Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1290 A bad start
06:45, northwest suburbs of Teterrick.

The dry wind whipped up dust and sand, which lashed against the Hummer's windshield.

Major Mahmoud, commander of the 1st Battalion of the 3rd Brigade of the "Freedom Fighters" of Kold, stood on the roof of the vehicle, holding up binoculars to observe the front.

Thirty-five years old, he fought against the 1515 armed group for four years and has two shrapnel scars on his face.

His battalion is one of the main attacking forwards today.

Behind him, more than 300 vehicles of various types lined up in a one-kilometer-long column along the dry riverbed—twenty Hummers, fifty SUVs, and the rest were all Toyota pickup trucks, each with a PKM general-purpose machine gun or an RPG-7 gunner mounted in the back.

The soldiers wore a mix of camouflage uniforms, some with American-made helmets, and some with only headscarves.

The weapons are mainly AKMs, but you can also see M16s and even German G36s – all of which have been acquired through various channels in recent years.

The car stereo played folk songs by Kold, their stirring melodies appearing and disappearing amidst the roar of the engine.

The soldiers were in high spirits, and many stood on the vehicles, waving their fists in the direction of Titrick.

Last night they witnessed the spectacular sight of the air raids—fireballs rising continuously on the horizon.

Images transmitted by the drone before departure this morning showed that the front line appeared to be deserted.

"God help us! Today we will drive those black flag bastards out of Titrick!" a young soldier shouted, drawing cheers from the crowd.

Major Mahmoud did not stop it.

Morale was good, but he had a vague unease in his heart.

because……

It went so well.

He pressed the radio: "All units, stay alert. Titrick has many industrial areas and complex buildings; there might be an ambush. Everyone, be on your guard!"

"Received, Major."

The convoy continued forward, kicking up clouds of yellow dust.

At the forefront were three Humvees, with DShK heavy machine gunners on their roofs cautiously turning their guns.

07:00, outside the abandoned brick factory.

This is the first line of defense marked by satellite—an old brick factory covering five hectares, with kilns, workshops, and warehouses, most of which have been destroyed in the air raids.

Mahmoud's Hummer was parked 300 meters outside the factory area.

He raised the binoculars again.

The brick factory was quiet.

Smoke was still rising from several buildings.

There were no people or vehicles in sight.

The drone flew by ten minutes ago, and the thermal scan only detected a few small animal heat sources.

"First Company, send a platoon in to scout."

Three pickup trucks broke away from the convoy and slowly drove into the factory gate, carrying fifteen soldiers.

The soldiers crouched in the carriage, their guns pointed in various directions.

The pickup truck weaved through the rubble and broken bricks.

The sunlight began to pierce the horizon, lengthening the shadows of the ruins.

The reconnaissance platoon leader's voice came through the radio: "No enemy detected. The building is empty, with a large number of empty ammunition boxes and abandoned personal belongings. It looks like they retreated in a hurry."

Mahmoud breathed a sigh of relief.

It seems the airstrikes did indeed disrupt the enemy's plans.

"All battalions, advance! First Company, capture the brick factory and establish defenses. Second and Third Companies, continue advancing towards the second line of defense!"

The convoy roared to life as it surged into the brickyard area.

The soldiers jumped out of the vehicles and quickly occupied various buildings and high ground.

The engineers began checking for booby traps.

Mahmoud's command vehicle drove to the old warehouse in the center of the factory area.

He got out of the car and stepped on the broken bricks and spent cartridges.

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

"Reporting to the brigade headquarters: I have captured the first line of defense without encountering resistance. I am consolidating my position and preparing to continue the advance."

"Yes, Major."

Mahmoud looked around and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

The fragrance is refreshing and pleasant.

It looks like today will really go smoothly.

Before Thunder Defense's mercenaries even set out, the Kolders are about to claim the credit.

He looked southeast, where plumes of smoke were still rising from the main part of the city.

Suddenly, his ears twitched.

what sound?
Like...

engine?

Many engines were coming from the direction of the city.

He grabbed his binoculars and looked south of the brick factory—where a broken road led into the city.

At first there was nothing.

Then, in the heat haze on the horizon, a swaying shadow appeared.

Many shadows.

At 07:15, at the same time, at the Thunder Defense observation post.

Mike was lying on the edge of the roof of a three-story building, with an AN/PVS-14 night vision goggles in front of him.

He was the company commander of Alpha Company, and was ordered to establish an observation post here.

His location was two kilometers northeast of the brick factory, with a good view.

