Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1129: Running out of ammunition and food
Meanwhile, on the rooftop of a relatively intact five-story building, about one kilometer away from Entrance No. 3.

Abu Omar, the supreme commander of the "Victory Front" offensive, was staring intently at the brutal battlefield ahead through his high-precision binoculars.

When he saw the precious T-72 buried alive, and when he saw wave after wave of attacking troops being crushed to pieces in front of that small ruin like waves crashing against a reef, the veins on his forehead bulged and throbbed like earthworms.

"Useless! A bunch of useless trash! Good-for-nothings! Garbage!"

He abruptly put down the binoculars, trembling with extreme anger. Suddenly, he sprang up and slammed the valuable binoculars hard onto the concrete ground at his feet!

With a "crack," the sophisticated optical instrument shattered into pieces instantly!
"Two whole hours! More than three hundred brave soldiers were killed or wounded! And they couldn't even take a broken entrance defended by a few dozen remnants! Are those Russians demons crawled out of hell?! Or are you all a bunch of lambs that haven't been weaned?!"

He roared like thunder, spitting all over the faces of the surrounding officers.

The confidants and subordinate commanders around him were all silent with fear, heads bowed, not daring to even breathe.

A heavy atmosphere of fear permeated the air, even overpowering the smell of gunpowder wafting from the battlefield.

"leader……"

An officer in charge of frontline liaison, his voice trembling, reported with bated breath, "The defenders at Entrance Three are putting up an exceptionally fierce resistance. They are all Wagner mercenaries, and their combat skills and willpower far exceed expectations... Moreover, there seems to be a very capable battlefield commander among them who is extremely accurate in judging our tactical intentions and always manages to appear in the most lethal positions..."

"I don't care who he is! Whether he's God or Satan!"

Omar abruptly interrupted him, his bloodshot eyes flashing with a fanatical and insane light.

"I only want results! I only want Haibaib! Tell those idiots in front of me! This is the last chance! I'm giving them ten minutes! No! Five minutes!"

He pointed sharply towards Entrance Three, his voice shrill and almost cracking: "Get everyone who can move! All the reserves! Push them all up there! Organize the 'Martyrs' Company'! Use those car bombs! Let the bombers be at the forefront! I don't want a breakthrough! I want to flatten it! I want to wipe that place off the map completely! Five minutes! If I don't see our flag planted on the street behind Entrance Three within five minutes, the frontline commander can come to me with his head!"

Extreme anger and the imminent "victory"—taking Haibab meant the gateway to Damascus was open, and this unparalleled achievement was enough to make him famous throughout the world, and he might get a very important place in the new regime in the future.

This was an immense temptation; his greed for power had completely clouded his judgment.

Under Omar's hysterical orders, the "Victory Front" militants launched their most frenzied and desperate offensive since the start of the war!
Several suicide bombers, their bodies tightly strapped with explosives, charged desperately toward the last lines of the defending forces under the cover of heavy machine gun fire and smoke grenades from their own side. Their faces were filled with fanatical piety or numb fear as they shouted "God is great" at the top of their lungs.

Song Heping was no stranger to this style of play.

If even one person can reach the front line, that's a success.

The explosives strapped to their bodies were enough to turn the surrounding area within a radius of tens of meters into scorched earth.

A second wave of attacks was coming from about 100 meters behind them.

These men are not carrying explosives; they are all infantry. Once the "human bombs" in front succeed, they will surge forward like a tide, sweeping across the entire front line and tearing apart the government forces' last defenses.

"Watch out for suicide bombers! Prioritize taking out suicide bombers!"

Song Heping's pupils suddenly contracted, and he used all his strength to issue a warning, his voice sounding unusually sharp amidst the explosion.

The remaining defenders also realized the crisis, and everyone concentrated all their remaining firepower to desperately intercept them! Rifles, machine guns, pistols...

All the weapons that could fire were roaring.

boom!
A suicide bomber was hit by stray bullets more than 20 meters from the position, and the explosives on his body were detonated instantly.

