Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 151 Battle of the Valley (Part 3)

Inside a concrete machine gun bunker on the Zion front.

Several Zion soldiers were so hot they were swaying and staggering.

“This isn’t war, it’s jail, jail!” Private Eitan complained. “Even those Arafan refugee camps are better than this!”

The air inside the fortress was hot and humid, thick with the stench of sweat, metal, and dust that stung the eyes.

The only light source was the blinding sunlight that shone through the observation hole.

"Save your breath, Etan."

Private First Class Mosh, who was checking the magazines nearby, said without looking up, "According to regulations, it's our squad's turn to go out for fresh air in half an hour."

Today is supposed to be the last day of Pentecost, a day of celebration for Zion's bountiful harvest. Normally, Zion's soldiers would have a day off on this day, but now they are forced to endure the hardship in their fortresses on the front lines.

Meanwhile, due to Major General Bar-Lev's "miraculous operation" last year, tens of billions of dollars went down the drain, forcing the Ministry of Finance to tighten its belt, and even cutting off cigarettes and chocolates for frontline soldiers.

“Happy Pentecost, guys,” Ethan muttered.

At that moment, their platoon leader, Gordy, walked in, and Etan and the others instinctively shrank back.

"Are you all so lax, waiting to be shot?" Gordi interrupted the casual conversation with a serious expression. "Get your act together! Have you all forgotten last year's Yom Kippur? Those Arabs are masters at launching sneak attacks during our holidays!"

The painful lessons of Yom Kippur forced Zion to urgently revise its frontline regulations, stipulating that the frontline must maintain the highest level of readiness and be on high alert at all times, even on important holidays.

Lieutenant Dan, who was looking at a map nearby, chuckled upon hearing this, trying to ease the tension: "Gordy's right, we can't let our guard down. But then again, in this sweltering heat, I bet those guys on the other side of the river are about to be roasted senseless. If they launch an attack now, we won't even need to lift a finger; their tanks will turn the crews into meat cans!"

His words drew a burst of laughter from inside the fortress.

Although it was a joke, it did make sense. Gordy's brow relaxed, and he was just about to say something when he heard Private First Class Leor on the observation post suddenly shout, "My God, something's happened! I see a sandstorm to the southeast!"

Platoon leader Gordy rushed over and snatched the binoculars.

He saw a plume of smoke rising into the sky in the distance, almost stretching across the entire city in a single line, with blue flags flying atop the leading tanks.

Goldy's expression changed drastically: "It's Shuangzhi's advance force! Take over command immediately! Quickly!"

But the next second, a suffocating shriek tore through the air, coming from afar.

"Get down!"

Immediately following was a deafening roar that shook the earth.

Boom—! Rumble—!

The heavy artillery fire, like a hammer of judgment, slammed down on the fortress above them, concrete debris raining down as if it were the end of the world, engulfing the fortress.

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.

It is said that top commanders, even those from opposing factions, can sometimes predict the opponent's next move.

Looking at the blazing sun overhead, Commander Shmuel picked up the phone, preparing to call the "Eagle's Nest" air force reconnaissance plane to conduct detailed reconnaissance of the Arab coalition forces' movements across the valley, in order to ascertain the enemy's main attack route.

However, before he could give the order, the air raid siren had already sounded throughout the command center.

Almost simultaneously, a dull and continuous rumbling sound came from the distant horizon.

"The fighting has already broken out at the front lines?"

Commander Shmuel frowned and immediately ordered: "Order all units to report the situation immediately!"

Soon, Brigadier General Kaschukh, the frontline commander, reported: "Report! On the west bank of the valley, multiple defensive nodes within a 5-kilometer radius of our entire forward defensive zone have been shelled!"

This vague answer greatly displeased Shmuel: "Be more specific, I need to know the opponent's main attack direction!"

"It's the entire defensive line!" Kasshukh's voice was tinged with disbelief: "From north to south, our front, nearly 80 kilometers wide, is simultaneously under artillery fire!"

"What?!" This answer stunned Commander Shmuel.

An 80-kilometer defensive line was simultaneously suppressed by fire.

Has the Arabs moved their entire Ant Group weapons production line to the front lines?
What terrifying logistical capabilities and ammunition reserves it must take to do that!
But Kaschuh's next report alarmed him even more: "The enemy's artillery fire was extremely accurate. More than 60% of our pre-set defensive nodes and permanent fortifications were hit by precision strikes of varying degrees!"

