Danger Close
"Commander! Failed to secure the retreat route! Rear enemy resistance is too fierce!"
"Enemies massing up front again! We need more machine guns!"
"Goddamn it... Abandon the rear breakthrough. Redirect every last LMG to the front!"
Amid the relentless hail of bullets overhead, the expeditionary force commander gritted his teeth and snatched up the radio.
The sudden ambush had left three platoons completely cut off with nowhere to go. They'd tried breaking through the rear to secure an escape, but enemy numbers were overwhelming, forcing them to give up fast. And up front, assaults were pouring in nonstop.
"Ammo belts! Get me SAW belts!"
"No more belts left!"
"Fuck! Then magazines at least! Hurry!"
Ammo shortages were hitting now too. These enemies were far faster than regular troops, could layer on way more body armor, and had insane durability. No wonder it took dozens of times more rounds to drop an ability user than a normie.
Enemy headcount hadn't even thinned much yet, but their own stocks were already scraping bottom. No hope in sight.
Reinforcements won't make it in time.
Australian 2nd Company was en route, sure—but on schedule? No way. The ambushers were at least battalion strength. They'd anticipated backup and prepositioned forces to counter it. Even if reinforcements punched through somehow, by then his men would be out of ammo, fighting bayonet-to-bayonet, and wiped out.
Only one final option left: the absolute last resort.
The commander keyed the radio.
"This is Kangaroo 6. Requesting fire support."
"Mike-Tango-5-5-7. 8-8-1."
"Dead by friendly shells or enemy bullets—same difference. Requesting fire support again."
The commander hesitated. He glanced around—his staffers met his eyes, nodding firmly. All wore the calm gaze of men who'd already made peace with death.
"Ordering fire—"
"Commander! Look over there!"
"...!?"
Right before the order, a staffer yanked the radio. His finger pointed forward—trees snapped and toppled one after another with sickening cracks.
What the hell? Then something streaked through the dark, and agonized death screams erupted in chain.
Everyone froze, staring at the eerie scene—but only for a moment.
"Reinforcements have arrived. Prep counterattack."
"Roger. Resupplying ammo, then ready to assault."
The commander and his men began full regroup. A chance to hit back—color bloomed on the commander's face.
Fights pretty damn well even against ability users?
Cheol-woo let out a dry chuckle, eyeing the literally "flying" NewTontonMan.
Enemy soldiers sliced apart without a single counter—pathetic massacre. Taken alone, you couldn't tell if they were normies or enhanced; it was that brutal.
That time she struggled against the bat-wielding thug—had he just been freakishly strong? Or had sis leveled up since? Probably both.
Almost pitiful.
The old TontonMan had been so bulky it barely moved fast even jumping, helmet FOV sucked, motions clunky. But NewTontonMan? None of that. It scaled cliffs fluidly regardless of stance, rolled, dashed. Dense trees in the way? Now it felled them wholesale, clear-cutting the forest like dry bamboo. Logging crew material right there.
Enemy reactions feel sluggish...
Daytime foes had snapped pretty quick; these lagged a beat. Night vision goggles? Cheol-woo skipped them—any moonlight let his eyes pierce better. Looked like ability users varied in dark vision too.
Damn. Tough to snipe.
Enemy HQ direction was guessable, but thick canopy blocked angles. No choice—close the gap.
Cheol-woo drew his rifle and bolted, threading blind spots. Grabbed an MG gunner's hair, jammed muzzle to temple.
"Who—"
Bang! Crisp trigger pull, +P round punched through skull.
Startled soldiers whirling his way—bang! bang! bang! One each to the face.
Too late spotting the infiltrator—shots rained from all sides. Cheol-woo ducked tree cover fast.
Rear fire blocked by trunk, front silenced by rifle. Incoming grenades? All intercepted, shredded midair.
Heads popping on peek—now soldiers just stuck guns out blindly, spraying.
Ah—giving up their sightlines? Much obliged.
Cheol-woo burst from cover. No aim worry, straight sprint into the trench.
Landed with a thud beside them—pistol muzzles to panicked foreheads.
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
"Argh! Aaaah! Run, fuck!"
"Monster! It's a monster, hngh!"
One platoon wiped in seconds. Cheol-woo moved on.
Toward the panicked cluster—that was HQ.
Snipe? Nah, better idea. Opened pack.
Armed the delay fuze on a HE-packed anti-tank mine, frisbeed it spinning.
It whirled 100 meters true, smacked the command tent dead-on.
"Whoops."
BOOM! Blast wave splintered surrounding trees.
Smoke cleared—nothing left of HQ. Just unidentifiable red chunks splattered around.
"Enemy HQ destroyed."
Radioed it—Australian cheers erupted, charge incoming.
Momentum fully theirs now. Enemies routed, scrambling to flee. Encirclement shattered, heavy losses, HQ gone—no options but retreat.
Gunfire died completely. Cheol-woo sought the expeditionary commander first.
"Major. You alive?"
"Not a scratch. I'm good. Thanks for the save, Mr. David Min. But why hasn't 2nd Company shown?"
"Didn't get the radio? I temporarily assumed command and halted their sortie."
"What!? Why?"
The commander's eyes bulged. Utterly baffling call. Allies encircled on annihilation's edge, and you block backup? Insane.
But no rage in his gaze—just pure curiosity. David Min must have a reason—that blocked any anger outright.
"Nothing major. I shot Colonel Douglas and the Aussie deputy commander. So now I'm public enemy number one, being hunted as a traitor—"
"Wait, what!?"
The commander felt blood rush to his head.
"Hands up, all of you. Come out. Resist and we fire."
"..."
Aussie barracks lit up bright sequentially. From inside, the deputy limped out.
Fully surrounded by US troops, arty barrels trained. One wrong move, all minced.
He moved extra careful, no misreads.
"David Min murdered Colonel Douglas and his aide, then fled. We assume the Aussies take his orders. Provisional judgment: entire Aussie force complicit with Min. Detaining all."
"Hold up. Proof Min did it?"
"Crime scene was ops room rooftop. This casing found there—Aussie-made pistol round. Only outsider with a pistol in the building then: David Min. He bolted, so ironclad."
"..."
Deputy eyed the ziplock casing. Aussie 9mm Parabellum, sure—but standard pressure. Min only ran +P. Total fake.
Min fleeing at all was off too. Guy shot to kill, no half-measures. Fleeing screamed "not me."
But why the US setup and lies?
"Min's just a merc. Has limited command over Aussies 'cause he's on Secret Intelligence Agency ops—that's it. No tie to the murders. Now we know he turned, we ignore his orders. We'll help bag him. Skip the detention."
"Hard to buy. Surrender quietly."
"Still not convinced? Min shot me before leaving. Caught him hopping the fence, hailed him—bam, out of nowhere."
Deputy pulled plate carrier, showed vest: five chest hits. Rolled pant leg—freshly bandaged wound.
Min's handiwork: precise to wound convincingly, bleed right, no limp issues.
Thought he was nuts shooting random at the time—but now it clicked. One job ahead.
Deputy squeezed eyes shut, opened them—rage flickered.
"If we were in on it with Min, why shoot me? Bet he plugged me to stop me reinforcing you Aussies. By now, he's probably icing your commander. Trust me—I hate that bastard as much as you. Let me help hunt him down. Gotta kill him myself."
"..."
Clear why Min left them grounded instead of evac: needed a mole in base. Took a bullet just for that.
Working?
Deputy swallowed hard.
"Guess we're aligned. Sorry for the rudeness."
"No worries."
Hooked. Deputy clenched lips to hide the grin during handshake.