Amidst the flurry of activity in the camp, Samir quietly approached Song Heping and whispered, "Boss! With so many weapons and ammo! It will take at least two or three hours just to load them onto the trucks! But the enemy..."
He suddenly pointed towards the southwest, in the direction from which the 1515 forces were approaching, his face full of worry.
"They're only thirty kiloters away from us! There's not enough ti! We can't take everything with us!"
Song Heping's gaze swept over the ammunition boxes and brand-new weapons scattered throughout the camp, reflecting a cold tallic sheen in the sunlight. His eyes did not waver in the slightest.
He knew the urgency, and he knew these new recruits with new guns couldn't withstand the onslaught of three thousand Mad Dogs.
Point A, the predetermined border retreat point, was close to the Persian Border Defense Army, a red line that the 1515 forces dared not cross easily—a singular path to survival.
But first, they had to retreat alive.
"Ti is short, so we'll create ti!"
Song Heping's voice was decisive and resolute, without a hint of hesitation.
He suddenly turned around, his eyes sweeping over the faces of the militian, who were desperately loading the trucks, faces intertwined with fear and a desire to survive, finally settling on Samir's face: "Imdiately draw three hundred n capable of fighting! Form two reinforced companies!"
"Three hundred n?"
Samir was stunned, almost thinking he had misheard.
"Yes! Three hundred n!"
Song Heping's voice was clear, reaching every ear tuned in, "As the blocking force! Deploy fifteen kiloters south of the camp, in the Dry Sand River area! The sand there is loose, and the terrain is rugged, so the 1515's mobile units will definitely slow down there, which is most suitable for a blockade. Your task is not to annihilate, but to delay! At all costs, hold the main 1515 forces at Dry Sand River! Hold them back! Buy us ti for our main forces to retreat!"
"Dry Sand River... hold them back... three thousand n?!"
Samir inhaled sharply, his eyes widened.
Around them, several squad leaders also froze, looking at Song Heping in disbelief, as if they were watching a madman.
Three hundred n, to block an enemy with ten tis their number and equipped with heavy firepower?
Plus those Mad Dog-like 1515 soldiers?
There was no chance with a thousand before, let alone with three hundred...
This is suicide!
No, it's faster than suicide, it's rushing to die!
The air seed to freeze, with only the roar of engines piercing the silence.
"Boss Song! This... this is impossible!"
A bearded squad leader shouted out in disbelief, "Three hundred against three thousand? That's Dry Sand River, not an iron fortress! We'll be crushed like ants!"
"Right! This is simply sending us to die!"
Another militiaman cried out with a tear-choked voice.
Panic tried to coil back like a snake around the bit of order Song Heping had forcibly gathered.
A sense of despair spread once more.
"Silence, all of you!"
Song Heping's roar was like thunder from a clear sky, instantly quelling all doubts.
He looked around at the dubious, fear-filled faces.
"Impossible? Suicide?"
His lips curved into a cold arc, his gaze as sharp as a blade, sweeping over each militiaman.
"Then tell , what other choice do we have?! Should we all cluster here, waiting for those three thousand Mad Dogs to storm in with their 'Tank' and heavy artillery, grinding us into at paste and filming it for their next online beheading video?! Or should three hundred of us go up, trade lives for ti, and let the rest carry the weapons and ammo, retreat to the Persian border, survive! Survive for the future! Survive to avenge!"
His voice was like a sledgehamr, pounding on everyone's heart.
Either everyone dies, or so may die, but most can live!
This is war.
This is also the cruelest law of survival.
Only Song Heping laid it out in the coldest way before everyone.
"Now!"
Song Heping's voice suddenly rose, carrying an indisputable decision.
"I give you ten minutes! Within ten minutes, those who voluntarily join the blocking force, step forward! Led by and Naxin, we will head to the Dry Sand River area to block those 1515 Mad Dogs, but if there's not enough people after ten minutes..."
His gaze turned to Naxin and the well-equipped, silent-as-steel squad behind him, the implication clear.
"Naxin's squad and I will retreat on our own. You 'Liberation Forces'... fend for yourselves!"
He raised his index finger and pointed forcefully at everyone.
"Rember, this isn't my war, it's yours! Yours! Understand?!"
Dead silence.
Dead silence once more.
Heavier dead silence than before the gunfire.
The scorching sun rcilessly scorched the earth, sweat dripped from everyone's chin onto the burning sand, instantly evaporating, making a faint "sizzling" sound.
Ti seed to stretch, with every second feeling like an agonizing century.
Three hundred to face the iron hooves of three thousand Mad Dogs?
The estimated death probability is 100%!
Who is willing?
Fear gripped the heart again.
Many instinctively avoided Song Heping's eagle-sharp gaze, lowered their heads, and looked at their dust-covered boots.
The cowardice that had been forcibly suppressed just minutes ago was now rearing its head once more.
The air was as solid as lead, pressing down on everyone and stifling their breaths.
