Howard Wytest had been forced to assemble the Tyrants’ equipment in a matter of days.
Even so, he hadn’t spared a single expense.
Every vital area of each suit was protected by fifty-millimeter tank armor.
The joints were wrapped in multiple layers of reinforced ballistic fiber, roughly equivalent to wearing two heavy body armor vests at once.
The original helmet design had included a dome of high-strength bulletproof glass.
Howard discarded that idea entirely.
Instead, each helmet became a sealed steel shell forged from tank armor.
Vision came from six miniature external cameras feeding live video to a high-definition display mounted inside the helmet.
The system offered normal vision, night vision, thermal imaging, and even rear-facing views.
Rather than limiting the wearer’s awareness, the enclosed helmets enhanced it.
Combined with the Tyrants’ already monstrous physiques...
The result bordered on absurd.
Ordinary rifle fire barely registered.
Even a grenade exploding at their feet would do little more than force them to take a step backward.
"How’s the search going?"
Ethan Müller crouched behind the warehouse entrance, stealing another glance at the battlefield.
Twenty minutes had passed since the firefight began.
The American military had already committed four infantry companies.
Even knowing what the Tyrants were capable of, the relentless assault placed enormous psychological pressure on him.
The hacker sounded even more frustrated.
"Damn it."
"Everything here is recorded by hand."
"There isn’t a single electronic inventory."
"How am I supposed to search this quickly?"
The military and S.H.I.E.L.D. had deliberately chosen the oldest recordkeeping method imaginable for the warehouse’s most sensitive contents.
Paper.
Every artifact.
Every storage location.
Every transfer.
Everything existed only in handwritten ledgers.
No hacker could steal information that wasn’t stored on a computer.
Primitive.
Painfully inefficient.
And, under the circumstances...
Extremely effective.
The hacker’s greatest strength had become completely useless.
All he could do was flip through mountain after mountain of handwritten records.
Even the two combat operatives assigned to guard him had been dragged into searching page after page.
"How’s your side holding up?" the hacker asked without looking up.
Ethan peered through the warehouse doorway.
Reflected muzzle flashes flickered across the lenses of his tactical visor.
"As long as the Americans don’t deploy heavy armor..."
"We’re fine until the ammunition runs out."
The hacker paused.
"And if they bring tanks?"
That concern wasn’t unfounded.
The Tyrants laughed off rifle fire.
Even armored Humvees reinforced with steel plating were little more than scrap metal against M60 machine guns firing tungsten-core armor-piercing ammunition.
Main battle tanks were another matter entirely.
No amount of enhanced flesh could survive a tank cannon.
Even heavy infantry fighting vehicles armed with rapid-fire autocannons would pose a lethal threat.
Ethan smiled.
"They won’t."
The certainty in his voice caught the hacker’s attention.
"How can you possibly know that?"
"You own the U.S. military now?"
"There are people inside the base helping us."
Ethan’s smile deepened.
"They’ll delay the deployment of heavy armor for as long as they can."
His tone quickly turned serious.
"But they can only mislead."
"They can’t openly interfere without exposing themselves."
"So don’t waste the time they’re buying."
"Understood."
The communication ended.
Ethan shifted his attention back to the battlefield.
After observing the American advance for several moments, he opened the squad channel.
"Tyrant Squad."
"Conserve ammunition."
"Ease off the pressure."
The order seemed counterintuitive.
There were two reasons behind it.
First...
Every round saved extended their ability to hold the line.
Second...
He wanted the Americans to believe they were winning.
If enemy fire gradually weakened, the defenders would naturally assume the attackers were running out of ammunition.
Victory would appear tantalizingly close.
And the closer victory seemed...
The less likely anyone would request larger reinforcements.
Every minute the Americans remained convinced they could finish the battle themselves was another minute Ethan gained.
Unfortunately for Ethan...
Time was becoming equally unbearable elsewhere.
Inside the command center, Brigadier General Talbot stared at the tactical display with mounting fury.
Twenty-eight minutes.
Nearly half an hour.
A reinforced battalion had failed to eliminate barely twenty enemies.
Worse...
Not a single confirmed enemy casualty had been reported.
American casualties, meanwhile, continued to rise.
Talbot’s face darkened.
His mustache twitched violently.
Everyone in the room recognized the warning signs.
One of the staff officers wisely picked up a telephone before Talbot exploded.
Several moments later, he ended the call with visible relief.
"General."
"The frontline commander reports that enemy firepower has noticeably weakened."
"He believes victory is imminent."
Some of Talbot’s anger faded.
Not much.
"I don’t want ’imminent.’"
He slammed his fist onto the operations table.
"I want it over."
"Now."
Each word struck the table like a hammer blow.
After venting his frustration, he took a slow breath and regained his composure.
Then he issued a new order.
"Authorize the frontline to use its maximum available firepower."
Colonel Woods’ eyebrows twitched.
His lips parted slightly before closing again.
Unknown to everyone else in the room...
He was one of Hydra’s sleepers within the U.S. military.
Not one of Howard Wytest’s direct subordinates.
Simply another operative repaying a professional courtesy.
Earlier, he had been able to justify delaying the armored units with sound tactical reasoning.
This time...
He had nothing.
Opposing increased firepower without a credible military argument would only draw suspicion.
Protecting Hydra’s operation wasn’t worth exposing himself.
He remained silent.
The new authorization reached the battlefield only minutes later.
The change was immediate.
Previously...
Bullets striking the Tyrants had done little more than throw off bright sparks.
Now...
The impact points erupted with clouds of yellow smoke.
Ethan’s expression changed instantly.
"Oh, hell."
His voice rang across the radio.
"They’re using depleted uranium armor-piercing rounds!"
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