Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1301 Attack! Attack! Attack!

At 5:30 a.m., 15 kilometers outside Titrick, at the Thunder Defense artillery position.

Twelve M777A2 155mm light howitzers were lined up in a row, their muzzles pointing towards the city to the southeast.

These artillery pieces were provided by the U.S. military and are now operated by Thunder Defense's artillery units.

The artillery position was located on a relatively flat sandy area, surrounded by simple defensive fortifications constructed with sandbags and barbed wire.

Behind each gun emplacement were stacks of ammunition boxes, the exposed green shells reflecting a dim luster in the pre-dawn light.

"8,400 meters from the target area, the auto repair shop."

The artillery observer's voice came through the radio, slightly distorted by static interference, but still clearly audible: "Wind from the southwest, wind speed three meters per second, humidity twenty-one percent. Firing data transmitted."

The gunner—a former U.S. Army artillery sergeant—looks at the data on the fire control computer screen.

The green numbers bounced on the black background before finally settling down.

"All company, prepare to fire."

His voice was calm, but with a metallic hardness.

The gunners began to move.

The loader took the first high-explosive shell from the ammunition box, pushed it into the breech, and made a dull metallic scraping sound.

Next came the medicine packet.

Choose the appropriate number of powder packs based on the range.

Five were used this time. The orange propellant was packaged in a fiber container and stuffed into the breech of the gun.

The breechblock is closed and locked.

The gun barrel slowly rose, adjusting its elevation. The hydraulic system emitted a slight hissing sound.

"Cannon number one, loading complete!"

"Cannon number two, loading complete!"

"Cannon No. 12, fully loaded!"

Reports were given in turn.

The gunner glanced at his watch; the second hand ticked toward its designated position.

It was exactly 5:45 a.m.

"The whole company—" He took a deep breath, "Release!"

The twelve gunners pulled the firing ropes simultaneously.

The world was torn apart at that moment.

First, huge fireballs spewed from the twelve cannons simultaneously, illuminating the entire artillery position as if it were daytime.

Then came a deafening roar, the sound waves spreading across the vast desert, so powerful that even Titrick, fifteen kilometers away, could feel the ground tremor.

The gun barrel recoiled violently backward, and the spade plowed a deep trench in the sand.

Heat waves, gunpowder smoke, and dust mixed together to form a murky haze that enveloped the entire position.

First volley.

The shell spends approximately twenty-five seconds in the air.

For artillerymen, this is a procedure that has been repeated thousands of times.

But for the people of Titrick, those twenty-five seconds were a countdown to death.

Inside the basement of a car repair shop.

Zabiel crouched in the corner, covering his ears with his hands.

Even though you know the shelling won't directly threaten your life—the basement is reinforced with reinforced concrete and buried four meters underground—the feeling of waiting for the shells to fall is still maddening.

The explosion came quickly.

It wasn't just one shot, it was twelve shots landing simultaneously.

Even through a six-meter-thick layer of earth and concrete, the shockwave still struck down like a giant hammer.

The emergency lights shook violently, dust fell from the ceiling, and the air was filled with the smell of concrete powder.

"Hold on!" the squad leader shouted in the darkness. "This is just the beginning!"

He was right.

Just ten seconds after the first volley, the second volley began.

Then came the third round, and the fourth round.

Thunder Defense's artillery employs a "sea of ​​fire" tactic—not pursuing precision strikes, but rather using maximum rate of fire to unleash as many shells as possible onto the target area in the shortest possible time.

Each minute, twelve cannons can fire forty-eight shells.

Each shell has a kill radius of over fifty meters.

Over the next fifteen minutes, more than seven hundred high-explosive shells will fall on the auto repair shop and its surrounding area.

This is what modern warfare looks like.

Using steel and explosives, an area was completely wiped off the map.

Meanwhile, at the Baiji command center, more than 100 kilometers away.

Song Heping, who was woken up by the duty officer, came to the command room and stared intently at the live footage captured by the drone.

Although the resolution was insufficient to see individual figures, the flashes of the explosion and the billowing smoke were clearly visible.

Each explosion was accompanied by a white flash on the screen, which then spread into a gray cloud of smoke.

"The shelling density is twelve shells per square kilometer per minute."

The analyst reported the data: "If it lasts for fifteen minutes, the total number of bombs dropped will exceed seven hundred. The theoretical kill rate... should be over ninety percent if personnel are exposed in the target area."

