Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 987 Sandstorm
"Oh no! It's a sandstorm!"

After walking about 20 kilometers south from the ambush point, the sound of "wrench" came over the radio.

Song Heping stuck his head out of the car window and looked south.

In view, the Sahara finally revealed its most ferocious fangs.

A yellow cloud appeared on the distant horizon, and the whole world seemed to be stripped of its color, leaving only a despairing, churning, boiling yellowish-brown.

The gale whipped up sand walls tens of meters high, stretching to the sky and connecting the earth, like a moving mountain range from mythology, rolling in from the northwest like a tidal wave!

"What do we do, boss?"

Inside the lead car, "Wrench" asked Song Heping somewhat nervously.

"Take precautions and get through! We don't have time, we can't linger!"

After hesitating for only two seconds, Song Heping made his decision.

He was familiar with the desert.

He had experienced a sandstorm before when he was crossing the Egyptian desert.

Generally speaking, when a sandstorm arrives, it is best to stop and find a sheltered place to take shelter. If you cannot find a favorable location, you must stay where you are, take precautions, and endure until the sandstorm passes.

But we can't wait.

There were pursuers behind them.

Stopping is equivalent to giving the other person time to shorten the distance between you.

Compared to the dangers of crossing a sandstorm, Song Heping preferred the latter.

"Everyone, take precautions, close the windows, turn on the fog lights, reduce speed, and continue heading south!"

After sending out the order via radio, Song Heping stared at the sandstorm in the distance, gritted his teeth, pulled up his field scarf to cover his mouth and nose, and then quickly closed the car window.

A groan came from the back seat.

That was a wounded "hunter".

"Hunter, hold on!"

Song Heping turned around to encourage him.

“As long as we hold on, there is hope. I have ordered Ferrari and White Bear to immediately gather everyone in the company and head north across the border. We agreed to meet at the Cultan Oasis. Now there are only 30 kilometers left.”

"Boss, I...I'm fine..."

The hunter blinked weakly; he didn't even dare to move his head.

That shot almost cost him his life.

"Wrench, hold on! All vehicles, stay in line, don't fall behind! Charge in!"

Song Heping's voice, transmitted through the radio, carried an undeniable decisiveness amidst the howling wind.

Upon receiving the order, two armed pickup trucks and four military trucks, like moths to a flame, plunged headlong into the massive, towering, brownish-yellow wall.

The horizon, which was barely discernible a second ago, vanished in an instant.

The world was compressed into a small, suffocating, wildly shaking tan box.

The light was completely swallowed up; the midday sun became a blurry, bleak, and sickly halo hanging overhead, unable to bring any warmth or light.

Visibility plummeted from several hundred meters to less than ten meters, then to five meters, three meters...

Finally, Song Heping couldn't even see how far the two stubbornly flashing yellow fog lights on the front of his car had penetrated.

The car body shook and lurched violently, as if it would be overturned and dismembered by this invisible force at any moment.

The fine sand grains, like bullets flying at high speed, struck the car windows and body repeatedly, making a teeth-grinding "crackling" and "rustling" sound. The car body panels groaned under the continuous impact, making one worry that they would be pierced at any moment.

It sent chills down the spines of those sitting in the car, making their nerves taut.

The air was so thick it was suffocating.

Even with the windows tightly closed, the suffocating smell of thick dust and grime still managed to seep into the cabin.

Song Heping pulled his field scarf up high, covering his mouth and nose completely, leaving only a pair of sharp and vigilant eyes staring intently ahead.

Every breath became extremely difficult, and with each inhale, it felt as if my lungs were filled with coarse sand.

The carriage was filled with the smell of dust, and a thin layer of yellow sand quickly covered the dashboard.

"Boss! The wind is too strong! It's hard to keep our bearings!"

The sound of a wrench came through the radio, accompanied by obvious panting and tension; the signal was intermittent due to interference.

"Keep your direction! Reduce speed! Stay steady! Follow the car in front!"

Song Heping tried his best to keep his voice steady, but he was also under tremendous pressure.

The intensity of the sandstorms seems to be increasing.

He himself wasn't sure if he could really stay safe and sound until the end...

Now all sense of direction is lost, and everyone in the car has to rely on the compass on the dashboard and their remaining sense of direction to fight against the pulling of the gale and the complete loss of sight.

The road beneath the wheels had long since disappeared, and the outlines of the sand dunes were twisted and deformed in the raging sand, their depths unpredictable.

The car would sometimes get stuck in the soft quicksand, the engine making a labored roar; at other times it would be pushed by the strong wind, almost out of control, and rush up the sand ridge.

Suppressed groans came from the back seat again.

The hunter's pale face was covered in pain and cold sweat; each violent jolt felt like a knife cutting into his wounds.

He bit his lip hard to keep himself from making any loud noise, but his body trembled uncontrollably.

"Hunter! Hold on!"

Song Heping turned around and shouted, both to encourage his comrades and to boost his own morale.

The Kultan Oasis—that 30-kilometer distance now seems like an insurmountable chasm. The power of the sandstorm far exceeds expectations.

Tiny grains of sand are everywhere; they penetrated the gaps in the hood and stubbornly attacked the heart of the vehicle, the engine.

