Chapter 1399
Artillery Fire Tears Through the Night Sky
Chapter 1399 Artillery Fire Tears Through the Night Sky
Finally, the number on the timer reached zero.
The moment the first 152mm howitzer shell left the barrel, the sound seemed to tear the night sky of the entire Mesopotamian plain apart.
The muzzle brake spewed forth flames several meters long, mixed with thick gray smoke, forming a menacing silhouette in the moonlight.
The cannon barrel recoiled violently more than a meter under the force of the massive recoil, slamming heavily onto the hydraulic buffer device and kicking up a cloud of dust.
The artillery crew had already skillfully retreated to a safe distance, their eyes, protected by ear protectors, fixed on the target area six kilometers away.
There, the shells were still flying through the air, taking a full twelve seconds to reach their destination.
Inside the joint operations base command center, as Lemont reviewed the latest satellite images, he heard that chilling sound.
That wasn't the sound of an explosion, but rather the whistling sound produced by the friction of a shell flying at high speed through the air.
The changes in the sound frequency precisely predicted the countdown to the impact.
A buzzing sound represents a distance of three kilometers, a hissing sound represents one kilometer, and when the shriek reaches its peak—
"Fire! All take cover! Repeat, all take cover!"
Lamont's roar was drowned out by the deafening explosion.
The first shell landed precisely on the lookout tower in the southeast corner of the base.
The 152mm high-explosive grenade weighs 43 kg and contains 6 kg of high-energy explosive. The fuse is activated the instant it hits the ground, and the destructive energy is released one-thousandth of a second later.
The reinforced concrete watchtower appeared to be crushed from the inside by an invisible giant hand.
The shockwave first shattered all the glass and weak structures, then the main load-bearing columns twisted and broke under the overpressure, and the entire tower collapsed from the middle.
Flames shot into the sky, turning the night sky orange-red, mixed with the ear-piercing shrieks of twisting steel and the dull rumble of shattering concrete.
The two snipers inside the tower, Johnson and Miller from the Third Delta Force, were buried under five tons of rubble before they could even send a warning over the radio.
The shock wave spread outward at a speed of two kilometers per second, creating visible ripples in the air.
Thirty meters away, an armored Humvee was completely overturned, spun a full circle in the air, and crashed heavily to the ground with its chassis facing upwards.
The fuel tank ruptured, spilling aviation fuel all over the ground, which instantly ignited upon contact with a splashing spark.
boom--
The second explosion was even more violent, with a fireball exceeding fifteen meters in diameter, illuminating the surrounding area as if it were daytime.
"Southeast corner watchtower destroyed! Two personnel confirmed dead!"
The hoarse shouts of the operations center dispatcher came through the communications channel, with continuous alarms in the background.
"The fire is spreading towards ammunition depot number three, which is only forty meters away!"
Lymont lay on the floor, feeling as if the whole world was shaking wildly.
The concrete walls of the command center absorbed some of the impact, but dust and small debris from the ceiling still fell like raindrops, seeping into his collar and blurring his vision.
He coughed violently, trying to sit up, but a second shell followed.
The target was the generator room in the northwest corner.
The base's backup power system is located in this semi-underground building.
The shell hit the roof at a near-vertical angle, the armor-piercing warhead easily tearing through the 30-centimeter reinforced concrete layer, penetrating the building's interior, and exploding between three parallel diesel storage tanks.
Boom——
This explosion was not a single loud bang, but a series of continuous explosions.
First, the main charge was detonated, then the first 5000-gallon oil tank, followed by two other tanks that exploded due to high temperature and pressure.
The fireball generated by the chain reaction was over thirty meters in diameter, and thick black smoke billowed and rose, clearly visible from several kilometers away.
More than 60% of the base's lighting went out instantly.
The emergency lighting system started automatically, but the brightness was only 40% of normal.
The command center was enveloped in an eerie interplay of light and shadow, with flashing red alarm lights casting pulsating shadows on the ground, a visual representation of the pulse of hell.
"65% power loss! Backup generator completely destroyed!"