"if……"

Song Heping repeated the word.

He pulled up the structural diagrams of the auto repair shop and school complex.

They are all reinforced concrete buildings, and they all have basements or underground facilities.

If Ahmed's men retreat underground beforehand, the actual effect of those 700 shells will be greatly reduced, aside from creating noise and smoke.

More importantly, the shelling was too regular.

A 15-minute saturation attack, a 5-minute gap, followed by a ground troop assault.

This is standard US military urban warfare procedure, written in field doctrine, and any commander who has read the relevant materials can recite it by heart.

Has Ahmed read it?

He must have read it.

The 1515 armed group has a complete archive of captured documents, including US military operational manuals, training manuals, and tactical analyses.

They even organized special workshops to study how to counter the standardized tactics of the U.S. military.

So, if Ahmed had known the shelling would last fifteen minutes, the gaps would be five minutes, and the ground troops would launch an attack after the gaps ended...

Then he can precisely calculate the time and set traps.

"Has Samir made contact with his informant inside 1515?" Song Heping suddenly asked.

"There's no new information. I just contacted him to try and get the latest intelligence, but there's been no response."

Jiang Feng shook his head: "The last communication was six hours ago. The informant said he would try to infiltrate the school area, but there has been no news since then."

Song Heping continued to stare at the screen.

The shelling continued, flashes of light appearing and disappearing like a grand fireworks display. But the price of this fireworks display would be countless lives lost.

"Let's raise the alert level for our people. Today won't be peaceful..."

At 6:05 a.m., the shelling ceased.

The world suddenly fell silent.

It's not true quiet.

The tinnitus persisted, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and dust, and in the distance, there were sounds of collapsing building debris.

But the continuous explosions did stop.

"Alpha Group, get in the vehicle!"

"Dad's" voice came through the radio.

With engines running, twelve M-ATV mine-resistant ambush protected vehicles lined up in two columns, rolled over the rubble, and rushed toward the auto repair shop 800 meters away.

The vehicle maintained a speed of forty kilometers per hour, which was not fast, but sufficient to provide a certain degree of stability in the event of an ambush.

The M2HB heavy machine gun and MK19 automatic grenade launcher on the roof were already in place, with their muzzles pointing at the building ruins on both sides.

Through the night vision goggles, the world appears as varying shades of green.

The city, ravaged by artillery fire, was even more devastated, littered with collapsed walls, burning wreckage, and twisted metal. Smoke still rose from some places, and the heat sources appeared as bright white spots in night vision goggles.

"Watch out for the windows on both sides," "Old Man" said on the car's intercom, "especially above the second floor. Snipers love this kind of situation."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a gun muzzle flash suddenly appeared in the third-floor window of a partially collapsed building on the left.

"Three o'clock! Third floor!"

The machine gunner on the roof immediately returned fire.

The roar of the 12.7mm heavy machine gun drowned out the enemy's AK rifle fire, and the bullets pierced the wall, tearing the window and the sniper behind it apart.

But more gunfire erupted from all directions.

It wasn't organized resistance; it was more like sporadic shooting.

The surviving militants opened fire on the convoy from the ruins.

"Don't pester!"

"Dad" ordered, "Suppressive fire, keep advancing!"

The convoy did not slow down.

The grenade launcher fired 40mm high-explosive grenades at suspected locations on both sides, and the flashes of the explosions briefly illuminated the street.

Heavy machine guns rained down bullets, silencing any exposed firing positions.

This is the standard tactic for armored assaults—using firepower and speed to forcefully break through the light weapons interception zone.

As long as it doesn't encounter anti-tank missiles or large IEDs, the M-ATV's armor is sufficient to withstand rifle and machine gun bullets.

Three hundred meters, two hundred meters, one hundred meters...

A car repair shop came into view.

Or rather, it used to be part of a car repair shop.

The effect of the shelling was devastating.

Half of the three-story main factory building has collapsed, and the remaining part is riddled with holes, with bullet holes and cracks covering the walls.

Four of the six repair workshops were completely razed to the ground, and the remaining two were reduced to ruins.

The ground was riddled with craters, some as deep as two meters, filled with murky sewage.

The convoy stopped outside the factory area.

The wheels rolled over the broken concrete blocks, making a screeching sound.

"Group A, Group B, disembark! Group C, establish the outer defensive line! Group D, check for safety and prepare for demolition!"

"Old Man" was the first to jump out of the car.

