else! Follow me! To the crossroads! For dollars... cough, for justice!"

Hearing the chaotic footsteps coming through his headphones, Leon finally breathed a sigh of relief, leaned his weight on the slippery mud, and picked up the heavy M24 again.

Through the scope, he could see several black SUVs and a truck in the distance, roaring toward the blocked intersection.

The real battle is about to begin.

……

Let's switch our focus back to the convoy.

Inside the lead Cadillac SUV, the mercenary captain codenamed "Viper" was sitting in the passenger seat.

The windshield wipers were swishing wildly, but they still couldn't clear away the seemingly endless layer of rainwater.

"Eagle, report the situation."

Viper pressed his earpiece, his voice cold and hard, "The convoy has started moving. You can prepare to evacuate. Follow Plan B: take the motorcycles along the back roads and meet up on the main road."

According to the pre-arranged tactics, snipers are independent operational units.

After suppressing the police outposts, he should immediately abandon the heavy equipment, ride a motocross motorcycle hidden in a back alley, and quickly weave through narrow alleys and staircases where vehicles cannot pass, finally meeting up with the convoy at the highway intersection.

This is the safest hit-and-run tactic.

However, all I heard in the headset was a lifeless static.

"Shh—shh—"

"Eagle? Please respond."

The viper's brows furrowed sharply, and his heart skipped a beat.

silence.

Dead silence.

In this line of work, silence usually means only one thing: that person is no longer able to speak.

"Damn it!"

Viper slammed his fist on the glove box, his face instantly turning extremely ugly.

That sniper was a skilled recruit he had poached from his former employer. He had spent three days and three nights lying in wait in the mountains of Afghanistan. How could he possibly capsize in a ditch in a small industrial area?

More importantly, what does this mean?

In the complex urban warfare environment, especially now that we lack mortars, RPGs or other effective means of counterattack, snipers on high ground are God.

As long as the snipers are still there, ground troops can advance with impunity, because any enemy who dares to show their face will have to ask the bullets overhead for permission first.

But now, their own God is dead.

The other side also has snipers.

Moreover, he is a top-notch expert who can complete counter-reconnaissance and accurately hunt down his own snipers in rainy nights, low visibility, and in a very short time.

The balance of power shifted instantly.

Now, they have become live targets, running naked in the open.

Once the convoy stops or a stalemate ensues, the sniper hidden in the shadows can pick them off one by one, like popping balloons at an amusement park, sending them all to hell.

This is something that ordinary plainclothes police officers or regular SWAT officers who are all muscle and no brains could do.

"This isn't an ordinary cop..."

The viper's eyes sharpened, and he instantly made a judgment: "Something tough has entered!"