Chapter 70: Demon Invasion - Part 6

Chapter 70: Demon Invasion - Part 6

The convoy rumbled along as the light of dawn cast long shadows across the landscape, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning debris from the ongoing battle. Thin plumes of smoke drifted lazily upwards, while sporadic explosions echoed faintly in the distance like distant thunder. Lina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her muscles still tense despite the steady rhythm of the vehicle's movements. She glanced at Cain, who sat opposite her, his gaze locked on the swirling portal high in the sky. His expression was unreadable, though the tightness around his jaw told her he was deep in thought.

The hum of engines and the rattling of gear was the only sound for miles, until a sudden, sharp voice crackled through the radio: "HOSTILES APPROACHING, 7 O'CLOCK!"

Lina immediately turned her head in the direction called out, her heart leaping into her throat. A swarm of demonic figures, leathery wings spread wide, were racing toward them from the sky, their grotesque forms silhouetted against the growing light. The convoy reacted instantly. The tanks flanking the jeeps swiveled their turrets in unison, their massive cannons roaring with thunderous force. The shells slammed into the cluster of demons with pinpoint accuracy, disintegrating half the swarm in a cloud of blood and flame. The heavy machine guns mounted on the vehicles spat out bullets in rapid fire, finishing off the remainder in a hail of steel. 

A moment later, silence descended once again.

One of the Alpha-6 operators, sitting across from Lina, let out a low whistle. "Hell, that was a bit of an overkill, wasn't it?" he chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the side of the vehicle. "Didn't stand a chance."

Lina barely acknowledged the remark, her focus shifting to the road ahead. They had entered a wide open area, flanked on both sides by high cliffs that loomed over them like silent sentinels. The perfect place for an ambush. Her eyes flickered to the ridges above, scanning for any sign of movement. Every instinct told her to stay alert.

Then, the radio crackled to life once more, this time with a sense of urgency. "MASSIVE DEMONIC GROUP APPROACHING, 9 O'CLOCK!"

Lina's heart skipped a beat as she snapped her head toward the left. In the distance, a massive horde of demons was emerging from the mist, their grotesque figures charging across the plain like a wave of darkness. The ground beneath them seemed to tremble with their approach.

Black Eagle's voice cut through the radio, calm but commanding. "We need artillery support. I'm calling it in from Saint-Léonard."

Switching channels, he began to communicate with the forces stationed there. "Black Eagle to SL-1-6, we need fire support at coordinates 48,64265° N, 1,42495° O. South-west of your current position, over."

The reply came quickly, the voice on the other end calm and professional. "Roger that, we'll cover you at…"

The voice was abruptly cut off by a deafening explosion that tore through the radio's speakers, causing everyone in the vehicle to flinch. Static buzzed violently for a moment, followed by the distant sound of shouting and chaos. 

Lina's head snapped toward the direction of Saint-Léonard, and she saw it—the unmistakable glow of a massive fireball rising from the horizon, black smoke billowing into the sky like a stormcloud.

"ALL STATIONS, THIS IS SL-1-6!" The voice on the radio was panicked now, breathless and filled with fear. "SAINT-LÉONARD IS UNDER ATTACK, I REPEAT, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! ENEMIES ARE… THEY'RE HUMAN! THE ENEMIES ARE HUMAN!"

The chilling words sent a wave of silence through the convoy. 

---

A few minutes ago,two Legionnaires from the French Foreign Legion walked side by side, their boots crunching against the dirt road that led into the village. The sun had only just begun to rise, casting long shadows over the quiet landscape. An American, Sergeant John Bradley, former Navy SEAL with broad shoulders and a determined look, turned to his comrade with a slight smile. His partner, a Malian named Adama Doumbia, glanced back, his eyes sharp, scanning the horizon before they settled back on John.

Adama was the first to break the silence.

"Tell me, John," Adama said, his voice calm but curious, "why did you leave the Navy SEALs and join the Legion?"

John took a moment before answering, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had been asked this question many times before but never really grew comfortable with answering it. "Well," he began, "I was a SEAL for five years. The training was intense, you know? Day in, day out. But there's a point where you get tired of just training. You get all these skills, you become this weapon, but they keep you locked down with endless drills and rarely let you actually put it to the test. It's like being in a cage."

He paused, his eyes drifting to the treeline ahead. "I wanted out. I wanted action. So, I quit, left the US, and found the Legion. Here, at least, you get what you're trained for every day. No bullshit, no endless exercises. It's real here."

Adama nodded slowly, his mind already on something else. John noticed the shift and raised an eyebrow.

"What about you, Adama? Why did you join?" John asked, his voice softer now, more serious.

Adama looked down at the rifle slung across his chest. His expression grew distant as if he were seeing something far away, not just the path ahead of them.

"A few years ago," Adama began, his voice lower than usual, "I lived in a small village in northern Mali. It was the middle of the civil war. The government, warlords, rebel groups—every day it was a new fight, and the people in my village were caught in the middle."

He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing at the memory. "I was only sixteen at the time. My mother and I… we were poor, barely scraping by. One day, one of the warlords came to the village with his soldiers. They decided to take whatever little we had. My mother and I tried to hide our food, knowing if they took it, we'd starve. But one of their soldiers found it. He dragged us out into the street and lined us up with the others, guns aimed at our heads."

