The eting at the Damascus command post ended amid a tense and pragmatic atmosphere.
The plan is set, all that's left is execution.
There's no ti for cheering or hesitation; once the gears of war turn, they can only be fueled by blood and steel, roaring forward.
Song Heping and the chef barely paused.
An elite team of Wagner guards and several liaison officers from the Silia governnt army were already on standby in the building's underground garage.
The vehicles were several Toyota Land Cruisers equipped with light armor and heavy machine guns, and a truck responsible for transporting extra ammunition and communications equipnt.
The engines rumbled softly, the exhaust pipes emitting a slight heat wave.
"Depart, Halab."
Song Heping opened the car door, concise and direct.
The convoy drove out of the underground shelter, charging onto the streets of Damascus shrouded in the night.
The atmosphere in the city was heavy, checkpoints were everywhere, civilian vehicles were few, with more military vehicles and ard personnel being mobilized.
In the distant skyline, in the south and east directions, weak flashes occasionally streaked across the night sky, unclear if they were artillery fire or lightning, but the dull thunder — or rather, the more deadly sound of explosions.
Song Heping leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes to rest, but his brain was racing, repeatedly simulating various scenarios that Halab might face and every detail of the Otaba plan.
He had already devised a general combat plan for the Halab defense battle, but anything thought up in the command post could only be a rough outline; details must be adjusted based on specific situations after seeing the frontline firsthand.
The chef sat beside him, wiping his iconic short-barreled assault rifle, his face somber, occasionally glancing through the car window to the south, where his brothers were about to fight desperately.
"Song,"
The chef suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse, "If Halab can't hold, my thousand brothers crossing over will be like buns thrown to dogs, there's no returning."
He's referring to the Wagner rcenaries with those thousand brothers.
Actually, Wagner's remaining forces in Silia are not many; aside from so still stationed in Damascus for defense tasks, these thousand are all the forces the chef can muster.
Their mission this ti was to act alongside 500 governnt army Special Forces, departing from the eastern side of Damascus when Song Heping and the chef left, arriving at Mismiye and then turning southward, passing Shekhan to directly insert into Otaba at the fastest speed, to raid the international rcenary camp and logistical assembly point there, killing the enemy to the greatest extent and destroying supplies.
As long as Otaba's camp is destroyed, the "Victory Front" attacking from the north on Halab will imdiately feel surrounded and their support supply will fall behind.
In this way, not only will the offensive be restrained, but there might also be concerns about being encircled and withdrawn.
However, the entire insertion distance reaches 120 kiloters, which certainly isn't a simple task.
Song Heping's order to the leading Wagner commander was — avoid combat along the way, directly insert into Otaba!
To ensure the success of this action, the chef called Tartus, finding an Air Force senior officer who had a good relationship with him, allowing an Il-20 to take off and fly over the southern sky of Damascus to provide ground intelligence for this insertion force.
But even so, the risk factor of this operation is still very high; once the "Victory Front" sees through the intention, mobilizes troops from elsewhere to encircle or fails to successfully eliminate the enemy at Otaba, the insertion force itself will face the risk of being encircled and wiped out.
Yet, all military actions carry risks.
Especially when already at a disadvantage, without taking risks, there's no way to turn the tables.
Song Heping didn't open his eyes, answering lightly: "That's why Halab must hold, and must keep the entire main force of the 'Victory Front' tightly engaged there, making them unable to split their strength; otherwise, once they can split their troops, the insertion force will risk having their retreat cut off."
With this said, he then opened his half-closed eyes to look at the chef: "Chef, we have no retreat in this battle. Wagner doesn't, the Silia governnt army doesn't either."
The convoy sped along the main road leading south, the closer to the frontline, the more shocking the scenes along the way.
Even though it was already night, there were still more and more refugees fleeing north, their faces filled with fear and exhaustion.
After nearly two hours of bumping, the sll of gunpowder in the air grew stronger, the continuous sound of explosions and dense gunfire beca clearer from afar.
Halab, finally reached.
This city was once the agricultural and trade center south of Damascus, but now has beco a battleground akin to a at grinder.
The convoy didn't enter the city center but drove directly to the entrance of a reinforced underground command post located in the north of the city.
Above the command post was originally a school, now bombed to rely ruins, cleverly serving as camouflage.
Just after getting off, a wave of sound and vibration rushed over.
