Chapter Three: Crossfire

The ten-kilometer journey, under the soldiers’ full sprint, took less than half an hour to complete. Now, they were less than a kilometer from Hill 587; two kilometers ahead lay the boundary river between the Republic and the Suss Federation—the Blackwater River.

Han Changfeng, acting as the vanguard, suddenly halted, raising his hand in a covert gesture. The soldiers, like machines, stopped in unison.

Han Changfeng crouched carefully, gingerly tugged a thin fishing line from the grass, and traced it for a moment, finally producing a Minia Federation Model 20 anti-personnel mine.

The soldiers drew sharp breaths. This seemingly small directional anti-personnel mine was Minia’s latest model, employing steel ball fragmentation for lethal effect. It could be triggered by tripwire, pressure, delayed explosion, or remote detonation. Once detonated, the 1,200 steel balls within would fan out in a 120-degree arc, with a killing radius exceeding 100 meters and a lethal height of two meters. If laid in clusters, the dense rain of steel balls and fragments would indiscriminately and completely cover the surrounding area—enough to turn anyone within range into a sieve.

Zhang He hurried up from the rear. Han Changfeng motioned for silence, then carefully circled the mine, extracting two more of the same type before exhaling in relief: “Looks like these mercenaries are under tremendous pressure. They didn’t even have time to lay a proper minefield according to their operational procedures. In any case, that’s good news.”

Zhang He nodded, spread the map on the ground, and conferred briefly with Han Changfeng, then issued orders: “A2, take number 55 and advance covertly, carrying communications gear. Contact the border regiment commander, stay hidden, and don’t let the enemy spot you. The rest, move forward to the Blackwater River, circle behind the enemy to prevent them from making a desperate escape across the border. A3 and A4, vanguard; number 56 and I, rear guard. Fifteen meters apart, staggered formation—move out!”

Following orders, the soldiers dispersed. Han Changfeng, with Gong Zhigang, moved swiftly toward Hill 587. Lei Dong gripped his beloved Model 21 sniper rifle and followed Zhang He, stepping onto his first real battlefield.

Around 1,200 meters from Hill 587, Zhang He and Lei Dong stopped, establishing a sniper post on a slope with an altitude over 800 meters. The view was clear, giving them a full sweep of Hill 587—ideal for long-range sniping. The rest, led by Liang Huijun and Wang Xuesong, continued to maneuver toward the hill.

They were now quite close to the mercenary squad. On the hill, faint sirens sounded, and the silhouettes of the border regiment could be seen. The mountain forest below remained silent.

Everyone knew that these battle-hardened mercenaries would not recklessly fire or make moves at such a moment, risking unpredictable dangers. “Mountains can hide men,” as the saying goes; though unable to find a path out, the dense forests offered hiding places and food—veterans of special operations, once in the woods, had a veritable supply depot at their disposal.

Despite the border regiment’s numerical advantage squeezing the criminals into a small clearing, their lack of combat experience meant it was hard to avoid gaps in such a large area, especially near the border. If the mercenaries seized an opening, not only could they easily escape, but they might even launch a counterattack, inflicting casualties and then slipping calmly across the border.

A faint beep sounded from Zhang He’s “Polaris” device, followed by Han Changfeng’s voice: “A2 reporting—contact made with the border regiment commander. I’m transferring command to your channel.”

Zhang He took over the command channel, tested the audio, scanned the scene through his infrared scope, and after a brief pause, declared: “I am now assuming field command. I order the border regiment to stand by in place. A3 and A4, lead your teams forward under cover; reach the attack launch line within five minutes and await orders, ready for assault at any moment.”

Those five minutes felt both interminable and fleeting.

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The soldiers, cautious to the extreme, formed a staggered formation and advanced swiftly and covertly toward the slope. The mercenaries seemed to sense something—a clump of tall grass quivered lightly.

Lei Dong pressed his eye against the low-light scope, extending his awareness to the fullest, scanning the area for sniping targets. His gun muzzle shifted, already aimed at the shadow.

It was a figure about 1.9 meters tall, fully equipped and prone in the grass, raising his upper body slightly to observe the movements below.

“Number 56, confirm target!” Zhang He’s voice came through the earpiece.

