Two hours later.
Siria, downstream of the Helgan River, naless riverbank.
The icy river water soaked every inch of Song Heping's skin, temporarily suppressing the excruciating pain surging inside him.
Although he managed to disengage, the huge impact from opening the parachute at a low altitude tore his muscles, and the exhaustion of his physical strength left him teetering on the brink between consciousness and unconsciousness.
He was like a heavy piece of driftwood, engulfed by the turbulent, muddy Helgan River, crashing into rocks, swept into whirlpools, and struggling to surface again.
Fortunately, Song Heping had undergone the most rigorous survival training, including dealing with various critical situations both on water and underwater.
The benefit of training is survival at critical monts.
Eventually, a relatively gentle undercurrent pushed him onto a desolate riverbank covered with pebbles.
The morning sunlight shone on the riverbank, and Song Heping tried to prop himself up, only to find his whole body felt disassembled, utterly powerless from exhaustion.
The last scene before he lost consciousness was the mountaintop hell completely consud by flas and the silhouette of an F-15 circling high above like a vulture...
A shadow cautiously approached Song Heping, who was sprawled on the riverbank.
The shadow blocked the sunlight.
Song Heping wanted to lift his head to see who it was,
but his eyelids failed him, and everything went black as he fainted.
9 a.m., eastern Siria, Ashala Town.
Intense gunfire echoed down the dilapidated streets like the drumbeats of the Grim Reaper.
Utekin's massive fra moved agilely against the crumbling walls, the PKM machine gun in his hands spitting fire, shredding a tal door and the militants behind it who were trying to close it.
"Advance! Vakner! Target — Town Center Governnt Building!"
His roar drowned out the gunfire, carrying the unique roughness and undeniable decisiveness of the Slavs.
Jiang Feng moved like a phantom, his figure appearing and disappearing amid the smoke and explosions.
His movents were fast, precise, and ruthless, wielding the AK-12 assault rifle with steady and terrifying expertise.
A militant poking an RPG out from a second-floor window barely showed his head before Jiang Feng's precise burst of three shots nailed him in the face, sending him tumbling down with a scream.
"Flank cleared! Old Russian, the front door is yours!"
He shouted into the comms, his voice calm and unwavering.
The periter had been breached already. According to a captured 1515 mber, the last resistance in Ashala Town was hiding in the governnt office building.
Vakner's rcenaries displayed astounding tactical prowess and ferocious combat techniques.
After all, most of these guys were experienced veterans, and Utekin, as one of Vakner's founders, was also responsible for rcenary training, adhering to the GRU standards of yore.
Within this military group, discipline was brutally severe. Cowardice or betrayal would result in extre punishnt.
But for those willing to fight, the group offered generous rewards, ensuring their families received ample settlent fees.
Demolition experts accurately blew open barriers; assault teams provided crossfire cover as they rushed in, while snipers at vantage points rcilessly picked off any enemy attempting to organize a counterattack. Vakner rcenaries, like a red-hot blade, effortlessly pierced the depleted defenses of Ashala Town, left vulnerable after the main force was diverted.
The 1515 militants were stupefied, collapsing in a flurry of retreat, leaving behind chaos and corpses.
BOOM!
Utekin used an RPG-7 to take out the last 1515 fire point surrounding the town hall administrative building, then charged first through the teetering door with his gun ready in hand.
Amid swirling dust, he was the first to rush in, his machine gun barrel sweeping vigilantly through the dark corridor.
"Cook! Are you still alive?! It's Utekin!"
Responding to him was a weak but extrely clear shout from deep within an office down the corridor, "Suka! 'Tsar,' lower your voice! I'm not deaf!"
This was followed by a severe bout of coughing.
"Tsar" was Utekin's nickna.
Utekin and Jiang Feng, who had followed closely behind, exchanged glances, seeing the shared joy and a trace of lingering fear in each other's eyes.
They kicked open the office door at the end, the sight inside made their hearts sink.
