The military orders were absolute!
The situation seed to be rapidly deteriorating.
Though the vast majority of soldiers were shocked and confused by the scene, the absolute authority Song Heping established through calm and wisdom during the bloody battle in the canyon was now showing its effects.
No one questioned it; the entire camp, like a slumbering giant beast suddenly awakened, instantly geared up and operated with astonishing efficiency.
The fire was quickly extinguished, tents were roughly taken down and packed away, supplies were sorted, and unnecessary ones were discarded directly.
The soldiers ran silently and swiftly, relayed orders, and organized equipnt.
anwhile, Ibrahim—a quiet but electronics-savvy Persian special forces soldier—ran over carrying a small tal case.
The dozen or so CIA agents had already been roughly stripped, exposed naked in the cold night wind, their skin instantly forming goosebumps, their hands bound behind them with restraint straps, mouths stuffed with filthy rags, only able to emit muffled groans, their eyes filled with shock, sha, and a hint of fear.
Soon, they were forcibly pinned to the ground like livestock.
"Scan them!"
Song Heping ordered Ibrahim: "Focus the scan around the spine, armpits, inner thighs, scalp, behind the ears, gums! Use maximum sensitivity! Look for any non-tal or tal subcutaneous implants! Quick!"
Ibrahim imdiately opened the tal case, took out a palm-sized device with a slender probe—a high-frequency signal scanner.
He adeptly powered it on, calibrated it, and the probe emitted a faint buzzing sound.
Accompanied by his assistant, he started scanning from the old man leading them, carefully sweeping the probe over every part of the captive's bodies like conducting a precise surgical operation, the waveform and data on the screen constantly fluctuating.
The cold probe gliding over their skin caused the captives to tremble violently and struggle even more, but they were held firmly by the militia.
"Beep beep beep—"
Suddenly, the scanner emitted a sharp buzzing noise below the hairline on the nape of a relatively young agent!
The screen displayed a faint but regular energy signal!
"Here!"
Ibrahim shouted.
Song Heping imdiately leaned in, pressing his fingers gently on the nape of the agent's neck.
Soon, his fingers touched a small hard object.
He released his hand, scrutinizing the area with the foreign object carefully.
Beneath the agent's skin was a faintly visible, rice-grain-sized, extrely fine protrusion.
"Here it is." Song Heping's voice was unfluctuating: "Dig it out!"
Ibrahim unhesitatingly drew a razor-sharp combat knife from his boot sheath, pinned the wildly thrashing head with one hand, and skillfully sliced open a small area of skin with the knife tip.
The entire procedure was quick, precise, and ruthless.
"Ah—"
A stifled wail rang out.
With a flick of the knife tip, Ibrahim extracted a blood-specked, slightly larger than a rice grain microchip, which fell into a prepared lead box, sealing it with a lid.
The buzzing sound abruptly stopped.
"Continue!"
Song Heping didn't even glance at the chip.
In the subsequent scan, similar implanted tracking chips were discovered in one person's armpit and another's gluteal muscle.
All of them were removed and isolated in the sa manner.
The entire process was filled with cold, efficient violence, carrying a chilling utilitarian hue.
"Report, all targets scanned, three active trackers discovered and removed."
Ibrahim closed the lead box, reporting to Song Heping, his tone calm as if having just completed a trivial task.
"Put on the clothes we prepared for them."
Song Heping pointed to the bundle of old robes on the ground.
"Then take them away."
The spies' original clothes and equipnt, including the activated beacon, were swiftly packed. Along with so discarded equipnt and a few broken tents, they were carelessly thrown onto several soon-to-be-abandoned campsite locations—they would beco part of the bait.
The team was already assembled.
All the campfires had been extinguished, leaving only faint starlight outlining silent and tense silhouettes.
"Boss, what on earth is going..."
Samir asked urgently, while making a final check of his rifle magazine.
Although he executed the orders, the shock and confusion in his heart had reached their peak.
