The five-man squad continued forward. From up ahead came the sound of footsteps descending a staircase—thump thump. The figure barely revealed half his body before Owen dropped him with two shots. The corpse tumbled down the stairs, landing in a position so awkward it made anyone watching feel the pain.
Cabins appeared again on both sides. The layout here was more complex—like an intersection, with paths branching in all directions.
Owen didn't move forward. Instead, he halted to keep watch on the stairwell. Two SEALs entered the side cabins, Heartbeat covered the rear, and another SEAL guarded the hallway to the side.
From far away came faint sounds of laughter, while from behind them echoed the mechanical impact of suppressed weapons firing. Soon, the two SEALs who had cleared the cabins regrouped, and the team reformed into a CQB formation. One man placed his hand on Owen's shoulder—a tactical signal indicating readiness. The squad moved out again, heading toward the source of the sound.
They soon arrived at their next target area. It looked like a mess hall. Voices of several men talking could be heard from inside, along with the clinking of bottles and cups. Based on the noise, there were at least three people.
The language they spoke wasn't English—probably Chechen or another dialect. Either way, it was incomprehensible. In an adjacent room to the side of the mess hall, someone else seemed to be speaking on the phone.
Owen stopped and gave hand signals directing Heartbeat to take the smaller side room. The remaining four would split into two teams and attack the mess hall simultaneously through the front and rear doors.
Just as they finished dividing up their roles, something unexpected happened.
At the end of the corridor, around the corner, a Chechen militant suddenly appeared. He froze at the sight of the fully armed team, then reached for his weapon. Owen gave him no chance to shoot. He quickly raised his rifle and fired, instantly taking him down.
At such close range, suppressors meant little. The people in the rooms were bound to be alerted—there was no longer any room for subtlety.
"Fire~~~"
Owen gave the order. Several guns opened up on the mess hall simultaneously. They needed to neutralize everyone inside as quickly as possible, minimizing the risk of alerting any enemies farther away.
Pfft pfft, pfft pfft~~~~
Pfft pfft pfft~~~
…
The rapid metallic thumps of suppressed gunfire echoed throughout. After dispatching the man in the side room who was on the phone, Heartbeat circled around to the mess hall's rear door for support. The others fired through the front, pinned tight against the wall.
Bullets struck the ship's metal walls with dull clangs. Some men were hit before they even realized what was happening. A few who had weapons within reach during their meal tried to grab them, but their hands barely touched the guns before blood spurted from their heads.
Food and tableware were blown to bits across the mess hall. A plastic cup was struck and sent flying, bouncing on the floor before settling. The chaos lasted only about three seconds before silence returned.
One SEAL remained outside on watch. The others quickly swapped magazines and entered the mess hall to confirm the kills. After sweeping the room, Owen finished off a wounded survivor with a shot to the head. The rest had been eliminated.
Despite the sudden firefight, they had carefully identified their targets. Their objective—Sarayev—was not among them.
Once confirmed, the team regrouped and continued their sweep, heading toward the corner from which the earlier enemy had emerged.
"A-Team has secured the bridge. B-Team, report," Travis's voice came through the earpiece.
"B-Team has neutralized nine hostiles. Target not found."
"Move quickly. Extraction vessel arriving in four minutes."
"Got it."
The team kept moving even as they reported in, maintaining their CQB formation and sweeping through the corridor.
They approached a corner—earlier the body of the militant Owen shot lay here, blood pooling beneath him. Visibility was limited. One SEAL leaned against the wall to assist Owen with slicing the pie, while Owen braced against the opposite wall, switched his HK416 to his left hand, tilted the rifle, and began slicing the corner slowly.
In CQB, slicing the pie is the most dangerous moment—it's the time most likely to trigger a firefight.
His line of sight gradually swept forward—30 degrees, 60, 90…
At about the 200-degree mark, he suddenly saw a muzzle, and behind it a young face peeking around the corner.
Pfft pfft pfft~~~
Owen didn't hesitate. Triggering his mental "bullet time," he pulled the trigger. He and the opponent saw each other at the same moment—this was a contest of nerves and speed.
Owen didn't flinch, didn't even blink. He faced the risk of being shot head-on and responded instantly—something he had trained for over and over.
Owen held his nerve; the other didn't. The enemy flinched as he fired, whereas Owen aimed clean and true. The HK416 round hit the enemy in the neck. His return shot from the AKM missed entirely.
The duel was over as quickly as it began.
But Owen didn't stop—he prepared to continue slicing, only to be met with a barrage of gunfire from behind the corner, sparks flying off the wall around him. There was more than one enemy.
He quickly pulled back, bullets brushing past him at near-miss distances.
Owen felt a heavy thump in his back, like being punched. He knew he'd probably been hit by a ricochet. But there was no pain—it must've been stopped by his body armor.
As Owen retreated, the enemy tried to pursue but was taken down by the SEAL at the inner angle, who popped up and fired a quick kill shot.
The AKM fire ceased briefly, but only for a moment. Another burst erupted—clearly, there were more enemies still entrenched.
Heartbeat pulled Owen back and checked his condition, while another SEAL took over his position. After a quick check, Heartbeat muttered, "Lucky bastard." The bullet had indeed been stopped by the vest.
The SEALs shifted to left-handed firing positions and lined up against the wall to return fire. After several rounds, one of them removed an M67 fragmentation grenade, shouted "Fire in the hole!", removed the safety clip and pin, then rolled the grenade along the floor around the corner.
After a brief rattle, a loud bang echoed. The five-man team advanced in short, quick steps around the corner, hugging the walls and firing as they moved.
Pfft pfft~~
Pfft pfft~~
…
Rapid, tight bursts of suppressed gunfire filled the narrow space as the team pushed in.
They shot to kill, followed up to confirm. Anyone still moving or stunned was dealt with swiftly by Owen and Heartbeat, who followed behind the lead three.
"D1 has visual on the target—right side ahead, armed…"
One of the lead SEALs called in over comms. Owen followed the sound and immediately recognized the man—it was indeed their target, Sarayev. At the moment, he was firing a Walther MPL toward them. The stock was folded, and he held it one-handed like a pistol.
The SEALs took cover on either side of the hatch as bullets from the MPL sparked off the metal walls.
Despite equal numbers, the SEALs' advance was swift. The five of them moved like a well-oiled killing machine, methodically and efficiently ending their enemies.
The bang bang of gunfire echoed down the corridor. Soon, the remaining Chechens were picked off one by one. These militants wore no body armor—if they got hit, their survival odds were slim. And the SEALs never stopped shooting. Even if the hit wasn't lethal, someone would make sure it became so.
Sarayev looked around in despair. Moments ago, his comrades had fought at his side—now he was the only one left alive. A wave of helplessness washed over him. He looked at the MPL in his hand and considered turning it on himself—but hesitated.
------------------
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I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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