Through night vision goggles, he saw that Kold's troops had successfully entered the brick factory and spread out to set up defenses. Everything was normal.

Then, he saw a shadow appear in the direction of the city.

"Command, this is Alpha-1. Suspicious movement detected. Multiple vehicle targets have appeared in the direction of the city and are moving towards the brick factory. Number... currently being tallied."

He adjusted the multiplier.

Thermal imaging showed that the vehicles' engines were very hot, indicating they had just been started.

The main vehicle type is pickup trucks.

The number is constantly increasing.

Ten, twenty, thirty...

"Warning! Warning! A large number of armed pickup trucks have appeared south of the brick factory. It is recommended that Kold's forces increase their vigilance."

But he wasn't too worried.

Even if the enemy counterattacks, Kold has a battalion of 500 men, defending the ruins of the brick factory, and with air support, they should be able to hold out.

Moreover, Apache attack helicopters were in the nearby airspace.

He continued to observe, watching the vehicles disperse about a kilometer from the brick factory, seemingly forming groups.

Strangely, they didn't charge immediately; instead, they were waiting for something.

Rosenberg frowned.

This is unlike the style of the 1515 militia—they usually either hold their ground or launch frenzied but chaotic suicide attacks.

This organized pause...

He turned his gaze to the interior of the brick factory.

Most of the Kold's soldiers had relaxed their vigilance; some were inspecting the factory area, some were chatting, and only a few sentries were on guard.

“Idiot,” Rosenberg muttered.

Just as he was about to call out the warning again, something unexpected happened.

07:20, inside the brick factory.

The first to notice the anomaly were a Kold's machine gun team stationed at the raw material storage yard on the south side of the brick factory.

They were operating a PKM, positioned in a partially collapsed brick shed.

The young shooter's name is Karim, and he is nineteen years old.

He was idly fiddling with his scope when he suddenly saw something move in the direction of the old kiln across the storage yard.

He narrowed his eyes.

The kiln has been abandoned for many years, the door is broken, and the inside is dark.

Another movement.

This time he saw it clearly—it was a gun barrel, slowly emerging from the shadows inside the furnace.

"Platoon leader! There's something in the kiln—"

Karim's words came to an abrupt end.

Because at that very moment, the entire brick factory awoke.

From inside what appeared to be a collapsed kiln, from behind a half-buried pile of rubble, from a fortification disguised as a garbage dump, from behind the windows of the crushing workshop, and even from under a concealed cover that was suddenly lifted from the ground—more than twenty firing points simultaneously spewed out flames!
Gunshots rang out, but not the crisp bursts of the AK series that Karim was familiar with; instead…

Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!Boom!
The gunshots were deep, continuous, and deafening.

It's a 14mm heavy machine gun!

That was a Soviet-era anti-aircraft machine gun, originally designed to shoot down airplanes, but now its muzzle was leveled.

It has a rate of fire of 600 rounds per minute and fires 14.5x114mm armor-piercing incendiary rounds.

The bullet has a 64-gram warhead, an initial velocity of 1000 meters per second, and can still penetrate a 20-millimeter homogeneous steel plate at a distance of 800 meters.

The first wave of attacks was terrifyingly accurate.

Major Mahmoud's command vehicle was the primary target.

Three KPVs fired simultaneously from different directions, their thick, long tongues of fire tearing through the air.

The first shot hit the hood, penetrated it, and blew up the engine. The second shot pierced the door, cutting the communications soldier in half.

The third shot hit the fuel tank—the Hummer had no explosion-proof design, the fuel tank exploded instantly, and the fireball engulfed the entire vehicle.

Mahmoud jumped out of the car just before the explosion, but was thrown five meters by the shockwave and crashed heavily into a brick wall, bleeding from his ears and nose and temporarily losing his hearing.

More KPV firepower was directed at other vehicles.

A pickup truck parked next to a warehouse was "brushed" from end to end by a burst of 14.5mm bullets.

The driver's cab was riddled with holes, the fuel tank exploded, and the three soldiers inside the truck were thrown into the air, landing as burning human figures.

Another armed truck, attempting to reverse and escape, was caught in a crossfire from three directions.

The 14.5mm armor-piercing round easily tore through the thin steel plates of the truck bed, leaving the soldiers inside feeling like they were being stuffed into a mixer.

The truck lost control, crashed into a pile of bricks, overturned, and leaked fuel, which then caught fire.

But that's not the scariest thing.

