Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1291 The Quagmire of Chaos

9:15 a.m., Titrick underground command post.

Ahmed licked his chapped lips, the blood seeping from the cracks melting on his tongue with a hint of rust.

He stared at the old IBM ThinkPad T43 laptop in front of him, its screen emitting a pale white light.

It's a 2005 model; the battery is long gone, and it's powered by an external car battery.

The screen displayed a rough sketch of the battlefield drawn with simple drawing software, with crude lines and Arabic script and illegible coordinate numbers.

The information was transmitted in the most primitive way, with frontline observers sending coded text messages using prepaid mobile phones.

Several young soldiers in the command post who had some education were responsible for receiving the information. After translating it, they updated the sketch using a simple drawing tool on another computer.

There was no real-time satellite imagery, no drone video streams, and no digital map that incorporated IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) signals.

Several large printed satellite maps were piled up next to Ahmed, their edges worn and curled.

It was commercial satellite imagery bought at a high price on the black market, a version from a few months ago, but the street outlines and major buildings still matched.

The map also features hand-marked enemy and friendly positions, firing points, and suspected minefields using red and blue pencils.

Several different models of Motorola walkie-talkies were placed on the table, with antennas of varying lengths, each corresponding to a different front-line channel.

Further away, an old-fashioned field telephone is connected to a wired communication line buried in the city—the most reliable but also the easiest to detect method of communication, used only in critical moments.

"The infidel planes have finished the first round of bombing."

Ahmed's voice was not loud, but it carried a cold hatred, yet it was also mixed with a calmness that indicated he was in control of the situation.

He sneered:
"Their infantry, and those Kold'd men, thought they could just walk in as if they were strolling in their own backyard..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over several key leaders in the command post. Most of them were between thirty and forty years old, and their eyes held a fierceness similar to his own.

“Go, get the first wave of ‘flying cavalry’ ready. When their planes have finished bombing and are turning back to refuel and reload, that will be the window of opportunity God has given us.”

His so-called "flying cavalry" was a rapid assault group consisting of more than 250 armed pickup trucks.

This was not a hastily assembled convoy, but Ahmed's trump card, and the core mobile force of the 1515 reinforcements he led.

The vehicles have diverse origins.

These included Toyota Hiluxes, vintage Nissan Patrols, and even some locally assembled off-the-shelf vehicles seized from the Iligor government forces and the Kold'd militia.

What they have in common is that the engine has been roughly tuned, and all unnecessary parts have been removed—doors, roof, seats, and even some chassis steel plates have been cut off to reduce weight, and steel plates have been added on top of that to increase bulletproof capability.

The welded armor plates varied in thickness; some were flattened sheet metal from oil drums, while others were genuine armor steel cut from abandoned armored vehicles.

The fuel tank is the most vulnerable part. The solution is to attach sacks or metal boxes filled with sand to the outside, which is better than nothing in terms of extra protection.

The weapon configurations of these "flying cavalry" teams were also carefully planned.

The first wave consisted of approximately eighty "light" vehicles, primarily equipped with PKM general-purpose machine guns (7.62x54mm ammunition) and RPG-7 rocket launchers.

Their mission was simple and brutal: charge at top speed, disregarding casualties, with the sole objective of disrupting the enemy's forward deployment, breaking down their organization, and creating chaos.

Before setting off, the driver and gunman would take a locally produced amphetamine-type stimulant. The drug was potent and could suppress fear and improve reaction speed, but the cost was extreme exhaustion or even sudden death after the battle.

Before setting off, there is a brief but fervent chanting ceremony that puts these believers into a semi-frenzied state of "fearlessness".

The second wave consisted of about 120 "heavy" vehicles, equipped with DShK 12.7mm heavy machine guns and KPV 14.5mm heavy machine guns. A few vehicles even had 73mm low-pressure smoothbore cannons welded onto them from Russian-made BMP infantry fighting vehicles.

