Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1703 1345: A Desperate Gamble

The smoke was like a thick gray shroud, enveloping the entire dry riverbed canyon.

As Abu You led the assault team recklessly closer to the bulletproof rcedes car that Masood was in, Barzani was experiencing one of the craziest decisions of his life behind a relatively safe rock cover on the eastern side of the battlefield.

"General! We can't hesitate any longer!"

The adjutant was almost crying as he pleaded.

His face was pale from blood loss and fear, but his eyes were fixed on his commander.

"Abu You's assault team is less than a hundred ters away from us! Their snipers are still picking targets! The two machine gun teams we positioned at the high ground are completely silent! General, if we leave now, we can still dash out through that gap on the east side! If we wait any longer, all of us will die here!"

Barzani lay on the ground, his chest heaving violently, sweat constantly trickling down his temples, mixing with the dust, smoke, and blood splatters on his face, forming dirty gullies as wretched as could be.

The identity of the mysterious group that suddenly appeared was now very clear.

Abu You.

Of course, one Abu You would not have the capability to organize such a rescue.

There must be his boss behind him.

Song Heping!

That damned Lord Dong!

His eyes were fixed at this mont on the bulletproof rcedes S600 car burning furiously a few dozen ters away.

The flas had swallowed most of the car's body, the bulletproof glass shattered in the high heat with cracking sounds, occasionally sending sparks and burning debris shooting out from inside.

Masood was in there.

That seventy-year-old old fox, who controlled the Kold Autonomous Region for twenty years, both his political ntor and blood relative but also his greatest obstacle, was now in that moving steel coffin.

He might have been killed by the initial rocket explosion, maybe shot dead in the ensuing firefight, possibly had his organs ruptured by the blast shockwave, or maybe even being burned alive by the flas right now.

All are highly likely.

In an assault of this magnitude, the survival rate wouldn't exceed ten percent.

But...

What if?

What if the old guy was as tough as a cal thorn on the Gobi Desert?

What if he happened to curl up in so relatively safe corner of the car?

What if there was so unknown, additional protection added during the retrofitting of his bulletproof car?

What if he held out until Abu You's rescue?

All these "what ifs" were like poisoned icicles, piercing Barzani's adrenaline armor straight into the deepest part of his heart.

If Masood got out alive, even if barely breathing, even if severely injured or disabled, then everything Barzani did today would instantly beco futile.

No, worse than futile.

He would turn from "the potential next chairman" into "a despicable traitor and assassin," his na would be struck off the Kurd heroes' list and onto the pillar of sha, his family would endure infamy for eternity, his descendants would never be able to hold their heads up high.

No!

Absolutely not!

He couldn't gamble on this "what if"!

Once a coup begins, there can only be one outco — life or death!

In an instant, countless thoughts clashed intensely like lightning in a storm in his mind.

Troop deploynts on the military map, the stance of those key figures in the capital Elbil, the ambiguous attitude of the Aricans, the Baghdad regi's silence…

Ultimately, all these intricate lines converged into a desperate, final decision.

The fear, hesitation, and unwillingness on Barzani's face receded quickly.

In its place was a near inhuman cold resolve.

"We get in the car!"

He suddenly sprang up from the ground, shouting at the adjutant beside him.

"To Kirkuk! Now! Imdiately!"

Kirkuk.

The word was like a stimulant, igniting a spark in the adjutant's eyes.

He certainly understood the General's choice.

Kirkuk was not only an oil town but also the Kurd Ard's military hub in the north.

Three fully equipped chanized brigades totaling over eighteen thousand n were stationed there.

Moreover, these brigades were the most elite, well-equipped, and combat-experienced troops in the entire "Freedom Fighter" ard forces.

More importantly, this unit was deployed in Kirkuk originally to counter the Abu You Brigade.

No matter whether Masood lived or died, and regardless of whether Rashid and Tor Khan, his fellow coup conspirators in the capital Elbil, could successfully control the situation, as long as Barzani could reach Kirkuk alive and personally take command of those three brigades, he would hold the greatest trump card to turn the tables.

In the political ga of the Kurds, the gun barrels are always the hardest logic.

"Go!"

The Guard Captain growled lowly.

Upon saying this, he and another guard leaped from the cover simultaneously, their two modified AK-74M assault rifles spitting out hot flas towards the crevices and dirt slopes on either side where enemies might be hiding.

"Cover fire! Suppress the east side!"

The bullets struck the rocks, sparking showers and shards of stone.

Their shooting wasn't ant to kill enemies but to create a brief zone of fire vacancy, buying those precious seconds for the General's sprint.

Almost at the sa ti as the Guard Captain leapt out, a third guard rushed to Barzani's side.

He didn't speak, rely using his broad back to completely shield the General's side and rear, while firmly pressing one hand on Barzani's shoulder, forcing him to stay low.

"General, keep your head down! Run with !"

Barzani ran out.

Not in a trained, tactical leap forward, but in a headlong, desperate escape.