Chapter 1401
The Chaotic Press Conference
Chapter 1401 The Chaotic Press Conference
The first salvo landed perfectly.
This was not a sporadic test attack, but a meticulously calculated area-of-effect strike.
Twelve 152mm high-explosive grenades hit their targets within fifteen seconds, with the impact points evenly distributed around the three bunkers in the core area of the base.
The east side of the main building was hit by four shots, all of which were direct hits.
The first shot hit the load-bearing wall on the east side, causing the three-ton reinforced concrete structure to collapse inward and block one of the two firing ports.
One of the javelin throwers was thrown back by the shockwave and crashed into the back wall, instantly fracturing his cervical spine.
The second shot hit the roof squarely.
The 30-centimeter reinforcement layer was torn apart like cardboard, and the explosion generated an overpressure shock inside the room.
Six soldiers died on the spot, not from shrapnel, but from internal organs ruptured due to the sudden change in pressure.
Blood flowed from all seven orifices, and he collapsed to the ground silently.
The third shot missed by five meters and landed at the temporary ammunition storage point on the west side of the hangar.
There were spare anti-tank missile warheads, machine gun ammunition boxes, and grenades that had been moved from other locations.
The chain reaction caused by the secondary explosion completely destroyed the western half of the hangar, with flames shooting up thirty meters into the air.
The fourth shot is the most lethal.
It entered through a breach in the roof and exploded at the basement entrance.
The basement's structural support was completely destroyed, and the ceiling collapsed entirely, burying all nine soldiers who were hiding inside alive.
Lamont felt the tremor in the underground command post.
It wasn't just shaking; it was a violent tremor where the entire earth arched upwards and then fell back down.
The lights went out instantly, and the emergency power supply also failed.
Dust and debris fell from above, and coughs and muffled groans echoed in the darkness.
"Report the situation!"
He yelled into the tactical radio.
Only static noise.
"Report what's happening! Answer me!"
silence.
Ryan groped his way to the manual generator in the dark and began cranking the handle.
A dim light came on, illuminating the horrific scene inside the command post.
Half of the equipment was destroyed, maps fell from the wall, and a young intelligence analyst lay in a corner, his head struck by a falling monitor, his blood staining the floor.
"Communications to the outpost on the east side upstairs are down," Ryan said, panting. "Thermal sensors indicate... no signs of life."
Lamont closed his eyes.
There are nineteen people at the stronghold on the east side of the building.
Nineteen.
The shelling continued...
00: 28.
The second wave of fire consisted of eight shells, targeting the area where the underground command post and medical station were located.
This time, the type of ammunition is different.
It wasn't a high-explosive bomb, but a concrete-destroying bomb.
Specifically designed to destroy fortified positions, the warhead is harder, contains more explosive, and features a delayed fuse to ensure it penetrates deep into the target before detonating.
The first shot landed 20 meters from the entrance to the command post.
The explosion overturned the wreckage of the Humvee that was being used as cover, and the shockwave rushed in through the entrance passage, smashing down on everyone like an invisible giant hammer.
Lamont was thrown against the wall, the pain of his broken ribs shooting through him.
The bandage that had just been wrapped around Ryan's head was ripped off, and blood gushed out of the wound on his forehead again.
The second and third shots hit directly above the command post almost simultaneously.
The reinforced top plate design can withstand indirect hits from 155mm shells, but cannot withstand direct hits from 152mm concrete-breaking shells.
First explosion: Spiderweb-like cracks appeared in the roof.
Second explosion: Cracks widened, exposing reinforcing steel.
The third explosion: A three-meter square block of concrete broke off and hit the communication equipment, sending sparks flying.
"The roof is going to collapse!" someone screamed.
Lymont struggled to his feet: "Everyone! Evacuate to the emergency exits! Quickly!"
That was the last chance for survival.
The soldiers began to move, helping the wounded and discarding unnecessary equipment.
However, the escape route is narrow, only one meter wide, and can only accommodate two people at the same time.
The speed is still too slow.
The fifth shell hit its target.
This time, the roof finally gave way.
The five-ton reinforced concrete structure collapsed entirely, accompanied by the shrill screams of twisted steel bars.
The last thing Lamont saw was Ryan lunging at the young analyst with a head injury, trying to shield him with his body.
Then darkness fell, a heavy pressure came, and air was forced out of the lungs.
The world shrinks into pain, darkness, and a gradually fading consciousness.
He thought of his wife, Catherine, and her smile during their video call yesterday: "When you come back, we'll go on vacation to Lake Tahoe, just the two of us."
He remembered his ten-year-old son Michael's baseball game and promised to go see the next one.
I'm sorry, Catherine.
I'm sorry, Michael.
Darkness completely engulfed everything.
00:29, Song Heping's command vehicle.
Samir approached the car door and reported, "The heat signals on the east side of the main building and the underground command post have disappeared! I estimate at least thirty people..."
"I know."
Song Heping stared at the screen, his voice eerily calm.
