Chapter 1873 - 1400: Artillery Tears Through the Night Sky (Part 3)

"I know." Lemont walked over to the tactical map, his finger tapping several key points. "Redeploy. Abandon the first and second outer defensive lines and concentrate all surviving personnel in the underground command post, medical station, and Hangar Three in the core zone. There's a thirty‑centimeter reinforced roof there, it can take direct hits."

"Hangar Three is already half-collapsed—" Hilt shook his head.

"Then reinforce it!" Lemont suddenly raised his voice. "Use rebar from the rubble, use Hummers, use anything that can be moved! I want every soldier who can still move inside a shelter within five minutes! Now! Execute the order!"

Personnel started moving—limping, but fast.

Lemont grabbed Hilt's arm. "Deploy all remaining Javelin anti-tank missiles to the west side of the core zone. If the tanks breach the wall, at least we'll take a few of them with us."

Hilt asked, "What about ammo? Our ammo depot got hit in the first barrage—"

"Then use rifles, pistols, combat knives." Lemont stared at him. "What's the motto of Delta Force?"

Hilt was silent for a moment, then answered in a low voice, "Ready to go, ready to respond, never back down."

"Then prove you deserve it."

00:18, Illiguo, Mosul time.

Song Heping stood on the roof of the command vehicle, watching the base six kilometers away through a high‑magnification night‑vision scope.

The thermal imaging showed the US Army inside the base redeploying.

They seemed to be abandoning the perimeter, pulling the lines inward, concentrating around several main buildings.

"Smart." He muttered to himself, then shook his head. "But useless, just futile struggling."

"Boss. Look!" Samir climbed up the ladder and passed him a tablet. "Latest drone scan just came through. Those Americans have abandoned sixty percent of their defensive area and concentrated into these three zones."

On the screen, three clusters of red heat signatures pulsed, the people in the base converging toward several points.

"Where are our artillery units?"

"They've completed the second reload, ready to fire for effect at any time. Target parameters are already fed into the fire‑control system." Samir glanced at his watch. "But we don't have much time. The US Air Force will arrive in as little as forty‑seven minutes. We have to finish the fight in twenty minutes and then pull out, otherwise we'll at least have to storm into the base and mix in with them. As long as there are their people inside the base, the US Air Force won't dare bomb it."

Song Heping didn't answer immediately.

He could feel the weight of time, every minute pushing closer to the threshold.

Then he took out a pack of chewing gum, shook out a piece, and tossed it into his mouth. "They'll kill us along with those Delta Force troops."

"Aren't they afraid of bombing their own people?"

Samir's eyes went wide. "They won't! Those are their own soldiers! Delta Force! The elite of the elite!"

"Samir, Samir, you're still too naïve, you underestimate the bottom line of American politicians."

Looking at this old Illiguo subordinate he'd trained up himself, Song Heping shook his head, his tone almost pitying.

"To those cold‑blooded American politicians, soldiers' lives are just a line item on a balance sheet. If losing a platoon can cover up a scandal worth a king's ransom, they'll sign without hesitation. If losing a company or a battalion or even a regiment can maintain the myth of 'the United States cannot be blackmailed,' they'll hold a press conference to commend the heroic sacrifice of the martyrs and pin enough medals on them—since that doesn't cost the politicians anything, just some blood from good American boys."

He sighed and pointed toward the base. "Those men in there are fighting, thinking they're defending their country. In reality, they're just pieces on this board about to be sacrificed. What Washington wants most right now is for them to 'die bravely in battle.' That way no prisoners will talk, no survivors will tell what happened tonight. Honestly, I really don't want to fight to the death with those Delta Soldiers in the base. We've got no personal grudge; I even respect them quite a bit—they look like real soldiers. They didn't surrender, and they dare take on our several thousand men."

Samir fell silent.

The wind swept over the desert, carrying the smell of burning from afar.

"So what do we do? Just sit here and wait?"

"Of course we can't wait, time's too precious." Song Heping drew a deep breath, speaking with quiet confidence. "We're going to give Washington a choice they can't refuse—not a military choice, a political one. Not pointing guns at these soldiers, but aiming cameras at the whole incident."

Just then, the side door of the command vehicle opened.

Jiang Feng appeared outside the vehicle, holding a military‑grade encrypted USB drive.

"Old squad leader, latest aerial footage. Four drones shot the entire artillery strike from different angles, including close‑ups of buildings collapsing, casualties, and the spread of the fire. All the video has been edited and enhanced; key scenes are in slow motion and marked."

Song Heping took the USB drive and weighed it in his hand.

Inside this tiny storage device were images enough to change the world.

"Audio?"

"We intercepted the soldiers inside the base shouting during the barrage, medics calling for help, the Commander's retreat orders. All clearly audible."

"Casualty footage?"

Jiang Feng paused for a second. "Yes. But as per your instructions, no facial close‑ups—only uniforms, gear, and surroundings. Enough to prove they're US Army, but not so graphic it triggers excessive humanitarian backlash."

Song Heping nodded.

He was very satisfied with Jiang Feng.

This was professionalism.

Knowing exactly where the red line lay.

Too much gore makes people look away; too sanitized makes them doubt it's real.

What they needed was that cool, objective, irrefutable visual evidence, like a scalpel slicing precisely into the battlefield of public opinion.

He glanced at his watch: 00:22.

Forty‑five minutes until the Air Force arrived.

Right now, every second was more precious than Gold.