The sound from another group ca through.
"Roger. Maintain comms silence, proceed as planned."
Eitan responded. He gestured, and the six-man Fang group instantly ford a standard alternating cover formation, using the huge tires of several bulldozers and a pile of oil barrels as temporary cover, silently crossing the death zone.
Their movents were swift, precise, and smooth, like a Swiss-made precision clock.
Behind them, another hidden battle line was advancing.
The "Poison Fang" group stealthily moved to the end of a dried drainage channel at the southwestern corner of the base like moles.
There, a rusted, sand-covered tal grille was the designated infiltration point.
Poison Fang 1 crouched down and pulled out hydraulic door cutters from the side of his tactical vest.
The cold alloy jaws silently embedded into the grille's thick iron bar gaps. His arm muscles bulged as the hydraulic device emitted a very low "hissing" sound.
The thick iron bars were silently cut like rotten wood. Another team mber quickly used a crowbar to pry open the deford and loosened grille, exposing the dark, rust and sludge reeking tunnel entrance below.
"Poison Fang 1, entering the B3 area drainage tunnel."
Poison Fang 1's voice echoed slightly in his throat mic, typical of the tunnel's acoustics. He crawled in first, the sewage instantly subrging his ankles, icy and bone-chilling.
He held a small thermal imaging device, its eerie blue screen scanning the winding tunnel ahead, confirming it was empty.
"No alerting heat sources. Tunnel condition matches satellite mapping, estimated arrival at specified location in 2 minutes 10 seconds."
"Understood. Stay alert."
Eitan's voice remained calm.
His Fang group had successfully bypassed the base's internal makeshift helipad, ahead was the low but solidly structured, square building marked as the core command center.
It sat like a silent fortress, crouched at the base's heart.
Two rcenaries wearing desert digital camouflage combat uniforms were idly leaning behind sandbag barricades piled outside the command center entrance.
One held a PKM general-purpose machine gun, the other had an AK rifle propped on the sandbags, the two were chatting inattentively in low Arabic, occasionally glancing across the empty square.
One of them lifted his wrist to look at his watch, muttering sothing, probably complaining about the shift change not being due yet.
They had no idea that death was simultaneously coming from two directions.
"Fang 4, left machine gunner. Fang 5, right rifleman."
Eitan's instructions landed in the throat mic like ice beads hitting the ground.
"Pfft! Pfft!"
Two overlapping, extrely faint gunshots.
The rcenary on the left holding the PKM had his chest bullet-proof plate suddenly caving inward, producing a muffled impact sound, the massive force knocked him backward, his breath caught in his throat.
His companion reacted extrely quickly, almost simultaneously reaching for the red button connected to the internal alarm on the sandbag barricade, terror exploded in his eyes.
Just as his fingertip was less than five centiters from the button—
"Pfft!"
The third shot rang out.
A 4.6x30mm subsonic ammunition (MP7SD) precisely drilled into his right temple, bursting through the other side with skull fragnts and brain matter splattering onto the brown sandbags.
His outstretched hand fell weakly, body slumping, right atop his chest-stricken, yet-to-die companion.
The latter futilely twitched a few tis, pupils quickly dilating.
"Outlying sentries cleared. Fang in position."
Fang 4's voice reported calmly.
Major Eitan moved like a shadow sweeping the ground, instantly reaching the heavily reinforced steel blast-proof door of the command center.
The door had no handle, only a keypad and optical scanner, coldly reflecting weak light.
He quickly scanned the seams of the door fra and wall, confirming no concealed vibration or laser alarms.
The demolitions expert silently slid to his side, swiftly extracting two pre-molded M112 directional breaching explosives from the modular hanging plate at the back of his tactical vest.
The adhesive patches firmly adhered to the lock and hinge areas.
He connected the hair-thin detonator wires to the handheld detonator, setting it to a 3-second delay.
"Breaching ready."
The demolitions expert's voice was extrely low.
The remaining five in the Fang group instantly stepped back half a pace, bodies pressed tight against the wall, forming perfect crossfire cover angles, MP7s and X95s poised toward any threat likely from beyond the door.
