Invasion of the United States

"Ensure good contact, give me half a minute to start the piston engine. Starting only takes a few seconds, you can throw away the battery afterward."

The housewife taking over the task looked solemn. She used her own clothes as an insulator, pressing the start wire and battery terminals together.

"Great, excellent idea." Olno saved at least a minute, turned, and rushed to the cockpit, sitting down and forcefully twisting the rusty copper switch on the control panel.

The old machine dormant for decades started working again, the yellowed fluorescent needles on the dashboard twitched spasmodically.

Suddenly, a wave of bullets rained just outside the cabin, beating the riveted skin like a drum. A 7.62mm bullet pierced the cabin wall, shattering the radio headset hanging on the front side of the cockpit.

But as soon as the current was connected, the starting motor began to turn, causing the piston engines on either wing of the DC-3 to spew black smoke, with the propellers emitting a "creak creak" noise.

Olno excitedly shouted, "Get on the plane, get on the plane, we can set off now."

Outside the cabin, Lucy barely glanced at Zhou Qingfeng, silently assisted a housewife carrying a child up the ladder, organizing the escape team to quickly board without creating trouble for the companions.

Even Old Hammer joined the aid, finding a few remaining blocks of "white sugar dynamite" from the electric cart and tossed them at Zhou Qingfeng's feet.

Zhou Qingfeng kicked the dynamite package over twenty meters, detonating it and blowing a P-47 fighter plane on the ground display to smithereens.

In the pause when Zhou Qingfeng emptied a magazine, two companions with M16s opened fire, rhythmically suppressing any suicidal actions from the opposite side, controlling ammunition consumption while maintaining enough deterrence.

But this was far from enough... because the opponent had an M240 with a box of two hundred rounds. My Vi@r-t&u@a^l L*i#br-a-ry* E&mpi*re% (M.|$V|^L*E&1MPYR)* t-h*a+n&ks you for re$a.d@ing^ at the s$o.u!rce&.&

The black-skinned strong man named Tusi roughly locked onto Zhou Qingfeng and others' position just by the sound of gunfire, firing across an old airplane with a machine gun.

The fuselages of old planes were very thin, and the aluminum skin couldn't withstand the continuous shooting of 7.62mm full-power bullets.

The over 100-kilogram body weight of the black strong man provided good recoil stability. In just a second, more than a dozen bullets pierced through the two small planes parked side by side in the exhibition hall.

Even after penetration, the bullets retained their power, sweeping across the position where Zhou Qingfeng and his companions were located.

Zhou Qingfeng reacted extremely quickly. He always remembered the threat felt upon first encountering the black strong man—his sturdy build and fierce eyes, very much like a marauder running rampant in the apocalypse.

He moved his position while changing magazines, trying to find a better angle to attack the opponent.

But the people beside Zhou Qingfeng were not so lucky.

The M240 fired off a burst of fifty or sixty bullets in one go, sweeping a large area.

Among the escapees, Phil, who wore glasses, was hit on the spot and fell without a gasp. His wife, holding a child, entered the cabin, seeing his blood-covered body through the porthole, breaking down into tears on the spot.

In the cockpit, Olno pushed the throttle, the engine started smoothly, unleashing a buzzing propeller gale. He leaned his head out of the cockpit window, shouting to the companions outside:

"Remove the chocks, quickly remove the chocks."

The army lieutenant colonel turned around, staring down at the propeller's gale, removed all the chocks acting as plugs under the wheels.

The plane wheels, having remained idle for decades, were long deflated, yet the DC-3 airliner began to move shakily, rolling over the scattered debris, heading towards the museum's shattered glass curtain wall.

Lucy supported Grandpa Hammer into the cabin, turning at the ladder to shout to Zhou Qingfeng: "Victor, get on the plane."

But Zhou Qingfeng, with his back to the DC-3 taxiing out of the museum, showed no intention of boarding immediately, instead kept his gun aimed at the black strong man's direction, continuing his attack.

-----------------

Hearing the dense gunfire overhead, Monica, who was knocked down, finally realized she almost got killed again.

Yet, her response wasn't fear but rage, struggling to get up and brawl with Zhou Qingfeng, unwilling to stop until one of them perished.

Yeager, being a professional special agent, held Monica down firmly, angrily saying, "Enough, let the kid leave, what does it matter? It's unnecessary to pursue him relentlessly."

Without hesitation, Monica slapped Yeager, "Bastard, stop pressing on me; you don't have the right to enjoy it on top of me."

Yeager was stunned by the slap, almost tempted to shoot and kill the extremely narcissistic, extremely foolish woman.

At this moment, the black-skinned Tusi had fired more than half of his two-hundred-round box. Despite his excellent physical condition, this guy liked to hold down the trigger and spray bullets.

A lot of bullets were fired, but the extent of damage they caused remained unknown.

Zhou Qingfeng held a fully loaded M4A1 in his hand, playing the role of a DC-3 escort, moving bit by bit towards the museum's opening along with the taxiing plane.

Beside him, the older army lieutenant colonel ran out of ammo in his beloved ivory revolver, switched to an M16A2, pointing at the possible location of the black-skinned Tusi, maintaining his composure.

Ruby from the International Development Agency appeared somewhat flustered, watching the airliner about to leave the museum, then glancing at the immobile Zhou Qingfeng and the lieutenant colonel, her breathing becoming increasingly rapid.

Hesitating momentarily, her step backward gradually accelerated, turning to run towards the airliner's boarding ladder.

As she turned, the army lieutenant colonel loudly warned, "No, don't move; this will create a defensive gap."

But it was too late.

Ruby's turn presented a perfect shooting opportunity for Monica on the opposite side.

Through a quick peek from hiding to confirm, Monica, holding the gun with both hands, fired five or six consecutive shots at the opposing side, removing the target with a headshot on the spot.