"Allah Akbar!!!"
A desperate scream to the extre ca from an unexpected direction.
Not far away, a 1515 mber, who had originally collapsed in a pool of blood and was on the brink of death, sohow mustered the last flicker of strength. Struggling, he lifted his upper body and, with a hand covered in his own blood and trembling, raised a heavy Makarov pistol, the muzzle unsteadily aid at the infantry fighting vehicle.
His eyes were filled with deep-seated hatred and unwillingness, seemingly trying to ignite the fla of revenge with this last flicker of life.
However, this futile struggle lasted less than a second.
"Damn your Allah!"
Bang bang bang——
A burst of sharp and precise gunfire, chilling to the bone, erupted from the gun barrel atop the BMP-97.
The 12.7 caliber bullets instantly tore the foolish person, clueless of impending death, in half.
The vehicle stopped.
The door opened, and Song Heping appeared in Abu Zari's line of sight.
Abu Zari struggled to stand up.
Only to find it useless.
Bang bang——
Bang bang——
Gunshots continued.
Song Heping walked along, raising his gun to deliver two final bullets to any remaining breathing foes.
Soon, the center of the explosion and its surroundings fell into silence.
A shadow ca over Abu Zari's face—Song Heping stood before him, blocking the light.
Abu Zari clenched his teeth, gathering his last ounce of strength, reaching for a pistol.
"He is a brave man."
Song Heping remarked, raising his hand to feed him two bullets.
Bang bang——
Abu Zari's raised arm froze abruptly in midair, and the eyes, once burning with unwilling flas, instantly lost all vigor, turning hollow and dull.
His facial expression froze in a mont of extre amazent and disbelief.
The stiffened body, as if drained of bones, heavy hit back to the mud already mixed with blood and sand, stirring up a small patch of dark red dust.
The deputy commander of the notorious "Storm" squad died like a stray dog in the yellow sands of the Isriye outskirts.
Song Heping walked to Ibrahim's body, coldly swept a glance from above, and after confirming the death, pulled the radio from the combat vest.
"The 1515 operators have been decapitated, Is, it's your turn to counterattack."
With that, he turned back into the vehicle, closed the door, and said to Utekin, "Let's go hunting!"
In the western district of Isriye City, inside a three-story cent building, battered and barely standing from the previous fierce firefight.
Is, who had just received Song Heping's notification, was leaning against the cold, bullet-ridden, and dust-covered wall, his chest heaving intensely, greedily inhaling air mixed with the strong sll of gunpowder and blood.
Sweat soaked his hair, flowing down his forehead, forming muddy streams on his dust-covered face.
His ears were still ringing, a souvenir left by the enemy mortar shell exploding nearby.
The barrel of the AK rifle in his hands was scorching, and the bullets in the magazine had already emptied.
Just a minute ago, he almost sensed the breath of death.
The vanguard of the "Storm" squad, like hyenas slling blood, had charged to the stairway of this building.
The sound of hand grenades exploding, automatic rifles firing, and the enemy's fanatical shouts were all within earshot.
He could hear the heavy footsteps of the enemy coming from downstairs.
He clearly understood, once the enemy completed the encirclent of this building and nearby positions, their options would be numbered and each led straight to hell—either trapped to death or torn apart in the hopeless close combat.
He had even already felt for his last Glock pistol and a suicide grenade at his waist, preparing to face the ultimate end which was much better than falling into the hands of those head-chopping 1515 extremists.
However, at the brink of life and death, a miracle occurred.
The continuous, seemingly endless gunfire outside the building suddenly beca sparse and sporadic! Replaced by a chaotic, haphazard firing, and...
A more unbelievable sound—engines roaring and tires screeching against the gravel road! Retreating! The enemies are retreating?!
The stark contrast nearly made Is' heart jump out of his throat.
He suppressed the urge to shout out loud, using all of his strength to keep the last shred of rationality and vigilance.
He carefully moved, avoiding any potential sniper lines from the windows, and found a hole blown open by an RPG in the wall, only large enough for one person to observe through.
Holding his breath, he slowly inched one eye close to the irregular opening.
The scene before him left him stunned, almost unable to believe his eyes!
Just monts ago, the "Storm" militants who were charging with overwhelming force like a tidal wave, were now retreating chaotically towards the desert outside the city like a swarm of ants scalded by boiling water!
They abandoned their armor and weapons, with so even discarding their heavy arms, focusing only on jumping into the nearest pickup trucks or running on foot.
Several pickups, originally serving as firepower support points, were now reversing and turning frantically, with drivers' faces filled with fear and panic, utterly disregarding the likelihood of running over their own n.
The entire offensive had completely collapsed in just a minute or two!
The ecstasy of survival spread through every cell in Is' body like an electric current!
The nerves that had been tightly strained to their limits suddenly relaxed, and the willpower that had sustained him in battle seed to be instantly drained.
