Swagger pulled a grenade off one of the corpses, yanked out the safety pin, and threw it out. Then he grabbed two spare magazines and stuck them on Owen.
The grenade exploded at the porch, and the two of them used the chance to turn and run.
The people inside were blocked by the explosion, and by the time they came chasing out, Owen and Swagger had already gotten far.
Once they saw pursuers appearing behind them, the two began retreating while turning back to shoot.
Owen fired while scanning the area.
Fuck, what kind of damn neighborhood is this? Not even a single passing car in sight. They couldn't even hijack a ride if they wanted to.
The enemies were getting closer and closer. Even though there were many of them, they clearly had no idea how to coordinate, which was the only reason Owen and Swagger were still in one piece.
Ahead was a house—hopefully there'd be a car. The two of them covered each other while sprinting toward it.
Owen fired two shots, "bang bang", knocking down the one closest behind. Then he turned and ran. That guy probably wasn't dead—Owen had only managed a body shot in the rush, and the target was wearing body armor.
After a few more steps, he saw a few people circling around from the side. Owen raised his hand and fired several more shots to force them back, then took down one of them with another round.
That guy wasn't so lucky. Owen's two shots hit his neck and head—he wasn't getting back up.
After shooting, Owen kept retreating. A few stray bullets landed around him, but this time the enemy didn't dare get too close. Owen's marksmanship had clearly made an impression—two trigger pulls, one dead, one wounded.
After much difficulty, the two finally reached the house. Thank God, they actually saw a car.
"You go start it, I'll hold them off…"
Swagger volunteered, taking up position behind a low wall. He rested his rifle on it, took aim—bang! Someone dropped.
He cycled the bolt; the spent shell flew out, a new round loaded. He aimed again—bang! Another one down.
Now no one dared come close. This guy was even scarier than the one before. Two shots, two kills—who the hell were these people?
The enemies huddled behind cover a hundred meters away, too scared to move. For a moment, the battlefield fell into an eerie silence. Despite being just over a hundred meters apart, no one dared to charge.
"How's it going?"
"Almost there."
Owen was sweating bullets. Normally car keys are hidden behind the sun visor, but not this one. He had to open the wiring panel and start searching for the ignition wires.
"Rat-a-tat… rat… rat-a-tat…"
Someone, refusing to give up, tried to suppress them with covering fire and charge forward, spraying bullets all over the low wall. But Swagger taught him a quick lesson about sticking your head out—one shot, down he went.
With the gunshot, the enemy's tentative attack collapsed before it even started.
Swagger wasn't firing rapidly. In fact, the bolt-action rifle he used couldn't fire quickly even if he wanted to. Its only real strength was its accuracy.
But Swagger's aim made up for everything. Every time he fired, someone went down. That kind of precision had a huge psychological impact.
This was probably the difference between an ordinary soldier and a sniper. During the Vietnam War, it took an average soldier 50,000 rounds to kill one enemy. A sniper? Just 1.3 bullets. That's the gap.
Swagger, with his deadly marksmanship, managed to suppress the entire enemy force on his own—but it couldn't last forever. Sure enough, a moment later, a wave of gunfire erupted from the enemy's side, bullets slamming into the low wall like a hailstorm, chipping away the stone.
"Owen~~~"
Swagger was pinned down and couldn't even lift his head. He shouted urgently.
"Got it!"
Vroooom~~
The car finally started. Owen floored the gas, the car shot out of the garage, and he pulled a hard turn, drifting it to a stop in front of the low wall.
"Get in!"
Owen yelled as he jumped out, firing short, controlled bursts from his M4 to cover Swagger's retreat.
Swagger grabbed his rifle, hunched low, and ran along the blind spot of the wall toward the car.
"Pop pop, pop pop…"
Owen kept up the suppressive bursts. With each burst, another enemy took a hit. But then, among the chaos, he spotted a familiar move in the crowd.
"Get down~~"
Sensing danger, Owen shouted. Swagger was mid-run, but didn't hesitate—he dove to the ground instantly. A curved, spinning bullet flew right through the space where he had just been standing, slamming into the inside of the wall.
Swagger was safe. Owen looked toward the enemy's side.
He'd had a feeling—there was one woman among them who looked familiar. And just now, he'd seen that signature flick of the wrist. In a split-second, he shouted the warning.
Luckily, Swagger's military discipline saved his life. If it had been a normal person, even a slight delay in reaction time, and he'd already be dead.
Owen looked again at the figure in the enemy ranks—it was her. The female assassin who had fought alongside him in the Paris manor. Back then, they were allies helping each other. Now, they were on opposite sides.
At that moment, she looked back at him too. Owen could've sworn he saw a hint of a smile on her face.
"Get in~~~"
No time for nostalgia. Owen covered Swagger as he climbed into the car. He tossed the rifle to Swagger, jumped into the driver's seat, and stomped the gas. Swagger leaned out the window, firing cover shots.
The car roared across the lawn, carving two deep tire tracks through the grass, and vanished around the corner.
After making two quick turns, Owen merged onto the highway. Once the gunfire behind them faded, the two finally let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully Sarah wouldn't go nuts when she got home—half her house had basically been blown up.
"Who were those people?"
Swagger glanced behind them. No one was in pursuit.
"No idea. Definitely came for you. Probably assassins. But not very good ones…"
Owen spoke with confidence. Since the start of his career, he'd dealt with drug lords, armed militias, mercenaries, terrorists—nothing easy. He'd fought countless tough battles. Compared to that, those so-called assassins had mediocre skills, especially in terms of coordination.
The two of them thought they had escaped danger—but soon, motorcycles appeared in the rearview mirror.
"We've got company…"
The engine roars grew louder, yet the bikes maintained a steady distance behind them. Owen checked the rearview mirror—seven or eight motorcycles, all keeping about a hundred meters back. They weren't speeding up to overtake, just tailing. What the hell were they up to?
Owen was driving a Peugeot family sedan—not exactly built for speed. Even with the pedal to the metal, the car still crawled like a snail.
The bikes continued their strange tailing pattern. Swagger began checking his weapons, swapping out the half-used magazine and loading a fresh one into the M4.
"They're coming…"
In the rearview mirror, one motorcycle accelerated and pulled ahead. Judging from the rider's frame, it looked like a woman.
Strangely, only this one advanced—the others stayed back at around a hundred meters, still silently tailing.
The rider pulled up alongside the Peugeot, keeping pace. She lifted her helmet's visor, revealing her face. Owen smiled.
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