Chapter 42: Just Enforcing the Law, What the Hell is With the Heavy Firepower?

Learning from James's mistake, Colonel William did not divide his forces this time.

He led a full contingent of 150 heavily armed men, arriving in Chicago by truck, and immediately placed the local Prohibition Bureau under lockdown, capturing everyone inside in one fell swoop.

After employing a few minor interrogation techniques, he extracted further information.

As expected, every single one of them was a damned mole!

The reason James and his men had failed so quickly and miserably was that they had been betrayed by the moles and ambushed by Chicago gangsters, getting finished off before they could even draw their pistols.

Colonel William mourned James's fate while feeling even more confident about this operation.

All the evidence suggested that Chicago's gangsters were not extraordinarily powerful, but rather cunning.

This time, he would rely on righteous and overwhelming firepower to drive the gangsters to despair in the face of unbeatable force!

He unfolded a map of Chicago, marked with a rough distribution of the gangsters' speakeasies based on the confessions of the moles.

The dense cluster of dots showed just how outrageous the gang influence was!

At the same time, it made it clear that there was no hope whatsoever to be pinned on Chicago's official authorities!

These damned speakeasies had nearly infiltrated the backyard of the City Hall; could anyone seriously claim the authorities knew nothing about it?

"Damned corrupt officials! Damned city!"

Colonel William cursed under his breath.

However, no matter how corrupt the official authorities were, they were not his to deal with; his targets were the muck-raking vermin!

Colonel William measured the map with his hand.

He was already aware that the criminal underworld in Chicago was sharply divided into northern and southern factions.

Furthermore, the moles had revealed that the two factions had been feuding for years and would never support each other—though the moles had taken bribes from both sides! Shit!

That was fine as well, as it made it convenient to defeat them one by one.

Colonel William slammed his fist down onto the southern section of the map first.

An hour later, Colonel William personally led his unit in a textbook assault on a speakeasy in the South Side, which was rumored to be a major financial source for the mafia.

The entire operation was clean and decisive, and a few lookouts who got in the way were simply fed lead—don't bother asking, any inquiries would be met with the excuse of violent resistance against law enforcement.

There were no gimmicky photo-ops arranged for reporters this time, but William deliberately let all the patrons escape from the bar.

Then, he grabbed a bottle of amber whiskey and smashed it fiercely against the brass-rimmed counter!

The crisp, shattering sound acted like a signal.

The agents sprang into action, grabbing every bottle they could find and smashing them mercilessly against the brick walls and floors.

They flipped over entire liquor shelves and trampled the flowing alcohol with their heavy boots.

In just a few minutes, this meticulously concealed den of vice was reduced to utter wreckage. The floor was covered in glistening shards of glass and rivers of spilled liquor.

After thoroughly destroying the bar, Colonel William left a few men at the entrance to await the arrival of the police—provided the police were even going to show up.

The main force regrouped and headed toward the mafia's next largest speakeasy.

"Drive slower," Colonel William instructed the driver, poking his upper body out of the car window while his hawk-like gaze swept over the curious onlookers on both sides of the street.

With a low engine roar, the convoy advanced at a near-walking pace. The agents stood upright and disciplined in the back of the trucks, holding polished M1903 rifles with M1911 pistols holstered at their waists.

This was no raid; this was an armed parade, an act of provocation!

A cruel smile curved the corners of Colonel William's lips.

He wanted to force those rats out of their gutter holes so he could blast them into oblivion with thunderous momentum!

If they didn't come out, fine, he would sweep through every single speakeasy this way.

He had enough patience to cleanse every underground bar in Chicago.

Still, he hoped for the former.

Come on, hit me!

Colonel William issued a sincere invitation to the gangsters of Chicago in his heart!

As if responding to his inner call, the closer they got to the target, the fewer pedestrians lined the streets.

Gradually, not a single pedestrian remained.

And shadowy figures of unidentified armed personnel could be faintly seen lurking around the convoy.

"They're here! Prepare for combat!" Colonel William felt a surge of excitement rather than fear, shoving the door open and using it as a standard tactical barricade while steadying his rifle.

"Take favorable positions! Fire at will! Teach these social scum a lesson in blood!" he roared.

The convoy scattered rapidly, trucks parking sideways as the agents nimbly leaped out to find cover, the sharp, crisp sounds of chambering rounds filling the air.

Contempt was etched on their faces as they prepared to deliver a bloody lesson to the mobsters.

And then, the lesson began—

At least forty Thompson submachine guns opened fire simultaneously from around the convoy, their dense chorus tearing the air apart as if an invisible giant were combing through the street with a heavy iron comb.

These weren't just bullets; it was a scorching metal storm!

The iconic, rapid, and deadly rattle of the Thompson submachine guns instantly became the dominant theme, interspersed with the heavy, powerful bursts of Browning automatic rifles that sounded like hammer blows against the chest.

Colonel William and his well-trained agents were instantly dazed by this deluge of lead.

"Return fire! Suppress them!" Colonel William roared at the top of his lungs, but his voice sounded pitifully weak amid the deafening gunfire.

Before he could figure out a way to establish effective suppression, he spotted small black objects flying through the air far ahead, tracing graceful parabolic arcs as they fell.

Boom! Boom! Explosions erupted one after another!

"Grenades!" someone shrieked hysterically.

Boom! Boom-boom-rumble!

Grenades rained down from the sky as if they were worthless, detonating in rapid succession while shockwaves laden with shrapnel and gravel swept across the street.

The hood of a truck was blown completely off, sending flames roaring into the sky.

"Retreat! Retreat!" Realizing the situation had turned sour, Colonel William personally provided rear-guard cover to allow the agents to fall back.

Yet to his despair, the enemy's submachine gun and machine gun fire seemed endless, weaving a net of destruction that firmly sealed off their escape route.

Compared to the pathetic single-shot taps of their rifles and pistols, the enemy's sustained fire combined with a rain of grenades constituted a truly overwhelming superiority in heavy firepower!

A soft "whoosh" echoed.

"Boom!"

Colonel William was violently thrown backward by the shockwave of a nearby grenade explosion, slamming hard against a twisted car door before tumbling to the ground.

His rifle had flown off somewhere unknown, his ears rang with a piercing shriek, and the world spun wildly as all sounds became distant and blurred.

Lying flat on his back, his field of vision was filled with Chicago's grey, overcast sky and the countless faint, crisscrossing trajectories of ballistic paths.

He desperately wanted to cry!

Man, we were just trying to enforce the law; what on earth is this endless heavy firepower?!

And besides, Chicago police officers, a street firefight of this scale has broken out—why on earth aren't you showing up yet?!!