Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1110 "Unconventional Options"

Four days later, in the oilfield area of ​​the Kolde Autonomous Okrug in northern Iligo.

The sky was dim and the visibility was extremely poor.

A rare spring dust storm is sweeping across northern Mesopotamia.

A fierce wind whipped up a cloud of dust, turning the sky and earth into a murky orange-brown, and visibility plummeted to less than fifty meters.

The Kold sentries in the oilfield area huddled in their posts and checkpoints, cursing the damn weather.

The searchlight beams became blurry and weak in the sandstorm. In this kind of weather, let alone the enemy, even our own people were too lazy to move.

The patrol returned hastily shortly after setting off, reporting that they could not see anything outside.

Unbeknownst to them, death was stealthily approaching under the cover of the sandstorm.

Deep in the sandstorm, a convoy of vehicles, consisting of dozens of Toyota pickup trucks equipped with heavy machine guns and DShK anti-aircraft machine guns, and several suicide trucks loaded with explosives, was silently infiltrating the weakest section of the outer defenses of the oil field area, like venomous snakes in the desert.

They seemed extremely familiar with the terrain, perfectly avoiding several key fixed observation posts.

The attack came suddenly and violently.

The silence was first broken by a few mortar shells.

These sudden shells, trailing a piercing whistle, landed precisely on one of the Kold's forward checkpoints!
boom! boom! boom!
The flash of light from the explosion disappeared in the dim yellow dust.

Before the soldiers standing in their bunkers could figure out what was happening, they were already being lifted into the air by the blast wave.

Instantly, broken sandbags, twisted metal, and human remains were thrown in all directions.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

The surviving Kold soldiers finally realized what had happened.

They screamed in terror into the radio, but the intense electromagnetic interference and the noise of the wind made the communication intermittent.

Almost simultaneously with the shelling, a convoy of pickup trucks from 1515 emerged from the dust like ghosts, their heavy machine guns spitting out deadly fire, and a hail of bullets instantly engulfed the already chaotic checkpoint.

The suicide trucks roared in desperation as they hurtled toward deeper fortifications and oil field facilities before exploding!

Rumble——! ! !
A series of enormous explosions rang out, shaking the earth.

Huge fireballs shot into the sky, soaring into the air that even the sandstorm couldn't completely obscure them.

The oil pipeline was blown up, and black crude oil gushed out, quickly igniting and forming a terrifying sea of ​​fire.

The Kold's soldiers were stunned.

The harsh weather prevented them from effectively observing the enemy situation, while the 1515 militants' frenzied offensive and brutal tactics terrified them.

These extremists were clearly well-prepared and mobilized, with a clear tactic—to use sandstorms to launch surprise attacks in a central, scattered manner, focusing on damaging oil field facilities and creating maximum panic and chaos.

"Brothers, hold them off! Stop them!"

A Koldeid commander was shouting hoarsely into the radio, organizing a scattered counterattack.

But defeat was inevitable.

Lacking effective command and coordination, the Kold's soldiers began to retreat under the dual blows of a superior enemy force and harsh conditions.

Seeing that the situation was hopeless, some soldiers on the front lines even abandoned their weapons and jumped into vehicles in an attempt to escape this burning hell.

In the chaos, a fortified command post housing a U.S. military advisory group was also subjected to a fierce attack.

The advisors were originally there to "supervise" and assist the Kolds in their defense, but they never expected to find themselves surrounded.

"Requesting air support! Repeat, requesting urgent air support! We are under massive attack! Coordinates..."

A U.S. military technical expert was operating a communications device while frantically calling into a microphone.

However, the sandstorm severely disrupted radio signals, filling the channels with a hissing, static-like sound, causing significant interference. In fact, even if US troops stationed as far southeast as Buckingham and Iriego received the distress call, it would likely be of little use.

In such terrible weather conditions, ground personnel are also unable to provide visual guidance to the fighter jets.

Suddenly, an RPG rocket, trailing a plume of flame, crashed through the sandbag wall of the command post!

boom!
The violent explosion instantly engulfed everything inside.

The young technical expert and several Kold's officers were killed on the spot.

His cries for help were forever cut off by the static on the radio.

After several hours of fierce fighting, the 1515 militia successfully broke into the core area of ​​the oil field. They began shooting prisoners and quickly established defensive positions.

The Kold's forces suffered heavy losses, not only losing large swathes of carefully controlled oil fields and incurring massive casualties, but also losing a valuable U.S. technical expert.

The news reached the United States two hours later.

Langley, CIA headquarters.

Director Vincent, his face ashen, slammed a telegram marked "Top Secret" onto his desk. Sitting opposite him was Deputy Director Simon.

"Look at this! Northwest of Iligo! One of our most important allies has been utterly routed by a group of terrorists taking advantage of a sandstorm! They've lost at least three important oil fields! And a top-notch Air Force technician! The White House called me directly, questioning how the CIA's intelligence work was done! Why was there no prior warning?! Why were we blind on the ground?!"

Vincent's voice echoed in the office, filled with suppressed anger.

Simon picked up the telegram and quickly scanned it, his expression grave.

He was a veteran agent, and Vincent had obviously asked him to come because he had once served as the head of the intelligence station in Iligo and was very familiar with the complex situation there.

“Dust storms are indeed difficult to predict and have severely weakened the Kold's defenses and our surveillance capabilities,” Simon attempted to analyze objectively. “1515 clearly seized this perfect opportunity.”

"I don't want to hear excuses, Simon!"

Vincent interrupted him, “What I need now is a solution! The president has ordered the CIA to rebuild its intelligence network in northwestern Iligo as soon as possible! We need accurate ground intelligence! We need reliable manpower! We need people to target us, guide our missiles and drones, and send those damned leaders of 1515 to hell one by one! To carry out sustained, precise decapitation strikes!”

He stared at Simon, his tone leaving no room for argument: "You've worked in Iligo before, you know the people and things there. Tell me, what should we do now? How can we obtain the intelligence and ground guidance capabilities we need in the shortest amount of time?"

Simon remained silent for a moment, his mind racing.

He was certainly aware of the limitations of conventional methods—training new informants would take time, and the Kold's men, after this blow, would likely be of little use in the short term, and there were also trust and coordination issues between them and the United States.

A bolder, more unconventional idea gradually took shape in his mind.

He thought of that name, that existence that the CIA and JSOC both hated and feared, yet could not ignore.

That person, or rather the force he represents, possesses exactly what is most urgently needed right now—unparalleled ground operational capabilities and intelligence networks deep within the Ilig/Silia border region, especially a thorough understanding of 1515.

But this is tantamount to making a deal with the devil.

The risk is extremely high; once exposed, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Simon looked up, meeting Vincent's anxious gaze, and slowly said, "Director, conventional methods take time, and that's exactly what we lack most. I need... some time to consider an unconventional option, to assess its feasibility and risks. It might be... tricky."

Vincent frowned, seemingly sensing something unusual in Simon's eyes, but he was under immense pressure and just wanted to come up with a solution as soon as possible.

“Okay, I’ll give you 24 hours,” Vincent finally said. “After 24 hours, I want to hear your initial plan.”

"clear."

Simon nodded, got up, and left the director's office.

The door closed behind him.

Vincent sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Little did he know that the "unconventional options" his deputy chief was considering were far more shocking than he imagined.

　Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)