Invasion of America

Chapter 138 Fear
As Lynch led a convoy of three or four hundred survivors from other towns, rushing in like a long snake, the remaining survivors in Avoni Town also gathered together.

The town is simply too large. The original two or three thousand residents are spread across an area of ​​about seven or eight square kilometers.

With Zhou Qingfeng's limited manpower, it's impossible for him to control the entire town; at most, he can only clear out the area around the camp.

When news of the attack by foreign enemies reached the remaining survivors in the town, they were all eager to help.

Scott then served as the liaison between the town and the outside world. According to the plan, Lynch led his team to the outskirts of town, where he was to first lead a group to destroy the surveillance equipment and automated weapon stations deployed within the town.

“I hate high technology!” Scott led four or five men and crouched down behind the fence of a villa.

Inside the wall was an abandoned and desolate street, with a row of solar-powered streetlights mostly broken. The road was covered with dead trees, fallen leaves, and weeds.

The stray cats and dogs in the town have all been hunted to death. However, some unidentified birds chirp in the dead trees and occasionally fall down to peck at the grass seeds on the ground.

At the top of a lamppost, the 'Holy Light' team installed dual infrared and optical monitoring equipment, along with a matching automated weapon station.

The monitoring equipment will detect and alarm if personnel pass by or if there are changes in the ground surface. Once danger is confirmed, the automatic weapon station will open fire.

"This thing is inhumane."

If any scavengers from the 'Holy Light' team need to enter, they can use a local area network built with wireless routers to preemptively shut down weapon stations in specific areas.

However, in case of an emergency, or at night, these weapon stations will definitely be activated—anyone who dares to show their face will face the threat of death.

Scott dared not lean out rashly, but carefully took out a broken piece of glass and slowly extended it from the corner of the wall, trying to observe whether the weapon station on the lamppost about thirty meters away was facing them.

However, the lens was too small. He squinted for a long time until beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, then he panted and muttered a curse:
"Thank goodness, it seems those yellow-skinned monkeys don't have much heavy firepower. Their weapon station only has a semi-automatic AR-15. The firepower isn't strong, and the muzzle isn't directly aimed at us."

The survivors huddled tightly behind Scott still looked grim. No one thought this was good news, and no one naively believed they could stand up to the automated weapon station head-on.

“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” Scott said in a low voice, waving his hand. “It’s just a machine, after all. It’s not a person and it doesn’t have intelligence.” He gestured, “Push up the hay bales we’ve prepared.”

Since the town's population plummeted, no one has taken care of it, and the weeds have grown wildly like runaway horses.

Four or five survivors worked together to move several huge hay bales to the fence, and then carefully pushed them out.

Scott pulled out a lighter, lit the tinder in his hand with two 'pop' sounds, and then forcefully pushed the half-person-high bag of dry hay outwards.

The dry hay was instantly engulfed by flames, bursting into flames and billowing smoke.

The infrared surveillance camera on the other side reacted immediately, the camera rotated rapidly, and the gun muzzle of the weapon station adjusted accordingly, aiming at the flames... Then, it froze, like a machine that had crashed.

"Let's go, change direction!" Before the first hay bale had completely burned out, Scott led his men to another direction and lit the same hay bale.

Multiple fires broke out simultaneously, triggering an alarm on the monitoring system. However, the automatic weapon station was clearly unable to fire at the flames and could only turn its guns in vain, completely losing its target.

Scott gave a mocking smile, peeked out from a blind spot in the surveillance camera, raised his gun, aimed at a lamppost twenty or thirty meters away, and pulled the trigger.

After a series of short bursts of fire, the monitoring equipment, along with its base, was shot down.

“See? How simple.” Scott blew on the muzzle of his gun and said dismissively, “As long as you use your brain, there’s nothing you can’t handle.”
-
Abandoned wooden houses are scattered throughout the town of Avoni, providing excellent flammable materials.

The survivors quickly dismantled large quantities of wooden planks, piled them up, and burned them. The resulting flames and thick smoke were enough to interfere with or even disable the high-tech monitoring equipment.

The survivors who followed Scott were ecstatic, as if they had found a powerful weapon against the 'Holy Light' team. Several successful sabotage operations followed, and long-lost smiles graced everyone's faces.

Just as Scott was preparing to expand his gains and further cripple the town's surveillance network, a frantic and desperate cry for help suddenly came through the radio... "Enemy attack! We are under enemy attack! We urgently need rescue!"

"Who are you? Which group are you from?" Scott quickly pressed the talk button on the walkie-talkie and asked urgently, "State your exact location!"

"This is Denzel from Team Two. We're at the convenience store!" The voice trembled noticeably as it cried for help. "Wall is dead! Drones and robotic dogs are chasing us!"