"It's a quad-mount ZPU-4! Allah!" someone screamed.

At the top of the central water tower in the brick factory, the camouflage netting and covering debris were suddenly lifted, revealing a ZPU-4 quadruple 14.5mm anti-aircraft machine gun. This weapon has four barrels and a theoretical rate of fire of 2400 rounds per minute, creating a metal storm when fired horizontally.

The operators were two bearded 1515 militants who pulled the trigger with a maniacal laugh.

Four tongues of fire, like the lash of death, lashed out at the densest area of ​​Kold's soldiers—who were gathered in front of the old warehouse, attempting to organize a counterattack.

The effect is massacre-level.

The 14.5mm bullets formed a dense barrage, and wherever they passed, the human body was like a rag doll being torn apart by a tremendous force.

Limbs were separated, the torso exploded, and blood and internal organs were splattered on the brick wall.

A single bullet pierced through three soldiers in succession.

In just ten seconds, the area in front of the warehouse turned into a scene of carnage, with at least thirty people losing their lives.

The surviving Kold soldiers were completely stunned.

They lay on the ground, hiding behind the wreckage, terrified.

The officers shouted themselves hoarse in an attempt to organize resistance, but communications were mostly disrupted and organization was thrown into disarray.

Mahmoud struggled to his feet, found a fallen AKM, and leaned against the wall. His ears were still ringing.

"Don't panic! Find cover! Call for air support!"

He shouted, but his voice was insignificant amidst the gunfire.

Fortunately, Kold's troops were veterans who had fought for many years. After the initial panic, the survivors began to fight back spontaneously.

The PKM gunners found a position to return fire, but their 7.62mm bullets posed little threat to the KPV's steel shields.

RPG shooters attempted to bombard the firing point, but exposing themselves meant being targeted – two RPG squads had barely gotten up to aim when they were bombarded by KPV fire, their launchers and crew destroyed.

"This is Iron Fist-1! We've been ambushed! Repeat, ambushed at the brickyard! The enemy has heavy machine guns, at least ten KPVs, and ZPUs! Requesting emergency air support!" Mahmoud called out on his backup radio, his voice hoarse.

The response was swift: "Iron Fist-1, situation received. Air support coordinated, Apaches on their way. Hold on."

Mahmoud looked up at the sky. In the dawn light, two dark dots were rapidly approaching from the northeast.

Apache helicopters have arrived.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Once armed helicopters arrive, these exposed heavy machine gun positions will become sitting ducks.

But he didn't notice that on several high points in the brick factory, someone was holding up a long, cylindrical object and pointing it at the sky.

In the air, Apache pilot Brennan, codenamed "Avenger 1-1," received an emergency call.

"Avengers formation, this is 'outpost'. Grid NK351215, Kold's forces have encountered heavy fire at the brickyard. Authorized to intervene immediately and suppress the enemy heavy machine gun position. Note: There may be an air threat."

"Roger that. Avengers formation, proceed to target area. Units 1 and 2, main attack; Units 3 and 4, provide high-altitude cover; be alert for air defense threats."

The two Apaches broke formation, descended to an altitude of 200 meters, and increased their speed to 120 knots.

On Brennan's helmet display, the thermal image of the brickyard began to become clear—multiple bright muzzle flashes, and numerous smaller heat sources.

"Locate the first target: KPV on the west side of the kiln."

Brennan used his helmet scope to frame the spot that was continuously spitting fire.

The fire control computer calculates the angle of the M230 chain gun.

"Fire."

Bang-bang-bang-bang!
Four 30mm shells roared out.

Beep beep beep——

But almost at the same instant, Brennan’s helicopter warning system suddenly screamed shrilly.

"Missile warning! MANPADS threat! Three o'clock position!"

Brennan instinctively yanked the control stick and simultaneously pressed the decoy launch button.

The Apache performed a violent roll maneuver, releasing a string of infrared decoy flares from under its belly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw at least four plumes of white smoke rising from different locations on the ground, heading straight for him and his wingman.

The first one was an old Soviet-made 9K32 "Strela-2" missile with outdated guidance technology. It was successfully attracted by the decoy flare and exploded to the side and rear of the helicopter.

Then came the second one...

It was also an "Arrow-2", and it too was ultimately lost.

The third one...

After a brief pursuit, it suddenly turned around and shook off.

However, judging from the flight trajectory, the fourth missile—Brennan—was not the previous "Arrow-2," but most likely an SA-16 man-portable air defense system.

