Jack never imagined he would find himself in a situation where he had to use such a brutal weapon inside his own home, just as he never thought someone would try to blow up his house with RPGs.
When the three rockets burst into his bedroom, Jack had already leaped from the second-floor staircase, grabbing the still-confused Emily, who had just stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and dove into the basement.
The loud clattering sound from earlier was Jack emerging from the basement again, tossing a 25-kilogram ammo box onto the floor. Inside were 2,000 rounds of 7.62×51mm NATO ammunition, all of which Chris had left him along with the gun.
The M134's firing rate could be adjusted between 2,000 to 6,000 rounds per minute. Jack set the motor speed to 3,000 rounds per minute, meaning 50 bullets would pour out every second.
What followed was simply a matter of math: How long could twelve elite soldiers, fully armored and equipped with level III plates, last in front of a machine gun firing 3,000 rounds per minute?
The answer was two seconds. Jack took just two seconds to sweep the gun in a 40-degree arc, as if there were no recoil. Under the storm of metal, twelve bodies were reduced to twelve piles of bloody meat.
Liam's soldiers, whom he had spent five years training and who cost him a fortune, didn't even manage to fire a single shot.
Jack then spent another 10 seconds calmly sweeping the area twice more, making sure each man received a fair share of hundreds of bullets. Satisfied, he dragged the long ammo belt and walked out the front door.
Wearing only flip-flops, he kicked aside the hot shell casings scattered on the ground. Gatling Buddha—no, wait, Jack—stood on the blood-soaked lawn in front of his house. The six rotating barrels of the M134 continued to spin rapidly, the smoking muzzle now pointed toward the three vans parked in the distance.
Liam, who had been leaning against the first van, was still in shock. His throat moved as if to swallow, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Then he dropped to all fours and scrambled away, trying desperately to escape.
The next second, the sharp whine of gunfire pierced the night again.
A yellow-green streak, as straight as a laser beam, cut through the vehicles. Tracer rounds ignited the gas tanks, and flames spread rapidly across the ground as leaking fuel caught fire.
Feeling the searing heatwave behind him, Liam stumbled and fell, watching in horror as the deadly line of fire drew closer.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" He screamed in terror, already envisioning himself being shredded to pieces by the relentless stream of bullets.
Suddenly, the roaring stopped. Only 2,000 rounds, and the firing lasted even less time than most men's first time. Silence returned to the scene, broken only by the faint hum of the M134's barrels still spinning.
Liam turned to look at the ground, where the cement just ten centimeters from his feet had been pulverized by bullets. He carefully moved his leg, unable to believe he had miraculously survived unscathed.
"Ahahahaha!" The nearly fifty-year-old man felt luckier than he ever had in his life. He jumped up, ignoring the dampness of his pants clinging to his thighs, and started running.
As long as he was alive, there was still a chance. Men could be recruited and trained again, and if an RPG couldn't kill this monster, he could come up with another plan.
He had been fighting alongside Doyle since he was a teenager, facing life-and-death situations in Northern Ireland for decades. This was just a minor setback.
"Bang!" A gunshot rang out, and a bullet pierced Liam's left leg. He screamed and collapsed onto the road, just as police lights began to flash in the distance, the sound of sirens growing closer.
Emily, crouched beside Jack, lowered her HK417 and stood up, awkwardly adjusting the towel that was slipping off her body. Her gaze met Jack's teasing eyes.
"Nice figure," Jack whistled, pulling the cigar from his ear. He leaned toward the still-hot M134, took a deep puff, and blew a smoke ring.
He had been waiting for ages to pull off this cool move, but never had the chance. The M134 was 100% illegal, and ever since he had stashed it in his basement, it had never seen the light of day—until now.
He suddenly realized something—how had he never noticed Emily was so well-endowed before? She had rushed out of the basement, grabbed the HK417, and crouched next to him to fire a shot, all while somehow keeping the towel in place.
"Yours isn't bad either. Never noticed before," Emily said, playfully slapping Jack's chest and even giving it a squeeze. She was reminded of Angela back in the day, who had caused him to lose his car, his house, and had even lusted after his body.
"Sorry about your house," Emily said with genuine guilt as she glanced back at the two-story building. Jack had been her free bodyguard for three months, nearly got shot, had his car wrecked, and now his house was in ruins. There was no way she could repay him fully, though the thought of "offering herself" had crossed her mind.
But that was only a passing thought. JJ was already involved, and from both a rational and emotional standpoint, Emily couldn't betray her like that.
Jack shrugged nonchalantly. The blame lay with others, and he wasn't the type to hold a grudge over something like this.
When he and Rossi had discussed him protecting Emily, he had prepared mentally for this. He just hadn't expected the attackers to be insane enough to blow up his house with RPGs.
As for who he should settle the score with, Jack had already made up his mind.
Any romantic notions? None. Even those beautiful reporters who practically threw themselves at him didn't interest him, let alone his longtime partner Emily.
"Screech!" A LAPD Dodge Charger screeched to a stop just inches from where Liam lay, its tires narrowly avoiding his body. With a near out-of-control drift, it crashed into the front yard's already-damaged fence.
Jack's eye twitched as he watched the fence, riddled with holes, slowly collapse. The whole scene was ridiculously dramatic. These two never failed to change the tone as soon as they showed up.
"Bang!" The car doors burst open simultaneously, and a panicked Tim and John jumped out as if their pants were on fire, rushing over to Jack and Emily.
"Are you guys okay?" they asked in unison, but before Jack could answer, the kitchen on the first floor, which had only been smoldering with small flames, suddenly exploded. The blast of heat sent everyone reeling.
"Now we have a problem," Jack grumbled, rolling his eyes. He dragged his feet across the street, away from the wave of heat, his mood sinking lower than the winter night's temperature.
What might have only needed some repairs was now a total loss. It was time to start over from scratch.
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