The last remnants of the sunset painted the thoroughly ravaged land on the north bank of the Dry Sand River.
Song Heping took a deep breath of the scorching, filthy air and couldn't help but cough violently a few tis.
Glancing around at the group of militia who, like him, had escaped from the jaws of death, he calmly issued orders: "Take a headcount, gather all usable ammunition, water, and food. Treat the severely wounded first. Naxin, contact the rendezvous point, we need to evacuate imdiately."
His orders pulled everyone back to reality from their dazed state.
The instinct to survive drove them to start moving chanically.
They moved slowly, staggering, each bend as if it took all their strength. They silently removed unused magazines from their fallen comrades, picked up scattered weapons, found a few nearly empty canteens and so crushed rations.
The entire process was terrifyingly silent, except for the heavy breathing and the faint sounds of objects clashing.
The rescue vehicles only bumped along the rugged and concealed paths after night had fully fallen.
Seeing the fifty remaining on the battlefield and the riverbed almost filled with bodies, the arriving Liberation Front soldiers were speechless for a long ti, their faces showing indescribable shock.
No one asked what exactly happened here.
Because the corpses on the ground and the bloody air explained everything.
They silently and swiftly helped the injured Suicide Squad mbers onto the vehicles.
Then they loaded their comrades' bodies onto the trucks, started the engines, and headed north.
The convoy moved without lights, trudging in the pitch-black night toward the northeastern border mountains.
In the truck, occasional coughs, and groans of pain gradually broke the previous deadly silence.
So began to sob softly for their dead companions and for the lives they narrowly retained.
More leaned against the walls, either falling into a deep sleep amidst the violent jolts or lapsing into unconsciousness, their faces still contorted with the fright and ferocity of battle.
Song Heping rested against the backseat of the cab, his eyelids heavy as lead, but he stubbornly resisted sleeping until the vehicles entered the A point temporary camp deep in the mountainous border area between Persia and Illiguo.
This camp was larger and more concealed than the previous one, evidently funded by Avanti in advance for potential evacuees.
It had relatively complete tents, dical facilities, an ammunition depot, and water purification equipnt.
As the convoy drove in, the 700 mbers of the Liberation Front remaining in the camp gathered around, and seeing only fifty disembark, all wounded and bloodied, the originally ready celebratory atmosphere froze instantly, turning into a heavy silence and oppressive grief.
After getting off, Song Heping also felt dizzy and light-headed.
He refused the suggestion to go to the dical tent imdiately, insisting on seeing the fifty Suicide Squad mbers being properly placed first.
Not until the last wounded was carried away did he give a few simple instructions to the camp leader approaching him and then dragged what felt like soone else's body to his assigned simple single-person tent.
The tent contained only a camp bed, a table made from an ammunition box, and a bucket. Song Heping didn't even have the strength to remove the combat uniform, long since caked with blood, sweat, and dirt; he directly dragged a plastic bucket of clean water over and splashed his face with the cold water.
The cold water stimulation made him realize the countless tiny wounds on his cheeks and arms burned with pain.
He quickly wiped the dried blood from his body with a damp cloth, then collapsed heavily onto the camp bed like a felled tree.
Almost the instant his body hit the bed, endless darkness and exhaustion wholly consud his consciousness.
He slept like the dead, dreamless, with no sense of ti, only the deepest, body-restoring slumber.
After an unknown ti, a shrill and persistent satellite phone ring forcefully dragged him back from the void.
Song Heping abruptly opened his eyes to find the tent dark, and everything outside quiet, indicating it was deep into the night.
Intense headache and body-wide muscle and bone pain surged like a tide, making him involuntarily groan softly.
He groped for the satellite phone, which displayed Henry's number on the screen.
"Hello..."
Rubbing his temples, he pressed the call button.
"Boss! You're actually alive! God, after we lost contact this afternoon, I thought you..."
Henry's voice was filled with disbelieving excitent.
"The news from the north bank of the Dry Sand River has spread. Although chaotic, everyone knows that 1515 suffered a crushing defeat there, losing at least two thousand n! How are you guys?"
"Fifty left."
Song Heping concisely answered, not wanting to discuss the losses further.
There was silence on the other end of the line, evidently shocked by this number.
"It's truly... an unimaginable loss. However, there's significant good news now! The Aricans have intervened! Just hours ago, US military aircraft took off from bases in the Gulf to launch airstrikes on the 1515 ard forces' camps, convoys, and command points near Tikrit! The bombing continues!"
Song Heping's sleepiness vanished instantly: "Is the information confird?"
"Absolutely confird! Both the Pentagon and the White House have released brief statents, and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization has also responded, announcing necessary military actions against the 'Levant Nation's' terrorist forces! Your prediction ca true! They've really intervened!"
Henry spoke quickly, "The news should already be out, you better see it yourself!"
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