When Pete was knocked out and stuffed into the back of the Raptor's trunk, he never imagined that less than three hours had passed since his abduction.
Jack didn't have the time to spend days tormenting him. The so-called "water drop torture" he set up lasted barely an hour and a half, but it was enough to push Pete to the brink of collapse.
The dark and quiet environment, combined with Jack's suggestive expressions and words, created a crude psychological manipulation that made Pete believe he had been tortured for an entire day.
In reality, it was just past midnight. The cold night had only just begun as the vehicle's wheels crushed the recently frozen ruts, sending a mixture of ice and mud flying high.
After receiving the message from Chris that "the birds have returned to the nest," a convoy twice the size of the one from a few days ago reappeared on the rough road leading to the drilling camp.
Cory Lambert was once again driving the lead vehicle. When he stopped and got out, the various off-road vehicles and SUVs following him also parked by the roadside, turned off their engines, and switched off their lights.
Jack signaled for everyone to gather around him with his flashlight, but when he saw the faces of Cory and Martin Hanson, he was startled.
"What did you smear on your faces?"
"This is the death mask that Shaman warriors of the tribe used to paint before going into battle."
Cory pointed to the colorful paint on his face.
"White represents mourning and remembrance, red stands for war and energy, black symbolizes bravery and aggressiveness, and yellow signifies the resolve to fight to the death."
"You guys still do this?" Jack was surprised, thinking that the shamanic traditions of Native Americans had long since disappeared.
The Native Americans in the Wind River Reservation mostly belonged to the Eastern Shoshone and Northern Arapaho tribes. However, both tribes had long been cut off from their cultural heritage by white settlers.
Most of them couldn't even speak their own languages anymore, yet here they were, painting shamanic symbols on their faces?
"I Googled the meaning of the colors, and I made up the patterns myself. No one really understands this stuff anymore," Martin Hanson's words brought a somber silence over the group.
"Cory told me I shouldn't run from the pain, and I think he's right. So, I decided to learn from the Easterners, the Celestials. I've heard their skin color is like ours, and they might even share our ancestors."
"I wanted to learn to pray to our ancestors like they do, to gain courage and strength, and to make my enemies pay in blood."
"Uh, you'll get your chance." The atmosphere was so grim that Jack, despite wanting to make a snarky comment, decided to keep his mouth shut.
After assigning everyone their tasks, Jane and Ellia stayed behind, while the others sped off on snowmobiles to their designated positions.
The tribal police, working in pairs, surrounded the camp from the southeast, southwest, and northwest. Their job was to block any potential escape routes and provide backup if needed.
The north was the only direction for the main assault. Chris and the hunter would take up sniper positions, one armed with a Barrett MRAD and the other with his lever-action hunting rifle, responsible for taking out targets from a distance.
Jack, along with Braxton and Martin Hanson, would lead the frontal assault.
Finally, Justin remained at the tribal police station, remotely controlling all the camp's electronic equipment via the hacked network, cutting off the security team's last chance to call for help.
At 3 a.m., under the cover of night, Jack and his team quietly positioned themselves behind the portable cabin used as the security team's barracks. He signaled to Chris that they were in position.
Inside the security barracks, the lights were blazing, and the air was thick with smoke. Perhaps the stress of being on high alert for several days had pushed these men to their limits, as they were loudly making a ruckus.
Some were gambling, others were getting high on "American herbs," completely unaware that the scythe of death was already at their throats.
In the real world, infrared imaging cannot penetrate walls, so it's not possible to see the infrared outlines of people inside a room through the walls, like in the movies.
There is such a thing as through-wall radar, but it requires the device to be placed directly against the wall to give a rough outline of a person, which wouldn't allow a sniper to shoot through the wall from hundreds of meters away.
Fortunately, Jack was experienced. After surviving a prison crisis, he had mastered the art of flushing out rats from their holes.
"Go!" At Jack's low command, two distinctly different gunshots rang out simultaneously.
The Barrett MRAD's shot was deep and powerful, while the Marlin 1895 lever-action rifle's shot was sharp and clear. Both the .50 caliber and .45-70 bullets easily penetrated the two thin layers of metal and the flimsy insulation used for the cabin walls.
Amidst the shouts and screams from inside, Braxton's AR-15 opened fire, shattering the windows on the other side of the cabin.
As the glass broke, Jack's arm swung quickly, tossing four tear gas canisters inside with precise accuracy.
Like rats being smoked out of their hole, it only took a few minutes before several doors burst open, and armed figures came charging out, yelling and shouting.
In the open snowfield, with no cover, the two snipers easily picked off their targets using infrared and low-light night vision.
A few men, still somewhat clear-headed and not yet fully high, noticed the snipers in front and tried to sneak out the back door, only to be gunned down by Jack, Braxton, and Martin Hanson, who were lying in wait.
The fight was one-sided. In less than ten minutes, all the security guards who had fled outside were lying dead in the snow.
"Count the bodies. Four behind the cabin," Jack reported over the radio.
"Five in front," Chris replied from afar. As he spoke, Martin Hanson, who had been beside Braxton, couldn't wait any longer and dashed forward.
"Damn it!" Jack and Braxton quickly followed him.
There were at least two people still inside. Earlier, Chris and Cory had been shooting through the windows and walls. While their guns could easily take down a dinosaur, what if the bullets had only grazed the targets?
Worried about his father-in-law, Braxton charged into the portable cabin, and after passing through two rooms, he suddenly froze in place. Jack, following close behind, was also taken aback by what he saw.
The room was in complete disarray, with one body lying in a pool of blood, its chest blown open. Another figure, slumped against the wall with a gaping hole in it, was none other than Serge Myers.
This guy's leg had only been grazed by shrapnel earlier. As he leaned against the wall, struggling to stay alive, he was startled by Martin Hanson's sudden entrance, his face painted in a chaotic mix of colors.
Before Serge could react and raise his gun to fight back, the furious father stomped on his arm.
Martin Hanson discarded his rifle, pulled out an Indian tomahawk from his back, and with one swift chop, severed Serge Myers' right hand. He then placed his foot on Serge's chest and brought the axe down again with a ferocious blow.
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