Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 235 "True Loyalty" (Part Two)
"Why haven't the reinforcements arrived yet? Where are the 42nd Division and the 11th Armored Division?!"

General Gorodish's roar echoed in the dimly lit underground command post, but no one could provide an answer.

Hearing the sounds of gunfire coming from the ground, everyone's face grew paler and paler.

"General!"

The communications soldier looked up, earmuffs still hanging on his ears. "The 803rd Heavy Artillery Brigade outside the city has completed coordinate calibration. They are requesting final confirmation on whether to conduct cover fire on the enemy forces inside the base?"

The command post was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone knew what this order meant: the hangars, the runways, the entire base would be reduced to ashes, and Zion's air force would be completely paralyzed.

Gorodish took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He had to choose between total annihilation and mutual destruction.

"Give them three minutes to countdown," he ordered through gritted teeth. "If they don't give me a stop signal after three minutes, open fire immediately!"

"Yes!"

The moment the order was given, a loud explosion suddenly came from outside the heavy blast door.

Then came a burst of gunfire and shouts of killing, rapidly approaching from afar.

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.

"Grenade!"

Zafield shouted, and several round grenades were immediately thrown into the tunnel. After a few terrified shouts and a brief delay, a violent explosion rang out.

"Stun grenade!"

The second wave of explosions threw the defenders into chaos, and Zafield led his assault team in like a dagger drawn from its sheath. Several air force staff officers were still trying to return fire with their pistols when they were instantly felled by precise short bursts of fire.

"Surrender and you will not be killed!" Zafield shouted in broken Hebrew. "Put down your weapons!"

The remaining enemies in the tunnel, seeing the dark muzzles of guns, struggled for a moment before choosing to surrender.

Soldiers immediately disarmed them, and the assault team, without stopping, rushed straight to the deepest command center.

Tear gas!

Following the order, two gas bombs rolled toward the last blast door, smoke quickly filled the room, and violent coughing could be heard from inside.

boom--!
The alloy gate collapsed inward, and Zafield was the first to rush into the thick smoke.

"For Zion!"

Several loyal officers used the collapsed filing cabinet as cover to fire wildly, sending wood chips flying from the desk.

Zafield rolled to the side to hide behind a metal cabinet, raised his hand and opened fire. An officer fell backward, knocking over communication equipment and sending sparks flying.

The remaining assault troops flanked the defenders from both sides and engaged in close-quarters firefights.

Bullets struck the metal cabinet, sending up blinding sparks, and muffled groans of those hit could be heard intermittently through the thick smoke.

Haifa Police Chief Mechtner was shot multiple times in the chest by a submachine gun at close range and fell backward.

Before him, Brigadier General Hamish had already fallen into a pool of blood and stopped breathing.

As the gunfire subsided, the assault team began cleaning up the battlefield. At that moment, two soldiers dragged a fat figure out from under the table.

The man was wearing a general's uniform and was trembling like a leaf.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

Gorodish screamed, "I am the Zion Air Force Commander!"

Zafield and his comrade exchanged a glance, both seeing the shock in each other's eyes.

commander?

"Air Force Commander?" the young soldier repeated, puzzled. "How high is that rank?"

Zafield didn't answer, but instead pressed the muzzle of his gun against the prisoner's temple: "Can you order the Fifth and Sixth Armies outside the city to halt their attack?"

Gorodish, looking terrified with a gun pointed at him, said, "They're not under my command; they only obey Tel Aviv. The only ones who can stop them are the Prime Minister or Yeshavishin."

"Then what the hell can you do?!" Zafield's eyes flashed dangerously.

Just then, a clear conversation came through the captured radio:

"803rd Brigade confirmed, fire in 30 seconds, repeat, fire in 30 seconds." Zafield pressed the muzzle of his gun heavily.

Gorodish seemed to be struck by lightning, lunging at the communicator: "Cease fire! This is Gorodish! Stop immediately!"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the channel, followed by a response: "Order confirmed, shelling canceled."

Zafield let out a soft breath and put away his weapon: "Looks like you're a pragmatic person."

Please don't hurt me.

Before Gorodish could finish speaking, he was roughly dragged up by the soldiers and staggered through the messy command post.

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.

At this point, the Ramat David Air Base had been largely taken over by Al-Khali's mechanized infantry brigade.

Although gunshots could still be heard from time to time, there were basically no soldiers putting up any resistance on the surface.

"Sir!"

Just then, a soldier rushed over and reported to Al-Khali: "Armored forces have been spotted to our east! They are clearing out our outposts and seizing key transportation hubs, and are closing in on us!"

This news made Al-Khali frown.

It's highly unlikely that the city's defense forces possessed tanks, and given that they had already eliminated quite a few, the troops that came to besiege them were most likely field armies from outside the city.

This is precisely their strategic intention, but their chances of retreating are becoming increasingly slim.

"Order the anti-tank team to occupy the high ground on the east side and prepare to launch an attack," Al-Khali calmly ordered.

Turning his head, he saw Zafield escorting a fat general out of the air-raid shelter.

Zafield gave him a push, and the latter staggered forward two steps.

“We’ve captured him alive. He claims to be the Air Force Commander of Zion, Gorodish.”

Al-Khali looked the overweight general up and down and sneered, "Someone like you can be the Air Force Commander? Won't you be overweight on the plane?"

"The Air Force Commander doesn't need to personally pilot the plane!"

"Twenty years ago, I was also Zion's ace pilot," Gorodish retorted.

Gorodish—this name was all too familiar to Al-Khali. In Zion, his status even surpassed that of Yukustov in Damascus, and he was the third most important figure in the military air platoon, after the Prime Minister and Yeshavishen.

This is no ordinary fish; it's practically a whale.

Looking at the corpses of policemen scattered everywhere, Al-Harry couldn't hide his contempt: "For your own safety, you're willing to send the police force to their deaths. You're quite the commander."

“What can I do? They insisted on making me the commander-in-chief of the city’s defenses!” Gorodish argued.

“Sir,” Zafield added, “he did just call a halt to a shelling.”

Upon hearing this, Al-Khali immediately pressed on, "Then can you get the approaching armored forces to cease fire?"

"You're asking me to betray my country!" Gorodish exclaimed in shock.

"Haven't you already betrayed us?"

Al-Khali bluntly stated, "Live with us, or die now. Choose one!"

Gorodish's expression shifted between anger and uncertainty: "Even if I help you today, you won't escape judgment after the war, whether at the United Nations or back in Zion."

Al-Harry narrowed his eyes, looking at the seemingly fearful but actually shrewd old fox before him, and asked, "You already have a plan in mind, don't you?"

Gorodish set a condition: "I want statelessness like Yukustov to become a tainted witness!"
In addition, I also want two million US dollars and a small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”

Al-Harry: "That's all?"

“Not only that,” Gorodish shook his finger, “I need to discuss these conditions with your Marshal personally.”

Every second was extremely important. After a moment's thought, Al-Khali quickly made a decision: "Connect to Allied Command, but don't try anything funny."

"rest assured,"

Gorodish assured him, "I know what to do; I wouldn't risk my life."

(End of this chapter)