These people are all madn!
Genuine extremist fanatics!
Samir clearly realized what kind of scum he was facing!
"Rocket launcher! Quick!"
He shouted at the guard beside him.
Several militian with RPG-7 rocket launchers imdiately sprang from behind cover, aiming their launchers at the suicide truck and firing rockets.
Whoosh—
Whoosh—
Two rockets trailed long tails of fire as they headed towards the truck.
However, the speed of the suicide truck was too fast, and combined with the smoke and chaos of the battlefield in the valley and the cover of night, both rockets roared past, narrowly missing the rear of the truck and exploding against the distant rock walls in two bursts of fire.
"Damn it!"
Samir watched helplessly as the death truck got closer to the rocky slope entrance, the driver's numb and frenzied face rapidly enlarging in his view!
Desperation gripped his heart like a cold iron claw.
He knew very well what it would an for tonight's operation if this 1515 militant squad escaped.
Failure!
Once this operation failed, it would not only an the collapse of Song Heping's comprehensive plan far away in Siria, but it would also deal an even heavier blow to Illiguo's local forces.
Morale...
Confidence...
Everything...
Without these, what would be left?
Thinking of this, Samir felt his blood rush to his head, plunging him into a berserk state.
He violently threw down his binoculars, shoved aside the panic-stricken rocket launcher operator next to him, and shouted, "Give it to !"
He swiftly picked up an RPG launcher, efficiently loading a rocket into the barrel.
The cold tal pressed against his shoulder, carrying a heavy weight as if sothing called "fate" was pressing down on his shoulders.
Sweat instantly soaked his back.
Ti seed to stretch infinitely, with only the furious sprinting truck and the narrow slope entrance remaining in the world.
The intense gunfire, the soldiers' screams, the roar of engines... all background noise vanished.
Samir held his breath, his eyes fixed on the reticle in the sight, his muscles trembling slightly with extre concentration.
He had to anticipate!
He had to calculate the lead ti to the split second!
The truck was bouncing wildly; hitting it was no easy task.
He forced himself to stay calm, holding the reticle steadily in front of one vehicle length of the truck.
"Steady... steady..."
He silently mouthed, his finger on the cold trigger, knuckles white from exertion.
Just as the truck was under fifty ters from the slope entrance, the outline of explosives in the truck bed beca clearly visible amid the severe jolting—
"Now's the ti!"
Samir roared in his heart, pulling the trigger fiercely!
Whoosh—
The rocket soared with a trail of fire behind it, roaring from the launch tube like a poison snake striking its prey!
A trendous recoil slamd into Samir's shoulder, jerking his upper body violently.
He cast aside the launcher, intently watching the lethal trajectory!
The RPG rocket's range is usually within 300 ters; beyond 100 ters, control becos quite difficult, significantly affected by the surrounding environnt.
Moreover, the projectile flies slowly, subsonic, roughly at 290 ters per second.
Thus, during flight, the shooter can clearly see the trajectory.
In less than a second, which felt like an eternity to Samir,
the rocket precisely drilled into the slightly lifted underside of the suicide truck's speeding front, everyone burst into cheers!
"Allah is great!"
"Allah bless us!"
Boom—
Boom—
Earth-shattering explosions.
And in rapid succession, two explosions.
Far more violent than any bombardnt!
The rocket's hit triggered the detonation of the ammunition inside the truck.
A huge fireball, red mixed with stark white, rapidly expanded, instantly engulfing the entire truck.
The violent shockwave, like an invisible massive hamr, exploded outward with insane force.
The two nearby 1515 militant pickups were flipped and torn apart like paper toys.
Scorching air currents, mingled with burning tal fragnts, tire remains, and human tissue, radiated forcefully.
Several massive rocks near the western slope, shaken loose and rolling down, crushed several of the 1515 militants below who couldn't evade in ti, their screams and the crunching sound of snapping bones chilling to the bone.
The deafening blast reverberated repeatedly, echoing in the narrow valley, shaking loose the pebbles on the canyon walls, the ground beneath the ambush positions trembling as the militia felt an intense vibration beneath their feet, their ears ringing with temporary deafness.
Samir was blown back a step by the blast wave, the scorching air beating against his face with a thick stench of smoke and burnt flesh.
He steadied himself, looking at the western slope entrance, now sealed by flas and smoke and littered with burning debris, blocking the 1515's final escape hope.
A sense of post-crisis relief mingled with cold, resolute determination surged within him.
He grabbed the radio, his voice crashing down like a cold iron block:
"Begin the full assault! Kill them all! Leave no one!"
Hamdaniye River Valley turned into a seething furnace and a at grinder.
The last escape route was utterly blocked by the suicide truck's wreckage and falling boulders, compressing the remaining hundreds of 1515 militants into the narrowest part of the valley, like trapped beasts in a snare.
The instinct for survival mixed with extre fanaticism erupted into a hysterical counterattack.
"For Heaven! Kill the infidels!"
Amidst desperate shouts, groups of 1515 militants with black scarves around their heads, like mad dogs driven to the edge, used the burning vehicle wrecks, armored car bodies, and rocks for cover, launching near-suicidal charges at the ambush positions on the slopes.
Bullets splashed onto the hillside like a torrent, striking the rocks, causing sparks and clods of earth to fly in all directions.
Occasionally, RPG rockets trailed flas as they whistled in, exploding near the ambush positions, sending large amounts of earth and debris into the air, as several militia mbers scread while rolling down from higher ground.
On the ambush positions on both sides of the river valley, Illiguo militia were equally bloodthirsty.
