N-A-A Chapter 647 Someone else escaped.
Chapter 647 Someone else escaped.
"Bang!" Someone inside the house fired a shot in a panic. The bullet grazed the door frame, hit the courtyard wall, and sparked a string of sparks, with dirt falling down in a flurry.
"Fight back!" Zhao Lei shouted, and took the lead in dodging behind the door. He raised his hand and fired a shot into the room. With a "bang," he accurately hit the wrist of a bandit who was raising his gun. The gun clattered to the ground, and the man screamed in pain as he clutched his bleeding wrist.
The smoke grew thicker, obscuring the view outside. Those inside could only fire wildly, relying on sound. Bullets whizzed through the smoke, striking the doors and walls, sending splinters flying. He Feng's team, using the smoke as cover, advanced into the house in shifts, their marksmanship accurate and steady—targeting legs and arms to leave survivors while rendering their opponents helpless.
One of the bandits tried to escape through the back window. He had just climbed onto the windowsill when a teammate waiting outside seized the opportunity and smashed a rifle butt into his face. With a scream, he fell back like a rag doll, his nose instantly smeared with blood, and two of his front teeth were knocked out. Another, tall, thin man tried to fire his submachine gun. Just as he shouldered it, Zhao Lei saw an opening and fired a shot into the barrel. With a clang, the gun bounced upwards, the bullet grazing the roof beam and creating a hole in the roof.
The thugs inside were completely thrown into chaos. Some coughed incessantly from the smoke, squatting on the ground vomiting; others were hit in the leg by stray bullets, clutching their wounds and howling in pain. Their initial arrogance had long since vanished, leaving only frantic resistance. The crew-cut leader still wanted to put up a last-ditch effort, raising his shotgun and charging towards the door, yelling, "Fight them to the death!" He Feng reacted quickly, raising his hand and shooting the man in the shin. With a thud, the man fell to his knees, the shotgun flying from his hand, sliding a long way through the smoke, gathering dust on the ground.
Within minutes, the gunfire subsided. The smoke slowly dissipated, revealing a scene of utter chaos: an overturned table, scattered dice and banknotes, shell casings strewn across the floor, and a trail of blood trickling down the ground. A dozen or so thugs lay sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain; not one of them could stand. The team members swiftly moved forward, handcuffing them one by one with swift, clean movements; the entire process was so fast it took everyone else a second.
Zhao Lei gasped for breath, his back slumped heavily against the mottled doorframe. The cool wood against his scorching shirt offered only a slight respite from the heat. Beads of sweat streamed down his face, some splashing onto the dusty cement floor, leaving small, dark stains; others seeped into his collar, making his collarbone damp and sticky. He surveyed the chaotic scene inside—the overturned table legs still wobbled slightly, the chair cushions riddled with bullet holes; scattered shell casings gleamed coldly in the morning light, carpeting the floor; a trail of blood snaked from the inner room to the doorway; several thugs, handcuffed to the radiator, hung their heads, muttering obscenities. His nerves, taut from the entire night, finally relaxed slightly. He slid half an inch down the doorframe, his knees buckling as he barely managed to regain his balance.
He Feng walked over, raised his hand and patted him heavily on the back. His palm, calloused from years of holding a gun, carried a steady strength that reassured the reader. His voice was filled with undisguised praise, yet still held a hint of tension: "Well done, no major mishaps. You timed the raid perfectly, leading the charge in just now."
Before the words were even finished, a young team member rushed in from the back room, his military green training uniform stained with blood, his face filled with anxiety: "Chief, Captain! After taking stock, we have three comrades who are injured, all with gunshot wounds! Fortunately, the doctor just examined them and found that they weren't fatal! And... a few bandits escaped! When we checked the back window, we found that the latch had been kicked off, and there were fresh footprints on the ground, still covered in mud!"
Zhao Lei's heart skipped a beat; the tension he had just felt instantly returned, and his temples throbbed. He straightened up, his hand unconsciously resting on the holster at his waist: "How many escaped? Did you see who was leading them? Was it that buzz-cut boss?"
"Looks like there are four or five!" The team member's voice trembled with anxiety as he pointed out the window. "We've pinned the crew-cut boss in the back room, but his second-in-command, Zhang Jie, escaped! He's the guy who always carries a black bag and has a scar on his left cheek! They were incredibly fast; they probably took advantage of the smoke still lingering in the room and climbed out the back window to run into the old alley to the east. I just saw a shadow flash past the alley entrance!"
He Feng's brows furrowed sharply, his approval instantly replaced by seriousness. He made a decisive decision, his voice firm and resolute: "Zhao Lei, take two men and go after them immediately! The east side is an old residential area, full of winding alleys like a spider web. Don't let them slip through! Remember, find them alive or dead. Don't let them get too far. That black bag most likely contains stolen money and a murder weapon!"
"Yes!" Zhao Lei responded, wiping the sweat and dust from his face, revealing two clear marks. He turned and waved to the two team members who were searching the bandits in the corner: "Xiao Wang, Xiao Li, come with me! Bring your weapons and stay alert!" The three of them rushed out of the courtyard, their military boots making a rapid "thump-thump-thump" sound on the stone pavement, as if striking the hearts of everyone present.
He Feng turned to the remaining team members, his tone heavy and firm: "The rest of you, don't just stand there! Quickly lift the injured comrades into the police car and send them to the nearest municipal hospital! I'll call the hospital right now and tell them to prepare the operating room and blood bags. We must do everything we can to save them! They are our brothers who have risked their lives for us; they absolutely cannot be harmed!"
The team members responded swiftly, their movements both agile and cautious. The first wounded comrade clutched his bleeding left arm, his sleeve soaked in blood, his face as white as paper, yet he gritted his teeth and said, "I'm fine." The second had been shot in the calf; his trouser leg was stuck to his skin in blood, and he could barely stand with the support of two men, each step causing him to gasp in pain. The third had been grazed on the forehead by a stray bullet, blood streaming down his brow bone, obscuring half his eye, but he wiped it away, grinned, and said, "Minor injuries, nothing serious, get them both to the hospital first!" Tears welled in the eyes of the others, and they hurriedly wrapped them in a first-aid blanket, carefully escorting them to the police car. The siren pierced the morning silence, sharply tearing through the thin mist, speeding towards the hospital.
Meanwhile, Zhang Jie was running wildly through the intricate old alleyways with four trusted men. The heavy black bag on his back made his shoulders ache from the impact; inside were the more than 200,000 yuan in embezzled funds that had just been divided and three handguns.