The brutal close-quarters combat began.
The surviving Delta and ISOF mbers, relying on their remaining combat instincts and rigorous training, were attempting a last stand.
Bang! Bang!
Bang! Bang!
Two precise, short bursts ca from the "Tombstone" leveraging a blackened rock where two of the fastest approaching "Musician" rcenaries from the flank were hit and fell with a groan.
But more bullets poured in like water from multiple directions, hitting the rock and sparking a dense shower of sparks, suppressing "Tombstone" to the point he couldn't lift his head.
The absolute advantage in numbers, plus the vantage point, made any resistance seem futile.
The vice-captain attempted to retaliate towards the densest crowd direction with his under-barrel M320 grenade launcher. As he barely peeked out, a 5.56mm rifle bullet from a tricky angle precisely struck his right arm's shoulder joint holding the gun!
He scread miserably, the grenade launcher slipped and fell, and his whole body was blown backward.
The "Doctor" had just administered morphine to an ISOF mber whose abdon was shredded by shrapnel and hadn't yet bandaged the wound when three or four "Musician" soldiers pounced like wolves, pinning him down. His rifle was kicked away, and his hands were brutally tied behind him.
"Tombstone" emptied his last HK416 magazine, and hearing the empty pin clicking, he unhesitatingly threw down the rifle and lightning-fast drew the P226 pistol from his waist holster. But just as he raised his hand, a shock bomb landed by his feet—
Boom—
Buzz—
His head instantly buzzed violently, his vision filled with golden stars, and everything went blind...
When he regained so composure, at least three cold gun barrels were firmly against his forehead, temple, and chest.
He froze, fingers slightly trembling as he held the gun.
Through the blurred night-vision goggles, he saw that all the teammates who could still stand had been subdued, so knocked out, others bound, with more motionless figures or curled-up, groaning wounded lying on the ground.
He dejectedly loosened his fingers, the P226 pistol dropped with a "clink" onto the cold sand and gravel.
Surrender, for a US Army soldier, wasn't considered humiliation or sha.
But shock, humiliation, disbelief...
Various emotions interwoven in his eyes.
They, representing the pinnacle of US ground combat power, the Delta Force, actually... in this damned desert, in the pre-dawn darkness, got overwheld by a group of rcenaries with the most primitive and violent artillery barrage and then crushed like hunted rabbits with an absolute advantage in numbers?
This was simply the greatest irony of his career!
"Sweep the battlefield! Quick actions! Check the wounded, distinguish friend from foe! All prisoners, cuff them, blindfold them, search them! Carry all equipnt we can take and destroy the rest on-site! Quick! We have less than fifteen minutes!"
The silhouette of Jiang Feng appeared at the edge of the valley, holding an AK-103 assault rifle outfitted with tactical attachnts, his voice clearly transmitted to each soldier through the throat microphone.
The well-trained "Musician" soldiers efficiently executed the orders.
They treated their own wounded, identified enemy casualties, quickly tied up, blindfolded, and gagged five prisoners, dragging them like cargo to the waiting pickup trucks on the valley outskirts.
anwhile, they swiftly gathered scattered enemy weapons, communication devices, ammunition, and any valuable docunts or electronic equipnt, the entire process rapid, efficient, and ruthless, like a precision machine in operation.
Almost as the first explosion echoed, in the US Joint Operations Center far in Baghdad, chaos erupted.
On the large electronic situation map, the blue marker representing the "Gray Fox" squad began flashing wildly, and adjacent appeared red alerts of "Communication Disrupted" and "Beacon Anomaly!"
The duty communication officer sharply looked up, his voice tinged with a barely noticeable tension:
"Report! We've lost stable contact with the 'Gray Fox' squad! The last received fragnted audio has loud background explosions, the call content... Confird as an artillery ambush!"
In the command seat, Colonel Kote, who was napping, sprang upright as if pricked by a needle, charged a few steps to the console, his face turned ashen in the screen's cold glow.
"Location! Last signal source!"
"Signal last disappeared approximately thirty kiloters west of Hulmatu, in the 'Devil's Hyoid' area!"
"Song—He—Ping!"
Kote squeezed the na through clenched teeth, slamming a fist on the sturdy tal console, echoing a dull thud.
"It must be that damned crafty Dong Lord!"
Everyone in the command center was startled, instantly falling silent.
His eyes fixed intensely on the latest satellite imagery, which, due to orbit and refresh rate, showed a few minutes delay, only showing a few blurry bright spots and smoke trails in the region distinct from the surrounding environnt.
"Orders!"
Kote's voice, hoarse with anger, carried undeniable lethal intent.
"Al Udeid Air Base! Scramble two F-15E 'Strike Eagles' urgently! Load GBU-38 JDAM and AGM-114 'Hellfire'! Target area, the center coordinates of 'Devil's Hyoid'! Authorize them to fire at will upon confirming enemy engagent, without requiring secondary confirmation! Plow that valley for !"
"Colonel!"
A major responsible for airspace coordination hurriedly reminded, "It's adjacent to Hulmatu, effectively controlled by the 'Musician' defense zone, plus our squad may still have survivors, there's risk in direct airstrikes..."
"I don't care about any risk!"
Kote suddenly turned, glaring with bloodshot eyes at the staff officer.
"That's our elite squad! They might be getting slaughtered or worse, captured! We must do sothing! Either rescue them, or... avenge them! Execute orders imdiately!"
He took a deep breath, suppressing boiling anger, his brain racing—
The straight line distance from Udeid Base to the target area is approximately eight hundred kiloters, the F-15E scrambling, climbing to optimal altitude, engaging afterburners for supersonic dash...
Even if everything goes smoothly, it'll take about thirty minutes to reach the target airspace at the earliest!
Furthermore, upon arrival, ti is needed to identify specific targets, avoid possible survivors, complete weapon system preparation and locking...
"Damn it! Too slow!"
Kote's heart sank.
By the ti his dispatched aircraft arrived, nothing might remain but craters, charred wreckage, and perhaps a few unidentifiable bodies.
Song Heping, that cunning bastard daring to act, must have calculated the ti, leaving no targets for imdiate retaliatory strikes from the US!
A fierce frustration of being played and overwhelming anger nearly consud Kote.
For the first ti, he felt that man's Eastern ruthlessness and decisiveness.
But this ti, the other party is no longer playing along, but openly, blatantly waging military confrontation!
This is a declaration of war on the US troops!
He actually...
Dares to!!!
User Comments
0 comments from readers