Chapter 41: It Feels Better to Curse

The B7-rated Lincoln features 70-millimeter-thick glass, constructed with a five-layer process, each layer separated by specialized polymers and adhesives. Blocking 7.62mm rifle rounds is no issue for it. These were known specifications, and Song Heping understood them perfectly.

However, sitting behind that glass and watching bullets slam into it, forming spiderweb-like craters, triggered a strange, involuntary anxiety: *Will it break? Will it pierce through?* Perhaps because the United States is so accustomed to constant gunfire, their bulletproofing technology is actually quite reliable.

The bulletproof glass held.

Song Heping slammed on the accelerator, surging forward. When under attack, unless you are already dead, the best course of action is always to floor it and escape the danger zone.

However, he was not the only one with such thoughts. Mr. J’s men were no fools; they had already blocked the road with two dilapidated wrecks.

*Bang!*

Chef’s lead vehicle smashed into the wreckage, instantly flipping one of the cars onto its roof and sending it tumbling to the roadside. The armored vehicle weighed 5.44 tons and was reinforced with high-strength steel plates inside and out; calling it thick-skinned would be an understatement.

The strategy was simple: just ram through.

Song Heping’s palms were slick with sweat, and his dopamine levels were spiking. It was exhilarating—there is nothing quite like a high-speed, life-or-death pursuit to get the adrenaline pumping. It felt as if he were driving through a curtain of rain; he could hear the pitter-patter of impacts against the car, but they weren't raindrops—they were lethal bullets. He could see the spiderweb patterns spreading across the glass and the sparks flying as rounds struck the hood and the body of the car.

The AN/PVS-15 night-vision goggles he had scavenged from a corpse proved their worth, allowing Song Heping to see the surroundings with crystal clarity.

"There are so many of them!"

Sometimes, seeing clearly isn't necessarily a good thing. There were at least twenty gunmen surrounding them. Everyone was armed with automatic weapons, and some even had machine guns, pouring fire toward them as if ammunition were free.

Angel had started whimpering again, a truly pathetic sound. Song Heping had no time to slap her now. If they escaped today, it would be a miracle of ancestral proportions. Fortunately, the enemy wasn't using IEDs; otherwise, even an armored car wouldn't stand a chance. *Could it be that they don't want us dead? Are they trying to take us alive?*

Song Heping, however, had no intention of being captured. If it came to it, he would rather save the last bullet for himself. Better to end it cleanly than to be taken prisoner and tortured.

Finally, following Chef’s car, Song Heping broke through the ambush.

The gunfire hitting the car seemed to slacken, losing its previous intensity. Just as Song Heping let out a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his forehead, he heard Gray Wolf shouting from the back seat: "Sang, watch out!"

Song Heping jolted, eyes snapping to the road ahead. Sure enough, Chef’s car had inexplicably come to a halt. He slammed on the brakes and shouted into the radio: "Why are you stopping?!"

Chef quickly replied: "My car has a problem! The front wheel is jammed!"

Song Heping noticed that Chef’s Lincoln SUV indeed had a piece of wreckage wedged into the left front wheel, likely caught when they rammed the barrier earlier.

"Cover me, I'll fix it!"

The door of the lead Lincoln SUV opened, and White Bear hopped out, hunched over.

*Bang, bang, bang!*

Before he could even reach the front wheel, a hail of bullets struck the vehicle, sending sparks flying. Having just exited the ambush zone, the gunmen had regrouped upon seeing the convoy stop and were now firing from a distance.

"Suka!" White Bear screamed.

A ricochet had struck him directly in the backside, nearly forcing him to his knees. Fortunately, the man was tough; though it hurt like hell, it wasn't fatal.

Seeing this, Song Heping yanked the steering wheel and floored it, skidding his own armored Lincoln sideways across the road to provide cover for White Bear. He threw his own door open and jumped out.

"White Bear, move it!"

He then pulled open the back door and shouted at Gray Wolf inside: "Gray Wolf, get the VIP out and find cover!"

"Got it!"

Gray Wolf didn't hesitate; he grabbed Angel by the legs and dragged her out as if she were a carcass in a slaughterhouse. Naturally, Angel responded with a fresh round of screaming and kicking.

Gray Wolf cursed: "If you keep struggling, I'll knock you out with a butt-stroke!"

Angel went quiet.

White Bear worked to pry the wreckage from the wheel, while Song Heping and Gray Wolf took up positions at the front and rear of the vehicle, returning fire at the encroaching enemies.

Gray Wolf realized that Song Heping’s marksmanship was genuinely precise. He was dropping one man with nearly every burst. In the blink of an eye, he had already taken down three. As a former Russian paratrooper, Gray Wolf couldn't be outdone; he raised the M4A1 assault rifle he’d scavenged and began picking off the surrounding enemies as well.

The two were secretly competing, like athletes in a match, trading shots while muttering counts of their kills. In less than a minute, they both had tallies: Song Heping had taken out five, and Gray Wolf had four. Song Heping was actually in the lead!

Just as the adrenaline was peaking, Gray Wolf shrieked: "Watch out for their heavy machine gun!!"

About a hundred meters away, two pickup trucks were approaching, men standing in the beds. Each had a heavy machine gun mounted; though the model was hard to identify, the silhouette clearly indicated a 12.7mm caliber weapon.

"Damn it!"

Cold sweat cascaded down Song Heping’s face like a waterfall.

*Thump-thump-thump!*

The heavy machine gun began to spew its lethal tongue of fire. Caliber is justice! The firepower of the heavy machine gun was truly hair-raising, the large-caliber rounds thudding relentlessly into the vehicle. Song Heping crouched back behind the wheel, debris from the car falling onto his head as it disintegrated under the barrage.

"White Bear, are you done yet?!"

"Almost, almost! Just hold on a little longer!"

"Hold on my ass! If we don't move, we're all dead!"

While a B7-rated armored car could resist 12.7mm rounds, that didn't mean it could withstand sustained, concentrated fire. The glass on the side facing the enemy turned opaque instantly, damage far exceeding what the rifle rounds had inflicted. Soon, the window pane near the rear of the car couldn't take the relentless deluge; with a crisp *snap*, the entire sheet shattered and fell away.

This sent a chill of terror through Song Heping, who was hunkered down at the rear. At this rate, he would soon be riddled through by the 12.7mm rounds.

"White Bear, did you forget to eat breakfast?! You're that weak? You can lift 300 kilograms, dammit!"

Song Heping realized that in moments of extreme peril, people tend to enter a "profanity mode." The fouler the language, the more the internal pressure seemed to dissipate. For him, at least, it was true.

Gray Wolf was cursing, too. Chef and Queen had also exited their vehicle to provide support, but it was useless. A heavy machine gun is a heavy machine gun, and with two of them firing at once, the firepower... it was excruciating. They couldn't even lift their heads.

The glass on the side of Song Heping’s Lincoln was soon completely destroyed, and the body of the car was covered in appalling, deep bullet holes. The outer layer of the body had been pierced; it was just a matter of how long the special inner steel plating could hold. Once the inner layer was breached, it would be time to prepare for their funerals.

"Mom, Dad, please look after me!"

Song Heping wasn't a religious man, but he began praying to the spirits of his parents to protect him and ensure he didn't die here tonight.