Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1302 Colonel Kurt's Suicide

At the moment the countdown reached zero, 500 kilograms of military explosives and two tons of homemade explosives were simultaneously detonated in the basement of the auto repair shop.

The explosion started underground.

It wasn't a single loud bang, but rather a series of layered explosions.

The first wave of explosions broke the main load-bearing columns, the second wave destroyed the foundation, and the third wave...

The third wave lifted the entire building off the ground.

"Old Man" saw a terrifying sight before him—

First, the ground bulged up, as if something huge was about to emerge from the ground.

Then the concrete blocks were thrown into the air, some as big as cars, some as small as fists, tracing thousands of parabolas in the rising sun.

Next came the shockwave.

It was like a transparent wall, spreading outwards from the point of explosion in all directions. Everything in its path was flattened.

The 15-ton M-ATV armored vehicle was overturned and rolled around like a toy.

The sandbag fortifications were blown away, and the sand and gravel inside turned into deadly bullets.

Finally, there was the sound—a sound that transcended the category of "loud noise".

It didn't enter through the ear; instead, it directly vibrated the skull, shattering internal organs. Everyone within 200 meters of the explosion point, regardless of whether they had cover, experienced an instantaneous rupture of their eardrums, with blood gushing from their ears.

Even the twelve members of Alpha's Group A, who were inside the building, couldn't be found, not even their bodies. Group B, located on the west side, fared slightly better, but were also mostly buried by the collapsed building rubble.

Group C was on the periphery and absorbed the full shockwave; half of them died instantly, and the rest were seriously injured.

Only "Old Man" and a few members of the command team, who were standing in a relatively open area in the center of the factory, were thrown more than ten meters by the shock wave. Although they suffered fractures all over their bodies and internal bleeding, they miraculously survived.

If the word "living" still has any meaning.

He lay on the ground, his right leg twisted at an odd angle, his left arm only half remaining, with bone exposed from the wound.

The helmet flew off, his face was covered in blood, one eye was completely blind, and the other was blurry.

But he is still alive.

You can still hear—or rather, feel—the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and screams coming from afar.

That's the direction of the "Bravo" company.

The school buildings were not destroyed in the explosion.

At least it didn't explode immediately.

Upon discovering the explosives, the commander decisively ordered a retreat.

Most of the personnel evacuated the building, but the ambush was launched just as they reached the playground.

It wasn't explosives, it was a person.

Black-clad armed men poured out from every building, every ruin, and every sewer opening in the vicinity.

It was not scattered or chaotic, but organized, in waves, and with clear tactical objectives.

In the first wave, snipers and machine gunners occupied high ground and suppressed the retreat route of "Bravo" Company.

The second wave consisted of anti-tank teams that attacked armored vehicles using RPGs and anti-tank missiles.

The third wave consisted of infantry assault teams that flanked and encircled the enemy.

The fourth wave consisted of suicide bombers strapped with explosives who charged directly into the most densely populated areas.

This was a meticulously planned massacre.

Although the "Bravo" company was well-trained, it was suddenly ambushed from all sides, and its organization was instantly disrupted.

The commander attempted to organize a counterattack.

He led a dozen or so mercenaries who were still able to move, occupying a small building in a corner of the playground, and temporarily held off the frontal attack with machine guns and precision fire.

But the flank collapsed.

A group of armed men rushed out of the underground parking garage, cutting off their connection with the main force.

Then came the overhead fire—machine gun fire suddenly appeared on the roof of the teaching building, sweeping down from above.

"Retreat! Retreat to the northwest!"

The company commander yelled into the radio, but all he got in response was static noise. The communications were jammed or cut off.

He looked around. There were fewer than ten people still standing.

The wounded were groaning, and the enemy's shouts were getting closer.

"Sir, what should I do?"

A young mercenary asked, his face smeared with blood and ash.

The company commander took a deep breath.

"What else can be done?"

He said that pulling the pin on the last grenade would make it worthwhile if he killed one, and if he killed two, he would make a profit.

He rushed out of his cover and charged toward the nearest group of enemies.

The grenade exploded in the crowd, killing at least five people.

He himself was also hit by a bullet and fell into a pool of blood.

But the battle is not over yet.

Or rather, the massacre is not over yet.

Ahmed's "suicide squad" has completely taken control of the battlefield.

They hunted down every surviving Allied soldier like a pack of wolves.

No prisoners, no intelligence, just pure killing.

In the direction of the auto repair shop, "Old Man" struggled to pull out a pistol with his still-functioning hand.

There were seven bullets left in the magazine. He listened to the approaching footsteps and the frenzied shouts.

He thought of his wife and daughter, who were far away in the United States.

He recalled their last video call, during which his daughter said she would wait for him to come home so they could go to Disneyland together.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "Dad can't come back."

Then, when the first figure in black came into view, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

The first shot hit the head.

The second shot hit his chest.

The third shot, the fourth shot...

Until the magazine is empty, until more enemies surround us...

The world gradually darkened.

Finally, what came into view was the sky over Titrick at dawn, stained gray by gunpowder smoke.

The "outpost" command center, 6:40 a.m.

Colonel Kurt stood motionless in front of the large screen, like a statue.

The battlefield situation map on the screen was in complete chaos.

The blue markers representing Alpha and Bravo companies have mostly turned flashing red—indicating loss of contact or confirmed damage. The few still in motion are being increasingly surrounded and swallowed up by red arrows.

The radio channel was filled with chaotic sounds:
"This is Alpha Company! We're surrounded! Requesting backup! Requesting any form of support!"

"The entire 3rd Platoon of 'Bravo' Company has been wiped out! Repeat, completely wiped out!"

"An enemy convoy of pickup trucks is coming from the northeast! At least twenty of them!" "Kold's troops are retreating! They've abandoned their positions! The line has collapsed!"