"The main water supply pipe has ruptured, and firefighting capabilities have been lost! The fire is out of control!"
Lymont's eardrums were buzzing from the constant pressure, making it almost impossible for him to hear the battle damage reports.
Song Heping had worked at this base and knew the location of every facility well.
Now he's directing the artillery fire here, and every shell hits its mark.
Lymont grew increasingly anxious, struggling to crawl to the main communications station, grabbing the microphone: "Casualty report! I need a detailed casualty report! Now!"
The third shell landed at that moment.
The intended target of this attack is the hangar.
The base’s two most prized MH-60 Black Hawk special operations helicopters are parked there.
However, a slight error occurred in the ballistic calculation, or perhaps it was a trick of fate.
The shell landed 20 meters to the west, hitting the maintenance workshop next to the hangar.
For the six mechanics and two Delta Force equipment specialists in the workshop, the 20-meter deviation was meaningless.
A high-explosive warhead detonating in a confined space can produce a catastrophic cumulative effect.
The shock wave reflected back and forth between the four walls, and the peak pressure was more than three times that of an explosion in an open space.
The walls first expanded outwards, developing spiderweb-like cracks, before completely rupturing and collapsing. The roof was completely ripped off, and various tools, parts, and human tissues were thrown fifty meters into the air, then scattered across half of the base like eerie raindrops.
A Black Hawk helicopter's main rotor blade was torn apart in the explosion, and the three-ton alloy component spun and flew dozens of meters, piercing the outer wall of the command center like a giant spear, with its tip only five meters from the observation window where Lamont was located.
A low-frequency humming vibration travels through the building structure, as if death is whispering outside the walls.
"The repair workshop has been completely destroyed..."
The voice on the communication channel was visibly trembling.
"Eight personnel...no signs of life. Repeat, all eight have been killed in action."
When Lemont released the microphone, he found that his fingers were cramping from the excessive force and he couldn't straighten them for the time being.
He turned to the observation window and looked outside through the cracks in the bulletproof glass.
The base has been turned into a living hell.
Everywhere there were leaping flames, billowing smoke, running figures, and mangled bodies. He saw a corporal dragging a wounded comrade toward the bunker, leaving dark bloodstains in his wake; he saw a medic kneeling beside the ruins, digging through concrete rubble with his bare hands, his gloves already worn through; he saw Captain Marcus standing at the open command post, frantically shouting into the tactical radio, completely exposed to possible follow-up artillery fire.
Then, his gaze passed over the base's walls and landed on the dark plains further away.
Suddenly, dozens of points of light appeared there.
Those were T-72 main battle tanks and BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles from the 10th Division. Their headlights were on simultaneously, forming a cold wall of light in the darkness.
What's even more disturbing is that these points of light are not stationary.
They are moving slowly forward, like some kind of ritualistic death procession, approaching the base.
“They…” Ryan cursed through gritted teeth, “That damned East University guy actually dared to make a move! Looks like a ground offensive is about to begin.”
Lymont turned his head and saw a deep, bone-revealing wound on Ryan's forehead. Blood was flowing down his cheek and staining his collar red, but Ryan seemed oblivious to it, his eyes fixed on the array of lights outside the window.
Lamont wanted to say something, but his throat was gripped by an invisible force, and he couldn't make a sound.
The shelling was just a prelude, a calibration shot. The real firing had not yet begun.
Meanwhile, the enemy's armored column had already started its engines.
The most fatal thing was time. Lemont glanced at the digital clock on the control panel: 00:12.
The nearest air support is at least 55 minutes away.
Fifty-five minutes.
Enough for this base to be completely destroyed by 152mm howitzers at least ten times, enough for tank columns to crush all fortifications, enough for each of them to die several times over.
He grabbed the encrypted satellite phone, his fingers trembling but he dialed the number that was available 24/7.
After three waiting rings, the other party answered.
“He opened fire.” Lymont’s voice was unusually calm, so calm that even he felt unfamiliar with it. “We can’t hold out. We have to negotiate now, or there won’t be any survivors here within an hour.” There was a five-second silence on the other end of the line.
