Los Angeles defector

The Battle at the Small Building

After the first platoon on the small street, the third platoon on the west side of the street also engaged in a full-scale firefight with the vampires. Unlike the battle on the small street, this side consisted of houses, courtyards, brick walls, and narrow alleys, making it purely a street fight. The sound of gunfire was chaotic and mixed together, rising and falling intermittently. A small team of over fifty vampires clashed with the third platoon, which had around fifty soldiers left after losing the second platoon, fighting in the rubble.

When the sound of gunfire finally rang in his ears, Jason unconsciously entered a state, temporarily forgetting the crimson past and disregarding the unknown moments to come. Lifting his left foot into a marching stance, he stepped on the gaps of the wooden wall ahead. His body slightly leaned forward, concealed under the lowered and curled gray brim of his hat. His narrow eyes gradually narrowed as his breathing rate slowed down. Instinct took over, dominating his body, his thoughts, and the brand new M1 rifle in his hands.

After ejecting the first spent casing and pulling back the bolt, Jason realized that his first shot had gone high, flying past the target and hitting the ground. Damn it! He discovered that he had neglected to adjust the sight setting, reducing the distance from 300 meters to 100 meters. He repositioned the muzzle closer to the window gap. The two vampires who had been throwing grenades while crouched on the ground had already disappeared, with one eliminated. The other vampire still clutched a grenade, motionless. Jason's instinct told him that the remaining vampire was already dead, likely taken out by Old Blackskin, as the loud gunshot came from ahead. There was fog, making it difficult to see if there were any bloodstains at a distance of over fifty meters, let alone the point of impact. The battlefield rule for seasoned soldiers: Don't assume one shot can kill the enemy. With his right eye slightly squinting through the wooden rifle stock, Jason's gaze pierced through the gap set at 100 on the sight, passed through the slightly lowered reticle, and landed on the center of the vampire's back as he crouched. Snap! A powerful jolt, accompanied by a slight pain, traveled from his shoulder through his entire body, causing Jason to sway slightly in relief.

The flickering tongue of fire carried a thin wisp of blue smoke and the faint scent of gunpowder, dispersing through the window of the small building. Like a mischievous sprite, a 7.92mm rifle bullet whistled through the air, completing its fleeting journey in an instant. It pierced through the back of the vampire's lifeless body, unwillingly exerting its final burst of energy before burying itself in the ground. The vampire, already dead, died once again.

"The trajectory was perfect and beautiful. You're a well-behaved little lady!" Jason silently praised his slightly warm M1 rifle in his mind. With a clatter, he mechanically pulled back the smooth and shiny bolt with his right hand, making slight adjustments to the muzzle. He aimed at the target crawling behind the wall near the corpse, unable to see the vital torso due to the obstruction, only revealing half of the shoulder and the helmet in the reticle. Snap! Thump! The bullet grazed the corner of the helmet before ricocheting off, narrowly missing the vampire as it crawled. The ricochet on the helmet startled him, making him realize that his position was compromised. Immediately, he retreated to the corner of the wall, crouched down, and turned around to run back in search of a new cover position.

With a clatter, the third cartridge briskly jumped out of the chamber, somersaulting in a small arc and landing near Jason's feet. "You're lucky!" he muttered, taking a slow breath and exhaling it. He gently adjusted the position of the muzzle, turning it towards the other end of the low wall, and waited. His right index finger began exerting an incredibly slow and gentle pressure, gradually sinking the trigger, approaching the critical point of firing.

Snap! The figure that had just darted out from the corner of the wall stumbled as an external force struck it from the side, causing it to fall to the ground. The bullet hole on its thigh made the vampire panic, as it struggled to stand up but failed. It immediately resorted to crawling, attempting to crawl past this corner of death.

Clatter! The fifth bullet smoothly slid into the chamber, its sleek, slightly curved, coppery projectile standing confidently on the starting line. "You won't need to run anymore!" Jason silently told the vampire in his mind. Once again, he raised the smoke-emitting, grim muzzle, aiming it at the dirty soul that was still struggling and crawling.

Snap! A bullet hit the ground near the struggling vampire at the corner, kicking up a cloud of dust. "Fuck... Was there wind? Did I miss again?" The tall figure to Jason's right muttered as he ejected the spent casing from the window.

