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Chapter 457 A Person Trying to Save Themselves! (First Update!)

As if to confirm Damira's words, a muffled explosion came from above as soon as he finished speaking. Even through the thick layer of soil and concrete protection, the sound was still audible and chilling.

Before the sound could fade away, Damira's words rang out once more:
"It's a 1000-pound bomb! One of them could demolish a building."

Just as he finished speaking, several more muffled explosions rang out. After hearing these consecutive explosions, neither Damira nor Gaddafi chose to continue speaking.

His current location is underground in the wealthy area, about 20 meters underground.

Ordinary bombs cannot threaten this depth, but America has specialized bunker-buster missiles.

He dared not gamble, so he dared not make any move.

Upon arriving in Beniwalid, in order to ensure his safety, Gaddafi intentionally confined his activities to the wealthy areas of the Wafara tribe, whose inhabitants had been his strong supporters since he seized the presidency of Libya.

We've been working together for decades, and sometimes, all it takes is a glance for us to understand each other's thoughts.

He couldn't believe that someone he had worked with for decades would betray him at this crucial moment.

But the deafening bombs overhead seemed to be mocking him, mocking his stupidity, mocking his cowardice.

Gradually, the sound of the bomb explosions began to subside. After more than 30 minutes had passed between explosions, Damira breathed a sigh of relief and whispered to Gaddafi:
"Sir, the bombing should stop."

"Are you planning to go up and visit the wounded, or stay here?"

When asked the question, Gaddafi hesitated for a moment.

He didn't know what kind of mood or attitude he should have when meeting the Wafara people of Benivolid, nor did he know what kind of mood or attitude they should have when meeting him.

After much deliberation, he decided not to meet with them.

He closed his eyes and waved his right hand weakly: "Damila, go up there and say hello to them for me, and give them some compensation."

"As for me, just say that I injured my foot during the air raid and am currently recovering."

"Understood!" After hearing the order, Damira nodded heavily, raised his hand in a military salute, then picked up his gun, walked out of the underground space, walked to the end of the passage, and slowly went up the steps.

ground.

Beniwallid City Hall Building.

Upon entering the hall, directly below the stairs facing the main entrance, an inconspicuous wooden door was pushed open from the inside. Immediately afterwards, a middle-aged Arab man who looked like a militiaman, but whose weapons and equipment were better than those of the Libyan regular army, poked his head out from the dark doorway.

Those light blue eyes, darting around, first glanced around before, clutching the gun in both hands, tiptoed out from under the stairs and quickly ran to the front door.

Instead of peeking out of the main gate, he listened for a while against the wall, then turned to the left and looked out through the window to the left of the gate.

Outside the window, the tranquility and peace of Beniwall had vanished, leaving only devastation.

The buildings that the Wafara tribe was so proud of have now collapsed, burying people inside.

On the streets, panicked people could be seen everywhere. Some of them had a head on their head and were wandering around, not knowing what to do.

Others, their faces filled with anxiety, wandered through the ruins, shouting questions to anyone they met, asking where their loved ones were.

But most of them are strangers; no one knows where anyone is or where they should be.

The soldier stared at the ruins outside the window for a long time, then turned around, walked away from that window, changed direction, changed windows, and continued to observe.

After he walked around the windows of the city government building, 30 minutes had passed since he came out.

He carried the gun and walked back to the stairwell without saying a word. He raised his right hand and knocked on the wooden door 12 times in a sequence of three short, three long, three long, and three short knocks.

After 12 counts, a heavy creak came from the dark underground space.

Immediately afterwards, a dozen or so people, young and old, dressed in traditional Arab robes, emerged from the underground passage and appeared in front of the militiaman.

The white-bearded old man at the head of the group saw the militiamen, patted them on the shoulder, and was about to walk around them when he heard a soldier ask:
"Elder Taraya, is it really worth it for us to protect Gaddafi like this?"

Upon hearing this, the white-bearded old man named Taraya did not answer. Instead, he stopped and looked the soldier who had asked the question up and down.

Just when the soldier thought Taraya would respond to him, Taraya did respond, but with a slap.

A clear and powerful slap.

With a slap, the soldier who was asking the question was knocked to the ground, and then Taraya's big foot stepped directly on the soldier's face.

Stepping on the soldier's face, Taraya turned around and swept his cold gaze over the crowd behind him. Under that gaze, none of the people behind him dared to meet his eyes.

After turning his gaze away from these people, Taraya looked down at the soldiers at his feet:
"Remember, as long as I am alive, Gaddafi will always be our president."

"Even if we die, even if only one person is left, we will protect him."

"Remember?"

"Without him, there would be no Vaffara today. You wouldn't even have lived to adulthood, let alone enjoy your current privileged life."

After reprimanding him, Taraja released his foot, bent down again, grabbed the AK47 from the soldier's hand, held the gun with his left hand, pulled hard on the bolt, and with a click, the bullet was chambered.

He walked out of the stairwell and out of the city hall with his gun in hand.

Upon seeing the people outside, he raised his gun without hesitation and fired a burst of bullets into the sky.

“Everyone, men over 45 and under 18, step forward. You are responsible for the rescue. If you need any supplies, just call. If you need any construction machinery, just call.”

"Men aged 18 to 45, pick up your guns and say goodbye to your parents and your brothers and sisters."

"We must go and defend against the foreign enemy!"

Taraya's voice rang out, reaching the ears of those busy in the ruins with perfect clarity.

As the tribe's elder, Taraya's words have always been influential, especially now.

Upon hearing his voice, the people in the ruins gradually split into two factions. Men between the ages of 18 and 45 rose from the ruins and came to stand behind Taraya, ready to fight off the enemy together with him.

Those under 18 and over 45 years old picked up the limited tools at their disposal to dig through the rubble and rescue people.

