Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 997 The Razor Back Meat Grinder

Time loses its meaning in the "Razor Back" wind-eroded rock area, leaving only the roar of guns and the breath of death.

Song Heping lay prone behind the jagged, dark red sandstone at the forefront of the first line of defense, his shoulder pressed firmly against the cold stock of the captured PKM general-purpose machine gun.

Each burst of fire brought a heavy recoil that felt like a hammer blow to the shoulder blades, making the teeth ache.

Sweat had already soaked through his camouflage uniform, sticking stickily to his skin, only to be dried by the rising heat of the sand, leaving a layer of salt residue. Beads of sweat rolled into the corners of his eyes, causing a burning stinging sensation, which he could only blink away forcefully, his gaze never daring to leave the deathly corridor ahead, distorted by the heatwave.

Although it wasn't the first time he had commanded a large-scale operation.

But this was the most dangerous one.

The disparity in troop strength was so great that even Song Heping himself wasn't entirely confident of success.

He was gambling too.

Sometimes life is about taking a gamble.

Some people voluntarily go to the gambling table, while others are forced to.

Dorn is now a gambler who's blinded by greed, and I can't help but gamble my life against him.

Not far away, the roar of the 12.7mm heavy machine gun on the "Jackal" armored vehicle was the main theme of the battlefield—dull, deadly, like the drumbeats of hell.

Each long burst of fire felt like an invisible giant hammer slamming into the wind-eroded rock bunker.

Gravel, sand, and twisted metal fragments mixed with indistinguishable scarlet pieces shot into the sky amidst the flames and smoke of the explosion, before crashing down like hailstones.

These weathered rocks are like shoddy construction materials in front of large-caliber machine gun bullets; they crumble at the slightest touch.

The situation was much worse than Song Heping had estimated.

"Pfft!"

A dull thud that made your teeth ache rang out from Song Heping's left front.

Half of Haftar's head disappeared instantly while he was firing from a rock half his height, leaving only a blurry mass of flesh and broken neck bones.

Warm liquid and bone fragments splattered all over the head and face of another soldier next to him.

The soldier paused for a moment, then let out a beast-like roar. He grabbed the RPK light machine gun next to his comrade's body and opened fire wildly towards the armored vehicle. The bullets hit the armored plates of the "Jackal" in vain, scattering sparks.

"Suppress! Suppress that iron turtle!"

Song Heping roared into the microphone, his voice distorted by the sound of the explosion.

His PKM once again spewed fire, a stream of scorching bullets precisely striking the observation slits and machine gun firing ports of the "Jackal" turret, sending sparks flying and clanging, but failing to budge the steel fortress in the slightest.

That damned "Jackal" was a poisonous thorn stuck in the throat of the first line of defense, providing cover for the endless stream of GNA infantry pouring in.

More GNA soldiers, under the cover of armored vehicles and burning wreckage, howled and pressed forward like hyenas that had smelled blood.

Light and heavy machine gun positions were constantly being set up behind sand dunes and rocks, and bullets flew like dense locusts, hitting the rock bunkers of the first line of defense with a thud and sending debris flying.

Rifle bullets struck the sandbags, kicking up clouds of dust.

The air was thick with the pungent smells of gunpowder, blood, and burnt flesh.

"Where's RGP?!" Song Heping couldn't help but shout.

"The lights are on!"

A desperate reply came through the gunfire.

"Grenades! Cover the area!"

Song Heping gave a stern order, and at the same time emptied a belt of ammunition. The scorching hot shell casings, emitting blue smoke, clattered and rolled to his feet.

Almost by muscle memory, he swiftly ripped off the empty ammunition belt with one hand, grabbed a heavy full ammunition box next to him, and inserted it into the machine gun's receiving port.

Dozens of fragmentation grenades and Soviet-made F1 defensive grenades were thrown out by the soldiers of the first line of defense with their last bit of strength.

The black metal lumps traced brief arcs in the air before falling towards the GNA infantry group that was gathering and preparing to launch another charge.

Boom boom boom boom——!
Explosions erupted one after another amidst the crowd, the muffled roars tearing at eardrums. The shockwave, carrying yellow sand and deadly shrapnel, swept across, instantly turning the area into a scene of carnage.

A bloodcurdling scream, so piercing it was almost inhuman, rose sharply before abruptly ceasing. Severed limbs, shattered weapons, and charred bodies were tossed high into the air before crashing down.

Thick smoke, mixed with crimson blood mist, billowed and rose amidst the heatwave.

However, this brief gap in the attack was immediately filled by the enemy that surged up from behind.

The GNA's offensive was like waves crashing against the rocks, each wave stronger than the last.

The heavy machine gun on the armored vehicle roared with death once more, and a storm of bullets slicing through a machine gun position on Song Heping's right flank, which was supported by a huge wind-eroded pillar.

Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The 12.7mm large-caliber bullet easily tore through the piled sandbags, penetrated the pillars that served as cover, and made a dull bang.

Rock fragments and human remains flew everywhere in the firelight. The PKM that had just been roaring, along with its marksman and secondary marksman, vanished in an instant, leaving behind only a shallow crater emitting black smoke and a splattered, nauseating dark red stain.

"Ugh—!"

An uncontrollable roar of pain came from behind Song Heping.

A young Haftar soldier, clutching his leg which had been severed in half by a stray bullet, rolled and convulsed in a pool of blood.

Blood gushed out like a spring, quickly staining the sand beneath him red.

Casualties are increasing at a visible rate.

Every burst of fire from the armored vehicle, every concentrated attack by enemy infantry, was accompanied by the loss of life.

Behind the makeshift shelters, figures fell, convulsed, or fell into complete silence. Groans, curses, and prayers calling upon God sounded faint and desperate amidst the deafening roar of gunfire.

The stench of blood was so strong it was suffocating. The sand beneath our feet had been soaked in layers of blood, becoming sticky and warm, and each step felt like a heart-stopping suction.

Song Heping glanced at the tactical watch on his wrist out of the corner of his eye.

The cold watch face was covered with a layer of grime mixed with sweat and dust, but the hands remained clear: for only fifteen minutes.

fifteen minutes!

Of the fifty soldiers on the first line of defense, more than thirty have already been swallowed up like beans being thrown into a millstone!

The remaining men were all wounded, had used up more than half of their ammunition, and their eyes, besides being bloodshot, were filled with numbness and death on the verge of collapse.

If the fighting continues, there won't even be a chance to retreat. Everyone will be pinned here, completely overwhelmed and crushed by the enemy's follow-up forces.

"Wrench! Prepare for the second line of defense!"

Song Heping's voice, hoarse yet resolute, came through the throat microphone, like a cold blade scraping against the eardrums of every survivor.

"First line of defense! Attention everyone! Alternate cover! Retreat! Retreat to the second line of defense! Quickly!"

The command was like a shot of adrenaline.

The soldiers, already on the verge of collapse, unleashed their last instincts. The two soldiers closest to Song Heping suddenly leaned out from behind cover, their AK-74Ms spitting out long tongues of fire, suppressing several GNA infantrymen who were trying to rush forward from the front.

Song Heping's PKM roared once more, its scorching bullets spraying like water onto the damned "Jackal" armored vehicle, sending sparks flying from its turret and forcing the machine gunner to retreat. "Go!"

Song Heping roared at the seven or eight soldiers who were still able to move around him.

Like startled birds, the soldiers scrambled out from behind their cover, stumbling and dragging their wounded comrades as they ran towards the higher rocky outcrops behind them.

His movements were clumsy and awkward, yet they carried the madness of someone who had survived a catastrophe.

"Cover the retreat!"

Song Heping roared into the throat microphone, the muzzle of his PKM gun constantly jumping, suppressing the enemy's firepower that was trying to pursue him.

The light and heavy machine guns and marksmen deployed on the second line of defense also suddenly increased their firepower, and the rain of bullets from the high ground wove together a fire net, temporarily curbing the enemy's pursuit.

The yellow sand was kicked up by the fleeing soldiers, mixing with the smoke of gunpowder to form a thin smoke screen.

Stray bullets whizzed past them, striking the rocks and sending sparks flying. A soldier lagging behind groaned, a spray of blood erupting from his back as he collapsed to the ground.

Those around them didn't even have time to look back; they just rushed forward even more desperately.

Song Heping was the last to evacuate.

He emptied the last few dozen bullets from the PKM ammunition box, the scorching barrel hissing with steam, then suddenly rolled out from behind the rock, grabbed the heavy machine gun and the last remaining ammunition box, and with his body bursting with extreme strength, charged towards the safe zone of the second line of defense like a cheetah pouncing on its prey.

The bullets followed his footsteps, carving deep furrows in the sand behind him.

When he slammed into a sturdy rock bunker set up as part of the second line of defense, his lungs burned and sweat instantly soaked his back.

He was breathing heavily, ignoring the blood and sweat that were smearing his eyes, and immediately set up his PKM, pointing the muzzle downwards.

The first line of defense fell completely silent. Only the burning wreckage of vehicles, scattered weapons, and corpses lying haphazardly in various positions remained, emitting a nauseating stench under the scorching sun.

That narrow entrance became a veritable funnel of death.

On the other side, Captain Dorn seemed much more relaxed.

His command vehicle was parked on a relatively safe reverse slope of a sand dune.

The hissing of the car radio, mixed with the intense gunfire coming from ahead, kept drilling into his buzzing ears.

"Captain! Yarif reports!"

