Song Heping dove to the ground and saw the damned Mk VII jump around in the sandpit, splitting into two. Twenty grams of black explosive had already soaked into a dark red color—like the nosebleed that sprayed at this mont, sizzling on the scorching sand.
"Dud?"
Jiang Feng slumped in the sandpit, with half a fuse plate still stuck to the sole of his boot, his calves trembling uncontrollably.
Getting this frightened would scare the soul out of anyone.
It was truly dangerous just now.
If the landmine had uncontrollably exploded, the two wouldn't have survived either.
Song Heping spat out the sand in his mouth and, with trembling fingers, picked up the blackened detonator.
The Roman nural "VII" inside the copper shell was oxidizing and peeling, revealing the smaller German inscription "Zünder 43" beneath—this was a dual-trap modified by the German Army in North Africa in 1943; the second fuse would activate after the first disarming attempt failed.
In other words, this fuse had already been disard once by the German Army engineers and was now in a failed state.
Cold sweat trickled down Song Heping's forehead.
This was more thrilling than any bomb defusal he had done before.
"They're coming!"
Antonov, who was on lookout duty, issued a warning.
Song Heping pulled Jiang Feng up, then returned beside Sara and carried her on his back, leading toward the building cluster ahead.
Night had fallen, and Yager finally led his remaining assault team to the vicinity of the riverbed.
From afar, the few dilapidated buildings piled with rocks were connected, appearing blurry in the twilight.
The weathered sandstone glead pale under the moonlight. Major Yager's military boots trampled over a tal naplate inscribed with German characters, the strange sensation from under his foot freezing this battle-hardened Israeli soldier instantly.
Behind him, twelve Mossad assault mbers fanned out, the night vision goggles on their desert camouflage uniforms glowing a ghostly green.
"Halt!"
Yager's voice exploded in the tactical headphones, but it was already too late.
The first S-type jump mine shot up to two ters high just as young Private Kohen was adjusting his goggles.
This top graduate from the Tel Aviv Military Academy never understood why a seventy-year-old German-made Scraapnellmine could still precisely grab his throat.
The horizontal kill zone ford by 5mm steel balls swept like the Grim Reaper's scythe, three bodies simultaneously spraying blood mist.
"Scatter! Find cover!"
Yager's roar was drowned in the series of explosions.
The dried riverbed suddenly ca to life, flying iron fragnts with barbs dancing in the sand waves kicked up by TNT explosives. A team mber's tactical vest clips fell jingling at his feet—that was a severed finger wearing a wedding ring.
Song Heping pressed his cheek to the crack in the ancient castle's arrow slit, staring unblinkingly outside. A hundred ters away, a death symphony was unfolding.
He could clearly see a Mossad assault mber stepping on a trip mine, the mont the man's left leg vanished as if chewed off by an invisible giant beast, yet his body continued to charge forward by inertia, dragging a five-ter-long blood trail in the sand.
"So satisfying! I suddenly started to like the British." Antonov's face, full of smiles, looked much like a clumsy Siberian brown bear. This forr Russian Air Force pilot had just left a hidden path in the minefield—a zigzagging trail marked by cal thorns lying quietly under the moonlight.
But those Mossad assault mbers hadn't noticed this detail.
Every ti they deviated from the cal thorn path toward death, Antonov hid behind a wall showing a sneaky smile, watching them march to their demise.
The outside quieted down.
The Mossad assault mbers stunned by mines had indeed fallen into bad luck.
The helicopter crashed, most were dead.
They thought it would be easy to eliminate the unard Song Heping this ti, leaving his corpse to rot in this desolate desert.
However, it seed that first to rot would be themselves and their companions.
"Nobody move, there are mines here..."
In the moonlight, Yager's eyes scanned the surroundings.
Soon he despaired.
Everywhere looked the sa in the sandy terrain, it was impossible to tell where was safe and where was not.
Of course, so areas were safe, those were the little zones where his comrades had already been blown up.
But relying solely on these zones, it was impossible to approach the buildings.
They were still a hundred ters away from the buildings.
Though it didn't sound far.
Just a small margin could an life or death.
Even retreating now, firing at Song Heping and his group from a hundred ters away or launching grenades wouldn't work.