After leaving the main group, a few of the younger elders looked at Taraya, who was walking at the front. A strange light flashed in their eyes, and a hint of ruthlessness also appeared on their faces.

A large group set off from the city hall and headed northeast.

But when they reached the northeastern entrance to Beniwalid, they were greeted only by gusts of hot wind blowing from the desert, not by the imagined NATO coalition forces.

There wasn't a single thing. Just as Taraya was wondering, the intelligence chief of the Vafara tribe's armed forces ran over: "Elder Taraya."

"According to the intelligence we just received, the NATO coalition forces have not deployed ground troops; they have only deployed air force. As for the air force transit airport, it is Benghazi Airport."

A few words shattered all of Taraya's rising ambitions, making him look like a clown.

After staring at the intelligence report for a while, the elder of the Wafara tribe angrily tore the paper into pieces, threw them into the air, and then picked up his gun and fired a burst at the falling paper scraps.

After he ran out of bullets, he turned to look at the young men behind him:

"Now, go back and rescue!"

At a command, these young men turned around abruptly and ran back to the city along the route they had come from, heading back to provide assistance.

Taraya followed closely behind, showing no sign of giving up.

Back in the city, the members of the elders dispersed and went home.

After they went their separate ways, the youngest elders in the council of elders found another place and gathered together again.

As soon as they met, the group couldn't wait to start complaining:

"I think Uncle Taraya has really gone mad. He looks like Gaddafi and still dreams of returning to Tripoli."

“It’s not that Uncle Taraya has gone mad, but as the elder of the Wafara tribe, he has to go mad. We have been bound to Gaddafi for many years. Even if we defect now, others will not accept us immediately. Even if they do accept us, it will be to a certain extent. Uncle Taraya’s generation must die, and a group of people in our tribe must also die. This is called a blood oath.”

"Since he has to die, let's kill him now?"

"What are you saying? That's your uncle!"

"What did I say? What you just said meant that you didn't want to take action, but wanted us to lose our temper and then take action, right? What you're doing is called wanting to have your cake and eat it too."

"Stop arguing, everyone. Let me explain the current situation. Gaddafi is a hot potato; he's already on his last legs and has no chance of making a comeback. So, I suggest we either kill him or sell him off to our own benefit."

"Where is Elder Taraya?"

“He’s also your uncle. Since you call him the Grand Elder, then let’s handle this officially! Do you understand?”

"can!"

“In that case, I’ll make a plan… First, we need to force Gaddafi out. Second, our Uncle Talaya and his personal guard must all die. Only when they are dead can we put up a token resistance, then surrender without hesitation and live our peaceful lives.”

"The problem now is how to leak Gaddafi's whereabouts to others, and then kill our Uncle Talaya and his personal guards."

“It’s simple. We’ll cut off all the communication networks and power in this city. That way, we can take control of the intelligence. Then we can use false intelligence to lure them out. Once they’re dead, we can continue to use intelligence to wipe out those who are loyal to Uncle Taraya.”

"You are a bunch of animals! Uncle Taraja has taken care of you for so many years, and you don't even want to acknowledge the slightest bit of gratitude!"

"hehe!"

"Stop laughing, go prepare the intelligence..."

…………

Back on the ground, Damira didn't rush to find Taraya. Instead, she carefully searched the surrounding area for hidden sentries, gun in hand.

Soon, he discovered two unlucky guys.

They must be two unlucky guys.

The bomb hit their heads, leaving only their two left hands; the rest were gone.

The rest of the people, no one knows where they went.

Damira was not disappointed at all when she didn't find the person; on the contrary, she was very happy.

He carefully made his way through the ruins, crawled into the original equipment room, and, with a sense of experimentation, pressed the computer switch.

The computer booted up successfully, and he began praying that the network cable hadn't been blown up.

It seemed that God heard his prayers; the internet cable was not broken, and he was able to access the internet.

He logged into his email as quickly as possible, sent more detailed information about Gaddafi to the Ministry of Defense in America, and then shut down his phone.

He shut down the computer and then crawled out of the equipment room to look for Taraya.

The Taraya people were easy to find. Upon meeting them, Damira directly expressed Gaddafi's concerns and stated that she had come on Gaddafi's behalf to comfort the survivors who had lost loved ones in the bombing.

And so, he and Taraya went out into the streets to comfort the survivors.

The young elders were even more excited when they saw Damira and Taraya together.

If they had handled it well, they could have easily pinned the blame for the leak on Damira.

So everything proceeded according to plan.

They sent the relevant information to America's Africa Command through their own channels.

Bengaldan, Tunisia.

Jacob sat on the ammunition box, slowly loading bullets into the magazine. Behind him were his teammates who had retreated from the front lines with him.

These team members are also loading bullets.

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps approached, along with a shout: "Captain Jacob, on a mission!"

Upon hearing the mission, the group of soldiers who had come down from the battlefield stopped dragging their feet and quickly loaded their bullets. Finally, they stuffed the magazines into their chests, grabbed their guns, and followed Jacob and the messenger into a simple warehouse next to the temporary camp.

The simple warehouse had been converted into a temporary command center. As soon as Jacob and his group entered, Jonas, who was standing in the center of the crowd, turned around:
"Captain Jacob, you and your squad members will now complete a special mission."

"The mission is to capture Gaddafi."

"We must capture as many people as possible alive."

"Here's information on his hiding place, take a look!" As Jonas spoke, several documents fell into Jacob's hands.

[Gaddafi's hiding place, Beniwalid, 13th Street in the East Side, the largest blue-domed house closest to the river.]

Entering from the main hall, turn left and walk into the tea room on the first floor. Inside tea room number 1, there is a floor-to-ceiling mirror; behind the mirror is the entrance to the underground passage.

(End of this chapter)