London, MI6 Headquarters, Action Command Center.
Ms. M slowly put down the phone receiver that now only emitted a busy signal.
The act of placing the receiver back onto the phone was gentle, yet in the dead silent command center, that slight "click" was like a huge stone dropped into a deep pool, causing all the anxious intelligence officers to feel their hearts suddenly sink.
She stood there, her back facing the giant electronic screen.
At the center of the screen, the region from which the last images were transmitted had turned into a field of flickering snow and a red warning box saying "Signal Interrupted."
On the adjacent split screen, the signal representing Song Heping had completely disappeared into an unknown grayness.
The satellite pass was over.
The light in the entire command center seed to dim even further, leaving only the cold glow of indicator lights and the screen's reflection, highlighting her suddenly aged silhouette.
A cold wave, mixed with a trendous sense of frustration and the bare betrayal by an ally, surged and crashed in her chest.
Vincent's unforgiving roar seed to still echo in her ears.
"Sincerity"?
She understood all too well the aning behind it.
This so-called "explanation" was nothing more than an outright negotiation for concessions!
The Aricans wanted to profit from others' difficulties, demanding Britain provide enough bargaining chips to "appease the anger of the Arican people" in Libya, in Africa, and even in other intelligence collaboration fields!
For the sake of one Song Heping, for the sake of one "Strangle" operation, was it worth paying such an exorbitant price that could destabilize national interests?
Moreover, even if a price was paid now, could the Arican satellites seamlessly take over imdiately?
Could they pull Dorn and his n out before those four thousand blades of the "Musician's" defense ca crashing down?
The imnse uncertainty and intolerable risk weighed like two icebergs on the balance of her decision-making.
Coleman's death…
The loss of SBS elites…
These were already irreparable wounds.
If more SBS mbers and the entire GNA troops were sacrificed…
M closed her eyes, almost able to hear the furious roars from Downing Street and the parliant's clamorous inquiries.
She could not bear it.
MI6 could hardly endure such a cost.
"Ma'am..."
The Intelligence Chief cautiously spoke, his voice dry.
M suddenly opened her eyes, turned to face everyone in the command center who was watching her, and with a voice neither high nor low, yet carrying a kind of decisive finality, it spread to every corner clearly:
"'Strangle' operation, terminate imdiately."
"Order all SBS teams in the Sahara to imdiately disengage from the target and withdraw to safe point LZ-7 (the predefined desert edge extraction point) as quickly as possible, awaiting pickup."
"Notify Captain Dorn, terminate the operation, GNA troops to cease all pursuit actions, establish defenses on-site, and await further instructions. Emphasize, this is the highest command!"
The command was issued without any explanation.
As a veteran in the intelligence world, Ms. M still had enough decisiveness to make the hard choices.
Inside the command center, there was an oppressive silence; only the rapid tapping of operators on keyboards as they transmitted the commands sounded like cold raindrops striking each person's heart.
Sahara Desert, the coldest ti before dawn.
Captain Dorn stood by his command vehicle, the antenna on top swirling pointlessly, emitting a faint hum. The screen of the vehicle's encrypted radio just received a directive from "Eagle's Nest," scorching his eyes like a hot iron:
"Order: Terminate operation. Cease pursuit. Establish defense on-site. SBS has withdrawn. Highest command."
"FUCK!!!"
A roar, like a beast cornered, mixed with endless anger and despair erupted from Dorn's throat, exploding in the cold, empty desert night sky, startling several dozing soldiers nearby into jumping up.
He spun around abruptly, his bloodshot eyes glaring into the northern darkness that had swallowed Song Heping's trail.
Kurtan!
In that direction!
That butcher!
The bastard who killed Coleman, slaughtered his hundreds of soldiers, and robbed their life-saving water source!
Right there!
Possibly less than ten kiloters away!
"Terminate? Establish defense?"
Dorn felt as though he heard the world's most absurd joke, his mouth twitching neurotically into a twisted grin.
"Did our people die in vain? Did Coleman die in vain?! That damned yellow-skinned bastard is just ahead! Within reach!"
He pointed abruptly northward, his arm shaking violently from the extremity of his rage.
The nearby comrades exchanged glances, their faces also written with unwillingness and humiliation, but more so with fear of the command.
"Captain... 'Eagle's Nest' direct order... we..."
"So what if SBS has withdrawn?! So what if we lost the satellites?!"
Captain Don abruptly interrupted him, his voice breaking with excitent, carrying an almost insane obsession.
