Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1016 Spear of the Night
After 40 hours.

late at night.

The C-130 Hercules transport plane tore through the deathly silence of the North African stratosphere, its hydraulic system for the rear cargo door roaring as it opened wide to both sides.

The violent negative pressure airflow instantly sucked out the air from the cabin, emitting a shrill scream like the depths of hell.

The sixteen members of the SAS "Chair" team stood like black statues welded to the deck, their pressure suits' temperature-regulating fibers frosting white in the -56°C cold.

The red lights on the top of the cabin pierced the darkness.

"Green light for 30 seconds!"

The skydiver's roar was pounded into the eardrums by the bone conduction headphones, drowning out the frantic roar of the four Allison T56 turboprop engines.

Commander Sergeant McMillan's oxygen mask was covered in ice crystals, and his ice-blue pupils behind the night vision lenses remained motionless.

He raised two fingers, each covered in a fire-resistant Nomex glove, and swung them forward with a sharp chop—"GO! GO! GO!"

A dozen or so dark figures resolutely plunged into the night.

In the instant of free fall, the G-force strikes the chest cavity like a giant hammer.

On the altimeter's display on the back of my hand, the altitude numbers were jumping wildly—

28000
27000
26000
"Maintain posture! Keep formation! Follow the guide closely!"

McMillan adjusted himself into a head-down, feet-up diving position amidst the swirling air currents, with his arms close to his torso.

Below, the landscape of North Darfur unfolds in the eerie green field of vision of the AN/PVS-31 binoculars—dried riverbeds like cracked veins in the earth, and jagged ridges cutting through the boundless darkness.

The coordinates of the assembly point "tombstone" flashed constantly on the GPS interface of the arm-mounted terminal.

"Two thousand and five!"

The scout's voice was as calm as a precision instrument.

"Eight hundred! Open the umbrella!"

Sixteen MC-5 parachutes exploded simultaneously with a dull thud.

The high-strength nylon canopy instantly caught the airflow, abruptly reducing the descent into controlled gliding. The parachute control stick was pulled down sharply, and the wing cut into the predetermined airflow layer, emitting a low, tearing sound.

Sixteen giant black bats silently glided toward the target at a speed of 60 kilometers per hour, with the flight computer automatically correcting course deviations.

"Three minutes until contact with the tombstone. Combat setup upon landing: fan-shaped perimeter."

McMillan's voice, transmitted through an encrypted UHF channel, reached each player's ears, as cold and hard as a steel billet being forged.

at the same time.

Fifty kilometers to the east, a Gulfstream G550, coated with radar-absorbing material, glided like a ghost across the edge of the clouds.

Inside the cabin, the sixteen "Masada" team members checked their equipment and put on their breathing masks.

Mossad and British special forces operate in completely different ways.

If conditions permit, they prefer to use civilian aircraft for infiltration.

Since the civil war, the airspace over Lebanon has been virtually nonexistent, allowing the modified Gulfstream G550s to operate with impunity.

The hatch opened silently, and sixteen figures lined up to board the hatch and leaped into the abyss.

They were completely shrouded in thermo-optical camouflage cloaks, and their infrared signals were suppressed to within ±0.3°C of the ambient temperature by a nanoscale cooling circulation system.

Mossad's Masada Operations Unit Alpha Group – the sharpest tip of the bayonet force.

Major Etan Lavid, the team leader, spreads his left arm during freefall.

The tactical terminal screen glowed with a faint light, precisely overlaying the digital elevation model of the landing site with real-time satellite infrared images.

He tapped the sensor on his mask with his finger, and the quantum-encrypted channel was instantly connected: "All in, altitude 2,000, prepare to deploy parachutes."

As the highest-ranking Alpha Group within the "Masada" operation, a direct task force of the Mossad intelligence agency, the name "Masada" has a significant history.

The team's emblem features the ancient Jewish city of Masada.

In 73 AD, when the Roman legions breached the city walls, 960 Hebrew soldiers chose to commit suicide rather than become slaves.

"Masada Lo Tipol Shnit!" (Masada will never fall a second time!) — This is their national oath, becoming the soul totem of the Hoopoe Kingdom's special forces.

