Chapter Sixty-One: The Ambush

What made Wu Yun gasp in shock was not only, or even primarily, the number of opponents. If they were unarmed, Wu Yun was absolutely confident he could single-handedly knock down all twenty soldiers. But now, in the era of modern warfare, with his current abilities, he could not claim immunity to bullets.

What mattered more was not just the soldiers’ silent caution and sound tactics as they landed, but even by merely observing their formation and speed, it was clear: these were seasoned special forces elites.

The Poseidon Assault Team—its reputation was well earned!

More importantly, if a detachment of twenty men was deployed merely to control the dock and prevent the hostages from boarding the ship, then in the main assault direction, at the heart of Saint Emperor Bright Island where the aircraft had been forced down, how many troops would there be? What kind of pressure would Huang Xiwen and Lang Tianyu’s combat groups face?

The Poseidon Assault Team advanced swiftly; the three hundred meters were covered in less than two minutes. Just as anticipated before the battle, throughout their advance, the two double-arrow formations provided mutual cover and maintained contact, with about twenty meters between each member.

With such formation and spacing, the outnumbered Dragon Fury Squad would struggle to launch concentrated attacks. If the enemy reacted, the outcome would be unpredictable.

Yet, Wu Yun’s prior, accurate assessment of their actions gave him confidence in the battle plan and the fight to come.

In the blink of an eye, the vanguard of the Poseidon team reached the makeshift building where Wu Yun was concealed. The sniper, stationed on a small hill two hundred meters away, established a firing position, while four groups—eight soldiers in total—covered the four directions around the building, guns ready, alert. Then, in teams of three, they entered each room, searching every nook and cranny.

This row of makeshift buildings stretched over a hundred meters, with ten rooms in total. Each room contained five simple bunk beds barely taller than one meter eighty, a row of battered wooden tables, and several chairs missing seats and legs.

Clearly, the dock workers who once labored here endured poor working and living conditions. But now, these dilapidated rooms offered Wu Yun excellent cover.

The team’s search was not particularly thorough. After sweeping each room with tactical flashlights—corners, under beds, beneath tables—they moved on. No one noticed that, beneath the central bunk bed of one room, a man lay sprawled out, fully utilizing his grip and core strength to press his entire body against the underside of the bed. They certainly did not see those narrow eyes quietly watching them, a hint of mockery and ridicule curling his lips.

"Fools!" Wu Yun inwardly rejoiced as three soldiers entered and exited, never suspecting his presence.

From a tactical perspective, Wu Yun’s choice of hiding spot was far from ideal. If an ambush was planned, it would be wiser to sneak in from outside the enemy's defensive perimeter, quietly approach, and wait for an opportunity. Going solo into a room surrounded by four walls, without strong support, was almost suicidal; a handful of guns could easily seal his fate, or one grenade tossed inside would instantly end him.

But Wu Yun, audacious as ever, gambled on precisely this point: since most believed the spot unsafe, the enemy’s search would be less meticulous. Relying on his robust physique and stealth, hiding here might actually be safer.

His reverse thinking paid off! Once the enemy entered, he simply exploited their blind spots and slipped past their search unnoticed.

Listening to the commander barking orders, Wu Yun silently prayed, “Come on, come on, all gather here. One anti-personnel mine and I’ll finish you all…”

But as the commander issued a string of instructions to set up defenses and lay mines, Wu Yun sighed, dissatisfied: “Damn it, if you’re doomed anyway, why not just line up and let me take you out easily? Why must you make me work for it?”

The only consolation was that the noisy commander seemed to have set up a makeshift command post right next door. Through a gap in the thin partition, Wu Yun saw a medium-built, sturdy, agile lieutenant directing two soldiers to set up tactical radar and infrared imaging, activate the command radio, and sit on a barely usable chair, typing away at a military laptop on the long table.

As the seasoned leader of the Poseidon Team’s Sixth Detachment, First Platoon Leader Bevin Morton was renowned for his composure and vigilance. After arranging the formation, he carefully monitored the tactical radar and maintained contact with the frontline soldiers. Yet deep down, Morton sensed something amiss, as if he’d overlooked something—a persistent unease gnawed at him.

So he decided to carefully review the battle plan, conducting a meticulous simulation on his laptop to pinpoint the source of his anxiety.

The military laptop screen flickered rapidly as Morton’s mind was absorbed by the tactical simulation. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty—but he could not find the flaw.

Suddenly, his gaze sharpened and his fingers danced swiftly, pulling up the layout of his position. Moments later, his expression changed; he looked up abruptly, only to find a stranger standing before him—a tall figure, wearing a gentle smile.

Morton had no time to shout; as his mouth opened, a hand chop struck his throat with unimaginable force, followed by a chilling sensation in his chest—a modified combat knife, favored by the Red Republic’s special forces, slid silently into his chest, piercing his left lung and heart. Blood surged, choking his voice.

Morton finally understood his oversight, but he could no longer make adjustments or warn his teammates. As the world plunged into darkness, he glimpsed his communications operator, Murphy, who had served alongside him for three years, crumpled on the floor a few meters away…

Wu Yun quietly withdrew his heavy combat knife from between Morton’s third and fourth ribs, returned it to his belt, then approached the infrared imaging and tactical radar to observe carefully.

Over two hundred meters away, along a low, gently undulating ridge, the squad was arrayed in a classic Poseidon Assault Team formation. But this formation was subtly different: on the far left, a three-man group—including a sniper—monitored the seaward direction; on the right, another three-man team watched the island’s interior forest. Along the ridge, stretching over five hundred meters, twelve assault troopers formed a long skirmish line, facing the depths of the island.

Clearly, this modified formation had balanced team groupings, well-placed firepower, and impressive flexibility. If anything happened, all members needed only to turn in place to launch a lethal crossfire at two main directions—a devastating attack for any would-be infiltrators. With good visibility in the woodland area, they didn’t even need to clear firing lanes.

Perhaps their only flaw was the slightly wide spacing between fighters. Yet their greatest mistake was ignorance of the true capabilities of their adversary…

Wu Yun had spent over thirty minutes hidden in the adjacent room, observing the squad’s communication patterns with their commander. He discovered that each member on the line contacted the commander every ten minutes to report observations—though, in reality, they saw nothing.

Checking his watch, Wu Yun calculated the time: eight minutes and thirty-five seconds until the next communication.

“Time is tight!” Wu Yun frowned, then silently smiled, revealing white teeth; his narrow eyes squinted, glinting eerily in the night. “But it’s enough!” He lightly rubbed the throat mic three times.

Seconds later, three faint static noises sounded in his earpiece—the signal from Song Jingang, three times from the high ground five hundred meters away, indicating: Action!

Wu Yun narrowed his eyes, focusing intently on the sounds outside.

After receiving the signal, Song Jingang exhaled quietly, his finger twitching on the trigger. The silenced and flash-suppressed “King of Guns” recoiled gently, launching a rubber bullet that silently traveled over six hundred meters to land with a muffled thud in a patch of grass.

A fat, unknown creature was startled by the sudden “disturbance,” jumped up alertly, its eyes rolling as it scanned around, then—apparently spooked by something—scampered off, the tall grass rustling loudly.

The assault team monitoring the seaward direction was drawn to the unexpected noise, quickly scanning toward the creature’s escape route. Moments later, spotting the animal’s movements, they relaxed and signaled “all clear.”

No one noticed that, in those few seconds, a dark figure shot out from the row of “thoroughly” searched makeshift rooms, body swaying lightly, darting silently into the grass dozens of meters away, vanishing in the blink of an eye.