Chapter 1388
The oriole is behind
Chapter 1388 The oriole is behind
At 10:47 p.m., eight kilometers northeast of the Crescent Oilfield, at an altitude of 300 meters.
The UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter cuts into the target airspace at a 45-degree angle, and the low-frequency vibrations generated by the rotor blades cutting through the air are transmitted to each crew member through the fuselage.
Inside the cabin, only the faint red light from the instrument panel illuminated seven faces painted with camouflage paint.
Blake secured the rugged military tablet to his lap and quickly swiped his fingertips across the anti-glare touchscreen.
The screen is divided into four views: the top left corner shows a real-time satellite image with a resolution of 0.3 meters, the top right corner shows a thermal imaging layer overlaid, the bottom left corner shows the synthetic aperture radar scan results, and the bottom right corner shows the infrared image transmitted back by the drone.
"Thunder-1 calling the nest, has arrived over the target area."
Blake pressed the transmit button on the AN/PRC-152 soldier radio, and the sound came through the noise-canceling headphones.
After a brief static noise, the processed voice from the KY-58 encryption machine came through: "Nest received. Reconnaissance status?"
"Multi-sensor fusion analysis confirmed seven heat sources in the control building area, with their distribution matching the configuration of a three-person patrol team plus four fixed personnel."
Blake zooms in on the satellite image.
"No vehicle tracks, temporary shelters, or abnormal heat signatures were found within the three-kilometer buffer zone. Synthetic aperture radar detected an old underground pipeline system, but no signs of recent activity."
He switched to the drone's perspective.
An RQ-11B "Raven" small drone is hovering at an altitude of 150 meters in the southern part of the oil field. In the images transmitted back by the onboard FLIR thermal imager, the abandoned oil field residential area looks like a row of tombstones in a desolate cemetery.
"The second verification of the drone is complete."
Sniper Chance gripped the control terminal, her voice as calm as if she were giving a weather forecast.
"Small animal thermal signals were detected at the bottom of the dry riverbed on the east side, and the surface temperature of the gravel hill on the west side matches the nighttime heat dissipation curve. No human thermal signatures were found. The surrounding area is safe!"
Blake stared at the screen.
It's too clean, abnormally clean.
Intelligence indicated that Masur was hiding in this abandoned oil field.
And the missing Song Heping and his "Musician" defense special forces team should also be here.
"Didn't you find Song Heping and his men?"
The gunner, Victor, adjusted the feed plate of the MK48 light machine gun, the 7.62mm bullets gleaming coldly on the ammunition belt.
Scout Tom stared at the small monitor on his knee: "Continuous satellite monitoring shows no heat source signals around the oil field. The temperature difference between day and night in this area is 35 degrees Celsius. Without specialized shelter, a human body's heat signature would be as obvious as a lighthouse at night. It seems that guy hasn't arrived here yet; we've gotten there ahead of time."
Blake looked out into the darkness.
Perhaps Song Heping was preoccupied with other things?
Perhaps the information was incorrect?
He checked the satellite images again.
As before, nothing was found.
"No abnormalities have been confirmed near the oil field. Thunder-1 requests authorization to proceed."
After careful consideration, Blake sent a request for action to his superiors.
After a brief silence, a response came from the encrypted channel:
"The Nest is authorized to execute the 'Purification Protocol.' Priority target: Maisur Jalal, kill confirmed. Secondary targets: Song Heping and the 'Musician' squad, eliminate upon encounter. The data carried by the targets is of extremely high value; extreme measures may be taken to recover it if necessary."
"Received. Execute the 'decapitation'."
Blake gave pilot Jacob a thumbs-up.
The Black Hawk helicopter lowered its nose, the rotor speed changed, emitting a low hum, and it began to descend rapidly.
At 11:03 PM, on the gravel hills southeast of the oil field.
Song Heping's right cheek was pressed against the cold rocky ground, his head was covered by a thick heat-insulating camouflage net and a layer of heat-insulating blanket, and he was wearing a special ghillie suit to prevent infrared leakage.
Having several layers of stuff on my body felt very uncomfortable.
But you have to accept it even if you're unhappy.
This thing can save your life.
Through the AN/PVS-31 binoculars, in the green field of vision, the Black Hawk resembled a giant iron dragonfly landing on the sandy ground to the northwest.
820 meters away.
The wind is from the northwest, with a speed of 5 meters per second.
The nighttime temperature is 17 degrees Celsius and is still dropping.
“Target landed.” He whispered into the bone conduction microphone fixed to his jaw: “Seven men, standard tactical squad configuration. Joseph, sniper team reporting.”
