Chapter 1063 Fierce Battle (Patreon)

The Fugitive Apprehension Team's two vehicles followed at the end of the escort convoy, the Suburban in front, the Yukon in back.

At the moment of the explosion, a previously parked flatbed truck suddenly rumbled to life, smashing into a police motorcycle before mercilessly rolling over it, steadily picking up speed.

The motorcycle officers were paired in twos.
This pair had fallen behind after managing traffic at the previous intersection and had just caught up, now about twenty or thirty meters away from Jack's Yukon.

Seeing the explosion ahead and his partner’s gruesome death beside him, the surviving motorcycle officer screeched to a halt and drew his pistol, firing repeatedly at the truck's cab.
But the truck driver didn’t even glance at him, hunched over and stomping the gas, aiming to block the convoy's rear.

Although Jack was deeply worried about Danny’s safety up ahead, the priority now was clearly not to scream useless questions into the comms like everyone else.
He decisively floored the accelerator.
The massive Yukon moved with shocking agility, tires shrieking under the brutal maneuver as Jack spun it around.

"Clay!"
Jack roared, steering the Yukon head-on toward the oncoming truck.

An ordinary GMC Yukon weighed under three tons, but this bulletproof modified version Jack drove was nearly double that, tipping over five tons.
Still, even that was barely enough to face a flatbed truck head-on—
but Jack wasn’t alone.

Clay, driving the Suburban ahead, glanced at the rearview mirror and instantly grasped Jack’s intent.
Hearing Jack's shout over the headset, he immediately threw the Suburban into reverse and floored it.

An accelerating flatbed truck was invincible against ordinary cars—
it could plow through three or four sedans without breaking a sweat.

But a truck still building up speed at under 30 mph, ramming into an armored SUV that was practically a mini tank?
That was a different story.

Armored modifications didn’t just add thick steel plating to the body; they also reinforced the chassis with heavy blast-resistant panels, significantly increasing dead weight.

Naturally, they had to upgrade the engine to handle it all.

The Yukon, barely finishing its turn, rammed nose-first into the charging truck, halting its momentum.
The semi-solid run-flat tires squealed against the asphalt, billowing wisps of smoke.

Due to the truck's sheer size, it continued inching forward—
but then Clay slammed the Suburban into the truck’s rear.

Head-to-head, bumper-to-bumper, two armored SUVs and a flatbed truck locked into a brutal stalemate.

"Bang bang bang!"
The surviving motorcycle officer, staggering over on foot, emptied his magazine into the truck’s windshield.

The flatbed gave a sputtering wheeze; white smoke puffed from the grille.
The driver and the truck breathed their last together.

"Take cover!"
The Yukon's passenger window dropped.
Hannah, having pushed aside the deflated airbag, shouted at the motorcycle officer still standing exposed in the street.

"What?"
The officer, reloading his pistol to go again, froze and looked toward her—

At that exact moment, the truck’s rear compartment doors were flung open.
Two gunmen armed with AR-series assault rifles opened fire directly at the unsuspecting officer.

"Damn it!"
Hannah cursed as the officer crumpled to the ground, instantly killed.
She yanked her seatbelt free, kicked open the door, and fired back furiously at the gunmen.

"Hannah, catch!"
JJ, in the backseat, dropped her chair flat and dragged out an HK417 from the trunk, tossing it forward.

The second HK417 she handed to Jack, who had already flung open his door.
JJ herself, armed with another Navy-issued assault rifle, jumped out after them.

Meanwhile, the Suburban’s doors flew open.
Clay, Jubal, Aubrey—even Alice—all sprang out, weapons ready.
A hail of bullets instantly mowed down five or six gunmen leaping from the truck.

"Clear!"
Clay rushed forward, tossing a flashbang into the truck's rear compartment, confirming no enemies were hiding inside.
He gave Jack a hand signal.

Jack, meanwhile, was checking the downed motorcycle officer—
but sadly, the officer, wearing only a soft body vest, hadn’t survived the hail of assault rifle fire.

Dragging the fallen officer’s body behind a parked car for cover, Jack slapped Jubal’s shoulder and shouted.

"Tell NYPD to pull back! Get the armored truck out of here first!"

Their FBI headsets were on a private channel, separate from NYPD’s police radios.
Jubal nodded, crouched low, and sprinted back to the slightly scratched Suburban, grabbing the car radio.

By now, the entire street was in chaos.
Gunmen at the front of the convoy were using even heavier firepower—
one guy was wielding a Mk46 light machine gun with a 200-round drum, spraying not just at police but also at fleeing civilians.

Some pedestrians screamed and dove into nearby shops—
only for bullets to smash the windows, showering them with glass.

NYPD’s police radio was total bedlam—
officers shouting for backup, others yelling they were hit.

While it wasn’t total leaderless panic,
ordinary beat cops simply couldn’t keep calm in a firefight like this.

Thankfully, the convoy included two black Chevy Tahoes flanking the armored truck, each with six fully armed ESU (Emergency Service Unit) officers.

When the explosion first hit, these ESU teams immediately disembarked, using the reinforced car doors and parked cars as cover to return fire.

But as the attackers tossed more smoke grenades,
visibility worsened.
ESU’s advantage in numbers and equipment was blunted.
Concerned about hitting civilians, they became pinned down—
while the enemy, firing without restraint, pressed the advantage.

"This is FBI Special Agent in Charge Jubal Valentine. Rear road is clear—have the armored truck back up!"
Jubal’s calm voice finally cut through the chaos on NYPD’s channel.

No one had anticipated such madness—
an armed jailbreak attempt, in broad daylight,
in the heart of Manhattan.

It wasn’t even 10 a.m. yet.
Manhattan's streets were already choking with traffic at this hour.

The only reason their convoy had been moving at all was because NYPD had preemptively seized traffic lights and set up motorcycle escorts to clear intersections.

Even if the attackers somehow pried Jang Min-jun out of the armored truck—
how the hell did they plan to get him off this island?