Immediately afterwards, several muffled gunshots rang out over the walkie-talkie, followed by chilling screams and wails, as if some monster was hunting.

Scott felt a surge of frustration; he truly hated this situation. Those damned yellow-skinned monkeys might not have much else, but their technological equipment was surprisingly advanced.

Wired, wireless, and intelligent, they can exert powerful combat capabilities with only a small number of personnel.

In contrast, these survivors from the American mainland were like a group of country bumpkins who had never seen the world. Apart from having plenty of guns, even a walkie-talkie was considered a rare 'household appliance,' and having night vision goggles made them elite.

“Hold on!” Scott shouted into the walkie-talkie, trying to give his comrades some confidence.

"Our troops are about to enter the town! We'll soon storm the camp and crush those Asians! You must hold on!"

He anxiously repeated the message several times, but the responses from the walkie-talkie became fewer and fewer, replaced by increasingly intense gunfire and more shrill screams.

After a while, communication was completely cut off, with only intermittent gunfire faintly heard from a few hundred meters away.

Was the gunfight on the second group's side?

Scott tried to pinpoint the direction from which the gunshots were coming, but his unease grew stronger.

Because those gunshots didn't come from inside the town, but from the highway outside the town, which was the direction Lin Qi's convoy was planning to take to break into the town!

Amid the gunfire, there was also a low humming sound. It was not the roar of a vehicle engine, but the unique sound of the 'Warthog' attack aircraft's motor power suddenly increasing when it hovered at low altitude.

"Damn it! Those yellow-skinned monkeys have deployed planes!" Scott's expression changed drastically.

Not only did a buzzing sound come from the wind, but also a dense series of muffled thuds, like dull drumbeats striking the eardrums.

Experienced people can immediately recognize the sound as the distinctive roar of a large-caliber machine gun firing.

Survivors who served as 'basic labor force' frequently witnessed 'warthogs' taking off and landing, but the exact number of low-altitude aircraft deployed in the town's camps remained a mystery.

Scott tried to console himself that the electric 'warthog' hadn't entered the US market and that the numbers couldn't be too large.

But then he remembered that Zhou Qingfeng was the controller of 'electric flight,' so it wasn't impossible for him to get a hundred or two 'Warthogs.'

Airplanes are far more maneuverable than cars, especially when they can take off and land vertically without being picky about the terrain, making them even more unpredictable.

Scott anxiously wondered if the yellow-skinned monkeys in the camp had ambushed their convoy with heavy machine guns.
“That would be terrible…” Scott’s forehead began to sweat.

He had been hoping that the convoy outside the town could break into the town as soon as possible, so that his and the town's survivors' actions of setting fires and causing destruction would not turn into a pointless suicide mission.

But the situation was worse than Scott had anticipated. Before he could ascertain the exact circumstances outside the town, the gates of the camp inside suddenly burst open, and five roughly modified pickup trucks charged out like roaring beasts.

The wheels rolled and the engine roared, kicking up a trail of dust as it sped menacingly toward his location.

Meanwhile, in the camp's command room, Lin An was staring intently at the huge electronic sand table screen in front of him, which clearly displayed surveillance footage from various parts of the town.

Seeing Scott and his crew wreaking havoc everywhere like fleas, he almost laughed in exasperation at these 'troublemakers'.

The convoy of three or four hundred people outside the town hadn't posed any real threat yet. On the contrary, the groups of three or five "rats" inside the town, taking advantage of their familiarity with the terrain, had destroyed several important surveillance devices.

Sitting next to him was Xiao Jinlang, the team's 'chief steward,' who was always extremely sensitive to the loss of supplies and was as meticulous as a miser.

Although Zhou Qing had a sufficient supply of various spare parts that he had purchased and stockpiled, he still couldn't help but frown with heartache when he saw the equipment being damaged.

"Kill them! We can't let these guys run rampant anymore!" Lin An gave the order in an icy tone.
-
A drone buzzed as it flew over first, and at an altitude of two or three hundred meters, infrared and optical sensors firmly locked onto the location where Scott and his team were hiding.

Following closely behind, several roaring modified pickup trucks sped to the hiding place of these "rats".

The armed men in the vehicle watched coldly as the survivors, like trapped beasts, rushed into several buildings in the town, attempting a final stand.

"Don't engage these 'rats' in close combat, set them on fire and burn them to death." Lin An coldly ordered the frontline team members over the radio.

The windows of the modified pickup truck slowly rolled down, and several small quadcopter drones flew out, with simple yet deadly incendiary bombs hanging below their fuselages.

Inside the car, a man with a buzz cut wearing VR glasses skillfully operated the remote control in his hand. These inconspicuous aircraft were like nimble falcons at his fingertips.

Since the town's "traditional oil refining" equipment went into operation, it has not only produced commonly used oil products such as gasoline, diesel, and kerosene, but also generated a lot of viscous and difficult-to-use heavy oil.

