"Don't let your guard down! There must be people from 1515 nearby, this is just the appetizer…"
Sanders's roar hadn't yet dispersed in the smoke-filled air when the first wave of enemy fire struck, interrupting his warning.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh—
Thud thud thud—
The 7.62mm interdiate cartridges fired by the AK-47, with their distinctive scream and penetration, crashed like fiery hail against the broken fortifications of the checkpoint.
The sandbags thudded heavily, dust flying; the tal skin of abandoned vehicles tore easily, emitting a piercing tallic groan; the concrete walls suddenly covered in beehive-like bullet holes, debris scattering everywhere.
"Hold steady! Hold steady! Don't panic, we have the high ground!"
Sanders's voice pierced through the gunshots and explosions, attempting to suppress his subordinates' instinctive urge to retaliate, "Clearly identify before firing! Wait for my orders!"
The surviving rcenaries at the checkpoint quickly took up their designated defensive positions.
At the southeast wall, the gap torn open by a VBIED (Vehicle-borne Improvised Explosive Device) was like a gaping maw, becoming the storm's center.
The gap over ten ters wide connected the interior and exterior of the checkpoint directly, the originally layered protective walls, barbed wire, and barriers were long blown away by the blast.
"Machine gun! Reks! Mount your M249 behind the broken chassis on the left! Seal the gap! Hansen, go to the right wing, prioritize taking out anyone with an RPG and shouting the loudest!"
Sanders quickly and clearly assigned tasks through the radio, his brain swiftly calculating fire distribution and personnel allocation.
The 1515 Ard dared to assault a fixed checkpoint, they must have reconnoitered the troop deploynt here and definitely held a nurical advantage, otherwise, they wouldn't have dared.
"Roger that, boss!"
The machine gunner known as "Bull" Reks hugged his M249 SAW Light Machine Gun loaded with a 200-round belt, taking cover behind a pickup truck's remnants with only chassis and engine left post-explosion.
This position offered a relatively open view, perfectly covering most of the gap area.
He quickly set up the bipod, aiming the cold gun towards the gap, fingers touching the trigger, taking a deep breath, ready for a major confrontation.
On the other side, Hansen, like a cat, silently climbed a half-collapsed observation platform on the main building's flank.
Carefully mounting his HK417 sniper rifle equipped with a high-performance scope on the broken wall's edge, he regulated his breath, through the lens, the death zone illuminated by fire and moonlight appeared clearly before him.
The crosshairs within the lens swept over faces filled with fervor, contorted and bearded, searching for valuable targets.
The enemy surged like a flood from the surrounding darkness, primarily focusing their attack on the gap.
Their numbers were overwhelmingly high, definitely exceeding four hundred.
Most wore ill-fitting, multicolored robes, various headscarves wrapped around their heads, so even wore slippers.
Their weapons varied widely, primarily old AKM and AK-47s, so RPK Light Machine Guns, but more RPG-7 grenade launchers carried on shoulders.
Their tactical actions were crude and wild, with almost no concept of cover and alternating advances, driven purely by a nearly maddened religious fervor and indifference to death, issuing deafening howls, heads lowered, initiating a mass charge towards the gap!
"Fire!!!"
As the frontline enemy stepped into the gap's edge, less than fifty ters from the defense line, Sanders shouted the command to fire with all his strength.
Da da da—
Da da da—
Reks's M249 was first to unleash its muffled, sustained roar.
The 5.56mm bullets at a rate of nearly 800 rounds per minute ford a scorching whip, striking fiercely at the enemy mob swarming the gap.
The few frontline militants seed hit by an invisible sledgehamr, bodies convulsing violently, blood and shredded flesh spurting from behind as they collapsed silently.
But those behind seed oblivious to their comrades' death, or simply didn't care, stepping over their bodies, they continued the frenzied charge, screaming as they surged forward.
Bullets striking them raised bloody blooms, yet unless hit fatally, they could still drag their shattered bodies, staggering a few steps forward until emptying their magazines or being completely torn apart by subsequent fire.
"Bang!"
Hansen's HK417 emitted a crisp shot.
Every succinct gunshot almost always accompanied by a target falling.
His crosshairs firmly locked on a shooter clumsily loading a rocket into an RPG.
"Say goodbye to Uncle Sam."
Hansen murmured, fingers calmly pulling the trigger.
Bang!
The RPG shooter's head snapped back suddenly, like a smashed waterlon, he tumbled backward, the rocket launcher dropping to the ground.
Bang!
Another leader, waving a pistol and seemingly commanding a squad, got shot in the chest and fell motionless.
Hansen, like a calm Grim Reaper, efficiently and precisely harvested the most threatening targets.
Yet his firing rate was a re drop in the ocean against the tide of approaching enemies.
The pressure from other directions was equally imnse.
Outside the north and west walls, though the enemy didn't charge en masse like at the gap, dozens at least utilized terrain and night cover, continually suppressing with AK rifle fire and sporadically launching RPG rounds.
Boom!
An RPG round trailing flas slamd into the main building's corner, blasting a large hole, bricks flying, with screams from two rcenaries taking cover behind; life or death unknown.
Within the checkpoint, bullets flew, rocket explosions rising in fiery balls, faces twisted in rage or fear highlighted briefly amidst the chaos.
The air reeked of strong smoke odor, blood scent.
Amidst wounded cries, chaotic radio calls, and the endless enemy howls and gunfire, a symphony of destruction played.
"Where's the reinforcents?! What did Baghdad say?! What about Hulmatu?!"
Sanders, while precisely aiming and knocking down an enemy attempting a side flank with his M4A1, shouted frantically into the radio.
His voice already slightly hoarse, lips cracked, adrenaline furiously flooding his system, but logic told him they couldn't hold on for long.
Enemy numbers were too overwhelming, utterly disregarding casualties.
Downstairs, the communications soldier "Rookie" hunched in a relatively sturdy corner of the communication room, ears flooded with the dull sound of bullets penetrating walls. His fingers swiftly switched channels on the radio panel, sweat from his forehead dripped onto the keyboard.
"Thunder Command Center, this is Checkpoint Four! We need imdiate reinforcent! Repeat, urgent need for any form of support! Enemy forces are relentlessly attacking, the gap is on the verge of being lost!"
"…Checkpoint Four, received. The helicopter rescue team is nearly above you, equipped with machine guns can provide fire support, but they are just general helicopters equipped with door guns, unable to deliver precise ground strikes. Repeat, no ard helicopter support available."
Sanders's heart sank further.
This fire support was extrely limited, and the helicopters faced great danger amid such dense light weapons and RPG threats.
"Hulmatu! Contact Hulmatu militia command! Find Song Heping! Tell him we need imdiate ground support! Their camp is only over ten kiloters away!" Sanders shouted desperately.
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