Invasion of America

Chapter 148 Surprise Attack
The apocalypse has arrived, and the once bustling countryside is now desolate.

A state highway winds its way forward, and it is still relatively well-maintained for the time being, but the scenery on both sides of the road is desolate.

Withered weeds grew rampant, covering the uneven, potholed land. Abandoned villas were looted and demolished, leaving only collapsed bricks and tiles. Scrapped vehicles lay in ruins, silently telling the cruel story of the apocalypse.

An armed convoy sped along the highway like a torrent, kicking up clouds of dust that stretched for two or three kilometers.

The scorching sun beat down on the earth like a fireball, but the soldiers on the roof of the vehicle remained fully armed, their black helmets and bulletproof vests looking particularly heavy in the sunlight.

Whether it was the driver gripping the steering wheel or the soldier standing close to the cabin door, every nerve was taut, their eyes scanning the withered yellow grass on both sides of the road with the faint rustling sound, as if they were hawks.

A hot wind blew by, and the withered grass swayed like ocean waves, adding to the sense of potential danger.

Whenever any unusual noise was heard, even just a faint scraping sound, the convoy's heavy machine gun would slowly move in response to the soldiers' movements.

The dark muzzles of guns, like silent death itself, stared intently at anything suspicious. The soldiers' fingers were poised to pull the trigger at any moment, unleashing a hail of bullets.

Behind those waist-high, withered weeds, indeed lurked many ragged survivors. Their eyes were sunken, their cheekbones prominent, and their sallow faces were marked with exhaustion and hunger.

Prolonged hunger eroded their bodies like a slow poison, but it also honed their desire to survive and their keen awareness of danger.

Hearing the dull thud of wheels coming from the road in the distance, these ghostly survivors would cautiously crawl out of their hiding places, peeking with a glimmer of hope at the "prey" that appeared in their sight.

However, what these survivors possessed were only ordinary firearms, and most of them were semi-automatic weapons with limited rates of fire.

These rudimentary weapons, which might serve as hunting tools in peacetime, are utterly insignificant and vulnerable in the face of well-equipped and heavily protected armored convoys, much like sticks.

Occasionally, survivors, clinging to a sliver of hope, would tentatively peek half their heads out from the dense undergrowth, glancing at the massive armored vehicles speeding past, trying to find an opportunity to strike.

Such risky maneuvers are often met with well-trained and merciless precise bursts of fire from the machine gunners atop the armored vehicles.

Each time a muffled gunshot rang out, the bullets instantly tore through the air, and bright red blood splattered, instantly staining the dry roadside grass.

“It’s the Richmond Guard.”

Having witnessed their companions being so easily slaughtered like weeds, the remaining survivors completely abandoned any unrealistic fantasies.

They huddled tightly in the waist-deep, sweltering grass, silently praying that the armored convoy would get away from them as soon as possible to avoid suffering any undeserved disaster.

Just then, the lead Stryker armored vehicle began to slow down slowly, preparing to turn around a destroyed gas station ahead.

Near the gas station, a low, muffled thud suddenly erupted from behind a dilapidated house riddled with bullet holes, accompanied by a barely perceptible plume of gray smoke.

With a muffled thud, an 84mm shell, like a roar from hell, tore through the air and whistled as it struck the side of the Stryker armored vehicle fifty meters away.

"boom--!"

The deafening explosion sounded like a death knell tolling suddenly. The semi-armor-piercing grenade easily tore through the armored vehicle's seemingly solid defenses, and then exploded violently inside the cramped compartment.

The enormous energy was released instantly, blasting the steel behemoth weighing over ten tons into the air like a toy.

The machine gunner on the roof of the vehicle was like a rag doll thrown by a huge force, flying more than ten meters through the air before crashing heavily to the ground, leaving a trail of blood.

The sudden explosion was like a bolt from the blue, plunging the heavily guarded convoy into panic and chaos, as if a hornet's nest had been stirred up.

The armored vehicles that followed braked suddenly, their tires screeching as they rubbed against the rough road surface.

The soldiers on the vehicle began shouting and leaning out of their posts to look around. Their weapons seemed out of control, firing wildly at any suspicious target in the vicinity.

In particular, several armored vehicles that were leading the charge were like mad dogs, recklessly unleashing a hail of bullets in the direction from which the shells were flying.

Dust flew everywhere, gravel flew everywhere, and the air was filled with the strong smell of gunpowder.

The attack forced the massive armed convoy to a halt, and hundreds of vehicles of various types instinctively scattered to the sides of the road like a frightened herd of beasts.

The tracks and tires crunched and creaked as they rolled over the dry vegetation.

The infantrymen on the vehicle, like tin cans being jostled around, stumbled and jumped off the back of the vehicle, clutching their helmets, and frantically expanded their search area towards the ruins and bushes on both sides of the road.

