Chief Yarif led his elite guard under the cover of pervasive smoke and sand, stealthily approaching the reverse slope of the dune where Captain Don's command vehicle was stationed, like several Poison Snakes.
Near the command vehicle, there were only a few SBS mbers standing guard.
Don himself was pacing anxiously beside the command vehicle, occasionally lifting binoculars to view the fierce firefight on the high rocky terrain ahead, neurotically cursing.
"Captain! Yarif is coming!"
An SBS guard voiced a reminder.
Don abruptly put down the binoculars, his bloodshot eyes looking at the rapidly approaching pickup truck.
Yarif was the first to jump out of the vehicle, his face striving to maintain his usual calm, yet the deep-seated tension and resolve in his eyes were like needles piercing Don's nerves.
Don's heart sank heavily.
The gambler's intuition told him this was not a report on the battle situation.
"Yarif?"
Don's voice was wary as his hand subconsciously moved to the holster of his L9A1 pistol at his waist.
Yarif quickly walked up to Don and stopped a few steps away.
He did not salute, his voice deliberately calm yet carrying an indisputable formulaic tone: "Captain Don. According to direct orders from General Sai Fu of the Tripoli Military Committee, and clear instructions from London, the 'Operation Slit Throat' has been officially suspended. Given your defiance of orders, acting willfully, causing significant losses to the troops, your battlefield command is hereby officially revoked. Please surrender your weapon and cooperate with the investigation."
Instantly, the air solidified.
The muscles in Don's face spasd violently, as if he had long expected this mont.
His face contorted into an extre mix of violence and incredulity.
He stared at Yarif fervently, then glanced at the guards behind Yarif, who had their hands on their weapons, eyes unfriendly.
"Revoke... my command?"
Don's voice was as low as a beast's roar, each word squeezed out as if from Hell, "You? Yarif? That fool Sai Fu? And those bureaucrats in London sipping coffee in their offices?"
Yarif's hand also moved to the grip of his gun, his tone becoming forceful: "This is an order! Captain! Don't force ..."
"Order?!"
Don erupted suddenly, his all-day pent-up frustration, anger, fear, and madness completely bursting at this mont, turning into a will to destroy everything.
He moved like an enraged lion, unbelievably fast!
Drawing the gun, chambering a round, raising the arm, aiming!
A seamless flow!
The cold muzzle of the L9A1 pistol instantly locked onto Yarif's eyebrows!
"Screw your order!"
Don's roar was like a thunderclap!
"Bang—!"
The crisp gunshot was exceptionally piercing in the relatively quiet command post area.
Yarif's expression montarily froze, transforming from a firm order-giver to one of extre shock and bewildernt.
A tiny blood hole appeared on his forehead, his occipital bone suddenly bursting open into a fist-sized cavity, red and white fluid and bone shards sprayed forth, splashing onto the face of the guards behind him.
His body swayed, falling straight back, heavily onto the scorching yellow sand, his eyes still wide open, blankly staring at the blinding sun above the desert.
"Chief!"
Yarif's guard soldiers were stunned by the sudden bloody event, subconsciously shouting.
"Take action!"
Almost imdiately after the gunshot, the SBS mber who had been alert next to Don shouted sharply!
The mbers were exceptional, their reactions as swift as lightning, their SA-80 assault rifles instantly spewing fire!
Dadadadada—
Bullets accurately swept towards the nearest guard soldiers!
The gunshots ignited the powder keg!
"Protect the Captain!"
The other SBS mbers also reacted instantly! They were true elites, with mutual understanding and loyalty imprinted in their bones towards their direct commander.
Several assault rifles fired simultaneously!
Precise, deadly, rciless!
Pupupup!
"Ah—!"
The unprepared guard soldiers lanted like cut wheat, falling instantly four or five.
So had their chests pierced, others had their necks ripped open, agonizing screams echoed.
The remaining guards then woke as if from a dream, frantically seeking cover and returning fire!
"Take them down!"
Don, like a fiend returned from Hell, drenched in Yarif's hot blood and brain matter, looked grim and frightening. He shot at the guard soldiers intensely while roaring fiercely.
The L9A1 pistol continuously bucked in his hand, cartridges flying.
A brief, intensely bloody close-quarters shootout erupted instantly!
Bullets crazily traversed between vehicles, hitting the doors, the hood producing dense explosive sounds.
Smoke and the sll of blood spread quickly!
The SBS mbers, with their superior reaction speed and precise shooting, initially had an absolute advantage in the surprise attack.
But outnumbered, the guards soon steadied themselves and began a frenzied counterattack.
An SBS mber trying to maneuver was hit by several crossing bullets, grunting and falling to the ground.
```
"Jimmy!"
The SBS team mber next to him roared with anger, pouring a burst of bullets into the Guard soldier who fired, shaking him like a rag.
The gunfire lasted less than ten seconds, yet felt as long as a century.
