About 35 minutes after the ambush
The depths of the Sahara Desert, at the entrance of the Wind Erosion Rock Area.
The engine roared savagely, and a steel torrent far larger than before appeared at the narrow pathway's entrance.
Leading the way were three "Land Rover Defenders" off-road vehicles painted in mottled desert camouflage, with raised chassis and sand nets covering their hoods, resembling three steel leopards poised to strike. Behind the car windows were faces painted heavily with camouflage paint, their gazes sharp as falcon's.
Following closely were a dozen rusted ard pickups, mounted with DShK or NSV heavy machine guns, their beds packed with GNA soldiers in chaotic uniforms, turbans wrapped around their heads, eyes fierce and nacing.
Even more conspicuous were several military trucks, carrying soldiers dressed in uniforms obviously forr Haftar National Army desert camouflage, but their arm patches had conspicuously changed to the GNA emblem—a group of rebels who had betrayed their old master.
The convoy abruptly halted at the pathway's entrance, kicking up swirling yellow sand like turbid waves, gradually settling to reveal a massive pile of boulders collapsed by explosives.
The rocks grimly intertwined, completely blocking the only passage.
SBS Deputy Commander Captain Don was the first to leap off the Land Rover.
The jagged wind-eroded rock columns cast twisted shadows under the scorching sun, the air dry enough to ignite throats, but more intense was the seemingly tangible, nauseatingly thick stench—the overpowering scent of blood mixed with the acrid sll of burning flesh, rubber, and fuel, as though Hell's kitchen had its lid thrown open.
Don instantly furrowed his brow, nostrils flaring, a foreboding feeling like a cold Poison Snake coiling around his spine.
Next to disembark was Yarif, the GNA's highest leader for this pursuit operation.
This was a classic image of a desert bandit, a knife scar slashing across his left cheek, adding to his fierceness.
The last to saunter down was the original Haftar National Army chief of staff, now a turncoat—Jafali.
He was short, slightly portly, dressed in a relatively clean officer's uniform, his gaze evasive, his forehead beaded with tiny sweat drops, uncertain if from heat or guilt.
When the three, accompanied by so soldiers, cautiously circled the deadly stone pile, stepping into the passage's interior—
"Hiss..."
Everyone, including those battle-hardened SBS mbers and ruthless GNA veterans, collectively inhaled sharply!
The extre horror froze their motions and thoughts, even the air seed to solidify.
The sight before them utterly surpassed their understanding of "battlefield," only "Asura Slaughter" could vaguely describe it.
Inside the narrow passage, it was as if an invisible demonic claw had fiercely crushed and ravaged.
Over a dozen various vehicles—ard pickups, military trucks, even a light armored vehicle—lay in front of them in various twisted, devastated forms: so flipped over, like overturned beetles; so blasted into charred skeletons, still billowing thick black smoke, emitting a choking burnt odor; others completely shredded by powerful shockwaves, steel parts and tires scattered like child's discarded toy fragnts.
Unquenched flas leaped among the wreckage, licking twisted tal, emitting crackling mournful cries.
However, more shocking than the vehicle ruins were the bodies.
Everywhere.
Layer upon layer, endlessly dense, hardly finding any space to step.
The yellow sand soaked through with viscous, dark red blood under the Sahara's blistering noon sun, showing a bizarre, almost blackish-purple hue, emitting a sickening sweet tallic rust scent.
Severed limbs, innards, shattered helts, and weapon parts scattered in between, like decorations of Hell.
So bodies retained their dying monts of terror: with eyes wide open, pupils frozen in disbelief and despair; mouths agape, seemingly in a silent scream; others reaching out futilely, as if grasping for so nonexistent lifeline.
Busted AK rifles, bullet casings scattered like brass flowers, broken communication equipnt, even half-eaten flatbread...
All traces of war were brutally mixed together, sared on this canvas of death.
The entire passage exuded a chilling, eerie stillness.
Only the occasional explosive crack of burning wreckage and the whimpers of wind through rock crevices, like countless souls sorrowfully weeping.
Heat twisted the air, adding a layer of surreal terror to this bloody Hell scene.
Flies had already begun to swarm on the bodies, emitting an unsettling buzzing.
"Allah is great..."
A young GNA soldier instinctively muttered, his voice trembling into dissonance, then suddenly bent over, vomiting violently.
This seed like a signal; more soldiers' faces instantaneously turned ashen white, stomach acid uncontrollably surging up, vomiting sounds echoed one after another.
They had fought wars, seen death, but such an efficient, such a brutal, such a "clean" slaughter scene completely shattered their nerves.
Yarif's flabby cheeks twitched violently, his fists clenched, knuckles pale.
As commander, he couldn't show fear, especially not in front of the British.
But the impact of this sight made his strong heart skip a few beats.
He suppressed the turbulent stomach acid, glaring fiercely, attempting to find a flaw in the opponent, only feeling a chill deep into his bones.
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