Chapter 128: Breaking the Wall
Watching this scene, O'Donnell was extremely excited, feeling like a medieval king with everyone as his subjects.
He could do whatever he wanted. No one could oppose him.
Desire expanded in his chest. His face flushed, his entire being falling into euphoria.
BOOM—
A grenade shattered a glass window and entered the hospital.
In an instant, high-temperature, high-pressure gas expanded thousands of times, producing an explosion.
At the explosion's center formed an extremely bright and dazzling white fireball. After the flash, an invisible shockwave rippled outward.
Fragments and steel balls tore through the air, producing whooshing death-dealing sounds.
Screams, terrified cries, curses—all came in an endless stream.
O'Donnell lying on the ground was mentally dazed. Supporting himself against the wall, he slowly stood up. Tinnitus prevented him from hearing any sounds. The world swayed in his eyes.
Dragging his steps, he wanted to walk forward a few steps, but his concussed brain couldn't give correct instructions.
He could only lean against the wall, looking around in bewilderment.
Gorman lay paralyzed on the ground, letting out pig-slaughtering high-pitched screams. His lumbar spine area had a large gaping hole, blood gushing out like an opened floodgate.
"Ah, ah, ah!"
"Where are my legs? Where are my legs? Why can't I feel my legs?"
The pain gradually stripped away. Gorman suddenly realized he couldn't sense his legs' existence. He let out scream after scream, wanting to use his hands to feel his legs. He could touch them but the legs had no sensation.
Gorman's lollipop lay to one side, submerged in a pool of blood like Gorman himself. Gorman's screams grew smaller and smaller. His eyes stared wide, losing his breath.
Quite a few surviving subordinates panicked as they approached O'Donnell.
O'Donnell was their boss. At this moment, O'Donnell was their backbone.
"Boss, it must be that group who killed the convoy—they've come to attack us."
"How about, how about we surrender?"
The voice couldn't stop trembling. The speaker was terrified to the extreme.
The others weren't any better off, staring at one spot without turning their eyes, their spirits somewhat dazed.
They'd originally thought at most both sides would exchange gunfire, maintaining a relatively balanced combat state.
But the current situation was—they hadn't even fired, and the enemy directly bombarded them.
The gunpowder smell like a battlefield terrified them.
Surrender was the choice they most wanted at this moment.
O'Donnell's reason began occupying his brain. His hand reached down, drawing a sharp knife, unhesitatingly sending it into the throat of the subordinate who'd spoken.
The sharp blade pierced skin and flesh. Blood sprayed fountain-like, dyeing O'Donnell's entire body red. He said viciously, "Disrupting morale—death!"
O'Donnell's vicious gaze—every subordinate who met his eyes lowered their heads.
"We haven't lost yet. They have guns and artillery, we have the building. Since firepower isn't enough, we'll fight them in close quarters."
O'Donnell's head and face were similarly covered in blood. He raised his head. "We've been cops for so many years—our experience killing people should count as rich, right?"
Right, if firepower couldn't match, then fight with experience.
In their "peaceful era," the free country had daily gunfights. With such advantageous conditions, their combat ability was truly not bad.
Because those who were bad were basically dead.
This was their revenge time.
The confusion in surviving subordinates' eyes gradually disappeared, replaced by ferocity, hatred, and desire for revenge.
Seeing his subordinates' mental outlook change, O'Donnell secretly nodded.
If morale still couldn't be rallied, O'Donnell was prepared to surrender.
He couldn't possibly really attack all subordinates unwilling to fight. If he pushed his subordinates to desperation, the first one killed would be him—they could even use him as a pledge of loyalty.
O'Donnell didn't bother with Dawn. He knew facing such heavy firepower, she'd probably already prepared to be an ostrich.
"Move out!"
O'Donnell raised his gun, shouting once. His subordinates followed with shouts, full of imposing momentum.
...
The tightly closed door, under the explosive's impact force, crashed down thunderously, raising a circle of dust.
Cold white light columns pierced the dim hall. Crisp footsteps came, accompanied by the sound of steel guns striking armor on bodies.
O'Donnell hid behind a wall, licking his dry lips. Gun in hand, yet his heart was extremely tense.
Swallowing saliva, O'Donnell shouted loudly, "Brother, what business brings you to our hospital?"
"Are you lacking things? Medicine, food?"
"If you want them, just say how much directly. I'll deliver them to you directly—no need for such a big commotion."
Finishing, O'Donnell waited for the other side's reply.
What O'Donnell unexpectedly received was dense bullets fired in volleys.
The whooshing sound of bullets breaking air, shattering the wall's outer layer. Broken fragments struck O'Donnell's body, stinging painfully.
The fury in his heart also burned fiercely.
Fuck, refusing the toast only to drink the penalty wine.
"Fire!"
When the gunfire ceased, O'Donnell roared, extending his right hand to shoot randomly forward.
Reality wasn't a game. There was no so-called leaning out to probe—only caution, caution, and more caution.
At close range, they absolutely wouldn't conserve ammunition. Random shooting could repel enemies and also rely on ricochets to attack.
O'Donnell's military skills were very solid. He'd set up three gun lines, forming crossfire—enough to handle large numbers of enemies in close quarters combat.
Moreover, the gun positions—from the enemy's shooting angle it would be very difficult to attack.
As long as, as long as they could kill more enemies, hold out longer, they'd have bargaining chips to negotiate with the enemy.
Then maybe they could even extort many supplies from the other side.
O'Donnell's eyes flashed with excitement. His shooting became more forceful. At the same time, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Brothers, don't be afraid—they can't break through."
The gun positions continuously fired bullets, but the other side never showed any intention of charging over.
After several minutes passed, unease rose in O'Donnell's heart.
Why aren't they attacking?
The next second, his question was answered.
BOOM—
A wall not far away produced a violent explosion. The bricks composing the wall instantly shattered, becoming murderous weapons, burying the gun position hiding behind the wall.
Those several subordinates lay in the smoke and dust, unknown if dead or alive.
Dust flew. From the wall's damaged area slowly walked out warriors full of killing intent. Black paint, cold steel guns.
O'Donnell looked at those pitch-black gun muzzles. His pupils contracted sharply as he dove sideways. "Dodge quickly!"
Just as he dove behind cover, he saw those several subordinates who'd stayed in place torn apart by bullets.
A severed arm rolled not far away. Waves of blood mist rose. They fell to the ground.
O'Donnell's eyes widened hugely, falling into a state of panic.
He wasn't terrified of his subordinates' deaths. He was terrified of his own approaching death.
Bullets flew rapidly through the air. Personnel at the three gun positions died quickly.