Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 191 Brings Liberation to Damascus (Part 3)

On Saladin Street in the west of the city, Major Al-Khali's First Mechanized Guards Infantry Battalion is advancing closely behind the armored vanguard.

Their mission was to secure the passage opened by the vanguard and ensure that the main force could quickly penetrate it.

Despite his promotion to major, Al-Khali maintains the tradition he shares with Bandar and other senior officers of the Double Volunteer Army, always leading from the front and fighting alongside his soldiers.

"Break the door!"

Al-Khali led several elite soldiers to smash open a house by the roadside. Facing the terrified woman, he lowered his gun and said, "Don't be afraid, we are the Shuangzhi army, here to rescue you."

Seeing the woman's eyes unconsciously glancing towards the stairs, Al-Harry gestured for her to go up.

After receiving confirmation, he immediately signaled Corporal Mahir to provide support from the outer wall, while he himself picked up an MP5 submachine gun and approached the stairs.

"Da da da!"

9mm bullets rained down on the rooftop like a storm, and amidst the flying sawdust, Zion soldiers shouted curses: "! (son of a bitch!)"

A grenade rolled down, and Al-Harry pulled the mistress into the side room.

Zion soldiers began yelling and firing downstairs, bullets piercing the floor and riddling the wooden attic with holes, sunlight streaming through them.

Al-Khali fired at the sound, and screams immediately came from upstairs.

At that moment, Maher also entered through the broken window on the second floor, and gunfire immediately erupted inside.

Al-Hali seized the opportunity to rush up the stairs. One Zion soldier huddled in a corner to avoid being shot, while another fell into a pool of blood.

The moment their eyes met, Al-Harry's MP5 fired.

The Zion soldiers hastily returned fire, bullets grazing Al-Hali's ears and leaving several bullet holes in the wall, while his own shooting made the enemy tremble violently like a leaf.

Both Zion soldiers were killed just like that.

Maher walked to the top of the stairs, looked at the bullet holes in the gun, and clicked his tongue, saying, "Your luck is simply divine!"

Al-Khali pointed his index finger to the sky: "This shows that the lieutenant general is still protecting me today."

After the two went downstairs, Al-Harry instructed the woman, "Auntie, it's too dangerous here. If we can't evacuate, we should hide in the cellar and wait for the war to end."

“I don’t know where to go,” the woman shook her head, “but my husband is a guerrilla, maybe he’ll come and get me.”

Al-Hali and Mahir exchanged a glance, then Al-Hali asked, "How many guerrillas are there in the city?"

"There might be hundreds or even thousands of them? They appear and disappear unpredictably, and the Zionians have failed to wipe them out several times."

The woman's tone was firm: "If you break in now, the guerrillas will definitely take action! They've been preparing to give the Zionians a surprise!"

Al-Khali was not surprised by this. He thought of Ahmed and the warriors in Ghanam who fought against the Zionites to the last drop of blood despite oppression.

"Then I wish you good luck."

"I also wish you good luck, and may Allah bless you."

“It seems that no one in this city has ever given up the fight,” Maher said. “Just like back in Garnum, every warrior who resists Zion means we have more strength.”

"The shackles forged by fear cannot bind a soul that yearns for freedom."

Al-Khali gazed at the smoke-filled streets, his eyes piercing through the ruins, as if he could see countless figures running about: "Where there is oppression, there will be people who stand up to resist. This is an unchanging truth throughout the ages."

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.

On the east side of Martyrs' Square, Lieutenant Zafield of the Shuangzhi Vanguard pressed his body against the collapsed load-bearing pillar, the cold concrete irritating his skin through his sweat-soaked uniform.

A destroyed Chieftain tank lay across the street, its turret still burning, completely blocking the path for follow-up troops.

A hundred meters away, the firing ports on the ground floor of the bank building continued to spew fire, and heavy machine gun bullets blasted the tank wreckage, sending sparks flying and suppressing everyone's ability to look up.

"We have to go around it!"

Zafield said to the M113 driver behind him, "Go through the alley on the left and flank the bank building!"

Ahmed jerked the steering wheel, and the reinforced M113 crashed through the brick walls of the shops along the street, carving a path through them.

Another troop carrier followed closely behind, with more than ten infantrymen jogging and using the vehicle as cover as they advanced.