When the last Guard soldier attempting to jump on the pickup and flee was precisely shot dead by the SBS team mber, rolling off the truck, the entire command post area plunged into a deathly silence.
Only the low rumble of vehicle engines and the distant battlefield's persistent gunfire served as the backdrop.
On the ground lay more than a dozen corpses in disarray.
Yarif and his inner circle of Guards were virtually wiped out, without exception.
The cost was one SBS team mber sacrificed, another wounded with a bullet in the arm, blood flowing incessantly.
Captain Don's combat uniform gained several new bullet hole scratches, yet he himself was miraculously unscathed.
Don panted heavily, his chest heaving irregularly. He glanced at Yarif lying in a pool of blood, not a hint of pity in his eyes, only icy killing intent and a twisted satisfaction.
He strode to the command vehicle, tore the headset off the radioman's head, and spoke into the vehicle's radio public channel, hoarse but icy, carrying undeniable authority and bloody prestige:
"All units! This is Captain Don Rodriguez! Yarif attempted a coup and was executed on the spot by ! I am now directly taking over command of all forces! I order: stop all chaos! Concentrate all firepower! All forces! Target—enemy's second defense line! Launch a full-scale attack! At all costs! Crush them!"
The command spread through the radio waves to every corner of the GNA ard assault forces.
Yet, the response was an unsettling silence. Aside from the current's crackling sound from the radio and the distant gunfire, there was no response from any soldiers in the public channel.
On the battlefield, the GNA soldiers originally being driven by officers and sergeants to launch another charge heard that terrifyingly clear gunshot from the command post, followed by that brief yet intense firefight.
Then, there was Don's blood-soaked order.
Chief Yarif...
Killed by Captain Don himself?
Did the SBS wipe out Yarif's Guard?
And now they want us to continue charging forward to our deaths?
Fear spread like a plague in the GNA soldiers' hearts, stunned by the heavy casualties and blood-soaked infighting.
The morale, with Yarif's fall, had collapsed like a balloon punctured.
So soldiers stopped in their tracks, looked dumbfoundedly towards the command vehicle, then at the "Razorback" rock area swallowing lives like a monster's jaws ahead.
Others quietly moved their feet backward, eyes flickering, searching for any path to escape the battlefield.
So even directly dropped their heavy weapons and turned to run toward the barren desert at the rear.
With one leading, soon followed a second, a third...
Domino effect manifested.
On the battle line, officers' shouts seed so feeble.
Soon, even so officers joined the fleeing crowd.
The overwhelming wave of total offensive envisioned by Don did not materialize.
Only scattered, unorganized gunfire continued, with more soldiers choosing silence, retreating, or just lying down, passively avoiding battle.
Song Heping had just thrown aside the empty PKM ammo box, the scorching barrel exuding blue smoke.
He cautiously poked his head out from behind the rock cover, his eyes bloodshot and filled with dust, staring fixedly downwards.
Strange...
The anticipated enemy full-scale, hysterical offensive did not arrive.
The bullets that had been pouring down like a rainstorm just monts ago dwindled to sparse fire. The GNA soldiers' figures at the entrance of Sand Valley significantly reduced.
Those previously relying on vehicle wrecks and dunes firing desperately were mostly silent now.
Only that damned "Jackal" armored vehicle continued firing its machine gun at the rocks, but without infantry cooperation, its threat was greatly diminished.
In the distance, he even saw so GNA soldiers chaotically running backwards, like headless flies.
"Boss! Sothing's wrong!"
"Wrench's" voice ca through the personal communicator, filled with deep confusion and a hint of barely noticeable excitent.
"Down below... down below seems chaotic! The attack has completely stopped! I see people fleeing!"
The Haftar soldiers around Song Heping also sensed the anomaly.
They cautiously raised their heads from cover, faces mixed with blood stains, sweat, and incredulous expressions.
"By Allah... they're... they're not fighting anymore?"
"They're running? Those bastards are running?"
"What's going on?"
A sense of bewildernt after surviving and imnse doubt suddenly replaced the suffocating pressure of death among the remnants at the second defense line.
Gunfire beca sporadic, only the wind whined through the rock crevices and the monotonous machine gun sound from the distant armored vehicle continued.
Song Heping frowned deeply, his sharp gaze scanning the chaotic battlefield below.
His mind raced, connecting previous intelligence and the bizarre scene before him, forming an incredible hypothesis.
Infighting?
Power struggle?
Or...
Collapse?
He slowly raised his hand towards the communicator, his voice low yet clear, spreading across the entire second defense line: "Everyone, stay alert! Conserve ammo! Monitor enemy movents! Without my order, do not engage!"
He lay back down again, the cold rock pressing against his cheek.
Below, the GNA troops collapsed like loose sand under the blazing sun and the fear of death.
The Wind Erosion Rock Area at Razorback stood silent, though the pungent sll of blood seed sowhat dispersed by the wind.
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