The Imperial Hunter - Chapter 79 #13. Eclosion (6)
The timer on the detonator read 1 minute and 42 seconds. The fact that it didn't fall neatly on the minute mark meant there were likely multiple attack sites. That made these terrorists here the latecomers. The one who armed the bomb had ditched the truck and fled in a hurry. Waiting in his escape direction was an accomplice on a motorcycle. As the terrorist hopped on the back, the accomplice twisted the throttle wide open and sped away from the scene in one go.
There wasn't a single functioning CCTV along the road they took. When the remaining time hit 53 seconds, Hushan Liang turned to me with an anxious look.
"You said it was like a disposable bazooka... Should we put more distance between us to be safe?"
He sure asked quickly. I shook my head.
"This is close enough. More importantly, you're just going to let those terrorists go like that?"
"Well, there are circumstances."
"I don't need to hear that much. Your boss is hostile with the guy in charge over there, right? What I mean is, shouldn't we at least track them down and find their base? Isn't this a lead on the Black Sea Party?"
Hushan Liang's mouth fell open in a dumbstruck expression. Incompetent fools. Bottom rung or top, all the same caliber.
Twenty-nine seconds to explosion. I held out my hand.
"Give me any spare weapons. We need to prepare for combat. Same for my people."
"Pardon? Combat?"
"This is the gateway to the city center. If I were the terrorist, I wouldn't just punch through here and call it a day. I'd at least do a victory lap right in the heart of downtown."
Guangzhou Tower, the city's landmark, was just five blocks away. The surrounding area was packed with high-rises full of Communist Party elites. A midday parade waving flags through the streets would deliver a massive shock. The foreign tourists who hadn't completely fled yet would eagerly live-stream it back home. I phrased it as speculation, but I'd already spotted the ambushers waiting. Some of their gear made me smirk. They really knew how to put on a propaganda show.
Hushan Liang, whose forehead was starting to glisten with sweat, issued orders via radio to another car, then opened the glovebox and handed me a pistol.
"Here. There are two automatic rifles in the trunk, but going out now might be—"
"This'll do for now. Take it."
"Got it."
Kyung-tae, who'd been listening silently, took the pistol in my stead. It was a semi-auto with a 15-round mag—Chinese-made, but chambered in the more universal 9mm Western round QSZ-92G-9. Different from their proprietary military calibers. As Kyung-tae racked the slide to chamber a round, three seconds remained.
I warned them indifferently.
"Cover your ears."
"Pardon?"
Idiot. I leaned back against the seat just as the truck exploded.
Flash, boom, shockwave. As the condensed steam burst outward, every glass window in the vicinity shattered. Our car's windshield cracked with a sharp pop, losing its transparency. Collisions erupted all along the road.
The two up front froze like pigs in a slaughterhouse. I leisurely took in the sight of the People's Liberation Army convoy pierced clean through in a straight line. The EFP's insane penetration paradoxically raised the survivors' odds. The front half of the vehicles had been drilled so cleanly that the passengers were largely unscathed. The real damage hit the rear ones, shredded by shrapnel from the ruptured hulls.
And the response from these lucky survivors? It was like watching a slapstick comedy.
They're on the same level as those morons in South Sudan.
Sixteen years ago, China had dispatched a mechanized infantry battalion as peacekeepers to South Sudan's civil war. Back then, they'd refused to leave base on orders, retreated to the center when fighting broke out, and ditched their posts and weapons when things heated up. The survivors' panic now was straight out of that playbook.
Confirming our dashcam was muted, I said in Korean,
"Kyung-tae. Let's get out."
"Roger that."
Clunk. Crunch.
Stepping out, I ripped off the door and used it as a shield, smashing out the side window for a clear shot. With the angle, it could ricochet pistol rounds. Coat it in telekinesis, and it'd do even better. Anyway, this wasn't a spot to blast mana fields at full power—efficiency first, whatever incantation I used.
A snap of breaking locks came from behind the car. Kyung-tae had forced the trunk. He tucked the pistol—safety on—into his waistband, grabbed the two rifles inside, and tossed one to me. The AK-style Type 81 rifles looked like PLA dress-up props, complete with wooden stocks. Told you everything about how the Gao Xusen faction was treated.
I set the makeshift shield down briefly to pocket the spare mags in my coat.
"Wh-what..."
To Hushan Liang's dazed mutter, I nodded toward the rapidly approaching engine noise.
"If you're with it, get ready. We've got rowdy guests incoming."
The cacophony echoing from all sides was the roar of revving bikes. Hushan Liang muttered again, stunned.
"Do we really have to fight?"
"What kind of questions do you think you'll get later if we were this close and did nothing?"
"Well, the CCTVs are all busted anyway..."
"What about this car's dashcam? And the smartphones of the People's onlookers over there? Those videos are all heading straight to Beijing."
Hushan Liang's eyes snapped wide as he scanned the buildings. The high-rise apartments around us all had prime green spaces—perks of the elite in Chinese cities. The people at windows and balconies aiming phones our way? Family of the privileged. Cameras summoned by the blast.