The Cook was slumped against the corner of the wall, his signature bald head streaked with blood, his left arm hastily bandaged with torn clothing, the bloodstains already blackened.
His face was pallid, lips chapped, yet his eyes remained sharp as an eagle's.
Scattered around him were several empty magazines, his hand tightly gripping a combat knife with only half the blade left, the gun rested against the wall, its barrel scorching hot.
The room was heavy with the sll of smoke and blood.
"Damn... this morning, those 1515 bastards launched a fierce attack. If you had been a mont later, I would have had to fight them with this." The Cook grimaced a smile worse than crying, shaking the knife in his hand, his voice hoarse.
Jiang Feng dashed forward, quickly checking his injuries with professional and swift movents.
"Penetrative wound, excessive blood loss, but no vital organs hard. Old Russian, the first aid kit!"
As he spoke, he took out a canteen, carefully feeding the Cook so water.
Utekin tossed over a first aid kit, his massive form blocking the doorway on alert, his voice resonating lowly: "You lucky bastard! As long as you're not dead! I thought your corpse would be rotting by now after so many days!"
The Cook eagerly drank a few sips, feeling the fiery searing in his throat ease slightly.
He panted heavily, his gaze sweeping over Utekin and Jiang Feng, bearing deep bewildernt and a subtle hint of worry: "What's the situation outside? Where's 1515's main force?"
As Jiang Feng skillfully re-dressed his wounds, he replied gravely: "My old squad leader used himself as bait, pinning down thousands of Buckdadi's main forces on Gelbi Mountain, luring them away so we could take advantage."
"Sang?!" The Cook's pupils contracted sharply, eagerly asking: "Where is he... where is he now?"
The bandaging paused montarily.
Both Jiang Feng and Utekin at the door fell silent.
The air in the room seed to freeze instantly.
Jiang Feng looked up, his eyes filled with complexity as he gazed at the Cook, his voice lowering: "The plan... succeeded. The US Army deployed F-15s, used thermo-baric and cluster bombs to plow through the entire Gelbi Mountain east peak... 1515's main force... is finished."
The color drained from the Cook's face instantly, his grip on Jiang Feng's arm surprisingly strong: "Where's Sang?! I'm asking you where he is?!"
Turning his gaze past Utekin and Jiang Feng,
he saw only so Vakner rcenaries guarding the door, not Song Heping.
Utekin's rugged face was clouded with gloom: "Communications... are severed. Before the bombing, his last call was ordering us to attack. Then... he disappeared. The rest... we... don't know."
"Don't know?!"
It was as if all strength had left the Cook, his grip on Jiang Feng's hand slackening as he slumped heavily against the wall, his hollow stare fixed on the ceiling.
"Damn... damn it..."
He murmured, his voice filled with imnse despair and unspeakable fear.
That unfailing strategist Song Heping, gone missing?
Under such devastating bombing?
The Cook felt the entire world was unreal.
While Jiang Feng and Utekin led Vakner's rcenaries assaulting Ashala Town, a fierce battle erupted in the direction of Deir Ezzor.
Amidst General Assam's raspy but powerful roar, "For Siria! For our holand! Attack!".
The long-simring anger of the 104th brigade's regular army soldiers erupted like a breached dam, launching an overwhelming counterattack against the sparse 1515 besieging forces outside the city, made thin by the deploynt of their main troops, under the cover of tanks and armored vehicles.
The pent-up wrath and desperate longing for survival burst forth completely.
The shouting and killing were deafening, the gunfire and cannonades unending.
The 1515 militants were caught off guard, accustod to siege and raid tactics, never expecting the defenders they viewed as trapped beasts to launch such a fierce counterattack!
Devoid of heavy weaponry and effective command, the 1515 ard besiegers crumbled instantly, abandon their posts in rout by the vengeful fury of the 104th brigade soldiers, driven out of their long-held positions outside the city, fleeing in disorder into the depths of the desert.
The siege of Deir Ezzor, broken!
User Comments
0 comments from readers