The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress-Chapter 1065 Planning To Extract

"Everyone, pull back!" Luke barked into the comms. Now that he knew who the mole was, there was no reason to linger. "Retreat at all costs."

A second later, his comms crackled to life again.

"But boss! Are we really just running back like this?" The man on the other end spoke through gritted teeth, his voice trembling as he struggled to rein in his emotions. "We lost so many brothers. We have to avenge them!"

Luke closed his eyes briefly. This, this, was the reaction he expected. Rage, grief, pride. Not the calm, premature withdrawal from earlier. He could hear the difference clearly now.

"Enough," Luke said firmly. "Return. Anyone who can still move, pull back. Don’t trust anyone, anyone. Escape on your own if you have to. Hide for now."

He inhaled deeply before adding, his voice lowering, "Just survive... until I come for you."

"Boss... are you saying —" another voice cut in, trailing off as understanding dawned. A chill ran through the line, quickly swallowed by boiling rage.

"Fuck!" the man roared. "Who’s the bastard traitor? I’ll skin him alive for getting our brothers killed, feed what’s left to the dogs!"

But his fury cracked at the end. A rough, broken sob tore from his chest, betraying what the shouting couldn’t hide. To him, every man in their ranks was family. They had bled together, clawed their way through hell side by side, and finally built something resembling a better life.

They were mafias, yes, but they didn’t prey on the innocent. And because of that, their families didn’t look at them with shame.

"Stop talking and get emotional later, just escape!" Luke barked into the comms, his eyes never leaving the surroundings. If it were just him and Dave, breaking out would be impossible. But he couldn’t rely on his own men anymore, nor Leo’s. The only ones he could trust now were Dave’s soldiers, if they could form a rear guard and punch them out of the encirclement.

Luke glanced at Dave and raised his hands, fingers moving in sharp, practiced motions.

C-A-L-L

Y-O-U-R

P-E-O-P-L-E

T-O

B-A-C-K

U-S.

Dave’s brows drew together. He looked past Luke at the enemy, figures advancing slowly, cautiously, tightening the noose. He knew he had no real choice.

He nodded once, then activated his comms."Can anyone hear me?"

"Roger, sir, we read you..." A soldier replied.

"I need backup to retreat. Do you still have men and the ability to support us? I am surrounded..."

Dave finally spoke. Though his words sounded like a question, in truth, it wasn’t one at all. As soldiers and as his assigned protectors, they had no real choice. Whether they liked it or not, they would have to grit their teeth, regroup, and fight their way back to him.

Their situation was far from ideal, but abandoning Dave was never an option.

Fortunately, Dave had ordered a retreat earlier. Because of that decision, they had managed to pull their injured comrades out of immediate danger. Those still able to fight deliberately drew the enemy’s attention, acting as bait to lure the pursuers away, while a smaller group carried the wounded to safer ground and hastily treated their injuries.

Now, only minutes later, Dave’s voice came through the comms again.

One of the reasons they were so loyal to Dave wasn’t merely because of his position. It went much deeper than that.

Back when Dave was still serving in the military alongside his friends, he had met these men there. They had fought together, trained together, and survived alongside one another, slowly forging bonds that went beyond rank or orders.

These soldiers knew firsthand how formidable Dave was, his sharp, cunning mind when it came to strategy, his steady hands and lethal precision with a gun, and his strength in close-quarters combat.

In truth, all of his friends, Luke, Zhane, Xavier, and Rafael, included, were exceptional in their own right. But Dave was different in a way that mattered to them. He was blunt, sometimes even rough around the edges, yet easy to get along with. Soldiers were much the same, straightforward, tactless at times, and occasionally crude, and because of that, they felt comfortable around him. Dave didn’t put on airs or hide behind formality; he felt like one of them.

That was why, when Dave later became the country’s Young Minister, they didn’t hesitate. One by one, they applied to serve as his personal protection detail. That was how their team came to be, soldiers who chose to stand under Dave’s command, officially funded by the government, but bound to him by loyalty earned long before politics ever entered the picture.

They all knew that with Dave and Luke working together, the two of them were more than capable of retreating on their own. That was why, when Dave ordered them to fall back earlier, no one questioned it. They trusted that the pair would disengage just as cleanly as they themselves had.

But now, Dave was calling for support.

That alone told them everything they needed to know. This wasn’t just an ambush; it was a carefully planned trap. The enemy had deliberately concentrated their firepower on Dave and Luke, funneling attackers toward them in a relentless, seemingly endless stream, determined to pin them down and bleed them dry.

All the while, their enemies pressed the soldiers back, keeping them away from Dave to prevent any chance of support when he needed it most. Understanding this, every soldier’s face turned grim. Even those already wounded still wanted to push forward, desperate to aid him.

The standing captain’s glare cut through them like steel. "No," he said firmly. "The injured need to find a way to retreat. If you truly want to help, do not become a burden. Find a safe exit for us so we can pull Young Minister Dave out of here."

One by one, the soldiers sank to the ground, defeated. They knew their injuries made it impossible to continue; pressing through the encirclement could leave them stranded, vulnerable, or worse, captured, with no one to help them this time. Slowly, they accepted it, understanding that survival now meant living to fight another day.

"Alright, Captain. Leave the rear to us. We’ll find an escape vehicle first and wait for you at the rendezvous point," one of the injured soldiers said.

"Good," the captain replied, his tone sharp. "Use our most secure communication channel. There’s a traitor on the other team; we can’t let anyone know our escape route. Abandon the previous path; it may already be compromised, and the enemy could be lying in wait for us if we return the same way."

He had pieced this together from the brief hints in Dave’s backup request. As a seasoned soldier, he’d seen this scenario countless times before. It was also why he distrusted mafias completely; they were unpredictable and dangerous, and his experience taught him to keep his distance from them.

"Those damn maggots! I knew they couldn’t be trusted!" one of the injured soldiers growled, pounding his fist against the ground. Pain shot through him as his wound tore open, and he winced.

"Quiet," the captain snapped. "We’ll get an explanation for this. For now, consider ourselves lucky; we’re in a better position than the other team. Mr. Greyson’s side was nearly wiped out."

As a sniper himself, the captain had been watching the battlefield closely. His mistrust of the mafia team wasn’t unfounded, and because of this mistrust, he watched them closely, and he’d seen several of their snipers taken down, killed outright.

That’s why he managed to pull his own team back before disaster could strike. The result, minimal casualties in his ranks and a group far better prepared than Luke’s.

"Captain, you don’t have to go easy on them just because of Young Minister’s friendship with Mr. Greyson," the youngest soldier snapped. Hotheaded and blunt, he couldn’t hold back his frustration, and after the defeat they’d just suffered, he simply couldn’t stomach it.

"Enough. We don’t have time to waste on talk," the captain said coldly. "We split into three groups. My team will break through the encirclement and extract the Young Minister and Mr. Greyson. The second group will support us and open a retreat path. The third group, those injured, will locate an exit route, secure an escape vehicle, and hold the perimeter while waiting for us."

"Every group has a critical role. Do not let your emotions override your judgment. We are soldiers, we act with discipline and pride."

He swept his sharp, eagle-like gaze across the team, his voice low but brimming with resolve.

"Now, who’s with me?"

After the captain finished speaking, it was as if adrenaline was injected through every soldier’s veins. They were reminded that they weren’t just ordinary soldiers; they were the elite of the elite.

Pushing aside their tangled emotions, they didn’t roar their agreement. Instead, they extended their hands, stacking them together in a silent, collective pact. When every hand was in place, they pressed down firmly for three seconds, then pulled back and raised their hands high to signal their unwavering conviction.