The entire exhausted troop was like injected with adrenaline, rapidly and silently splitting into two groups.
One group, led by Disaster Star, supported the wounded and carried heavy supplies, continuing to stagger towards Kurtan, leaving clear yet slow tracks in the sand.
The other group, personally led by Song Heping, burst out with astonishing speed, the main force breaking away from the main route, rushing towards the depths of the southeastern sand sea!
A rolling yellow dragon of dust rose behind them.
Forty minutes later.
Division point.
Captain Don's command vehicle ca to a rapid stop, the kicked-up dust like a yellow curtain.
He jumped out of the vehicle, his bloodshot eyes scanning the sand like an eagle.
The SBS vanguard responsible for tracking was already crouching on the ground, carefully inspecting the footprints.
"Captain!"
The vanguard looked up, his voice carrying a professional calm.
"The tracks diverge here. The main team, larger in scale, tracks deep and chaotic, direction north, heading straight for Kurtan Oasis. The other team, smaller in scale, newer tracks, direction southeast."
Don strode over, squatted down, and picked up a pinch of trampled sand with his rough fingers.
He looked at the clear but slightly dragging tracks to the north and then at the obviously swifter, more forceful tracks to the southeast.
A sinister and self-congratulatory smile crept onto his lips.
"Hmph! A cheap trick!"
He stood up, dusted off his hands, his eyes gleaming with the pride of a hunter seeing through a trap.
"Trying to use these weak and sick as bait to lure to Kurtan? While you try to sneak out of the desert from the southeast? Song Heping! You think too little of , Don!"
He suddenly waved his hand, pointing southeast, his voice decisive and vengeful: "Chase! Full pursuit southeast! That's Song Heping's main force! Leave those Kurtan weaklings for Sayif's troops to clean up later! Yarif! Order the troops! Full speed! Southeast! Crush them for !"
"Yes, Captain!"
Yarif's voice carried a hint of numb obedience.
The engines roared again, the huge convoy changed direction, kicking up soaring dust, like a steel giant snake pouncing on prey, diving headlong into the seemingly endless sand sea to the southeast.
Don climbed back into the command vehicle, looking at the rolling sand dunes to the southeast, as if he could already see Song Heping's head, personally twisted off by him.
He did not know, he was leading his troops straight into a death trap set by Song Heping, nad "Razorback".
"Razorback" Wind Erosion Rock Area.
Ti seed stretched by the desert sun and tense nerves, falling into stagnation.
Song Heping crouched behind a massive, jaggedly weathered dark red sandstone at the forefront of the first line of defense.
The coarse surface of the rock pressed against his sweat-soaked camouflage uniform, bringing a false sense of coolness.
In his hand was a PKM general-purpose machine gun picked up from a GNA soldier's corpse.
The heavy gun barrel pressed into his shoulder socket, the cold tallic feel penetrating his thin clothing and onto his skin.
Nearby, several ammo boxes filled with 7.62×54mm R rounds were scattered.
His breathing was deliberately kept calm and long, each inhalation bringing the dry scent of dust and rock baked by the sun, sweat continuously rolling along his forehead and temples, stinging his eyes.
His sharp gaze, like the most precise radar, locked onto the empty sand valley ahead, distorted by heat waves—the enemy's impending death corridor.
Behind and beside him, fifty or so soldiers from Haftar's forces and special operations platoon machine gunners and precision shooters crouched silently like stones in the sand, lurking behind their crude yet deadly fortifications.
The atmosphere was palpably tense, suffocating, only interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional faint clinking of tal components resonating in the deathly peaceful rock area.
The sound of a wrench through the individual communication device rang in Song Heping's ear, carrying a slightly hoarse urgency: "Boss! Observation post! Southwest direction! Dust! Very large! Distance...five kiloters! It's a convoy! Nurous!"
It's coming!
Finally, they're coming!
His prediction about Don was not wrong!
Song Heping's gaze instantly sharpened like a blade, all distractions completely discarded, leaving only the purest killing intent and cold calculation.
He gently flexed his index finger on the trigger, sensing the tal's icy touch.
"Everyone alert!"
Song Heping's voice, steady and clear, transmitted through the communication device to the ears of every soldier on the first line of defense: "Target southwest! Convoy! Fire upon my gunshot signal once they enter the designated kill zone! Prioritize the lead vehicle! Shoot the engine! Let Mad Dog in, then shut the gate!"
"Understood!"
"Received!"
Low voices in response echoed in the communication channel, like rocks grinding.
Ti ticked away, each second feeling as long as a century.
In the distance, the yellow dust wall beca clearer, more massive, like a moving sandstorm in the desert.
The dull roar of engines grew from afar, like rolling thunder oppressing everyone's eardrums and nerves.
Finally! The lead armored pickup, equipped with heavy machine guns, like a runaway steed, rushed into the relatively flat open sand at the entrance of the rock area.
Followed by the second vehicle, the third...
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