"Adjust the three scales, shoot upward, three shots in a row!"
At Frank's command, the twelve gunners dropped their shells at the same time.
Bang bang bang…!
The sound of shells being fired from the gun rang out in unison...
The piercing sound of cannon fire echoed in the air, followed by a series of rumbling explosions from deep in the forest in the distance.
Before the sound of the cannon was heard, the twelve gunners quickly and steadily took another shell from their side.
Load and fire.
In two minutes, three rounds of artillery fire, a base of 120 shells, were all poured out.
After firing all the shells they were carrying, Frank directly ordered the guns to be abandoned. All soldiers put on night vision goggles, checked their equipment, and loaded bullets.
A dozen or so gray-white smoke trails led them towards the depths of the forest.
… …
"Baka!"
Hearing the artillery fire stop, Murakami, who had been hiding in a tree hole to avoid the bombardment, crawled out of the hole.
A broken wooden house, flames shooting up into the sky, wailing everywhere, and heavy casualties among his men.
Seeing this devastated scene, Murakami cursed in frustration and swung his knife at the big tree next to him.
With one stroke, he chopped down a tree that was as thick as a man's arms, by one third.
"Baga, come on, go check if the Bo Tu and the others are still alive?"
Drawing out his long sword, Murakami pointed his samurai sword at the wooden house that had been blown into a deep pit and shouted angrily.
Murakami's roar echoed throughout the training base. Apart from the crackling sounds of burning wood, even the air in the entire base was unusually quiet.
A few black-clad ninjas who had managed to survive the aftermath of the explosion stood there in a daze, as if they had not heard Murakami's words.
"Baka!"
Murakami raised his knife and swung it angrily, chopping off the head of the black-clad ninja closest to him.
Blood gushed out from the black-clothed ninja's neck like a fountain, but after his head was chopped off, the black-clothed ninja still stood upright.
Before Murakami could come to his senses, the heads of several black-clad ninjas around him twisted 90 degrees, their faces ashen, and they looked straight at him.
… …
“Puff, puff, puff.”
A group of more than thirty people walked in the dense forest in groups of three, with each group less than three meters apart.
In the quiet environment, no one spoke, and the only sound could be heard was the sound of military boots stepping on dead leaves.
At the front of the team, a gray-white smoke suddenly drifted towards a big tree.
Without any hesitation, the three soldiers leading the way raised their guns and shot.
The sound of the silenced carbine echoed in the forest, and then several streams of blood gushed out from the trunk of the big tree like flowing water.
Walking to the big tree, a soldier raised his foot and kicked it. The bark, as tall as a person, tilted to the side, revealing the black-clad ninja behind him who was almost beaten into a sieve.
A soldier leaned over to check the black-clad ninja's belongings, took out a communicator, and made an OK gesture to his companion.
The group continued to move forward.
The dense jungle is filled with fallen leaves. Because there is no sunlight all year round, only the top layer of leaves piled up here is dry. The ground is damp, nourishing a large number of mosquitoes and grasshoppers.
If you step on the ground with military boots, you will sink halfway into it. Even walking in such an environment, the group still has to guard against sneak attacks from the ninjas stationed by the Hand.
"stop!"
The three soldiers leading the way silently made a stop gesture.
The rustling sound of leaves suddenly stopped.
The black-clad ninja curled up under the leaves couldn't help but move his ears.
He resisted the urge to look through the hole, evened out his breathing, and tried to avoid making any noise.
What he didn't expect was that above the layers of leaves that covered him, a cloud of gray-white smoke was swirling in circles.
This ball of gray-white smoke seemed to be afraid that others could not see clearly, so it deliberately transformed into a gray-white fog arrow pointing downwards.
“Puff, puff, puff, puff…”
Without any words, the three soldiers leading the way raised their guns.
There was no sound from the pile of leaves, but the leaves on the top layer were also soaked by the blood.
… …
Along the way, Frank saw the various assassination methods used by the Hand Ninjas.
Some hide in the bark, disguised as trees, some lurk in the water holding hollow reeds, and some lie on the treetops, disguised as branches.
There are some camouflage methods that even he cannot distinguish if it were not for the undead to guide him.
But there are more than a dozen evil spirits here, and these ambushing ninjas are like street lights in the dark night. There is no use hiding.
After walking more than three miles, Frank and his team cleared seven waves of ambushes before they saw a camouflaged wooden house.
"This should be it!" Frank raised his hand and made a tactical gesture.
All the soldiers bent down and moved forward.
“No one!”
"Still no one!"
We passed four or five wooden houses in a row, and all of them were empty, without a single person in sight.
Finally, the group arrived at an empty training ground, with crackling burning trees, ruined wooden houses, and thick smoke in the air.
Let Frank and the others realize that they have arrived at the center of the bombardment.
At this moment, the scene here was in a mess.
More than a dozen black-clad ninjas were lying on the ground, their bodies covered with wounds from knife cuts, and several heads had rolled four or five meters away.
Around the corpse, a middle-aged man in a kimono kept slashing at people with a knife.
The hoarse expression on his face and every swing of the knife seemed to have exhausted all his strength.
Even the two clogs under his feet had been kicked away to who knows where.
But to the soldiers, the middle-aged man's actions looked like he was madly hacking at the air around him.
Frank held the small banner in his hand, and he clearly saw the real scene of Murakami and his surroundings.
There were at least six evil spirits crawling all over Murakami's body.
One rode on his back and whispered in his ear. Two held his feet, and two grabbed his hands.
Another covered his eyes.
Murakami couldn't see these things, but he could feel his body becoming increasingly weak. He swung his sword desperately, mobilizing the energy and blood in his body.
The abundant Yang energy in his body did burn away a few evil spirits, but there were hundreds of them surrounding him.
One was forced back, and two more pounced on it.
The energy and blood in Murakami's body gradually faded away with the passage of time and energy.
Finally, Murakami's legs went weak and he lost strength, causing the samurai sword in his hand to fall to the side.
The next moment, hundreds of evil undead spirits, seeing an opportunity, rushed forward.
Hundreds of gray-white smoke engulfed the village.
In the hazy white mist, there was a sound of something sucking yang energy and gnawing on flesh and blood, mixed with sinister ghost laughter.
When the gray smoke dissipated, only a completely eaten skeleton was left on the grass.