After a brief period of static interference, Joseph's voice came through the AN/PRC-163 radio: "Sniper team in position. I'm in the compartment on top of tank 3, with a 270-degree field of view to the northwest. Enemy snipers are observed moving towards the elevated pipeline to the west."
Song Heping adjusts the focus of the night vision device.
"OK. Each group, report your status."
Miller's voice came through: "Demolition team, take your positions, two people behind the barbed wire on the east side."
"Assault team in position, take control of the south side of the building, two people."
"Assault Team Two, in position, repair shop roof, two people."
Song Heping smiled slightly.
Over the past sixteen hours, his eight-person team has completed a meticulously planned operation.
The nine people were divided into four groups: two snipers, two demolitionists, two assault groups, and himself as a free hunter.
They dug shallow bunkers, used military-grade thermal blankets provided by Duke to shield themselves from body heat, and hid behind metal structures to avoid satellite thermal scans.
The net has been cast.
They were just waiting for their prey to come.
The prey has now appeared.
Everything was as I expected.
“Remember the tactical order,” Song Heping said. “First, eliminate the outer snipers, then gradually close the gap. I want Blake alive; deal with the others according to their threat level. Maisul must be captured alive.”
"clear."
"All teams stand by and proceed with the second phase plan."
At 11:12 p.m., the "Scavenger" team launched its ground operation.
After the Black Hawk helicopter dropped off the team members, it took off and hovered five kilometers away, waiting for orders.
Before the dust kicked up by the rotor blades had settled, the seven people had already deployed in a double-arrow formation.
Blake used sign language—
Check equipment, maintain distance, and move silently.
They wore OCP camouflage, and their combat uniforms were treated with infrared suppression.
The weapon is an HK416D, equipped with an EXPS3 holographic sight, an LA-5 laser designator, and a SOCOM suppressor.
The helmet integrates a GPNVG-18 panoramic night vision device, which can switch to thermal imaging mode.
The sand beneath my feet absorbed most of the sound.
The seven men advanced like ghosts in the green field of vision provided by the night vision goggles.
At 100 meters, Blake raised his fist, and the team came to a sudden stop.
He pulled up the architectural structure diagram on the tablet.
The detailed blueprints provided by Lamont marked every load-bearing wall and ventilation duct.
"Chance, set up a sniper position."
"receive."
Chance broke away from the group and quietly headed towards the Western Elevated Pipeline.
He chose a maintenance platform twelve meters above the ground, which provided a view of the main entrance, side wings, and surrounding area of the control building.
Upon arrival, the MK13 Mod7 sniper rifle's bipod was quickly deployed, and the .300 Winchester Magnum round was mounted on the railing.
"The sniper position has been established, the field of vision is clear, and no abnormalities have been detected."
Blake controlled the building using thermal imaging.
The room on the east side of the second floor has a stable, low-intensity heat source, and its shape conforms to the human body in a sitting position.
There are three heat sources moving around on the first floor – two people patrolling and one person in the lobby.
"The changing of the guard will take place in three minutes," Tom reported. "According to the usual procedure, the guard on the second floor will come down to hand over the duties."
"Group A, frontal assault; Group B, flank assault," Blake ordered. "Chance, cover. Once the operation begins, prioritize eliminating threats on the first floor, then quickly assault the second floor. Quinn, prepare flashbangs."
"clear."
“Victor, Reno, Tom, you enter from the back of the building and cut off their escape route.”
"receive."
The six people split into two groups and dispersed.
Blake led Derek and Quinn along the shadows of the abandoned oil drums toward the main entrance.
Eighty meters.
Sixty meters.
Forty meters.
In the night vision device, the wooden door panel of the main entrance of the control building is clearly visible, with a faint light shining through the door cracks.
At the same time, a sniper position was set up along the elevated pipeline.
Chance's right eye was pressed against the Nightforce ATACR 5-25×56 scope.
The crosshairs pressed firmly against the entrance on the first floor, guarding the chest.
The target was yawning, his old AK-47 casually slung over his shoulder.
His index finger lightly touched the trigger, pre-pressing it to the critical point.
Now, with just an additional 200 grams of pressure, the bullet will hit the target in 0.3 seconds.
Just then, the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end.
That's the sixth sense that only those who have crawled back from the Grim Reaper's scythe countless times possess.
There was no sound, no heat signal, and no change in airflow.
But she knew there was something behind it all.
Chance immediately abandoned firing, released the foregrip with his left hand, and swiftly reached for his M18 pistol at his waist.
The body rolls to the right at the same time—
This allows him to quickly counter any threats from behind.
But it seems a bit slow.