With a deafening roar, a brilliant yet brutal orange-red fireball suddenly expanded, scattering fragments and shockwaves in a radial pattern. Several Wagner team members who were firing nearby were caught off guard and were directly overturned by the blast wave.

The last suicide bomber, taking advantage of the smoke and chaos from the explosion, managed to break through the fire control network and roared as he approached the area where the cook on the left wing was located! He was about to break into the position!
"Suka! Die!"

At the critical moment, the cook suddenly stood up from the shell crater. He didn't have time to aim. Relying entirely on his honed muscle memory and bravery, he used an extremely unorthodox hip-fire posture to frantically spray all the remaining dozen or so bullets in the AK-74U's chamber at the highest rate of fire!
Puff puff puff!

The bullets mostly hit the man's head and chest with precision, causing his body to shake violently, his running momentum to come to an abrupt halt, and he to fall forward abruptly.

However, at the very moment he fell to the ground—

"boom!!!"

An even more violent explosion rang out.

The cook only managed to utter half a curse before he was struck as if by an invisible giant hammer. The violent shockwave sent him flying backward, his head slamming heavily against a piece of broken concrete with a dull thud. He then collapsed to the ground, motionless, blood rapidly seeping from his forehead and behind his ears.

"cook!!"

Song Heping's heart clenched.

But he was simply unable to spare any effort at that moment!

There wasn't even time to check whether the cook was dead or alive.

The enemy's pickup trucks had taken advantage of the chaos to get even closer, and the heavy machine gun fire suppressed the area where he was located, sending debris flying everywhere, making it impossible for him to raise his head!
Even more deadly, taking advantage of the reduced firepower after the suicide bombing, seven or eight militants, howling, leaped into the outermost bunker and engaged in a brutal hand-to-hand combat and close-quarters gunfight with the last few defenders!

The dull thud of a bayonet piercing a body, the horrifying crack of a rifle butt smashing bones, the agonizing screams of the dying, the frenzied roars of the fighters…

In an instant, this small ruin was transformed into a primitive meat grinder!
The last line of defense is in grave danger and could collapse completely at any moment!

Song Heping's eyes were already bloodshot.

He emptied the last magazine of his rifle, drew his Glock 17 pistol from his waist without hesitation, and leaned forward with lightning speed.

boom!
A single, precise shot felled an enemy who was thrusting an AK bayonet into the chest of a government soldier.

Song Heping is now in a state of being possessed by a god of death.

It was as if the killing genes within him had reached their peak, and everything was muscle memory. The killing skills, abilities, and physical strength he had acquired through extreme training in Unit 203 were now being used to their fullest extent.

He moved quickly between bunkers to avoid cover, his pistol firing a series of sharp, continuous shots.

boom!
boom!
Two more precise shots headshot and knocked down two more enemies who had just jumped into cover and hadn't even gotten a good footing!
His bravery greatly inspired the remaining defenders.

The last three or four Wagner team members and government soldiers who were still able to fight also showed a desperate courage, using any weapon they could find—rifles that had run out of bullets as clubs, entrenching tools, and even bricks they picked up—to fight the enemy fiercely!

Finally, at the cost of almost everyone being wounded, the enemy that rushed in was wiped out in front of the position!
But the cost is devastating.

At this moment, there are fewer than five people left who can still stand on the position, including Song Heping!
Everyone was wounded and covered in blood!

Meanwhile, the enemy's armed pickup truck continued its rampage a hundred meters away, the heavy machine gun fire showing no signs of weakening, relentlessly suppressing them and preventing them from raising their heads.

It seems they are planning another attack.

Moreover, this attack would come soon. Song Heping took a deep breath of the hot, blood-scented air, then looked around.

Finally, my gaze fell on a Wagner team member who had been killed not far away—there lay the last RPG-7 rocket launcher, with a lone PG-7VL rocket beside it.

No hesitation!

He lunged forward, grabbed the cold launch tube and the heavy rocket, and loaded it as quickly as possible!

Then he yelled at a government soldier next to him who was bandaging his arm, "Cover me!"