Just then, a cannon barrel suddenly appeared from the ruins opposite, and a Zion Centurion flamethrower tank emerged from the side of the bank, no more than 100 meters away from them!
"Watch out for tanks!" Zafield shouted.

As soon as he finished speaking, a thick, scorching dragon of flames shot out from the centurion's cannon barrel, sweeping across the square along the ground.

The flames engulfed Hamid, who was a little slower to dodge. The soldier only had time for a short scream before he became a wildly dancing ball of fire, collapsing motionless to the ground a few seconds later, the air filled with the stench of burning flesh. "Damn it!"

Veteran Samir, who was hiding in the street corner, tried to get up, but a burst of heavy machine gun bullets hit the pavement in front of him, sending gravel flying and forcing him to lie back down.

"Can you take down that flamethrower tank?" Zafield called over the radio.

Muhammad, the anti-tank soldier in the platoon, picked up his M72 LAW and had just leaned out from behind cover to take aim when a burst of bullets came from the side.

Muhammad's body jolted violently, the rocket flew off at an angle, and blood blossomed on his chest as he collapsed.

"Damn it!" Corporal Walid pulled an anti-tank rifle grenade from his M113, then braved the hail of bullets and crept towards the centurion through cover.

"Walid! Walid!"

Zafield cursed, "Smoke grenade cover!"

Large plumes of smoke were launched towards the centurion via smoke grenade launchers, quickly separating the two sides.

Walid continued forward with the anti-tank grenade in his hand; these things required a certain angle and firing distance.

Just then, an RPG hit the frontal armor of the first M113, and with an explosion, a hole was torn in the frontal armor.

Ahmed, who was driving the armored vehicle, died instantly, while machine gunner Jabbar was thrown off the roof by the shockwave and crashed to the ground, where he remained motionless.

Zafield was knocked down by the shockwave of the explosion, and then he watched helplessly as machine gun fire swept down two soldiers who were trying to charge, taking their lives.

Both soldiers were named Farouk; one came from a mountain village in Tihama, and the other was born in the oasis of Qasim.

Zafield also only recently remembered their hometown.

The sudden explosion startled Walid for a moment, and in that brief instant, the flamethrower tank spewed fire again.

Walid quickly ducked to avoid the flames, but they still licked his legs and back. He screamed and rolled to the side.

“Walid!” Zafield roared.

The machine gun platoon behind them began firing fiercely at the windows of the bank building, temporarily suppressing the enemy's firepower.

Zafield and another soldier rushed out amidst a hail of bullets, grabbed Walid's arm, and dragged him back behind the bunker.

Walid's combat uniform was stuck to his skin and flesh, and he had already passed out.

Just as Zafield was feeling desperate, the roar of propellers came from the sky behind him, as if they were pressing down from above.

Transport helicopters painted with red and white stripes flew low over the rooftops of buildings surrounding the square, moving so fast that both sides were momentarily taken aback.

The Centurion flamethrower tank's turret attempted to rise with difficulty, but it was clearly not designed to withstand aerial attacks.

Immediately afterwards, the helicopter door opened, and several soldiers from Shuangzhi rappelled down, landing on the rooftops of the bank building and adjacent buildings.

The Zion soldiers downstairs were clearly stunned; the enemy had suddenly landed right above them, and they didn't know what to do.

They haven't been taught how to deal with this.

Before they could react, several anti-tank grenades were thrown down from the roof.

It slammed straight into the centurion's turret and then bounced to the ground.

The centurion's driver was just about to reverse and retreat when a tank grenade blew off his tracks, leaving him stranded.

Immediately afterward, to Zafield's incredulous gaze, the centurion's crew gave up resistance, climbed out of the turret, and fled.

The Zion soldiers downstairs were preparing to retaliate by firing back into the air, but they were immediately suppressed by machine gun fire from the rooftop and cowered on the first floor of the bank, too afraid to move.

"Opportunity! All-out attack!"

Zafield regained his senses and, despite his injury, forced himself to stand up.

The remaining infantry stormed into the bank building under the cover of the last M113, and the Zion defenders, deprived of armor support, quickly collapsed.

After Zafield led his soldiers to wipe out the remaining enemy, he heard more of the roar of propellers.

He looked up and watched helicopter after helicopter fly overhead, like beacons of victory.

"Keep up with the pace of air support."

Zafield withdrew his gaze and led his soldiers to continue advancing in the direction the helicopter had passed.

(End of this chapter)