A hole blasted open in the concrete wall with a deafening explosion.
Rubble sprayed through the air amid splashes of blood, and a severed thigh landed on William's shoulder.
The gunmen's second assault had also been crushed. The last survivors dragged half a comrade's body away in a desperate retreat, while agonized screams and sobs echoed through the smoke-filled corridor.
"Boss, they've got heavy weapons... machine guns and rocket launchers. We can't break through... let's pull out!"
Tears streaked down a face smeared with soot.
If this nineteen-year-old had been given another chance to choose, he would never have let his companions talk him into joining this private militia.
Of course, the rookie wasn't the only one whose resolve had been shattered by the rockets. Their leader's had been, too.
With nearly a third of their men lost, the gunmen's morale had all but crumbled. Since someone had conveniently suggested retreating, their leader was ready to take the opening.
But, concerned about saving face, he insisted on adding:
"So our boys died for nothing in those two assaults?"
He had expected his men to urge him again, but his deputy took him at his word and shot the young man dragging the corpse.
As the gunshot faded, silence fell over everyone.
"The boss is right! We'll fight to the very last man!!!"
After that impassioned declaration, he raised his eyebrows smugly at his leader.
Well? Didn't I do great?
What the hell are you doing?!
Beneath his mask, the man was frantic with frustration.
"What's wrong, boss? Your back itchy? Want me to scratch it?"
The man said nothing. He simply gave him a thumbs-up.
Suddenly, a rushing sound grew louder overhead.
The leader looked up toward the sound and saw a rounded metal object plummeting from high above.
It