In the distance, the tank engines of the HTS forces roared dully like a pack of hungry beasts in the wilderness, and the screeching sound of tracks crushing over ruins grew nearer.
Song Heping stood at the observation point of the temporary command post, his hand holding the binoculars dripping with sweat.
In his field of vision, the moving torrent of steel made his brow furrow tightly into a knot.
This wasn't harassnt by scattered troops, but an attack with a clear direction, and even a hint of proper tactical coordination between infantry and tanks.
Since when do the Freedom Army and HTS have such organization and equipnt?
There's definitely sothing fishy behind this!
Song Heping was almost certain that soone must have provided these ragtag ard organizations with military training and guidance.
"Damn it, did these bastards use everything they have, or did they take so drugs?"
A nearby Syrian officer's voice trembled, his face pale as paper.
No wonder he was scared; the outdated RPG-7 rocket launchers in the hands of the governnt army were no better than fire pokers compared to the swarming T-72s and modified ard pickups in open terrain.
The defensive line was being peeled away layer by layer, and collapse seed just a matter of ti.
Song Heping put down the binoculars and turned to the Chef: "When exactly can the Russian Army ground forces arrive in Homs?"
"Chef" Yevgeny pulled out a heavy satellite phone with an encrypted antenna, his thick fingers swiftly sliding over the screen to check the latest encrypted communication records.
A few seconds later, he looked up, his face gloomy, and said:
"Previously communicated with Tartus. The situation is not optimistic. The earliest to enter this Homs at grinder would be a reinforced battalion of the Marine Infantry Brigade stationed at the Tartus base. But..."
He paused, his throat sowhat dry, "Even if everything goes smoothly, it will be noon tomorrow at the earliest before they can reach Homs after completing assembly, equipnt loading, and convoy movent."
"Noon tomorrow?!"
Song Heping's heart sank heavily.
In the lens, the speed of the HTS armored group's advance was like a hot knife cutting through butter. At this rate, let alone holding out until noon tomorrow, whether they could even see the sun rise was uncertain.
The courage of the governnt army soldiers was being ground down little by little by the absolute disparity in strength, morale on the verge of collapse.
Counting on the ground reinforcents to arrive in ti?
By then, the flowers would've withered!
Song Heping took a deep breath of the gunpowder-laden air, forcing himself to calm down.
His brain, like a high-speed computer, instantly ruled out impractical options.
"We can't rely on the ground forces anymore. But since Moscow has rolled up its sleeves and stepped in, the iron fist in the sky should swing now, right? Chef, don't go through normal channels anymore. Use your connections at the Hemiim Base imdiately, contact soone who can make decisions, and request the highest priority ergency air support! The target is the HTS armored group rolling towards the north of Homs City! We must interrupt their attack now, imdiately! If we delay any longer, Homs will be lost!"
"Okay, I'll try!"
The "Chef" knew the value of every second at this mont.
Without wasting any more words, he directly dialed a higher-level number stored deep in the phone.
After a brief but agonizing transfer and complex identity verification, he finally heard a slightly deep voice with a typical Russian bureaucratic accent—the other party was the chief of staff of the Russian joint campaign headquarters in Syria, not a low-level rank.
The "Chef" spoke so fast he was almost shouting, delivering the most concise yet strongest report on the perilous state of the Homs defensive line, especially the unexpectedly large number of enemy tanks and armored vehicles, and the extre danger of the line being penetrated at any mont.
He emphasized the catastrophic impact of losing Homs on the overall situation, virtually exhausting every ounce of personal goodwill and credibility in requesting the imdiate deploynt of the Air Force.
The voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a few seconds, with only a slight static noise—a few seconds that felt like a century.
Then, the chief of staff's voice rang out again, still with that unhurried bureaucratic tone: "Colonel Yevgeny, we have thoroughly docunted the battlefield situation you reported. However, you are also aware, deploying the Air Force to execute air-to-ground attack missions, especially close air support (CAS), must strictly adhere to rules of engagent and approval procedures, requiring rigorous target identification and confirmation to minimize civilian and friendly fire casualties. We need ti to consult with the superior command, please maintain open communication, and patiently await further instructions."
With that said, the call was directly hung up.
"Wait?! By the ti you've finished your damn etings and stamped your papers, the HTS tanks can already fly their flag on the roof of the Homs City Hall!"
