Petrovsky knows he no longer has ti to hesitate.
"Abandon 'Canyon No.1'!"
He ordered decisively, "All units, change route! Head northeast into the 'Yellow Plain'! Increase vehicle speed to the safety limit! 'Hawkeye,' proceed with the drone, scout five kiloters ahead in a fan formation, focusing on searching for ground vehicle tracks, heat sources, and possible sniping points! 'Signal,' continue trying to contact Central Command, update our position and route changes!"
"Understood!"
The convoy changed course again, leaving this crisis-ridden mountain area and heading towards the vast wasteland.
The sky is brightening at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The eastern horizon gradually turns reddish-orange, as darkness ebbs away like the tide.
Dawn is breaking.
Song Heping glanced at the light outside the vehicle, his brow furrowing.
Daybreak.
This is definitely not good for the secret operation squad.
According to the original plan, they should have reached Latamira before dawn, then successfully completed the mission under the cover of darkness, quickly withdrawing into Illiguo territory, and safely retreating through Song Heping's militia forces there.
Now everything seems ssed up.
Encountering surprise after surprise, changing routes again and again.
This situation is most undesirable in any special operations mission.
It ans everyone's luck is terrible today.
"Major, I still suggest you head towards the Kurdish Control Zone, go north, and follow the original Route A to Latamira."
Song Heping thought over it repeatedly and decided to remind Petrovsky on a tactical level.
After all, he and these SSO Special Forces are in the sa boat.
"Song, stop speaking of your unrealistic fantasies. The sky is almost bright now, and in another hour, the visibility will be very high. Heading north is like throwing ourselves into the laps of the US Special Forces and Kurdish Ard militants, you must be crazy…"
Petrovsky didn't disappoint him.
He's still so stubborn.
"Damn."
Song Heping couldn't help but curse in Chinese.
But he was helpless.
He should have demanded command authority for the entire operation when communicating with Zhaoyi Valley.
Though that too was just his fantasy.
This mission is shrouded in mystery.
Said to be a rescue mission.
Now that Song Heping ponders over it, things increasingly don't add up.
These guys aren't going to rescue anyone.
"Boss, sothing's not right."
Hunter communicated with Song Heping in broken Chinese.
Over these years, following Song Heping, his Chinese conversational skills are quite intact, just too heavily accented, akin to a parrot mimicking speech.
"It is not right…"
Song Heping's gaze swept over the other SSO Special Forces soldiers in the vehicle.
"We might not be going to rescue anyone."
Saying this, he looked at Hunter, his gaze aningful.
Hunter sneered, "Da Maozi's style is like this, stubborn and aggressive."
In Hunter's mouth, there's never a good word for Da Maozi.
"As always, we're here now, so let's be cautious," Song Heping once again admonished Hunter, "If anything happens, we need to coordinate well ourselves. They won't listen to us."
"Okay."
Hunter deeply understood Song Heping's tactical prowess, which was not comparable to soone like Petrovsky.
Following Song Heping's orders would never be wrong.
Here's the continuation according to your request:
While Song Heping and Hunter were having a quiet conversation in the vehicle, just a few dozen kiloters behind them, the pass that had just experienced a brief and bloody skirmish welcod new, unexpected guests.
The roar of engines shattered the pre-dawn stillness, as more than twenty various vehicles—rusted pickups, off-road vehicles equipped with steel plates and heavy machine guns, and even a few military trucks captured from the governnt army—like a pack of hyenas slling carrion, kicked up yellow dust, nacingly converging on the site.
Their bodies sprayed with nacing black flags and religious slogans, marking their identity—"Islamic State" fighters.
They swiftly disembarked, spreading out in a loose battle formation, controlling the surrounding high ground and advantageous positions.
Several leader-like figures headed straight for the battlefield that had been hastily cleared.
The lingering gunpowder and scent of blood in the air instantly excited them.
A minor leader squat down, pinched a handful of dark red soil yet to solidify, sniffed it by his nose, a gleam of ruthlessness in his eyes.
"Found them!"
He stood up and reported to a tall leader dressed in a black robe, with a black hood, exposing only a pair of cold eyes.
"Master Abu Omar, there is evidence of intense combat here, and the bloodstains haven't dried yet. Our forces... should be annihilated."
Abu Omar, as he was called, was the commander of this not-insignificant ISIS force.
He slowly walked to the cracks in the rocks that had been hastily covered by sand, where his subordinates were already dragging out the bodies not yet fully buried.
"Check them!"
Abu Omar's voice was hoarse and cold, like a desert snake sensing prey, beginning to hiss.
His subordinates imdiately began roughly searching the corpses.
"Sir, it's the forward reconnaissance team we sent out, all killed, mostly with headshots, clean and efficient, done by experts."
"And this."
Another subordinate picked up a shell casing left by the SSO Special Forces from a crevice, examined it carefully, and said, "NATO standard casing, not Russian?"
Abu Omar's gaze swept across the battlefield, finally landing on the deep, clear tire tracks on the ground.
These were definitely not left by ordinary pickups or technical vehicles.
"Armored vehicles..."
He murmured, recalling the warning sent by the reconnaissance soldier before his death over a crude radio, intermittent yet clear enough—
"Russians... armored vehicles..."
A clear judgnt ford in his mind.
