John McTavish, holding an M16 just like those used by the American Special Forces and wearing Danner boots, stepped through the rubble and assaulted a civilian house.
There are always survivors.
These villagers ran out of their homes.
Many of them were carrying weapons, and dammit, they were all American equipment.
It truly was teeming with drug traffickers, and "Kandahar" was even the place where Guzman was born, so of course, they used the best of everything.
He was quite good to the people of his village, giving out bonuses every year. If you wanted a job, he would find you a spot in the Sinaloa Drug Cartel, even giving you a leadership position to hold.
A typical case of one man's success lifting up all his fellows.
Using Guzman's name, they often committed atrocities, even once when a policeman came to the village for routine patrol, they beat him to death and dragged his body behind a private car.
They were Guzman's most loyal... lackeys.
Today, I'll kill them for you to see!
Victor's soldiers, they sure love to kill dogs!
Archer, peering through a thermal scope, spotted a villager running away in panic and squinted his eyes.
The person stumbled and fell outright.
Blood seeped incessantly from the neck, but the head? Where was the head?
It's no wonder the M82A1 sniper rifle was nicknamed the "Decapitator."
That shot, seen in the dead of night, would scare anyone.
"Soap, around the corner of the street in front of you, there are about 6 people armed with weapons," Archer's spotter, half-crouching and holding a thermal imaging binoculars, gave coordinates to his teammates.
John McTavish pressed his headset and responded, then gestured to his team to disperse and slowly converge.
Hearing the heavily accented voices getting closer, these villagers were clearly in some internal dispute.
John McTavish took a deep breath, and as soon as he saw a leg poking out, his eyes flashed, and he rushed out. Curly, at the front, was startled and instinctively raised his gun when he saw John's gear.
Soap grabbed him by the collar and fired several shots into his heart.
Blood sprayed out from his back.
A bearded man walking behind yelled in panic. He was clearly a small-time official in the "Kandahar" village with some authority. On hearing his command, they opened fire!
John McTavish had no chance to avoid it, using a corpse as a shield, and curled up as small as possible while the bullets clattered on the body. Luckily, that dead fella was well-fed with developed back muscles that held up; otherwise, if it were some skinny guy, they would all be dead together.
These drug traffickers didn't know what suppressing fire was, a few of them emptied their magazines and all changed bullets at the same time. Didn't that just create an opening?
"Joseph!" Soap shouted.
The machine gunner next to him appeared with his machine gun and pulled the trigger!
Rat-tat... Rat-tat-tat!!
Joseph Allen's muscles were well-developed, keeping the bullets on course. A burst later, all standing villagers were killed.
Soap patted his shoulder, "Advance!"
Joseph, retreating to the rear, even if he had 5 bullets left, replaced the magazine in case of more combat to come.
The entire village erupted in sporadic gunfire.
The resistance was blasted to hell during the airstrikes.
"Ghost" Simon Riley led his men into a building.
They encountered no significant resistance, just two bodyguards immediately sent to heaven by his shotgun.
They found Guzman's mother in the bedroom's bathroom.
She shouted in terror, "Don't kill me! Don't kill me, my son has money, how much do you need? I'll give you everything."
"You are under arrest, ma'am. Our Director invites you back for tea."
The old woman's eyes filled with horror!
She remembered how her grandson died, sliced up in a fridge. At his funeral, her own son Guzman swore to make Victor pay with his life.
"I won't go, I won't go..." the old woman screamed loudly.
"Ghost" Simon Riley picked up an M16 and struck her face with the stock, her face now bloodied, as his teammate forcefully held her head, his gaze fiercely fixed on her, "You refuse our Director's tea? You're not giving him face!"
"Wuh... I... won't go."
"Drag her away. Drag her away."
Can't we even subdue a 70-year-old woman?
"Vulture 1, this is Ghost. We have successfully completed the mission. Helicopter, land!"
"Vulture hears you, Ghost. Be advised, a convoy is approaching Kandahar, likely enemy reinforcements."
"Fuck!" Simon Riley furrowed his brows and looked at his watch. Only a dozen or so minutes had passed, "How can they be so fast."
"I've ordered Falcon and Vulture to intercept from the air. The remaining helicopters will meet you one kilometer south. Move there immediately, fast!" the helicopter squadron Commander said over the headset.
"We've got an old lady here, can the helicopter land above us?"
"Sorry, there's no place to land."
"All operatives, please note, retreat one kilometer south. Mark the landing site with a green smoke grenade. Good luck, and may Victor protect you, Ah Men!"
After disconnecting the radio, Chemo, a Canadian team member nicknamed Chemo, said in a subdued voice, "One kilometer south? This old lady doesn't look like she can make it."
"Do we have any other choice?"
Simon Riley told another teammate, "Chemo, Rocket, the two of you carry her and start retreating. Break her legs and carry her on your back if you must!"