Snap! Another gunshot rang out, and the struggling vampire went completely limp. Its head had been blown halfway off, with the pale brain matter mixed with blood splattered all over the floor, sticky fragments dotting the wall. "Damn it, I aimed for the neck, but ended up hitting the head. This unlucky s**t, no wonder I missed," grumbled Old Blackskin from the window on the left.

Amidst the murmurs of the tall figure and Old Blackskin, Jason reluctantly released the almost-pulled trigger and began searching for a new target. As his gaze swept across an open window, his heart sank, and a chilling sensation spread through his body. It was an extremely familiar feeling. Although the visibility was limited, he could discern that it was an open, dark window with no other distinguishing features. But Jason was certain that the window he had observed earlier was closed. His intuition told him that inside that window, there would be a machine g*n, elevated above the surrounding area on the second floor of a two-story building. The enemy would eventually notice it, and the open window was meant for stabilizing the g*n's bipod on the windowsill. Perhaps at this moment, the vampire's machine gunner had already completed their aim.

"Take cover!" Jason shouted loudly as he forcefully pushed off with his front foot, propelling his body backward off the wooden wall and landing on the floor, flat on his back.

Crash, crash—the window shattered piece by piece, starting from one side and tearing horizontally towards the other. The sound of splintering wood and broken glass filled the air, with wood chips and shattered glass floating in intricate patterns. The sound transformed into a rhythmic thud, as the projectiles passed through the first window and continued along the window frame and wooden wall, leaving bullet holes in their wake. The relentless barrage of bullets allowed streaks of light to leak into the room, hopping from one window to the next until reaching the second window, where the sound returned to a cacophony of crashing. It then moved on to the third window before retracing its original path, tearing through the southern wall, piercing through the air inside the room, and slamming into the northern wall, leaving a trail of consecutive bullet holes. Beams of pale light streamed in, illuminating the scene. The wooden structure of the second floor trembled continuously, emitting creaking and groaning sounds. The bullets arrogantly screamed through the room, destroying everything in their path, relentlessly creating debris and piercing through any obstacles. After a moment, the chaos finally subsided, and silence fell.

The firefight outside continued unabated, while inside the small building, there was a momentary absence of sound, an eerie silence akin to death.

The foolish boy huddled in the corner of the ground floor, wide-eyed and staring blankly at the staircase leading to the second floor, unable to utter a word. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, unable to make sense of it all. He only heard the sudden uproar and trembling from upstairs, as countless specks of dust continuously rained down through the cracks in the ceiling, as if everything that could be shattered upstairs had been shattered. It was a relentless shattering, a bone-chilling sound that instinctively filled the foolish boy with fear.

Finally, Brown, who had been guarding the entrance on the ground floor, snapped out of his daze. He dropped his g*n and rushed towards the staircase, stumbling and falling as he climbed up. "Platoon leader! Big guy! Pla-platoon leader!" His voice trembled, accompanied by a hint of tears. His limbs seemed disobedient, and the short flight of a dozen wooden steps felt impossibly distant, as if he could never reach the top.

When Brown first arrived at the Third Platoon, he felt worthless, assigned to a secondary unit with a bunch of misfits and an indestructible platoon leader. He became disheartened. But as he gradually experienced the battlefield, witnessing the cheap disposal of human lives and the continuous rotation of so-called main forces like crops in a field, some faces disappearing into the smoke before he could even remember them, Brown's heart grew cold. Despite the small size of the Third Platoon, they seemed to live longer. So, slowly but surely, he could only remember the Third Platoon, only remember the platoon leader, the big guy, and a few others, even if Brown didn't want to, even if he didn't like it. In his memory, only these remained. Unbeknownst to himself, the Third Platoon had become his sole support, allowing him to still complain bitterly, to still mock and satirize, without becoming numb to the environment.

When the sound of bullets piercing through the rooftop began to echo continuously, Brown was stunned. Unlike the foolish boy, Brown knew what that sound meant. He could even imagine the grim fate of the platoon leader, the big guy, and that annoying fellow Jason. As the rapid gunfire penetrated the rooftop with its staccato rhythm, Brown's heart was also penetrated, shot by shot, each bullet piercing through his heart, leaving behind an icy chill.