"First Garrison Regint! Colonel Maxim! Report your position! Respond!"
Again and again.
Only despairing electronic silence, or noise twisted into screaming howls like evil ghosts.
No calls received any response.
Except for his six brigades, all other units deployed in various locations seed to have fallen silent.
"What on earth is happening..."
Lumar stood rigid in the center of the command vehicle, his tall fra slightly swaying.
The cursor flashing on the command screen reflected his pale face, and beads of sweat like beans slid down his temples.
Imnse fear, like cold tidewater, instantly subrged him.
He finally saw the truth of this ga — this wasn't a raid, it was a long-planned military coup!
The target is the heart of the nation, Butare!
And he — the supre commander of the Defense Army, wielding heavy troops, along with his best six brigades, were perfectly maneuvered away from the storm center, becoming a "lone army" hundreds of kiloters away and beyond reach!
"Who is it?! Who on earth?!"
Lumar's eyes were bloodshot, letting out a beast-like low roar, punching heavily on the cold vehicle wall.
Weber?
The British?
No, it couldn't be them!
They are still sharing intelligence!
They are allies!
The French?
They don't have any deploynt here; since his and President Du Er's coup d'état, the French were courteously sent out of the country, leaving only so embassy consuls and staff...
Could it be the Isis family?
In Sena, only the Isis family still has the capability for a coup.
But those guys absolutely lack such boldness and ans!
Could it be…
A terrifying na flashed across his mind.
anwhile, outside Butare.
The dusk was like dense ink, completely engulfing the vast, abandoned rubber plantation.
The sweet and fishy sll of decaying rubber tree leaves mixed with the scent of damp earth, heavily pressing on the lungs of thousands of crouched individuals.
Their dark combat uniforms covered with camouflage nets, faces streaked with black and green paint, only their occasionally moving eyeballs glinted with cold murderous intent under the green glow of night vision goggles.
They are the fangs of the "Musician" Defense, the sharpest blade in Song Heping's hand, the most important asset of the Defense Company — rcenaries.
Jiang Feng crouched in the shadow of a light armored command vehicle, the vehicle body covered with a camouflage net blending into the surroundings.
The headset night vision goggles dyed the surroundings into a clear, eerie green world.
The tactical tablet screen in front of him displayed a map of Butare City like a network of blood vessels, with blue dots representing the main assault teams A, B, and C, like fangs of a poison snake gripping the throat positions of the three main garrison camps on the city's outskirts.
"Hummingbird calling all teams, final communication check. Team A, status?"
Jiang Feng's voice was as cold as ice in the encrypted channel.
"Team A here, signal clear. Target: Garrison Camp One. Infrared thermal imaging confirms that the target area is brightly lit (backup power), personnel activity is frequent, and security is lax. Assault route is locked."
The response was equally cold and precise.
"Team B in position, target Camp Two..."
"Team C in position, target Camp Three..."
Every confirmation was like the crisp sound of a bullet being chambered.
Jiang Feng deeply inhaled the sweet, rotting air, the cold oxygen stimulating his nerve endings.
He lifted the night vision goggles and looked toward the sparse lights of Butare City, symbolizing fragile order.
Tonight his mission was to crush this last obstacle on the capital's outskirts, paving a blood-red road for the main force to the core of power.
At this mont, within the city.
Only an alley away from the back wall of the British Consulate, a shabby van covered in dried mud inconspicuously parked by the roadside.
The van's interior, however, was a miniature electronic warfare fortress, filled with the top-tier Arican military-grade surveillance and jamming equipnt.
The bluish glow of the screen illuminated Collins' focused and slightly fatigued face.
This second-generation Chinese-German, with dual master's degrees, was furiously typing on the keyboard as if playing a silent symphony of death.
The headphones clung tightly to his ears, filtering out useless noise and only capturing specific frequencies.
"Target 'Pigeon' (consulate internal encrypted channel) locked... attempting to crack the third layer of dynamic keys... penetration rate 65%... 80%... breakthrough!"
The headset transmitted the suppressed excitent of other tech personnel.
"Maintain silence, I want core conversations."
Collins' voice was as light as a mosquito.
The air inside the van seed frozen, only the hum of server fans and the hiss of electricity could be heard.
Disguised as rchants delivering dates, they had entered the city in the morning, parked in this quiet spot, and began their surveillance mission. This "Nightingale" van was the listening device implanted next to the enemy's heart.
In the headset, filtered of electric noise, ca the clear conversation inside the consulate:
"... Yes, Mr. Weber, General Lumar is almost at the northern mining area... Correct... The operation will begin tonight... Without Song Heping, his n are insufficient to withstand Sena Defense Army's elite armor units... Butare? As quiet as a country club on a weekend... All right, at any sign of trouble, I'll imdiately..."
Collins smirked a cold, almost cruel smile.
"Arrogant John Bull, laughing by the bonfire even as death approaches..."
His fingertips tapped lightly, and an encrypted ssage was instantly sent: "Target confird, sleeping. 'Nightingale' is ready to sing at any ti."
Deeper inside the city, an unremarkable apartnt's underground secret room.
A wall of large electronic screens emitted a cold glow, illuminating the room like a command hub of a sci-fi battleship.
On the constantly updating city map, blue dots representing their forces twinkled like stars.
Henry's gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, quickly integrating the torrent of incoming information.
"Hummingbird reports: Anvil ready at the outskirts, edge poised."
"Nightingale reports: target nest unaware, ready to execute 'Silence'."
"Hunter reports: periphery of Mouthpiece (broadcast center) controlled, blade ready to unsheath."
"Klein reports: power grid hub locked, scalpel ready."
Every concise report represented a deadly force about to erupt.
Henry nodded slightly, his gaze falling on the figure in the center of the command room as immovable as a rock.
Song Heping sat quietly in the shadows, his lean fra wrapped in an unmarked camouflage combat uniform.
His eyes were slightly closed, as if in deep ditation like an old monk.
No anxiety before a great battle, no excitent for the power shift, only a deep calm like a still pond.
When Henry's gaze fell on him, Song Heping slowly opened his eyes.
"Ti?"
The voice was calm and unhurried, yet carried imnse weight.
"Nine o'clock sharp, Boss."
Ferrari watched the last ticks of the atomic clock, his voice steady.
Song Heping's gaze slowly swept across the flickering dots on the screen wall, across every face in the command room taut with anticipation.
"Action."
Two words, light as a sigh, yet akin to the knell for the Du Er Governnt.
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