Tristan stared at the clouds of fire and smoke that came out of the ships and the vehicle garage. He didn't need heat vision to see those.
There were ten explosions. Two half-made ships didn't blow up, but the blasts and waves from the other ships made them tilt dangerously for a moment.
When the dust cleared up, the camp stayed lit by orange and yellow lights. Now, instead of the explosions, they came from fires left behind.
There was a lot of fire. Tristan's people have poured some stolen gasoline over the ships and the garage. They even made an entire trail of gasoline between the buildings, letting the fire spread like a bird jumping from house to house.
It was, in short, exactly like Tristan had planned. Two unset bombs didn't change the fact that the shipyard was in complete chaos now, and hundreds of thousand dollars' worth of equipment was destroyed.
Some of the Angulos people in the camp were wounded by the explosions, some by the fire. Most stayed alive and well to try to extinguish it in time, but the chaos and panic were too big.
Just to make their life harder, Tristan found a few people who seemed to be leaders and shot them dead. It only took half a minute.
Then he ran toward their planned rendezvous spot away from the camp.
[Hidden task complete: finish Operation Claw. Reward: your PP increased by 5000.]
***
Six hours later.
The middle of nowhere, but surrounded by tropical trees and tall grass, was far from the best hiding spot—but Tristan's team wasn't chased, anyway.
They got to the car, drove through a narrow dirt trail and some fields—and all that time, no one chased them. The increasing glow behind them suggested why—the fire went out of control.
It was good the local forests were too wet for a proper forest fire.
Now the sun was rising. No one had over three hours of sleep, but they had to get going soon. They were just having a quick breakfast and some coffee before that.
Everybody looked bone weary—even Tristan felt mentally exhausted—but the mood was high, nonetheless.
People around him were taking it better. They were used to the loss of comrades. Tristan was used to the loss of pawns.
Sam wasn't a friend, but it was someone Tristan knew enough to remember his name. It had to count.
Tristan let the sadness fill him for ten more minutes. When everybody finished eating, he shook it off and focused on the goal again.
They still had to return to America, and relaxing on the road back was a sure way to get fucked.
***
For the first day, they drove with no complications. On the second day, they had to slow down a lot.
There were several reasons.
The entire Cuatro Angulos cartel was buzzing like an alarmed bee hive, and its thugs were patrolling all the big and most of the small roads. They were showing the guns openly and accosting every white man they saw on the streets.
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Tristan's team only traveled down the small roads. However, because of the rain that fell after the first day, all the dirt roads became miniature swamps.
The third time their car got stuck in dirt, Tristan wondered if they'd have a better time going on foot.
'I wish. But no.'
He had to grit his teeth and help pull it out yet again. With 679 strength, Tristan's efforts equaled to that of his entire team put together, which right now meant two people.
Cutout's wound got inflamed on day two, and now he was resting in the car and digesting antibiotics Tristan shoved into him. His incredible medical skill told him that in this wet heat and shaking car, Cutout's survival was mostly up to himself.
When the team actually reached a village, Tristan made a decision.
"Cutout needs at least a day of rest somewhere cleaner and with an AC. We are still in Angulos territory, but this village seems to be too small to actually have their people in it. Kund, Decker—stay here and guard the car. I'm going down to investigate the area and get us a room."