The "Chef", listening to the busy signal on the phone, turned red with rage, cursing wildly with saliva flying: "These bastards sitting in their air-conditioned rooms! Bureaucratic maggots! They have no idea what the hell the front line looks like! Armchair strategists, they are all damn armchair strategists!"
Song Heping looked at the furious "Chef," and the faint hope of quickly getting support through formal channels was completely extinguished in his heart.
But he understood the inertia of the enormous war machine of the Russian Army; initiation, coordination, approval—each step takes ti, but war never gives ti to anyone, especially the weaker side.
It's better to rely on yourself than on others!
An extrely dangerous plan, with a slim chance of success, but possibly the only one that could quickly turn the tide of the battle, ford in his mind like lightning.
"Chef!"
Song Heping's voice was low and resolute, interrupting Yevgeny's cursing, "We can't pin our hopes on the Russian Army anymore! We have to rely on ourselves!"
"Chef" turned to look at him: "Rely on ourselves? How? We don't have anti-tank weapons. Are you suggesting we reenact the battle of Halaib, lure them in and then fight?"
Song Heping's finger heavily stabbed at a vague area behind the enemy lines on the map: "Do what I'm best at—decapitation!"
"These rabble of HTS and the Freedom Army, to organize such intense, large-scale armored coordinated attacks, their frontline command post can't be far away! It must be set up in a concealed location, observing the battlefield, likely in a village or abandoned factory at the side and rear of the attack axis."
He lifted his head, eyes burning as he stared at "Chef": "Get a selection of the most elite, most skilled in nightti infiltration and close-range assault veterans from Wagner. Not many, twenty to thirty would be enough, but they must be absolutely reliable, gutsy people who dare to risk their lives! Equip them with the best night vision, silenced weapons, explosives! I'll personally lead the team, infiltrate through the junction or weak point of their lines, and take down their command center!"
The command post fell silent instantly, leaving only the distant rumble of artillery and the heavy breathing of the crowd.
Everyone was stunned by Song Heping's plan, bold to the point of madness.
To penetrate deep into enemy territory, in a den of enemies outnumbering theirs by several or even dozens of tis, to find and destroy the command center?
A single misstep ant suicide!
"Chef's" pupils contracted suddenly: "Song! This is too risky! The success rate is less than ten percent! Once exposed, you all will be encircled and annihilated!"
"Staying here, waiting for the lines to collapse, is equally death! And a death without any value!"
Song Heping's tone did not waver in the slightest; it beca even more firm.
"Cut off their head, no matter how thick the snake's body is, it will be paralyzed! As long as their command system is thrown into chaos for even an hour or two, the front line attack will inevitably beco disjointed. We will gain precious breathing space, hang on until the Russian ground forces or... if those bureaucrats wake up... aerial support really arrives! This is currently the only way to proactively create an opportunity!"
"Chef" looked into Song Heping's eyes, knowing that once this brother made a decision, not even nine oxen could pull him back.
Moreover, he had to admit that in a desperate situation, this might be the only lever to pry open the deadlock.
A surge of recklessness surged to his head, and he gritted his teeth: "Suka! I'll go with you! Damn it, isn't it just risking our lives? Wagner doesn't lack anything but fearless madn! I'll go pick people now!"
After speaking, "Chef" turned and was about to rush out of the command post to gather the team, as if he would fight to the death with the enemy now.
However, just as he took the step, the satellite phone suddenly, impatiently, and with high frequency, began to ring.
The abrupt ringing was especially sharp in the oppressive command post.
"Chef" paused, puzzled, turned back, grabbed the phone and glanced at the number on the screen—the number from the Russian Army headquarters that made him furious just a mont ago.
He took a deep breath, suppressed his anger, pressed the answer button, his tone still fuming: "Hello?! What other instructions?!"
But this ti, the voice from the other end was completely different.
The previous officiousness and delay were gone, replaced by a concise, powerful, and even slightly urgent tone: "Colonel Yevgeny! Good news! The highest command has specially approved top-priority ergency air support towards Homs! The Air Force's attack squadron has already taken off urgently from Himim Base and is expected to arrive in the Homs airspace in twenty minutes!"
The situation turned around!
"Great!"
The gloom on "Chef's" face was instantly replaced by ecstasy, nearly making him jump, "Do we need to step forward to provide target indications? My team is experienced, we can establish a forward observation point!"
"No need."
The chief of staff's answer surprised him once more, "Coincidentally, there is an SSO Special Forces squad nearby Homs, they have already reached the outskirts of Homs and will soon contact you."
"SSO?"
Song Heping's heart trembled slightly.
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