Bullets hitting the sand kicked up lines of dust, while hitting human bodies, they burst into splashes of blood mist.
anwhile, BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles on both sides of the tank units began to accelerate.
These combat vehicles surged into the 1515 ard formation at sixty kiloters per hour.
The 30mm autocannon unleashed shells at a rate of 330 rounds per minute, each shell easily penetrating the thin armor of the pickup trucks, tearing the personnel inside to shreds.
"Get out! Get out! Establish a defense line!"
The BMP-2's rear hatch opened, and fully ard Persian Revolutionary Guard soldiers poured out.
These soldiers were skilled in tactical movents, progressing in groups with alternating cover.
Their night-vision goggles provided a clear advantage at dusk—in the eyes of the 1515 militants, the sky was darkening, limiting their vision, but to the Revolutionary Guard soldiers, the battlefield was as clear as daylight.
"Ten o'clock direction, three-man team behind the pickup!"
"Received."
Thump thump thump—
The sniper rifle with a silencer shot continuously, and three gunn who had just set up their machine guns dropped to the ground.
"Advance! Clear the entire area!"
Revolutionary Guard soldiers moved like precise killing machines, systematically clearing resistance points along their path.
Their coordination was flawless, their fire distribution rational, each engagent swift and deadly.
The flank of the 1515 ard group completely collapsed within just twenty minutes.
Az finally realized what was happening.
"Persians! Those guys are the Persian Revolutionary Guard!"
He scread hysterically into the radio, "All units on the flank, turn north imdiately! Block them!"
But his orders could no longer be effectively conveyed.
The electronic warfare unit of the Revolutionary Guard had already activated jamming equipnt, filling the civilian walkie-talkies and radios used by the 1515 ard group with ear-piercing noise.
To make matters worse, Az discovered his command location had been exposed.
Four small drones hovered overhead, their caras coldly observing everything below.
Soon afterward, the distinctive whine of turbine engines echoed through the sky.
Three "Storm" attack helicopters skimd the low altitude, the three-barrel 20mm cannons beneath the cockpit starting to spin.
"Allah—"
Az could only let out a startled cry.
Boom boom boom boom boom—!
20mm shells rained down at a rate of 750 rounds per minute.
Shells hit the pickup trucks, the weak armor tearing like paper; those striking human bodies could cut them in half.
High-explosive warheads burst on the ground, fragnts spreading like a fan, covering the entire area.
Az's command convoy turned to scrap tal within thirty seconds.
He was sowhat lucky, his guards imdiately pinned him to the ground, dodging the first wave of strafing.
When he struggled to get up, the scene was hell-like—
His carefully selected command team, those experienced commanders and communication specialists, had turned into mutilated corpses.
Vehicles burned, radio equipnt scattered everywhere, so still crackling.
"Sir! We must retreat!"
A blood-soaked guard dragging him towards the rear.
But it was already too late.
Four BTR-80 wheeled armored cars flanked from the side, their 8x8 tires kicking up high clouds of dust on the sands.
The 14.5mm heavy machine gun on the roof locked onto several guards trying to protect Az's retreat.
Ratatatata—!
Bullets tore human bodies to pieces.
Az was pinned to the ground, a cold gun barrel pressed against the back of his head.
He looked up to see a Revolutionary Guard special soldier coldly staring at him.
The soldier wore an advanced FAST helt with night-vision goggles mounted, face painted with camouflage oil, revealing only emotionless eyes.
In the Persian Revolutionary Guard ranks, only one unit had such individual equipnt—Fatihin!
"Az Al-Badri?"
A soldier asked in Arabic with a Persian accent.
Az wanted to spit at him, but ultimately just nodded weakly.
"Take him away."
The soldier ordered succinctly.
After losing its command center, the resistance of the 1515 ard group quickly disintegrated.
The Revolutionary Guard's armored units sliced through the originally dense pursuit formation like a hot knife through butter.
Divided and surrounded militants either surrendered or launched desperate suicide charges, only to be mowed down by machine guns and artillery.
As night fully descended, the battlefield was mostly quiet.
Only sporadic gunfire continued—Revolutionary Guard soldiers purging remaining stubborn elents.
In most areas, the fighting had ended, replaced by the operations of imprisoning prisoners and clearing the battlefield.
Floodlights and vehicle lights illuminated the battlefield like daylight. The air was heavy with the sll of gunpowder, blood, and the acrid scent of burning diesel.
Thousands of 1515 militants knelt on the sandy ground with heads in hands, most of them ragged and terrified.
Revolutionary Guard soldiers stood ard, thodically escorting prisoners to temporary POW camps.
On the other side of the battlefield, dics were rescuing the wounded—
Mainly their own wounded and a few valuable captives.
As for ordinary 1515 wounded, they were only given basic bandages before being tossed into the pile of captives.
Armored vehicles shuttled across the battlefield, engineering units were clearing roads, recovering usable equipnt.
Occasionally, mines or unexploded ordnance was discovered, explosive ordnance disposal experts cautiously proceeding to handle them.
"Report to General, preliminary battle statistics."
A staff officer saluted Avanti, "Killed about eight to nine thousand enemies, captured more than two thousand four hundred, the rest scattered. Seized over two hundred various vehicles, countless weapons and ammunition."
Avanti stood by his command vehicle, gazing at the battlefield that had just undergone a bloody battle, his face expressionless.
"Our losses?"
"Sixty-seven dead, one hundred sixty-three wounded, with thirty-four seriously injured. Lost two armored cars."
This exchange ratio was horrifying.
But Avanti knew it wasn't entirely due to the strength of his forces; more of it was because of the elent of surprise and equipnt disparity, more importantly, Song Heping had been skirmishing with this twenty-thousand-strong 1515 ard group for an entire day, the enemy was a weary army, he had gained a great advantage.
Moreover, this 1515 ard group was not prepared for a regular army armored assault.
"General, Song Heping's troops are approaching." The adjutant reported.
Avanti looked up, towards the southern horizon, a convoy was arriving.
Leading the convoy were several ard pickups, heavy machine guns mounted on their roofs.
In the center of the convoy, an inconspicuous armored off-road vehicle stood out.
Avanti adjusted his uniform and walked forward.
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