Mossad's Special Operations Service comprises three "bayonet teams": the Alpha team specializes in eliminating high-value targets; the Bravo team is responsible for destroying facilities behind enemy lines; and the Charlie team is responsible for hostage rescue.

Each member is trained by the "Wild Boys" special forces and then undergoes a two-year baptism in the "Sand Demon" training camp in the Negev Desert, mastering unconventional skills such as poison preparation, archaeological camouflage, and fighter jet piloting.

"Open the parachute!"

Sixteen GTX-9 parachutes unfurled with a roar. The diamond formation precisely adjusted its angle in the night sky, cutting into the airspace above the "Hyena" pass with near-zero noise.

Their equipment is the culmination of technological warfare: the silenced TAR-21 assault rifle integrates a laser designator/rangefinder module; the backpack-mounted "Iron Curtain" electronic warfare system can paralyze communications within a 1.2-kilometer radius; and the ultrasonic generator embedded in the heel can shatter electronic lock cylinders.

"Twenty seconds to the landing zone."

Ethan's voice was completely flat.

With fine adjustments to the paraglider control lines, the scree slope rapidly magnified in the four-eye panoramic night vision device.

"Upon landing, proceed with the pre-arranged camouflage. Doron, activate the 'Phantom' communication barrier immediately upon landing."
-
The British assembly point on the west side of the E7 canyon.

The moment the last SAS member touched the ground, the MC-5 parachute was already being stored in a pressure-resistant backpack using a special silencer folding device.

The sixteen people were like ink seeping into the sand; only the moving heat shadows in the night vision goggles revealed signs of life.

McMillan knelt at the base of the wind-eroded rock, removing his parachute to reveal his standard Multi-Terrain Pattern camouflage.

The L119A2 assault rifle's screw-on suppressor reflects a matte finish.

The tactical tablet glowed faintly in the darkness:

"The drone has been deployed and the third scan is complete. The thermal background is clean and the surrounding area is safe."

The intelligence officer's voice was barely audible.

Captain McMillan glanced at the electronic map to confirm his location: "Position confirmed. Deploy search and advance formation. Proceed to target."

Sixteen figures split into two groups, one in front and one behind, and quickly disappeared into the darkness.

The specially designed Vibram rubber sole absorbs sand and gravel, and the L119A2 muzzle is always pointed at the center of the threat at a 45-degree angle.

They adopted a "search-forward" formation: a two-person scout team was responsible for path reconnaissance and trap detection, while the follow-up team members advanced in tiers at 5-meter intervals, with firepower covering a 360-degree threat zone.

This is the "ghost step" honed by the SAS with two hundred years of imperial shadows—advancing at 1.8 kilometers per hour with a heart rate not exceeding 90 beats per minute.
-
Hebrew assembly point.

Sixteen Alpha team members completed their disguise transformation in 28 seconds, disguising themselves as oil engineering exploration team members.

His worn-out khaki overalls were covered in dust, his canvas backpack bulged with rock samples, and he held a geological hammer to tap and collect samples from the porous basalt.

Only experts could spot the flaws—they maintained a tactical distance of 7.5 meters at all times, and the sharp edges of quick-draw holsters were hidden under their work pants at the back of their waistbands.

Etan leaned against the wind-eroded rock pillars, unfolding a yellowed geological map, his fingertips pressing against the edge of a hidden tactical tablet.

Vibration was detected in the encrypted channel:

“Alpha is calling the King, requesting final confirmation of the operation.” Etan whispered in Hebrew, his gaze sweeping over the laser communicator disguised as a compass.

In the Tel Aviv underground command center, Yag stared at the satellite monitoring screen.

The blue dot representing the British SAS was moving toward the E7 canyon as planned, but distrust churned in his icy gray pupils.

He did not answer Ethan's call immediately.

“Yage”.

Ethan pressed on over the radio, "How credible is the route the British gave us?"

"The British intelligence network has long been riddled with holes."

Yag's voice switched to a dedicated channel.

"Change the route, don't use the planned route, execute the backup plan."

"Alpha received, execute immediately."
-
London, MI6 Operations Command Center.

On the giant curved screen, the red dot representing the Alpha Group suddenly turned ninety degrees, changing its marching route.