A hand wearing a black tactical glove emerged from the shadows behind him, precisely covering his mouth and nose with such force that his cheekbone ached.
In the same millisecond, the tactical knife in the other hand sliced into the neck from the side.
The blade cuts through the carotid artery and jugular vein at a 30-degree angle, avoiding the trachea and spine.
Professional techniques ensure rapid, fatal blood loss and prevent agonizing screams at the moment of death.
Chance's eyes widened as dark spots began to appear in his night vision.
He saw the attacker's face.
His face and neck were covered in camouflage paint, with only his eyes reflecting the green light of night vision goggles.
The details are completely invisible.
As the blade pierced through, Chance's consciousness rapidly faded.
The last thing he heard from his earpiece was, "Chance? Report the situation."
Then, darkness surged up like a tide, engulfing everything.
11:16 PM, at the main entrance of the control building.
Blake hid behind a concrete block twenty meters from the doorway, staring at the tablet timer.
"Three, two, one——"
The door on the first floor opened.
The sleepy-eyed guard came out carrying a kerosene lamp and handed it over to his colleague at the door.
The two spoke in hushed tones in Arabic.
Just as Blake was about to give the order, Reynolds' urgent voice suddenly came through the headset: "Chance has lost contact! Repeat, the sniper has lost contact!"
Damn.
Lost contact?!
problem occurs!
It's a scam!
A thought flashed through my mind in an instant.
"Plan has changed! Retreat! Everyone retreat!"
The ever-cautious Blake immediately made the safest decision.
But the ambush had already been triggered, and it was too late.
A window on the second floor of the control building suddenly burst open from the inside.
Both gun barrels extended simultaneously.
It's not an old-fashioned AK, but an HK416 with a silencer.
clap clap-
clap clap-
pop-
pop-
It was all short bursts of concentrated fire.
He is a master!
The muffled gunshot broke the silence.
Bullets were fired at the ground and bunkers behind the "Scavenger" squad, precisely blocking their escape route.
"Targeted suppression!" Derek yelled. "They're forcing us into the building!"
Blake understood instantly.
This isn't about killing; it's about capturing them alive or forcing them into the hunting area.
"Team B reporting!"
"Enemy at the rear!" Victor's voice was laced with gunfire. "At least four! Perfect tactical coordination, we're being pushed towards the building!"
Blake's mind raced.
The number of enemies is unknown, but they were prepared in advance.
The sniper's loss of contact means the loss of the high ground.
Staying in the open is a dead end.
"Get inside! Set up defenses!" He made a decisive order: "Quinn, stun grenades!"
Quinn leaned out from behind cover and threw an M84 flashbang grenade.
A blinding white light and a deafening 170-decibel explosion erupted at the doorway, followed by several gunshots. Two guards screamed and collapsed to the ground, clutching their eyes.
"Move!" The three-person team rushed into the gate in a triangular formation.
Blake entered first, his gun quickly sweeping across the hall.
The stairs are on the left, the corridor is on the right, and the equipment room is directly ahead.
The hall was empty; the kerosene lamp rolled on the floor, its flame licking the wooden floor.
"Clear the first floor!" Blake gestured.
Derek and Quinn split up to search the rooms on either side.
Blake quickly examined the body.
The two middle-aged men lying on the ground were wearing cheap synthetic fiber robes, and their AK rifles were not even loaded.
wrong.
Not a professional guard.
It was definitely not one of those who ambushed me.
They're at least not in cahoots.
“These are civilians…” he whispered, “not soldiers.”
Renault's voice came through the headset: "Group A, we're encountering strong resistance at the back door, requesting backup—"
The conversation was interrupted by the sounds of intense gunfire and a muffled groan.
“Reno!” Blake shouted.
no respond.
Only continuous gunfire.
"Team B, assemble in the lobby!" he ordered. "We're surrounded. We must establish defenses!"
At 11:18 p.m., outside the control building.
Song Heping lay prone in the shadow of the water tower on the southeast side, observing the battlefield through his scope.
"Enemy sniper has been eliminated."
Joseph's voice came through AN/PRC-163 radio.
"Death confirmed. Assault Team Two reporting."
"Report from the rooftop of the repair shop: Enemy Group B members have been forced into the back door of the control building."
Song Heping switched channels: "Attention all groups, prey is in the cage. According to the third phase plan, gradually compress and force our way into the core area. I want Blake alive, and Maisul must be captured alive."
He put away his rifle and slid down the rusty ladder of the water tower like a shadow.
Two teammates emerged from the shadows and followed behind him.
This was the hunting team he personally led, responsible for the final roundup.
"Boss, thermal imaging confirms that Maisul is in the equipment room on the east side of the second floor."