"Do they think that without eyes in the sky, I'm blind?! Song Heping is going to Kurtan! He can only go to Kurtan! That's the only place in this hell that might have water! His tire tracks! The traces left by his n! They're right here on this sand! The wind hasn't completely erased them yet!"
He paced anxiously beside the command vehicle like a thoroughly enraged lion, the heavy military boots crunching the gravel beneath his feet.
Humiliation, anger, the desire for revenge for his fallen comrades, and the deep-seated hatred for that sly target, like boiling venom, completely consud his last shred of sanity and respect for orders.
He suddenly stopped, his eyes burning with a nearly destructive fire, suddenly looking at the communications officer, speaking each word as if cast in steel:
"Shut down all active communication links to 'Eagle's Nest' and the rear command! Maintain silence in reception!"
"Order all combat units! Start the engines imdiately!"
"Target—Kurtan Oasis! Move out at full speed!"
"Captain! This... this is insubordination..."
The communications officer turned pale as a sheet.
"Insubordination?!"
Don grabbed the communications officer's collar fiercely, pulling him close, their faces almost touching, and he could sll the fear-induced sweat from his opponent.
"Listen! The satellite is gone, but our n cannot die in vain! Blood debts must be paid in blood! In this desert, now! I am the one in charge!"
He roughly shoved the communications officer away, his voice icy and chilling like the desert night wind, carrying a desperation:
"No satellite surveillance... so what? We still have over a thousand n! He has only a little over a hundred!"
"Even crawling, even on cals, I will catch up! Tear that bastard's head off! In mory of Coleman! In mory of the fallen brothers!"
"Shut down all active communication links! Maintain silence in reception!"
"Order all combat units! Check how many operational vehicles we have imdiately!"
"Target—Kurtan Oasis! Move out at full speed!"
Captain Don's voice was like sandpaper grinding on raw iron, each word quenched with icy madness.
With the order given, the air around the command vehicle instantly froze.
GNA Commander Yarif's face suddenly drained of all color, his lips quivering: "Captain! This... this is defying the highest command! And... there are injured!"
His gaze swept over the makeshift positions laid out on the sandy ground.
Groans drifted weakly through the cold air, over three hundred lightly to heavily injured n curled up on the cold sand like discarded old sacks.
The sll of blood, sweat, and despair was thick and suffocating.
"Insubordination?!"
Don spun around quickly, like a pouncing leopard, grabbing Yarif's collar, the massive strength nearly lifting him off the ground.
The two were suddenly very close, Yarif could clearly see the bloodshot madness in Don's eyes and sll the hot, tallic breath he exhaled.
"Listen, Yarif!"
Don's voice was low but sharp, cold as a snake spitting its tongue.
"In this sand, right now, I am the one in charge! Your n, whether they live or die, depends on whether you listen!"
The cold muzzle was suddenly pressed against Yarif's temple.
Don's sidearm muzzle was hard and unyielding.
Yarif's body instantly froze, his blood seemingly solidifying.
He looked into Don's eyes, completely consud by hatred, devoid of any rationality, then glanced laboriously at his desperate subordinates and the wounded around him.
Abandoning them in this deadly desert was akin to a death sentence.
Imnse humiliation tore at his heart.
"Cap... Captain..."
Yarif's voice was as dry as gravel rubbing together.
"Order!"
Don's index finger was on the trigger guard, the burning craziness flaring in his eyes.
"Abandon all immobile wounded! Take only those who can wield a gun! Imdiately! At once! Or I won't mind dealing with a disobedient waste first!"
The chilling aura of death instantly seized Yarif.
He had no doubt this completely deranged SBS captain would pull the trigger in the next second.
He could only lick his dry lips: "...Yes, Captain. Execute... the order."
"Very good!"
Don released his grip, pushing Yarif aside roughly, the muzzle still up, "You've got ten minutes! In ten minutes, I want to see everyone who can fight on those vehicles! Delay a second, suffer the consequences!"
He no longer looked at Yarif, turning to his communications officer, shouting harshly: "Execute silence! Cut active emission! All vehicles, target Kurtan, prepare sequence!"
The roar of engines once again tore through the dawn silence, this ti carrying a cruel finality of abandoning comrades.
The soldiers who could move climbed swiftly into the vehicles in silence, their gazes complex, avoiding the desperate outstretched hands and pleading eyes on the sand below.
Armored cars and ard pickups rumbled over the sand, leaving deep tire marks, charging northwards into the retreating darkness without looking back.
From the abandoned wounded camp, several shrill cries and curses exploded into the deathly silence, only to be quickly swallowed by the relentless sandstorm.
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