"It's a decoy! It's also a signal for death!"
Song Heping spoke rapidly, his eyes flashing cold and sharp in the dim starlight: "They sent out a signal, and US Army warplanes or drones will soon arrive! Their precision-guided munitions will rain down on this signal source like a storm! We must leave the canyon imdiately! Their clothes and that beacon were ant to be our gravestone, but now, they are our stand-ins! Move quickly!"
He had planned everything in advance.
Once the scouts were captured, he would use them to send out false location signals, while executing a Golden Cicada Shell escape.
The clothes stripped from enemy corpses and the seized beacons were one of the tools he prepared for confusing the opponents and swapping places when necessary.
The team hesitated no more, like a dark torrent breaching a dam, or silent phantoms, they swiftly and orderly surged out of the canyon, sprinting wildly toward the northeastern border.
Song Heping stayed in the middle of the team, constantly urging in a low voice, calculating the ti, listening alertly for any unusual sounds in the night sky.
The team moved in silence, with only the sound of rapid breathing, slight clinks of equipnt, and shuffling footsteps reverberating among the rocks. Everyone pushed themselves to the limit, with the shadow of death pressing tangibly at their backs.
Just about five kiloters from the canyon, after rounding a massive rock face—
In the night sky, from an extrely high and distant place, ca a series of low and terrifying roars, rapidly approaching.
Several US F-15E "Strike Eagle" fighter-bombers, which had been waiting nearby airborne, locked onto Black Hawk Canyon according to the continuous beacon signal received, and unleashed deadly precision-guided munitions at the signal source area!
Swoosh—swoosh—swoosh—
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The deafening explosions instantly shattered the night's tranquility.
Enormous, orange-red fireballs violently rose into the sky at the location in the canyon where they had just camped and abandoned the decoy, painting half of the pitch-black sky red.
Almost everyone in the running team couldn't help but look back to see the valley which had been instantly devoured by a sea of fire, smoke, and death. Each person felt a chill of fear and dread rush from their spine to the top of their head.
Sweat instantly turned cold.
If they had left an hour later, they would have been reduced to ashes and scorched remains along with those decoys!
Samir looked at Song Heping not far away, his eyes filled with indescribable shock and absolute awe.
Once again, he felt acutely the terrifying intuition, cold calculation, and thorough understanding of the enemy's thods of this Eastern man, pulling them back from the brink of death yet another ti!
"Quick! Speed up! We must enter Persia before they react!"
Song Heping's low roar cut through the deafening echoes of the explosions and the howling wind, reaching everyone's ears clearly.
The team no longer looked back, exerting all their strength, even discarding more unnecessary burdens, and madly sprinted towards the vaguely visible border.
United States, Langley, CIA Headquarters.
Deputy Director Simon sat in his office, the LCD screen displaying the combat command system interface.
A few minutes ago, he received an initial text report from the forward command center: "Beacons are continuously active, airstrike mission accomplished, under assessnt."
He stared at the line of text, fingers unconsciously tapping the smooth mahogany desk, a mix of emotions within him.
The airstrike executed as planned, the target area was thoroughly covered, and from a technical standpoint, the mission was a success.
But what about Song Heping?
That cunning-as-a-fox, tough-as-a-wolf target, would he really be there?
Or is this another one of his taunts?
This uncertainty made him extrely uncomfortable.
After a mont of thought, he picked up the phone in front of him, preparing to contact Director Vincent, his mind already racing to organize his words—whether the final outco was a success or failure, he needed a perfect explanation to face his superior and the inquiries from the Pentagon.
anwhile, on the other side of the globe, the fires in Black Hawk Canyon were still burning, consuming the abandoned equipnt and those robes with tracking chips, the surging flas silently mocking this seemingly impeccably precise "surgical operation" launched from thousands of kiloters away.
But the real prey had already slipped away, blending into the broader darkness with a cold taunt.
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