"You'll be a hero of the homeland and the Party."
If you survive, that is.
Hushan Liang squeezed his eyes shut, gripped the radio, ordered his men to battle stations, and called upper command for backup.
Vrooooom!
The exhaust chorus hit its peak as dozens of bikes swarmed out of alleys onto the main road like hornets. Two Black Sea Party operators per bike—black visors, armed with pistols, SMGs, short-barreled rifles, and broad Anti-Japanese Great Swords glinting in the sun. Those long-handled blades were standard issue against the Japanese in WWII, better known by that name.
"Not yet."
At my order, Kyung-tae nodded, ducked behind the car, and radioed the same to our other vehicles' crews. No need to draw fire early—their first target was the PLA survivors hit by the EFP.
As we hunkered down, Hushan Liang's crew followed suit, playing it safe.
Tat-tat-tat-tat!
The Black Sea assault bikes sprayed suppressive fire on the charge, piercing the panicked Chinese survivors from five directions in a precisely timed pincer—gaps of just 3-4 seconds between strikes.
"Save me!"
A soldier's dying scream cut short as a massive sword stroke split him top to bottom. Augmented by the bike's speed and the rider's strength, the steel cleaved flesh without resistance. Severed in an instant, but the collapse was slow—arms first, then the halves toppled, spilling blood. Fifteen hacked like that in moments. Seven more than those shot at close range.
Severed heads, limbs, torsos rolled amid the burning APCs. Crimson-black pools spread across the asphalt.
Thud-thud-thud-ka!
One soldier, the only one with his wits, fired back amid the chaos. But his aim was sloppy, smoke cut visibility, debris cluttered the path—impossible to hit the agile bikes darting about. Long-range was tough for the attackers too, so hunker and wait for close-range volley... but they looked hopeless. Officers scattering, leaving bloody footprints—no chance.
With even basic cohesion gone, the Black Sea Party's second wave charged.
Vroooom—brrrrt!
Deliberately loud like biker gangs. Dozens of bikes circled their prey from all sides. Black silhouettes danced in the smoke, muzzle flashes sparkled. Overwhelmed by gunfire and engine roars, soldiers dropped weapons, knelt, raised hands, screamed surrender. Some bolted crying like kids toward shops, buildings, apartments. Sporadic return fire stuttered out.
Bloody bikes bore down mercilessly. More heads rolled, torsos parted. One rider scooped a severed head mid-air, hoisted it like a trophy, bathing in the spray.
"Long live the revolution! Long live the Black Sea Party! Long live the Chinese people! The people's enemies must die!"
The mopup followed. More like mass execution. One bisected private, noose around his neck, dragged behind a bike. His heart still beat, trailing bloody ink along the circular path.
In this blood-marked killing ground, the Chinese crumbled without fight. Fighters hopped off bikes, dragged pleading officers, NCOs, grunts into kneelers, and beheaded them. Some filmed, some looted—clear division of labor. Remaining riders hunted runners.
Rooooaaar!
The Black Sea assault team bellowed like beasts, celebrating victory. Two waves decided it—they had reason to crow.
But now it was time to remind them we were prey too.
"Y-you're attacking?"
Hushan Liang, soaked in cold sweat, croaked the question as I shouldered my door-shield in a kneeling aim.
I glanced at him sidelong.
"What, you think not?"
A nod to Kyung-tae—he radioed the assault hold. Targets assigned long ago. Mine were the smoke-shrouded ones invisible to the naked eye.
Scanning our side for readiness, I spotted Park Mi-joo gripping her pistol, face pale, and added to Kyung-tae,
"Tell Miju no combat. Hide in the back seat or something."
"Got it."
All our members had basic combat training, but pure "sales" types like dead Gapsu or Mi-joo weren't much help here. Lack of real combat experience, circuit or no. Especially Mi-joo—key link to Gao Xusen, top protection priority.
She's psychologically shaky too.
Mi-joo leaned hard on her master.
Crack! Br-rack-rack!
As we finished prepping, an APC erupted in secondary explosions—cooking ammo blasting thick tracers out the open door. Riders' eyes snapped there; Kyung-tae barked,
"Now! Fire!"
Kak-kang! Kak-kang!
Controlled bursts hammered two riders' helmets on my sightline. Four hits. Brains leaking, they wobbled, knelt, toppled fore and aft. Kyung-tae's crew added seven more kills or wounds. Without obstacles and crossfire limits, double that easy.
Hushan Liang's men grabbed rifles, yielding pistols to ours. Greed over skill.
"What? What's happening?!"
Victory-drunk riders panicked; Hushan Liang's crew joined late with suppressive fire. But we'd already thinned them— their shots just pinpointed our positions without kills.
Sparks flew as asphalt around us shattered—their counterfire. My door-shield rang tung-tung a few times. Angled entry points, packed with dense telekinesis—no rounds penetrated.
Screeeeech!
High-pitched skids layered as riders leaned bikes low, carving turns. Dozens spun in place; dismounted swordsmen and gunners remounted swiftly.
The Black Sea assault launched another ferocious charge.