A Hero of the Age
An invisible barrier appeared out of thin air before Li Bai and the others. Whether it was rain, shockwaves, or the blood mist sweeping toward them, everything was blocked three paces away and could not advance another inch.
Ever since the firearms family had given birth to rapid-fire machine guns, whether light or heavy, they had been powerful tools for quick slaughter.
The theoretical rate of fire of a Maxim heavy machine gun was six hundred rounds per minute. A dense barrage as torrential as a downpour meant hundreds of casualties every minute.
More than ten M249 squad machine guns at the scene sprayed out a rain of bullets at a rate of one thousand rounds per minute. In just over ten seconds, they could slaughter every rebel soldier.
In fact, after a total of twenty Claymore anti-personnel mines exploded in two successive waves, hardly any of the rebel soldiers' formation were still standing. Then the ten machine guns swept through every angle in a frenzy, joined by dozens of AK-47s firing finishing shots. In the blink of an eye, not one of the more than three hundred surviving soldiers under the rebel commander Abraham remained alive.
The Claymores alone took out a quarter of them in one wave, and nearly half in two.
From beginning to end, Sun Fatty and the others remained dazed until their hearing returned.
Putting his pistol back on the wooden tray, Huoleini sneered at Abraham, who had already collapsed on the ground and was thoroughly dead. He turned around, waved at the seemingly terrified Chinese people, and shouted, "A perfect surrender ceremony, wasn't it?"
Being surrendered straight into hell—there couldn't have been anything better.
Seeing how frightened the Chinese people were, he was extremely satisfied. It counted as a