Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1294 The 9th Armored Division's Sluggish Work

At 12:17 noon, in the direction of Ozam.

The first cannon shot finally shattered the oppressive silence.

Two brigades of the Iligor government forces opened fire simultaneously from their artillery positions, and the muzzle blasts of the 155mm howitzers sent up smoke walls several meters high around the positions.

The shells, whistling through the air, rained down on the forward positions of the 1515 armed forces, fifteen kilometers away.

The heavy tracks of the M1A1 Abrams main battle tank rolled over the dry, cracked earth, kicking up long plumes of dust behind it.

They deployed in a standard wedge formation, with three to four BMP-1 infantry fighting vehicles following behind each tank, and machine gunners on the roofs nervously scanning the hilly terrain on both sides.

"Hound pack, proceed as planned. Watch the flanks, maintain spacing."

Brigadier General Saif, the frontline commander of the Iligor government army's 9th Armored Division, transmitted his voice through an encrypted channel to the helmet headset of the main frontline vehicle crew commander.

His command post was located in a fortified observation post further back, receiving shared footage from drones and early warning aircraft via data links.

For the first ten minutes, progress was unsettlingly smooth.

The tank column rolled across the empty desert, the turrets slowly turning, the 120mm smoothbore guns pointing in a potentially threatening direction, but not firing—there seemed to be no one ahead.

"Stay alert, vanguard battalion. Reconnaissance detachment, advance!"

Saif gave further instructions into the microphone.

A government mechanized reconnaissance unit, riding in light armored vehicles, accelerated out from the right rear of the column and deployed to the flank to provide cover.

Then, the first M1A1 tank struck a mine.

It was not a regular anti-tank mine, but an improvised explosive device (IED) made from a 152mm artillery shell.

The massive explosion violently lifted the over 60-ton steel behemoth upwards, only to bring it crashing down again.

The left track was completely blown off. Thick smoke and flames billowed from the bottom of the vehicle.

"Hound 11 hit by a mine! Left track failure! No serious injuries, vehicle intact!"

Almost at the same second as the explosion, dozens of tongues of fire suddenly spewed out from the previously silent front and the hills on both sides!

Pre-targeted mortar shells began to fall; although not very accurate, they were enough to create a chaotic smoke screen and shrapnel zone between tanks and infantry fighting vehicles.

Even more deadly were the anti-tank missiles launched from the reverse slopes of the hills on both sides—the old Soviet-made 9K111 "Bason" missiles, trailing thin guidance wires and spewing orange flames, staggering towards the thinner-armored BMP infantry fighting vehicles.

A BMP-1 was hit on the side, its thin aluminum alloy armor was torn apart like paper, the ammunition inside was detonated, and the entire vehicle turned into a rolling fireball after a muffled explosion. The turret was blown more than ten meters high by the shock wave of the secondary explosion.

"Anti-tank missile! Hills at two o'clock! Smoke grenade!"

The active protection system (APS) of the M1A1 tank was not triggered.

The tank crew reacted instinctively, firing smoke grenades while the main gun and coaxial machine gun retaliated fiercely at the suspected missile launch site.

The 120mm high-explosive grenades created yellowish-brown craters on the hills, but the attackers clearly moved from place to place after each shot.

They had already shifted their positions before the counterattack even began.

Progress was hampered and abruptly halted.

The vanguard tanks found themselves facing not a continuous defensive line, but a network of anti-tank ditches, each three meters deep.

These trenches cleverly utilize and widen natural gullies, forcing tanks to find pre-designed narrow passages or roads cleared by engineers, and each passage is under the crossfire of both sides.

"They are stalling for time, intending to wear us down."

Saif stared at the screen, his face grim.

The artillery barrage appeared intense, but it seemed to have little effect on the 1515 members, who were as cunning as gerbils.

Those truly fatal obstacles are largely intact.

His troops, after encountering substantial resistance, seemed to fall into a formulaic reaction—calling for artillery support and then remaining in place in a standoff.