These heavy oils were once considered a "white elephant"—too good to throw away, but useless to keep. Now, they have found a new purpose—to manufacture incendiary bombs.

The projectile body can be any kind of discarded bottles and cans, the ignition material is old textiles soaked in heavy oil, and the propellant is simply ammonium nitrate.

The quadcopter drone emitted a low "buzzing" sound, steadily carrying the incendiary bomb as it flew towards the target building, hovering precisely above the houses where the "rats" were hiding.

Then, incendiary bombs were dropped.

These incendiary bombs were equipped with simple delayed fuses, relying on gravitational potential energy to smash through wooden roofs and then explode inside the house—American villas mostly preferred wooden structures, which were cheap, convenient, but not very sturdy.

If they use more reinforced concrete, the effectiveness of this improvised incendiary bomb will be greatly reduced.

The falling incendiary bomb exploded inside the house with a loud bang, instantly scattering hundreds of strips of cloth, cotton wadding, and even waste paper soaked in sticky, heavy oil.

The ignited debris quickly released thick smoke and intense heat, turning the house into an inferno. Once the fire spread, the entire building would be completely engulfed in flames within two or three minutes.

The survivors hiding inside the house could not withstand the intense heat and had to flee the inferno in a desperate attempt to find new hiding places.

As soon as they dared to show their faces... two or three modified pickup trucks, working together, had already been eyeing the burning house nearby.

Once a figure rushes out of the inferno, the M240 general-purpose machine gun mounted on the weapon station on the pickup truck will mercilessly spit fire.

With just one or two short bursts of fire, those who managed to escape were riddled with bullet holes.

Scott hid in a burning house and, through the window, witnessed his companion, who had been right behind him, being ignited by the heavy oil splashed from the incendiary bomb, screaming in agony as he writhed on the ground.

Not far away, two modified pickup trucks silently watched everything. They did not immediately shoot the people on fire, but instead watched the victims struggle in pain with a cruel, cat-and-mouse mentality.

What enraged Scott the most was that he actually saw Omar!
This despicable black man did not escape with Sani and the others; instead, he once again groveled and surrendered to the "Holy Light" team in the town!
At this moment, Omar, holding a roasted potato in each hand, followed closely behind a modified pickup truck, acting as an "accompanying infantryman."

As he munched on a potato, he pointed at the targets fleeing from the inferno.

With limited visibility inside a pickup truck, such a dog is indeed needed to act as their "eyes" and "ears".

"Black guys are all unreliable!" Scott felt an indescribable sorrow, mixed with immense fear.

The survivors from the surrounding towns banded together because they believed that the Asian population in Awoni was small and vulnerable.

Before the outbreak of the virus, the Asian population in the United States with relatively pure bloodlines was only about 20 million, of which Chinese Americans accounted for about 5 million, which was not a large number.

In the eyes of white supremacists, being outnumbered means being easy to bully; if they don't teach them a lesson, who will they teach a lesson to?

When the apocalypse arrives, Asians who don't cause much trouble and don't stockpile enough guns and ammunition will be at the very bottom of society, probably numbering less than one in ten.

At this moment, Scott knew he was trapped and doomed. However, what was even harder for him to accept was that Omar, the black man who was supposed to die with him, was being treated well.

How could such a fickle and opportunistic person continue to survive?

"This is a huge problem..." The house where Scott was located was engulfed in flames, thick smoke billowed out, and the heat was oppressive.

He didn't want to be burned alive, nor did he want to rush out and be mowed to pieces by machine gun fire. In desperation, he drew his pistol, the cold muzzle pressed against his temple.

Seeing that Omar was willing to "be a dog" again, Scott's anger erupted like a volcano.

He flung open the door, now scorching hot from the flames, rushed out, raised his pistol, aimed it at Omar, the black man twenty or thirty meters away, and repeatedly pulled the trigger, letting out a desperate and furious roar:

"Why did you have to side with these yellow people?!"

"If all black people were like you, what would we white people do?!"

"I can allow you to band together, but I will never allow you to merge with people of Asian descent!"

Scott's pistol fired four or five shots in quick succession, but given the intense emotional turmoil and the distance of only twenty or thirty meters,

All the bullets missed their targets, leaving only a few white scratches on the modified pickup truck's armor and making a few dull clanging sounds.

Omar was startled by the ricocheting bullets whizzing past his ear and jerked his neck back.

Almost simultaneously, the machine gun on the weapon station on the top of the pickup truck next to him spewed out angry flames, and a burst of bullets turned Scott, who rushed out, into a bloody mess, and he fell backward into the flames-filled ruins.

Scott's dying words were completely drowned out by the deafening gunfire and the crackling of flames; no one heard them.

(End of this chapter)