Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 985 Those Who Shake Morale Die
The ambush occurred approximately 35 minutes later

The entrance to the wind-eroded rock area in the heart of the Sahara Desert.

With a brutal roar of engines, a massive torrent of steel, far larger than before, appeared at the entrance to the narrow passage.

Leading the way were three Land Rover Defenders SUVs painted in a mottled desert camouflage pattern, with raised chassis and sand-proof netting covering the hoods, resembling three steel cheetahs poised to pounce. Behind the windows were several faces covered in heavy camouflage paint, their eyes sharp as hawks.

Following closely behind were a dozen or so rusty, armed pickup trucks equipped with DShK or NSV heavy machine guns, their cargo beds crammed with GNA soldiers dressed in haphazard uniforms, their heads wrapped in cloth, and their eyes fierce.

Even more striking were several military trucks carrying a group of soldiers dressed in what appeared to be the standard desert camouflage uniforms of the former Haftar National Army, but whose armbands had been replaced with the GNA logo—a group of rebels who had betrayed their former masters.

The convoy came to a sudden stop at the entrance of the passage. The billowing yellow sand that it kicked up settled slowly like turbid waves, revealing a huge pile of rubble that had been blasted into existence.

The jagged stones crisscrossed, completely blocking the only passage.

SBS Vice Captain Dorn was the first to jump off the Land Rover.

The jagged, wind-eroded rock pillars cast distorted shadows under the blazing sun. The air was so dry it could ignite your throat, but even more intense was the viscous, nauseating smell that seemed almost tangible—an overwhelming stench of blood, mixed with the acrid odor of burning flesh, rubber, and fuel, like the lid of hell's kitchen being lifted.

Dorn frowned instantly, his nostrils flared, and an ominous premonition crept up his spine like a cold, venomous snake.

Next to get off the vehicle was Yarif, the top leader of the GNA in charge of this pursuit operation.

This is the typical image of a desert bandit, with a scar running diagonally across his left cheek, adding to his fierce appearance.

Finally, the one who slowly strolled down was Jaafari, the former chief of staff of Haftar's National Army and now a traitor.

He was short and slightly overweight, wearing a relatively clean officer's uniform. His eyes were darting around, and his forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat, whether from the heat or from guilt, it was hard to tell.

The moment the three men, leading several soldiers, carefully navigated around the deadly pile of rubble and stepped into the passage—

"hiss……"

Everyone, including the battle-hardened SBS members and the ruthless GNA veterans, gasped in unison!
Extreme horror froze their movements and thoughts; even the air seemed to solidify.

The scene before them completely exceeded their understanding of the word "battlefield," and only the term "slaughterhouse" could describe it.

The narrow passage felt as if it had been brutally kneaded and ravaged by an invisible demon's giant claw.

More than a dozen vehicles of various types—armored pickup trucks, military trucks, and even a light armored vehicle—were displayed in various twisted and destroyed postures: some were upside down, like beetles flipped over; some were blown to pieces, leaving only charred skeletons, still emitting billowing black smoke and emitting a pungent acrid smell; others were completely torn apart by the powerful shockwave, with steel parts and tires scattered all over the ground like toy fragments carelessly discarded by children.

The still-burning flames leaped among the wreckage, licking the twisted metal and crackling mournfully.

However, even more shocking than the wreckage of the vehicles were the corpses.

All over the place.

Layer upon layer, densely packed, there was hardly a single open space to step on.

The yellow sand was completely soaked in thick, dark red blood. Under the scorching midday sun of the Sahara, it took on a strange, almost blackish-purple color, emitting a sweet, pungent, and rusty smell that made one's stomach churn.

Severed limbs, internal organs, broken helmets, and weapon parts were scattered among them, like decorations from hell.

Some of the corpses remained in the terrified posture of their last moments: some had their eyes wide open, their pupils frozen in disbelief and despair; some had their mouths agape, as if emitting a silent scream; and some stretched out their arms in vain, as if trying to grasp at some illusory lifeline.

An AK rifle riddled with bullet holes, spent cartridge cases scattered like tiny brass flowers, broken communication equipment, even a half-eaten naan bread...

