Senan Capital Loira, the area around the President's Mansion is charred, with ruins and broken walls resembling the fierce teeth marks left by a giant beast.
Images where the smoke has not yet completely dissipated silently tell the story of the fierce coup that occurred a few days ago.
"Gentlen, ladies."
The voice of Deputy Director Hammond broke the silence, as deep as if echoing in a stone coffin.
His slender fingers rhythmically tapped the smooth tabletop.
Thud... thud... thud...
Each soft sound seed to strike the nerves of those present.
"The images on the screen... are a blatant humiliation to Great Britain. A legitimate regi we recognize was toppled right under our noses by a group... by a group of rcenaries led by forr Chinese special soldiers!"
His gaze was sharp as a scalpel, slowly sweeping over those seated around him – the Intelligence Analysis Director, the Africa Bureau Chief, the Military Liaison Officer, the Diplomatic Policy Advisor – each face was taut, filled with solemnity and offended anger.
"The African Union?"
Hammond's lips curved downward in a sarcastic arc as he picked up an exquisite bone china coffee cup, but he only touched it to his lips before setting it down, as if the warm liquid was hard to swallow.
"Their response is as flowery as an empty poetry recital – 'non-interference in internal affairs,' 'seeking an African solution'? It's nothing but a pile of carefully packaged nonsense! They're afraid, afraid of getting involved in this muddy water, afraid of Eastern influence."
His pace quickened, each syllable striking like hail on glass.
"As for the UN..."
His gaze turned to the Diplomatic Policy Advisor, who shook his head slightly, an undisguisable frustration on his face. "The French voted against it for their so-called 'special interests' in West Africa. And East University..."
He paused, the na of that country seed to carry an invisible weight.
"They used 'sovereignty principles' and 'avoiding complicating the situation' as pretty words to build an impenetrable diplomatic wall. Peacekeeping Forces? The draft resolution is already in the shredder."
The room fell silent, with only the faint hum of the ventilation system.
The sense of humiliation hung like smoke, perating and settling in the air.
"Therefore."
Hammond's voice suddenly rose, carrying a tone of desperate resolve.
"The gate of rules is closed to us, we can only break in through the window! The patience and order of the civilized world are being wantonly trampled by brute force. We cannot allow Lumar and his legitimate claims to be drowned in blood by rcenary bullets. Senan's future cannot be decided by a damned rcenary leader!"
MI6 Military Liaison Officer, forr Royal Gurkha Rifles Colonel Blackwood, leaned forward slightly, his eyes flashing with the unique desire for action of a professional soldier: "Sir, B Squadron SAS at the Red Sea Base is at the highest state of alert. Two C-130J Super Hercules are ready at any ti. Target area – the Northern Border Lumar-controlled zone, coordinates confird."
He pulled up another satellite image, clearly marking a sparse woodland near the border.
"Parachute drop, silent entry. Core mission: locate Lumar, provide him direct intelligence support, tactical guidance, and... provide them with crucial target positioning and air support."
He bit heavily on the last few words.
"Risk?"
The Intelligence Analysis Director adjusted his glasses, his gaze behind the lens as calm as it was cold.
"Extrely high. The veto by the African Union and UN ans we have no legal cover, no official support. If the operation is exposed, even losing just one person would be a catastrophe in international opinion. The French will leap onto it like sharks slling blood to create dia uproar. Moreover..."
He pointed to the screen where an airport contour, blurry but distinct, was visible.
"According to reliable intelligence, Song Heping's people have already controlled Lo International Airport and at least two small military airfields belonging to the northern forr governnt army. His air capability may be outdated, mainly using MiG-21, possibly a few MiG-23s – but not to be underestimated."
Hammond suddenly waved his hand as if to cut off all hesitation: "Risk? In front of the ruins of the Lo Presidential Palace, any risk is an acceptable price! We're not discussing risk; we're defending the will and influence of Great Britain! The operation must be covert, must be swift! Get the SAS lads moving, using the cover of night, go down, find Lumar, teach his n how to fight back! Erase Song Heping from Senan's map completely!"
His right hand made a powerful chopping motion in the air.
"As for those antiquated MiGs? Hmph, the Royal Air Force's Typhoons will show them what modern air combat is. Command Simmons Town Base, arm the fighters, enter standby status. As soon as our ground personnel need it, or detect enemy aircraft threats, eliminate them imdiately! Authorize the use of all necessary force!"
Orders, like cold iron streams, were instantly relayed to thousands of miles away through invisible channels.
At a Royal Air Force base in the south of Africa, the vast hangar's lights glared white, the roar of engines tearing through the desert silence.
Ground crew moved swiftly around the Typhoon fighters like precise chanical components, mounting the cold-glinting teor BVR air-to-air missiles and Gemstone Road laser-guided bombs onto wing pylons.
Pilots donned G-suits, helt visors reflecting a cold tallic gleam, their eyes as sharp as hawks.
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