This is Russia's second-generation portable air defense missile, equipped with a cooled infrared seeker and strong anti-jamming capabilities.

The SA-16 ignored the first batch of decoy flares and locked onto Brennan's right engine.

"Release more bait! Do a barrel roll!" Brennan shouted.

The missile appeared to be interfered with by a second batch of decoys at the last moment, its trajectory slightly deflected—but not completely.

boom--

Boom!

The missile exploded about three meters to the starboard side of the Apache's tail boom.

It wasn't a direct hit, but the pre-fragmented material, like a deadly storm of metal, swept across the tail boom structure, tail rotor drive shaft, and the right engine's air intake and some pipelines.

Fortunately, the Apache is extremely resilient and was not destroyed, but it did start to shake.

Inside the nacelle, all the main warning lights illuminated, and an urgent mechanical voice reported: "Right engine failure! Tail rotor control force reduced! Hydraulic pressure reduced!"

Apache trembled violently and began to spin uncontrollably to the right.

"I've been shot! Prepare for an emergency landing!" Brennan desperately tried to control the control stick.

The wingman's voice came through: "Number 1, you're smoking from the tail! You're losing altitude!"

"I know! Cover me!"

Brennan looked down.

The area around the brick factory is full of buildings and ruins.

He struggled to steer the helicopter toward a relatively flat sandy area, where the altitude had dropped to less than 100 meters.

The rotor speed was decreasing, and the warning sound was becoming more and more urgent.

"Height fifty... forty... thirty... Prepare for impact!"

The Apache helicopter crashed heavily onto the sand at approximately 40 knots and a 15-degree right-hand tilt.

The landing gear broke, the fuselage skidded, and the rotor blades shattered as they hit the ground.

The cabin was filled with dust.

Brennan was nearly suffocated by the seatbelt, but remained conscious.

He quickly shut down all systems to prevent a fire.

“Avengers 1-1 crash landing, location… NK348212. I am still alive and need rescue.”

He spoke into the radio, his voice trembling from the impact.

"Received, No. 1. Rescue has been dispatched. Hang in there."

Brennan unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the MP5 self-defense submachine gun next to the hatch.

He looked out the window; the gunfire from the brick factory was still going on, and it seemed that vehicles were heading this way.

"Damn it."

He cursed under his breath as he checked the ammunition—three thirty-round magazines.

What he didn't expect was that the SA-16 that wounded him was one of the stockpiles that 1515 militants had seized when they captured the Siliatakaba airbase.

This ambush, from the deployment of ground heavy machine gun positions to the location and timing of the anti-aircraft missiles, demonstrated a rare level of tactical coordination.

This was not a spontaneous act by a group of fanatics.

This was a premeditated and meticulously planned trap.

Command center, outpost.

Colonel Kurt stood stiffly in front of the main screen.

The screen displayed multiple real-time feeds in a split format—thermal imaging of the battle at the brick factory, drone aerial footage of the Apache crash site, and wide-area surveillance data just transmitted from the AWACS aircraft.

His right hand clenched unconsciously, his nails digging into his palm.

The brick factory ambush and the Apache helicopter being damaged by a missile and forced to land were already major setbacks.

But what made him even more uneasy was the message from the early warning aircraft.

"'Outpost,' this is 'Eagle Eye.' Large-scale ground maneuver detected. Bearing 135 southeast, approximately 20 kilometers from Titrick. Number of heat sources... over two hundred, and still increasing. Speed ​​approximately 60 kilometers per hour, moving towards Titrick."

Kurt rushed to the screen and personally pulled up the synthetic aperture radar image from that direction.

The image has been enhanced to show a desert area.

At first there were only a few scattered hotspots, but as time went on, more and more heat sources emerged from the horizon, surging along several dirt roads like a flood.

He zoomed in on the image and identified the type of vehicle.

It's mainly pickup trucks, but there are also trucks.

The heat source counter was jumping wildly in the corner of the screen: 150…180…220…250…breaking three hundred and still increasing.

"This is impossible……"

Lieutenant Major James stood behind him, his face pale. "Intelligence says the garrison at Tetrick numbers at most 12,000... Where did these people come from?"

Kurt did not answer.

His mind was racing.

Possibility 1: The intelligence is completely wrong.

Possibility Two: The 1515 armed forces secretly transferred a large number of reinforcements from other war zones.

Possibility 3: These are not all combat troops—but the thermal signatures indicate that they are mainly vehicles, and their movement is orderly.

