The smoke of Hulmatu rose in the deepest darkness before dawn, the light of the explosions painting the sky a dark red.
At a garrison stronghold in the city's northeast area—the third-floor window of the city hospital, Colonel Ross held up binoculars with his bandaged left hand.
In his field of view, the black flags of 1515 had already been planted on every major building of the city hall, post office, and central square.
Those flags fluttered in the morning wind, like the wings of crows symbolizing death.
"Sir, D District has completely fallen, the remaining troops have retreated to the market square area, with casualties over sixty percent."
"E District is still in a firefight, but there are only three anti-tank missiles left."
"F District is requesting ergency reinforcents, they are surrounded on three sides, the commander says... they can hold out for at most one more hour."
Bad news ca one after another, like a dull knife cutting flesh.
Ross put down the binoculars and turned to look at the combat map.
The blue markings representing governnt army controlled areas had shrunk from sixty percent of the entire city 24 hours ago to now less than thirty percent.
Moreover, this thirty percent had been divided into three isolated islands: the hospital, police station, and power plant.
Between these three islands, 1515's troops were surging like tides.
Major Miller, the adjutant, stood beside him, a fresh shrapnel graze on his smoke-blackened face.
"Sir, if we abandon the market square, our three strongholds will be completely isolated and unable to support each other."
"We've been isolated for a long ti, Miller."
Ross sighed.
"Now, it's not about holding area, but ti. Every hour we hold on, Washington feels more pressure, and Song Heping has a better chance to act."
He picked up the encrypted satellite phone and connected to the dedicated line in the Baghdad Green Zone.
A hiss of static ca from the other end, followed by General Duke's tired but still steady voice: "Ross, report the situation."
"General, two-thirds of Hulmatu city has fallen."
Ross tried to keep his voice steady:
"But the remaining troops are divided in isolated strongholds at the hospital, police station, and power plant. Heavy weapons and ammunition are about to run out, with over four hundred injured... we can hold out for a few more hours at most. Repeat, a few hours at most."
The other end of the line was silent for five seconds.
Five seconds normally pass in an instant, but felt as long as a century now.
Ross could imagine what Duke looked like at the Baghdad command center—hands bracing the edge of the electronic sand table, staring at the blinking red dot of Hulmatu, surrounded by shuttling staff, ever-updating intelligence screens, and that invisible yet omnipresent political pressure.
"Hold on a bit longer, Ross, we will continue to send air force support to you."
Duke's voice finally ca through: "I'm making my final efforts. The higher-ups in Washington need so ti to complete the procedures."
"General, my soldiers don't have ti." Ross almost shouted, but imdiately lowered his voice, "Please tell those bureaucrats sitting in the White House and the Pentagon—that even though we are rcenaries, our lives are lives too!"
After saying that, he hopelessly hung up the phone, then moved closer to the window.
The eastern sky turned gray, but the city was still shrouded in gunfire's light.
In the distance ca the roaring of tank main guns, followed by the loud crash of collapsing buildings—they were using the most brutal thods to clear resistance strongholds.
Miller handed over half a bottle of water: "Sir, do you think Song Heping will really co?"
Ross took the bottle but did not drink.
He gazed towards the southeast, towards the direction of area 4.
"He will co," Ross finally said, his voice so low it was almost inaudible, "but not to save us, for his own ga."
At the sa ti, in area 4.
Song Heping had set up a temporary command post inside a truck, its body reinforced by engineers for so level of bulletproof protection, its top covered with a camouflage net, and the interior filled with communication equipnt and electronic screens.
Six display screens showed real-ti battlefield images transmitted by drones: street battles in Hulmatu, the maneuvers of 1515 troops, logistical convoy routes, and even the defensive arrangents of rear towns like Titrick, Tuz, and Feihate.
Jiang Feng stood in front of the main screen, his fingers swiping and zooming quickly over the touch screen.
"Old squad leader, 1515's vanguard troops have already penetrated into Hulmatu's city center, Ross's forces have been squeezed into three blocks."
Jiang Feng brought up a thermal imaging picture, where dense red human figures looked like an ant swarm.
"At this progression rate, the hospital stronghold will fall by noon today at the latest, and Ross will be finished."
Song Heping sat on a folding chair with a 1:50000 military map spread out in front of him. The map was densely marked with red and blue pencils indicating troop deploynts—allies, and governnt army in blue, and he had drawn his own arrows and circles with a black marker.
His gaze did not linger on Hulmatu but moved along an almost invisible dotted line.
That dotted line started from Raqqa at the Syrian border, crossed the desert, bypassed the US surveillance zone, skirted along Lake Sersal's western shore, and finally reached Titrick—this was Ahd's secret supply line, a lifeline supporting the Ahd Group's offensive capability.
"Where is Ahd's main force?" Song Heping asked.
"Five hundred vanguard troops are inside Hulmatu city, and three thousand more stretched over the 60 km highway from Hulmatu to here, using a Long Snake Formation for marching."
Jiang Feng brought up another set of images, high-altitude drone captured overhead shots.
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