The body of the "Hummingbird" weighs only between thirty and fifty grams. Apart from being equipped with infrared and optical caras, the front end of the airfra is also fitted with a copper vapor cap weighing less than two grams.
The vapor cap is extrely thin, surrounded by three grams of high-explosive and an electronic fuse.
After receiving an attack command, the "Hummingbird" locks onto the target and begins a dive, with the laser altiter continuously asuring the distance.
The onboard chip completes the distance asurent and precisely adjusts the attitude of the drone to ensure that before collision, its nose is aid directly at the target’s vital points—usually the head, chest, or back.
At the mont of impact, the electronic fuse detonates the explosive, and the imnse energy generated shapes the copper vapor cap into a high-temperature, high-pressure tal jet.
According to tests, this minuscule tal jet has a range of about ten centiters, sufficient to penetrate a three-milliter steel plate easily, piercing through a helt to leave a fatal small hole in a person’s head.
Within a four hundred ters range, this device can almost be regarded as a miniature precision-guided bullet with autonomous tracking and locking capabilities. Although slightly costly, its combat effectiveness is extrely astonishing.
Just as Zhou Qingfeng said, it’s not like they can’t afford it.
Major Fleming’s instinctive gesture of raising his arm saved his life, as the tal jet ford by the explosion hit directly on his arm.
He emitted a shrill scream on the spot, rolling off the marching bed.
anwhile, screams echoed continuously around, so even never having the chance to scream before they were killed.
The sentry responsible for vigilance on the armored car had a gaping hole burst on his head by a "Hummingbird", his body convulsing before he tumbled off the roof of the car.
So soldiers hiding in the shadows of the vehicle were covered in blood from the shrapnel of the exploding "Hummingbird", holding their wounds in horror and loudly calling for dics to bandage them.
So more alert soldiers tried to dodge when the "Hummingbird" darted towards them, waving their arms in circles, attempting to "shoot down" these mini drones, but almost none succeeded.
The first wave of "Hummingbird" attacks already caused casualties to over half of the convoy’s soldiers. But this was just the beginning. The second wave of drones continued to swoop in.
The onboard chip, devoid of emotions, just executes the predetermined program, determined to complete its mission thoroughly.
Major Fleming, disregarding his injured arm, quickly drew his sidearm and repeatedly pulled the trigger at another diving "Hummingbird".
The "bang bang bang" sound of gunfire rang out in succession, but it had no effective stopping power at all—the second "Hummingbird" crashed severely into his chest, its burning tal jet piercing instantly through his lungs.
The major only felt a fiery sensation in his chest, and imdiately found it extrely difficult to breathe, opening his mouth to spray a mouthful of fresh blood.
He staggered back a few steps, running towards the RG-33 armored car, thinking as long as he could get inside, the armored protection might still offer a slim chance of survival.
Just as his hand grasped the car door handle, the third "Hummingbird" violently crashed into his back, bursting open a bloody, ragged hole.
The door of the armored car’s cockpit had already opened a slit, the driver inside listening to music and enjoying the air conditioning.
Seeing their squad leader appear outside covered in blood, slumping weakly, a series of horrified screams erupted inside the vehicle.
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In less than a minute, all fifteen preset targets were eliminated by the ’Hummingbird’. The convoy was surrounded by scattered, lifeless bodies, and the entire hunt process appeared remarkably quiet.
A ’Hummingbird’ hovered among the vehicles, assessing the results of the hunt.
Its cara turned towards the lead RG-33 armored car, clearly showing a soldier inside the cockpit, his face full of fear, unsure what to do.
This ’Hummingbird’ ignored the soldier inside the cockpit, flying towards other directions to continue seeking any remaining survivors.
The soldier inside the cockpit realized he might have escaped by a hair’s breadth, hurriedly starting the armored car, intending to flee this ghostly place—although he had no clue what had happened, unquestionably, his comrades outside were all dead.
But just as this soldier gripped the steering wheel, a gunshot rang from outside, a high-caliber bullet penetrating the RG-33’s bulletproof glass, leaving a spider-web crack on the window while smashing the soldier inside into a bloody ss.
A hundred ters away, Tang Wen, who had been trembling all over, gradually cald down with deep breaths. He glanced at Zhou Qingfeng using the ’Barrett’ sniper rifle beside him, smiling bitterly, "Boss, I’m sorry, I was such a coward."
"The first ti I went to bed with my girlfriend, I didn’t perform well either." Zhou Qingfeng patted Tang Wen on the shoulder, "So things, the more you do them, the less fear and panic there’ll be."
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At this mont, on the crude tal walls surrounding Farmville Town, a few town militia whose clothes were soaked with sweat were still scratching their heads in confusion, faces fully perplexed.
They only vaguely heard a few dull gunshots from a distance but witnessed no intense battle scenes and didn’t even see the attackers.
But several hundred ters outside the town, beside the road, the "Richmond Guard Team," which only monts ago appeared sowhat casual and arrogant, was now a scene of devastation, bodies strewn across, mute chaos prevailing.
A dozen or so people who were chatting and smoking in groups earlier now laid scattered in blood, swept away as if by the grim reaper’s scythe, silent and lifeless.
Who took their lives? Nobody knows.
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