"Tariq——!!!"
After the explosion, Samir, who was almost half-buried by sand and soil behind the cover, roared in rage.
The scene was too horrific.
Everyone was shocked.
Many couldn't co to their senses for a long ti.
The strange silence lasted for more than ten seconds.
Then, soone shouted—
"For Tariq! For the brothers! Kill all these beasts! Leave no one alive!!!"
Subsequently, the "Liberation Forces" militia, who had been sowhat paralyzed by the madness of the "Martyrs," suddenly seed to be doused with a pot of chicken blood.
"Kill——!!!"
"For our brothers! Revenge!"
"Allah is great! Fight them to the end!!"
All the mbers of the Suicide Squad, whether battle-hardened veterans or newly added recruits, had their eyes completely bloodshot at this mont.
They, like a pride of thoroughly enraged and crazed lions, raised their scorching weapons and let out a tsunami-like roar towards the confused enemies below.
No one felt fear anymore.
The thought of running away that flashed through their minds was long shattered by the explosion just now.
Run?
That's impossible!
Today, it's either us dying, or those 1515 extremists dying!
We will not just determine victory, but also life and death!
Revenge bullets poured down on the remaining "Martyrs" like raindrops!
The PKM's ammo belt jumped and extended madly once again, the hot shell casings clinking as they piled at their feet.
After a brief respite, the DShK heavy machine gun, sowhat cooled down, emitted a dull and deadly roar, cutting several "Martyrs" trying to continue their charge in half.
The terrain now beca the strongest ally of the Suicide Squad.
They stood at a higher vantage point, with a broad view, shooting without any blind spots.
And the dry riverbed below had beco a true hell on earth—the soft sand, soaked by countless explosions and blood, beca muddy, the viscous blood and slippery innards and severed limbs covered the ground, causing the surviving "Martyrs" to stumble, deeply mired, like prey sinking in quicksand, their movents as slow as live targets.
Faced with the rciless steel storm pouring from above, their fanatical faith and courage to die beca desperate struggles and aningless wails in the face of absolute physical destruction.
The battle was evolving into an efficient and brutal one-sided massacre!
In the past half year, it wasn't because the 1515 Ard had exceptional tactical skills that they were invincible in the northwest of Illigo, but due to their fearless fighting style and the nearly psychotic slaughter of captives and dissenters after occupying towns, which they recorded on videos and spread online to intimidate their enemies.
It must be said, this was very effective.
In Song Heping's view, the "Martyrs" tactic of charging with a bomb strapped and detonating once close wasn't even considered a tactic, even viewed as foolish.
Yet, it must be acknowledged that 1515 used this simple and extre thod to intimidate batches of Iliko Governnt Army and militias, making them invincible in the northwest.
However, it seed that the leaders of Organization 1515 forgot one fact—
Blood and brutality can nurture fear, but they can also ignite the flas of revenge.
This is a double-edged sword.
At this very mont, the battlefield saw a subtle change—
The fire of revenge and the absolute advantage of the terrain transford the surviving mbers of the Suicide Squad into the coldest and most efficient killing machines.
The gun barrels turned red, steaming, were cooled with water and urine, and continued to fire after cooling.
The cries of killing, the sounds of gunfire and cannon, the explosions of grenades, and the desperate wails of enemies in their dying monts, mixed with the pungent smoke and the suffocating stench of blood, echoed and roared through the narrow valley like a symphony of death.
Song Heping, seeing this shocking scene from a distance, couldn't help but feel deeply moved.
It is said that one side of a person is an Angel, and the other a Devil. When specific stimuli trigger those devilish traits within human blood, the dormant nature for slaughter rises to the surface.
Now, the "Liberation Forces" militia had collectively gone mad, turning into slaughtering devils.
When the last explosion of a grenade faded dully in the valley, when the final storm of revenge bullets finished pouring, the gunfire gradually dwindled, eventually fading into deathly silence.
In the riverbed, the five hundred "Martyrs" who charged madly, were completely annihilated, none survived.
The places they fell ford a massive, nauseating swamp of death, composed of charred residual limbs, shattered internal organs, and blood-soaked dark red sand.
The intense sll of blood, almost solidified, and the foul stench of burnt organs completely overwheld the scent of gunpowder, perating every inch of air, invading every survivor's nostrils and unsettling their stomachs.