His feet sank into the still-warm rubble, the soles of his tactical boots burning hot.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, mixed with gasoline, burning rubber, and...

The stench of a burnt corpse.

He gestured.

The twelve members of Group A, led by their leader "Dagger," quickly moved towards the east entrance.

There used to be a roller shutter door there, but now it's been blown out of shape and is hanging halfway on the door frame.

Group B, consisting of twelve people led by Captain Xiao, rushed towards the west side at top speed.

The situation over there is even worse.

The entire wall collapsed, and the interior of the building can be seen directly.

Group C of eight quickly dispersed and occupied high ground on the outskirts of the factory. Two machine guns were set up, their muzzles pointed in the direction of potential enemy attacks.

The sniper climbed the wreckage of the water tower and began scanning the surrounding area.

The four members of Group D, carrying heavy explosive packs, waited for the area to be cleared before entering.

"Group A, enter!" "Old Man" ordered.

Two mercenaries first threw in flashbangs and stun grenades, and the intense light and loud noise of the explosions echoed inside the building.

Three seconds later, the first mercenary rushed in from the side, his gun quickly scanning the area in front of him.

"Lobby on the first floor is safe!"

"Left corridor, safe!"

"There is a body in the room on the right; the victim has been confirmed dead!"

Reports came one after another.

Group A, consisting of twelve men, was divided into three fire teams, providing alternating cover as they advanced deeper into the building.

The hall was a mess.

Shattered machine parts were scattered all over the ground, and there were splattered bloodstains on the walls. Several corpses lay on the ground in strange positions, some of them torn apart by artillery fire, leaving only limbs.

"Inspect the body," the squad leader nicknamed "Dagger" ordered.

A mercenary crouched down and poked at the body with the barrel of his gun.

They were all 1515 militants, dressed in black combat uniforms, some even wearing explosive vests.

But strangely, there were no weapons.

"Where are their guns?" someone asked.

"Dagger" felt a sudden tightness in his chest.

He raised his fist, signaling the entire group to stop advancing.

His voice was low on the comms: "Boss, something's wrong. The body has no weapons, and the explosive vest hasn't detonated. It's like... it's like it was deliberately left here."

When "Old Man" heard this on the outskirts of the factory, his face darkened.

"Continue the search, but be extra careful. Watch out for booby traps and other obstacles."

"clear."

Team A continued their advance. They checked every room, every corner. The situation was the same—there were bodies, but no weapons.

Some rooms still bear traces of life: blankets on the floor, half-eaten cans of food, and even a copy of the Quran.

But there were no living people, and no weapons.

“Go up to the second floor,” said “Dagger.”

The stairwell is located deep inside the building. The shelling caused part of the stairwell to collapse, but it is still passable.

Group A consists of two people who take turns going upstairs.

The situation on the second floor is even stranger.

This place looks like it's been abandoned for a long time.

Spider webs were growing in the corner.

Some of the room doors were locked, and when they were forced open, the rooms were empty.

"There's no one here anymore."

"Dagger" reported in the channel, "They seem to have all retreated."

The company commander, nicknamed "Old Man," stood in the center of the factory area, looking at the dilapidated building.

As dawn broke through the east, the sky gradually changed from deep blue to gray-white.

Visibility improved, but my unease grew stronger.

"What about Group B?" he asked.

"Big Bear's" voice came from the west: "Similar situation. Corpses, no weapons. The building looks like it hasn't been used in a long time. Boss, I think we've fallen into a trap."

The words "fell into the trap" were like ice water poured over everyone's hearts.

Just then, a report came over the radio from the deputy company commander of "Bravo," his voice urgent and panicked:
"Large quantity of explosives detected! Repeat, large quantity of explosives detected! Scattered throughout the basement and on the first floor load-bearing walls! Request immediate evacuation!"

"Old Man's" heart skipped a beat. But before he could give any orders, another voice cut in.

It was a "dagger," on the second floor of the auto repair shop; the sound was distorted with shock.
"Boss...we found it...we found a detonation control room. The walls are covered with wires, connecting...connecting to the entire building's load-bearing structure. And...and a countdown timer."

"How much time?!" "Old Man" roared.

"Thirty seconds...twenty-nine...twenty-eight..."

The world froze at that moment.

"Evacuate everyone!" "Old Man" roared into the radio. "All units, evacuate the building immediately! Repeat, evacuate immediately!"

But it's too late.

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(End of this chapter)