Their mission is to follow the first wave, pouring in after a breach has been made in the defenses, suppressing the enemy's counterattack with heavy firepower, and consolidating and expanding the breakthrough.

The third wave consisted of about fifty "special" vehicles, towing rudimentary weapon platforms.

Some of them are single, double, or quadruple ZPU series anti-aircraft machine guns, which can be laid flat as direct-fire weapons; others are simple launchers for 107mm rocket launchers welded from steel pipes, which can fire 12 rockets at a time. Although the accuracy is poor, the coverage area is large and the effect on morale is significant.

Each vehicle was an independent combat unit, and they received roughly unified commands through rudimentary walkie-talkies.

The tactical ideas came from Ahmed's experience in various irregular warfare tactics during the Sirian Civil War, and he extracted the most brutal and effective methods from them.

At 9:15 a.m., the explosions from the first wave of air raids gradually subsided.

The screeching of fighter jets diving into the air was gone, leaving only the sporadic sounds of Apache rotors lingering in the distant airspace.

Most F-16s need to return to a base 150 kilometers away to refuel and reload their weapons. This round trip and reloading process takes at least 45 minutes to an hour.

The interval between air raids has arrived.

Ahmed didn't look at his watch; his biological clock and his grasp of the battlefield rhythm were like instinct.

He picked up a Motorola walkie-talkie set to a public command channel and pressed the call button.

There was no pre-battle mobilization, no lengthy instructions.

He only said one sentence:

"'Flying Cavalry' first wave, launch the charge."

Kold's forward position, the ruins of the brick factory and the surrounding area.

Major Mahmoud struggled to set up a makeshift command post behind a section of broken wall.

His left ear was still ringing, and his right arm was cut by shrapnel, still bleeding after a simple bandage.

He had fewer than twenty soldiers left, half of whom were wounded.

Intermittent reports came through the radio from various companies and platoons. The organization had been disrupted, and casualties were estimated to be more than a third of the way down. However, the heavy machine gun positions were mostly suppressed with the support of Apaches and the F-16s that arrived later.

"Check ammunition! Rescue the wounded! First platoon, establish flank defenses in the left factory building! Second platoon, reinforce the frontal cover! Cough cough cough—"

Mahamau shouted, and soon the smoke and dust he inhaled made him cough incessantly.

The soldiers' faces were a mixture of exhaustion, fear, and bewilderment at surviving a catastrophe.

They hastily constructed fortifications using piles of bricks, collapsed walls, and burning vehicle wreckage.

Many people moved mechanically, clearly not yet fully recovered from the previous wave of precise and fierce heavy machine gun ambushes. Then, a strange sound came.

At first, there was a dull rumble, like muffled thunder rolling in from the horizon, or like countless broken drums striking at the same time.

The sound came from the south of Titrick.

Soon, the roaring sound converged and intensified, turning into a thunderous roar, mixed with the sharp, piercing sound of tires rubbing against gravel, the roar of the engine at its maximum speed, and a kind of fanatical shout.

On the horizon, in the direction of the broken road south of the brick factory, a wave of earthy yellow swept in.

That wasn't a sandstorm.

It's a car.

Countless cars.

"Allah is great! Allah is great! Allah is great!!!"

The frantic shouts instantly drowned out the engine's roar, crashing over us like a tsunami.

There was no fear in that voice, only a chilling fervor.

More than eighty pickup trucks, like runaway horses, rushed towards us from multiple directions at a terrifying speed of over 80 kilometers per hour, forming a loose fan shape with no standard tactical formation!

They didn't come along the road, but rolled directly through the open fields, between ruins, and anywhere they could get through.

The dust kicked up behind the vehicles stretched out in a continuous cloud, as if draping this death convoy in a yellow cloak.

The gunmen on the train stood in the violently jolting back compartment; many of them were shirtless, revealing their lean and excited bodies.

They clung tightly to the machine gun mounts welded to the vehicle or the guardrails of the carriage, their bodies swaying with the vehicle's bounces, yet they frantically pulled the triggers, unleashing a hail of PKM machine gun bullets with inaccurate yet astonishing density toward the Kold's men.

