Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 96 We Are United as One (Part 5)
On the east bank of the Taino River, Ahmed and his group, using the ruins as cover, made their way towards the government building along the broken streets.

Sporadic gunshots could be heard in the distance. They made their way through alleys, hugging the walls to avoid any potential sniper positions.

Soon the outline of the government building came into view.

The once thick walls were already riddled with holes, but after the Zionites occupied the place, they reinforced the building again and added several more layers of guard posts.

"Something's wrong."

Ahmed frowned as he looked at the soldiers smoking outside the gate.

How could smoking be allowed in an ammunition depot?
"There are far fewer patrols and guards," the communications soldier returned after making his rounds. "Could they have already been relocated?"

“The Zionians didn’t retreat that quickly; they must be inside,” Ahmed whispered. “Let’s find a secluded spot and sneak in to check.”

They went around to the side of the building and used pliers to cut a hole in the barbed wire, just big enough for one person to crawl through.

Ahmed made a gesture, and the team members crawled into the wall one by one.

Then, they witnessed a breathtaking scene.

The semi-open plaza and the interior of the government building were completely emptied. Instead of boxes of guns and ammunition, what came into view was an entire armored force.

More than ten armored personnel carriers were parked on both sides. Even more alarming was the tank garage built in the square, which looked to be the size of a whole battalion of tanks!
"This isn't an ammunition depot at all; it's their forward command post!"

Ahmed's heart pounded; they'd run into a giant fish!

The square was littered with mountains of ammunition boxes and fuel barrels, and Zion soldiers were busy inspecting vehicles and replenishing ammunition, clearly preparing for the next offensive.

Ahmed raised his binoculars and saw the leading Zion Major talking to someone, a gleaming Medal of David on his chest.

“Radio,” he lowered his voice, looking at the Green Turban guerrillas, “contact the guerrilla brothers immediately and tell them that Zion’s armored forces are hiding in the government building!”

The communications officer tried it a couple of times and found the radio filled with static. He frowned and said, "Why isn't it working!" He patted the machine, unaware of the communications jamming vehicle parked nearby. (Zion's RAF specifically targets Arabic radio frequencies.)
The guerrillas exchanged glances, their eyes filled with hesitation and unease. Just as the atmosphere began to freeze, Ahmed spoke up: "It doesn't matter if it doesn't work, there are plenty of ready-made ones everywhere here."

The communications soldier looked at him, then his eyes widened immediately: "Are you crazy?! You want to steal a tank?!"

“Radios and signal guns, aren’t those readily available?” Ahmed turned his head. “Time is of the essence. Do you have any other methods?”

"Uh, okay," the communications soldier said helplessly, "but if we dare to show our faces, we'll be riddled with bullets the moment we step out!"

The group quickly scanned the square. At least a battalion of soldiers were scattered around, with crew members gathered in twos and threes around their tanks, and countless service soldiers running back and forth.

At the slightest sign of trouble, at least twenty guns would be aimed at them simultaneously.

“Who said we’re going to steal these tanks?” Ahmed glanced at the tank maintenance workshop. “Aren’t there some unattended treasures over there?”

The guerrilla fighter wearing a green headscarf succinctly stated: "It's worth a try."

The communications soldier reluctantly raised his hand: "Since we're all here, count me in. At least I know how to handle a radio!"

Under the cover of the clutter, the three men stealthily made their way to the maintenance workshop. They first found the storage room, changed into work clothes, and then slipped in through the back door.

Ahmed's gaze immediately locked onto a maintenance bay directly opposite, where a Chieftain that looked to be in good condition was parked, and a mechanic was painting white circles on its front armor.

Standing nearby was a tank commander in an officer's uniform, boasting about his achievements: "The Shuangzhi tank crews have recently started learning the technique of firing first shots, but it's useless. Their movements are too rigid, and they are no match for me at all."

"But the most satisfying thing was burning the guerrillas. Didn't you see those idiots charging at you with Molotov cocktails?"

The conductor's laughter abruptly stopped—because he saw a stranger charging towards him with an axe in hand.

"Crack!"

The axe cleaved precisely between his eyebrows, and in utter disbelief, the commander's body fell backward.

The repairman had barely uttered half a syllable when the guerrillas cleanly slit his throat. The commotion quickly attracted the attention of those nearby. Although the three men were dressed as repairmen, their appearance and the corpse on the ground immediately gave them away.

"Get in quickly!"

Ahmed gave a signal, and the three of them quickly climbed into the chieftain and slammed the hatch shut.

Looking at the unfamiliar control panel in front of him, which didn't even have a steering wheel, Ahmed frowned: "How do you drive this thing?"

The communications soldier, who was fiddling with the radio, exclaimed in surprise: "No way? You're telling me this now?"

“I’ve driven an M48 before, but I’ve never driven a tank produced by the United Kingdom!” Ahmed explained.

“Try this.” The guerrilla fighter with the green turban pressed the conspicuous red button, and Ahmed heard a roar—the chief’s engine was warming up.

"How did you know?" Ahmed asked, somewhat surprised.

“It says FLAME START on it!” The guerrilla fighter with the green turban rolled his eyes at him.

As a region that was once colonized by the United Kingdom, Saxon is a foreign language that the Al-Iraq people must learn. Even if they don't pronounce some simple words, they can understand the general meaning.

Then they heard footsteps getting closer and closer outside, and thumping sounds coming from the armored vehicles, as if someone had climbed onto the tank.

Immediately afterwards, there was a slapping sound from the hatch, and someone outside was shouting loudly.

The guerrilla fighter with the green headscarf gripped his dagger tightly, cold sweat trickling down his cheeks.

"Is this thing even warmed up yet?" Ahmed asked. "How's the radio?"

The communications soldier was using the encrypted channel of the vehicle-mounted radio when suddenly, a muffled Arabic message came through his headset: "This is... the guerrillas... where are you?"

“It’s working!”

The communications soldier was overjoyed.

But this brief radio communication also exposed their identities, as the Zion soldiers outside had obviously overheard the conversation inside the tank.

boom! boom! boom!
The roar of the Zion soldiers came through the armor: "You rats inside! Get out!"

Immediately following was the metallic clang of a rifle butt slamming against the hatch.

Ahmed saw through the periscope that more and more soldiers were surrounding him, one of whom had already raised his rifle and aimed it at the driver's observation slit.

"Damn it! They've spotted us!" The Green Turban guerrilla fighter braced himself against the hatch to make sure it was locked.

"We're in the government building, there's enemy here—" The communications soldier had barely uttered half a sentence when a sharp metallic scraping sound came from above.

The blue light from the welding torch suddenly shone brightly, and blinding sparks splattered in through the gaps in the hatch.

Zizzi——!
"They're going to cut us open with a welding torch!"

Ahmed's pupils contracted, and at that critical moment, with a long electronic beep, the green light on the dashboard suddenly lit up.

Without hesitation, Ahmed slammed his fist on the start switch, and the diesel engine roared deafeningly.

The entire Chieftain tank shuddered violently, and thick black smoke billowed from its exhaust pipe. The soldiers outside the tank were so frightened by the sudden noise that they retreated in fear.

"Charge out!!" the Green Turban guerrilla fighter shouted.

Ahmed pushed both control sticks all the way down at the same time.

The massive steel object lunged forward, crashing through the wall and plunging straight into the plaza.

(End of this chapter)