The communications soldier's voice was filled with barely suppressed tension: "We've breached the enemy's first line of defense! But they've retreated to a higher and more treacherous second line! Our men... have suffered heavy losses! More than a hundred casualties! The assault team at the forefront... is almost wiped out!"

Dorn's bloodshot eyes were fixed on the blurry battlefield situation map on the vehicle's terminal screen.

The red arrows representing the attacking forces were firmly blocked at the entrance to the complex rocky area marked "Razorback," with the tips of the arrows flashing red warning lights indicating high-intensity fighting and casualties.

The blue markers representing the enemy's first line of defense have disappeared, but the markers for the second line of defense have lit up, indicating a higher position and more complex terrain.

More than a hundred people!
The first wave of the assault team of over 300 people was almost completely wiped out!
They only managed to break through one of the enemy's hastily constructed front-line defenses?

A chilling coldness, mixed with the fury of being fooled, shot up from Dorn's tailbone to the top of his head in an instant.

He slammed his fist into the cold metal interior of the command vehicle, making a dull thud.

"Trash! A bunch of trash!"

Dorn hissed through clenched teeth, "Song Heping! Damn Song Heping!"

He could almost picture the Eastern man hiding behind the rocks of the second line of defense, looking at him mockingly with those cold eyes.

Using the worthless old, weak, sick, and disabled as bait, he firmly hooked himself, the big fish, into this damned Death Canyon!
Delay time!

He's definitely stalling for time!
Waiting for reinforcements?

Or are they planning to slip away somewhere else?
A tremendous fear gripped Dorn's heart.

retreat!

Retreat immediately!

While the main force of the troops is still intact, and before Song Heping's reinforcements arrive, let's escape this damned meat grinder! Reason is screaming madly.

But another voice, a louder and more frantic one, exploded in his mind: "Just like that, you slunk away?"
To be toyed with like a monkey by a mercenary leader? After paying such a heavy price?
Do not!
no way!

The gambler's blood is burning in his veins.

That ferocious, arrogant smile returned to Dorn's twisted face, but this time, the smile contained only desperate madness and a desire to destroy everything.

He seemed to see Song Heping's head, which he had twisted off with his own hands—the only medal to wash away his shame!

"Yarif!"

Dorn snatched the microphone from the communications soldier's hand, his voice shrill and distorted by extreme excitement and killing intent, like the scraping of metal. "Listen! There is no second line of defense! Only victory! Or total annihilation! I order! All reserves! All those still breathing! Charge forward! Immediately! Right now! At all costs! Crush them! Piles up corpses to build up Song Heping's position! I want his head! Now! Execute the order!"

On the other end of the microphone, Yarif remained silent for a full two seconds.

That silence was as heavy and substantial as a block of lead.

Dorn could even imagine, through the crackling of the electricity, that Arif's face, which always carried a hint of numb obedience, must now be filled with astonishment and unbelievable fear.

"...Yes, Captain."

Yarif's voice finally came through, still carrying a sense of obedience, but beneath that obedience, Dorn keenly sensed a chilling anomaly, like an undercurrent beneath the ice.

Yarif put down the car radio receiver, letting out a long sigh of relief, as if making a final decision. He turned to his adjutant, a GNA lieutenant with an equally pale face, and said in a low but authoritative voice: "Connect to General Saif's secure channel. Immediately!"

The radio operator's fingers trembled as he quickly adjusted the knob.

Soon, a voice filled with obvious anger and anxiety rang out in the encrypted channel. It was Saif: "Yarif? What's the situation at the front? What is Dorn doing? Why has he cut off all communications?!"

"General!"

Arif's voice was urgent and clear, "Captain Dorn has gone mad! He ordered all troops to launch a general offensive against the enemy's second line of defense at 'Razorback' at all costs! We have already lost more than 150 men, and the first wave of assault teams was almost completely wiped out! He is completely ignoring casualties! I judge that Song Heping is using space to buy time, delaying us! Dorn is disobeying orders! He is dragging the entire army into hell!"

"what?!"

Saif's roar nearly shattered the communicator. "That damned madman! London's orders are to halt 'Throat Cut'! Immediately! I order you, Lieutenant Yarif, in the name of the Tripoli Military Council, to immediately relieve Dorn Rodriguez of his battlefield command! Detain him! Take control of the troops! Disengage from combat immediately! Anyone who disobeys will be court-martialed! This is the highest order from London! Repeat, execute immediately!"

"Yes! General!"

Yarif's voice carried a hint of relieved ruthlessness.

He cut off the communication, took a deep breath, and glanced at the several trusted guards around him who had also heard the conversation and looked on with suspicion.

These were all tribal militias he had personally trained, and they only obeyed his orders.

“You heard that.”

Yarif's voice was icy, "Dorn disobeyed orders and led us to destruction. Follow me and carry out General Saif's orders to disarm him! Anyone who dares to resist..."

He paused, a fierce glint in his eyes, "Kill them without mercy!"

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)