John listened quietly, his face grim.

"I thought that was it," Adama continued, "I thought we were going to die. But then, out of nowhere, the French came. They hit the warlord's men hard, took them down like they were nothing. In minutes, they freed us. And afterward, they didn't just leave us there. They brought humanitarian aid—food, medicine, clothes. It was the first time in my life, apart from my mother, that anyone had shown me kindness."

Adama shook his head, his voice filled with emotion. "So, when I turned eighteen, I left Mali. It was a dangerous journey, but I made it to France. From there, I found the Legion. Now, I send my entire paycheck back to my mother so she can live a better life."

He looked over at John, his eyes hard but proud. "I know France isn't here just out of the kindness of its heart. It's about control, about influence, about imperialism. But I owe them my life, and my mother's life. Joining the Legion was my way of repaying that debt."

John whistled softly, impressed. "That's… damn, man. That's a hell of a story. I respect that."

Adama nodded in acknowledgment, but before either of them could say more, John's eyes caught something moving on the horizon. His expression shifted in an instant from casual to alert.

"Hey," John said, his voice low and tense, "you see that?"

Adama followed his gaze and saw it too—a line of vehicles, vans, and pick-up trucks armed with mounted machine guns, advancing toward the village from the east. His hand went instinctively to his radio, his pulse quickening.

"Command, this is Village Security," Adama said into the radio, his voice calm but urgent. "We have a large convoy of vehicles approaching from the east. Are we expecting reinforcements or resupply?"

Static filled the radio for a moment, and both men waited tensely for a response, their eyes never leaving the approaching convoy.

Adama's voice crackled back through the radio, his tone laced with confusion as he repeated Command's response. "Command says no reinforcements expected." 

John and Adama exchanged uneasy glances as they watched the convoy draw closer. The line of vehicles slowed, eventually stopping just in front of the small security post at the village's entrance. Dust swirled in the air as the engines idled, the tension palpable.

Adama stepped forward, rifle slung over his shoulder but ready. He approached the lead vehicle, a large, armored pick-up with a mounted machine gun, and called out to the man inside. 

"Bonjour, identify yourselves," Adama said, his voice steady despite the looming threat.

The man in the vehicle was clad in tactical gear from head to toe, his face obscured by a helmet and goggles. He tilted his head slightly, then spoke in a calm, chilling tone. "Bonjour. I am Commander Nikolai Varonov, of the Chaos Insurgency Assault Force, sent here on a special mission."

Adama blinked. "Chaos Insurgency?" The name was unfamiliar, and the unease in his stomach twisted tighter.

Nikolai chuckled darkly. "Yes, the Chaos Insurgency. It's the name of the organization that's going to send you to God today, free of charge."

Before Adama could react, Nikolai pulled a massive Magnum revolver from his belt in a flash and fired. The shot rang out, echoing through the village as Adama staggered back, clutching his chest. 

Chaos erupted instantly. The doors of the convoy vehicles flew open, and more than a hundred insurgents spilled out, guns blazing. The air filled with the deafening roar of gunfire. Bullets tore through the air, ripping into the security team.

"Shit!" John cursed as he dove behind cover, adrenaline surging through his veins. He barely managed to avoid the initial hail of bullets. His training kicked in, and he immediately began scanning for a way out. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Adama crawling, blood pouring from his wounds, trying to get to cover.

"Adama!" John shouted. He smashed the butt of his rifle through a nearby window and scrambled into a nearby house. From inside, he could see Adama dragging himself across the dirt, his face twisted in pain, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him.

Without thinking, John leaped back outside, ducking under the relentless enemy fire. He reached Adama, grabbing him by his vest and pulling him into the shelter of the house.

Inside, the light was dim, but John could see the blood pooling beneath Adama, soaking into the floor. "Jesus Christ..." John muttered, pressing his hands to the wound to try and stop the bleeding.

Adama coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. His eyes were wide with terror. "Stay with me, man. Come on! Think about your mother! John pleaded, his voice breaking as tears welled up in his eyes. 

Adama's breath came in ragged gasps. His hand reached out, grasping at nothing, and his voice was barely a whisper. "Mama... it hurts... I'm scared... where are you?"

His eyes filled with tears as he gasped for air. "Mama, I see you..." A faint smile crossed his lips, and then he went still, his body going limp in John's arms.

"No, no, no! Adama!" John shook him, desperate to bring him back, but it was too late. His friend was gone.

John's scream of anguish was drowned out by the cacophony of gunfire and explosions outside. Just then, a thunderous blast rocked the building. The ceiling above them crumbled, collapsing onto John and Adama, pinning them under rubble. Everything went dark.

John's last conscious thought was the crackling voice over the radio.

"Saint-Léonard is—" the transmission buzzed with interference, but the panic in the voice was clear. "Under attack! I repeat, we are under attack! The enemies— they're... they're human!"

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Note: Sorry for late/no update lately. I was focused on a exam. Now my activity should be able to keep up with the 1 day/1 Chapter promised.