Even more terrifying are RPG shooters.

They squatted or stood in the carriages, and their assistants helped them load the rockets.

They would fire directly at crowds or groups of vehicles when they got within 100 meters of them.

The rockets, trailing conspicuous gray-white smoke, screamed as they crashed into the back of bunkers, between vehicles, and at the edge of crowds...

"Fire! Stop them! All weapons, fire!"

Major Mahmoud's roar changed tone; it was a struggle on the verge of despair.

The surviving Kold soldiers awoke from their shock, and light and heavy machine guns, rifles, and even pistols began to spit fire.

PKM machine guns and RPG rocket launchers also returned fire on the charging convoy.

Several pickup trucks that were at the forefront were instantly riddled with bullets.

A car's tire was shot out, causing the car to overturn violently. Due to inertia, it rolled and disintegrated, throwing the people inside the car into the air.

Another vehicle was hit directly in the front by an RPG; the exploding fireball engulfed the entire vehicle, scattering parts and debris everywhere.

But many more pickup trucks didn't slow down at all, like bulls provoked by the sight of the red cloth, charging straight at us without any regard for the consequences.

They even smashed through the burning wreckage of their companions, ran over the fallen corpses, and continued their frenzied charge.

The man in the driver's seat had bloodshot eyes and was muttering incantations as he slammed on the gas pedal, the steering wheel only roughly pointing in the direction of the Kold's position.

Their goal wasn't to engage in a firefight at all, but to charge in, crash in, and infiltrate!
The first wave of pickup trucks suffered heavy losses, with nearly half of their units destroyed. Like red-hot iron rods, they were driven deep into the hastily constructed defenses of the Kold.

Some pickup trucks don't even stop; they crash directly into cover, into crowds, or into any place where there are enemies, and then explode or overturn upon impact.

The surviving gunmen in the carriages jumped off the train the moment it went out of control or came to a stop. Some of them were still on fire. They drew their machetes or axes from their waists, or brandished rifles with bayonets, and charged at the nearest target while howling.

The defense line was instantly torn open with several bloody gaps.

Kold's soldiers, already horrified and covered in goosebumps, were forced into a brutal close-quarters battle with the invading fugitives.

Gunshots, explosions, shouts, screams, the clanging of metal, and the sound of blades piercing flesh were all mixed together.

"A breach! A breach in Sector B! The enemy has broken in!"

"They're on my left! Too close! Use grenades!"

"Help! Help me out!"

"Hold on! Don't retreat!"

The radio channel was instantly flooded with chaotic, terrified, and desperate cries.

Just as the Kold soldiers were busy dealing with the first wave of enemies rushing into the position, the second wave of "heavy" pickup trucks arrived.

These vehicles maintained a slight distance, braking or slowing down at a distance of 100 to 200 meters.

Inside the carriage, the deep rumble of the DShK 12.7mm heavy machine gun and the deafening roar of the KPV 14.5mm heavy machine gun, like tearing canvas, completely drowned out the sounds of all the small arms on the battlefield.

The 12.7mm and 14.5mm armor-piercing incendiary rounds, when fired horizontally at such close range, are devastating.

They easily penetrated the simple brick and stone shelters, pierced through the thin steel plates of vehicles, and smashed and set ablaze the people and objects behind them.

A Korde machine gun position was targeted by a KPV. In just three seconds of firing, the sandbag bunker was shattered into pieces, and the machine gunner and assistant gunner behind it were reduced to two mangled blobs of flesh and blood before they could even scream.

"We've mixed in with the enemy! Their people are everywhere! We can't tell them apart!"

A platoon leader named Kold was crying out over the radio, with deafening gunfire and explosions in the background.

"Repeated! The defensive line has been breached! Our forces are completely intertwined with the enemy! We cannot distinguish the battle lines!"

Chaos spread rapidly, like thick ink dropped into clear water, quickly engulfing the brick factory and its surrounding area.

　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)