Against the backdrop of booming gunfire, those five seconds felt like an eternity.
Then, National Security Advisor Walter Bernstein's voice came through: "Lamont, hold your ground and await air support. F-16 formations are en route and expected to arrive in fifty minutes. Repeat: No surrender, no negotiations, hold your ground and await reinforcements."
Lemont's fingers tightened on the microphone.
He looked out the window.
The fire in the northwest corner generator room has spread to the adjacent oil storage area, with new fireballs bursting out from time to time in the thick smoke; in the southeast direction, the light wall formed by the tank lights of the 10th Division is still slowly advancing, and is less than three kilometers away from the outer defense line of the base.
"Sir! Can you hear me?"
Lymont's voice trembled slightly: "Those are our soldiers dying. We've just lost at least twenty men, the power system is down, and our firefighting capabilities are zero. The enemy has at least one 152mm howitzer battery and an armored column. What can we use to hold out for twenty-five minutes?"
"You have the best soldiers in the United States, the top soldiers of Delta Force. You need to use your training, your will, and the trust that the United States has in every soldier."
There was no emotion in Walter's voice.
“If Song Heping dares to launch a full-scale offensive, we will regard it as a direct declaration of war against the U.S. military. After the air force arrives, it will be authorized to use GBU-38s for precision strikes, including against his command post.”
Lamont closed his eyes.
He could picture Washington at that moment: satellite images on large screens in the situation room, and people in suits discussing “strategic resolve” and “red line principles” at a safe distance.
They could see the flames, but not the screams; they could see the smoke, but not the smell of burning flesh and blood.
"What were those conditions? What Song Heping wanted—"
“Not in consideration.” Walter interrupted him. “We cannot set a precedent for blackmailing the United States by force. If we agree to it today, countless others will follow suit tomorrow. These are the president’s exact words.”
"Those are Hillary Clinton's documents—"
"There will be solutions, but not by bowing down to terrorists."
Walter paused for a second, then lowered his voice: “Listen, Lamont. I know this is difficult. But if we back down now, the entire Middle East order will collapse. You have to hold on. Fifty minutes. Just fifty minutes.”
Communications cut off.
Lamont slowly put down the microphone and turned to face the dozen or so staff members in the command center.
Everyone's eyes were on him.
They were all waiting for orders.
“Orders unchanged…” Lamont said, “Hold on and await reinforcements. Air Force will arrive in fifty minutes. Hold on and await reinforcements.”
A dead silence.
Then Delta Commander Hilt spoke up: "Given the current situation, I'm afraid we don't have fifty minutes. The next round of shelling could begin at any moment, and we've already lost a third of our fortified bunkers. If the firing begins—"
“I know.” Remont walked to the tactical map and pointed to several key locations: “Redeploy. Abandon the first and second outer defensive lines and concentrate all survivors in the underground command post, medical station, and hangar number three in the core area. There are 30-centimeter reinforced roofs there that can withstand a direct hit.”
“Hangar 3 is half collapsed—” Hilt shook his head.
"Then reinforce it!" Lamont suddenly raised his voice: "Use the steel bars in the rubble, use Humvees, use anything that can be moved! I want every able-bodied soldier in the bunker within five minutes! Now! Execute the order!"
The people began to move, limping but quickly.
Lemont grabbed Hilt's arm: "Deploy all the remaining Javelin anti-tank missiles to the west side of the core area. If the tanks break through the wall, at least we can take a few with us."
Hilt asked, "What about the ammunition? Our ammunition depot was destroyed in the first shelling—"
“Then we’ll use rifles, pistols, and sabers.” Lamont stared at him. “What’s Delta Force’s motto?”
Hilt paused for a moment, then replied in a low voice, "Ready at any time, responding immediately, and never backing down."
"That proves you deserve it."
00:18, Iligor, Mosul time.
Song Heping stood on the roof of the command vehicle, using a high-powered night vision telescope to observe the base six kilometers away.