The roar of engines, the shouts of soldiers, and the frantic firing of guns mingled together, creating a chaotic apocalyptic symphony.
-
Inside the command vehicle in the center of the convoy, Major General Borg, relying on his status as the highest-ranking officer in the unit, had a simple cot.

At this moment, he was lying on his back with his eyelids closed, trying to seize a few moments of rest amidst the continuous turbulence.

"Crench--!"

A sudden, sharp brake was applied, and the unsuspecting Major General Borg was thrown forward, his head hitting the edge of the bed.

The sharp pain jolted him awake. Rubbing his aching forehead, he shouted angrily, "What happened?!"

"Enemy attack! General!" a staff officer wearing headphones shouted, his voice trembling and sharp with panic.

"Calm down, it's not a big deal." As the highest-ranking officer of the Richmond Guard, Major General Borg was annoyed but didn't say anything more.

Specific on-site tactical command is not within the major general's responsibilities; the battle group has a complete command chain and operational procedures for dealing with emergencies.

As a general, he could have simply sat back and waited; sporadic attacks wouldn't have much impact on the convoy—but reality was quite different from what he expected.

Just as the battle group's convoy stopped, several buzzing quadcopter drones, like ghosts, flew low over the ruins of dilapidated buildings on both sides of the road.

Using the ruins as cover, these drones approached the convoy at an extremely low altitude, getting within just twenty or thirty meters.

"Watch out in the air! It's a drone!" a sharp-eyed soldier shouted hoarsely, his voice filled with despair.

In the convoy, an armored personnel carrier fully loaded with soldiers suddenly stopped, the door opened with a clang, and seven or eight fully armed soldiers quickly jumped out of the vehicle.

They swiftly and skillfully rushed toward a relatively intact two-story building by the roadside, attempting to seize this potentially crucial high ground.

Before the machine gunner among the soldiers could find any hidden enemies, he watched as another drone darted past less than a meter in front of him.

The drone trailed a thin optical fiber, like a thread held by the Grim Reaper.

This clearly demonstrates that traditional radio reconnaissance and jamming are completely ineffective against these fiber-optic guided drones. "No—!" The machine gunner didn't have time to turn his machine gun around, and in desperation, he could only draw his pistol from his waist and repeatedly pull the trigger at the rapidly passing drone.

But the drone flew extremely fast, completely ignoring the bullets firing haphazardly, and sped away, heading straight for the center of the convoy.

Although the convoy was equipped with two Avenger air defense systems, neither of these vehicles was equipped with a radar system; instead, they relied on electro-optical search and targeting.

Faced with the suicide drone flying close to the ground, the Avenger was unable to capture and lock onto the target in time. Like a beast that had lost its sight, it could only turn its turret in vain, accomplishing nothing.

"boom--!"

Another deafening explosion rang out as the ghostly suicide drone precisely struck the armored command vehicle mounted on its roof with multiple communication antennas.

The incendiary bomb suspended beneath the drone's fuselage exploded instantly, spewing out a large amount of orange-red flames that quickly engulfed the entire armored command vehicle, sending thick black smoke, mixed with a pungent acrid smell, soaring into the sky.

The soldiers inside the driver's cab were as if they were being roasted by the high temperature. They had no choice but to hurriedly open the deformed doors, tumble off the burning vehicle, grab the fire extinguishers on board, and spray them frantically at the raging flames clinging to the vehicle body.

At the same time, the rear door of the command vehicle was suddenly opened, and four or five officers in uniforms of different ranks jumped out anxiously.

Among them was Major General Borg, who was 'fearless in the face of danger'.
-
Within just two or three minutes, the armed convoy of hundreds of vehicles was attacked in succession by three powerful artillery shells and seven suicide drones.

Thick plumes of black smoke billowed from the front, rear, and middle of the convoy, filling the air with the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning, resulting in the deaths and injuries of more than a dozen soldiers.

The once orderly battle group descended into chaos. The soldiers were like frightened birds, unable to discern where the attackers were hiding, let alone know the number of opponents or their equipment.

They fired blindly like headless flies, trying to mask their fear with a dense barrage of fire, but this aimless shooting was nothing more than a futile waste of precious ammunition.

Major General Borg had to intervene and take command. He first ordered the soldiers to get off the vehicles and form a defensive flank on the left and right, to look for possible enemy positions, and to avoid them crowding together and being concentrated in one spot.

Once it was confirmed that all attacks were remotely controlled, he decisively ordered the vanguard to become the rearguard and withdraw from the combat zone as quickly as possible to avoid further losses.

Half an hour later, the battle ended, and the ravaged battlefield resembled a torn scroll, a scene of utter devastation.

