Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1128 Positional War

The shocking scene of the T-72 being buried alive only temporarily slowed down the offensive momentum of the extremist militants.

Entrance No. 3 was like a piece of fatty meat hanging in the mouth of a wolf to them.

They were on the verge of breaking through, but they were just a tiny bit short.

This made the officer in charge of the attack even more agitated.

"Keep attacking! Don't stop! They won't last long! Supervisory teams, keep an eye on them. Anyone who dares to retreat is disrespectful and disloyal to God. In the name of God, I authorize you to judge them!"

"And the artillery, give them a rapid-fire, overwhelming barrage on entrance number three at all costs! I want to blow them to bits!"

Driven by the supervising officers, the "Victory Front" launched another offensive.

Song Heping leaned against the cover, barely able to catch his breath, when he suddenly heard a strange sound coming from the night sky...

Hiss--

Puff puff--

This sound is so familiar...

"Fire! Take cover—!"

Before the dust from burying the tanks had settled, Song Heping's roar rang out again.

His prediction was terrifyingly accurate—the command of the "Victory Front" was clearly enraged by this resounding slap, and retaliatory artillery fire poured down like a torrential downpour, no longer the previous probing harassment, but a comprehensive strike with a clear objective!
Everyone immediately sought cover from the nearest artillery shell.

They crawled under every concrete building, even into the sewers or into the wreckage supported by concrete ruins.

If you stay in an open area, even a defensive position, you'll die if a shell falls.

boom!
Boom!

Rumble——!
Hailstones rained down on the blocks surrounding Entrance 3, the deafening explosions echoing endlessly, the earth trembling in agony.

The scorching heatwave, carrying debris, shrapnel, and the shrill screams of death, relentlessly ravaged every inch of the land.

The already crumbling ruins collapsed in the explosion, raising clouds of dust that almost obscured the faint first light of day.

Bullets rained down on the street, emitting piercing "whoosh" and "swish" sounds, striking the concrete and scattering sparks and debris, weaving the air into a deadly web of fire.

"Conserve ammunition! Aim before you fire! Keep an eye on the gaps in the street!"

Song Heping's voice was already hoarse, like a broken gong.

He couldn't help but swallow.

But it didn't work.

The smoke and fumes from the battlefield have a significant impact on the respiratory system.

Now, he feels like there's a thick layer of ash in his throat, sticky and gooey.

Crouching halfway down a collapsed stairwell, Song Heping quickly replaced an empty AK-74 magazine, his eyes scanning the battlefield now obscured by smoke.

There aren't many people left who can still fight.

The elite Wagner Guard, along with a dozen or so decimated government veterans, formed this crumbling last line of defense.

These men were all seasoned veterans who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Faced with dire circumstances, they displayed astonishing combat skills and ruthless efficiency.

Fortunately, those who remained were all elites.

These veterans didn't waste a single bullet.

Burst fire, precise short bursts, and occasional sniper shots seized on opportune moments have become the main methods for eliminating those extremist militants.

Da da da…

Da da da…

A steady, rhythmic burst of fire from a PKM general-purpose machine gun drowned out the cacophony of battlefield noise.

The sound came from behind a load-bearing wall on the right flank, half of which had been sheared off by a heavy artillery shell.

That was the Wagner machine gunner nicknamed "Ivan." Like a steady giant bear, he propped the PKM machine gun against the gap in the crumbling wall, with a long ammunition belt extending from the open ammunition box beside him, the golden bullets reflecting a cold, hard luster in the dim light.

Song Heping's extremely cunning and skillful shooting style revealed him to be a veteran who had served in the military.

His short bursts of fire were like the spitting of a viper, always hitting the open areas where the "Victory Front" militants were trying to cross quickly, or suppressing enemy RPG shooters and machine gunners who were trying to emerge.

Two enemies who had just emerged from behind the ruins, carrying RPG-7s on their shoulders, were knocked to the ground by a burst of 7.62mm gunfire before they could even aim.

"Well done, Ivan! That's how you beat these sons of bitches!"

The cook shouted encouragement from behind the wall not far away, and at the same time suddenly leaned out and fired a rapid burst of fire at the left flank with his short and powerful AK-74U. After emptying the magazine, he immediately pulled back, and the dense bullets immediately sent dirt flying from the spot where he had just been.

"No problem, cook! This is nothing..."

Before Ivan's triumphant voice could even finish, it was abruptly interrupted by an extremely sharp whistling sound!

"Be careful!!!"

Song Heping and the cook issued a stern warning almost simultaneously.

boom--! ! !
An 82mm mortar shell slammed into Ivan's machine gun position at an almost vertical angle, less than ten meters behind!

The explosion was so loud it felt like people's eardrums were about to burst.

Although it wasn't a direct hit, the deadly shockwave and countless high-speed flying fragments swept out in a fan shape like the scythe of death!
"Ugh!"

Ivan let out a painful groan.

An irregularly shaped, hot shrapnel pierced his thick right side of his neck.

Blood gushed out instantly like a fountain, staining half of his body and the PKM machine gun beneath him crimson.

