CHAPTER 355: CHAPTER 11: FEAR_2

Wired, wireless, intelligent—capable of exerting formidable combat power with just a few hands.

In contrast, these survivors from the United States seemed like a bunch of country bumpkins who had never seen the world. Aside from not lacking firearms, even having a walkie-talkie was considered a rare ’household appliance,’ and having night vision goggles was elite.

"Hold on!" Scott shouted into the walkie-talkie, trying to boost his companions’ confidence.

"Our team will soon enter the town! We’ll quickly rush into the camp and crush those Asians! You must hold on!"

He anxiously repeated several times, but the responses coming through the walkie-talkie grew fewer and fewer, replaced by increasingly intense gunfire and more tragic screams.

After a while, communication was completely cut off, leaving only the faint, intermittent sound of gunfire from hundreds of meters away.

Was it a gunfight from the second group over there?

Scott tried hard to determine the direction from which the gunfire was coming, feeling an increasing sense of unease.

Because those gunshots weren’t coming from within the town, but from the road outside the town, the direction where Lynch’s convoy was scheduled to break into the town!

Amongst the gunfire, there was also a low humming noise. It was definitely not the roar of a vehicle’s engine but the unique sound produced when the engines of a ’Warthog’ attack aircraft hover at low altitude and suddenly increase in power.

"Damn it! Those yellow-skinned monkeys have deployed aircraft!" Scott’s face suddenly changed.

In the wind, there was not only the droning sound but also a series of dense, dull thuds, like a drumbeat pounding on the eardrums.

Anyone with experience hearing this sound would recognize it as the distinctive sound wave produced by firing large-caliber machine guns.

The survivors, who served as ’basic labor force,’ often saw ’Warthogs’ taking off and landing but were always puzzled by just how many low-flying aircraft were deployed in the town’s camp.

Scott tried to reassure himself that the electric ’Warthogs’ hadn’t entered the U.S. market and thus couldn’t be numerous.

But he then realized that Zhou Qingfeng was the one in control of ’Electric Flight,’ and getting a hundred or eighty ’Warthogs’ wasn’t impossible.

The maneuverability of an aircraft was far beyond that of a car, especially when it didn’t need a specific site and could take off and land vertically, making it unpredictable.

Scott anxiously wondered if it might be the yellow-skinned monkeys in the camp who carried heavy machine guns and had ambushed their convoy in advance.

"That would be terrible..." Scott began to sweat on his forehead.

He had initially hoped that the convoy outside the town would quickly break into the town, so his and the town survivors’ arson and destruction wouldn’t become a meaningless act of suicide.

But the situation was even worse than Scott had anticipated.

Before he could discover the specific situation outside the town, the camp’s front gate suddenly swung open, and five crudely modified Pika trucks charged out like roaring beasts.

The wheels rolled, engines roared, kicking up a trail of dust, fiercely speeding in his direction.

Meanwhile, inside the camp’s command room, Lin An was staring intently at the giant electronic sandbox screen before him, clearly displaying surveillance footage from all over the town.

Seeing Scott and others wreaking havoc like fleas, he was almost amused by these ’troublemakers.’

The convoy of three to four hundred people outside the town hadn’t yet posed any substantial threat, but these groups of three or five ’rats’ inside the town, familiar with the terrain, had been continuously damaging several critical surveillance devices.

Sitting beside him, Xiao Jinlang, the team’s ’manager,’ was always very sensitive to material losses, meticulously calculating like a miser.

Although Zhou Qingfeng had previously stocked up heavily on various components which were still sufficient, seeing the damaged equipment couldn’t help but make him frown in heartache.

"Eliminate them. We can no longer let these guys scurry around," Lin An coldly commanded.

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A drone buzzed as it flew first, locking in on Scott’s group hiding position at an altitude of two to three hundred meters using infrared and optical sensors.

Shortly thereafter, several roaring modified Pika trucks quickly arrived at the hiding place of this group of "rats."

The armed personnel in the trucks coldly watched these survivors dart into several town buildings like cornered beasts, attempting to make a last stand.

"Don’t engage these ’rats’ in close combat. Burn them to death," Lin An chillingly ordered the frontline team over the radio.

The windows of the modified Pika trucks slowly rolled down as several small quadcopter drones flew out, with simple yet deadly incendiary devices hanging beneath them.

Inside the truck, Little Pingtou, wearing VR goggles, skillfully manipulated the remote in his hands, making these inconspicuous drones as nimble as falcons at his fingertips.

Ever since the ’crude oil refining’ equipment had been operational in the town, it produced not only gasoline, diesel, and kerosene but also substantial amounts of viscous and hard-to-utilize heavy oil.

These heavy oils, once considered ’useless,’ were now seen as a new resource—for making incendiary devices.

The devices’ bodies could be made from all sorts of discarded bottles and cans, with old textiles soaked in heavy oil serving as the ignitors, and ammonium nitrate as the propellant.

The quadcopter drones emitted a low "buzz" as they steadily carried the incendiary devices towards the target buildings, precisely hovering above the houses where the "rats" were hiding.

Then, the incendiary devices were dropped.