Song Heping nodded: "The assault team will go up the stairs, while we'll go through the outer wall. Remember, everyone has to be alive."
11:22 PM, second-floor corridor of the control building.
Blake leaned against the mottled cement wall, panting heavily.
His team was down to four men.
He, Derek, Quinn, and Victor, who had just broken through the back door.
Tom and Reno have gone missing, and their fate is likely grim.
“Report status!” he growled.
Derek quickly checked: "I'm fine, I have plenty of ammunition."
"One hundred and twenty rounds left in the light machine gun." Victor spat out bloody saliva: "A bullet to the right shoulder, a penetrating wound, but it won't affect firing."
Quinn was pale: "Derrick's left arm was cut by shrapnel."
Blake thinks quickly.
They were completely surrounded, and the enemy did not launch a strong attack, but instead gradually compressed the area from the outside.
This is a typical hunting tactic, with the aim of capturing the enemy alive or forcing them to surrender.
“Check every room,” he said. “Masour must still be in the building. Find him, kill him, and the mission is complete. Even if Song Heping comes, it won’t matter.”
Just do it.
The four people formed a diamond formation and searched along the corridor.
Blake led the way, Victor brought up the rear, and Derek and Quinn were responsible for guarding the left and right flanks.
Under the night vision goggles, the doors on both sides of the corridor were wide open, and the rooms were filled with discarded equipment and documents.
Suddenly, Blake stopped.
Thermal imaging shows a weak but stable heat source in the room to the right.
It's not the human body, it's the heat emitted by the electronic devices.
But the heat source has a strange shape—it is rectangular with neat edges.
“An insulated box,” he whispered. “Someone is using insulation to hide heat signals.”
He gestured: Prepare to storm in.
Derek moved to the side of the door and took a flashbang from his tactical vest.
Quinn and Victor each aimed at potential shooting positions on either side of the goal frame.
Blake held up three fingers, then put them back one by one.
Three, two, one——
Derek kicked the door open, and a flashbang rolled into the room.
"boom!"
The intense light and loud noise were amplified several times in the enclosed space.
Even with anti-glare goggles, the four people still experienced brief visual persistence.
"Break in!"
Blake rushed into the room first.
The powerful beam of the tactical flashlight pierced through the lingering smoke like a sharp sword.
This is an old equipment room, about six meters square.
The rusted electrical box, like the carcass of a giant beast, was piled up against the wall; the glass of the dashboard was shattered, and the pointer was forever frozen at a moment long forgotten.
The air was thick with the smells of dust, engine oil, and a faint acidic odor of chemical reagents.
At the far end of the room, a nearly two-meter-tall metal cabinet stands against the wall.
The cabinet surface is covered with a silver heat-insulating blanket, and the edges are carefully sealed with military-grade duct tape, reflecting a cool luster under the beam of light.
Thermal imaging revealed a clearly identifiable human-shaped heat source huddled behind the cabinet.
The chest rises and falls rapidly due to rapid breathing, and the body temperature is much higher than that of the environment.
Blake lowered his voice and hissed, "Masour! Hands above your head, come out slowly! Don't force us to shoot!"
There was only deathly silence behind the cabinet.
Victor moved to the flank, the muzzle of his MK48 light machine gun steadily aimed at the center of the cabinet.
"Three seconds!" His voice was like sandpaper rubbing against metal: "If you don't come out, we'll fire through you!"
Time passed in repression.
one second.
two seconds.
Just as the third second was about to end, a trembling hand slowly emerged from the edge of the cabinet.
The fingers were long and slender, with dirt embedded in the nail crevices.
Then came the second arm, and then he staggered out.
Masour looks at least ten years older than in intelligence photos.
His hair was mostly gray, sticking messily to his sweaty forehead.
The collar of the dirty white shirt was frayed and worn, and the knees of the khaki pants were faded and worn. Gold-rimmed glasses sat askew on the bridge of his nose, and behind the lenses, his eyes were bloodshot, his pupils dilated with fear.
His left hand gripped a worn-out canvas backpack tightly, his knuckles white from the excessive force.
"Masour?"
Blake began to verify the identity, keeping the gun pointed at the other person's chest.
“It’s…it’s me…” Masour’s voice was hoarse and trembling, with a heavy Arabic accent: “Who are you? CIA cleaners? Or a recycling team from the ‘Witness’ department?”
"It does not matter."
Blake's finger began to press the trigger.
Eliminate the opponent.
mission completed.
Suddenly, Maisuer roared, "Don't move! Or we'll all die!"