The rumbling of heavy artillery shook the ground slightly, the staccato sound of machine guns like popping beans resounded not far away, intermixed with the rapid-fire of assault rifles and the huge explosions of rocket bombs.
In the air, besides the smoke, Song Heping also slls a faint scent of blood and sothing like the odor of burnt corpses.
A Colonel of the Silia Governnt Army has been anxiously waiting at the entrance.
Seeing Song Heping and the chef, he imdiately salutes, his face showing a mix of exhaustion, tension, and a glimr of hope: "Mr. Song! Colonel Yevgeny! You're finally here! Things are very dire here!"
"Take us inside, talk as we walk."
Song Heping strides towards the underground entrance, the chef carrying a gun closely behind, and the Wagner escort team quickly disperses, occupying the key defensive position at the entrance.
The underground command post is dark and damp, the large sand table surrounded by staff officers, with the sound of radio conversations, shouting, and keyboard tapping rising one after the other, creating an atmosphere so tense it's about to explode.
"Mr. Song, the Victory Front and the Islamic State punks have gathered at least two brigades of forces, primarily attacking the eastern and southern suburbs."
The City Defense Commander is General Jamal, one of the commanders who participated in the Damascus online military conference earlier.
His hair is slightly disheveled and mostly gray, his expression exhausted and brows furrowed.
"They have many tanks, primarily T-72s and T-55s, and even a few remodeled T-62s. Our anti-tank missiles are too few, the rocket launchers have a short range, making it hard for soldiers to approach, usually getting gunned down by their machine gun fire during the approach. Now, multiple points on the periter defense line are showing signs of collapse... our losses are significant... the rebel forward units have already approached the industrial park at the city edge..."
Song Heping steps to the sand table, his sharp gaze sweeping over the arrows and symbols representing the forces of both sides.
On the sand table, the blue flags representing the governnt forces in many areas have been overwheld or pushed back to the city edge by the red enemy arrows.
"How many tanks do we have left?"
Song Heping asks the crucial question.
Admiral Jamal's face shows bitterness: "Operational... no more than 15. Most are old T-62s and T-55s, lacking parts and ammunition. The rebels... they have at least over 40 tanks and have continuous support from Cals and Turkey, with far more anti-tank weapons than us."
"Damn Cals and Turkey! Aren't they supposed to share the sa faith as you?! Why do they wish for your death instead!" The chef punches the edge of the sand table.
Jamal sneers coldly: "Useless, we are the most secular, becoming their thorn instead!"
The chef curses again: "Suka! How do we fight this battle?"
Song Heping remains silent for a mont, his finger pointing at the core area of the Halaib urban sector on the sand table.
"We can't continue fighting them in the open fields outside the city, it's playing to our weaknesses against their strengths."
Song Heping's voice is calm to the point of coldness, "Order all units to imdiately abandon the current periter positions and retract into the city. Shrink the defense line and rely on the buildings in the urban area to construct fortifications, resist house by house, street by street."
"Shrink the defense line?"
Jamal is shocked.
The chef also casts a questioning glance.
Abandon the periter defense?
This ans retreating to the city.
It's equivalent to fighting like trapped beasts...
"Mr. Song!"
Jamal says urgently, "Once we shrink, we won't have any depth! The rebels will surround us like an iron bucket in the city! If... if we can't hold, not only will the entire army be wiped out, but if Halaib falls, Damascus's southern gate will be completely open!"
The chef also adds: "Lao Song, this is too risky! Shrinking the defenses ans giving up mobility, and once encircled, the consequences are unimaginable!"
Song Heping turns around, his gaze as piercing as a torch as he looks at the two: "General Jamal, please tell , with the current tactics, how long can we hold in the flat areas outside the city with limited infantry and a few tanks against the enemy's superior armored forces and firepower? A day? Or two days?"
The two remain silent.
The answer is obvious.
"The result is the sa—Halaib will fall, and the gate to Damascus will be wide open."
Song Heping's tone is heavy, "And then? Urban warfare in Damascus? Your family, friends, everyone you want to protect will be exposed under the blade of the extremist organizations. By then, what is lost will not be just a war, but the future of the whole nation."
He walks to the communication console: "General, please connect to the communication channel of all units at or above the company level, I have sothing to say."
Admiral Jamal hesitates for a mont, but finally nods to the communications staff.
"Follow Mr. Song's instructions."
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