His legs went limp, unable to support his heavy body any longer, and with a thud, he crumpled down on the cold concrete floor like a puppet that had fallen apart.
Sweat instantly soaked through his clothes at the back, bringing a chilling sensation. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently, trying to calm his nearly exploding heart.
But just a few seconds later, a completely different fla reignited in his eyes!
The long-suppressed, raging fire of vengeance suddenly ignited, pulling him fiercely from the abyss of despair into the realm of life, and the trendous psychological gap instantly transford into an unparalleled desire for slaughter and an urge to vent!
Advantage is ours!
These four words exploded like thunder in his mind! The situation, after paying a heavy price, had finally completely reversed!
Kill!
Kill!
Kill!
"Hiss… hiss…"
Is emitted an indeterminate growl from his throat, like the roar of a wounded beast.
He leapt up, grabbed the AK rifle leaning against the wall, swiftly replaced it with the last full magazine, and with a "clack," chambered a round.
His bloodshot eyes swept over the equally scarred, exhausted but hopeful and furious-eyed surviving subordinates around him, suddenly raising his arm with all his strength, and unleashed a thunderous roar like a wounded lion, echoing through the desolate and ruined building:
"Everyone——!!!"
He howled, then spat a bloody saliva onto the ground: "Counterattack! Now! Kill them for ! Leave none! Do you hear ? Leave no survivors! If you can see them, if they can move, as long as they're those bastards, kill them all for ! With bullets! With bayonets! With your teeth! Tear them apart! Avenge the fallen brothers! For Isriye! Kill——!!!"
This roar filled with endless rage and slaughter commands was like lighting the final fuse!
The "Death God Squad" reserve warriors burst forth like Spartan Warriors hearing the charge horn, swarming out from the hiding ruins, basents, and half-collapsed shelters, swiftly running towards the two BMP-97 Infantry Fighting Vehicles hidden behind broken walls.
The roar of the engines echoed once again down the streets of Isriye.
At this mont, the remnants of the "Storm" squad, having lost command, completely lost all organization and morale.
Their minds were utterly seized by extre fear, leaving only the most primal survival instincts.
Tactics, doctrines, honor—everything was thrown to the wind. They were like true headless flies, discarding all burdens—weapons, ammunition, even canteens and rations—just to run a bit faster.
Crying, cursing, running desperately towards the dry riverbeds, sparse shrubland, or any place they thought might be safe in the depths of the desert, hating their parents for not giving them more legs.
However, on this vast, seemingly hideable but truly inescapable desert, the infantry who had lost vehicles and organization were dood to their fate against the high-speed armored Hunter.
The "Death God Squad's" troop carriers began their first round of attacks just a few hundred ters from the retreating soldiers upon exiting the city.
Two large-caliber rooftop machine guns roared with thunderous fury.
Dense heavy machine gun bullets slashed through the dry air like the Grim Reaper's scythe with eyes, plunging into the fleeing crowd with an ear-piercing whistle.
Each explosion threw up columns of sand and bloody mist, each long burst mowing down a swath of figures.
This was not precision shooting, but a cover fire deluge intended to create extre panic and chaos, thoroughly scattering the retreating forces and leaving them with no chance to regroup and resist.
The desert instantly blood with countless flowers of death, screams rising one after another, bodies struck down rolling and twitching in the sand, leaving long trails of blood.
The convoy began to accelerate, like a pack of wolves surrounding prey, using their speed advantage to intersperse and divide.
They no longer pursued long-range kill efficiency but coldly closed in on the relatively concentrated squads of retreating soldiers.
The three Infantry Fighting Vehicles quickly converged, then swiftly spread out to pursue in different directions.
Everyone utilized firing ports and open hatches, using automatic rifles and light machine guns for precise sniping.
1515 mbers who ran slowly or were wounded but not dead were chased down by infantry fighting vehicles and rcilessly run over...
The desert turned into a vast, open-air slaughterhouse.
The yellow sand was stained a bizarre red-brown, the air filled with an unconcealable stench of blood, gunpowder, diesel, and the nauseating sweetness of ruptured innards.
Short bursts of assault rifle fire, the sound of pistols finishing off, the occasional hand grenade explosion, and the desperate whimpers of the dying ford the final notes on this desert of death.
No prisoners, no negotiation, only complete, rciless destruction, just as Is' furious command—"Leave none!"
The scorching sun rcilessly baked the land that had just undergone a baptism of blood and fire.
Until about half an hour later, everything quieted down.
The hot desert wind swept past Isriye's outskirts, carrying with it the heavy scent of blood.
The townspeople, temporarily hindered from leaving the city by the battle, slowly erged from the buildings; they disregarded the remains of the terrorists left on the battlefield but rather packed their belongings, resuming their previous zombie-like numb state, their eyes filled with terror and faces with panic, families in tow, once again beginning to flee...
User Comments
0 comments from readers