Just when Az was determined to pursue Song Heping at all costs, in the Baghdad Green Zone's Joint Command Center.
The air conditioning system, maintaining constant temperature and humidity, emitted a low hum, evenly distributing filtered cool air to every corner. The air was filled with the tallic cooling scent peculiar to electronic equipnt and a faint aroma of coffee.
The huge electronic screen was divided into several windows: real-ti satellite cloud images, electromagnetic signal spectrum analysis, updates on the positions of friendly units...
But the most central and eye-catching was the real-ti image transmitted from a "Global Hawk" UAV silently hovering at tens of thousands of feet high.
In the footage, the landscape showed the unique ochre yellow and reddish-brown of the Gobi Desert, with a dried-up riverbed snaking through like a massive scar.
Along this riverbed, a cloud of dust kicked up by vehicles and n was struggling to creep toward Iji.
This was the focus of Colonel Kote's attention at the mont - the mixed force led by Song Heping.
Behind them was a dense, muddy cloud of dust, like a boiling sea of sand, or a pack of wolves chasing prey, relentlessly pursuing.
It was a torrent of over twenty thousand Islamic State militants in pursuit.
The distance between the two sides was precisely marked on the screen, sotis getting closer, sotis farther.
Occasionally, a small bright white flash would explode along the contact line, followed by a plu of gray-black smoke, indicating firefights between small rear guard units and the vanguard of the pursuers.
Colonel Kote held a freshly brewed cup of black coffee, the rich aroma matching his current mood perfectly.
He sank comfortably deep into the command chair, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Look, McCoy."
Colonel Kote's tone was as relaxed as if comnting on a weekend football ga, "Doesn't it look like the wildebeest herds crossing the Mara River on the Maasai Mara Grassland?"
Standing beside him, Major McCoy, his young staff officer, had a worried expression on his face.
The electronic tactical board in his hand was constantly being updated with data summarized from signal intelligence, drone image AI recognition, and sporadic reports from the front line—
Friendly identification signals were continuously decreasing, and casualty numbers were ominously climbing.
Each number that jumped was like a heavy hamr beating on his chest.
"Colonel."
McCoy's voice carried a distinct anxiety as he said:
"According to the simulation calculations, at their current speed and the intensity of the enemy's pursuit, it's almost impossible for them to safely reach the relatively safe zone on the outskirts of Bayji by nightfall. We..."
He paused, took a deep breath, and cautiously asked:
"Can we really not provide any air support? Even symbolically, sending out one or two 'Apaches' with precision-guided weapons to clear so of the approaching forward elents of the pursuers would greatly relieve their pressure."
Kote took a slow sip of coffee without haste, then shook his head, his smile undiminished:
"Symbolically? McCoy, my dear Major, war isn't a show, nor is it for fulfilling moral self-gratification. We do have an agreent with Song Heping; they are responsible for fighting on the front line against 1515, while we provide necessary intelligence, logistics, and... theoretically... air cover. But an agreent is dead, people are alive, and the strategic situation is ever-changing."
He placed the coffee cup on the console, operated a few touches on the screen, and enlarged a zood-in image of a local firefight captured by the drone.
In the image, several ard pickup trucks with mounted DShK heavy machine guns were using the terrain's undulations to frantically pour bullets into a simple position constructed using so boulders.
The 12.7mm caliber warheads hitting the rocks sent up dense sparks and stone dust, pinning the figures inside the position so hard they could hardly raise their heads.
Occasionally, a figure would attempt to return fire, imdiately drawing even fiercer volleys, with sand mixed with possible traces of blood splattering before the lens.
"Look here,"
Kote pointed to the screen with a calm analytical tone.
"1515's main force is now drawn like sharks to the scent of blood. This is the scenario we've been dreaming of for the past few months! I reckon this ti, if Song Heping doesn't die, he'll be crippled! He might not survive the night... hahahaha!"
"But Colonel! This is breaking our promise..."
McCoy's voice involuntarily rose a few degrees.
"Once this news spreads, our credibility in the entire Middle East will collapse! Who would trust our promises and work for us in the future? Moreover, if Song Heping's unit is completely wiped out here, the situation we painstakingly stabilized in the Northwest Region of Illiguo will face the risk of collapse! 1515 might return with the montum of a great victory, and they'll be more rampant than before! All the resources we've invested might go to waste!"
"Collapse? Return?"
Kote interrupted him, with a hint of impatience in his tone. He set down the coffee cup, propping his hands on the smooth console surface, leaning forward, his sharp gaze focusing on the screen.
"McCoy, your view is still too superficial, too limited to the tactical level. You've only seen what we might lose, not what we can gain. How much manpower does 1515 need to invest to swallow this hard bone of Song Heping? Look at the scale of this pursuit, it's nearly all the forces they can mobilize in the Northwest Region! What cost do they have to pay to chew down this bone?"
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