Kuwait, Ali Saleem Air Force Base, Ground Control Station.
"Strike complete."
The lead operator's voice was emotionless, as if reporting a successful simulation exercise.
"Grim Reaper 01, R9X confird hit on the designated target vehicle."
"Grim Reaper 02 confird, supplental strike complete. The target convoy has completely lost mobility."
The assistant operator added.
On the giant screen, the ambush point on the outskirts of Eagle's Beak Gorge was clearly visible.
The wreckage of three desert-camouflaged Toyota Land Cruisers was scattered over an area of less than a hundred ters, like toys smashed by a mischievous child.
The first vehicle rolled down the slope, resting on its side halfway down, its body twisted and smoking; the second vehicle was almost embedded in the roadside mountain rocks, the front half completely gone, leaving only the charred and deford rear fra; the third vehicle was torn apart by the explosion, parts scattered everywhere, flas licking the charred ground, with thick smoke rising, forming a blurry and hot area in the infrared imaging.
"Conduct a damage assessnt." The lead operator ordered.
"Yes."
The assistant operator expertly operated the sensor turret, directing the high-resolution optical and infrared lenses at the hellish scene below.
The images were magnified, frozen, recorded.
They needed a clear view of the wreckage of each vehicle, particularly the driver's compartnt area of the second vehicle— theoretically, the core target should have been shredded by the "blade storm" there.
However, all that was visible was twisted steel, burning flas, and indistinguishable debris.
There were no human traces, nothing recognizably indicating whether a specific target had been completely eliminated.
The heat, explosions, and twisting tal had utterly destroyed biological features.
"Damage assessnt complete."
The assistant operator reported, "All target vehicles destroyed, vehicles 2 and 3 show no signs of life remaining, vehicle 1 seems to still have faint heat signals but cannot be confird."
The lead operator paused for a mont, then reported into the communication channel: "Command center, this is Grim Reaper 01. The strike mission is complete, the target convoy has been destroyed. Damage assessnt of vehicle 1 shows life signs remaining, but it has rolled into a ravine and cannot be attacked again; vehicles 2 and 3 have been completely destroyed, with no signs of life. Repeat, unable to confirm if vehicle 1 is cleared. Requesting next instructions."
Langley, CIA Headquarters, Operations Command Center.
"Damn it! Damn this uncertainty!"
Vincent said with a dark expression: "Fortunately, vehicle 2 was destroyed..."
"Sir," an agent beside him calmly reminded, "damage assessnt of vehicle 1 shows life signs, but recognition is impossible. According to the protocol, especially on enemy soil, without ground personnel confirming the body, it's impossible to make a final death confirmation."
Vincent irritably waved his hand: "I know the protocol! But that's Persia! How can our people confirm it?! Are we supposed to have Seal Six airdrop into a hospital in Tehran to check the morgue?!"
He forced himself to calm down, pacing restlessly, then ca to an abrupt stop: "'Poison Needle'! Contact 'Poison Needle'! Imdiately!" His voice was commanding, undeniable, "Tell him the operation is complete, the convoy was destroyed on the outskirts of Eagle's Beak Gorge. Have him use all ans necessary to confirm Song Heping's fate! I need accurate information, alive see the person, dead see the body! Tell him to find out at all costs!"
The order was swiftly encrypted and sent to the heart of Persia.
Inside a tunnel near Eagle's Beak Gorge.
An oppressive silence enveloped the lone Toyota Land Cruiser in the middle of the tunnel.
The air inside the vehicle seed to solidify into lead, pressing heavily on Kafvan's chest.
The final desperate scream on the radio slithered into his ear like an icy poison snake.
His face was pale as a sheet.
Those were his comrades...
Brothers he spent every day with...
Just less than ten kiloters away, in that burning hell...
He could even imagine their final terror and helplessness.
Imnse grief and rage boiled like magma in his chest, burning, threatening to tear him apart.
He suddenly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Song Heping sitting in the passenger seat.
Song Heping remained absolutely calm.
The dull explosion from Hell seed to only confirm one of his judgnts.
He slowly withdrew the Glock still aid at the darkness at the end of the tunnel, but did not lower it, instead pressing it against the back of Kafvan's head.
The cold tal touch sent a shiver through Kafvan.
"Now."
Song Heping's voice was low: "Do you believe now, Kafvan? Or should I call you 'Mole'?"
"No! I'm not!"
Kafvan reacted like a cat with its tail stepped on, his voice shrill from agitation and fear, trying to turn his head to argue, but the cold muzzle held him fast.
"My loyalty to General Afanti is unquestionable! I am not the mole! Absolutely not!" His eyes were filled with humiliation and anger.
"If I were the mole, I would have..."
"Shut up." Song Heping interrupted, his voice low but with an undeniable authority, pushing the gun further forward.
"Loyalty? The Aricans knew the exact path of the convoy! Without a mole, do you think those iron birds in the sky guessed it?!"
Kafvan opened his mouth to retort, but felt a chill to his bones.
Song Heping's words struck like a cold awl, piercing through his facade of anger, revealing the bottomless fear and doubt beneath.
Yes, if there wasn't a mole, how could the Aricans know so much detail?!
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