His massive body swayed violently, his face instantly turning deathly pale, and large beads of sweat mixed with blood and dust rolled down his forehead. "Medic!!"

The cook's eyes widened in fury, and without thinking, he was about to rush over.

"No..." Ivan, blood frothing at the corner of his mouth, waved his hand forcefully: "Machine gun... can't stop..."

His eyes flashed with a ferocious, beast-like glint as he abruptly ripped open the nearly empty ammunition belt and, with a trembling, blood-stained left hand, laboriously dragged a heavy spare ammunition box to the side.

His right hand tried to insert the new ammunition belt into the feed port, but his strength was fading as his life rapidly passed, and his movements became extremely clumsy and difficult.

Blood gushed out, pooling into a small, shocking pool of red mud beneath him.

Just then, another wave of "Victory Front" militants, taking advantage of the shelling and smoke cover, launched a new charge with howls! They surged toward the breach like a tide!

A final, terrifying glint flashed in Ivan's cloudy eyes. He abandoned the task of organizing his ammunition and, almost with astonishing willpower, used his heavy body to firmly hold down the violently shaking gun. He then fiercely pulled the trigger towards the surging enemy tide!
The PKM general-purpose machine gun let out its last, and most frantic, roar.

The gun spewed out a flame half a meter long, and spent cartridges were thrown out like a waterfall, instantly piling up into a small brass hill at the feet.

The first few enemies were riddled with bullets and fell to the ground, their bodies twisted in agony.

However, Ivan quickly became the target of concentrated fire from the opposing side.

Machine gunners are always the first to be "taken care of" on the battlefield.

A barrage of machine gun fire erupted from the other side, and bullets rained down upon them like a deluge!
puff puff puff...

Ivan's strong body trembled violently as if electrocuted, and several horrifying bursts of blood erupted from his chest and abdomen.

His roar abruptly stopped, his head slumped downwards, and he collapsed like a mountain, crashing heavily onto the still-hot PKM machine gun, falling completely silent.

"Ivan!!! Suka!!!"

The cook let out a heart-wrenching roar, frantically tearing the last two F1 grenades from his tactical vest, and without even looking, hurled them with all his might in the direction of the enemy's charge!

boom!
boom!
The explosion temporarily halted the enemy's frenzied advance, and smoke filled the air.

"You! Go and take the phone gun! We can't let it misfire!"

Song Heping suppressed the pain and anger in his heart, maintaining absolute calm, and shouted at a young government soldier beside him who was pale but still had a stubborn look in his eyes.

The soldier looked at the horrific scene of Ivan's sacrifice, his throat bobbed, and a flicker of fear flashed in his eyes.

"Go! Otherwise you'll all die!"

Song Heping roared at him.

The young man shuddered, gritted his teeth, and crawled forward, braving the whistling bullets, struggling to drag Ivan's heavy body aside. He picked up the blood-soaked PKM and suddenly pulled the trigger, aiming it at the shadowy figures that were faintly visible in the dawn light.

The battle has entered its most brutal and ruthless phase of attrition.

The number of defenders was decreasing at a visible rate.

A Wagner team member with a leg injury watched an enemy armed pickup truck pull up below the building, then glanced at his empty assault rifle. He silently gathered all the grenades he had, bundled them into a cluster, gave a weak smile in the direction of the cook, and roared, "Boss! Kill a few more for me!!"

After saying that, he suddenly jumped off the building and fell into the truck bed like a cannonball.

"return!"

The cook's cries for help were drowned out by the sound of the explosion.

boom--! ! !
A massive fireball shot into the air, instantly engulfing the pickup truck and several nearby enemies.

The heroic sacrifice temporarily eliminated the threat on the flank.

"We're running out of ammunition!"

Inside the dimly lit building, someone shouted in Russian.

No one answered.

Because the answer won't change anything.

Inside the encirclement, everyone is short of medicine.

There's a shortage of guard troops in every direction...

The ammunition depot inside the command post had long been emptied.

In high-intensity urban warfare, bullets fly like water.

Hand grenades are like hail from the sky.

There's no way to save ammunition, and there's no way to conserve ammunition at all.

Otherwise, what's the point of keeping ammunition if you've already lost your life?

Another veteran, having emptied all his automatic weapon ammunition, silently fitted a bayonet.

As a fanatical enemy charged through the position's cover with a howl, the veteran calmly thrust forward, his old bayonet piercing the enemy's throat with precision and ruthlessness.

But almost simultaneously, several bullets fired from the side struck his aged body...

Song Heping and the cook were in a frenzy, like firefighters, charging left and right along the precarious defensive line.

Song Heping's precise bursts of fire were like Death's call, always eliminating the most threatening targets at the most critical moments; the cook, on the other hand, was like a raging Siberian bear, filling the gaps in firepower with precise and swift short bursts of fire and grenades.

Time seemed to stretch out infinitely at this moment, and Song Heping felt that the whole world was unreal and had stopped.

His mind was completely blank, with only one thought—kill! Kill! Kill!

……

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)