Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 123 Determination (Part 3)

"hidden!"

Everyone found cover nearby, and Lu Lin even hid directly behind the armored vehicle.

Shrapnel from the grenade dented the concrete wall, but fortunately the explosion was far away and no one was hit.

Then the two sides started firing at each other through the wall. Lu Lin heard someone on the other side shouting something like "Macha Matra," which might be a call for backup.

Why do you sound a little excited?
At this moment, Lu Lin realized that they seemed to be at different elevations, and the bombing had left the streets in a mess.

They are down below, while Zion's soldiers are planning to split into two groups, one from the first floor and the other from the second, stepping over small hills of broken tiles.

So he lay in ambush at the stairwell, and then a head wearing an olive-green helmet popped out of a second-floor window.

Lu Lin did not hesitate and fired directly. The bullet entered the Zion soldier's chin and blew the back of his head off.

Before the blood mist had even cleared, a second and third soldier had already rushed in, stepping over the corpses.

Lu Lin fired and shot down another soldier, and then he and a third soldier opened fire simultaneously.

Lu Lin felt a red-hot iron rod pierce his left shoulder, but he kept kneeling and fired the entire magazine of bullets. The other man fell down like a piece of wood, his helmet clanging as it hit the ground floor.

The gunfight upstairs seemed to be the fuse, and then gunfire started up downstairs as well.

By this time, many enemies had already rushed into the building, and Lu Lin heard tactical exchanges in two languages.

Damn, if only I knew Hebrew right now.

"Cover us. Retreat first!"

The platoon leader almost called out the major general's name, but he quickly realized what he was doing, picked up the machine gun and started firing, shouting as he fired.

Bullets ricocheted through the concrete buildings, and five or six Zionists fell like wheat being harvested. The remaining soldiers began to retreat in shifts.

Two veterans grabbed Lu Lin and dragged him out. Just as they rushed out of the building, they bumped into a Zion scout who had circled around them—

Both of them were stunned.

Lu Lin instinctively raised his gun, but only heard two empty clicks. The veteran on his right had already pounced on him, and the two wrestled and rolled around the corner.

boom! boom!
Gunshots and grenade explosions came almost simultaneously.

The sergeant shoved Lu Lin into the armored vehicle, and then the driver started the engine, and the armored vehicle roared and began to reverse.

At this moment, Zion's soldiers also circled around and began firing at the front of the armored vehicle.

Lu Lin crouched down, holding his head in one hand. At that moment, he realized that the car seemed to be accelerating out of control.

They backed up for several blocks before finally coming to a stop as they crashed into the post office.

He struggled to open the car door, and when he went around to the front, he saw that the windshield was completely shattered and the dashboard of the armored vehicle was covered in blood.

The driver's body was slumped to one side, and he had stopped breathing.

Lu Lin clutched his bleeding left shoulder, feeling a throbbing sensation in his temples and his body temperature fluctuating between hot and cold.

However, he had no time to worry about his injuries or mourn the fallen soldiers; his primary objective was to move to the nearest position.

Not far away, Zion's soldiers were hot on his heels.

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.

In the sewers, civilians in Canam listened to the cannon fire overhead.

A few young men were fiddling with a radio when they heard intermittent sounds coming from it, in Hebrew. "What are these Zionists saying?" Abdul asked.

Thanks to the cultural reforms implemented by Zion during its occupation of Ghanam, some young people were forced to learn Hebrew, so they could understand some of it.

Jassim translated, "They said they've located the major general, and that they've seen an officer with a wounded left arm and troops draped in blue flags, and that they're all to be wiped out!"

Abdul was shocked upon hearing this: "Wouldn't that put the major general in danger?!"

The news quickly spread to the nearby residents who were hiding. Just as Abdul was pacing anxiously, he saw Jassim tighten the blood-stained bandage around his left arm.

He immediately understood what the other person was thinking: "Are you crazy?"

“Anyway, if the Zionists win, we won’t survive either,” Jassim said, looking at his childhood friend. “Are you coming?”

Abdul clutched his scalp in agony, as if trying to rip all his hair out. After agonizing for a while, he stamped his foot and yelled, "Damn it! Give me one too!"

So the two of them bandaged their left shoulders and prepared to open a hidden passage to slip to the ground.

Just then, a voice came from behind them: "I heard the major general is in a bit of trouble?"

The two brothers turned around. The tall Mahmoud was a veteran of Al-Iraq. He was not a guerrilla, but a fighter who deeply loved this land.

Behind Mahmoud stood their familiar neighbors, former teachers, the imam from the church, and workers from the dye shop.
Each of them had bright red strips of cloth wrapped around their shoulders, and many of them were carrying blue banners made of textiles.

“Let’s go.” Mahmoud stepped forward, raising the flag with one hand: “Now we are all one of them.”

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.

Lu Lin retreated all the way back, and then he saw many soldiers pouring out from the streets and alleys, all with strips of cloth stained with blood tied around their shoulders.

At first he didn’t understand what it meant, until he saw the overwhelming blue banners, as if they had suddenly appeared from every corner of the city.

Lu Lin's mouth dropped open. He had never known that he had such a large "troop".

Just then, a tall soldier brushed past him, and when he saw Lu Lin, he smiled and reminded him, "Don't go the wrong way, Rafik!"

Lu Lin subconsciously replied, "Thank you, but I think I didn't go the wrong way."

Seeing his tattered, dusty military uniform and disheveled appearance, the burly man nodded: "Keep going, don't stop."

And so the two of them continued on their own paths.

Lu Lin felt a tightness in his throat. All he could think about was getting back to his position quickly and killing those Zion bastards. Whether he could do it or not, or how to do it, was no longer on his mind.

At that moment, the sound of the tank's engine came from in front of him—if he remembered correctly, most of the tanks in the city had been exhausted.

Lu Lin showed no fear whatsoever; he didn't even blink.

Then a colossal, futuristic-looking machine appeared before him. Compared to the M60A1 or the Chieftain, it looked like a tank straight out of the future.

Its main gun was thicker than any tank Lu Lin had ever seen since he transmigrated, and it had huge "double-ear" style gun shield armor with protrusions on both sides to protect the elevation mechanism, resembling the cheek guards of a medieval knight's helmet.

The angle of the upper frontal armor is extremely exaggerated, forming sharp lines like a knife cut, as if it could cut an enemy tank in half with a single impact.

It looks a bit like the M1, but there are subtle differences.

(MBT-70)

At this moment, the hatch on the turret opened, and Bandar crawled out and saluted Lu Lin:

"Reporting to you, Your Excellency Major General."

(End of this chapter)