In the darkness, Paul staggered and fell to the ground. With his rich experience, he could be sure that the bullet had bitten the bone. It was not broken, but at least the bullet was embedded in it.
"Sir...what's wrong with you?" The Moor helped Paul and pulled him to a safe corner.
Paul smiled bitterly and said, "We have encountered a tough situation. There are very good commanders among these British people. I'm afraid it will be difficult to complete our mission... I'm sorry, I can't lead you all to escape!"
The Moor wiped the sweat off his face and sneered, "The fate of a mercenary is to die on the battlefield. After receiving the money for each mission, he never thought about going back... But you are the employer, and we have to protect the safety of the employer!"
"Wolf cub, big bear... you two escort the commander away from the battlefield and directly back to the battleship. Remember to go to the dock area and ask other brothers to take the other commander away too!"
"The task of you two is to escort your employer. The rest of the brothers, don't expect to leave here again..."
"Fart! You nigger, dare to insult me? I am also a soldier, and I will never be a deserter!" Paul struggled and continued to move forward.
But at this time, he couldn't stop the tall Moor. When the big black man winked, two mercenaries with Viking origins immediately rushed up and controlled him tightly, one on the left and the other on the right. Paul.
The Moor took off all the clothes on the three of them and hung them around his waist one by one. While hanging them, he said, "I am going to complete this fatal mission. You must leave because your identity is too high." It's special. Once the British catch you, even if it's just a corpse, your true identity will be exposed..."
"Although I am just a mercenary, I can guess your background...I don't understand your world. You are all people who are doing great things. Your life is more valuable than ours. Live well..."
After saying that, the Moor turned around and left. Paul anxiously tried to break away, but the wound hurt him and he gritted his teeth.
At this moment, the Moor suddenly bent over and pointed his pistol back at the darkness, as if he had encountered a dangerous cheetah, as if there was something moving inside.
Sure enough, soon several swaying figures quietly approached them.
The dog-headed sword shone coldly, and the Moor was hiding in the corner. Opposite were the three Pauls who dared not speak. The four of them quietly waited for the footsteps to approach.
Suddenly the Moor moved, and Paul didn't see clearly at all. The dog-headed knife had already stabbed out, and then the black figure suddenly moved forward, and the blade was suddenly placed on a man's neck.
The knife was about to cut off the head, but suddenly the person opposite blew a few familiar short whistles, and these few whistles made the knife stop.
"One of our own! Let me see... Oh, I almost accidentally hurt one of my own... Huh? Why is it you!"
The person with the knife held to his neck was actually Pierre. The commander who was supposed to commit murder and arson in the warehouse district actually touched this place. Paul was going crazy when he saw it.
"Why are you here? Who is in charge of the warehouse area? Your mission is to completely destroy all the food. How can you leave your post without permission?"
Pierre smiled bitterly and said, "Forget about the mission, I found that my mission has been overfulfilled... All the old people, women and children in Ireland were mobilized, and the entire warehouse area became a scene of fire..."
"There is no problem with my mission, but you have a big problem here. As soon as I heard the intensity of the gunfire, I knew you couldn't stand it anymore... Along the way, I found that the enemy was fighting very methodically, which shows that their commander It’s still good enough!”
"There is no movement from the boss now. It seems that things are not going well... If I don't come to support you at this time, who will support you? Anyway, these two hours of planning time must be kept..."
"Are you injured? Come here, bandage it quickly..."
Paul pushed Pierre away and whispered, "What do you care about me at this time? Kill the British arms carriage first. These lunatics have hoarded so much kerosene and torches. He wants to burn down all the houses. We can't stand it." living!"
"You retreat and cover me, I'll lead the men up!" Pierre turned around and rushed forward with the reinforcements, followed closely by the Moorish warrior. Only two Vikings stayed to take care of the injured Paul.
"The troops are divided into two groups...one group will cover our infiltration, and the remaining brothers are preparing to forcefully march, bypassing the enemy's military formation and infiltrating to the rear, as far as possible..."
The gunfire suddenly became intensive in the darkness, and the British military formation that was caught off guard was swept away. Not only bullets were fired in the dark alley, but also guns were thrown. The British military formation was indeed attracted.
"Fire! Fire!" British officers at all levels completely ignored the apparent casualties. They strictly abide by shooting discipline. Everyone must ensure the density and rhythm of firepower. No one can fire at will.
The lobster soldiers half-knelt on the street, firing a stream of gunfire from their rifles. The two soldiers took turns firing under the command of the officer. The intensive firepower instantly overwhelmed the mercenaries.
The gunshots were mixed with the screams of the shot mercenaries, but none of these could stop Pierre and the others. A group of six people quietly penetrated into the enemy's rear like civet cats in the night.
The further away from the British military formation, the more frightened they were by the scenes on the street. At this moment, Pierre realized how cruel the Irish people were. The British were willing to spend their money to rule this place.
British militiamen and citizens used torches to help the army transport weapons and ammunition. Horse-drawn carriages were passing by one after another. The carriages were filled with barrels of kerosene and wooden crates of torches.
There are even some carriages loaded with a large number of weapons boxes. After being opened with a crowbar, they are full of old rifles that have just been phased out by the army.
Old-fashioned Enfields with paper shells, Brown Bess flintlock guns installed by the army in the 18th century, and even some messy old models from other European countries.
All the weapons eliminated by these troops were used to arm citizens. The middle-class British people had weapons at home, but there were still a large number of ordinary British civilians on the island of Ireland who did not have the spare money to purchase private weapons.
The army will not let go of any adult who can fight. The rifles piled in the warehouse are just used to arm civilians. It seems that by morning, the British will be able to organize another three to four thousand people by just arming the militia.
Coupled with reinforcements from further out in the suburbs, the strength of the British army in Dublin will surge to more than 10,000 tomorrow, not counting the strength of the navy.
Pierre sighed in his mind, "What a huge gamble. If you are not careful, you will definitely lose! The head of state is really a super gambler!"
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