The initial fear had long been flung to the heights in the bloody struggle, replaced by the flas of vengeance and the anger at seeing comrades fall beside them.
"Left side! Behind that truck! Machine gun!"
A militia squad leader, with a face blackened by gunpowder, leaving only his eyes and teeth white, roared as he wielded a PKM machine gun, spewing long tongues of fla, cutting down a string of enemies attempting to shoot from behind the truck wreckage.
Bullets pinged off the tal vehicle bodies, producing a dense clattering sound and a shrill whine of ricochets.
"RPG! Cover !"
Another militia mber, carrying a rocket launcher, suddenly erged from behind a rock under cover fire from his comrades, aiming at a 1515 ard truck below, which was furiously spraying machine gun fire.
Boom! ——
The rocket hit precisely, turning the truck into a giant fireball, blasting both the machine gun and the shooter into the sky.
But before he could cheer, a bullet flew in, blasting his head, and his body rolled down the hillside...
The battle had entered the most brutal close-quarters engagent stage.
Both sides were thoroughly bloodthirsty.
Here, there were only beasts, not humans!
It's either you or !
So fearless 1515 mbers even charged through the rain of bullets up the gentler slopes, engaging in close combat with the militia stationed there.
The cold glint of bayonets, the hacking of trench shovels, the dull thud of stones smashing skulls, the dying wails, and frenzied curses...
The most primitive slaughter played out on every inch of the valley floor. Blood seeped into the dry sand, forming dark red rivulets that flowed through the rock crevices.
Kazal hid behind a relatively intact armored vehicle; this old Humr M1114 assault vehicle had beco his last bastion.
The heavy machine gun on the armored vehicle madly spewed bullet chains outward, suppressing the fire points on the hillside, providing limited cover for the remaining soldiers.
Kazal leaned against the cold armor plating, panting heavily, as sweat and blood mixed, flowing into his eyes, causing a stinging pain.
The barrel of the AK in his hands was scorching hot from firing.
Desperate calls for help and dying screams of minor leaders constantly ca through the radio.
"Boss! We can't hold the east side!"
"The west is full of people! We're surrounded!"
"Allah! Save us!"
Each voice felt like a heavy hamr striking Kazal's heart.
He looked around, seeing the valley filled with burning vehicle wrecks, dead bodies, and wounded writhing in pain.
The air was thick with the overpowering stench of blood, gunpowder, and burning flesh.
The eight hundred elite forces he had ticulously selected were lting away at a visibly rapid pace, like ice and snow under the scorching sun.
Fear, like a cold poison snake, finally coiled tightly around his heart, making his whole body cold, even causing his fingers to tremble uncontrollably.
The will of the Caliphate, the glory of Heaven, all seed pale and ridiculous against the hellish scene before him.
He only wanted to survive!
"Break out! Rally to ! Everyone, co to ! Armor! Charge out! Charge out!"
Kazal shouted into the radio, his voice distorted entirely due to extre fear, filled with hysterical despair.
He frantically shoved the guard beside him, trying to climb up to the machine gun turret atop the armored vehicle, intending to personally operate the heavy machine gun and carve a bloody path out.
Just as he poked half of his body out of the top hatch of the armored vehicle—
"Whew!"
An extrely faint, yet lethally penetrating whistle cut through the air!
Kazal's body suddenly stiffened.
He unbelievingly lowered his head, seeing at his chest a small inconspicuous hole quickly being dyed red and expanding from the gushing blood.
Strength drained rapidly from his body like an ebbing tide.
He tried to raise his head to find the origin of the bullet, but his vision began to blur, spin, and darken quickly.
The last thing reflected in his dilated pupils was the cold, indifferently gray-yellow sky above the valley, tainted by gunpowder.
In the end, the head of the 1515 ruling Mosul slumped, limply falling over the turret machine gun like a dead fish.
The leader's death beca the last straw that broke the cal's back.
The 1515 militants, already on the brink of collapse, instantly lost their final will to resist.
"Kazal is dead! The boss is dead!"
"Surrender! We're surrendering!"
"Don't kill ! Don't kill !"
Panic-stricken cries, pleas for rcy, rose and fell. So people dropped their weapons, raised their hands, kneeling to the ground; others scurried across the valley like headless flies, shot down one by one by precisely aid bullets.
Samir stood at a high command point, the view through his binoculars sweeping over the devastated, gradually calming valley.
The first light was already breaking on the horizon.
The valley was littered with bodies, twisted wreckage, and wisps of black smoke.
After confirming the last resistant 1515 fire point was eliminated, he slowly lowered the binoculars.
The tightly wound tension of several hours suddenly eased, a trendous fatigue sweeping over him like a tide, almost making it hard for him to stand.
Sweat had long soaked through his camouflage uniform, clinging coldly to his back.
He raised a hand to wipe his face, finding his palm covered with gunpowder, sweat, and small blood splatters of unknown origin.
The pungent sll of blood filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn.
"Ugh—"
He couldn't help but bend over and vomit.
Victory was achieved.
Eight hundred infamous extremists, along with their leader, were thoroughly buried in the Hamdaniye River Valley.
This was a sweeping victory, enough to shake the entire northern Illiguo.
Samir slowly exhaled a breath laden with the heavy scent of gunpowder, trying to press down the heavy, indescribable burden on his heart.
Just as he stood up, about to order the cleanup of the battlefield and the gathering of the wounded—
Buzzzzzz—
The encrypted satellite phone at his waist suddenly vibrated urgently.
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