"It's not NATO Special Forces, it's Russian Special Forces! They've infiltrated!"
A glimr of mixed hatred and greed shone in Abu Omar's eyes.
Hunting down a crack Russian military squad would not only severely damage the enemy's morale but also greatly elevate his reputation and status within the organization!
"Khalid! Where the hell are you!"
He shouted back.
A lean, dark-skinned man with eyes as sharp as a hawk quickly erged from the crowd, carrying an old SVD sniper rifle on his back, with a waist loaded with various pouches and tools.
"Sir."
Khalid bowed slightly, he was born of the desert tribe, lived in the desert for generations, and was the best tracker in the team, able to read information and direction of prey from the slightest traces.
"Find them!"
Abu Omar pointed at the tracks on the ground, "I want to know which direction they ran, how many people, when they left! Now!"
Khalid didn't speak, he just squatted down, like the most devout archaeologist, and began carefully studying those tire tracks.
He asured the wheelbase and tread depth with his hands, observed the unique scuff marks left by the tires on the rocks, and even picked up so soil left by the tires to rub between his fingers.
A few minutes later, he stood up, pointing northeast, with certainty: "They went in that direction."
There are three heavy vehicles, the wheelbase is wide, the tire tread is special, not our common type.
Judging from the backfill of sand and the coagulation of blood, they left no more than forty minutes ago.
Speed... very fast, seemingly in a hurry to leave."
"Yellow Plain?"
Abu Omar imdiately realized the opponent's intent, "Trying to cross that open ground before daylight? Dream on!"
He imdiately pulled out a satellite phone—sothing they purchased at high prices on the black market for urgent communications—and connected to an encrypted channel.
"Supre Leader, Abu Omar reporting to you..."
He respectfully reported the situation here to Baghdadi, who was hiding far away.
"...We confirm a Russian Special Forces squad, traveling in at least three armored vehicles, has infiltrated our territory and engaged with our reconnaissance team at Broken Blade Pass, now fleeing toward the Yellow Plain direction. Requesting directives and coordination with surrounding brother units to encircle them!"
"Eliminate those Russians at all costs."
After a brief wait, clear instructions ca from the other end of the phone.
Abu Omar's face twisted into a grin.
He hung up the phone and imdiately issued orders to several of his commanders: "Pass down the order! All combat units within fifty kiloters around the Yellow Plain, mobilize to the area imdiately! Block all possible routes to Latamira and Illiguo borders! Khalid, take your tracking team, and use the fastest vehicles to chase them down! We shall stain the sand with Russian blood!"
While the 1515 Ard forces rushed to the pass, on the side of the Kurdish Control Zone, inside a heavily guarded US Army Forward Operating Base (FOB) bristling with antennas.
In a Tactical Operations Center (TOC), filled with the hum of various electronic devices, Major Jas of the US Army's 5th Special Operations Group was staring at the large screen before him.
The screen displayed satellite maps and continuously refreshing data streams.
An intelligence officer handed him a just-decrypted piece of intelligence: "Major, we intercepted a very brief, highly encrypted signal from our monitoring post at Signal Canyon, and our ISIS communication channels also captured frequent internal communications from them, keywords include 'Russians', 'armored vehicles', 'Broken Blade Pass', and 'pursuit'."
Major Jas, a compactly built Special Forces officer with eyes sharp as a hawk, quickly browsed the intelligence, his lips forming an inadvertent cold smile.
"Russians? What are they trying to do here?"
He turned to order the operations staff behind him: "Imdiately notify Dagger squad, get them and the cooperating Kurdish Cheetah Assault Company ready, depart in thirty minutes! Target area—the southern edge of Yellow Plain, near the border zone of ISIS control."
"Major, what is our mission?" asked the staff.
"Interception."
Major Jas responded decisively, "Whatever the Russians' purpose is appearing here, it seems they're heading toward the Kurdish Control Zone, rember, if encountered, priority is capturing vehicles and personnel, acquire their operation plans and equipnt intelligence. If they resist... kill on sight."
He paused, then added, "Also, contact Central Command's Joint Air Operation Center imdiately to request priority real-ti satellite reconnaissance images of the Yellow Plain and adjacent 1515 Control Zone border area, especially synthetic aperture radar and infrared scan images. I want the precise location of those three Russian armored vehicles, and all ISIS militants' movents in that area."
"Understood!"
Orders were quickly issued.
The base instantly bustled with activity.
Teams of Seal Team operatives, fully ard and equipped with the latest SCAR rifles and advanced observation equipnt, rapidly mounted armored Polaris MRZR all-terrain vehicles and Oshkosh L-ATV light tactical cars.
Soldiers from the accompanying Kurdish Cheetah Company also mounted their armored pickups and off-road vehicles.
Engines roared, and a rapid response force combining top US Special Forces and the local elite headed out of the base, racing toward the designated interception area.
In the sky, a US Army Grey Eagle Extended Range (ER) drone had quietly altered its course, flying towards the Yellow Plain, its high-definition cara and multispectral sensors poised as Major Jas' divine eye peering into the battlefield.
A web of death, woven by the most brutal terrorists and the most elite modern military, rapidly converged from two directions upon the three Typhoon armored vehicles dashing desperately across the Yellow Plain.
User Comments
0 comments from readers