Thermal imaging shows that U.S. troops are redeploying within the base.
They appear to be abandoning the outer perimeter, tightening their defenses, and concentrating on a few key buildings.
“Smart,” he muttered to himself, but then shook his head and said, “But it’s useless, just a futile struggle.”
"Boss, look!" Samir climbed the ladder and handed over a tablet: "The latest drone scans have come back. Those Americans have abandoned 60% of the defense area and concentrated on these three zones."
On the screen, three red heat sources are flashing, and the crowd inside the base is converging on several points.
Where are our artillery?
"Second round of reloading complete, ready to fire at any time. Target parameters have been entered into the fire control system." Samir glanced at his watch: "But time is running out. The US Air Force will arrive in forty-seven minutes at the earliest. We must finish the battle within twenty minutes and then withdraw, or at least rush into the base and mingle with them. As long as there are their people in the base, the US Air Force will not dare to bomb."
Song Heping did not answer immediately.
He could feel the weight of time, each minute bringing him closer to the critical point.
Then, he took out a piece of chewing gum from the box, poured it into his mouth, and said, "They'll kill us along with those Delta Force soldiers."
"Aren't they afraid of blowing up their own people?"
Samir's eyes widened: "They can't! Those are their own soldiers! Delta Force! The elite of the elite!"
"Samir, Samir, you are still too naive and have underestimated the bottom line of American politicians."
Looking at Yili, the old subordinate he had personally trained, Song Heping shook his head, his tone almost pitying.
"To those cold-blooded American politicians, a soldier's life is just an item on their balance sheet. If losing a platoon can cover up a priceless scandal, they will sign it without hesitation. If losing a company, a battalion, or even a regiment can uphold the myth of 'America cannot be blackmailed,' they will hold press conferences to honor the heroic sacrifice of the martyrs and award them enough medals. After all, those things don't cost politicians' money; they only require the blood of some good American sons."
He sighed and pointed towards the base: "Those men are fighting inside, thinking they're defending the country. In reality, they're just pawns about to be sacrificed in this game. What Washington wants most right now is for them to 'die heroically.' That way, no prisoners will speak, no survivors will tell what happened tonight. To be honest, I really don't want to fight to the death with those Delta soldiers in the base. We have no grudge against each other; in fact, I quite admire them. They act like soldiers, they didn't surrender, and they dared to fight against thousands of us."
Samir remained silent.
The wind blows across the desert, carrying the smell of burning from afar.
"So what do we do? Just wait like this?"
“Of course we can’t wait, time is too precious.” Song Heping took a deep breath and said confidently, “We’ll give Washington an option that it can’t refuse, not a military option, but a political option. Not pointing guns at these soldiers, but using cameras to focus on the whole incident.”
Just then, the side door of the command vehicle opened.
Jiang Feng appeared outside the command vehicle, holding a military-grade encrypted USB drive in his hand.
"Sergeant, here's the latest aerial footage. Four drones filmed the entire shelling process from different angles, including close-ups of building collapses, casualties, and the spread of fire. All videos have been edited and enhanced, with key footage slowed down and marked."
Song Heping took the USB drive and weighed it in his hand.
This tiny storage device contains images powerful enough to change the world.
"What about the audio?"
"We intercepted the shouts of soldiers inside the base during the shelling, the medics' cries for help, and the commander's retreat orders. All of it was clearly identifiable."
"Casualty footage?"
Jiang Feng paused for a second: "Yes. But as you instructed, no close-ups of faces were filmed, only the uniforms, equipment, and environment were shown. That's enough to prove it's the US military, but it won't cause excessive humanitarian aversion."
Song Heping nodded.
He was very satisfied with Jiang Feng.
That's professionalism.
I know where the red line is.
Too much gore will make people turn away, while too much gentleness will make people doubt its authenticity.
What is needed is calm, objective, and irrefutable visual evidence that cuts into the public discourse with the precision of a scalpel.
He glanced at his watch: 00:22.
Forty-five minutes remain before the air force arrives.
Now, every second is more precious than gold.
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(End of this chapter)