Just when the suffocating silence seed about to crush everyone, a figure suddenly stepped forward decisively!
The footsteps were unusually clear in the deathly stillness.
It was Samir!
The hesitation was gone from his face, replaced by a determination that was almost tragic, as if he had burned his boats.
He walked up to Song Heping, raised his hand, gave a crisp military salute, and in a hoarse yet resolute voice declared, "Boss! Samir requests to join the assault unit! I'm staying! Even if Dry Sand River becos my grave, I will tear a piece off them!"
His voice wasn't loud, yet it pierced through the solid air like an electric current.
Imdiately following, an unexpected figure ca stumbling forward!
Song Heping stared and surprise instantly washed over his face.
It was that tribal leader who had been so scared he lost control, collapsing in a heap!
The man's face was still streaked with tears and dirt, and the wet stain at the crotch of his pants was glaring in the sunlight, but his eyes were bloodshot and burned with a madness that cos from being pushed to the brink!
Sohow, he had picked up an old AK, using its butt to support his trembling body as he shouted hoarsely, "! I'm going too! Shafar Village...I saw them shell it with my own eyes...my wife...my children...all gone! Blown to pieces!"
His voice was contorted by the extre pain and hatred, carrying a blood-crying huskiness.
"Run? Run to where? This 1515 scum...they won't spare anyone! Death awaits everywhere! Better to fight them! At Dry Sand River! Kill one to break even, kill two to make a profit! Allah is above!"
This mournful roar instantly ignited a bloodlust and hatred buried deep within the crowd, montarily hidden by fear!
Everyone present carried blood debts on their shoulders.
Be it family...
Be it clansn...
Be it friends...
Be it comrades...
"Yes! Fight them!"
"The blood feud of Shafar Village is not yet avenged!"
"Count in! My parents are still in the village behind us!"
"Damn it! We're going to die anyway! Might as well bite a piece out of them!"
"Fight! Allahu Akbar!"
Roars of anger echoed from all around.
Starting as scattered voices, quickly gathering into a desperate torrent.
Heads that had just been bowed in fear were abruptly lifted, no longer clouded with despair, but burning with a tragic, mutual-destruction fla.
The humiliation ignited by Song Heping's angry scolding, the sense of responsibility ignited by Samir's lead, the hatred ignited by the blood-and-tears accusation from the tribal leader, and the extre anger transford from deep-seated fear of the 1515 militia—these emotions erupted like volcanic magma!
One, two, ten, dozens…
More and more militia started brandishing their weapons, standing out with loud cries.
Their eyes were especially fierce, like a pack of wolves cornered on a cliff, prepared to drag the hunter down with them!
The atmosphere in the whole camp, within just a few dozen seconds, shifted from deathly despair to a fervent, almost fanatical, tragic determination to face death!
The air was no longer filled with pure fear but thick with the stench of blood and a burning battle spirit!
The most surprised was Naxin.
Bear in mind, Persia and Illiguo were mortal enemies, having fought an eight-year war.
Ever since the US Army occupied Illiguo, the Persians had looked down upon the Illigos, considering them Arican dogs.
After 1515's rise, taking control of a vast area in the northwest of Illiguo, the Persians despised them even more.
Yet what Naxin witnessed made him see the Illigos in a new light.
The Illigos weren't born sheep, they just hadn't followed a strong tiger.
And that tiger was the person standing next to him, Song Heping.
This oriental man possessed a strange charisma, always able to make people see the light of victory in desperate situations and believe that they could achieve final victory.
Perhaps this is innate leadership.
Song Heping stood atop an ammo crate, watching the boiling scene before him, gazing into those eyes afla with the determination to die.
He knew that this 300-strong assault unit would be the only hope for this hasty retreating force.
He took a deep breath of the scorching, smoky air and shouted sharply, "Good! You're n with steel! Samir, organize the team imdiately and set off with , bring all the heavy firepower we can! RPGs! Antitank missiles! 107mm rocket launchers! Nail them there! Delay them! Buy every minute and second for our retreat!"
"Yes, Boss!"
Samir hoarsely accepted the command, abruptly turning to dash towards those militia willing to die.
"First Company! Second Company! Gather here with imdiately, collect your weapons, get in the vehicles! Target—Dry Sand River!"
Volunteers roared as they surged towards the heavy weapons depot like a broken dam.
The heavy RPG-7s hoisted onto shoulders, antitank missile launchers lifted by several onto modified pickups, 107mm rocket launcher tubes glinting cold in the sunlight.
Though their actions still carried chaos, their eyes were fiercely determined and focused.
They knew they were headed for hell, but at this mont, it seed they feared death no more.
Ten minutes later, several trucks and pickups loaded with "Liberation Forces" militia willing to die, under Song Heping's leadership, moved southward like arrows leaving the bowstring without any hesitation.
A bloody battle with Blue Star's most frightening 1515 extremists was about to unfold.
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