Chapter 655 - 424: Clue
Melon Ranch wasn’t very large.
It was situated in a long, narrow strip of land in the middle of a valley, flanked on both sides by endless pine forests.
A rough estimate would put its area at just a few dozen acres.
With the ground covered in snow, the road was impossible to see, forcing the convoy to plow straight through the snow-covered terrain.
After driving for about ten minutes, they finally saw several log cabins scattered artfully on a small hillside.
Wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys of these cabins, adding a touch of life to the snow-covered ranch.
The four Chevrolet SUVs gunned their engines and sped toward the cabins.
The roar of the engines echoed across the open ranch, shattering its original tranquility.
The convoy had barely come to a stop at the base of the hill when the doors of the cabins flew open, and a group of people hurried out.
Unexpectedly, every single one of them was holding a weapon—some rifles, some handguns. Their expressions were wary as their eyes locked onto the convoy that had suddenly trespassed onto their land.
Worthy of its reputation as the top cowboy state; the local customs were certainly rustic.
Yves opened the glove compartment, took out several handguns, and distributed them to Feng Shan and the others.
Nash, for his part, lifted a black canvas bag from the floor at his feet.
He gently unzipped it, revealing several AR-15s and a dozen or so magazines. Judging by their appearance, they were the fully automatic versions.
"Be careful, Boss. Montanans are a hot-tempered bunch," Yves warned, grabbing an AR-15. He expertly slapped in a magazine, then swiftly pulled back the charging handle, which made a sharp, metallic CLICK, putting everyone on alert.
Then he picked up his walkie-talkie, his voice steady but tinged with a slight tension. "The Boss is getting out. Everyone, get ready!"
"Are these guns clean?"
Feng Shan frowned slightly and nodded to show he understood, but he didn’t reach for a rifle.
He simply took one of the handguns, quickly racked the slide a few times to confirm all its parts were moving smoothly.
After confirming there were no issues, he tucked the gun into the small of his back, ready to react to any sudden developments.
The so-called Ghost Guns are firearms that are privately assembled or manufactured and lack manufacturer serial numbers.
Dealers either strip down smuggled guns or purchase assembly kits.
They are then reassembled in private workshops.
This makes it difficult for the government and law enforcement agencies to trace these weapons, hence the name Ghost Gun.
For many who are unwilling to purchase firearms through legal channels, or for those explicitly prohibited by law from owning guns, Ghost Guns are the ideal weapon.
Furthermore, Ghost Guns are a product of legal loopholes in the United States.
In 1968, the United States Congress passed the Gun Control Act.
𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚
The act stipulated that anyone wanting to manufacture firearms for sale must obtain a Federal Firearms License, and that any manufactured firearm must be engraved with a serial number.
The act prohibited the unlicensed manufacture of firearms for sale, but it did not prohibit the unlicensed manufacture of unfinished parts—which are not legally considered firearms—or components used to assemble a firearm. This gave manufacturers a loophole to exploit.
For example, a once-popular product in the American "Ghost Gun" market was the "80% lower receiver," which is a lower receiver that is about eighty percent complete.
This is a critical firearm component, but according to federal law, it is not classified as a firearm. Therefore, it can be sold freely without a serial number or a background check on the customer.
And the batch of guns Yves had purchased were exactly these kinds of lower-receiver Ghost Guns.
"Khilla!" Nash said, pulling a bulletproof vest from under the seat and handing it to Feng Shan.
There was a shield-shaped metal insignia on the upper right corner of the vest. The background featured a golden brown bear with its arms spread wide.
Nestled in the bear’s embrace was an embossed carving of a snow-capped mountain, a lake, and a forest. The scene was so vivid it seemed to encapsulate the magnificent scenery of the Crown Territory.
At the very bottom was a nameplate engraved with the English initials for Crown Ridge, highlighting its unique identity.
"Isn’t this a Crown Territory Sheriff’s badge? Where did you get it?"
Feng Shan asked Nash, his face full of curiosity as he pointed at the badge.
"Had them made on short notice. I brought the relevant IDs, too!" Yves said, pulling three Crown Territory Sheriff’s identification cards from the glove compartment.
Feng Shan silently praised Yves for his thoroughness and attention to detail.
He took off his jacket, put on the bulletproof vest, and took the ID from Yves, slipping it into his pocket.
Although the American Alliance didn’t permit cross-state law enforcement, having an ID could save them a lot of trouble.
In the other three vehicles, the veterans distributed their assigned weapons, coordinating over the walkie-talkies.
Just as Yves gave the order to exit the vehicles over the radio, the veterans pushed open their doors and quickly used the cars for cover, each finding an advantageous position.
With the exception of Gordon and the other three poachers, the veterans’ tactical movements were skilled and precise.
Exiting the vehicle, finding cover, and setting up their rifles was all one fluid motion.
The people who had come out of the hillside cabins were pointing their guns down at the convoy, chattering among themselves with extremely wary expressions.
However, when they saw more than a dozen strange men, also armed, getting out of the cars, their expressions changed instantly. They immediately scrambled for the nearest cover, their gun barrels swiveling to aim squarely at the convoy.
One side was on the slope, the other at the bottom.
The terrain put Feng Shan’s group at a disadvantage; the high ground gave the other side a clear edge.
Fortunately, most of the men Yves had brought were military veterans who had seen actual combat.
After exiting the vehicles, they quickly took cover behind them and expertly raised their weapons, aiming steadily at the cabins on the hill.
The two sides were locked in a standoff, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder, ready to ignite at any moment.