"Medic! Medic! The sniper is injured! The scope is shattered! Repeat, the scope is shattered!"
He screamed in terror, unaware that his position was completely exposed.
London, command center.
On the screen, the sniper point at the top of the water tower was marked with a conspicuous red circle by the technician.
When the trajectory of the first bullet was simulated and restored by the system, and its target clearly pointed to the top of the water tower, the entire command room fell into an eerie silence.
"What... what did he hit?"
A young intelligence analyst mumbled in a dry voice.
The technical director stared at the ballistic simulation line and thermal imaging feedback on the screen. After a few seconds, he replied with a near-dreamlike voice, trembling in disbelief, "Hit... hit point analysis... estimated to be Captain Coleman..."
"What?!"
Ames cried out, his face instantly turning ashen, "How is this possible?!"
Under such a passive situation?
At a distance over six hundred meters?
Aiming at an ace sniper who had just completed a shot and was locking onto him?
What kind of dynamic vision does it require?
What kind of gun sense?
What kind of... inhuman calculation ability?!
Mrs. M's fingers on the armrest involuntarily curled slightly for the first time, her ice-blue pupils abruptly contracted, fixating on the screen where the body of the figure lay low, as solid as a rock, gripping his gun.
"Damn!"
Rarely swearing, she muttered a curse under her breath.
For a fleeting moment, a trace of regret flashed across her mind.
She really shouldn't have provoked this madman...
Desert City battlefield.
Song Heping fired the first shot, his body moving like the most precise clockwork mechanism, without an unnecessary tremor.
The powerful recoil was absorbed and neutralized instantly by his robust physique and stable shooting posture.
His gaze never left the shadow area at the top of the water tower.
The moment another SBS operative frantically dove beside Coleman, revealing his exact position, Song Heping's index finger calmly squeezed the trigger once more!
"Bang—whoosh!"
The second 7.62mm NATO round roared out!
On top of the water tower, the SBS operative quickly tore open the emergency pack, trying to press against the artery blood spurting from Coleman's neck.
His head, due to checking Coleman's injury, had unconsciously poked out from the edge of the cover, revealing just a sliver...
But just that sliver was enough to send him to his death.
At the moment he lowered his head to pull the bandage—
"Thud!"
A deep, sound like a ripe watermelon being smashed.
The SBS operative's entire upper body collapsed sideways, the Ops-Core FAST helmet on his head crumpled like paper, with a terrifying, fist-sized hole blown open at the front!
A mixture of red and white liquid, shattered bone fragments, and brain tissue explosively sprayed backwards, splattering onto Coleman!
The poor guy couldn't even let out a groan before his body went limp, as if all his bones had been removed, left only with unconscious twitching.
"No—!!!"
Coleman's remaining left eye witnessed this bloody and horrifying scene, issuing a desperate and agonizing roar, but the rupture of the neck artery made his voice hoarse and weak, leaving only a gurgling sound.
Inside the London command center.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
On the screen, the thermal signal representing the sniper point on the water tower suddenly disappeared, and the signal strength belonging to Coleman also weakened dramatically due to blood loss.
The technician watched the life signal representing the secondary shooter on the screen turn instantly into a glaring red "X," observed the ballistic simulation line precisely pass through a remarkably tiny structural gap at the top of the water tower's cover, finally hitting the target's trajectory, his lips quivered but he couldn't utter a single word.
Ames stood frozen in place, the color drained from his face, leaving him completely pale, his mouth slightly ajar like a fish tossed onto the deck and left to wither under the sun after being removed from water.
The operations director's hand rested on the console, his knuckles turning white from exertion.
Mrs. M still sat upright, but her jawline was stretched to its limit, deep within her ice-blue eyes, for the first time, surged with shock akin to tempestuous waves.
Shooting through the scope might be luck?
Then what about this second shot through the cover gap, with such precise headshot accuracy?
Desert battlefield.