Regardless of the possibility, it means that the fundamental premise upon which the "Balance Beam" plan is based—the balance of power between the enemy and ourselves—is wrong.

And it's so wrong.

If these reinforcements join the battle, the total enemy force in Titrick may reach 30,000.
even more?

Kurt felt a chill rise up his spine.

Eight thousand versus thirty thousand.

Even with some air and technological superiority, this proportion is enough to offset all advantages in the brutal urban warfare.

What's even more frightening is the tactical situation.

His troops have already launched an attack, with Kold's forwards trapped in a brickyard ambush, and the Thunder's main force yet to be deployed.

If the enemy's 30,000 fresh troops arrive, they can not only reinforce the city's defenses, but also potentially encircle and surround his attacking forces.

"Order Kold's vanguard to halt their advance! Establish a circular defensive position and hold out for reinforcements!"

Kurt's voice remained steady, but beads of cold sweat had appeared on his forehead. "All Thunder air assault teams, mission canceled, stand by! Repeat, all air assaults, canceled!"

The communications officer quickly relayed the order.

Kurt turned to James: “Contact rear command and request an urgent intelligence assessment. We need to know the size, equipment, and origin of these reinforcements.”

"Yes, sir."

Kurt looked at the main screen again.

The battle at the brick factory continued, but the Kold's forces, supported by Apache helicopters and the subsequent arrival of F-16s, had managed to hold their ground.

However, that was only at the tactical level.

At the strategic level, the "Balance Beam" project has already shown its first crack.

Are intelligence gathering and information flows reliable?
Do they really "see everything"?

If even the movement of the enemy's 30,000 reinforcements could not be predicted, then how much of the so-called "information advantage" is just a facade?
What about the heavy hammer of the firepower style?
The airstrikes destroyed many targets, but the enemy's core combat forces were clearly intact, and they even set up a perfect ambush.

Kurt took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

War is not a game of chess, and the opponent is not a chess piece.

Your opponent will think, deceive, be patient, and strike a fatal blow when you least expect it.

He made a mistake: underestimating his opponent.

It was not his courage or fanaticism to underestimate the enemy—he never underestimated those.

He underestimated the enemy's tactical wisdom and campaign planning capabilities.

The new commander, Ahmed.

Intelligence reports say he is merely "an experienced 1515 commander who previously served in the Syrian government army."

But now it seems he may be much more than that.

Kurt walked to the small coffee machine in the corner of the command vehicle and got another cup of coffee.

This time he didn't add sugar or milk, and drank the scalding black liquid directly.

Bitterness helps him concentrate.

"Reassess the battlefield situation."

He said to his staff, "Let's assume the enemy has a total force of 30,000, of which at least 10,000 are fresh troops. Let's assume the enemy intends to lure us deep into their territory. What would their next move be?"

The intelligence analyst pulled up a map: "If they want to counter-encircle, reinforcements will try to flank or rear our forces and cut off their retreat. But our air power can intercept them..."

“Air power is not unlimited,” Kurt interrupted. “Ammunition, fuel, pilot fatigue, sorties—we have limits. And if the enemy uses ‘sticky tactics,’ forcing our ground forces into close-quarters combat, our air power will be hesitant to act.”

He thought of the ambush at the brick factory.

KPV heavy machine gun, ZPU-4, SA-16 missile... these are all weapons that require training to operate effectively.

The enemy not only possessed them, but also used them tactically very well.

"Tell Kold's troops not to rush into the city after establishing strong defenses at the brickyard. We need to re-scout and reassess."

Kurt ordered, "Thunder companies, switch to defensive posture and protect main passages and supply lines. Air power, prioritize striking enemy reinforcement convoys and delay their arrival."

Once the order was given, the command center sprang into action.

Kurt sat back in his command chair, clasped his hands together, and rubbed his thumbs together—a habitual gesture he made when nervous, one he hadn't completely shaken off during his many years in the military.

On the main screen, red arrows representing enemy reinforcements are steadily approaching Titrick. Blue icons remain stationary on the attack line.

What started off perfectly turned into a stalemate or even a crisis within just one hour.

He recalled what he had told his troops before the battle: "Titrick is not a fortress; it is merely a target for our tactical demonstration."

Now, this "target" is fighting back. And the fight is so fierce and precise.

Kurt looked out the window.

Daylight had broken and the sunlight was blinding. Smoke plumes were still rising in Titrick's direction, but to him now, those plumes no longer symbolized victory, but rather the unknown and danger.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)