138 100-Meter Sniper

"Damn it! Bullets, give me bullets!"

"Here!"

*Click.*

Taking advantage of a moment when the enemy's fire was suppressed by his fellow agents, Will performed a lightning-fast magazine change and aimed before the next wave of attacks arrived.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

A rapid burst, and within a few breaths, the magazine was empty. He swapped it out again. This was merely an MI5 intelligence outpost; other than assault rifles and grenades, they had no heavy weaponry. Even the gear used by the agents was standard-issue equipment obtained from the British Army's special forces.

In contrast, the attacking Libyans were equipped not only with a vast supply of crude AK rifles and Russian-made RPGs, but also, unexpectedly, with heavy machine guns and various types of grenades. Their overwhelming firepower was staggering and had put the British in a desperate spot.

"Hell, when are those damned mercenaries getting here!"

"Clark! Clark!"

"Damn it, has anyone seen Clark?"

"No, sir!"

Meanwhile, in the command center's restroom:

Clark, his hair disheveled, held a cigarette with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. His expression was panicked, yet a trace of composure remained in his eyes.

"Damn those Libyans!"

*Thud, thud, thud!*

*Thud, thud, thud!*

"Clark!"

"Mr. Clark!"

*Fuck!*

Crushing the cigarette into the sink and flushing it, Clark stepped out. Susan gave him a strange look; with the battle raging outside, no one but Clark would have had the time to slip into the restroom.

"What?"

"Mr. Clark, we’ve made contact with headquarters."

"God! Move, let's go!"

He rushed into the command center in two strides. The entire room was in chaos. Will’s plan had been sound—clearly, the only hope for survival was to break out—but the Libyans had sealed the exit. Having already lost two agents, they hadn't even managed to advance half a meter.

"This is Clark!"

London, England.

The existence of MI5 had always been public knowledge. World opinion had long held a deep curiosity about this mysterious intelligence agency, and fictional works often indulged in imaginings of it—the most classic being the 007 series and its most appealing agent, James Bond.

In reality, however, this intelligence agency, operating outside the direct control of the British government, did not possess the unparalleled power seen in films; instead, it was constrained at every turn.

"Fuck! Why was your location exposed? Dammit!"

"No! No! No! Clark, you must understand, if we acknowledge this operation, we will become the enemy of the entire Western world. Do you understand?"

*Damn it!*

He cut the connection quickly.

Headquarters' position was clear: they would try to rescue them, but only on the condition that MI5 not be dragged into the mud. But they all knew this was of no help to the current situation.

*Damned politicians!*

"Mary! Mary! Have those damn mercenaries arrived?"

"No, sir, they aren't on the line."

*Fuck!!*

"RPG!"

*BOOM!*

Just as Clark hung up the phone, a muffled explosion seemed to shake the entire base. A burst of intense gunfire rang out clearly in his ears before he could even react.

*Pfft, pfft, pfft!*

A string of bullets tore through the door.

*Dammit!*

"Fuck! Quick! Quick! Retreat!"

After nearly half an hour of fighting, the Libyans finally breached the first line of defense and broke into the corridor outside the command center. There were fewer than twenty agents left; four had already been killed in action.

A group surged through the front door, and the Libyans' fierce firepower followed.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

"Ah—"

Aside from the twenty agents, most of the staff at this intelligence station were ordinary people who had never experienced war. The moment the Libyans burst in, many screamed and scrambled to escape.

*Pfft, pfft!*

Bullets tore through the chest of a female staffer, leaving a distinct line of blood in the air. Her eyes widened in disbelief at being hit before she collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

"Fuck! Take cover! Get down!"

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

A burst of bullets hit the metal plate in front of him, sending off a shower of sparks. Clark raised his pistol and fired several times, killing a Libyan militant who had charged in. Blood splattered everywhere.

The command center was in total pandemonium.

On a rooftop less than five meters from the British intelligence station, Li Changjiang frowned. The gunfire he heard had shifted position; it seemed the Libyans had broken through the British defense.

"Quick! The Libyans are inside. We don't have much time!"

"Old Mao, take Tank and Doc down the stairs. Angel, lead the others in a frontal assault. Be fast, don't get bogged down—the Libyans are sure to have reinforcements."

"Boss, cover us."

Li Changjiang nodded and dashed across the rooftop toward the opposite building. There was a skybridge between the two. By the time he landed and found a sniper position, Old Mao and the others had already descended from above.

Inside the British intelligence station, everything was in total disarray. The British were squeezed into the furthest corner of the office. The Libyans were firing incessantly, and their rocket launchers were firing recklessly. If not for the sturdy concrete pillars blocking the attacks, they wouldn't have been able to hold out at all.

"Bastards! Where the hell are those damn mercenaries!"

Clark’s answer was a sudden, intense burst of gunfire erupting from behind the Libyans.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

The Libyans were caught off guard. Twenty militants who had charged inside were gunned down in an instant. Seeing a group of heavily armed mercenaries storming in from the rear and wiping out the Libyans, more than a few of the British began to weep.

"Too terrifying!"

"God!"

"My heaven!"

"My God!"

"You damn guys, you're late! Hell!"

"Mr. Gentleman, if you could pay as promptly as you complain, we would have been here much faster." Old Mao never missed a chance to take a dig at the British.

"Go! Go! Go! Ladies and gentlemen, we're out of time. Follow me."

Killer and the others ignored Clark entirely, their eyes fixed on Will and the wounded agents—or more accurately, on their weapons.

Colt-manufactured 5.56x45mm M4A1 assault rifles, equipped with M68 CCO red-dot sights and suppressors.

And the L115A3 sniper rifles that Li Changjiang and Old Mao had seen on other agents earlier.

These damned Brits were equipped with such exquisite gear; even Old Mao couldn't help but swallow hard at the sight of the weapons these agents were using.

For a group of mercenaries who spent most of their time using AK-series weapons, this was simply too tempting!

"Old Mao, I'm in position!"

"OK! Follow me, let's break out!"

Receiving Li Changjiang's signal, Old Mao let out a muffled shout and charged toward the exit.

Outside the entrance, the Libyans' rhythm was disrupted by Old Mao and Tank, and they immediately began organizing a new wave of attacks.

But Li Changjiang had already locked onto the Libyan officer in command.

Holding his breath, the virtual screen in his eyes had the automatic targeting system lock onto the target, rapidly calculating firing parameters. A red line of sight appeared in his vision.

Less than a hundred meters away, the Libyan officer raised his AK rifle and fired a burst into the air.

*Bang!*

A hundred meters away.

Li Changjiang’s index finger pulled the trigger without hesitation. The conical metal bullet, carrying terrifying kinetic energy, pierced the air and punched through the officer’s forehead.

Aside from a spray of blood, there was only silence.