Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 11 Al-Iraq's Retreat
Nuksil Outpost is considered a large outpost, located right next to the border between Zion and the Kingdom of Hashim to the north. Therefore, it was designed as a small military base, capable of accommodating three to five hundred people.

Lu Lin led Major Bandar around the position, where semi-underground command bunkers and circular trenches were all available, which gave the latter some confidence.

“If we were facing Zion’s armored division, we might be able to hold out for 24 hours,” Major Bandar concluded.

"Only one day?" Lu Lin raised an eyebrow.

“A day is a lot.” The major shook his head: “Their weapons are a generation behind ours, all the best stuff from the United Kingdom. Take that main battle tank called ‘Chieftain,’ for example, it can take on ten Shermans head-on!”

"To be honest, in the worst-case scenario, the Zionites could flatten this place in 8 hours."

"Fortunately, we are not fighting alone. The Hari base in the west and the Rashifa base in the northeast form a pincer movement with us, which should be able to hold off more of Zion's forces."

The Harisi base west of Nukoshir outpost is a truly large military base, personally garrisoned by the eldest son of Major General Talal, commander of the Tabuk district. It is fully equipped with armored units and artillery, and is also responsible for protecting the coastline.

Seeing Lu Lin staring intently at the howitzer, Bandar assumed he was frightened and couldn't help but ask, "What are you thinking about, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"I'm wondering what the Zionites fear most."

Lu Lin kicked the base of the grenade launcher.

“Maybe it’s God or Satan or something, but unfortunately, they’re not on our side,” Bandar shrugged.

At this moment, Bandar suddenly remembered that the Shuangzhi had no shortage of princes, and on the battlefield, in addition to commanding battles, people of noble status also had the function of boosting morale.

And whether it's proactive or reactive, the effect is the same.

Thinking of this, Major Bandar felt a pang of pity. This royal prince in front of him was very likely cannon fodder, a political pawn, thrown over by his father.

Of course, so was he.

Against Zion's army, even if all of the Twin Warriors' forces were deployed to the front, it would be like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

However, Lu Lin asked him another unimportant question:

"Bandar, how's your Saxon?"

“I studied at the United Kingdom for four years, and then spent some time in the United States,” Major Bandar said, somewhat puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

"It's nothing, I just thought of a way to deal with Zion. Uh, to be precise, it's a smokescreen."

Major Bandar was taken aback: "What method?"

“First,” Lu Lin held up a finger, “you need to find me a group of soldiers who can do carpentry, and it would be even better if they could paint.”

Al-Iraq, Euphrates Front.

The engine of the Rokosov II tank emitted a sick cough, Colonel Jassim patted the armor plate with his oil-stained gloves, and the mechanic lay under the floor, pulling out a large wrench and fiddling with the broken torsion bar suspension.

He complained to the maintenance soldier, "Why do those old men in Baghdad always give us this outdated equipment?"

The mechanic didn't answer; he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, the blood and mud from under the tank would fall into his mouth.

Signalman Zaid, braving the gunfire, crouched low and crawled into the bunker: "Colonel, the order from headquarters has arrived." He handed over the telegram: "The Baghdad side has ordered our unit to immediately launch a counterattack on Hill 23."

Jassim felt his blood pressure spike because this was the third contradictory instruction he had received in the past 24 hours.

The country is currently in turmoil, with the current government and the Ba'ath Party engaged in fierce factional struggles over the military, leaving the soldiers on the front lines as the unfortunate ones.

Colonel Jassim looked out of the trench window toward the southeast front, where Zion's artillery was leveling the anti-tank trenches and infantrymen were burning the trenches with flamethrowers.

Some of the Al-Iraq soldiers hiding in the trenches were set on fire, their charred figures crawling out desperately, their cries echoing across the position before abruptly ceasing amidst the gunfire.

Colonel Jassim couldn't bear to look.

Amidst the thick smoke, several Zion Chieftain tanks could be vaguely seen. Al-Iraq's tank arsenal, aside from the Rokosov II, consisted mostly of United States M48s, and they suffered greatly in their first direct confrontation.

(M48 medium tank)

Leaving aside Zion's nightmarish air strike tactics, the ground armored forces were overwhelmed at a distance of 2000 meters, with nearly half of their sixty tanks lost. Meanwhile, the opposing Chieftain, with his "slippery" steeply angled armor, managed to deflect their shells and achieve almost zero losses.

"Tell Major General Safar that my tank brigade only has eleven operational tanks left!" Jassim said. "Without artillery and air support, my men going up there will only be giving the enemy a bunch of honorary medals!"

Jassim now only hopes that the 177th Artillery Regiment behind him can play a role, otherwise all his resources will be completely wiped out.

"Colonel!" A sharp siren suddenly blared from the observation post. "Enemy tanks on the eastern sand dunes!"

Everyone rushed to their positions instantly. Through Jassim's binoculars, three tanks that looked like tortoise shells were flanking them from the side, with tumor-like bulges on their turrets.

Wherever it went, even steel helmets were crushed.

An M48 opened fire, but the shell only scraped off a layer of paint from the tank's sloped armor. Then, the enemy fired accurately and hit the M48's turret. Jassim clearly saw the M48's turret open like a can lid. Immediately afterward, the ammunition compartment exploded, and the M48's turret was blown into the air, flying more than 20 meters high.

Chief!

These Zionians also continuously improved their tactics during the battles with the Arab army, welding slat armor onto the sides of their tanks to counter infantry rocket launchers.

"Load armor-piercing shells!" Jassim kicked open the turret hatch, preparing to personally drive the Rokosov II. This old thing was a decorated veteran in World War II, but thirty years later, all that was still useful was its 105mm main gun, which should be able to penetrate the Chieftain's armor at 800 meters.

Because they had taken cover beforehand, the enemy did not immediately discover that a disabled Rokosov II tank was hidden right under their noses.

Colonel Jassim thought of the soldiers who had been burned to death, and of his brothers who had died cowardly in the tanks. He felt his blood boiling!
He was ready to give those Zion devils a good beating!
come on!

Let's see whose head is harder this time!
Just then, a message from headquarters suddenly came over the radio: "Cease fire immediately! Repeat, cease fire immediately! All troops retreat ten kilometers immediately!"

The tank crews looked at each other in bewilderment.

Colonel Jassim hurriedly grabbed the microphone: "Retreating now is suicide! We at least need to repel this Zionian offensive, otherwise a retreat will turn into a complete rout!"

"This is the committee's decision." The voice on the radio was very cold. "You just need to obey orders."

Colonel Jassim's blood gradually cooled down, and he then realized that his hands were trembling.

Is this fear?

What exactly did they do wrong?
He suddenly remembered what the great Marshal Antt had once said: "The strongest defenses often begin to rot from within."

"Colonel! The Zionists have broken through the minefield!"

The screams from the observation post were accompanied by machine gun fire. Jassim discovered that the area had been flattened by the Chieftain tank. The enemy even stopped and drove the tank back and forth several times, seemingly venting their anger.

Then the Chieftain seemed to spot the concealed Rokosov II and pointed its dark gun barrels at them.

Colonel Jassim was horrified: "Get down on your feet!"

The cannon fired the next second.

Colonel Jassim felt as if he were flying.

The main gun of the Rokosov II was never used, and the repairmen who were still under the chassis never came out again.

A severe ringing in his ears accompanied his dizziness, yet the burning radio continued to operate, emitting a broken, intermittent sound: "Hold on."

Colonel Jassim felt a sense of absurdity; his consciousness was rapidly fading, and his last thought was:

Damn it, whose advice should I listen to?
(End of this chapter)