Years of combat experience had taught Liang Song well that the situation on the battlefield changes in the blink of an eye, and every single second is crucial. He quickly shifted his gaze to the other militants, a flash of coldness in his eyes as he placed his finger back on the trigger, ready for the next round of combat.
Hearing the gunfire, the militants instantly descended into complete chaos, scattering in all directions like hornets whose nest had been stirred. Panic and flurry filled their faces, and their once orderly formation dissolved in an instant. Some clutched their heads and blindly searched for cover, looking as terrified as if the end of the world had arrived; others frantically raised their guns and fired wildly in every direction, bullets whistling out like a torrential downpour. Those bullets struck the surrounding leaves, sending them rustling down as if in a shower of green rain. The entire battlefield was instantly plunged into utter chaos, with shouts, gunfire, and the whistle of bullets intertwining into a deafening roar.
Liang Song swiftly adjusted his posture and began firing at the fleeing militants. Every squeeze of his trigger was accompanied by the crack of a gunshot and the fall of a militant. His movements were practiced and decisive, as though this were not a battle of life and death, but a routine daily drill. Yet the enemy was fighting back frantically as well. Bullets kept whistling past his ears like cold, venomous snakes, trying to dev…
Chapter 437