While the internal undercurrents of the Revolutionary Guard surged fiercely, desperately rooting out the undercover network, the race for survival on the Persian Plateau had entered its most brutal phase.
Song Heping struggled to move toward the border line.
With every step, the intense pain from the wound on his calf made him grimace, cold sweat soaking his inner clothes, and the chill wind on the highland made his teeth chatter.
The "Grim Reaper" drone was like a maggot attached to his bone, relentlessly pursuing him.
Although Song Heping continually evaded using the complex terrain and rock shadows, preventing the opponent from achieving stable missile lock-on, the constant tracking by the high-precision electro-optical sensors ant he could never shake off the killer in the sky.
The Grim Reaper drone watched Song Heping with the patience of a cat that has found a mouse.
Currently, it was a matter of who could outlast whom.
After all, the drone's loiter ti was also limited.
However, it was becoming much more difficult to cross the border into Persia now.
Too hard…
A re ten kiloters, yet he didn't know how many kiloters he'd already run.
With every hundred ters progressed, he faced the risk of being blown to pieces.
Nonetheless, after firing three missiles that failed to kill Song Heping, the MQ-9 in the sky clearly changed tactics.
After all, it carried only four Hellfire missiles and one SDB small-diater bomb for this mission.
The SDB bomb had already been used in the first bombing.
Now, it only had the last Hellfire ground-to-ground missile under its belly.
The flight controller far away in Nevada no longer hastily launched the limited Hellfire missiles, instead compressing Song Heping's activity space by continuously circling low, eyes locked on the target, draining his stamina, and waiting for the ground forces to finish him off.
Song Heping slipped into a crevice between giant rocks, panting heavily, as his lungs burned with pain.
He quickly checked his leg wound; the simple bandage was soaked with blood and had beco filthy amid dust and intense movent.
Blood loss and cold made his stamina rapidly deplete, and his vision began to blur in waves. He licked his cracked, bleeding lips, struggling to stay conscious.
The extre training he had received in the 203rd Unit allowed him to maintain an unshakeable confidence in any harsh environnt, also explaining why his na beca a headache for many famous intelligence agencies—as he flipped the situation repeatedly like an undying cockroach.
However, he had roughly guessed the drone operator's intention.
The opponent now ant to keep him pinned, using the last Hellfire to trap him within Illiguo, waiting for their ground forces to arrive.
The most worrying was the ground forces.
Alone, if they sent a Special Forces unit, it would be a tough situation to handle…
But, as the ancestors said:
Whatever you fear most will co true.
At this mont, a low, rhythmic rumble, different from the drone's buzz, approached from the southeastern sky!
Song Heping's heart sank abruptly!
Struggling, he peeked his head out from the crevice, using binoculars to look.
On the horizon, two rapidly moving dark spots were enlarging quickly!
Their outlines beca increasingly clear—they were two desert-camouflaged, burly MH-60M "Black Hawk" special operations helicopters!
The bulging sensor turret below the nose, the rocket pods and machine gun mounts under the short wings on either side of the body, and the faintly visible, fully ard and ready soldiers at the cabin door, all clearly indicated their identity and purpose!
It was the US Army's 160th Special Operations Aviation Regint (SOAR)!
Having lived in Illiguo for a few years, Song Heping was well aware of these guys' origin.
The US Army has maintained a presence of Special Forces in Illiguo for years.
Now they are here!
And they were heading directly toward him!
Just as he had suspected.
In the air was the cold gaze of the "Grim Reaper" drone, on the ground was the deadly iron fist of "Delta" or "Rangers"!
A real damn dead end!
Song Heping's pupils instantly shrank to pinpoints.
A wave of icy coldness overwheld the pain in his body.
Leaning against the cold rock, his mind raced faster than ever before.
Despair?
No!
In his dictionary, a dead end was never the end, but the beginning of unleashing the last of his potential!
Run?
Dragging an injured leg across the highland open ground, facing the speed and firepower of helicopters, was courting death!
Fight?
Probably no chance of winning!
Hide?
This area was already being watched by the drone; once the helicopters arrived, there would be nowhere to hide under the thermal imaging!
The only chance of survival lay in chaos!
In stirring up the waters!
To make the hunters collide with each other!
His gaze swept around the terrain like radar.
A dry riverbed not far ahead bent sharply at almost ninety degrees, with weathered, steep, yellowish-brown rock walls on one side of the bend.
The other side was a relatively gentle expanse of large pebbles scattered across a gravel beach that extended further out to the Gobi bristling with sparse drought-tolerant shrubs, leading all the way to the faintly visible barbed wire and boundary markers symbolizing the border.
An incredibly bold, nearly insane plan instantly ford in his mind!
He rushed out of the rock crevice, no longer hiding deliberately, instead running wildly toward the large bend in the riverbed in as exposed a manner as possible!
Clear target—the gravel beach!
Overhead, the "Grim Reaper" drone imdiately caught this "desperately reckless" sprint.
In the Air Force base in Nevada, the drone operator's eyes widened instantly.
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