Song Heping's breathing was particularly heavy under the night vision goggles.
He quickly stripped the tactical vest off the corpse, put it on himself, and then pulled down the hood to cover his face.
The enemy's MP5 submachine gun was still warm. He checked the magazine—there were more than twenty bullets left.
Enough.
The footsteps outside were getting closer.
"Dave, is that you?" A deep male voice sounded outside the door.
"Cough cough cough—it's me, I'm injured..."
Song Heping deliberately lowered his voice, making it sound as if he were seriously injured.
"Is he dead?" the person outside asked loudly.
Song Heping lowered his voice, mimicking an American accent: "Yes, confirmed kill!"
"Damn, we finally got him."
Another voice cursed and approached.
Song Heping's muscles tensed, his fingers gently resting on the trigger.
The door was pushed open, and two "Watcher" team members entered with their guns raised.
"Bam! Bam!"
