Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 115 War, War

Lieutenant General Diar Balek appeared at a loss after learning the news from the front lines. Then, remembering that there was a senior Zion officer beside him, he subconsciously cast an inquiring glance at him.

Major General Cohen sighed. Perhaps it was because he was often with other Zion generals, or perhaps it was because the battle he had experienced a little over a week ago had been too intense, that he had almost forgotten what kind of people the Arab generals were.

Why wasn't I sent to garrison Damascus back then?

"Shuangzhi has prepared defensive positions in advance. I suggest we stop the attack immediately. Continuing the assault will only turn into a meaningless war of attrition."

After all, they are allies, and Major General Cohen couldn't just stand by and watch these people give Amir credit. But speaking of which, after this battle, will that guy be promoted to lieutenant general?
His thoughts wandered for a moment, then he quickly brought them back: "For now, we can only take a steady tactical approach. Once the artillery divisions arrive, we can use firepower to flatten their defensive positions. Anyway, we're not far from Canam, and it won't be long before we see the outline of the city."

When discussing tactics, Major General Cohen always had a sense of superiority.

"Is it the same tactic used by the Shuangzhi troops when they attacked Ghanam?" Lieutenant General Diar interjected.

Major General Cohen's expression immediately turned grim.

Lieutenant General Diyal realized his mistake and quickly changed the subject: "Our troops have just completed an offensive, now it's your turn."

Seeing that the other party made no attempt to hide his ulterior motives, Major General Cohen sneered: "No problem, but I need to remind you that I don't have command of an artillery division. Otherwise, I would be happy to show you what the true art of war is."

"Uh..." Lieutenant General Diar choked for a moment, but then he thought that maybe it was a good idea?

“Yes,” he replied after a moment’s thought, “but every order you give must be approved by me!”

This is at least a crucial step towards gaining command. Major General Cohen shrugged: "Deal. By the way, you'll be glad you made the choice."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Four hours later, accompanied by artillery barrage, the Zionist and Kurdish allied forces resumed their advance.

Captain Amos of the 7th Panzer Regiment was leading his heavily wounded unit forward, his hearing already partially impaired by the constant gunfire.

The centurion drove on the bumpy road, tossing him about. Amos felt sore all over, and when he thought of his brothers lying on the battlefield, his face gradually darkened.

Some were blown to pieces, their faces pale; some had shrapnel embedded in their faces, their eyes wide open as they stared at the sky; and some were lucky enough to survive, but flies arrived before the medics.

Indeed, these annoying flying insects may be hiding in their camel caravans (the Kurds do have camel caravans), but they are always the first to arrive when they smell a corpse or the scent of death.

Captain Amos felt he would never forget this experience for the rest of his life.

In a daze, he felt his upper and lower body separate. His mind was suspended a dozen meters above the centurion, while his body remained in the turret. This absurd sense of detachment made him forget the soreness in his body and the mental torment, and he felt happy and warm.

So he just sat there on the tank and fell asleep.

A "Henry Pig" drove past Captain Amos. Seeing his strange sleeping posture, the recruit driving the car nudged the veteran next to him, winked, and wanted to share this rare moment of fun on the battlefield.

The veteran glanced at it and shook his head: "He's exhausted."

Many soldiers who survive on the battlefield have a similar experience: when their bodies are exhausted, they enter a self-protective mechanism.

But when he woke up, he still had to face the cruel reality.

“You should take a rest too, get some sleep while you can,” the veteran said to the recruit beside him. “We’ve been led by the nose by Shuangzhi throughout this battle, and even our sleep schedule has been turned upside down. There are still more tough battles to come.” However, the recruit seemed very excited. He had been stationed at Hit and hadn’t participated in the previous defeat, which made him feel like he was on the road to creating a legend.

Prime Minister Hilbert was a master orator, and his mobilization speeches were remarkably effective.
Twenty years ago, they experienced an unprecedented Prosson massacre, and then Zionians from all over the world returned home and created an Iron Fist called "Zion".

Among them were people from the United States, South Africa, Melania, and Persia; even their president had once been from Ant.

Such a country, such an incredible return, as if all the rain in the world had gathered into a sea, and in the face of enemies from all sides, it had won an unprecedented victory!

"If we have to sacrifice ourselves in this war, what's wrong with that?"

Listening to the new recruits' excited murmurs, the veteran recalled his own experience when he enlisted last year, a story that seemed to be shared by every Zion soldier.
The cold night wind woke Amos, and he felt as if his jaw was about to dislocate—he had been standing up and sleeping with his mouth open the whole time.

My body was still sore and stiff, and then I heard a conversation through the earpiece:
"Seventh Armored Regiment, scout your flanks."

"Keep an eye on your flanks."

Captain Amos shook his head, trying to shake off the stiffness in his jaw.

He reached out to touch the kettle, only to find that the water inside had already been drunk, leaving only a thin layer of rust on the metal kettle wall.

"Reconnaissance team, check the flanks. The rest of you, stop the gun." Captain Amos ducked into the turret and patted the driver: "Give me a sip of water."

The sound of the tank engines gradually subsided, and several motorcycles carrying soldiers dispersed to the sand dunes on both sides. Captain Amos listened to the sound of the wind and sand hitting the armor, took a sip of water to moisten his throat, and felt much better now.

"Something seems to be going on!" the driver shouted through the observation window.

Captain Amos frowned. He crawled out of the turret again, and then he saw a flash on the distant horizon. Less than a second later, the sound of cannon fire rang out.

"An ambush! An armored formation!"

The roaring sound in his headset startled Captain Amos. He quickly grabbed his binoculars and saw a large number of tanks suddenly emerge from the valleys on both sides. Amidst the flashes of bright lights, a series of thunderous roars followed.

"Shuangzhi's armored forces have outflanked us from the flank!"

At the same time, another armored unit advanced from the opposite direction, and Captain Amos broke out in a cold sweat. He immediately understood the enemy's intentions.

"Damn it, they're trying to cut us off!"

Moreover, it seemed that his own "section" was about to be cut off. Amos roared over the radio, "The entire regiment is retreating! The rear guard becomes the front guard, don't let them encircle us!"

But it was too late. They were caught in the middle. The command center's channels were in complete chaos in their headsets. Some people were shouting for retreat, while others were requesting backup.

Through his binoculars, Amos saw a long line of tanks approaching them, one after another, in an endless stream. He had never seen so many tanks appear at once.

Is Shuangzhi deploying his entire armored division?
Or are they reinforcements from Al-Iraq?

However, none of that mattered at this moment. The sound of heavy artillery hitting the ground came again from ahead. Captain Amos could tell that it was a 152 or 155 caliber howitzer. The tank in front of him tried to retreat, but then a shell came from the side and hit the bottom of the turret and went in. The Centurion tank exploded immediately afterward.

Captain Amos's pupils were engulfed by the firelight.

(End of this chapter)