Pieces scattered east, west, south, and north—nobody could piece them back together.
Militants’ brains nearly crashed as the blasting sounds from outside reached them; they glanced again at the computer flashing a red skull icon and the other software—all rendered inoperative!
What’s going on? Were they hacked?
They hurried to sound the alarm, and the piercing wail of the siren cried out mournfully from the camp.
Hearing the alarm, the militants swiftly organized and ran out of the rooms. Just as they got outside and looked up, they saw dozens of drones covering the sky. For a moment, they too panicked, clueless about how they had provoked these mysterious enemies.
The militants’ leader at the command center immediately gave the order, "Fire!! Shoot those drones down!! Find the puppet master behind this!!"
The militants opened fire at the drones overhead, shooting ferociously as if bullets cost them nothing.
They even brought out a heavy machine gun and unleashed a barrage of bullets into the densely packed area in the sky!
However, their bullets couldn’t accurately hit the drones. They never expected to face such ghostly things. Everyone quickly became flustered.
Blitz activated the drones’ seeking-suicide mode. The drones lit up with red lights, motors revving to the max, embarking on a kamikaze mission, resigned to one-way destruction.
In an instant, dozens of drones descended from the sky, whizzing overhead, crashing into anyone in sight, relentlessly bombarding the ground. Like guided missiles, they targeted with precision, exploding on impact and sending people flying.
The militants initially responded decisively, but quickly began to doubt their lives, becoming disoriented and screaming in panic.
Two men running haphazardly collided, and a drone fell from the sky onto them, exploding on the spot, obliterating them in an instant!
Workers and Heaven’s Gate devotees in the camp, hearing the jarring noise outside, were also startled, "What’s happening? Why are we under attack? Could it be the FBI? That’s impossible!"
"Doctor, Priest!! This attack is a premeditated assault! We can’t hold against their firepower; the attacker’s identity is still unknown! It’s urgent!" The militants’ leader hurried over and reported the crisis.
"What shall we do?" The Priest from Heaven’s Gate was shocked, clamoring up from the naked girl beneath him, while the other devotees also became agitated.
"We can only pray that God will protect us," the militants’ leader said seriously, his eyes alight with passion.
"WTF..." The Priest felt like cursing, wondering if there even was a God.
As the explosions outside continued, looking through the lab’s window, he saw an armed militant run out only to have a dark toy fall from the sky, hit him, and with a thunderous blast, a fireball erupted, sending the man flying.
The Priest felt a chill over his scalp.
He quickly took out a satellite phone, looked up a number marked ’friend’ in the contacts, and dialed it, saying respectfully, "Hello?"
"Hello, Priest, is there new merchandise ready? Wait, why do I hear explosions on your end?" The person on the other end initially spoke politely, but then became suspicious and tensed up.
"My mountain camp is under attack!!" The Priest blurted out in panic, "I don’t yet know who’s behind it; our operation has been targeted. It could very well be the FBI!"
"..." There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
"I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir. You’re in danger; perhaps you should dial 911!!"
The voice on the line turned cold, suddenly severing ties.
With that, the caller hung up.
The Priest was dumbfounded. When he tried calling back, he found himself blocked.
The Priest was livid, cursing, "F***ing pickles! These filthy, foul swamp creatures! Cowardly and spineless! Always boasting about their connections and strength, but now they want to disassociate themselves from us the moment trouble hits!"
"Priest, we still have a ’Little Bird’ helicopter in the hangar. Once their drones’ suicidal bombing is over, we could possibly escape using the Little Bird!" The militants’ leader interjected with a suggestion.
Half a century had passed, and the Little Bird had undergone transformative advancements in its power system and rotor assembly, significantly improving overall performance, laying a solid foundation for more effective special ops missions.
The most distinct feature of the Little Bird was its shape, resembling a water droplet, also known as the "Flying Egg," capable of seating up to six soldiers at once. It could be armed with a 7.62 machine gun, a 30mm autocannon, a 70mm rocket pod, along with ’TOW’ anti-tank missiles and ’Hellfire’ anti-tank missiles.
But in this critical moment, these deadly gadgets were practically useless.
They had at most installed the 7.62 machine gun and the 30mm autocannon. Still, they had no one to pilot it, and they had no idea where the enemy was. Cell phone signals and radar were jammed.
Their mountain camp, once a proud and easily-defended fortress, now was like a dumpling wrapped and roasted on a fire, isolated and helpless!