The air filter is the last line of defense for protecting the engine's breathing, but now it has become a trap for sand and dust.

At first, the engine only made a few muffled gasps, and the power output became somewhat sluggish.

Experienced drivers immediately recognized the problem and reported it.

"Engine power is decreasing!"

"I feel like I'm not getting enough air!"

"The engine is probably going to fail!"

Song Heping's heart sank.

He knows what this means.

"Check the filter! Keep the engine speed as low as possible!"

He gave the order, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of anxiety.

This was all they could do.

However, in the face of the Sahara's most violent sandstorms, human struggles seem so futile.

"Boss! It's not working! The engine...cough...stalled!"

The sound of the wrench was filled with despair.

His lead vehicle let out a few unwilling roars before finally falling silent, like a giant beast that had exhausted its last bit of strength, collapsing into the yellow sand.

It seemed to be a chain reaction.

"Report! Engine stalled!"

"Report! Engine stalled! Won't start!"

"Stop the supply truck! Repeat, stop the supply truck!"

……

One deadly report after another came in.

In less than five minutes, the entire convoy lost power.

They stood helplessly in this boundless yellow hell.

The gale lashed the stationary car body even more fiercely, producing an even more ear-piercing noise.

Sand quickly piled up on the vehicle, burying almost half of the wheels.

"Everyone get out of the vehicle! Check your equipment! Make sure the wounded are taken care of!"

Song Heping suddenly pushed open the car door and was the first to jump out.

A violent sandstorm rushed in instantly, almost knocking him over.

He lowered his body and used all his strength to stand up.

The team members struggled to climb out of their respective carriages and barely managed to gather together in the swirling sand.

Everyone was wrapped up tightly, with only their eyes showing, their figures swaying precariously in the wind and sand.

Haftar staggered towards Song Heping, his voice behind his mask filled with panic and disbelief: "Song! Are you crazy?! Getting out of the car and walking in this weather? We'll be buried alive! And there are thousands of pursuers behind us! They'll crush us in no time!"

Song Heping's gaze pierced through the sandstorm, fixed on Haftar. His voice behind the mask was unusually calm, even carrying an almost cruel rationality: "Haftar! Listen to me! Staying in the car is just waiting to die! The sandstorm won't stop anytime soon, and the pursuers will definitely come! But have you thought about it, among the thousands of people in this sandstorm, who is more likely to survive, the two hundred of us?"

He pointed to the sandstorm around them, where visibility was less than ten meters: "We are few in number, small in size, and have a short command chain. We can move when we want and stop when we want! What about them? Thousands of people! More vehicles and a much larger target! If their vehicles break down like ours, just maintaining command and preventing them from getting separated will cost them their lives! The bigger the sandstorm, the more devastating their losses will be compared to ours! Chaos is our shield! Now, follow me, let's move forward on foot! Our destination is the Kultan Oasis!"

Haftar opened his mouth, looked at the unwavering light in Song Heping's eyes, and then at the apocalyptic scene around him, before finally swallowing his objections.

Song Heping's logic, like cold steel, shattered his last shred of hope.

"Take all the water, food, ammunition, and medicine you can carry! Discard unnecessary weight! Tie everyone together with ropes! The wounded in the middle! 'Wrench' and 'Bayonet'! You go first to scout ahead, using compasses! 'Hammer' will bring up the rear! Everyone stay close to the people in front! Heads down! Cover your mouths and noses! Move out!" Song Heping's orders were concise and powerful, instantly drowning out the roar of the sandstorm.

The group of over two hundred people, like a thin thread struggling in a raging storm, plunged headlong into the depths of an even more violent sandstorm.

Every step felt like wading through sticky mud. The soft sand swallowed their ankles, while a raging hurricane shoved their bodies from all sides, trying to overturn and scatter them.

Fine sand seeps into every nook and cranny, getting into collars, cuffs, and even the gaps in goggles, rubbing against the skin and irritating the eyes.

Breathing became more difficult; with each inhale, it felt as if my nasal cavity and throat were filled with grit, and with each exhale, it carried a strong earthy smell.

Visibility was almost zero. People could only determine their direction and location by the blurry, swaying backs of those in front of them and the ropes attached to their waists.

The compass became their only hope. "Wrench" and "Bayonet" hunched over, leaning forward to shield the compass with their bodies, struggling to find their way.

The march was frustratingly slow; they were only moving two or three kilometers per hour at most.

The wounded are in even more critical condition.

The "hunter" was placed on a makeshift stretcher made of stretcher cloth and a few gun barrels, and was carried in turns by four of the strongest team members.

Each bump sent shivers of pain through his body, but he gritted his teeth and only managed to let out suppressed groans.

The other wounded also helped each other, stubbornly moving forward. The sand relentlessly covered them, and they had to constantly pat it off to barely avoid being buried.

Time has lost its meaning.

The only sounds of the howling wind and sand, heavy breathing, the sound of sand hitting equipment, and the uneven feeling of footsteps constitute the entirety of this despairing world.

Physical strength was rapidly depleting, and willpower was undergoing an unprecedented test under the continuous torment of wind and sand.

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(End of this chapter)