Chapter 1064 The Crushing Feeling (Patreon)

Whatever the attackers had planned, the best move now was clear: get the target out of their ambush zone as fast as possible. The Fugitive Apprehension Team had successfully disrupted their plan to sever the convoy's rear—now it was time to capitalize on that advantage.

Behind the armored truck, there were still three vehicles: a black Chevy Tahoe packed with ESU officers, a standard patrol Ford Taurus, and the Suburban carrying the two North Korean envoys and the new International Division chief, Jon Michaels.

While these vehicles weren't as heavily armored as the Fugitive Apprehension Team's SUVs, they all had reinforced doors—enough to withstand even 7.62mm rifle rounds from AK-pattern rifles.

The Tahoe behind the armored truck had immediately responded to the ambush by pulling into the right lane and taking a forward flanking position. Now, two Tahoes stood side by side, each housing a six-man ESU team, using car doors and nearby vehicles as cover while exchanging fire with the attackers ahead.

The Taurus officers were sharp—they used a gap in roadside parking to veer onto the sidewalk, turning the car sideways to serve as a barricade. In the process, they shielded several panicked civilians.

In contrast, the rookie agent driving the Suburban was clearly out of his depth. When Jubal gave the order for the armored vehicle to reverse, it barely squeezed past a Honda Civic in the opposite lane—only to be blocked by the panicked Suburban trying to U-turn.

"This idiot," Aubrey muttered.

He ducked low, preparing to sprint forward despite stray bullets zipping from the front.
Suddenly, a flash of light erupted from the third floor of an apartment building across the street.

"RPG! Take cover!"
Clay had just climbed down from the truck's cargo area and spotted the launch, shouting the warning with everything he had.

There was no time.
Even though a rocket-propelled grenade isn't as fast as a bullet, at that short range, it might as well have been.

BOOM.
The RPG struck the armored truck's front-left corner, igniting the engine block.

Though the reinforced armor absorbed part of the blast, it wasn't enough.

The ESU officer driving never made a sound—half his torso had been shredded by molten metal.

The blast wave flipped several nearby ESU officers and knocked down anyone relying on the two Tahoes for cover, sending them sprawling.
And just like it had been timed, the armed assailants—carrying SMGs, rifles, even light machine guns—stepped out of the fading smoke and opened fire.

ESU officers ducking and scrambling from the blast couldn't even lift their heads now.
And the already-panicking Suburban driver only made things worse.

In his panic, he veered into a fire hydrant, sending a geyser of water sky-high.
Before he could fumble with the wheel again—crack!
A single bullet, fired from an overhead angle, punched through the Suburban's roof and into his skull.

That did it.

Doors flew open, and Jon Michaels, the new International Division chief, tumbled out, crawling on all fours toward Jack and the others while yelling incoherently for help.

"Sniper!"
Aubrey had taken cover behind a nearby sedan thanks to Clay's RPG warning.
Now, glancing up, he saw the shooter's work and shouted the warning loudly.

Another bullet slammed into the Suburban's body.
The two North Korean envoys, however, remained calm and composed.
They dismounted and took cover at the front and rear wheels of the SUV—
a textbook move under sniper fire.

Lin Zheling didn't even look rattled.
Instead, he calmly shouted to Jack in Korean:
"Give me a weapon!"

Jack didn't even pretend to hear.
This was New York.
Having them gunned down in the street was bad—
but letting foreign soldiers fire guns in Manhattan? That would be a PR catastrophe.

Turning to Clay, Jack pointed toward the apartment building from which the RPG had been fired.
"Upstairs. Find a window. Take the sniper out!"

The round that killed the agent in the Suburban came from above and across the street—
no doubt a sniper, not stray fire.

Something else wasn't right—the armored truck.

NYPD's Bearcat armored vehicles were supposed to have a remotely operated weapons station, and a roof hatch with firing protection.

There were at least four ESU officers inside, escorting the prisoner.
And yet, since the ambush began—no movement. No gunfire, no hatch activity, nothing.

Maybe they hesitated at first, unsure where the threat was.
But now? The Bearcat was disabled, exposed in the middle of the road, and still no return fire.
Something was very wrong.

Still, Jack and the others didn't have time to investigate the Bearcat's condition.
First priority: kill the sniper.

Anyone who's played hardcore tactical shooters knows—hunting a sniper under urban conditions without heavy weapons is hell.

Unless they fire tracer rounds, a bullet's path is nearly invisible to the naked eye.
Even if the shooter doesn't move positions, it's nearly impossible to locate them after one or two shots.

In one assassination attempt in Jack's past life, the sniper fired eight shots from 200 meters away before being taken down by Secret Service agents—
and that was with trained counter-snipers watching.
The assassin was just lying on a rooftop in the open.

Say what you will about that incident, but it proved just how difficult urban counter-sniping really is—especially without using heavier ordnance.

Right now, only Aubrey had a relatively decent line of sight across the street.
Everyone else—including Jack—was pinned behind cars or roadside structures, ducking from the suppressive fire.

Besides the sniper, the other major threat was the guy wielding a Mk46 light machine gun, wildly spraying everything in sight.

Jack had last encountered a Mk46 during the church siege in Mexico—
when Sonny, alone with one, had locked down the church's front door with 600 rounds of 5.56 NATO.
The drug cartel thugs couldn't even get close until Sonny ran out of ammo.

Now, the tables were turned.
Jack and the others were the ones pinned down at 100 meters,
helpless to return fire,
and the feeling was infuriating.