Commander Shmuel's first reaction was that there was a mole!

He whirled around, his gaze sweeping like a hawk over his chief of staff, and demanded, "Who has had access to the complete deployment map of the western bank of the valley?!"

The chief of staff was also sweating profusely and immediately replied, "Only the staff officers present and you know the detailed deployment. Even the generals may not know the precise coordinates of all the nodes!"

Shmuel's cold gaze swept over the backs of each of the restless staff officers, and he finally suppressed the urge to immediately order the inspection team to take everyone away for questioning.

If he did that, his command center would be paralyzed.

The chief of staff wiped the cold sweat from his brow and suggested another possibility: "Could it be that Shuangzhi's reconnaissance unit has quietly ascertained the location of all our positions over the past few months?"

"Bullshit!" Shmuel cursed. "Are our counter-surveillance patrols and surveillance equipment just for show? Or do you think Shuangzhi's intelligence capabilities have surpassed Mossad's?"

Major General Dov pondered for a moment and then put forward an even more frightening hypothesis: "Our defense nodes are all deployed in accordance with the terrain and the theory of best defense."

Could it be that Lieutenant General Amir, based on his understanding of our thought processes and the terrain, deduced the possible locations of most of our positions in reverse?

"If that's the case, then there's no need to fight this war."

Shmuel retorted coldly, "Give that Amir enough ammunition, and he can push his troops to the doorstep of Tel Aviv!"

Shmuel absolutely did not believe that there was a genius in the world who could predict all deployments with 100% accuracy based solely on theory. However, he also thought of the previous battle report. The opposing Lieutenant General Amir was most skilled at commanding heavy artillery for surgical precision strikes.

In this situation, it seems more like the other side has turned "single-shot bursts" into "wide-range bursts".

"This Amir must have somehow found out the coordinates of most of our positions."

Shmuel suddenly realized that the enemy's inaction over the past few months was not only waiting for the riverbed to harden, but also coordinating hundreds or thousands of firing units simultaneously, all to smash his entire defensive line into a sea of ​​fire at the same moment!

Shmuel felt a throbbing pain in his temples, and a tremendous pressure suddenly struck him.

Despite the staff's extreme confidence in the defense line, the enemy launched an attack after seeing through their defensive concepts and deployment points. This information asymmetry made him anxious.

Shmuel unconsciously started biting his nails; he finally understood the same pressure Brigadier General Eugene and Major General Cohen had felt back then. Just then, new intelligence reached headquarters:

"Report! Reconnaissance units have spotted the main armored forces of the Twins at two paved areas, Jericho and Fogonum, and they are flying blue flags!"

This news immediately lifted Shmuel's spirits!
He knew very well that even with accurate firing, the enemy's artillery barrage wouldn't last long, and as soon as his side moved, the Arab allies would have to recalculate the firing data.

Therefore, the real offensive will definitely unfold within these few hours.

"very good!"

Commander Shmuel immediately issued operational orders: "Order the 510th Signal Jamming Battalion to immediately implement high-intensity jamming of enemy communication channels! Delay their communication efficiency!"
Order the 1st Armored Reserve Brigade to advance to the rear of Karak Heights and await orders! Do not expose yourselves without my orders!

Have the garrison at Jericho and Fogonum reduce their blocking fire and lure the enemy deep into their territory! Draw the armored forces of the two nations into our pre-designated anti-tank ambush zone!
Order artillery units to concentrate fire, calculate possible subsequent enemy crossing points, and prepare for counter-preparatory fire!

With these instructions being issued quickly, Shmuel felt somewhat relieved.

He planned to turn the tables and take advantage of the enemy's exposed offensive moves and defensive terrain to drag more of the Shuangzhi troops into the fray.

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.

The northern section of the Hashim-Zion Valley, about 30 kilometers from the Sea of ​​Galilee.

The company stationed here is the "Anvil" Company, which belongs to the 403rd Infantry Brigade of Zion, and its commander is Lieutenant Yitzhak.

At this moment, they had just endured a round of precise artillery fire.

Inside the concrete fortress, soldiers were performing standard anti-artillery support. Private David, however, was suffering from tinnitus and kept spitting out ash from his mouth.

"Damn it, how come their artillery is so accurate?!"

