Within the Kurdish Control Zone, inside the US Army command post.
Major James sat in the command chair, a chill running up his spine repeatedly.
The midnight chill of the Mannier Valley had already permeated his bones through the screen and radio.
On the large screen, the dots representing both friend and foe flashed, intertwined, and vanished wildly, with icons of explosions appearing in quick succession.
These were no longer cold electronic signals; it was his most elite "Razor" squad struggling in blood and fire, a military disaster unfolding in real time.
"Pawns... we've all become pawns..."
This thought swirled in his mind like a nightmare.
He, a dignified Major in the US Special Forces, was lured step by step by a group of Russian special soldiers he considered prey into this meticulously designed death trap, and personally ignited the fuse of the melee with the 1515 Armed.
But now it was too late to back out, they could only brace themselves to fill this bottomless pit with more resources and blood.
In the central basin of Mannier Valley, the infernal scene intensified in the early morning darkness.
The "Razor" squad and the Kurdish Company, relying on superior equipment and tactical skills, indeed inflicted heavy casualties on the chaotic charging 1515 Armed during the initial phase.
Precise shots and machine-gun fire reaped lives like a scythe.
But the numerical advantage and the death-defying posture driven by fanatic belief of the 1515 militant soon showed its might.
They surged like a tide, one wave falling, another wave rising.
Although their formations were chaotic and shooting accuracy was low, the firestorm created by hundreds of AK rifles, combined with large-caliber machine guns and mortars carried into the mountains by donkeys, still held terrifying suppressive power.
Various bullets and shells pounded around the US Army and Kurdish positions without pattern, with the shockwaves and shrapnel of explosions continuously compressing their operational space.
"Suppress that machine gun point on the left! B Group, report casualties!"
Over the radio, Captain Langsen's voice came through hoarse.
He had just taken down a 1515 member attempting to get close and throw a grenade with a precise three-shot burst, with the scorching shell cases bouncing off the icy rocks, making a slight "sizzling" sound.
"Two light injuries in B Group, ammunition consumption at forty percent!"
"The Kurds can't hold it! Their right-wing is retreating!"
Langsen's heart sank.
The situation he feared most was happening.
The combat will of the Kurdish was rapidly collapsing in the face of absolute numerical disparity and brutal casualties.
"Command! We need air support! Large-scale, blanket coverage! Now! Immediately!"
He almost roared into the microphone, "Their mortars are test-firing! Once they set up, we're done for!"
As if responding to his call, the "Death God-2" UAV in the high sky demonstrated its high-altitude attack prowess.
Whoosh—
Boom!
An AGM-114 "Hellfire" missile, with deadly precision, plunged into the location of a 1515 mortar group that had just begun firing.
The flames shot into the sky, instantly tearing apart the old mortar and several gunners around it.
"Nicely done!"
A member of the "Razor" squad couldn't help but growl.
The UAV operator's calm voice sounded again: "'Death God-2' has cleared a mortar position. Continuing to identify high-value targets."
In the following ten-plus minutes, the "Hellfire" missiles became the most effective slaughter tools on the battlefield.
They fell one after another, precisely obliterating several 1515 heavy machine gun positions and RPG shooter gatherings that attempted to take shape.
Each explosion temporarily relieved the pressure on a corner of the "Razor" squad, creating brief voids in the 1515 militants' frenzied onslaught.
Song Heping and others hidden among the rock crevices could clearly hear the distinctive, muffled yet deeply penetrating explosion sound upon missile impact, and even feel the slight vibrations from the rocks below.
"The Americans have started using drones to clear the field."
Hunter observed the distant rising flames through a tiny gap in the rocks with binoculars, speaking in a flat tone.
"They're struggling."
Major Petrovsky leaned against the rock wall with closed eyes, as if enjoying a symphony.
"Using hundreds of thousands of U.S. Dollars per missile to kill what might only be worth a few dozen bullets of enemy. This business, the Americans can afford, but their mindset will crumble."
Song Heping said nothing, quietly assessing the battlefield situation based on the approximate explosion sounds.
There was no excitement on his face, only profound calmness.
Everything was progressing as he anticipated.
Panic, misjudgment, anger, like catalysts, would make this melee burn even more fiercely.
On the northwestern side of the basin, Abu Omar hid behind a giant rock, watching helplessly as his laboriously organized several offensives were smashed to pieces by precise attacks from the sky, almost choking on rage.
"Damn Americans! Despicable liars! A trap! This is a trap!"
He waved his pistol, shouting hoarsely into the satellite phone, his face mixed with gunpowder smoke, sweat, and extreme anger.