In the "Razorback" wind erosion rock area, ti lost its aning, leaving only the roar of guns and the breath of death.
Song Heping crouched behind the jagged dark red sandstone at the forefront of the first defensive line, his shoulder socket firmly against the cold stock of the captured PKM general-purpose machine gun.
Every burst felt like a heavy hamr striking his shoulder blade, making his teeth ache.
Sweat had soaked through his camouflage uniform, sticking unpleasantly to his skin, only to be baked dry by the hot sand, leaving a layer of salt frost. Beads of sweat rolled into the corners of his eyes, bringing a stinging pain, so he had to blink them away forcefully, his gaze never daring to leave the death corridor distorted by the heat waves ahead.
Although this wasn't his first ti commanding a large-scale operation.
But it was the most perilous one.
The disparity in force was so great that even Song Heping himself wasn't sure of success.
He too was gambling.
Sotis in life you have to gamble.
So are willing gamblers, others are forced.
Now Dorn was a red-eyed gambler, unwilling to leave the table.
Not far away, the roar of the 12.7mm heavy machine gun on the "Jackal" armored car was the main the of the battlefield, sullen and deadly, like the drums of hell.
Every long burst hamred the wind-ford rock cover as if struck by an invisible giant hamr.
Chunks of stone, sand, twisted tal fragnts mixed with indistinguishable crimson shreds shot skywards in the fire and smoke of explosions, then fell like hailstones.
These weathered rocks crumbled like dross under the warheads of large-caliber machine guns.
The situation was much worse than Song Heping estimated.
"Pfft!"
A muffled sound that made one's teeth ache erupted to Song Heping's left front.
A Haftar soldier firing from behind a waist-high rock instantly lost half his head, leaving only a blur of flesh and the stump of his neck.
Warm liquid and bone fragnts splattered across another soldier's head and face next to him.
The soldier froze montarily, letting out a beast-like roar from his throat, grabbed the fallen comrade's RPK light machine gun, and wildly fired in the direction of the armored vehicle, bullets futilely striking the armor of the "Jackal," sparking.
"Suppress! Suppress that iron tortoise!"
Song Heping shouted into the throat mic, his voice distorted by the blast sounds.
The PKM in his hands spat fire again, a stream of scorching bullets precisely splashing toward the observation slit and machine gun port of the "Jackal" turret, creating sparks and a tallic clatter, but not shaking the steel fortress one iota.
That damned "Jackal" was a stinger nailed to the throat of the first defensive line, covering the endless inflow of GNA infantry.
More GNA soldiers pushed forward, howling like hyenas scenting blood, under cover of the armored vehicle and burning wreckage.
Light and heavy machine gun fire points constantly set up behind dunes and rocks, bullets like swarming locusts striking the rock cover of the first line, making thudding sounds and sending debris flying.
Rifle rounds struck sandbags, kicking up plus of dust.
The air was thick with the pungent sll of smoke, blood, and burning flesh.
"Where's the RPG!?" Song Heping couldn't help but shout.
"All used up!"
A reply laced with despair rose through the gunfire.
"Hand grenades! Cover them!"
Song Heping ordered sharply, emptying a round of ammunition, the hot shell casings clanging and rolling at his feet, smoking with blue vapor.
Almost out of muscle mory, he deftly tugged out the spent belt, grabbed a heavy box of full belts, and snapped it into the gun's feed port.
Dozens of fragntation grenades and Soviet-made F1 defensive grenades were thrown with the last of the soldiers' strength from the first defensive line.
Black iron lumps arched briefly through the air, falling towards the massing GNA infantry preparing for another charge.
Boom boom boom boom——!
Explosive fire flared up amongst the crowd, the muffled thuds tearing at eardrums. Shockwaves swept with sand and deadly shrapnel, turning the area into a scene from Asura's realm in an instant.
Piercing screams, not quite human, rose sharply before being abruptly cut off. Severed limbs, shattered weapons, and charred bodies were flung high into the air, then crashed heavily down again.
Thick smoke, mixed with a red mist of blood, rolled and surged in the heat waves.
However, the brief break in the assault was imdiately filled by enemies surging in from behind.
The GNA ard forces' offensive was like waves battering against rocks, each wave stronger than the last.
The heavy machine guns on the armored vehicles roared death once more, their bullet storms plowing through a machine gun position relying on a massive wind-eroded pillar to Song Heping's right wing.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The 12.7mm caliber warheads tore through stacks of sandbags effortlessly, pierced the pillar used as cover, letting out muffled blasts.
Fragnts of stone and human bodies scattered in the firelight. The recently roaring PKM, along with its gunner and assistant, vanished instantly, leaving only a black smoke-emitting shallow crater and a nauseating dark red splatter.
"Ugh—!"
A cry of pain, impossible to suppress, echoed from behind Song Heping's side.
A young Haftar soldier clutched his leg, which a stray bullet had severed halfway, writhing and convulsing in a pool of blood.
Blood gushed like a fountain, quickly staining the sand beneath him crimson.
Casualties were mounting at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Every burst from the armored vehicle and each concentrated charge from enemy infantry was accompanied by the loss of life.
Behind the makeshift cover, figures continuously fell, convulsed, or lay utterly still. Moans, curses, and prayers to Allah sounded faint and desperate amid the deafening gunfire.
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