In the dark night, the burning street was like a dead fire dragon, lying twisted on the ground. The struggling figures were like parasites attached to the fire dragon, screaming and running away.
In the firelight, the twisted figure turned into charcoal, and explosions were heard wherever the flames swept. This is the hell in Pierre's eyes, and the two chariots going up against the fire dragon in the hell have already charged forward with the determination to die.
Even though he was a tough guy, his eyes were moist at this moment. Pierre touched his eyes helplessly, and the tears made his vision even more blurry. The two chariots in the distance were refracted by the tears, and they actually looked like they were reflected in the gods. of colorful light.
"Go well, brothers... We will help you protect your most cherished things! If it is true, as the Chinese say, there will be an afterlife... then I hope we will never experience war again!"
The Moorish warriors and the mercenaries who followed were now caught up in the martyr-like fervor. The rushing carriage knocked over countless people who were using their arms as carriages and overestimated their own capabilities.
Amidst the sound of wind and fire, the mercenaries were laughing wildly. They threw flames all the way, turning the entire Dublin into a sea of fire.
"Go forward! Fight to the death... Let the enemy never forget this day!"
The Moorish warrior held a bloody dog-head knife in his mouth, held the horse's reins in one hand, and whipped the horse's back with a whip in one hand. The two horses in front of him were already foaming at the mouth and trembling with fatigue.
"God bless you, hold on a little longer, hold on a little longer...Hold on! You must rush to the enemy's armory!"
At this moment, there was only a coaxing sound, and the carriage suddenly ran over a corpse. The already half-empty carriage suddenly rose more than half a meter high. The Moor who was caught off guard almost fell off the carriage.
With such a shock, the dog-headed knife moved in his mouth, and a huge gash was opened in his left cheek by the sharp blade, and blood splashed on his face.
Looking behind the Moor, the two mercenaries who were shooting fell out of the trunk of the car before they could stand still. At that moment, countless British cheers broke out behind them.
Almost in the blink of an eye, seventy or eighty British militiamen poured out from the surrounding alleys. They were armed with old muskets and bayonets and surrounded them.
"Ignore us, keep charging forward..." The two mercenaries who were alone threw away their rifles that were too late to load, pulled out daggers and bayonets from their back waists, and charged in reverse, knocking them down directly into the crowd who were trying to take advantage.
The strong mercenaries were like two bulls, cutting their way through the militia. Without any defense, they were all killing moves with no retreat.
The militiamen were militiamen. They had never seen such cruel killings. Six of them were knocked down as soon as they touched the ground, and the remaining people swarmed back in fear.
"They are not human beings! These are evil spirits from hell! Shoot, shoot..." Amid the horrified roars, more than a dozen loaded rifles pulled the triggers, and the hail of bullets hit the two mercenaries on the spot. Tremble.
"This life has finally come to an end..." The bayonets in the hands of the mercenaries who were half kneeling on the ground were poking at the stone slabs to barely support their bodies. Their eyes did not stay on these panicked faces, but looked at them from a distance. In the direction of Pierre's hiding place.
"Remember your promise...remember the oath you swore to God...you paid for your life...our life is sold to you..."
After saying that, the two of them fell to the ground and became motionless.
The frightened British militiamen breathed a sigh of relief this time: "What terrible mercenaries, how much did these Irish people spend? How could they have so much money? Oh no, the carriage has already rushed to the arsenal, everyone hurry back." aid!"
A group of chaotic militiamen realized the most serious problem like ducks, and chased in the direction of the burning chariot. But at this moment, the two corpses on the ground suddenly started to move.
"Death..." The bayonet pierced the heart of the militiamen around him, and the wire around his waist was burning.
"No..." Amidst the frightened screams and two muffled bangs, the mercenary and dozens of British militiamen around him lay down together.
The tragic scene frightened the British who tried to reinforce behind them. The psychological advantage that Ireland had built up over the years was completely shattered by these murderous mercenaries.
They didn't know how to defeat such an enemy, and they didn't know how such a tragic battle would transform the Irish people.
The British could guess that countless Irish people must have participated in this mercenary riot, and even watched in the dark.
When those Irish people saw that the mercenaries had torn the British invincibility to pieces, how could those people's psychology not change?
The Moor in the distance had no time to care about the life or death of the brothers behind him. In front of him, the door of the warehouse near the north bank of the Liffey River had been opened, just like an undefended little girl, waiting for his ravage.
Opposite the rolling river is the Irish Fort, the residence of the British Governor in Ireland. In the dark night, the torches on the city wall outline the majestic appearance of the fortress. It is not known how many enemies are hiding. in it.
"Enemy attack...there is an enemy attack!" The arsenal on the river bank was specially built by the British for the purpose of setting fires. The most important flammable materials were stored here.
Kerosene, torches, semi-finished products and raw materials, and even a batch of cotton and woolen cloth for making military uniforms.
These supplies were worth more than 600,000 pounds. The British left a company of defenders here for defense. When the two tanks rushed to about 100 meters, the defenders immediately sounded the alarm.
Rifles were stretched out one after another from behind the fence. Amidst the tense military orders, the British defenders began to fire concentrated fire, and a hail of bullets came towards the carriage.
The Moor pulled out the dog-headed knife from his mouth with one hand and shouted, "The chariots are lined up front and back, cover me..."
The two side-by-side chariots began to change lanes at this moment, and the other chariot accelerated in front of the Moors and twisted in an S-shape on the road. They were using their bodies to shield the brothers behind them from the rain of bullets.
Puff puff... the bullet made a dull sound when it penetrated the human body. The blood droplets splashed on the Moor's face with the wind. At this moment, he had begun to make the final preparations for the statement.
The brothers tied all their last four bottles to the Moorish warriors. "Brother! I'm counting on you! We'll give you cover. We'll die before you!"
"Jump off the carriage..." The mercenaries jumped off the carriage from both sides and rolled on the ground along with the speed of the carriage to absorb the impact. When they stopped, they immediately entered shooting mode.
The mercenaries who were destined to die simply gave up their lying and crouching postures, and did not even look for any cover. They just charged forward quickly with guns in hand while shooting.
Getting closer! When the chariot in front rushed to more than 40 meters away from the warehouse door, the two horses pulling the cart finally couldn't hold on any longer. The bullets ended the lives of the horses. The screaming horses rolled to the ground, and the truck was completely destroyed. When it rolled over, the kerosene barrel shattered and kerosene sprayed everywhere.