The soldier hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and nodded, picked up an AK with only half a magazine of bullets left, and suddenly leaned forward to fire wildly in the direction of the pickup truck, drawing fire!

In the fraction of a second that the enemy's heavy machine gun fire was briefly drawn away, Song Heping suddenly poked most of his body out from behind cover, the heavy RPG-7 launcher on his shoulder, and the simple iron sights instantly locked onto the pickup truck that was spitting fire like crazy!
calm down!

breathe!

Prejudgment!

Fire!

All in one go!
laugh--

Bang! ! !
The nozzle at the back of the rocket launcher spewed out a flame several meters long, and the rocket flew out with a long tail of flame and thick smoke!

It traced a straight, deadly trajectory and slammed precisely into the pickup truck's hood!

Boom——! ! !
The massive fireball instantly engulfed the entire front half of the pickup truck!
The fuel ignited, causing a secondary explosion! The entire vehicle was reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal in a deafening roar, and the machine gunner and driver inside were instantly vaporized!
Fragments from the explosion scattered everywhere with a crackling sound.

This final blow was like pulling the spine out of the frenzied "Victory Front" militants, causing their offensive to abruptly halt.

A brief but incredibly eerie calm descended upon the battlefield.

It seems that even the militants of the "Victory Front" were stunned by this scene.

The next wave of attacks, which was already underway, was halted at this point.

In the distance, only the crackling of burning vehicle wreckage, sporadic gunshots, and the suppressed groans of the wounded echoed in the air.

Song Heping threw away the empty launcher and staggered toward where the cook had fallen.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the cook's carotid artery—it was still pulsating!
After a quick check, it was found that he was mainly stunned by the explosion, had a head injury with bleeding, and several shrapnel wounds, but there did not seem to be any fatal injuries.

"Cook, wake up! Wake up!"

He reached out and slapped the cook hard across the face.

"Cough...cough..."

Perhaps it was Song Heping's shaking that caused the cook to cough up a few breaths of foul air mixed with blood and foam, his eyelids twitching with difficulty before slowly opening.

His vision blurred as he focused on Song Heping's anxious face. He struggled to tug at the corners of his mouth, trying to give his usual roguish smile, but the pain turned it into a bizarre, grimacing expression.

"Damn it... I'm tough... Looks like even Satan won't take me..."

Song Heping breathed a long sigh of relief, dragged him behind a relatively intact section of broken wall, and plopped down on the ground.

The two men leaned against the cold, rough concrete wall, breathing heavily, their chests heaving like bellows.

Extreme fatigue and the feeling of exhaustion after the adrenaline receded washed over me like a tidal wave.

The air was thick with an overwhelming stench of blood, gunpowder, burnt flesh, and all sorts of indescribable signs of death, making one want to vomit.

The two remained silent and began mechanically checking the remaining ammunition on their bodies.

Song Heping: Glock 17 pistol, two full magazines remaining, 34 rounds in total.

Rifle ammunition: zero.

Hand grenades: zero.

Cook: AK-74U short assault rifle, with only half a magazine of bullets left in the chamber, estimated to be no more than 15 rounds.

pistol?

It's long gone, I have no idea where it is.

Hand grenades: zero.

The cook spat out the blood and dust from his mouth, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping, carrying a sense of relief after extreme exhaustion and deep regret: "Hey... brother... we're out of ammo and food... it seems... this is really... the end."

Song Heping didn't speak, but simply nodded silently, his gaze sweeping over the bodies of his fallen comrades scattered around him and the enemy who was watching him menacingly but dared not approach for the time being.

He instinctively reached into the pocket of his tactical vest, trying to retrieve his precious satellite phone.

He wanted to ask Jiang Feng or Arseni what stage their operation had reached.

However, all he found was a pile of broken plastic parts and twisted antenna fragments—the phone had long since been hit by stray bullets or shrapnel and was completely destroyed.

"Fuck..."

Song Heping gave a silent, bitter smile.

But she quickly came to terms with it.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Whether Obama or De Hook can succeed in taking him down, it seems that there are only two possible outcomes for him and the cook—life or death.

Like two sides of a coin.

never mind.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)