Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1255 Purgatory
"Don't let your guard down! There are definitely 1515 people nearby, this is just the appetizer..."

Sanders' roar hadn't even landed in the smoke-filled air when the enemy's first wave of bullets rained down, interrupting his warning.

shhhhh--

Puff puff--

The 7.62mm intermediate-power rounds fired by the AK-47, with their unique whistling and penetrating sound, slammed into the dilapidated fortifications of the checkpoint like scorching hail.

The sandbags thudded and kicked up dust; the metal sheets of abandoned vehicles were easily torn apart, emitting a piercing metallic groan; the concrete walls were instantly riddled with honeycomb-like bullet holes, and gravel flew everywhere.

"Stay calm! Stay calm! Don't panic, we're at a high vantage point!"

Sanders' voice came through the gunfire and explosions, trying to suppress his men's instinctive urge to retaliate, "Look carefully before you shoot! Follow my orders!"

The surviving mercenaries inside the checkpoint quickly took up their designated defensive positions.

At the southeast corner of the wall, the gap torn open by the VBIED (Improvised Bomb Vehicle) resembled a gaping maw, becoming the eye of the storm.

The gap was more than ten meters wide, directly connecting the inside and outside of the checkpoint. The layers of blast walls, barbed wire and obstacles that were originally there were blown away by the shock wave.

"Machine gun! Rex! Set up your M249 behind that crappy chassis on the left! Block the gap! Hansen, you go to the right flank, prioritize taking out the guy with the RPG and the one shouting the loudest!"

Sanders quickly and clearly assigned tasks over the radio, his mind racing as he calculated firepower and personnel allocation.

If the 1515 armed group dared to attack a fixed checkpoint, they must have scouted out the troop deployment there and certainly had a numerical advantage; otherwise, they wouldn't have dared to do it.

"Roger that, boss!"

Rex, the machine gunner nicknamed "Bull," took cover behind the wreckage of a pickup truck that had been blown to smithereens, with only the chassis and engine remaining. He was carrying his M249 SAW light machine gun, which was loaded with 200 rounds of ammunition.

This location offers a relatively wide field of vision, perfectly covering most of the gap.

He quickly set up the bipod, pointed the cold gun at the gap, put his finger on the trigger, took a deep breath, and prepared to go all out.

On the other side, Hansen quietly climbed onto a half-collapsed observation platform on the side wing of the main building, like a cat.

He carefully positioned his HK417 sniper rifle, equipped with a high-performance scope, against the edge of the broken wall, adjusting his breathing. Through the scope, the death zone, illuminated by both firelight and moonlight, was clearly visible before him.

The crosshairs in the lens swept across the distant, fanatical, distorted, bearded faces, searching for a valuable target.

The enemy surged out of the darkness from all sides like a flood, with the main attack concentrated on that breach.

Their numbers were despairingly large, definitely exceeding four hundred.

Most people wore ill-fitting robes of various colors, with headscarves of all kinds wrapped around their heads, and many even wore slippers.

Their weapons were a mixed bag, mainly old AKM and AK-47, some RPK light machine guns, and even more RPG-7 rocket launchers carried on their shoulders.

Their tactics were crude and wild, with almost no concept of cover or alternating advance. They charged towards the breach with deafening howls, heads bowed, driven only by an almost manic religious fervor and disregard for death!
"Fire!!!"

When the enemy at the forefront stepped onto the edge of the breach, less than fifty meters from the defensive line, Sanders mustered all his strength and gave the order to fire.

Da da da--

Da da da--

Rex's M249 was the first to let out a dull, sustained roar.

The 5.56mm bullets, firing at a rate of nearly 800 rounds per minute, formed a fiery whip, lashing out at the enemy horde surging toward the breach.

The leading militants were struck as if by an invisible hammer; their bodies trembled violently, blood and bits of flesh spurting from their backs as they collapsed to the ground without a sound. But those behind them seemed oblivious to their comrades' deaths, or perhaps they simply didn't care. They trampled over the corpses of their own men, continuing to charge forward, screaming wildly.

Bullets struck them, splattering blood everywhere, but unless they were hit in a vital spot and killed instantly, they could still drag their broken bodies forward a few steps until they ran out of bullets in their magazines or were completely torn apart by subsequent fire.

"boom!"

Hansen's HK417 fired a crisp shot.

Almost every short gunshot was accompanied by the fall of a target.

His crosshairs were firmly locked onto a gunner who was clumsily loading rockets into an RPG.

"Say goodbye to Uncle Sam."

Hansen muttered to himself, his index finger steadily tapping.

boom!
The RPG shooter's head snapped back like a smashed watermelon, and he fell backward, dropping his rocket launcher to the ground.

boom!
Another man brandished a pistol, seemingly having shot the squad leader in the chest, and fell to the ground, unable to get up.

Hansen was like a calm Grim Reaper, efficiently and precisely reaping the most threatening targets.

However, his rate of fire was woefully inadequate compared to the overwhelming tide of enemies.

The pressure from other directions is equally immense.

Outside the walls on the north and west sides, although the enemy did not launch a dense assault like at the breach, at least several dozen men used the terrain and the cover of night to continuously suppress the enemy with AK rifles and occasionally fire RPG rockets.

boom!
An RPG rocket, trailing a plume of flame, crashed into the corner of the main building, blasting a large hole. Bricks and stones flew everywhere, and the screams of two mercenaries hiding behind it could be heard; their fate was unknown.

Inside the checkpoint, bullets flew everywhere, and fireballs from exploding rockets rose up intermittently, casting flickering light on the faces that were either contorted with rage or filled with fear.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood.

The screams of the wounded, the chaotic announcements from the radio, and the endless howls and gunfire of the enemy intertwined to form a symphony of destruction.

"Where are the reinforcements?! What did Bakda say?! What about Hurmatu's side?!"

Sanders yelled into the radio as he took down an enemy trying to flank him with precise bursts of fire from his M4A1.

His voice was already slightly hoarse, his lips were chapped, and his adrenaline was surging through his body, but reason told him that with just their numbers, they definitely couldn't hold out for long.

The enemy's numerical advantage was too great, and they were completely disregarding casualties.

Downstairs, a rookie communications soldier huddled in a corner of the relatively sturdy communications room, the sound of bullets whizzing through the walls filling his ears. His fingers flew across the radio panel, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the keyboard.

"Thunder Command Center, this is Checkpoint Four! We urgently need support! Repeat, we urgently need all forms of support! The enemy is launching a fierce attack, and the breach is about to fall!"

"...Checkpoint Four, received. The helicopter rescue team is almost over you. Their aircraft have machine guns and can provide fire support, but they are only general-purpose helicopters, equipped only with door-mounted machine guns, and cannot provide precise ground attacks. Repeat, no armed helicopter support."

Sanders' heart sank again.

The fire support it can provide is extremely limited, and the helicopter itself is also in great danger under such a dense threat of small arms and RPGs.

"Hurmatu! Contact the Hurmatu militia command! Find Song Heping! Tell him we need immediate ground support! Their camp is only a dozen kilometers away from us!" Sanders roared unwillingly.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)