"Fire support!"
Jensen's roar exploded in the canyon, filled with a do-or-die determination. He suddenly leaned out from behind the rubble cover, the stock of the M4A1 carbine pressed against his shoulder, wildly firing towards the cliff top.
The shell casings ejected like raindrops from the ejection port, clinking against the rocks.
The remaining six Green Berets seemed to be infused with the same madness. They simultaneously sprang up from behind cover, disregarding their own safety, unleashing ammunition at all suspicious fire points in all directions.
At this moment, these elite Special Forces soldiers burst forth with astonishing combat power.
"For the Brotherhood!"
A sergeant with a bloodstained face roared, his Mk14 EBR precision marksman rifle firing continuously, the 7.62mm bullets precisely striking into rock crevices, hitting an elite mercenary from the "Musician" defense hidden behind a dirt mound.
Beside him, Corporal Wilson knelt on one knee, the M320 grenade launcher letting out a dull "thump," as a 40mm high-explosive grenade traced a perfect arc.
At the cliff top, the sniper codenamed "Hunter" had just locked onto the radio operator with a radio on his back, the crosshairs in the scope steadily holding the target's back.
His index finger was already pre-tensioned on the trigger, needing only a slight additional force to end this life.
Just as he was about to fire, an unexpected event occurred.
Boom!
An M433 grenade exploded less than four meters from him.
The shockwave pained his eardrums, and fragments whizzed past his camouflage suit, carving dozens of pits of various depths in the granite behind him.
"FUCK!"
Hunter grunted, sharp pain emanating from his left arm.
He looked down, seeing a fingernail-sized fragment deeply embedded in his deltoid, blood quickly soaking through his camouflage uniform.
Worse still, the dust stirred up by the explosion completely obscured his line of sight.
Almost at the instant he withdrew back behind cover, a second grenade precisely hit his previous sniper position.
The overpressure from this explosion made Hunter feel like his internal organs were trembling.
"These maniacs are suicidal!"
Hunter shouted on the tactical channel while quickly checking his wound. The shrapnel wasn't deeply embedded, but it needed immediate treatment.
He gritted his teeth and pulled out the shrapnel, casually spraying on hemostatic gel, his movements as quick as cleaning a weapon.
The Green Berets in the canyon were indeed fighting desperately.
These veterans, accustomed to countless battles, knew well that only by placing themselves in harm's way could they hope for survival.
They alternated covering and precise shooting, each gunshot accompanying the screams of a "Musician" mercenary.
The originally one-sided firepower offensive was surprisingly suppressed temporarily under their frenzied counterattack.
"Stop that radio operator!"
Song Heping's voice came through the headset, uncharacteristically tinged with urgency. He squinted, watching the radio operator with a thirty-kilogram radio on his back still moving swiftly.
One had to admit, these American Special Forces' combat proficiency was admirable. In dire straits, the courage and professionalism they displayed were exemplary.
Radio operator Rose felt his lungs burning.
His tactical vest was already soaked with sweat, the radio on his back rubbing his skin like a hot iron.
But the instinct to survive drove him to sprint forward, pebbles scattering beneath his feet.
As long as he reached that protruding granite, as long as he climbed it, he might catch a faint satellite signal...
"Cover Rose with all you've got!"
Jensen swapped in a new magazine, and barrel-rolled to the side of a Hummer wreck.
He knelt on one knee, firing several precise shots in a standard "kneeling unsupported" shooting posture.
The 5.56mm bullets precisely pierced through rock crevices two hundred meters away, toppling a mercenary who had just poked his head out.
The entire Special Operations platoon's firepower was briefly suppressed.
Though well-trained, facing the suicidal counterattack of the Green Berets, the mercenaries hesitated momentarily.
This few seconds' hesitation allowed Rose to advance another ten meters.
Song Heping's pupils contracted slightly.
He slid out from cover like a desert viper, the AKM assault rifle firing three bursts while running.
7.62mm bullets kicked up a stream of dust near Rose's feet but failed to hit the target, disrupted by precise covering fire.
"The South American Training Camp still falls short,"
Song Heping lamented inwardly.
He dove into a new firing position, swiftly reloading the magazine.
Now, he had to deal with this personally—if the radio signal was sent out, the entire plan would come to nothing.
At the canyon bottom, Jensen's mind raced.
He noticed that Song Heping's snipers began consciously leaving other team members alone, focusing all their firepower towards Rose.