St George and super soldiers flipping a truck

Freedom gave three quick hand signals and the chisel-nosed truck coughed to life. It was a long, eight-wheeled vehicle with a crane mounted on the end of it. They pulled it across the gate and the soldiers fired around and under it as the driver leaped clear.
St. George hooked his fingers under the truck’s frame and heaved. The flatbed’s side lifted up and he grunted. The damned thing was armored and weighed twice what he’d thought. He got the tires three feet off the ground, then four. He heard a rattling noise as some of the chains on the bed slid off the far side, but he couldn’t get it to the tipping point.
His forearm throbbed. He could feel his pulse in the wound and the wet bandage over it. It felt like the fang was tearing into him all over again.
Legion laughed from a hundred throats.
“Unbreakables,” shouted Freedom, stepping forward, “give the man some assistance.”
The captain’s oversized hands slammed into the truck’s frame next to St. George’s. Pierce, Kennedy, and Garfield added their strength, too. The side of the truck went up another six inches, then six more, and the five of them rolled the ponderous flatbed onto its side across the gate. The soldiers behind them cheered.

Excerpt From Ex-Patriots, pg 560
Peter Clines
https://books.apple.com/us/book/ex-patriots/id585738393