Though those old and rundown ancient buildings seed about to fall apart on the surface, they were actually piles of stones—surviving hundreds of years of sandstorms, undoubtedly solid and durable.
"I want to go out." Song Heping picked up the old British bayonet, suddenly making up his mind: "You guys stay here, I want to bring back so supplies."
"Go out?" Antonov was quite surprised.
"Go out for what?"
Song Heping pointed outside: "Weapons, and food and water."
"Are you crazy?!" Antonov whispered in shock: "Just relying on the bayonet?! "
"They had just regrouped for the attack, now one group was blown to the sky, I estimate several assault mbers are either dead or wounded. This is an opportunity to easily deal with them, it's not difficult."
"Not difficult..."
Antonov suddenly realized Song Heping's courage surpassed anyone he had ever seen.
Under such circumstances, he dared to launch a sneak attack, aiming to seize supplies.
Without waiting for Antonov to persuade him again, Song Heping was already drilling into the other side of the building, slipping out from a side door.
A minute later, in the left riverbed of Mossad's assault squad, Song Heping moved like a gecko along the sandstone crevices.
His target was a lone assault mber, sticking close to the rock wall because the risk of hidden mines there was drastically lower.
Every step carried imnse risk.
Antonov was right.
He really was crazy.
But now, if he couldn't get water and food, before tomorrow's sunset, the few of them might starve and die of thirst in that ancient building.
Finally, he heard a wailing sound ahead.
That was the wail of a Mossad assault mber who had stepped on a mine and was now seriously injured.
Just from the wails, Song Heping could determine the number of personnel and whether they were injured.
Circling past a corner ahead, he saw a dying Mossad assault mber.
This guy was lying on the ground, both legs soaked in blood, one of which seed to be broken.
The British engineers who once mined here had used many types of mines, including captured German mines, and even whimsically remodeled so into various chain mines and trap mines. Anyone entering here without being a bomb disposal expert had very low chances of walking out alive.
He moved like a ghost to the front of that Mossad assault mber.
The opponent finally saw the shadow on the ground.
He looked up and saw Song Heping.
"Shh—" Song Heping placed his finger to his lips like soothing a child, gesturing for silence.
The Mossad assault mber had never expected the target to dare co out of the ancient building and approach quietly.
And his comrades were just a few tens of ters away, separated only by the crisscross rock walls, unable to see him.
"Help…"
He opened his mouth to call for help, without even producing the thought to draw his gun and resist.
Unfortunately, Song Heping wouldn't give him any chance to speak.
The slightly rusty British bayonet pierced from one side of the neck, directly through the throat and vocal cords, the Mossad assault mber convulsed, struggling like a fish pulled ashore.
At this mont, another Mossad assault mber who had originally fainted suddenly woke up.
He was blown away by the explosive wave from the mine, embedded with lots of fragnts, his face a bloody ss.
Although he was a heavily trained special operations soldier, he still maximized his body's potential, grabbing Song Heping and hugging him, aiming for a mutual demise.
Song Heping was horrified.
There were mines everywhere.
If pushed down, he might crush onto a lucky mine, blowing himself up.
The bayonet couldn't be pulled out in ti, Song Heping had to let go.
The opponent evidently wished to perish together.
As a gravely injured man, the bravest act was to die together with the enemy.
Song Heping lifted his left foot and stretched it backward against the rock wall, preventing himself from being pushed down, while two fingers on his right hand dug into the opponent's eye socket, the other hand punching the temple.
After two heavy blows, the remaining body finally went limp.
He stripped off the supplies like food, water, and weapons from the corpse, leaving nothing behind.
Nearby, there were swishing footsteps, followed by Yager's call: "Albert! Frank!"
He kept calling out the nas of two mbers.
No response.
Yager looked around, gritting his teeth, daringly approaching the source of the sound along the rock wall.
However, he saw only two corpses and a retreating figure.
That was Song Heping.
Yager raised his gun and fired.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—
Bullets rained down on Song Heping.
But before Yager could aim properly, Song Heping had already vanished.
"Damn it! Damn it! I will kill you!"
Yager couldn't pursue quickly.
It was a minefield.
He could only watch helplessly as Song Heping's figure disappeared around the corner, listening to the sound of his shoes gradually fading away in the direction of the ancient building, until it was gone.
At this mont, Yager almost lost control.
User Comments
0 comments from readers