Ms. M, dressed in a charcoal gray suit, stood frozen like a sword, her fingertips tapping out cold, hard rhythms on the alloy control panel.

Tap, tap, tap-tap—

"The Alpha team deviated from their coordinates, but they continued marching according to the original plan."

The senior analyst's voice suddenly tightened.

Ms. M didn't turn around; her icy blue pupils reflected the abnormally moving cursor: "Jagg has activated an independent communication source; they don't trust us..."

"What do we do now?" the analyst asked, slightly tense. "Will this affect the entire operation?"

“Ignore them. Hebrews are inherently suspicious. If they want to go it alone, let them be.” Ms. M then added, “Tell the ‘Chair’ squad to carry out the reconnaissance mission as planned.”

West side of E7 Canyon.

SAS "tombstone" gathering point.

The cool night wind whipped up sand and gravel, lashing against the bare rocks and making a soft, mournful sound.

Sergeant McMillan leaned against the cold, weathered rock, his eyes fixed on the tactical tablet in his hands.

The screen is dim, and the time is displayed as 03:17.

He put away the tablet and looked around.

There was nothing but darkness.

He felt a vague unease in his heart.

I always felt that a ferocious beast was lurking behind the darkness.

So he took out his night vision device and carefully observed his surroundings.

Still no results found...

"Jansen, have you launched the drones yet?"

"It's been released. I checked it half an hour ago, and there was no movement."

Sergeant Jason, who was in charge of the drones, shook his head.

"I haven't seen any members of the GNA reconnaissance team."

According to the original plan, the SAS team would rendezvous with a GNA reconnaissance unit after arriving here.

The latter had already crossed the border and infiltrated this area half a month ago, and had been active here for a long time.

They were essentially a reconnaissance team sent ahead.

After all, MI6 had suffered many losses under Song Heping's command, and had learned its lesson, becoming timid and cautious.

It's more worthwhile to lose a dozen or so GNA scouts than to lose members of the British Special Forces.

These people have been active here for a long time and are very familiar with the area.

Tonight, McMillan's team will rendezvous with them and will be able to easily infiltrate the vicinity of the base controlled by Song Heping, where they will await the arrival of air power and prepare ground guidance.

While the airstrikes were underway, plans for a ground offensive were also being implemented.

Saif's 20,000-strong army, which he had assembled at the border, has begun its march.

Air and ground coordination, a pincer attack from both sides.

This time, the British were determined to kill Song Heping.

However, more than half an hour has passed since the agreed meeting time.

No one from GNA has shown up yet...

A dark cloud drifted through McMillan's mind; an ominous premonition crept over him.

“'Chair' calls for the deep well.”

He immediately contacted the operations command center.

"No activity at the GNA contact point. The scheduled meeting time has expired 47 minutes ago. Repeat, no response. Requesting instructions."

A brief hiss of static came through the headset, followed by the calm, unwavering response from the "Deep Well" command center analyst: "'Chair,' remain in place and on guard. They may have been delayed due to an anomaly. We are currently contacting Saif to help him locate his reconnaissance team and are attempting secondary communication. You will remain where you are and await further instructions."

"receive."

Captain McMillan reluctantly ended the call, his icy blue eyes sweeping over the team members forming a circular perimeter around him.

In the shadows, the sixteen SAS team members stood like sculptures fused into the rock, with only the night vision lenses occasionally flashing a faint, eerie green reflection.

An unsettling, sticky feeling permeated the air, more biting than the desert chill.

Sergeant Burns crept up from the flank, his voice barely audible: "Boss, something's wrong. It's too quiet. Not even a gerbil."

McMillan's Adam's apple bobbed.

He was just about to order the perimeter of the cordon expanded—

call out--!
A piercing sound tore through the silence!
"RPG!!!"

The shouts of the elite troops rang out almost simultaneously!

Boom——! ! !
A violent explosion ripped off a large rock thirty meters to the right front of McMillan!

An orange-red fireball shot into the sky, and a scorching shockwave carrying debris and metal fragments swept across, instantly knocking two SAS members on guard to the ground!
"Approach! 10 o'clock! Heavy firepower!"

McMillan's shout was instantly drowned out by the sudden burst of gunfire!

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

　　I have a lot of monthly votes today, so I'll update 10,000 words.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)