"Don't talk, save your energy!" Private First Class Joseph, standing next to David, whispered.

"Wait. Listen!" David suddenly pricked up his ears. He heard a muffled sound, different from the explosion of a cannonball, coming from afar.

"It's a landmine! The landmine we buried in the mudflats exploded!"

Yosi frowned: "Have you been blown to your wits? Are the Arabs out of their minds to launch an attack from this muddy mess? It must be the aftershocks of the shelling..."

“No! It’s a landmine!” David insisted, risking his life to climb up to the observation hole and raise his binoculars.

A moment later, he gasped, his voice trembling: "What the hell is that?!"

He saw a strange convoy of civilian heavy trucks and tractors slowly approaching them from several kilometers away.

These vehicles have undergone drastic modifications, with huge bulldozer blades and heavy steel blast shields welded to the front, making them look incongruous.

The lead tractors, relying on their own weight and the blast-proof shovels in front, were triggering the mixed minefield they had laid out.

Each explosion caused the vehicles to shake violently, and some wheels were even blown off, but the vehicles behind did not hesitate to go around the wreckage and continue moving forward.

Behind these "suicide" mine-clearing vehicles followed a long line of similarly modified trucks.

Two soldiers stood on the back of each truck, scattering large quantities of thistles onto the freshly cleared, muddy riverbed.

Then, more trucks brought in crushed stone and gravel, which were spread evenly on the thistle layer.

The entire process is surprisingly efficient: once the vehicles in front have finished spreading the materials, they immediately drive away in an orderly fashion from both sides of the line, while the vehicles behind continue to follow, using their heavy wheels to repeatedly compact and combine the thistles, gravel, and silt.

"Sir! Come quick!" David shouted.

Lieutenant Yitzhak snatched the binoculars and was stunned by the sight before him. There were no tanks, no blue flags, only these engineering vehicles working frantically.

"Report to brigade headquarters immediately!" Yitzhak ordered. "Report that a large-scale enemy engineering force has been discovered clearing a road at our location! Requesting instructions!"

The news quickly reached the headquarters of the 403rd Infantry Brigade, where Major Arieh, the staff officer on duty, was busy processing intelligence on the "main attack" in the Jericho direction.

Listening to Yitzhak's intelligence, Major Arieh looked at the map. "Mudflats? Tanks can't pass through there. It's probably a feint or they're building auxiliary fortifications. Have they entered the range of your company's SS-12 anti-tank missiles?"

"Not yet, but we'll be entering soon!"

“Then wait until they’re within range and then use your anti-tank teams to take care of them! A few beat-up trucks and tractors, do I really need to mobilize my precious artillery?” Major Arie said before hanging up, his attention completely drawn to the southern front.

Lieutenant Yitzhak had no choice but to order: "Anti-tank team! Advance to firing positions! Target the enemy engineering vehicle, open fire immediately once it enters range!"

"Yes!"

The news quickly reached the anti-tank team of Anvil Company, and the gunner Levin swiftly began to adjust the firing angle.

Through the scope, he could clearly see the vehicles that were "working diligently".

The SS.12 uses manual guidance, requiring the operator to manually control the joystick. Although theoretically its range can reach six kilometers, in reality, a decent hit rate can only be guaranteed at two to three kilometers.

"Closer. Closer."

Levin muttered to himself, his eyes unblinking.

He watched as the slow, clumsy vehicles slowly and awkwardly moved into firing range, his hand on the trigger of the control box.

Just as he was about to press the fire button, a tank with an extremely futuristic appearance suddenly appeared in his field of vision.

Its low turret, massive gun barrel, and angular shape were unlike any tank model Levin knew.

The next second, a burst of intense fire flashed from the tank's cannon muzzle.

"Bombardment!!"

An MGM-51 "Oakstick" missile, traveling at a speed far exceeding his reaction time, struck the anti-tank missile launch site with pinpoint accuracy.

The violent explosion instantly engulfed Levin and his SS.12 launcher, sending flames soaring into the sky.

Half an hour later, this strange group, treading on a path paved with thistles and pebbles, reached the other side of the valley.

Lieutenant Harry leaned out of the distinctive command tower of the MBT-70, glanced at the still-burning defensive positions on the opposite bank, and picked up the radio:

"Hammerhead Battalion reports: The 'mudflat' has been cleared, the passage is safe, and the main force can proceed. Over."

(End of this chapter)