The frigid night wind cut across the vast desert in northwest Illinois like knives, lifting tiny grains of sand that pelted painfully against their faces.
Song Heping reached up to tug at his tactical scarf, shaking off the dust that had settled on it.
According to an agreent with a tribal militia they had first contacted, Song Heping personally led the team, choosing this cold night to quietly cross the border.
With him were Samir, Naxin, and an efficient support team.
The core of the team consisted of the silent and reticent "Sand Fox" squad, Persian special forces soldiers, along with so of the most loyal and elite "Liberation Forces" militian.
They carried limited basic supplies and urgently needed dical materials as they once again set foot into this ominously dangerous desolate land.
In a leeward sand valley near the designated coordinates, the scene was both grim and sobering.
The dense crowd clumped together, far exceeding the agreed numbers, at a rough estimate no less than a thousand.
A few dilapidated pickup trucks, motorcycles, and cals dotted the scene, accentuating the ragtag appearance of the group.
Among the crowd were a large number of won, children, and the elderly, their clothes tattered, faces gaunt, each etched with the exhaustion of their long journey, bewildernt about the future, and an abiding, penetrating fear.
While there were also quite a few young n with old rifles and wary eyes, overall, it looked more like a massive refugee group struggling to survive under the shadow of death than an organized fighting force.
Samir took a deep breath of the icy air, stepped forward, and called out in Arabic. Soon, an elderly tribal chieftain was helped forward by his kin, walking shakily.
The old man's cracked hands clutched Samir's tightly, like holding onto a lifeline, tears streaming down his face before he even spoke: "Thank Allāh! Thank you... thank you for still being willing to take in us holess folk! 1515... those desecrators! They've killed many of us, burned our villages, taken our remaining cattle and grain, violated our won... we simply can't survive anymore... although... although we know you are backed by the Persians, and we had our differences in the past... but... but now we only want to live..."
Samir reassured him: "Elder, the past sectarian differences and grievances should all be set aside! Allah above all! Welco to join the Liberation Forces!"
"Weren't we told this was all militia people? Why does it look more like a refugee camp..."
Not far away, Naxin, standing next to Song Heping, couldn't help but express his concerns: "This kind of group probably doesn't have much combat capability..."
This was ant for Song Heping beside him.
Song Heping certainly understood that integrating this complex, diverse group was an exceedingly complicated and challenging task.
However, this was just the state of things in Illinois.
If you want to recruit warriors, their families need to be protected, otherwise, no one would risk their lives for you.
"Naxin, this is not sothing you should worry about, your duty is to integrate the combat personnel, I will look after the elders and children."
"Samir!"
He beckoned to the busy Samir.
Samir hurried over: "Boss, any instructions?"
"This is no place to linger, quickly gather the team and leave at once, if discovered by the US Army or 1515 Ard, we're all dood."
Taking along so many old, weak, won, and children, if a real fight breaks out, it's sure to be at a disadvantage.
"Understood, I'll handle it right away."
"Naxin."
"Here."
"Imdiately dispatch a few Sand Fox squad mbers to serve as vanguard one kiloter ahead of us."
"Understood!"
Ten minutes later.
This enormous refugee caravan began moving towards the Persian Border.
Ti was life; every second of delay ant unforeseeable risks.
They were just over thirty kiloters from the border.
Walking, at a speed of five kiloters per hour, they could cross the border into safety before dawn.
Song Heping had already contacted Avanti to have Revolutionary Guard personnel waiting to assist at the border.
Once across, they would be completely safe.
However, less than two hours after departure, the Sand Fox squad leader responsible for vanguard surveillance suddenly sent an urgent ssage through the encrypted individual radio:
"Eagle's Nest, Eagle's Nest, this is Sand Fox One. Respond if you can hear! Over."
"Eagle's Nest receiving, Sand Fox One, go ahead. Over."
Song Heping imdiately stopped, pressed an earphone to his ear to respond, the tension in his heart winding tight to the breaking point.
"About one kiloter southeast ahead of my group, we've spotted unknown convoy lights and extensive engine noise! Judging they are not part of our unit! The others are moving at high speed! Over!"
The communications jarred everyone who heard it as a heavy shock.
"Samir!" Song Heping calmly gave an order: "Order everyone to halt! Find cover on the spot! Maintain absolute silence! Sand Fox One, continue surveillance, report details! Over!"
The order was quickly relayed in low voices.
The vast desert plunged into an eerie silence, only the icy wind's wailing over the tops of the dunes sounded, like the cries of the dead.
Thousands crouched or lay behind the cold dunes in panic, even the children's cries were stifled by adults, as an oppressive tension and fear filled the air, as if at any mont, devastating artillery fire could tear open the night and rain down rcilessly.
Minutes later, in this unbearable stillness, Sand Fox One's voice ca again.
This ti, there was a hint of evident perplexity: "Eagle's Nest, Eagle's Nest. Sothing is... peculiar. The other convoy doesn't seem to be heading directly toward us. They're moving northeast, and... and there's the sound of intense gunfire coming through! I repeat, there's gunfire! They seem to be in pursuit of sothing, or... they're being attacked by sothing? Over!"
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