Performance.

The word also appeared in the mind of Colonel Kurt in the distant "outpost" command post.

A performance for Washington, and perhaps also for certain people in Bakhtar.

"Sir, the 'Sentinel' early warning aircraft reports that it has detected vehicle movement behind enemy lines, which is suspected to be a reserve force moving towards the front."

An intelligence officer in the Kurt command center reports.

"The coordinates were transmitted to the Air Force and simultaneously sent to General Saif's forward command post."

Kurt gave the order, but his mind was no longer on the front lines.

Ozam's frontal assault was part of the plan to create distraction; the real focus was on Titrick.

He glanced at the time: 2:40 PM.

There were still more than three hours until dusk.

Almost simultaneously with the deafening artillery fire at Ozam, four hundred kilometers north of Mosul, in the outskirts of the town of Afir, near the border, stood an abandoned textile factory warehouse.

Samir stood at the warehouse entrance, watching his men load the last batch of wooden crates onto five dilapidated Toyota pickup trucks.

The wooden crate contained 7.62mm rifle bullets and RPG-7 rockets from the Turkish black market, smuggled here by the "Musician" defense arrangement with money provided by the Persians.

Samir is currently recruiting soldiers and expanding his power every day.

This was the task Song Heping gave him.

He must expand the force to over ten thousand men and, following the strategy of training new recruits with experienced ones, quickly transform these newcomers into seasoned veterans capable of going to the battlefield without worrying about their pants.

Now, he is the highest-ranking commander in the Mosul region and truly controls the key section of the highway connecting Mosul with the western region.

It can be said that his "Liberation Forces" armed forces are currently blocking the vital passage for 1515 extremist armed groups to reinforce Titrick.

A subordinate rushed over and whispered, "Boss, news from Ozam is that the fighting is fierce. The 9th Armored Division has launched a general offensive."

"That has nothing to do with us."

Samir nodded, his face expressionless, and then asked:
"What I'm concerned about is the border with Syria. What have our people seen?"

“Starting yesterday evening, convoys have been coming from Anbar, heading south along Highway 9. They're not large, a dozen or so cars at a time, but they're very frequent. We followed your instructions and didn't alert them.” “Crossing the border so openly in broad daylight seems a bit too conspicuous…”

Samir scratched his head, his brow furrowing.

After all, releasing water is necessary, but to so blatantly overstep one's control zone...

Those 1515 militants seem incredibly audacious.

The recent relaxation made them think they couldn't control this vital passage anymore?

"They weren't too conspicuous; they all disguised themselves as civilians fleeing from disaster or as smugglers dealing in fuel."

The subordinate grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow from shisha smoke. "We'll pretend we didn't see anything."

Samir nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting towards the dusty highway in the distance.

He knew what was in those cars.

Weapons, ammunition, and those warriors with fanatical eyes.

They were continuously crossing their own defense zone, heading south to reinforce a place called Tetrick that was being fiercely attacked by the Americans.

He also hated 1515, those extremists were his sworn enemies.

But he knew this was called a "balancing strategy," as Song Heping had explained to him.

I want to do more for my country in the future and realize my political ambitions, so I need a stage.

Before you can step onto the stage, you have to get the qualification, the ticket to the power center of Bakta.

Otherwise, no matter how ambitious you are, it will be useless.

If you can't sit at the table, you're nothing.

Now, letting 1515 and the Americans shed more blood and prolonging the war is only beneficial to people like me.

“Tell the brothers to keep their eyes open, but not their hands.”

Samir turned and walked into the warehouse.

"As long as they don't stop or enter the city, just pretend they don't exist."

The subordinate understood and turned to relay the order.

At the same time, in a desert underground bunker east of the province of Siljaraca, far from the main road.

This is the headquarters of the "Northern Theater" command, which directs the 1515 armed forces in operations in northern Iligo.

