Chapter 1067 Heavy Casualties (Patreon)

Nearly a year had passed since that night when a dazzling mushroom cloud rose over Central Park, leaving behind an artificial pond. Now, in broad daylight, the citizens of New York once again had the dubious fortune of witnessing a miniature version of a mushroom cloud. The shockwave spread along the walls on both sides of the street, shattering all the storefront glass and even embedding a manhole cover into the body of an armored vehicle.

Although the scale of this explosion was several magnitudes smaller than the one in Central Park, its adverse impact was far greater. Jack would bet anything that the media would headline it as “The Worst XX Attack Since 9/11.”

Jack shook his dizzy head and cast a healing spell on himself before finally recovering from the nauseating ringing in his ears. He patted the yellow FBI letters on his work jacket, brushed off a pile of broken glass, and then loudly asked his teammates over the squad channel.

“Guys, is everyone okay?”

He asked several times before receiving a few weak responses, one after another.

“Still alive, at least.”

“Probably salvageable.”

“We have to go after them. I saw them enter the sewer. We absolutely can’t let Zhang Mingjun get away!” came a voice that particularly irritated Jack.

He turned around and looked at Lin Zheling, his eyes finally landing on the AK he was holding.

“Hand it over.” Jack was still speaking English, but his body language of reaching for the gun left no room for misunderstanding.

Whether dazed from the explosion or pretending not to understand, Lin Zheling instinctively tightened his grip on the weapon.

“Damn it! You think I won’t do something?”

A nameless fury surged in Jack’s chest. Without another word, he stepped forward and grabbed Lin’s arm, applying slight pressure.

Though still affected by his old injury, Jack remained relatively composed, and disarming the weapon was clearly his primary goal.

So after grabbing the other’s arm, he didn't follow up with another move, instead giving his opponent time to react. Otherwise, even someone like Clay wouldn’t be able to avoid being knocked out by Jack’s surprise move.

Apparently, Colonel Lin Zheling hadn’t earned his rank by sitting behind a desk. As a soldier, he was no pushover. His eyes narrowed, and he immediately fought back.

In the dust-filled shop, the sound of heavy flesh-on-flesh impacts rang out non-stop. Lin Zheling resorted to eye gouging, kicks, and chokeholds without hesitation. Though Jack had struck first, he now chose to block rather than retaliate, using his elbows, knees, and shins to fend off the flurry of attacks.

Lin wasn’t using the common Taekwondo forms popular in both North and South Korea, but a much more modern and pragmatic military combat technique—dirty but effective.

They had been hiding in a brand-name women’s clothing store, and now the shop assistants and a few female customers, still shaken from the explosion, widened their eyes in shock and muttered “kung fu” in awe.

In such a confined space, the brutal and straightforward brawl was a feast for the eyes—blindingly fast, with an old-school Hong Kong action movie vibe where every punch landed with impact-enhancing sound effects.

But Lin couldn’t keep it up for long. After all, the notion of breaking a ten-centimeter-thick iron rod with a kick was as unrealistic as sliding into and taking down a Siberian tiger—something you’d only hear in the wild boasts of idiots.

Anyone would end up like him after going full force against what felt like a steel column wrapped in skin for two minutes—their limbs trembling from the pain, out of their control.

That was because Jack wasn’t just blocking; he was using his superhuman reflexes to meet knee with knee, elbow with elbow, executing a move straight out of the martial arts novels of Master Cha, like something the Murong family of Gusu would use.

Using his foot to hook the AK that had fallen to the ground at some point, Jack removed the magazine and pulled the bolt to eject the round in the chamber. Then, nodding toward Lieutenant Park, who had already been disarmed by Clay, he tilted his chin.

“You’d better take him to the hospital for a check-up. Maybe a CT scan.”

Jack had shown restraint. Breaking arms and legs would be too cruel, but minor injuries wouldn't affect international optics.

A mild bone fracture was still a fracture. With a cast, he’d need at least a month or so to recover. That way, no one would keep buzzing in Jack’s ear for a while.

Judging from what he’d just witnessed, today’s situation was a big mess. Not only would Director Reagan be in trouble, but even his own female superior would probably have to take the fall.

Who knew how that monarchist country would react, but one thing was certain—the Department of Justice would immediately begin investigating the FBI.

Thinking of Director Reagan, Jack’s heart tightened. He suddenly remembered Reagan’s current status was still unknown—whether he was alive or dead.

“Clay, notify NYPD and HQ to immediately lock down all sewage outlets along the Hudson River, and seal off all bridges and tunnels out of the island! I’m going to find Danny!”

He shouted as he ran toward the intersection where Danny had last been seen. Passing the wrecked armored vehicle, he glanced inside—and sure enough, saw the bodies of three ESU officers.

Danny’s patrol car had been smashed to the right side of the intersection. Now, with sirens wailing, red fire trucks and ambulances were arriving in waves, while patrol cars sealed off the surrounding intersections, keeping curious onlookers at bay.

Danny, bloodied, lay in the passenger seat. The deflated airbag in front of him was also stained with blood, and his eyes were wide open, staring at Jack as he ran toward him, as if unwilling to die without seeing him.

“Danny! Danny!” Although his senses told him Danny was still alive, Jack was terrified by the sight and quickly reached for his carotid artery.

“I’m okay, just my leg is stuck,” Danny grabbed Jack’s hand, tears immediately streaming down his face. “Go help the others first.”

Jack instinctively activated a healing spell, finally breathing a sigh of relief.

The injuries weren’t too serious—just a few broken bones and a concussion—but his trapped left leg was in bad shape. A compound fracture would leave him limping for at least six months.

But maybe that was a blessing for Danny, giving him time to rest at home and be with his wife and kids for a while.

“We need hydraulic cutters here! There’s a wounded officer trapped!” Jack waved to the newly arrived firefighters, then looked behind the intersection’s truck.

There, four police motorcycles were lying scattered. Only two bodies were on the ground, and not far away someone was shouting for medics, suggesting some brave citizens had managed to save the other two wounded officers.

Compared to physical injuries, Jack was more concerned about Danny’s mental state. The guy always acted like a tough guy around him, and those two tears definitely weren’t just from pain.

But now wasn’t the time for psychological counseling. Once the firefighters arrived with all their equipment, Jack rushed toward the next cry for help.

Although ambulances were arriving one after another, the medical personnel were overwhelmed. In addition to many injured officers, over a hundred innocent bystanders needed urgent medical care.

To maximize chaos, several automatic weapons had been aimed directly at civilians during the attack—including the MK46 light machine gun now abandoned at the sewer entrance.

Several pedestrians who had collapsed on the sidewalk from their injuries died in the subsequent explosion.

After stabilizing the condition of the two rescued motorcycle officers, Jack shook his still-dizzy head and was just getting up when a tearful voice suddenly came through the squad channel.

“Jack! Where are you? Hannah’s been hurt!”

“What happened?” For once, Jack, normally unshakable in a crisis, lost his cool. He grabbed a medical kit left on the ground by a medic and sprinted toward the end of the street.