This scene was transmitted in real-ti through the high-definition tactical pod of the leading "Typhoon" fighter jet back to the British Army Joint Tactical Command Center (JTAC) at the Africa base in the rear and the MI6 Strategic Intelligence Room in London.
"God! They've actually hit one of the fighter jets!"
The Air Force Commander at JTAC watched the screen, his face pale as he looked at the "Typhoon" trailing black smoke, in a state of disarray.
London, Q-section Strategic Intelligence Room.
Hammond watched the real-ti footage, his eyelids twitching, and a chill rising from his feet.
Beside him, Colonel Blake Wood slamd a fist on the table: "These bastards!"
"Enough!"
A cold voice ca through the encrypted communication, it was Lady M.
The old woman's voice carried an anger repressed to the extre and an unquestionable decision: "Imdiately order all aircraft to withdraw from combat! Repeat, all aerial units, imdiately disengage and return to base! A fighter jet worth hundreds of millions of British Pounds, representing the honor of the Royal Air Force, shot down, and during a 'secret operation' no less? Do you want tomorrow's BBC headline and the United Nations Security Council to beco the slaughterhouse of the Great British Empire?! The political risk of the operation has exceeded the threshold! Execute imdiately!"
The order was as heavy as a mountain.
The remaining three "Typhoons", including the leading jet desperately covering its injured wingman, under the continuous lethal gaze of the Sam-6 radar, reluctantly but swiftly turned their noses away, increased thrust, and embarrassingly retreated in the direction of the southern base.
The injured "Typhoon", in the escort of friendly aircraft, dragged a long trail of black smoke, struggling to disappear at the edge of the radar screen.
"The Typhoons are retreating! They're retreating!"
Ferrari's hoarse roar erupted in the communication channel, like a red-hot iron bar piercing through the almost solidified suffocating atmosphere of the command post.
On the radar screen, the four ferocious light spots representing the "Typhoon" jets were hastily fleeing south in a sorry state.
"Paper tigers are just that, paper tigers!"
Song Heping felt a slight relief in his heart, but there was no slackening on his face. His gaze was eagle-eyed, glued to the tactical terminal in front of Henry.
That small screen was at this mont the only window through which God oversaw the earth—the high-resolution satellite overhead view clearly marking every corner of the battlefield.
He wasn't looking at the retreating "Typhoon", nor at his own troops still enduring sporadic shelling at the frontline positions. His sight penetrated all chaos and smoke, locking dead onto the heart of the Lumar armored group's battlefield!
A large, carefully camouflaged wheeled command module was being surrounded by several main battle tanks, with communication antennas standing like trees around it, vehicles coming and going frequently, like the busiest node in an anthill.
Beside it, a few armored dical vehicles marked with a red cross further revealed its significance. Henry's fingers typed rapidly on the keyboard, a precise coordinate fra instantly locked onto that target—the Lumar brigade-level command post!
"'Heavenly Eye' window ti remaining: 12 minutes 37 seconds."
Henry's voice was taut as a string, and the red countdown numbers on the screen ticked down rcilessly.
Every second was a flowing life and a chance!
Song Heping suddenly grabbed the encrypted radio handset, his voice like a raging torrent beneath a layer of ice, instantly overpowering all the noise in the command post: "Alexander! Alexander! Hear ! This is Forward Command!"
After a brief electric hiss, a young yet suppressed hoarse voice ca: "Alexander here! Go ahead!"
The voice carried a forced exhaustion and a deeper, soon-to-erupt fla.
This was the voice of the pilot of Vasily's wingman, Alexander. Not long ago, he had watched as Vasily's MiG-23 turned into a burning teor crashing to the ground.
"'Heavenly Eye' is active! Lock onto 'Head Wolf'!'" Song Heping's words ca in rapid bursts, like machine-gun fire, "Coordinates XXXXX, Lumar brigade command! Repeat, brigade command! 'Heavenly Eye' window ti is less than fifteen minutes! Before the 'Heavenly Eye' shuts down, you must take it out! Do you understand?"
There was a deadly silence on the other end of the communication, only heavy breathing could be heard.
A few seconds later, Alexander's hoarse voice erupted in a death-defying echo: "Alexander understood! Coordinates XXXXX! Take out 'Head Wolf'!"
The last few words were almost blood drops squeezed from between clenched teeth.
"Very good! Stand by! Wait for my attack signal! Ensure stealth approach, evade low-altitude air defenses!"
Now, Song Heping also had to solve a crucial issue before Alexander's aircraft reached the attack position—those individual anti-aircraft missiles among the Lumar forces.
That was the equipnt brought by the SAS.
And it was definitely the SAS using them.
He had to divert the attention of the SAS Special Forces to create an opportunity for Alexander.
Thinking of this, Song Heping's fingers did not pause for a mont, imdiately switching to another low-frequency channel dedicated to the governnt army, his voice suddenly rising, carrying an undeniable iron-blood order: "11th Brigade! 11th Brigade! Commander Kareem! Respond imdiately!"
There was a burst of chaotic electric noise in the channel and the vague roar of artillery in the background. A few seconds later, a voice filled with obvious hesitation and panic erged: "Kar... Kareem here. Go ahead."
"Commander Kareem! I don't care how you do it!"
Song Heping's voice was as firm as steel, every word pounding into the other's eardrums like quenched iron nails, "Imdiately! I an imdiately! Order your entire brigade, every mobile infantry and armored vehicle, to move from the right flank, over the 'Gray Rock' ridge! Strike Lumar's left-rear junction with all your might! Target—sever them in the middle! Cut off the vanguard at the rift valley exit! Coordinate with the frontal counterattack! You have ten minutes! In ten minutes, I want to see your forces embedded into Lumar's flank! Tear open their defensive line! Draw all the fire! Do you understand? This is an order!"
"Forward Command..."
Kareem's voice suddenly beca like a rooster with its neck grasped, full of panic and distress, "Gray… Gray Rock's slope is too steep, Lumar… Lumar's defensive line is very solid! Their firepower is fierce! My troops… My troops are heavily damaged, they need ti to regroup… need artillery support… requesting…"
"No support! No ti!"
Song Heping cut him off brutally, his voice chilling enough to freeze the air, "The 'Heavenly Eye' window is your biggest support! The enemy's eyes are blinded now! This is your only chance! Also your last chance! Ten minutes! Commander Kareem, if after ten minutes I don't see your assault arrowhead appear at the 'Heavenly Eye' indicated position, I will execute martial law! Now, execute the order!"
He slamd the communication shut, his chest heaving, not from exhaustion but from the nearly chest-bursting fury.
The command post fell into deathly silence, with only the real-ti image from 'Heavenly Eye' silently playing on the tactical terminal in front of Henry: the blue symbols representing the 11th Brigade, still huddled at the edge of the departure point, only symbolically advanced a short distance, as if the path ahead wasn't a battlefield but an abyss of magma hell.
And the marked "Gray Rock" assault route was empty.
Ti was ticking by.
"'Heavenly Eye' window ti remaining: 10 minutes 15 seconds."
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