Ms. M's face was as pale as a sheet.
But there was nothing she could do about it.
The Hebrews were just that insidious and self-serving.
In their eyes, the interests of their own people were more important than anything.
Allies?
They were chips that could be traded.
At this point, it seed that the only hope lay with the air strike unit.
...
Northern Darfur, inside the command room of the Musician Defense base.
The air was as heavy as lead.
The heavy breathing of the White Bear ca through the encrypted radio, with the background of whistling wind: "Boss, we didn't see anyone at the 'Hyena' pass! The Mossad's 'Alpha' team didn't show up at all! They've disappeared! We sent out small drones to survey a ten-kiloter radius, but we can't find the Hebrew infiltration unit!"
Ferrari slamd a fist on the table: "Sothing's wrong! The Hebrews must have changed their infiltration route at the last minute, bypassing our planned ambush point! They could be right under our noses now! The Daishe Bird fighter jets are likely already on their way! We have to relocate imdiately! Any later and it will be too late!"
Everyone in the command room focused their eyes on Song Heping.
He stood in front of the large Northern Darfur sand table, his back to the crowd, his figure appearing exceptionally solitary under the dim ergency lights.
On the sand table, the "tombstone" area representing the SAS attack was pinned down with a red thumbtack, while the green light representing the base was like a candle in the wind amidst the vast desert.
"We can't move."
Song Heping's voice was low, yet forceful, carrying a level of calm that bordered on cruel.
"If I move, the whole situation will spiral into chaos."
"If you don't move, you'll die!"
Ferrari's voice changed pitch out of urgency.
Song Heping slowly turned around, eyes blazing with a desperate gamble: "Moving now would tell the British and the Mossad that we not only know their plan but see through their actions. They'd imdiately abort the plan and recall their jets, and Sayif's GNA forces would retreat into Libya. Our carefully laid trap would beco a complete joke. All efforts wasted!"
He walked over to the communications console, fingers pressing firmly on the call button, his voice transmitting a resolution that allowed for no doubt: "White Bear, Queen, abandon the preset ambush point, and rally to my position imdiately! Maintain stealth and mobility, and keep an eye out for Mossad team's traces along the way! Eliminate on sight! Repeat, eliminate on sight!"
"But the Daishe Bird planes..."
Ferrari's voice was tinged with despair.
Just then, an urgent, low-pitched buzz ca from a dedicated, unmarked satellite phone on the control console.
Song Heping snatched up the receiver.
"Old squad leader."
Qin Fei's voice carried an unprecedented urgency, with the background hum of high-speed electronic equipnt.
"I've just intercepted ergency airspace info! Four F-15Is from the Daishe Bird Air Force's 69th squadron, fully loaded with ordnance, entered the diterranean airspace fifteen minutes ago, currently heading south! Target straight towards Northern Darfur, expected ti to reach your area is less than ninety minutes! Repeat, less than ninety minutes!"
Qin Fei's intelligence struck like a final heavy blow.
The command room fell into silence, only the faint hum of equipnt and the heavy heartbeat of every person were audible.
Song Heping's hand holding the receiver trembled slightly at the pinky.
He slowly set down the phone, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.
Then his gaze swept over the glaring red thumbtack on the sand table, finally settling on the green light representing the base.
"Song..."
Ferrari's voice had a slight tremble.
Song Heping suddenly lifted his head, his eyes no longer held any hesitation, only a resolve to burn the ships behind him: "Initiate the 'Spider Web' plan, I'm going to gamble with them, if the Seagull can't intercept their fleet, then I deserve to die!"
---
Off the coast of Alexandria Port, the darkened diterranean.
The Seagull, disguised as an old cargo ship, quietly floated among the waves.
On the top floor of the bridge, Iron Wolf sat as steadfast as a rock in front of a multi-screen control console.
The glaring fluorescence illuminated the hideous scar on his face and his bloodshot yet sharp eyes like a hawk's.
On the central largest screen, it wasn't a sea chart, but an awe-inspiring dynamic image generated by "multi-satellite collaborative gaze technology."
The image was as clear as if an ultra-high-definition cara was set up in low Earth orbit, locking onto the runway and hangars of the Daishe Bird's Ramat David Air Force Base thousands of kiloters away.
In the image, the tistamp ticked: 04:32.
Four F-15I Thunder heavy fighters, laden with ordnance, had just finished afterburner climb under the guidance of runway lights, turning into four points of light with orange-red plus, like four unsheathed swords, stabbing hard into the northeast sky at dawn!
Iron Wolf's calloused fingers rapidly tapped on the control console, switching satellite views and spectrum analyses.
In one corner of the screen, precise latitude and longitude coordinates and flight vector data refreshed like a waterfall. He grabbed the cold-shelled satellite phone directly connected to the base, his voice hoarse yet cutting through all interference with its strength:
"Calling 'Musician,' Seagull visual confirmation! Four 'big birds' (F-15Is) out of the nest! Heading due east, north by 15 degrees! Altitude climbing! Estimated to enter the 'hunting ground' (Northern Darfur) in 25 minutes! Repeat, 'big birds' are out!"
The information ford encrypted radio waves, penetrating oceans and continents through satellite relay, instantly injecting into the isolated base deep within Northern Darfur.
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