As he spoke, he released the canvas bag he had been holding in his other hand.
puff-
The bag fell to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
An object resembling an old-fashioned cell phone was revealed in his hand.
Blake instantly recognized the device in the other person's hand.
The PMK-3 remote detonator, used during the Soviet era, was commonly found in improvised explosive devices.
His gaze swept rapidly across the room: behind the stacked electrical boxes in the corner, there were several square objects covered with canvas; the ceiling vents' grilles showed obvious signs of disassembly and reinstallation; even the edges of a few tiles on the floor had subtle pry marks.
This room is a trap.
An elaborately constructed death cage.
"Do not impulse!"
Blake immediately lowered his gun and quickly signaled with his left hand behind his back: Cease all attack actions.
"Put that aside, and we can talk properly."
"Nothing to talk about!"
Maisul took a step back, pressing his back against the metal cabinet, his body trembling violently from the adrenaline.
“I know who sent you! The scavengers of Project Sower! The butchers of Harab! You came to take the evidence and then let me be ‘killed by terrorists’!”
He raised the detonator, his thumb slightly loosening on the red switch before immediately pressing it back down.
That subtle movement almost stopped Blake's heart.
"See this?" Masur's eyes gleamed wildly behind his glasses. "I planted four kilograms of explosives in the room, distributed in the four corners. But that's not the most exciting part—"
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
“I mixed diethyl chlorophosphate and isopropanolamine into the explosives.”
His voice suddenly became unusually clear, like he was reciting a chemical formula.
"Do you know what that is? It's a precursor compound of VX nerve agent. When it explodes, the high temperature will cause it to partially synthesize and vaporize. In this confined space, the concentration would be enough to kill everyone in thirty seconds. No gas mask can completely filter it, and no antidote can take effect in such a short time."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Victor's finger froze on the trigger.
Derek's breathing became heavy.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on Blake's forehead.
He quickly sketched out the room's layout in his mind—the door was five meters behind him, the windows were welded shut with iron plates, and the ventilation ducts were too small to pass through quickly.
Even if Maisul is killed instantly, his loosened thumb will trigger an explosion.
But if the explosives really do contain chemical precursors...
"Listen..."
Blake forced his voice to remain steady, even deliberately slowing down his speech.
“We’re not here to kill you. Our orders are clear: bring back a survivor and retrieve the evidence. What you have is very important to the country.”
"Lies!" Maisu spat, spittle flying onto his glasses. "I've heard far too many 'guarantees'!"
His thumb slid slightly across the light switch, each movement sending shivers down the spines of everyone in the room.
"Put down the detonator."
Blake slowly raised his left hand, palm facing outward, to indicate that he posed no threat: "I guarantee you will be safely handed over and given a fair trial."
"ensure?"
Maisul let out a harsh, dry laugh that echoed in the enclosed space.
"What guarantees do you people have? Using biological weapons to massacre civilians and then framing others? Letting the entire village rot and then writing 'encountering an unidentified chemical attack' in the report? Using new poisons and testing the lethality results—even Satan wouldn't believe your words!"
His emotions began to spiral out of control, and tears mixed with sweat streamed down his face.
“Three hundred and twenty-seven civilians in Harab Town! Including ninety-six children! Their bodies were melted together, indistinguishable from one another! And your report says… that it was an atrocity committed by the Celia government forces!”
Blake felt a chill.
“Masour, listen to me.”
He switched to a gentler tone, as if soothing a frightened wild animal.
“I know you’ve been through terrible things. But violence won’t solve anything. Put your things down, hand over the evidence, and you can testify in court to let the people who are truly responsible—”
“The court?” Maisul interrupted him, his voice suddenly becoming eerily calm: “You think those big shots will stand in court? They don’t even need to attend a hearing! Lawyers will handle everything, the media will divert attention, and in three years everyone will have forgotten what happened in Harab!”
He took a deep breath and applied more pressure to the red switch with his thumb.
The plastic casing made a faint "click" sound.
“But I will not forget. I dream of those children’s faces every night. So I added some ‘souvenirs’ to the explosives—residues extracted from the soil of Harab. If we are to die today, let us all go to hell with the marks of those souls.”
Time passes by second by second.
Every second felt like a dull knife cutting into my nerves.
Victor quietly adjusted the angle of his gun, trying to aim at Masour's arm holding the detonator.
But the angle was too tricky; any shot could cause a disaster.
Blake's gaze met Maisul's in mid-air.
He saw the resolve in the other person's eyes—not a bluff or intimidation, but the calm madness of someone already prepared to die.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Blake caught a glimpse of a shadow flash by in the gap under the doorway.
His heart suddenly tightened.
"careful!"
Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)