30 kiloters outside the capital Butare.
In the night, at the Sena national power grid hub station, the steel giant remains silent in the darkness.
About 500 ters outside the hub, the rear doors of two vans open.
As the doors open, Klein jumps out, like an embodint of the night, leading twelve rcenaries into the shadows.
The figures in black combat uniforms are almost invisible in infrared vision.
Hiss—
The tranquilizer dart shoots out silently, bringing down the guard on the watchtower.
Thud—
The sharp tactical knife cuts through the throat, the spurting blood instantly absorbed by the fabric.
The surveillance lines are precisely cut off, the alarms muted.
Inside the core control room, the engineer on duty hears sothing outside, stands up to check.
Just as the door opens, a cold gun muzzle is pressed to his forehead.
"Lie down if you want to live!"
Klein's voice is like the Siberian chill.
A few seconds later, as the heavy hydraulic circuit breaker is violently locked, the main cable is precisely cut by high-energy explosives—
Boom—
A dazzling blue-white arc explodes in the air!
Instantly, the entire Butare City, from the magnificent President's Mansion to the sewage-ridden slums, from the vibrant foreign hotels to the desolate governnt buildings, all light is wiped away by an invisible giant hand!
Absolute darkness engulfs the entire city like a tide!
Only the panicked lights from scattered vehicles and faint ergency lights, like candlelight in a storm, reflect countless terrified twisted faces and desperate screams!
Almost simultaneously as the light goes out, Collins in the "Nightingale" vehicle heavily presses the scarlet button.
"Black Curtain! Maximum power! Full spectrum coverage!"
Invisible death waves sweep across the entire radio spectrum from the consulate as the center, like a nuclear explosive shockwave.
All civilian mobile phone signal bars instantly drop to zero, police radios erupt with eardrum-piercing screeches, governnt internal lines filled with chaotic binary noise, even the broadcast radio signals are completely subrged!
Butare, this city with a population of a million, is instantly stripped of the nerves and veins of the information age, becoming a "information island" afloat in a sea of darkness, utterly deaf.
At the sa ti.
Sena National Broadcasting Building.
The backup diesel generator emits a heavy breathing, barely illuminating white lights in the core area.
The guard captain screams into the noise-filled communicator, futilely.
Panic is spreading.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
The Remington sniper rifle, equipped with a high-efficiency silencer, emits a slight muffled sound like tearing thick fabric.
Almost at the sa second, the helts explode in blood from the four sniper posts at vantage points, bodies slumping.
"Action!"
The assault team leader Hunter's voice is a summons from hell.
Dozens of shadows erge from the wall's shadow, sewer exits.
Boom—
At the entrance at the back of the building, a single explosion sends the iron door flying ters away, landing heavily on the ground.
A few shock bombs are thrown inside.
Bang—
Bang—
Bang—
The blinding white light of the shock bombs and colossal noise exceeding 170 dB have the few guards attracted by the explosion sound hugging their heads, falling directly.
Soon, tear gas smoke quickly fills the cramped space...
The assault team wearing gas masks and quad-eye night vision goggles enters like demons from the abyss with textbook-like CQB tactics.
Gunfire erupts inside the building.
The MP5 submachine gun's short bursts pour accurately, bullets gouging concrete walls, tearing bodies.
The shrieks of guards, the shattering of glass, the muffled explosions of hand grenades combine into a symphony of death.
Resistance evaporates swiftly like dew under the sun.
"7 minutes 42 seconds!"
Hunter glances at the ti on his watch, next to him a tall rcenary kicks open the last door of the broadcasting control room, inside the shivering broadcaster and technicians.
"Clear the equipnt! Prepare to broadcast!"
His voice through the mask is chillingly devoid of human emotion.
Almost at the sa instant the gunfire bursts in the city, in the abandoned plantation on the outskirts of Butare.
"Hummingbird calling all units! Comnce operation, attack the predetermined targets, crush them!"
Jiang Feng's voice is like an unsheathed sword on the encrypted channel.
Thousands of elites, long filled with the desire to kill, charge like an avalanche from three directions towards the chaotic garrison camp due to the blackout!
Whoosh—
Boom!
An RPG-7 rocket, trailing fiery tail flas, precisely tore through the camp's flimsy barbed wire and sandbag fortifications!
"Bang bang bang bang bang——!"
