Within Mosul City, over eight hundred remaining 1515 extremists, like a pack of wolves whipped into a frenzy, poured out from various buildings and leapt onto vehicles in chaos and fear.
Battered pickup trucks, civilian trucks modified with heavy machine guns, and a few captured governnt army armored vehicles emitted piercing roars, the headlights wildly piercing through the smoke-filled streets.
Kazal jumped onto the leading ard pickup, stood at the machine gunner's position, waved his AK-47, and roared hysterically, "For Allah! For the Caliph! Pursue them! Kill them all!"
This pursuit convoy, mixed with fanaticism, fear, and brutality, kicked up a storm of dust like a raging poisonous dragon charging through Mosul's shattered city gates.
Soon, they found the footprints and chaotic tire tracks left by the militias retreating on the ground outside the city, all without exception heading into the boundless darkness of the south.
"It must be the 'Liberation Forces'! It's Samir's n!"
Kazal stood in the bumpy truck bed, staring intently southward.
Now the northwest of Illiguo was completely the domain of the 1515 forces, and the only group daring to oppose them was the "Eligo Liberation Force," a militia group holed up in the south.
The night wind brushed his sweat-drenched and dusty face, adrenaline surging wildly within his body.
"Chase them with all the speed! They have fewer vehicles than us, and so are on foot! In less than an hour, we can catch up with them!"
He only wanted to catch those attackers and tear them apart in the most brutal way, washing away the sha of the outpost being ambushed with a bloody victory.
After all, within the 1515 forces, losers were seen as incompetent, with outcos no better than captives.
Almost at the sa ti as Kazal's convoy stord out of Mosul, dozens of kiloters away, in a concealed depression outside Hamdaniya, Samir's satellite phone transmitted the low but excited voice of the forward observer, "Sandstorm! Sandstorm! The target is out! Large numbers, many vehicles, heading south at full speed along the predetermined route! Repeat, the poison snake is out of the hole, heading for the trap!"
"Received! Continue observation, stay concealed!"
Samir's voice remained calm, but the hand holding the phone trembled slightly.
Success!
The first step, success!
A rush of hot blood surged to his head, quickly subdued by cold rationality.
He abruptly stood up, surveying his surroundings.
In the depression, in the darkness, countless pairs of eyes were watching him, like a pack of wolves lurking in the grass, glinting with tension, anticipation, and a do-or-die spirit.
These eyes belonged to militia fighters from different tribes and factions. Their equipnt was rudintary, with many AK-47 stocks already worn shiny, their clothes stained with oil and dirt.
At this mont, they were gathered here because of shared hatred and goals, yet the shadow of fear hadn't completely dissipated. The notorious brutality of the 1515 forces weighed heavily on each heart like a lead block.
Samir took a deep breath, the piercing night wind filling his lungs.
He jumped onto a slightly elevated dirt mound and switched on the high-beam flashlight.
The blinding beam sliced through the darkness like a stage spotlight, riveted all eyes on him instantly.
He raised a gaphone, his voice exploding over the silent depression like rolling thunder:
"Brothers! Eagles of Illiguo!"
His voice was a bit hoarse from excitent, yet it contained the explosive power of a volcano.
"Look at the ground beneath you! Sll the wind's scent! This is the land of our ancestors! It's the land that nurtured us! But now, it's occupied by scorpions crawling out of hell! They've defiled our Mosque, slaughtered our kin, and dragged our sisters into the abyss!"
He abruptly pointed north towards Mosul, where the skyline still bore remnants of artillery and burning's dark red glow.
"Just now, we smashed their poisonous fangs in Mosul with our vengeful artillery! Now, their leader, that butcher Kazal stained with the blood of our compatriots, is charging at us like a Mad Dog with his remaining minions, whipped into a fury!"
He paused, his gaze like an eagle's sweeping across each face appearing especially resolute or tense under the spotlight.
"They think we're a flock of lambs to be slaughtered! They think we'll be scared out of our wits by their notorious na! They are wrong! Very wrong!"
Samir's voice rose sharply, with a tallic clangor, "Tonight, here in Hamdaniya! In this valley beneath our feet! We will wash away Illiguo's sha with their blood! With their bones, we will tell all those who dream of enslaving us — Illigos never yield!"
"Allahu Akbar!" he shouted triumphantly.
After a brief deathly silence, the depression erupted in a response like a mountain wave:
"Allahu Akbar!!!"
"For our holand!"
"For our fallen kin!"
"Kill them all!"
The long-suppressed anger, trampled dignity, longing for kin, and thirst for revenge ignited completely at this mont!
"All units! Follow the planned sche, imdiately proceed to ambush positions! Quickly!"
Samir turned off the flashlight, and the depression returned instantly to darkness, leaving only countless hurried footsteps and the clanging of weapons, like a tide of steel surging through the night, swiftly and orderly lding into the rugged mountains on either side of the Hamdaniye River Valley, soon disappearing from sight.
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