Previously, this command post was located in northwestern Iligo, but after Song Heping joined the organization a year ago, 1515's days in northwestern Iligo became increasingly difficult. Under Bakdadi's instructions, the command post was first moved to the eastern desert region of Seria to prevent it from being taken over by Song Heping.

After all, that Easterner's military tactics were unpredictable; he had captured Mosul several times before, making people's teeth ache just thinking about him.

The theater commander, a middle-aged man known as Sheikh Abu Omar, was speaking rapidly in Arabic into a satellite phone.

On the map in front of him, Titrick's location was marked with a thick red circle.

"Yes, yes, they've started... The front line is two brigades of government troops, with tanks, but their offensive will is weak... The main focus is on the air, and there are also assault teams on the flanks... We need more anti-tank weapons, especially those to deal with helicopters... The personnel losses are heavy, but the defensive line is still standing..."

On the other end of the phone were members of the "War Committee" at the underground headquarters in the rural village of Raqqa.

Omar could hear other people arguing in the background.

A few minutes later, he hung up the phone and turned to the key leaders surrounding him with a serious expression.

“Emir understands. He will find a way. But the main support will still depend on ourselves, and... the brothers from Anbar.”

One of the leaders spat: "Anbar? Can we count on the Mosul route? Now that Samir has taken it, we've lost control of Mosul. To avoid his territory, we'd have to go south first, then north, but that's a long way off. The south is all desert, too open, with few cities to cover it. It'd be easy for the Americans to spot us, making it even riskier!"

"Things are different now."

Omar walked to a larger regional map and pointed to the location of Mosul.

"The Americans and Song Heping have a history of conflict. During our last clash in Baiji, Song Heping suffered heavy losses while the Americans stood by and watched. If the Persians suddenly appeared, Song would probably be long gone. This shows..."

He stroked his long beard.

"The fact that so many of our people were able to infiltrate the border and pass through Samir's defenses to enter Titrick a few days ago was because he deliberately let us through. Do you believe it or not?"

"Release the water?"

The other leaders exchanged glances, their faces filled with anticipation.

“That’s right,” Omar said with certainty. “So now is our chance! Whatever Song’s motives are, Titrick must be held. It’s not just a city, it’s a symbol. It’s proof that we can fight the American-led coalition head-on. Wear them down, humiliate them. We’ll pay any price for it.”

cost.

Omar understood the weight of that word.

That meant he would need to send thousands of soldiers, including many experienced veterans, into the city that was turning into a furnace.

“Orders.” He made up his mind, his voice becoming firm. “First, within Titrick, all stockpiled anti-tank missiles, sniper rifles, and explosives should be prioritized for distribution to the ‘Martyr Battalion’ and units with extensive urban warfare experience. Tell Ahmed not to worry about the gains or losses of a single street or house; use ruins, tunnels, and snipers to hold them off and wear them down.”

"Second, notify all secret transportation lines leading to Titrick to increase the frequency of transport. Send in personnel, weapons, and ammunition—anything that can move. Especially man-portable air defense systems and mortar shells."

“Third,” he paused, a glint of ruthlessness flashing in his eyes, “activate the ‘Wind’ contingency plan. Get our propagandists in Anbar and Nineveh provinces moving, encouraging more young people to ‘migrate’ to Tithric to fight. Tell people that a holy war against the New Crusade is being waged there!”

The leaders quickly jotted down the orders, and no one raised any objections.

This is the path they have chosen: victory or martyrdom.

“As for us…” Omar glanced at the map one last time, “be prepared. If Titrick really becomes critical… we may need to launch a diversionary attack, even if it’s just to distract some of the American air power.”

Once the order was given, the underground bunker sprang into action once more, with radio calls, keyboard clicks, and the sounds of people running all mixed together.

A battle far away in Titrick had its nerve center extend to the deserts of Celia.

Driven by the will of all sides, the gears of war are turning wildly toward a bloody unknown.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)