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Chapter 446 36 Rebel Kings! (Second Update!)
The question of Gaddafi left the few people present, apart from Rasta, with mixed feelings.

Before the advent of drones today, their idea was the same as Gaddafi's: to rely on the greater Tripoli region to fight urban warfare against the NATO coalition forces.

In a narrow sense, Tripoli refers to the present-day city of Tripoli, with a core urban area of ​​approximately 400 square kilometers, which is a very small area.

In the minds of these Libyans, Tripoli in a broad sense refers to a large area of ​​approximately 7000 square kilometers, stretching from the Mediterranean Sea in the north to Zuwara in the west, from the Nafusa Mountains in the south to the mountains in the east.

Relying on the buildings, people, and food in this large area, they can wage a war of attrition against the NATO coalition for decades.

However, their beautiful dream was completely shattered after that damned drone came out.

They had just seen the footage transmitted from the scene.

Gaddafi was a military idiot, but they weren't; they had basic capabilities, so they could immediately tell how powerful the drone's explosive charge was.

It weighs at least 30 kilograms!

Faced with 30 kilograms of TNT, their so-called urban warfare plan, which they regarded as their trump card—traditional North African Arab architecture and modern, poorly constructed reinforced concrete buildings—is nothing but a mess.

It offers absolutely no defense.

So, all they want to do now is run.

Leave Tripoli.

Whether it's going to neighboring Zawiya, Gifara, or Aziziya, anywhere is fine, but you can't stay in Tripoli.

But now, that damned Gaddafi is still dawdling. Doesn't he know that speed is of the essence in war, and the sooner he leaves, the sooner everyone will be safe?

In the dead silence, it was Air Force Commander Dalavi who stepped forward:
“Dear Mr. President, we must leave Tripoli as soon as possible and find a safe place where you can take command.”

"It looks safe here, but it's not safe at all."

"Once the NATO coalition forces complete the encirclement, we will only face certain death here."

"You should go out and find a safe place to take command from the center. It would be more meaningful for us to resist here."

"Moreover, if the NATO coalition forces surround this place and resort to underhanded tactics, you can help us from the outside."

"So, Mr. President, you really should move as soon as possible."

After Dalavi finished speaking, Gaddafi's expression turned serious, and he shifted his gaze from Dalavi to the others: "Do you all think so too?"

The group of people behind Dalavi quickly understood Gaddafi's thoughts after meeting his gaze. One by one, they stepped forward, bypassed Dalavi, knelt down on one knee before Gaddafi, and began to persuade him:

“Yes, Mr. President, it is dangerous here, you should not stay here any longer.”

"Mr. President! We need to evacuate immediately!"

"Just like General Rasuta said, find a safe location, and you can remotely command us. It doesn't matter if we die, as long as you are here, Libya will exist."

"Yes, Mr. President, you are the soul of Libya. As long as you are here, the country of Libya will always exist!"

The voices of persuasion rose and fell, which also tempted Gaddafi, after all, this place was really a bit dangerous.

Just then, air raid sirens sounded in the underground space.

Just seconds after the urgent air raid siren sounded, a series of explosions traveled underground through the ventilation pipes.

The sounds were dense, more like a downpour.

The thunderous explosions came quickly and disappeared even faster; in less than 30 minutes, the noise outside had completely subsided.

Shortly after the sound stopped, Gaddafi's bodyguard captain, Damira, pushed open the iron door of the underground conference room and appeared behind Gaddafi.

Upon seeing him, Gaddafi knew something was amiss. He waved lightly to the large group of people kneeling before him, then turned and took a few steps back. Together with Damira, he walked out of the underground space and into a separate room next door.

As soon as she entered, Damira said impatiently:
"Mr. President, I have some bad news!"

The bad news left Gaddafi exhausted. He gently rubbed his temples and said softly, "Explain clearly what the bad news is."

Under his gaze, Damira unzipped his coat, took out several intelligence reports from inside his clothes, and handed them to Gaddafi one by one. As the other man began reading the reports, he began to explain in a low voice:

"Just now, Benghazi was captured by the eastern rebels. The front line reported that these rebels are highly organized, and each squad is even equipped with several satellite positioning devices."

"The positioning devices these guys are equipped with can easily help them calculate their coordinates, and then let them call in artillery support."

"Moreover, these guys have very powerful artillery, even more powerful than a typical 155mm heavy gun."

"To be honest, Mr. President, I have never seen the firepower of a 155mm heavy artillery piece."

"Then there's the central region. A few days ago, our men, between Sirte and Misrata, thwarted the NATO coalition's landing at great cost, but they landed again today and succeeded."

"The reason for the success is that rebel groups emerged in both Sirte and Misrata."

"According to more reliable sources, the leaders and key members of these rebel groups are officers who fled from the navy and the army."

"According to intelligence, similar armed groups have sprung up one by one in the past few days, like crabs buried in the desert."

"There are dozens of people here, and hundreds of people there. They are everywhere."

“Even before the bombing, an armed group of more than a dozen people sneaked up to the edge of the military camp.”

"This armed group seems to have connections with the Americans. They had just reached the edge of the military camp and circled around when America's planes arrived."

As Damira explained, Gaddafi opened the document in his hand. It was a paper map, on which, in addition to the names of various cities, there was a bunch of handwritten names.

These are the names of anti-government armed groups that have emerged in the last two days.

Below the names, there are approximate numbers of people and their firepower configurations.

I counted more than 50 such organizations of varying sizes, with an estimated number of people around 1.

The total population of Libya is only over 600 million.

One in every 600 people is an opposition armed member.

Gaddafi couldn't help but laugh when he calculated the ratio in his mind, but after a while, he stopped laughing.

As president, he was well aware that the situation was chaotic and that many people were still hiding under the sand, waiting for their chance.