“One target confirmed. Bad angle—cannot lock.” Lei Dong replied quietly through his throat mic, reporting as a standard sniper. He had no intention of revealing his ability to bend bullets.

“All veterans! They never expose themselves easily and hide so well!” Zhang He cursed inwardly, then called Han Changfeng via “Polaris.” “Number 2, flush those bastards out!”

Han Changfeng’s answer was short: “Understood.”

Lei Dong was momentarily stunned. Flushing them out now? How? Wouldn’t that risk provoking a desperate attack?

While he pondered, the border regiment and police on the hill began reorganizing their formation. About a hundred men split into four squads, advancing ten meters under cover of several police ballistic shields before stopping. Ten seconds later, the orderly formation advanced another ten meters, then stopped again, repeating the process.

“Brilliant!” Lei Dong, no novice, quickly grasped Han Changfeng’s intention. He was adapting psychological-pressure tactics commonly used in urban search operations for this scenario.

The essence of this tactic was to use overwhelming force to apply slow, relentless pressure. Each advance tightened the enemy’s nerves; each pause offered brief relief. But before they could fully relax, another advance came, ratcheting up the tension again. This cycle of pressure and release prevented the enemy from making a desperate last stand or launching a sudden attack, and it could even fracture the resolve of less steadfast foes, causing confusion or mental collapse.

Statistics showed that in urban police-criminal standoffs, with this tactic, there was a 70% chance of surrender after the police advanced about thirty meters.

Though the mercenaries opposite were seasoned veterans, making surrender less likely than convincing a lucid celebrity to leap from a cliff, the chance of them losing composure and revealing their positions was still well above seventy percent.

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“Stay alert for a sudden attack!” Zhang He’s voice sounded in Lei Dong’s ear.

“Understood!” Lei Dong replied on his throat mic, exhaling softly, pressing his eye to the scope, expanding his awareness as much as possible, watching every movement below.

“One, two, three…” Lei Dong counted silently.

Han Changfeng’s action was working. In several spots along the slope and at the base, grass and trees stirred subtly, faint voices debating in low tones could be heard. Clearly, the mercenaries were growing restless.

“Four, five… just a bit more, show yourselves, and I’ll send you to the next world!” Lei Dong’s heart surged with a strange emotion, flooding through him, yet his movements remained unchanged. His breathing grew deeper and slower, his mood steadier in the midst of this inexplicable agitation. The Model 21 sniper rifle’s muzzle shifted smoothly and slowly, searching for any suspicious sign.

The atmosphere in the mountains grew eerily tense. The troops on the hill advanced in a measured rhythm, the pressure seeming to envelope the entire peak, as if all creation was being compressed and frozen by it. Whether it was the advancing border regiment, the covert special operations squad, Zhang He and Lei Dong at the distant sniper post, or the hidden mercenary squad below, everyone held their breath, nearly suffocated by the thickening air.

Within Lei Dong’s range of awareness, the subtle disturbances on the slope and below became more pronounced. He could sense the once brash mercenary squad, bold enough to cross borders for trafficking and murder, growing increasingly restless and uneasy.

Finally, as the border regiment advanced another ten meters, drawing within a hundred meters of the mercenary front line, two black figures suddenly popped out from behind several large trees, waving their arms. Amid a rapid volley of whipping sounds, over a dozen melon-shaped grenades arched high through the air, spinning as they hurtled toward the ballistic shields.

Clearly, under immense pressure, the mercenaries had lost their composure, attempting to inflict heavy casualties with concentrated explosions. Even if they couldn’t kill many, at the very least, they hoped to slow the advance.

“Take cover!” Han Changfeng’s shout rang out. Alongside him, at the front line behind the shields, Gong Zhigang dropped to one knee. The muzzle of his assault rifle flashed, “tat-tat-tat, tat-tat-tat!” ringing out sharply. His precise, hair-raising shots formed a sparse but flawless web of fire, knocking each grenade from the air.

ps: I’ve been to the Northeast, but never into the mountain forests, so the descriptions here are just an imagined battlefield, to ease the narrative. If readers find that the depictions don’t match reality, feel free to point it out—though it’s too late to change anything. Here’s a trick: close your eyes, imagine the scenes described, and try to take them as real, then silently chant: This isn’t Earth, this isn’t Earth…

Does that help? Whew!