anwhile, about a kiloter away from the third entrance, on the rooftop of a relatively intact five-story building.
The highest commander of this attack by the "Victory Front," Abu Omar, was staring intently at the fierce battlefield ahead through the high-precision binoculars in his hand.
When he saw that precious T-72 being buried alive and wave after wave of attack forces shattering like waves against the rocks before that small ruin, the veins on his forehead bulged like earthworms and throbbed violently.
"Useless! A bunch of useless cowards! Idiots! Trash!"
He suddenly put down the binoculars, trembling all over from extre anger, and suddenly erupted, slamming the valuable binoculars onto the concrete floor at his feet with force!
With a shattering sound, the precise optical instrunt instantly broke into pieces!
"A full two hours! Over three hundred brave warriors lost! And they still can't take a shabby entrance defended by only a few dozen ragtag remnants! Are those Russians demons crawling out of Hell?! Or are you all just a bunch of suckling lambs?!"
He roared like thunder, his spit spraying over the faces of the officers around him.
The confidants and lower-ranking commanders around him all shut up imdiately, bowing their heads without even daring to breathe heavily.
The heavy atmosphere of fear overshadowed even the sll of gunpowder drifting from the battlefield.
"Leader..."
A frontline liaison officer mustered up the courage and reported with a trembling voice, "The resistance at the third entrance is exceptionally strong. Those are Wagner rcenaries, and their combat skills and willpower far exceed expectations... Moreover, it seems there's a very formidable battlefield commander among them, who can accurately judge our tactical intentions and always appears in the deadliest positions..."
"I don't care who he is! Be it God or Satan!"
Omar abruptly interrupted him, his bloodshot eyes glistening with a manic and insane light.
"I only care about results! I want Halaib! Tell those idiots on the front line! This is the last chance! I give them ten minutes! No! Five minutes!"
He fiercely pointed in the direction of the third entrance, his voice so shrill it almost broke: "Send everyone who can move! All reserves! Throw them all in! Form the 'Martyr Battalion'! Use those car bombs for ! Let the human bombs lead the charge! I don't want a breakthrough! I want flattening! Erase that place from the map completely! Five minutes! If I don't see our flag planted on the street behind the third entrance within five minutes, the frontline commander should bring his own head to et !"
Extre anger and the "victory" so close at hand—capturing Halaib ans the gateway to Damascus will be wide open; this unparalleled rit is enough to make him famous worldwide and possibly secure him a significant position in a new regi in the future.
This is a massive temptation, and his greed for power has completely clouded his mind.
Under Omar's hysterical orders, the "Victory Front" militants launched the craziest and most desperate attack since the start of the battle!
Several suicide bombers, tightly strapped with large amounts of explosives, charged toward the final positions of the defenders, under the cover of their side's intense machine gun fire and smoke bombs, with faces either displaying fervent devotion or numb fear, shouting frantically "Allah is great" as they recklessly charged forth!
This kind of tactic was not unfamiliar to Song Heping.
As long as one person could reach the front of the position, that was a success.
The explosives strapped to them were enough to turn a position with a radius of dozens of ters around into scorched earth.
And a hundred ters behind them was a second wave of attack forces.
These people didn't have explosives, they were infantryn, and once the frontline "human bombs" succeeded, they would surge like a tide, sweeping over the entire front line, tearing apart the last defenses of the governnt army.
"Watch out for those human bombs! Prioritize the human bombs!"
Song Heping's pupils suddenly contracted as he summoned his full strength to issue a warning, the sharpness of his voice pierced through the sound of explosions, appearing exceptionally shrill.
The remaining defenders also realized the crisis, and everyone concentrated all remaining firepower, desperately intercepting! Rifles, machine guns, pistols...
All weapons capable of firing were roaring.
Bang!
A human bomb was hit by a volley of bullets twenty ters from the position, instantly detonating the explosives strapped to his body.
With a loud explosion, a brilliant yet cruel orange-red fireball suddenly expanded, shards and shock waves ravaged the area, catching several Wagner mbers nearby who were firing off guard, flipping them over with the air blast.
The last human bomb, however, took advantage of the smoke and chaos caused by the explosion, managed to break through the firepower interception net, and rushed intimidatingly close to the area where the left-flank Chef was located, on the verge of penetrating the position!
"Suka! Go to hell!"
At the critical mont, Chef suddenly stood up from a crater, there was no ti to aim, recklessly relying on his well-honed muscle mory and bravado, adopting an extrely unconventional hip-shooting stance to empty the remaining dozen or so rounds from his AK-74U with maximum rate of fire, showering them all over!
Bullets predominantly hit the human bomb accurately in the head and chest, causing his body to shake violently, halting his charging montum, and he suddenly fell forward.
However, just as he hit the ground—
"Boom!!!"
An even more intense explosion rang out.
Chef only had ti to curse half a sentence before his entire body seed struck by an invisible giant hamr, and the violent airwave strongly threw him back, fiercely slamming against a piece of broken concrete with the back of his head making a teeth-chattering dull thud, then he collapsed motionlessly on the ground, blood quickly seeping from his temple and behind his ears.
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