In the valley.
Rose felt his lungs burning.
Every breath was like swallowing a scorching coal, the AN/PRC-163 tactical radio on his back felt like a red-hot iron, rubbing against his sweat-soaked tactical vest.
A piercing pain ca from his right leg—a 7.62mm bullet had passed through it a few seconds ago, taking away a fist-sized chunk of flesh.
"Ten ters... to go..."
He clenched his teeth, dragging his injured leg forward with difficulty over the pile of rubble.
Bullets kept whizzing past him, sparking off the rocks.
He knew clearly that he had beco the top priority target for the "Musician" defense rcenaries.
A bullet suddenly hit his left shoulder, causing Rose to stagger, but miraculously he didn't fall.
He looked down at his wound, fresh blood was gushing out from the edge of the bullet-proof plate. This piece of ceramic armor had already stopped at least three bullets, but now, like himself, it was at its limit.
"Rose! Hurry!"
A comrade's shout ca from behind, imdiately drowned by a burst of intense gunfire.
Rose didn't need to look back to know that those brothers he had lived with around the clock were sacrificing their lives for his final ten seconds.
He took a deep breath and threw himself forward with all his might, finally grabbing the rough surface of the granite with both hands.
"I'm up! I'm up!"
Rose shouted into the radio, his voice hoarse from blood loss.
Song Heping's eyes sharpened on the cliff top.
"Concentrate fire on that rock!"
He ordered into the microphone.
"Stop him from sending the signal at any cost!"
In an instant, at least six rifles simultaneously aid their barrels.
Bullets rained down on the granite surface like a storm, with debris and sparks flying everywhere.
Curled on one side of the rock top, Rose clung tightly like a lizard, his trembling hands removing the radio from his back.
His fingers were already stained with blood, but thanks to rigorous training, he still operated the equipnt with rock-steady precision.
"Mayday! Mayday! This is Green Berets, Team 'Crow', Seventh Task Force..."
Amidst the gunfire, Rose's voice stood out distinctly.
"Coordinates XX°XX'N, XX°XX'E... Requesting imdiate air support... Repeat, requesting imdiate..."
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three bullets hit his back almost simultaneously.
The first pierced his right lung, the second broke his spine, and the third penetrated directly through his back.
Rose's body jolted violently, blood spurted from his mouth, splattering on the radio display screen.
Yet unbelievably, his fingers continued to move.
Using muscle mory, he completed the final frequency adjustnt and transmission procedure.
The green indicator light on the radio lit up—the signal had been sent.
"Mission... accomplished..."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of Rose's mouth, and his body slowly slid down beside the rock. At least fifteen bullet holes were scattered across his torso and limbs, with blood pooling into a dark red lake beneath him.
Song Heping put down his binoculars, his face ashen.
"The signal was sent," he said into the radio, "Execute Plan B."
anwhile, at Usseda Air Force Base.
Piercing alarms echoed throughout the flight squadron.
Two pilots—Major Anderson and Captain Williams—dashed toward the tarmac at top speed.
The ground crew had completed the preheat of the F-15E "Strike Eagle" fighter jets, the roar of the two F100-PW-229 engines was deafening.
"Confird receipt of the Green Berets' distress signal." Lead pilot Anderson said to the tower while fastening his seatbelt, "Heading 145, full speed ahead."
The two fighter jets accelerated down the runway, the small diater bombs (SDM) and two JDAM precision-guided bombs under their wings shimring in the morning light.
With the afterburners engaged, the jets soared nearly vertically into the sky.
"Estimated ti of arrival 18 minutes," Williams checked the tactical display, "Hope they can hold out until then."
Soon, the two "Strike Eagles" took off swiftly against the morning light, piercing into the sky.
A few minutes later, just as the F-15E squadron approached the border, the radar warning receiver in the cockpit suddenly emitted a sharp alarm.
"Warning! Warning! Ground fire-control radar lock-on!"
The electronic warfare system's synthesized female voice urgently reported.
"Type identified: Anti-aircraft system!"
Anderson instinctively glanced at the ground.
He seed to really see a few long white smoke trails rising from the ground.
He imdiately reacted: "Release chaff! Activate electronic counterasures! Rapid climb to 30,000 feet!"
Hundreds of aluminized fiberglass chaff were dispensed from the tail of the jets, forming a silver cloud in the sunlight.
anwhile, the AN/ALQ-135 electronic counterasures system began operating at full power, emitting jamming signals toward the ground.
This is a fully automatic, internally-mounted electronic warfare system capable of managing and defeating multiple threats simultaneously, prioritizing and focusing on the closest incoming danger. It employs a new PowerPC system, which significantly improves processing speed and storage and was initially developed for the United States Air Force. It is now equipped on all F-15 jets of both the US Air Force and the Cal Country Royal Air Force.
"Missile launch! Repeat, missile launch!" Williams shouted, "Four missiles airborne, bearing 275!"
On the ground, Ferrari had his eyes glued to the radar screen.