“Boss, haven’t we killed too many...? This isn’t a warning, this is a massacre! Washington will never—”
As a nationalist from Iligo, Samir disliked Americans, but deep down he harbored a deep-seated fear.
That was the shadow left on the people here by the two Gulf Wars.
"Washington is holding an emergency meeting right now."
Song Heping interrupted him, bringing up another screen that displayed the intelligence they had just received: "They are debating three things: first, whether to admit that the base has fallen; second, whether to continue the air strike plan; and third, how to explain to the public the loss of so many elite troops."
Samir read the text, cold sweat trickling down his forehead: "They really are considering bombing..."
“I told you.” Song Heping turned off the screen and looked out of the car: “To politicians, soldiers’ lives are just numbers. If losing a base can protect greater interests, they will sign off on it. If sacrificing thirty Delta Force members can cover up a scandal worth billions, they will award them Medals of Honor, but only posthumously.”
He picked up the satellite phone and dialed Angel's number again.
"The second phase is being brought forward. We're showing more live footage. I want the world to see how Washington orders these soldiers to their deaths without any regard for their safety."
“My dear, this is too cruel.” Angel’s voice trembled slightly. “Those soldiers…”
“Those soldiers are already dead,” Song Heping said. “Or about to die. Their fate was decided when the politicians in Washington made the decision. If you want to save them, you can only put pressure on them by showing these kinds of images to make them abandon the bombing plan, otherwise…”
At this point, he sighed: "War is cruel, baby."
After saying that, he hung up the phone and pulled up the latest shelling footage, which was also the most brutal footage.
After watching for a moment, he picked up another satellite phone and called Henry.
"Henry, check the company's servers; the latest footage is there."
"Okay, boss."
“Remember,” he said, “save this first, but don’t publish it. This is Washington’s last bargaining chip.”
"Chips?"
"If they really insist on carrying out the bombing plan, when the first bomb lands on our positions, you immediately release this with the headline 'US Air Force Bombs Its Own Wounded.' If they choose to negotiate..."
Song Heping took a deep breath.
"Then let's delete this section forever. To give the deceased their final dignity."
Samir looked at him: "Boss, do you think they'll give in? That's the White House..."
“I’ve been dealing with them for over a decade,” Song Heping said in a low voice. “Studying their decision-making patterns, their red lines, their fears. I knew Walter would order a holdout because his political career couldn’t afford to surrender. I knew the White House would consider bombing because covering up scandals is an instinctive reaction. I knew Hillary’s team would choose to cut ties because the presidential election is more important than the lives of these hundred-odd soldiers.” Samir swallowed, moistening his dry throat. “Then… will we win?”
Song Heping stared at the base engulfed in flames in the distance, speechless for a long time.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m not a god, I can’t predict the future. But I know that if we don’t do this, more people will die, killed by politicians’ schemes. If in the end we can’t change anything, at least the world will see what happened here, and someone has to be held accountable for this damn mess.”
Outside the vehicle, the shelling finally stopped.
It wasn't because of orders, but because the artillery company had completed its assigned mission.
Twelve artillery pieces, six salvos, seventy-two 152mm shells. For a base only the size of a football field, this was devastating coverage.
The plains returned to silence.
The only sound was the crackling of the flames.
Song Heping glanced at his watch: 00:33.
Fourteen minutes remain before the arrival of the US Air Force.
Fourteen minutes...
He picked up the last communicator and tuned it to the public frequency:
"This is Song Heping. To all surviving U.S. soldiers at the Joint Operations Group base in Mosul: Your command post has been destroyed. If you can hear this, proceed immediately to the south perimeter wall of the base and wave any white objects. My medical team will receive all wounded, regardless of rank or severity. Repeat: This is not a trap. I do not want to kill those who are already incapacitated."
He put down the communicator, leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment before saying to Samir, "Prepare for outer air defense. The besieging troops can disperse to nearby villages and towns to hide, widening the intervals and distribution of the entire force, and not concentrating them together."
"Yes, boss."
Samir turned and hurried away.
Meanwhile, on one side of the Earth.
It is 4:07 p.m. Eastern Time.
Angel was in a conference room on the 32nd floor of Horizon News Corporation's Manhattan headquarters, gazing absently at the view outside the window.
At this moment, all she could think about was that Eastern man with the Mosul bow out his hand.
She knew his situation...
This is truly a man who fascinates me.
Only he dared to oppose the American authorities time and time again.
And yet, they manage to escape unscathed time and time again.
But this time...
It seems like we've taken a huge gamble.
Even Angel, who had always had great confidence in Song Heping, was uncertain.
Suddenly, her personal cell phone vibrated.
Upon seeing the caller ID, her expression changed slightly. She gestured to her assistant and walked alone onto the soundproof balcony.
"explain."
"The first batch of footage will be uploaded in twenty minutes. The subject: US military base in Mosul shelled by Iligor government forces. Exclusive on-site video, drone footage, etc."
"Has the authenticity been verified?"
"Cross-validated, no problem."
"angle?"
