When it comes to the strongest attack helicopter in the world, none can rival America's AH-64 Apache.
It's the most powerful, heavily armed, highly precise, and battle-proven attack helicopter in active service.
With a top speed of 300 km/h and a combat range of nearly 1900 km, its performance is unmatched.
But what makes it truly terrifying is its payload—capable of carrying up to 16 AGM-114 Hellfire missiles at once.
Each missile costs around $70,000. And just one has a devastating blast radius, enough to engulf everything within 50 meters—a single strike could easily wipe out a squad of elite warriors.
Now imagine sixteen of them, ready to rain down death.
Even gods would think twice before standing in the line of fire.
Leon's expression hardened, his eyes fixed on the two ominous silhouettes ahead.
Two Apaches. Fully loaded.
That meant 32 Hellfires locked and ready.
If they were unleashed, no one—not even a deity—could survive the barrage.
"Can't we shoot them down?" Leon asked through gritted teeth.
The system responded immediately:
"Their speed is too fast. Machine gun fire is unreliable. Bullets are light, easily affected by wind speed. Even with targeting assistance, accuracy drops drastically. Unlike missiles, which have advanced guidance systems, small arms won't be effective."
The system's tone left no room for doubt—it was rejecting Leon's proposal outright.
"Then what about the three missiles from last time?" Leon suddenly remembered. His car's system had previously absorbed three missiles intact. "Can we use them now?"
"Confirmed," the system replied. "Locking onto helicopters."
The car's nose lifted as a white launch pod extended upward, smoke hissing from its vents. Target lock engaged.
But before Leon could react, both Apaches fired—Hellfire missiles streaked through the air, one after another, screaming toward his position.
"Lock onto the incoming missiles!" the system switched targets in an instant.
Leon slammed the launch button.
A roar shook the air as his car's makeshift launcher spat out a missile wrapped in white smoke and flame, streaking toward the incoming Hellfire.
The two warheads collided in midair.
BOOM!!!
The night sky erupted into a blazing fireball, as bright as a miniature sun. The flash seared Leon's eyes, forcing him to squint. The shockwave rolled outward like a tsunami, rattling the ground below.
Another missile, caught in the blast, detonated prematurely—
KABOOM!
The violent energy storm cascaded downward, shattering rocks and sending shockwaves across the barren land.
"Brace!!" Leon roared, yanking the handbrake. His car skidded violently, whipping into a drift as he veered off-road, diving behind the cover of rocky terrain.
The two women in the back screamed as debris and wind hammered against the car. Rocks whistled past like bullets.
The explosion narrowly missed them—just a hair's breadth away from obliterating Leon's prized machine.
The Hellfire detonation left behind an apocalyptic sight. Flames licked at the sky, rubble scattered across the ground.
"Damn it! How the hell are we supposed to fight this?!" Leon cursed, his knuckles white from gripping the wheel.
The system quickly responded:
"Scan complete. These helicopters are not official military units. Suggestion: alert the military. Unauthorized deployment of AH-64s armed with live Hellfires constitutes an act of terrorism. Military intervention is inevitable."
Leon's eyes lit up. That was true.
No country would tolerate rogue Apaches casually launching missiles over their territory. It was an insult, a declaration of war.
And if the U.S. military itself learned about this, they wouldn't sit idly by.
At a U.S. military base, Colonel Kane was reviewing documents under the dim glow of his desk lamp. He was tired, ready to head back to quarters after finishing the last report.
Promotion to Colonel wasn't easy—it required years of service, specific flight hours, command experience on carriers and air wings, and even naval command credentials.
A U.S. Colonel wasn't just a title—it represented the authority to lead independent battle groups. On the battlefield, Colonels had immense autonomy, almost like sovereign commanders.
Which also meant endless responsibilities.
A knock came at his door—urgent and loud.
"Enter," Kane said, frowning.
A soldier stormed in, saluting. "Report, sir! Emergency situation!"
Kane's expression darkened. "What is it?"
"Two AH-64s… unauthorized… firing live ordnance in the outskirts."
"What?!" Kane shot up from his chair, his face twisting with fury. "Casualties?"
"None yet, sir. But they are targeting a civilian vehicle."
The soldier pulled up live satellite footage. The screen showed two Apaches unleashing Hellfires at breakneck pace. Their target—a single car—darted like a phantom, narrowly avoiding each blast. Each explosion shook the earth, often flipping the car's tail dangerously high.
It was reckless. Terrifying.
"This is terrorism!!" Kane slammed his desk. His jurisdiction, his command—violated by unauthorized Apaches. If word got out, it would be seen as his failure.
"Scramble the F-series jets. Shoot them down. No survivors." His voice dripped with venom.
In the United States, nothing was more taboo than terrorism. And this? This was terrorism painted in bold strokes.
If he wanted to reassure the Pentagon—and keep his rank—there could be only one outcome: annihilation.
To ensure success, Kane even dispatched the F-22 Raptors, America's most advanced fifth-generation fighters.
With a cruising speed of Mach 1.58 (1934 km/h) and combat speed of Mach 2.25 (2410 km/h), hunting helicopters was child's play.
For Kane, this wasn't just retaliation. It was a message.
Meanwhile, Leon focused every ounce of his attention on dodging missiles. The two women in the back were drenched in cold sweat, their faces pale.
Each incoming Hellfire trailed fire like a streak of death, their shrill whine carrying the promise of oblivion.
"Here it comes!!" Elena cried, eyes wide with terror.
Another missile tore through the night. Leon's hands moved like lightning, jerking the wheel. His car fishtailed wildly, spinning into the rocky plains.
The missile struck the ground behind him—
BOOM!
The blast rocked the desert floor, showering them with burning debris. Elena looked back just in time to see the inferno blossoming like a flower of death.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst.
"Damn… we barely made it…" she muttered, patting her chest in relief.
But the Apaches above weren't done.
"Just one car," one pilot sneered over the comms. "And they send us? Ridiculous."
The other laughed. "Two Apaches, each loaded with sixteen Hellfires. That's 32 missiles—worth nearly $2.25 million dollars. All to blow up one lousy car."
"To hell with it," the first replied. "Let's play with them like cats with a mouse."
From their perspective, Leon was nothing more than a rat scurrying below.
But what they didn't realize—this mouse was about to bare its fangs.
~~----------------------
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