Like gravediggers, the soldiers searched the wreckage of bombed vehicles for clues about survivors and the enemy. They found fragments of suicide drones, confirming that the enemy had used fiber-optic guidance.

Those capable of such a stunt are no rabble; this attack was meticulously planned, not a spur-of-the-moment decision. The organizers behind it are certainly not survivors.

The soldiers followed the remaining optical fibers scattered like spider webs in the ruins, trying to track down the attackers, but all they found was an empty wasteland.

The attackers had long since fled, leaving no valuable clues at the scene. Only the faint smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, silently mocking their helplessness.

Major General Borg stood beside the charred command vehicle, utterly furious. "It must have been those damned yellow-skinned monkeys. Nobody in all of Virginia would dare challenge us except them."

Just then, an urgent call came from the radio of another command vehicle; it was a report from the flight squadron that had been dispatched not long ago.

The squadron commander excitedly reported that the eight well-maintained armed helicopters they had dispatched had arrived at Famwi, a town more than 100 kilometers from the battlefield, and were carrying out their orders perfectly.

The survivor camp in Famvi town was "on fire," and huge flames were engulfing everything.

Upon hearing this news, Major General Borg's anger did not subside at all; instead, it burned even more fiercely, like a flame doused with gasoline.

He gritted his teeth and roared into the radio: "We order you to return to base and immediately reload your ammunition, then proceed to Avoni, a town more than 200 kilometers away."

Blow up the lair of those yellow-skinned monkeys who dared to provoke us! I want them all dead, not a single one left alive!
-
At this moment, Zhou Qingfeng's reconnaissance team did not stray far from the devastated battlefield. Like lurking hunters, they quietly moved several hundred meters away and hid in a new pile of ruins.

However, their brief respite was soon broken.

Major General Borg on the other side was clearly enraged. After retreating a distance, his armed convoy immediately launched more Jump 20 drones to conduct reconnaissance.

These buzzing black 'birds', like tireless vultures, circled back and forth within a radius of several kilometers around the battlefield, scanning for any enemy that dared to provoke them.

Major General Borg was not stupid. He only needed to glance at the wreckage left by the suicide drones and compare it with the size of the captured fiber optic deployers to understand the situation.

The enemy hiding in the shadows must be lurking in an area about ten kilometers away from them, and they can't have gone too far, so there's still a chance to catch them.

"General Zhou, the enemy numbers are large and they are constantly approaching. We must find a way to retreat as soon as possible." As the deputy captain of the reconnaissance team, Jiang Menglong shouldered an important task: ensuring Zhou Qingfeng's safety.

"If necessary, I will immediately summon 'Holy Light One' which is on standby to prioritize the safe transfer of you, Mr. Zhou."

"The 'Holy Light One' possesses extremely strong ground-hugging flight capabilities, making it difficult for the enemy's 'Avenger' air defense system to pose a threat to it."

Upon hearing this, Zhou Qingfeng merely rolled his eyes slightly and didn't say anything more.

He knew very well that even if he protested, it would be futile; the other members of the reconnaissance team would certainly obey Old Jiang's orders. He could only helplessly turn his attention to the computer interface of the acoustic radar in front of him.

This passive sound detection device often proves highly effective in complex battlefield environments, as it can keenly distinguish various sound characteristics, much like an invisible ear on the battlefield.

If two or more acoustic radars can be deployed at a distance, not only can the approach of the enemy be warned in advance, but the location and type of the enemy can also be roughly estimated based on the propagation characteristics of sound.

Suddenly, a red warning icon on the computer screen started flashing.

Acoustic radar clearly detected a considerable number of helicopters rapidly approaching, their engines roaring like muffled thunder, sounding particularly jarring in the silent, post-apocalyptic wilderness.

Every member of the reconnaissance team looked extremely grim—the enemy could easily use their superior ground forces to conduct a wide-net search, combined with helicopters for rapid maneuver and air suppression.

Their small, poorly equipped unit may find themselves in a desperate situation with nowhere to turn.

“The enemy helicopters weren’t coming directly for us.” The experienced Jiang Menglong glanced at the flight path provided by the acoustic radar. “They came from the town of Famvi.”

The town of Famwi only has one small private plane, a Beechcraft, and it is impossible for it to have such a number of military helicopters.

In other words, an ominous premonition surged into everyone's hearts like a cold tide.

Zhou Qingfeng slowly raised his head from behind the hidden ruins, his sharp gaze piercing through the dust-filled sky as he carefully observed the shapes of the approaching helicopters.

As he clearly identified the makeshift ground-attack rocket pods mounted on either side of the helicopter, he said in a low, cold voice, "Famvi Town... is finished. We're next."

(End of this chapter)