All traces of war were brutally mixed together and smeared on this canvas of death.

The entire passageway was filled with a chilling, deathly silence.

Only the occasional crackling of the burning debris and the whistling of the wind as it passed through the cracks in the rocks sounded like the weeping of countless souls.

The intense heat distorted the air, adding an even more surreal and terrifying touch to this bloody hellish scene.

Flies had begun to swarm on the corpse, making an annoying buzzing sound.

"God is the greatest..."

A young GNA soldier whispered unconsciously, his voice trembling and incoherent, before suddenly bending over and violently vomiting.

This seemed to be a signal; more soldiers' faces instantly turned ashen, and the acid in their stomachs churned uncontrollably, with vomiting sounds rising one after another.

They had fought wars and seen dead bodies, but the efficiency, brutality, and “cleanliness” of the massacre scene completely shattered their nerves.

Yarif's facial muscles twitched violently, and he clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

As a commander, he could not show weakness, especially not in front of the British.

But the shock of the scene before him made his strong heart skip a beat.

He forced down his churning stomach acid, his eyes scanning fiercely as he tried to find his opponent's weakness, but he only felt a chill that went deep into his bones.

Jafari's reaction was the worst.

His face drained of all color in an instant, turning paler than a corpse, and large beads of cold sweat rolled down his temples like streams, soaking his collar.

Many of those corpses were his former subordinates.

“This…this is impossible…”

Jafari's voice was dry and hoarse, trembling uncontrollably, filled with a deep-seated fear, "With their remnants? A bunch of stray dogs? How could they... how could they possibly do this?!"

His gaze swept over the corpses that had been precisely blown in the head and torn apart by booby traps, as if he could see his own future end.

"Shut up, Jafari!"

Yarif whirled around, like an enraged lion, growling in disgust, trying to mask his shock with anger, “Open your dog eyes and look! They must have used a despicable ambush! Digging traps, planting landmines! Sneaking in from the shadows like scorpions in the desert! That must be it!”

He seemed to be convincing others, but even more so, he was convincing himself. "Despicable? An ambush?!"

Jafari was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on; his fear was instantly ignited by Yarif's self-deceiving attitude, transforming into a hysterical rebuttal.

He originally joined GNA and never intended to completely eliminate Haftar.

Even at the very beginning of the pursuit, he was opposed to it.

After all, Haftar had no place to stand in Lebia after losing the desert city, and besides, he, his former superior, only had a little over a hundred soldiers left, making it impossible for him to make a comeback.

There's no need to relentlessly pursue such people.

He pointed to the wreckage and corpses scattered on the ground, his voice suddenly rising and sounding particularly jarring in the empty, deathly silent passage.

"Look at this! Yarif! Open your eyes wide and take a good look! This is an ambush? This is a one-sided slaughter! This is hell on earth! Song Heping, who's with Haftar, is a devil! His men are all reckless lunatics! Why are we chasing after them? Huh? To die?! Haftar is finished! Let him and his pitiful bunch go to that godforsaken corner of North Darfur and fend for themselves! Why drive these dogs into a dead end and force them to turn around and fight us to the death?!"

Jafari became increasingly agitated as he spoke, spitting as he spoke, his voice filled with intense reluctance and a deep-seated fear.

The scene of Song Heping breaking out of the heavily fortified core area of ​​the desert city last night with only a small group of elite troops, like ghosts, was still vivid in his mind. The precise and deadly sniping and the unpredictable explosions terrified him.

The carnage before him completely crushed his last shred of courage. All he wanted was to escape, to get as far away from the name Song Heping as possible.

"coward!"

Arif flew into a rage, veins bulging on his forehead.

He abruptly drew his ornate Tokarev pistol from his waist, cocked it with a "click," and pressed the dark muzzle against Jafari's forehead. His face contorted with extreme rage: "Jafari! Are you trying to undermine morale?! Don't forget who you are now! You survived by betraying Haftar and groveling to the British! Now you want to be a coward?! Ms. M's orders are to kill Song Heping and Haftar! Use their heads to stabilize the situation! You dare disobey?!"

His voice was filled with murderous intent.