In the future, the number of anti-government armed groups on this map may increase to 100, or it may only be a dozen or so left.

In either case, the number of anti-government armed personnel will surge to an astonishing degree.

Staring at the map in his hand, Gaddafi let out a long sigh, then abruptly put it away, turned, walked past Damira, left the room, and returned to the previous conference room. The sound of the door being pushed open interrupted the noise of the others in the conference room, and Gaddafi, looking at them, calmly said one sentence:

"I accept your suggestion to move to a safer location for remote command."

"I will give you new appointments and corresponding authority shortly."

"The fate of Libya is now in your hands."

After leaving those words, Gaddafi turned and walked out of the conference room, disappearing into the underground corridor.

The group of people in the conference room waited until Gaddafi's figure disappeared from sight and until no more footsteps echoed in the corridor before breaking the silence: "Mr. President, why did you suddenly change your mind?"

"do not know!"

"Do you want to follow the president?"

"Of course!"

"Shall we go and talk to the President now?"

"My stomach hurts, I need to go to the bathroom!"

When it comes to following, everyone says they want to follow; but when it comes to going to find Gaddafi, everyone gets diarrhea and starts making excuses to avoid it.

Rasuta and Zarawiyeh were also in the crowd. They glanced at the people making excuses, snorted, and walked out of the conference room, chasing after Gaddafi in the direction he was.

As a die-hard lackey, one must be a good lackey before officially rebelling.

…………

Zawiya City, Zawiya Province, west of Tripoli.

In the southeast corner of the city, in a villa district filled with luxurious villas, the city's mayor, along with Misrati Ali, the head of the Libyan Revolutionary Committee in Zawiya, were looking at a person in front of them with complicated expressions.

This is a Turkish man.

Misrati suddenly exhaled, downed the coffee on the table in one gulp, and gently shook her head:
"As President Gaddafi's most loyal follower, his words are the direction of my life. I would do anything for President Gaddafi, including dying, without a single complaint."

"Therefore, Mr. Ayval, you don't need to waste your time on me. Instead of wasting your time here, you should go back to Türkiye and enjoy the sun and sand."

On the sofa opposite him, Ayval from Turkey simply held his coffee cup in both hands, casually tapping it lightly with his right index fingernail.

Only after Misrati finished speaking did Aivale raise his eyes and look at Misrati with a half-smile.

He didn't say anything, just kept watching.

After watching for a few minutes, Misrati felt a little embarrassed by the stares. She casually called over a servant and handed him a coffee cup, saying, "Go and make me another cup of coffee, with extra sugar."

After the servant turned and left, Misrati changed the subject:
"Mr. Evallo, do you think the lavender fields in France are beautiful?"

Seeing that this guy was still avoiding the issue, Aival lost patience and chose to get straight to the point:

"Since you are so loyal, Mr. Misrati, why did you come to see me?"

"Shouldn't you have pulled out your gun and killed this bastard the moment you heard the news?"

When he said these words, Ayvale adopted a tone that sounded somewhat sarcastic.

These sarcastic remarks finally broke Misrati's tense expression.

He decided not to keep up the pretense any longer and dropped the pretense, asking directly:

"What do you want to do?"

“It’s very simple!” Under Misrati’s gaze, Eval held up two fingers:

"I need you to do three things!"

"The first thing is that, according to our estimates, Gaddafi will die in at most a month. Once he's dead, Libya will be leaderless. I need you, Misrati Ali, to raise an armed force and take control of Zawiya."

"The second thing is that you invited us to station Turkish troops under the pretext of protecting Libyan interests."

"The third thing is to kill those traitors in the east, especially those Saudi-backed traitors. Those guys have always harbored evil intentions, and I hope you can get rid of them."

"These three things are done step by step. If you can do the first thing, you can do the second thing, and naturally you can do the third thing."

"Of course, we wouldn't do something like making people work without paying them."

"If you agree to do things for us, I can give you $200 million directly to your account, or you can have it in cash."

"In addition, we can also provide weapons and equipment."

"It's not like Gaddafi, who amassed all the oil profits and then just picked up whatever weapons and equipment he could find."

"It is the most advanced, the world's top-level military equipment."

“I believe that with that equipment, you, Misrati Ali, will definitely be able to make a name for yourself under the skies of Libya.”

"So, shall we cooperate?"

As soon as he finished speaking, Aival extended his right hand towards Misrati. He wasn't in a hurry to urge her; he just quietly watched Misrati smile, waiting for her to come to him on her own.

Misrati looked at the hand, and her eyes began to flicker.

Zawiye province has numerous oil fields and vast arable land, and under normal circumstances, its income would far exceed that of other provinces.

However, Zawiya's total economic income ranks fifth in Libya, and also fifth from the bottom.

The reason for all this is that Gaddafi directly pocketed the oil revenue that originally belonged to Zawiya. After pocketing it, he did not give back to the government, but instead invested a large portion of the economy in Tripoli and his hometown of Sirte.

Sirte is also an oil city, and it's Gaddafi's hometown, so although its oil revenue was also cut, Gaddafi retaliated against this cut.

All of this was seen by the people of Zawiya. Since ordinary people couldn't find Gaddafi, they could only vent their anger on themselves.

During his years in power, as the mayor of Zawiya, he had essentially been cleaning up Gaddafi's messes. But every time he finished cleaning up, Gaddafi would turn around and soil his own pockets and hands.

There were many times when Misrati wanted to kill Gaddafi, but the other side had already become too powerful to deal with.

Now, the opportunity for revenge has arrived.

Taking a deep breath, Misrati extended his right hand and shook hands with Eval:
“Mr. Ewald, I hope there’s at least 10% credibility in what you say.”

(End of this chapter)