As the anti-air expert of "Musician" Defense, he knew exactly what kind of opponent he was facing.
The SAM-6's "Straight Flush" radar had locked onto its target, but the modern jet's electronic counterasures capabilities far exceeded this old Soviet-era system.
He knew well that these SAM-6 missiles could only serve as disturbances, with odds of shooting down the two F-15Es estimated at less than 10%.
"Prepare to move," Ferrari ordered over the radio, "Launch vehicles imdiately relocate, radar vehicles continue lock for 3 minutes, then evacuate!"
Four 3M9 missiles ascended with orange-red tails into the sky, but in the complex electronic interference environnt, their semi-active radar seekers quickly lost their targets.
Two missiles detonated prematurely due to the lure of chaff clouds, while the other two self-destructed following the interruption of guidance signals.
"Missile threat eliminated." Lead pilot Anderson let out a long sigh, "But we need to replan our route, they've set up anti-aircraft systems here."
"Aren't we attacking their ground launch vehicles?"
The wingman's pilot asked.
"Attacking them will waste ammunition. How are we going to attack those guys laying siege to the Green Berets then!?"
"That anti-aircraft position is in the sa direction as the distress signal source, it's a necessary route, which ans..."
"It ans our Green Beret brothers are in big trouble," Anderson interrupted him, adjusting the communication frequency, "Command, this is 'Grim Reaper 01', requesting authorization for cross-border strike..."
anwhile, in the canyon, Song Heping had already received a report from Ferrari.
"The anti-aircraft missile missed, but successfully delayed their ti."
He put down the radio, his face grave, "The F-15Es can arrive in at most ten minutes."
Song Heping nodded, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield towards the mountain path.
The battle was nearing its end.
Everything was finished.
Only sporadic gunfire continued.
Soon, it all disappeared.
"Principal."
The platoon leader of the special forces ca to report.
"All the Green Berets are dead, no return fire observed."
"Slowly advance, clean up the battlefield, make certain they're dead, and withdraw imdiately. We have less than ten minutes."
"Yes! Principal!"
In the valley, Jensen felt his whole body full of bullet holes, leaning against the Humr like a deflated water bag, blood oozing out.
The gunfire had stopped.
Look around.
The brothers were all dead.
He heard footsteps, slowly turned his head.
Several blurred figures slowly approached him.
He wanted to see more clearly, but was blinded by excessive blood loss.
He tried to reach for a gun.
Found his assault rifle had fallen two ters away.
Tried to struggle to get the gun, but found he couldn't even shift positions.
After several attempts, he finally gave up.
"Jensen?"
A dark shadow stood in front of him.
Jensen looked up, this ti he saw clearly.
No mistake.
It was the China man he'd seen many tis in intelligence briefs—Song.
"Song..."
Jensen suddenly laughed, quietly reached for the M67 hand grenade at his waist with his right hand.
"Do you know the White House has issued a 'Grim Reaper' strike order on you? Even if I die here today..."
He wanted to divert Song Heping's attention with words.
Then he could take him down with him...
Bang!
Song Heping didn't give him the chance, raising his hand for a precise shot.
The bullet accurately severed Jensen's wrist.
The severed hand with the still pinned hand grenade fell onto the sand, fingers twitching reflexively.
"I will record your deaths and send them to the White House."
Song Heping stepped up to the agonizingly curled up Jensen, pressed the gun barrel to his temple, "Let them know not everyone in this world fears them."
Bang—
The final gunshot echoed through the desert, startling a flock of crows perched on the cliff wall.
The end of everything.
Jensen and Mc Carthy's bodies lay quietly on the sand, all other Green Beret team mbers were also dead.
But the cost of this victory was seven "Musician" rcenaries forever closing their eyes, with at least twelve more wounded.
"Evacuate imdiately," Song Heping calmly ordered, "Proceed to assembly point B as planned."
Hunter limped over, his left arm wound recently re-bandaged.
"That radioman..."
He hesitated.
Song Heping glanced towards the blood-stained granite, Rose's body still in the signal-sending pose.
"He was a true warrior," Song Heping murmured, "Let's go, we shouldn't linger here."
A few minutes later, when the first rays of sunlight fully illuminated the canyon, the "Musicians" had vanished without a trace.
Only the burning wrecks of vehicles and scattered shell casings bore witness to this brutal battle.
From the distant sky ca the roar of jet engines, two F-15Es racing in at supersonic speed, destined only to collect the bodies of comrades.
Near the border on the other side, Ferrari watched the departing signals on the radar screen, a trace of cold smile at the corner of his mouth.
"Mission accomplished," Ferrari spoke into the radio, "Proceed to assembly point C."
anwhile, ten kiloters away, Kandar's camp had fallen into a sea of fire.
As the sun fully rose, Gugula Canyon returned to surface tranquility, marked only by new bullet holes in the rock walls and burning vehicle wreckage in the valley floor, recording this deadly annihilation battle.
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