"Ms. M? Ms. M is far away in London! Sitting in her velvet-covered office, sipping afternoon tea! It wasn't one of yours who died!"

Jafari, desperate and on the verge of death, pointed at the corpses scattered on the ground, all dressed in former Nationalist Army uniforms, and roared hoarsely, “Look at all these dead men! They are all brothers who surrendered with me! Brothers who believed we could bring them a better life! For a mere order from the British, they want our men to fill this bottomless pit?! Yarif, wake up, you bastard! Song Heping and his men stole the advance team's supplies and water! They've probably already run far away like desert foxes! This damn, boundless desert, where are we supposed to find them? Chasing after them will just mean being led by the nose and getting wiped out one by one! Look at this! This is what happens!”

boom--! ! !
A crisp, cold gunshot, like a death sentence, abruptly interrupted Jafari's desperate roar and instantly plunged the noisy scene into a suffocating silence.

Jafari's expression and words froze.

He stared wide-eyed in disbelief, his pupils dilating and then contracting rapidly as he stared intently ahead.

On his forehead, which was covered in cold sweat and dust, a shocking small blood hole appeared, with neat edges. A trickle of blood mixed with white, viscous brain tissue flowed slowly and meandering down his nose, dripping onto his crisp but dusty officer's uniform.

His mouth was still open in a roaring shape, as if the word "fate" was still stuck in his throat.

However, the brilliance of life had completely vanished from his eyes.

His body, like a broken log, lost all support and fell straight and heavily backward, crashing heavily onto the sandy ground covered with blood and pieces of internal organs, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

The one who fired the shot was SBS Vice Captain Dorn.

A wisp of smoke rose from the muzzle of his Beretta M9A3 pistol, quickly dissipating in the hot desert wind.

His expression remained unchanged, as cold and hard as a block of ice, his blue-gray eyes devoid of any ripples, as if he had merely swatted away an annoying fly. He didn't even glance at Jafari's corpse.

After killing Jafari, Captain Dorn's cold gaze slowly swept over the group of rebel soldiers Jafari had brought, who were already terrified.

Every soldier who met his gaze felt as if they were being stared at by a venomous snake, instinctively taking a half step back, lowering their heads, and not daring to meet his eyes.

"Those who disrupt morale or retreat in the face of battle shall be executed."

Captain Dorn's voice was not loud, but it clearly reached the ears of everyone present, carrying absolute willpower and a naked threat of death.

"This is the highest order, and an ironclad rule of the battlefield. From this moment forward,"

His gaze shifted to Yarif, whose face was also somewhat pale. "If anyone dares to suggest abandoning the pursuit or questioning orders again..."

His gun barrel was slightly raised, no longer a threat, but a clear gesture of execution, slowly pointing at the group of silent rebel soldiers.

"His fate will be the same as his."

Time seemed to freeze.

The air was heavy, like lead, pressing down on everyone's chest. The only sounds were the crackling of burning vehicle wreckage and the howling of the wind through the cracks in the rocks, like background noise from hell.

Arif was also shocked by Captain Dorn's sudden and extremely ruthless execution, his heart pounding and his palms instantly soaked with cold sweat.

But he quickly realized that the Englishman wasn't helping him, but rather ensuring the order was carried out in the bloodiest way.

He quickly holstered his pistol, straightened his back, and tried to make his voice sound powerful and angry as he roared at his men and the group of rebel soldiers who were completely numb with fear of death:

"Did you all hear that?! Cowards only have one fate! Destination: Kurtan Oasis! Chase them! Catch those damned bastards! Avenge our fallen brothers! Wash away our shame with the blood of Song Heping and Haftar! Clear the roadblocks! Move out! Quickly!"

The roar of the engine resumed, this time with a sense of madness and recklessness driven by death.

The soldiers, as if whipped, moved stiffly but quickly to begin clearing the rubble blocking the passage.

Fear, like the deadliest plague, spread silently and took root among the pursuing troops.

But even stronger than the fear was the imminent threat of death emanating from the cold muzzle of Captain Dorn's gun.

It's like an invisible chain, choking everyone and forcing them forward.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)