Every sound was like a hammer, striking Kurt's heart.

He felt short of breath and his vision went black; he had to hold onto the control panel to keep from falling.

The army collapsed like a house of cards...

If they had any advantages before, they have now squandered them all in this Dawn Raid.

"Sir..." the operations staff officer's voice trembled, "What...what should we do?"

How to do?
Kurt's mind went blank. All his plans, all his calculations, all his confidence vanished in that explosion.

Seven hundred shells, one hundred and sixty elite mercenaries, four artillery batteries...

What they got in return was a complete and devastating failure.

No, it's not a failure.

It's a disaster.

“Order…” His voice was hoarse like a broken bellows, “Order all troops… to retreat. Cover each other as they retreat to the evacuation point to the northwest.”

He uttered that word.

That word he struggled with for days, but still couldn't bring himself to say.

retreat.

But the order was issued too late, or rather, in the face of total defeat, any order had lost its meaning.

The Kold's troops at the front were the first to collapse.

They were already on the verge of collapse, and the failure of "Dawn Hammer" was the final straw that broke the camel's back.

The soldiers dropped their weapons, jumped out of the trenches, boarded any moving vehicle, or even ran on foot, fleeing in the direction away from the city.

Panic spread like a plague.

The collapse of one position exposes the flank of an adjacent position, which then collapses as well, creating a chain reaction that spreads like dominoes.

In less than forty minutes, the entire defensive line collapsed.

The road was instantly blocked.

Trucks, armored vehicles, jeeps—all kinds of vehicles tried to squeeze onto the few available escape routes. Vehicles collided, overturned, and burst into flames.

Discarded weapons, equipment, and even seriously wounded soldiers were abandoned on the roadside.

The 1515 armed force turned into a pack of wolves hunting them down.

The pickup truck squadrons, known as the "Flying Riders," unleashed heavy machine guns and rockets from their vehicles onto the congested retreat route.

With each round of firing, dozens of people were hit and fell to the ground.

Even more deadly was Ahmed's "suicide squad".

These fanatical militants specifically target command nodes, artillery positions, and logistics distribution points.

Like scalpels, they precisely dissected the coalition's already chaotic command structure.

A mortar position belonging to Thunder Defense was destroyed from the flank and rear, all the gunners were killed, and the ammunition was detonated.

A convoy of medical personnel transporting the wounded was ambushed in a narrow street. The lead and tail vehicles were destroyed by RPGs, blocking the entire road. The wounded on board were then massacred by armed men who arrived later.

The command post of a Kold's brigade was intercepted during its transfer, and the brigade commander and all staff officers were killed in action, leaving the brigade completely without command.

In the air, the F-16s and Apaches that had scrambled to take off faced a hellish predicament.

Below, the crowds were engaged in a chaotic battle, making it impossible to clearly distinguish friend from foe.

An Apache helicopter attempted to strafe the pursuing pickup truck convoy with its machine gun, but accidentally damaged a nearby retreating Kold's convoy, causing dozens of casualties.

"Cease ground attacks! Cease ground attacks!" the air traffic controller roared into the channel. "Target unidentified!"

But even without attacking, the helicopter itself becomes a target.

A Needle surface-to-air missile fired from the rubble struck the tail boom of an Apache helicopter. The helicopter, billowing black smoke, managed to fly back and make an emergency landing, rendering it completely unusable.

The retreat turned into a rout, and the rout turned into a massacre.

Kurt watched all of this unfold from the command center, powerless to do anything about it.

He became both a witness to and a perpetrator of this disaster.

"Sir, we have to move!" The guard captain rushed in. "The enemy's vanguard is less than three kilometers away. If we don't leave now, we won't be able to leave at all."

Kurt slowly turned his head, his eyes vacant.

"Go?" he repeated, "Go where?"

"To the evacuation point, sir. The helicopter is already on standby on the roof."

Kurt looked at the screen, then looked around.

Staff officers are urgently destroying documents, smashing hard drives, and burning maps.

Everyone was pale-faced, their eyes filled with fear.

This is the end.

All his painstaking efforts, his "Dawn Hammer" operation where he staked everything, ultimately resulted in a hasty escape, leaving behind a trail of corpses and wreckage.

He laughed, a laugh that was hoarse and desperate.

“Go on,” he said to the captain of the guard. “You can go now. I… I’ll stay a little longer.”

"Sir—"

"That's an order!" Kurt suddenly roared, his eyes bloodshot. "Get out! All of you, get out!"

The guard captain gritted his teeth, saluted, and turned to leave.

The others also withdrew one after another, until only Kurt was left, standing alone in the empty command center.

The red on the screen continued to spread, like poisonous blood flowing in veins, engulfing the entire war zone.

Kurt walked to the console and opened an encrypted channel.

That was an emergency communications line directly to the Pentagon.

"This is the 'outpost' command center, Colonel Kurt reporting."

His voice was eerily calm: “Operation Dawnhammer…failed. Repeat, Operation Dawnhammer failed. The coalition is in full retreat, with casualties…heavy casualties.”

He paused, then continued, "I will take full responsibility. That's all."

Then, he shut down the communication and drew his pistol.

The muzzle of the gun was pressed against his chin, and the coldness of the metal seeped through his skin.

He remembered many things.

I recall the graduation ceremony at West Point, my first time leading troops, the ambition I had when formulating the "Balance Beam" operation plan, and Song Heping's eyes that seemed to see through everything.

"Damn it!"

He said it quietly.

Then, he pulled the trigger.

Gunfire echoed in the empty command center, then was drowned out by the increasingly close gunfire and artillery fire outside.

　Third update, 10,000 words, please vote!

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(End of this chapter)