Invasion of the United States

When Monica walked out of the museum's observation corridor...

The pilot responsible for flying, Orno, had just taken the battery out of the electric cart, ready to load it into the transport plane's cabin.

The museum's DC-3, which belongs to the later models, had its starting battery moved from the engine compartment to under the rear floor inside the cabin for easier ground crew maintenance.

Opening the hand-pulled hatch reveals the battery installation location.

Push back the driver's seat of the electric cart, and two lead-acid batteries underneath are exposed, each twenty-four volts, wired in series to power the cart.

Others were also racing against time to complete their tasks.....

Phil, wearing glasses, was driving another electric cart, weaving through the exhibition hall. He moved away the vintage aircraft obstructing the path one by one, making room for the DC-3.

An army lieutenant colonel was leaning over the wing, opening the engine compartment, pouring the dark red lubricating oil from a soda bottle into the oil inlet.

Another member of the escape team was doing the same thing on another engine—since the museum drained the lubricating oil for long-term preservation, they needed to re-lubricate to get the engine working again.

They even had to muster all their strength to turn the propellers, making the Pratt & Whitney engines on the DC-3 clatter with metallic sounds.

The pistons in the engine cylinders were turning arduously, squeezing the thick lubricating oil into the dried-up oil conduits.

Near the boarding ladder, the elderly and women were helping each other prepare to board the plane, hoping to end this painful journey.

Zhou Qingfeng wasn't skilled in technical work, but his sharp hearing made him notice the noisy footsteps coming from behind him. When he turned his head, he caught sight of Monica, twenty to thirty meters away, staring intensely.

When the daughter of the general on the opposite side smugly spoke in clichés, his hand was already reaching for the short-barreled assault rifle slung on his back.

With a pull of the gun strap, the muzzle pointed directly ahead, and his finger reached for the trigger guard. He shouted to his fellow escapees, "Do what you need to do; I'll handle these guys."

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Following Monica's gaze, Yeager also saw the escape team on the opposite side—five or six industry elites with big ideas, leading ten or so old, weak, sick, and disabled in a game of 'reverse thinking'.

There's no denying that coming to the aerospace museum was a clever move. As long as they were not obstructed, and given enough time, these people would surely escape.

The confrontation happened unexpectedly for both parties.

As a former Special Service Bureau employee, Yeager's instincts honed from years of training kicked in. At the moment he saw Zhou Qingfeng, he reflexively tackled Monica to the ground, just in time to avoid three precise shots fired from the opposite side.

The bullets hit a 'Spitfire' warplane in the same exhibition hall, punching three holes through the plane's skin with a poof poof poof.

While tackling, Yeager didn't forget to shout behind him, "Tusi, take out that guy on the opposite side, and you can become president."

The muscular black man behind Monica was highly excited, gearing up to engage in a shootout with Zhou Qingfeng with his M240 machine gun.

But both beneficiaries of the 'X' boosters possessed equally matched physical prowess.

Tusi's dynamic vision was on par with Zhou Qingfeng's, and with just a glance, he assessed that the opponent's gun had already picked him as a target, forcing a shootout would lead to mutual destruction, and he must quickly dodge.

Upon eye contact, both felt a tremendous threat.

Zhou Qingfeng's fingers pulled the trigger in a rapid yet controlled rhythm, maintaining three-shot bursts to prevent the opposing M240 from firing.

However, his assault rifle lacked significant firepower; once the magazine was empty, he would inevitably seize an opportunity for a counterattack.

At this moment, the deciding factor was...

Teamwork!

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As the gunfire started, the dozen National Guard soldiers accompanying Monica dropped down at 'light speed,' crawling quickly like cockroaches on the slick floor, retreating to the observation corridor first and foremost. Chapter source: My Virtual Library Empire (M|V|L4EMPYR).

When Yeager, who had tackled Monica, turned around trying to command these bighead soldiers to exert some subjective initiative, possibly engage in maneuvers like 'flanking,' 'detouring,' 'crossfire'...

The bighead soldiers' first reaction was to grab their handheld radios, frantically shouting, "Attack, we're under attack."

"Company B's third squad is under attack by escapees, requesting support."

"Enemy firepower is strong; they have explosives. Attention, escapees have explosives."

Dragging Monica into hiding behind a 'Curtis' aircraft, Yeager felt the wheels of 'Curtis' weren't reliable enough, so he went searching for other cover.

He was still counting on the bighead soldiers to cover him, fire a few shots, scare the opposite side a bit, and at least show their presence.

Unexpectedly, the bighead soldiers slipped away faster than rabbits, with plenty of justification—they claimed the protective suits were unsuitable for combat, and that managing to sweep half a magazine of bullets in the air was already quite respectable.

Yeager was so furious he nearly suffered a stroke.

"You idiots, who can you call with company-level radios? Your superiors are a couple of kilometers away; do you expect them to fly over?

Besides, can you not crowd one channel and shout like crazy when calling for support? If you're going to shout, at least mention where you are!"

"The National Guard's combat capability is worse than a team of policemen!"

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On the escape team's side, as soon as the gunfire began, the army lieutenant colonel lubricating the engine didn't hesitate for a second, his oil-stained left hand firmly gripping the ivory handle of the Python revolver at his waist.

Another escape team member simultaneously reached for a gun, with no intention of letting Zhou Qingfeng fend off a whole crowd alone.

Pilot Orno's back was soaked with sweat as he grabbed a battery and dashed up the ladder into the cabin.

At that moment, there was no time for meticulous work; he had to shout to a homemaker who had boarded the plane, asking her to connect the starter circuit and battery terminals with her two hands.