"Three headline suggestions: 'Ilgodic government forces attack US military base: Allies betraying us?' 'US military base in Mosul attacked, suspected internal coup in Iraq' 'Heavy US casualties, White House has not yet responded.' Use the red alert template."
Angel began to do rapid mental arithmetic.
It's 4 PM on the East Coast now, midnight in Mosul—the time difference is perfect.
If it's an exclusive, it's enough to be released before the Pentagon press conference.
Shelling US military base.
An event so significant that it could alter the strategic landscape of the Middle East.
"Legal risks?"
"Authentic verification, no legal risks."
"understood."
When Angel hung up the phone and walked back to the conference room, he had a completely different expression on his face.
"Attention all personnel: Clear all content from the front page. Activate the emergency reporting plan. I need all senior editors, Middle East experts, and military analysts in the situation room within ten minutes. Now. Now!"
At 4:19 p.m., the headline on Horizon News Corporation's website changed to "BREAKING NEWS" with a dark red background.
At 4:22 PM, the first breaking news report was issued: [Breaking: US military base in Mosul, Ilgausland, under heavy shelling; video footage shows multiple buildings on fire]
At 4:31 p.m., three videos from different angles were uploaded: the first video was shot with a mobile phone, the picture was shaky but clearly showed the fire of the shells hitting the ground and exploding; the second video was taken by drone, showing that at least three main facilities in the base were on fire; the third video was the most deadly - it seemed to be footage leaked from the base's internal surveillance, showing soldiers running and taking cover during the shelling, mixed with terrified shouts and explosions.
At 4:37 PM, a special page was created, with the title in bold: [Exclusive: Irianian Government Forces Shell US Base? Ten-Year Alliance Faces Collapse]
4:42 p.m., White House press briefing room.
Presidential spokesman Kyle is answering questions about healthcare reform.
This was a routine press conference, and most of the 73 reporters present looked languid until Kyle saw his deputy on the side of the stage holding up an emergency sign.
The signboard contained only three words: HORIZON (Horizon), MOSUL (Mosul), and ATTACK (Attack).
Kyle's expression remained unchanged, but he answered questions much faster, attempting to end the press conference naturally.
However, at that moment, Emily Chen, a senior reporter from The Washington Post, suddenly raised her phone and loudly interrupted:
"Mr. Kyle! Horizon News just reported that a US military base in Mosul was shelled by Iligoan government forces, and there are multiple videos of the incident. Has the White House confirmed this? Does this signify a breakdown in the US-Iran alliance? Or is it due to some unforeseen circumstance? Can you elaborate?"
The conference room fell silent for a moment, then erupted into a cacophony of sounds.
Almost simultaneously, all the reporters looked down at their phones as social media notifications, news alerts, and messages from colleagues flooded in.
Please provide more information!
"Were there any American casualties?"
Has the president been briefed?
Kyle raised his hands in an attempt to maintain order: "Ladies and gentlemen! I just saw this report, but there's no verifiable information at the moment. The National Security Council is verifying it—"
"Video shows multiple fires at the base!"
The CNN reporter stood up and held up a tablet computer, on which footage taken by a drone was playing.
"This appears to be a systemic attack! Was the White House aware of it beforehand?"
Has the Iligor government declared hostility towards the U.S. military?
"Is this being orchestrated by pro-Persian forces?"
The questions came like a barrage of bullets.
Kyle's forehead was beaded with sweat, and his side aides were frantically gesturing.
He could see that at least twenty reporters were urgently sending out reports on their phones, and all the live cameras were turned to focus on his face, which was trying to appear calm.
“I need to emphasize—” Kyle raised his voice, “Until the official investigation is complete, any reports are merely speculation. I currently have no information on this incident, so I have no comments to make!”
"But is the video authentic?" an Associated Press reporter pressed. "Now, not only Horizon News Group, but also multiple videos have appeared online, proving that the shelling was carried out by the 10th Border Guard Division of Iligor and a mechanized armored brigade of the Koldi forces. They launched an attack on the US joint operations base!"
The press conference completely spiraled out of control.
Reporters began discussing among themselves, making phone calls, and rushing outside to contact the editorial department.
Photographers crowded to the front, their flashes going off wildly as they tried to capture the spokesperson's embarrassed expression.
After exchanging a quick glance with the person on the side, Kyle grabbed a folder from the podium: "Due to the urgency of the situation, this press conference is adjourned early. We will provide updates as soon as we have any further information."
"Mr. Kyle! Mr. Kyle!"
Is this another Benghazi incident?
When will the president issue a statement?
The questions were left behind.
Kyle practically jogged out of the press conference room, followed by a throng of reporters pushing forward and shouting.
The guards quickly closed the passageway door, keeping the commotion at bay.
In the corridor, Kyle's deputy approached, pale-faced: "The Department of Defense has confirmed that the base was indeed shelled, but declined to provide details. The Joint Chiefs of Staff are in an emergency meeting. And—"
He lowered his voice, “The New York Times and the Wall Street Journal have all followed up, and now it’s all headline news.”
"Where's the President?"
"He's in the Oval Office. He wants you there in five minutes."
Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)