The surviving mbers of the Suicide Squad stood at the edge of the northern shore fortifications, clutching the scorching hot barrels of their guns, their chests heaving violently like a worn-out bellows.
Many stared blankly at the hellish scene below, fingers twitching and trembling uncontrollably from the prolonged and intense shooting.
Sweat, blood, and tears mixed with dirt, flowing freely down their exhausted faces. They had won, once again repelling the enemy's most frenzied assault.
However, this taste of victory was rougher than gravel, so heavy it was suffocating.
Three hundred militian of the Suicide Squad had two-thirds fallen in this battle...
Song Heping slowly lowered the equally scorching SVD, the stock pressed against his shoulder, with his desert camouflage soaked in sweat, sweat streams sliding down his cheeks like small rivers.
He took out binoculars covered with anti-glare netting and coldly scanned the desolate southern shore position across from them.
A few surviving 1515 officers were hiding behind cover, cautiously peering out to observe the northern shore that had claid the lives of five hundred "Holy Warriors."
Among them, a particularly conspicuous fat commander wearing a signature black headscarf was the most active, seemingly waving his arms, trying to regroup his forces.
Song Heping put down the binoculars, picked up the SVD sniper rifle again, and quickly aid at that nauseating black headscarf, steadying the crosshair right onto the panic-distorted fat face.
About over eight hundred ters distance.
No problem...
Song Heping steadied his breathing, calculated the trajectory correction, found his aim point, and gently squeezed the trigger.
"Bang!"
The crisp and solitary gunshot resonated startlingly amid the valley, where only the wind and the groans of the wounded could be heard.
The fat commander's head jerked back abruptly, a scarlet dot appearing instantly on his forehead, as a mist of blood mixed with bone fragnts and brain matter erupted from the back.
His corpulent body collapsed limply, as if the bones had been pulled out, disappearing behind the cover.
When the fat commander fell, the rest of those who seed to be leaders vanished behind the weathered rocks like frightened sand rats.
Song Heping glanced at his watch.
It had been a full two hours.
Two hours of hard fighting had pushed everyone's will to the brink of collapse.
The annihilation of those five hundred "Martyrs" might not be the end of the battle but perhaps the beginning of another seesaw fight.
"They're coming again!"
Indeed, before anyone could catch their breath, hundreds of 1515 terrorists reappeared in the valley.
Ihassan, after the initial anger and disbelief, quickly adjusted his strategy, refusing to concede defeat.
Three thousand of his n.
The other side seed to only have a few hundred...
Just a few hundred, yet they held him tightly here, unable to advance an inch.
Although Song Heping's na was known like thunder in the ears, Ihassan simply could not believe—
Isn't he just an Oriental?!
Aren't they all just heads and lives?!
I refuse to believe he can't be killed!
Anger had turned his eyes bloodshot.
"Attack! Organize an attack right now! Their line is about to collapse! Quickly, organize the Suicide Squad, charge up there! Kill them all!"
Rage renders one irrational.
Facing Song Heping, Ihassan's head seed like mush, unable to concoct any effective tactics.
All he could think of was having invested so many soldiers, if he couldn't take down Song Heping today, if he couldn't destroy these "Liberation Forces" militian, if he couldn't have their heads posted online, he'd face severe punishnt back ho—
The punishnt chanisms within the 1515 Ard Organization were equally harsh, and their thods were no less rciful towards dissenters and enemies, perhaps even crueler.
This was also how they maintained their ferocity.
Another wave of ard n was pushed forward under the threat of guns, surging towards the Dry Sand River like a tide.
This ti they didn't have the frenzied cluster charge of "Martyrs," but spread into a skirmish line, using any hiding spot the riverbed could provide, craters, piles of bodies, wreckage, advancing step by step, perating and applying pressure to the northern shore position.
Mortar shells began to fall rhythmically, their accuracy not high, but the continuous explosions and fragnts incessantly drained the defenders' energy and their already stretched-thin fortifications.
The militian not only had to keep an eye on the front to prevent the enemy from breaking through, but also constantly listen for the sound of mortar shells cutting through the air, diving for cover when they heard it, else the next one might land beside them.
The pressure on the defensive line increased sharply.
User Comments
0 comments from readers