As Song Heping's troops smoothly took over Hulmatu, a storm related to him was brewing and erupting far away in Raqqa, Syria.
Raqqa, in the underground command center of the so-called "Caliphate" of 1515.
The rough cent wall reflected the dim light from the bulbs, elongating and twisting the shadows into clawing ghosts.
"Trash! All of you are trash! Basmo, that coward! Allah will curse his soul! He dared to leave behind Allah's warriors and flee like a mangy dog!"
Buckdadi, who proclaid himself as "Caliph," completely lost the deliberate divinity he had maintained in the past. Frenzied, he fiercely threw the battle report that recorded the disgrace onto the heavy wooden table. His gigantic roar pounded and echoed in the oppressive underground space, causing his core aides to turn pale, wishing they could bury their heads in their chests and holding their breath.
"Song Heping! That heretic condemned to Fire Hell! China People! He tricked ! Tricked all of us!"
He gasped harshly, his eyes covered with spider-web-like blood vessels, resembling a caged beast on the brink of madness, vainly hitting its prison bars.
"A feint to the east while striking the west... Damn it, it's a feint to the east while striking the west! He was posturing in Hulmatu, while the real poison fang had long since sunk into Mosul! We... we were all played by him like fools, manipulated in the palm of his hand!"
Hulmatu was lost, Mosul changed hands. Over four thousand "Holy Warriors" perished, more than three thousand beca humiliating prisoners...
It's not just numbers; it's the instantaneous evaporation of more than seven thousand combat units!
The major eastern and western control zones, the one place he had painstakingly cultivated and regarded as the foundation of the "Levant Country," was pierced through the midsection by Song Heping's vicious left hook, bleeding profusely and causing unbearable pain!
A younger aide, aware that silence might lead to even more terrifying consequences, finally spoke tremblingly: "…Supre Caliph… the situation… the situation is extrely urgent now. The troops in the Ozham direction are our last elite mobile force in Northwest Illinois; they must withdraw to Syria imdiately! Otherwise, when Song Heping, that demon, digests the fruits of victory in Hulmatu and stabilizes the order in Mosul, then heads north to capture Titrick..."
"By then, all our forces in Northwest Illinois, including those loyal tribal ard forces, will be caught in a giant pocket! They'll either move south into the vast desert where only Grim Reaper resides and perish, or… they'll be devoured one by one like sheep by Song Heping and the Abu You Brigade!"
Buckdadi abruptly turned his head, his blood-red eyes fixating ferociously on the speaking old aide, as if he was about to pounce and tear open his throat.
The old aide shuddered in fear, his words getting stuck in his throat, quickly lowering his head, not daring to et his gaze, cold sweat instantly breaking out on his forehead.
The basent fell into a deathly suffocating silence, leaving only Buckdadi's heavy, dangerous breathing like a bellows and the faint buzzing of the electrical current through the lamp bulbs.
As ti ticked away, the pressure made people feel like their hearts might stop beating.
After what felt like an eternity, Buckdadi seed drained by an invisible force of all vitality. The madness quickly retreated, replaced by deep helplessness and desolation.
With a thud, he slumped back into the high-backed chair symbolizing power, his once straight spine now hunched.
Through gritted teeth, he arduously squeezed out a few words:
"Inform... Ozham... retreat."
He paused, his chest heaving violently, seemingly gathering his last strength.
Then, a nearly maniacal fierce glint flashed in his eyes as he added through clenched teeth:
"Order Titrick's garrison to shelter the retreating soldiers at all costs and strengthen defenses... hold for as long as possible! Even if it ans bleeding to the last drop, make the heretics pay the price!"
He almost spelled out word by word, using all his strength, the plan that had already been drafted but never easily initiated:
"Execute—'Desert Scorpion' plan!"
"Desert Scorpion" is not a battle plan for the front line.
It targets occupying forces, pro-governnt forces, as well as any collaborators with indiscriminate, unrestricted guerrilla attacks and acts of terror.
It's one of the thods at which the 1515 Ard excels.
Even if the visible territory is lost and the regi collapses, the 1515 must burrow like a desert scorpion under the darkest sands, using bloodier, more unforeseeable tactics to keep the enemy in constant fear and ensure this land remains forever shrouded in the shadow of terror!
On the second day, in the afternoon, outside Mosul City.
On the third day, beside a major road leading in the direction of Elbil.
An Abu You Brigade checkpoint is set here, consisting of a pickup truck equipped with a heavy machine gun and seven or eight soldiers.
Yesterday at dawn, they had just experienced occupying Mosul, and everyone was excited, inevitably feeling a bit lax ntally.
Surrounding the checkpoint were low residential houses damaged to varying degrees by war, with broken walls and ruins, occasionally a local civilian daring enough to peek around or hurriedly passing by with a cart.
The afternoon sun angled down with a unique desert heat and glare.
The soldiers wore mismatched uniforms, so leaning against sandbag-fortified bunkers smoking, others performing routine checks on the scarce passing vehicles and pedestrians.
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