As soon as Church gave the order, before the strike team could even move, the triangular drones hovering over Dave's house began to dive one after another. The first three drones swerved and shot straight toward the kitchen where Dave, McCall, and Ali were.
The three drones locked onto Dave, McCall, and Ali, and in an instant, "Boom, boom, boom," they exploded. A few seconds later, three more drones rushed into the already devastated kitchen, detonating again, "Boom, boom, boom."
The remaining seven or eight drones circled Dave's house, crashing through the windows from all directions. This time, the explosions were even more intense. After just a few more seconds, the main beams of the house started to snap with loud cracking sounds. The whole structure began to tilt as it burned fiercely, eventually collapsing completely.
Not far away, members of the strike team witnessed the destruction. Remembering Church's orders, they glanced at the drones still hovering above them, then threw down Resnick and Kovach and bolted in all directions.
Seeing what happened to Dave's house, everyone immediately understood the drones' purpose. Nobody was stupid enough to hold on to Resnick and Kovach. Even Resnick and Kovach themselves realized they were being silenced. They lay on the ground, screaming for help, but no one paid them any attention.
As expected, no sooner had the strike team members run about 20 meters than two drones broke away and dove straight for Resnick and Kovach. "Boom, boom," two explosions later, Resnick and Kovach were gone.
Looking at the spot where Resnick and Kovach had disappeared, then at the ten drones still circling above, the Special Ops and strike team members were secretly relieved. If Church hadn't reacted quickly and ordered the team to abandon Resnick and Kovach, the drones' targets would have been them.
One of the drones lowered its altitude and circled over the spot where Resnick and Kovach had been, making several passes before the rest of the drones plunged into the ruins of Dave's house, setting off another series of explosions. "Boom, boom, boom" echoed from the distance.
"Fk, fk, damn it!" Church threw the binoculars in his hand to the ground, shattering them. He knew this had to be William's doing. He pulled out his phone, intending to call and confront William, but as soon as he took it out, he received a text message. When he opened it, it read only three words: "You're welcome."
"You're welcome? My ass!"
"Ding." Another text arrived. He opened it and read: "First warning. Mr. Devonshire despises anyone who disrespects his mother. He asked me to let you know that perhaps you could reach out to him after your retirement—he has a job that would suit you, Mr. Church, or should I call you Officer John McClane, Frank Moses, or Colonel Colton? Lastly, as a warning, in ten seconds, your phone battery will start burning. If you attempt to remove it, the phone will instantly ignite. Thank you for your cooperation. Have a pleasant evening. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6…"
When the countdown reached 3, Church, after a moment of fierce internal struggle, hurled the phone away. Having dealt with William many times, Church wasn't willing to risk his hands. Sure enough, as the phone hit the concrete ground, it started to spark. "Fk, that bastard. If he can do this, he can kill anyone he wants in the future."
This thought sent a chill down Church's spine. However, after consulting several experts later on, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. According to the experts, the phone only self-ignited because Church had thrown it. While hacking a phone can cause a short circuit, at most it would overheat the battery. It would only catch fire under specific conditions, like if the battery was damaged from impact.
"We're done for," Barry, standing beside Church, muttered as he looked at the ruins of Dave's house, as well as the unrecognizable remains of Resnick and Kovach. "Oh God, we're finished."
Church sneered and glanced at the devastated Barry. "If we're finished, so be it. It's not just your responsibility, Barry. We're both getting old, and now someone has made the choices for us that we couldn't. You'll go home to your wife and kids after retirement, and I'll go home to my daughter."
Though Church spoke with apparent resignation, inwardly, he was fuming. But as William had pointed out, resigning as head of Special Ops in New York would only mean Church lost one of his identities. He had other options, and William had promised him compensation. Church knew full well that William's offer of a job was just a cover for hush money. His mind began to churn with possibilities, and he didn't need much time to decide—he wanted exclusive distribution rights for the bulletproof vests. Even if he couldn't get nationwide rights, having the rights for just one state would be more than enough to satisfy his ambitions.
Glancing at the still despondent Barry, Church thought, I need to find a way to pin the blame entirely on him so it doesn't affect my payday.
"SIR, we've confirmed that McCall, Dave, and the rest of the team are all dead. Given the intensity of the fire, all evidence at the scene will be thoroughly destroyed," said William, standing in a forest about a kilometer from Dave's house after arriving through a portal. He took off his helmet and ordered, "Retrieve the Black Blade drones."
"Yes, SIR. The drones are being retrieved now."
A minute later, as he received the returning Black Blades, William smiled and looked at the four-barreled launcher beside him, which resembled a rocket launcher. The triangular drones had been fired from this launcher, which could hold seven drones in each barrel, totaling 28 in all.
Once launched, the drone's rear engine would automatically start, powering the propeller. Controlled by Sunday, the drones could not only capture footage but also carried a powerful bomb in the front.
"Didn't expect these things to be so effective. Even though the propeller speed is only 600 kilometers per hour, for low-altitude, close-range flight, 600 kilometers per hour translates to 166 meters per second. That's too fast to even aim at."
"Sunday, can the triangular drones be made smaller? Also, about retrieval—just five of them would have been enough to handle the situation. The rest were wasted."
"SIR, we can certainly reduce the size of the drones, but that would increase the cost. Retrieval is also possible, but it might expose the launcher, leading to other potential issues."
"Fair point. Anyway, these drones are produced by an automated production line under your control, and the cost of one is only $2,000. How much will the smaller version cost?"
"Based on calculations, reducing the drone's size by three levels would increase the cost to $3,000 per unit."
Hearing that the cost would only rise by $1,000, William smirked. "Fine, do it. Produce ten sets for backup. I need to head back to London and show my face, just to avoid drawing too much attention from the Americans." Ten sets would mean 280 suicide drones—enough for a large-scale battle.
"Understood, SIR."
William opened a portal, tossed the launcher into the underground vault at Oxford Castle, stored the Black Blade drones in his inventory, and closed the portal. He opened another and returned to the Four Seasons Hotel in London.
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