The ZPU-4 anti-aircraft machine gun was laid flat, pouring out a storm of deadly tal, riddling the barracks' outer walls with holes!
rcenaries equipped with the most advanced individual systems, enhanced by thermal imaging and night vision, relentlessly slaughtered the garrison, which was engulfed in darkness, communications severed, and chain of command collapsed.
Many soldiers, jolted awake from their dreams, were incapacitated by the blinding shock bombs that burst through doors, becoming captives.
This was a brutal and efficient blitz annihilation battle, with only one objective: to rapidly disarm the garrison stationed outside the capital and destroy the Duer Governnt's last line of military defense.
At this point, all peripheral operations were in place.
The main character finally made his appearance!
On the central avenue leading to the President's Mansion in Butare City.
A convoy of dozens of heavily loaded trucks carrying soldiers suddenly drove in from outside the city and stopped on the street near the secret command room.
Song Heping, accompanied by a few followers, boarded one of the modified bulletproof vans.
Before getting in, Song Heping stepped on the van's edge steps, glanced back at the convoy behind him, then at the one ahead, and picked up the radio transceiver: "Target, President's Mansion, move out!"
Bright headlights pierced the darkness, engines roared deafeningly, rolling over the empty streets.
The heavy machine gun on the roof cautiously pointed at the dark buildings on either side.
Song Heping sat steadily inside the command vehicle, watching the real-ti transmission of the bloody progress on various fronts on several laptop screens.
"Team A, control the central intersection! Establish circular defensive structures! Fire at any ard targets!"
"Team B, surround the police headquarters! Surrender in five minutes! Kill any who resist without rcy!"
"Team C, occupy the Ministry of Defense! Control all archive rooms and communication nodes! If blocked, destroy!"
Orders were cold, clear, and efficient.
Soldiers under Song Heping's command, operating like precise killing machines, efficiently executed each order.
The sporadic resistance from police or Duer loyalists along the way, in the face of absolute firepower superiority and tactical coordination, was like a mantis trying to stop a car, instantly shredded by the tal storm.
The city's main streets, transportation hubs, and core governnt institutions fell like dominoes, rapidly changing hands.
Panic spread among the citizens, but strict combat rules restrained the rcenaries — only military targets were cleared, keeping distance from civilians — this cold "order" instead created an eerie sense of "safety" amidst the chaos.
The Sen Republic President's Mansion — Palace of Freedom.
This grand neoclassical building was now a despairing island in a sea of darkness.
The backup generator could only maintain faint lighting in the core area.
In the study, President Duer, wearing a silk robe, hair disheveled, shouted frantically at the several dead silent phones with busy signals: "Connect to Lumar! To the Ministry of Defense! To the damn garrison command! Tell ! What's happening outside?!"
No response.
Outside the window, the city was deathly silent save for sporadic explosions and intense gunfire, like the approaching footsteps of the Grim Reaper.
Then, the engine roar, booming like an earthquake, ca from afar, shaking the ground like a heavy hamr pounding his heart!
"Your Excellency the President! It's over! All over!"
The Guard Captain rushed in, crawling and stumbling, his face sared with sweat and bloodstains.
"Outside... they're all over! We're surrounded! At least several thousand! The Presidential Guard... can hardly hold on!"
The remaining hundred or so guards, relying on the ornate Roman pillars and marble steps, engaged in a desperate, symbolic resistance.
"Who is it?!"
"All rcenaries, it's 'Musician' Defense's people!"
"What about the garrison?!"
"Can't reach them!"
"And General Lumar?"
"Can't reach him either..."
"How is that possible!? Are the phones out?"
"There's power, but... the signal seems to be jamd..."
"Just what is going on..."
"Mr. President... this is a coup..."
Duer felt as if his bones had been removed, collapsing into the high-backed chair symbolizing power, his body cold.
He finally accepted the reality — this wasn't chaos, but a long-planned and flawlessly executed military coup!
The redeployed Lumar forces, the missing British, the eerie silence of the Isis family...
And that...
He suddenly recalled sothing, turning sharply to the Guard Captain: "Who's leading them?!"
"Seems like... seems like..."
The Guard Captain stamred, hesitated, but finally uttered the na: "Song Heping..."
Duer's face turned white with a swoosh.
The na that should have perished in the flas of Gelbi Mountain, like the most venomous curse, surfaced clearly.
Song Heping!
It's him!
Only he could pull it off!
Just like when he assisted the British to help him rise to power!
Except this ti...
He's here to bring him down...
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