The most glaring sight was beside an overturned truck.
Seven or eight corpses were piled together in various inconceivable poses. It seed they intended to use this as a temporary command point or gathering area, but a drone had spotted them, and with perfect precision, wiped them all out.
Severed limbs were scattered everywhere. Dark red blood and pieces of flesh splattered like paint over the charred truck body and walls, forming an extrely brutal abstract painting.
The weather's been good these days, and Illiguo's sun rcilessly roasted everything. The extremists, too scared by the drone, didn't even dare to collect their comrades' bodies.
Several bombed bodies on the roadside had already started to swell, their skin showing a sinister bluish-black hue.
Countless flies, a black mass, buzzed over them, crawling over lifeless eyeballs and gaping flesh wounds, busily at work.
"Ugh—"
From the roadside ca the sound of suppressed retching.
Song Heping looked towards the sound— it was a new recruit leaning against a broken wall, his face as white as paper, bending over and vomiting profusely, almost bringing up bile.
A scarred-faced veteran silently walked over, patted his back, and handed him his canteen, saying nothing.
So lessons have to be learned on the battlefield, in the most direct and brutal way.
"Cleanup crew."
Song Heping pressed the radio, his voice calm without a ripple, as if this hell before him was just a construction site, "Mark the area, prioritize handling Main Street and the pile-up points of bodies. Spray disinfectant, spread li, prevent an epidemic."
The battle's over, and the victors not only enjoy the spoils but also pinch their noses to clean up the ss.
Finally, the convoy turned into a relatively intact plaza on the west side of town.
Here was simply fenced in with barbed wire, becoming a temporary prisoner camp.
Good gracious, a mass of black heads.
At least over three thousand 1515 Ard mbers, crowded together on the rubble-strewn open ground like driven cattle.
On the periter were ard guards, and from the high points, the muzzles of light and heavy machine guns nacingly aid at the enclosure, exuding undisguised lethal intent.
These prisoners, compared to those who lay dead in the streets, were rely breathing a little longer.
Each one was in tattered clothes, covered in smoke and dried blood, their eyes hollow as if their souls had been siphoned away.
The fanatic fervor previously instilled by extremist ideas had long been blasted to kingdom co by days of relentless drone bombings.
Now, all that was left was post-calamity bewildernt and fear of the unknown fate.
Many bore wounds, with roughly bandaged areas seeping dark red blood.
They either squatted or stood, huddled together, with few speaking, a deathly silence prevailing.
Occasionally, a few who couldn't hold it together, due to pain or ntal breakdown, would emit suppressed sobs or cries, only to imdiately receive harsh scolding from guard soldiers and apathetic, even annoyed, gazes from other prisoners around—
"Why are you crying, damn it! So annoying!"
The order-maintenance team wore heavy bulletproof vests and helts, cautiously patrolling the edges of the prisoner group, with sharp eyes, wary of any possible disturbance or a desperate suicide attack by soone bent on taking others down with them.
Song Heping's convoy stopped at the edge of the prisoner camp.
He opened the car door and got out, standing beside the vehicle, squinting as he surveyed this "sea of people."
The captain in charge of guarding the camp jogged over, saluting, "Boss! Initial count, around three thousand one hundred prisoners, still searching for scattered remnants. Most are in poor health, lacking food and water, ntally on the brink. Basic rations and water are being distributed, and identification work has begun, focusing on finding high-level leaders and foreign personnel."
Song Heping nodded, his gaze sweeping over those pallid, desolate faces.
Among them were die-hard fanatics, local youths swayed by Organization 1515's Dark Web propaganda, and idiots from around the world dreaming of "holy war."
"Keep a close watch, don't let anything happen."
Song Heping instructed, "Prioritize treating the seriously injured, but don't let your guard down. Be thorough with identification, especially those who might know where Basmo's gone, or have knowledge of Mosul and Titrick's defense situation. Be sure to interrogate them well and dig sothing out."
He paused and added, "Notify the rear, urgently need more dical supplies, guards, and transport vehicles."
"Release them?"
Nearby, Jiang Feng asked in surprise, "Aren't you afraid of releasing the tiger back to the mountains?"
Song Heping sneered, "These three thousand mouths can't just be kept here fed and sheltered. If they were just fooled to join, or locals forced into the Organization 1515, they're not much of a threat. Release them if need be."
"Yes!"
The captain received the order, turned, and quickly departed.
Song Heping stood still, pulled out chewing gum, tossed it into his mouth, letting the mint punch keep his mind clearer to ponder the next issues.
Over three thousand prisoners are a huge headache, dealing with their needs and guard duties, preventing disease, none of it is trouble-free.
But this is also a clear signal—Hulmatu's 1515 has completely collapsed, both in spirit and organization!
The relentless psychological tornt from drones, coupled with the blockage of Mosul, their ho base, had completely shattered the nerves of these extremists.
Basmo, that bastard, fled with a thousand or so close followers, calling it a strategic retreat, but really it was just a mass run for it, leaving these non-core mbers behind like a lizard shedding its tail.
As early as two days ago, the drone unit reported signs of deserters fleeing from Hulmatu, asking whether to bomb them.
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