Silence reigned, only the wind has its lant.
"Fire in the hole."
The demolitions expert pressed down the detonation button with his thumb.
BOOM——!!!
A fierce explosion compressed within a very small range!
The ultra-high-speed tal jet (EFP) produced by the shaped charge sliced through the heavy steel core of the door lock chanism and hinges like a hot knife through butter!
The violent shockwave and shrapnel were constrained by the inert material layer behind the explosive, with most of the energy precisely pouring into the door!
The heavy blast door, with a teeth-grindingly tallic twist, suddenly caved inwards, tore apart, and then was blasted inward with imnse force! The scorching air current carried smoke, tal fragnts, and cent dust, erupting with the fury of a broken dam from the doorway!
"GO! GO! GO!"
Eitan's shout erupted before the echoes of the explosion had even begun to fade!
The smoke had not yet dispersed; he was the first to crouch down and burst in!
The Tavor X95 in his hands instantly fired two precise shots!
Poof, poof—
Poof, poof—
In the corridor inside the door, two guards, still dizzy from the explosion and just struggling to their feet, had blood sprayed from their helts almost simultaneously, collapsing again without a sound.
The mbers of the Fang squad flowed in like a black torrent, swiftly securing the doorway area imdiately after Eitan's entrance.
The pungent smoke, with beams of tactical flashlights, swept like swords crisscrossing the dust.
"Poison Fang, report status!"
Eitan, back against the corridor wall, gunpoint aid at the inner passage, asked urgently.
"Poison Fang in position! The main lower level ventilation duct junction is controlled! No resistance!"
Poison Fang 1's voice echoed up with the unique resonance of the ducts.
"Rendezvous as planned!"
Eitan ordered.
He gestured, and the Fang squad moved quickly toward the depths of the command center, alternating cover and advancing in a standard "onion peeling" tactical formation.
The doors on both sides of the corridor were closed, and the overhead ergency lights flickered a sinister red after the explosion.
The operation was proceeding eerily smoothly.
Along the way, they encountered no effective resistance, just a few sporadic alarms issuing monotonous calls from so room in the distance.
On satellite imagery, their green dots and the eliminated red dots converged steadily toward the core area.
Eitan's heartbeat, fueled by continuous adrenaline, was like a rapid war drum.
The target was within reach!
The operation images captured by helt caras were being transmitted in real-ti by satellite back to the Mossad "Pit" in Tel Aviv and the MI6 headquarters in London.
On the massive screens in the Mossad command hall, the green dots representing the "Alpha" squad moved quickly and decisively like a precise scalpel through the gray grid representing the base buildings, extinguishing the red dots representing enemy personnel one by one.
The dots finally gathered around the periter of a square building marked "Command Center" in the core area of the base.
Yager stood in front of the screens, hands clenched into fists, jaw muscles twitching occasionally with tension.
His gaze was fixed on those four green dots, eyes burning with the flas of revenge and the desire for victory.
The sense of failure from losing the "Hamr" squad was drowned out by the enormous thrill of the impending killer strike.
"Good! Well done, Eitan! Charge in! Capture him! Or kill him!"
He repeated these words in his mind, as if doing so would hasten the realization of his imagined scenario.
anwhile, in the MI6 command room in London, M stood alone a bit further back in the shadows, arms crossed, eyes also locked on the screen displaying the fluid, near-perfect infiltration route.
Her brow furrowed tighter, her face pale in the screen's cold glow. It was too smooth.
Suspiciously smooth...
Song Heping's base, a command hub that had just planned and successfully executed a deadly ambush against a world-class fighter jet, had defenses so weak against an incoming force that it was as if they were defenseless at both the outer and inner periters?
Were those easily cleared sentries, those patrol routes perhaps fatally flawed?
The whole process was without triggering any proper alarms, encountering no organized resistance...
This felt less like a raid and more like...
Entering a ticulously cleaned and waiting room for guests.
A chill crawled silently up her spine. Instinct was blaring warnings more intense than any logical analysis.
She sensed that faint, elusive scent unique to top-tier Hunters, cold and mocking, lurking beneath the perfect facade.
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