The group carried the general-purpose machine guns and ammunition to the largest, fully-open outdoor shooting range.

The lights flickered on, instantly illuminating the entire shooting range.

At the end of the 200-meter lane, a pile of tree trunks served as targets.

"Oh, Sun, this is a nice range you’ve got here," Chief Bird said, cradling the M60 with an excited look on his face.

Feng Mountain, on the other hand, winced as he looked at the brightly lit range.

"This place must use a lot of electricity!"

Sun Jia understood immediately and quickly replied, "The range has a meter, so all the usage is recorded. The main problem is we don’t know who to pay the bill to."

"Brother Feng, I think you should assign someone to manage the camp’s housing and utilities."

’He’s right.’ Feng Mountain had noticed it too. As the camp’s operations expanded, all sorts of trivial matters kept piling up: renting out cabins, collecting utility fees, paying employee salaries.

’The question is, who would be right for the job?’

"Hey, guys, can we start test-firing these things already?" Chief Bird was getting impatient.

Feng Mountain set aside the personnel issue for now. He deployed the bipod under the MG42’s barrel and mounted it on the sandbags that had been prepared earlier.

Beside him, Yves pried open an ammo box, pulled out a belt of ammunition, and fed it into the MG42’s feed tray. He then looked up at Feng Mountain, who had an excited expression on his face.

"Khilla, make sure you press the stock firmly against your shoulder. And don’t hold the trigger down for too long. The rate of fire is so high, you’ll overheat the barrel and ruin it."

"Got it. Now stand back!"

Feng Mountain grabbed the stock and, with all eyes on him, squeezed the trigger hard.

Instantly, the MG42 let out its distinctive ripping-canvas sound as the muzzle spat fire and smoke.

A storm of bullets rained down on the distant targets.

The powerful recoil gave Feng Mountain’s shoulder a slight jolt, but he kept the stock pressed tight and maintained a stable firing stance.

Every so often, a bright red tracer round would flash past, helping Feng Mountain correct his aim.

And 200 meters away, the pile of tree trunks exploded as the bullets struck.

Splinters flew in all directions, bursting like fireworks.

The sheer force of the impact instantly shredded the tree trunks, demonstrating the immense power of the MG42.

CLICK!

With a crisp click, the entire 50-round belt was spent.

Feng Mountain let out a satisfied breath and shook his slightly numb shoulder.

"Awesome!"

"My turn! Out of the way!" Chief Bird walked up to the sandbags carrying his M60, which was fitted with an ammo box, and mounted it on top.

He expertly pulled the belt from the ammo box, fed it into the machine gun, and pulled the trigger.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

Compared to the MG42’s chainsaw-like rip, the M60’s report was deeper and more muffled.

The powerful recoil made Chief Bird’s body shudder slightly, but he held the grip tight and kept his aim steady.

By the time a standard belt was spent, the targets were nothing but a pile of shredded wood chips.

"Oh yeah, that hit the spot!" Chief Bird whooped, throwing his hands in the air. He then turned to Feng Mountain’s MG42 and held out a hand. "Buddy, let me try that big boy."

"Are you sure? Fifty rounds of 7.62 cost 17.99 US Dollars, while fifty rounds of 7.92 are worth 50 US Dollars. How many belts do you want?" Feng Mountain asked, offering him the MG42.

Chief Bird snatched his hand back as if he’d been shocked. "Dogshit," he muttered. "One US Dollar a round? You’re a profiteer! A Vampire!"

"Of course it is. They don’t make 7.92 anymore. I had to buy this batch from one of the Old Russians’ suppliers at a premium."

Feng Mountain looked disdainfully at Chief Bird for trying to freeload, then placed the MG42 back in its case.

「Just then.」

Feng Jun came trotting into the shooting range. His eyes lit up when he saw the M60 mounted on the sandbags, as if he’d just spotted a priceless treasure. He shouted in surprise.

"Holy crap, Brother Feng! You have a B51 here!"

’B51?’ Everyone present was a bit confused by the name.

Feng Mountain’s gaze followed Feng Jun’s to the sandbags. He found it a bit amusing. "This is an M60. Where did you get ’B51’ from? And how did you find us, kid?"

"I heard the gunshots from the camp and came to check it out." Feng Jun’s eyes gleamed with excitement, as if he were back in the days of intense in-game battles.

He walked up to the sandbags, rubbing his hands together as he circled the M60.

"Yep, this is it! The B51! It was my favorite gun when I played Counter-Strike back home. It totally shreds in Zombie Mode, mows down hordes of them. So awesome."

"Other people didn’t like using it because the spread is too wide on full-auto. The bullets feel kind of ’floaty,’ and the crosshair reset is slow."

"That’s just ’cause noobs can’t control the recoil. I’m great at it! Brother Feng, can I... can I touch it?"

Having said all that in a rush, Feng Jun looked at Feng Mountain with a pleading expression.

His eyes were full of longing, like a child begging for a coveted gift.

Feng Mountain smiled and nodded. "Go ahead. But this isn’t like the game. It’s heavy."

Permission granted, Feng Jun excitedly picked up the M60.

The sheer heft of it in his hands made him instantly feel the weapon’s real-world weight.

Unlike the effortless handling in the game, the real M60 felt solid and powerful.

"Want to try firing it? Ten US Dollars a round," Feng Mountain asked with a grin.

His tone was teasing, as if he were deliberately testing Feng Jun’s resolve.

’Ten US Dollars a round... that’s not a small sum of money.’

Feng Jun was conflicted once again.

’The money I’ve saved up has to be sent home to pay off family debts and for my sister’s tuition.’

’Maybe I could just fire a couple of rounds?’

After a moment of thought, Feng Jun looked at Feng Mountain and said shyly, "Brother Feng, is it okay if I just fire two rounds?"

Since the two of them were speaking English, the surrounding onlookers all laughed.

Feng Mountain grinned from ear to ear and waved a hand dismissively. "What the hell are two rounds going to do? The minimum is a standard 50-round belt."

’Fifty rounds... that’s 500 US Dollars. A sixth of my salary.’

The instant he heard that, a scared Feng Jun quickly put down the M60 he was holding.