Water…
Must replenish water immediately!
Otherwise, even before the SBS acts, he himself will collapse!
At this moment, a familiar figure, bent over, nimbly weaved through the corpses and debris, quickly approaching him.
It was Disaster Star!
His face was also splattered with blood stains, his left arm's sleeve had a long gash, and blood had soaked through the fabric.
In his hand, he tightly grasped a military water bottle—one pilfered from a GNA soldier's corpse, bulging.
"Boss!"
Disaster Star's voice was hoarse, with a barely noticeable hint of worry.
He rushed to the vehicle wreck where Song Heping was hiding, knelt on one knee, and handed the water bottle over without hesitation.
Song Heping's gaze was locked onto that water bottle.
The body of the bottle was covered with blood and sand, but the sound of the sloshing liquid inside was more melodious to his ears than heavenly music at this moment.
He snatched the water bottle almost greedily, the cold heavy touch making his fingers tremble slightly.
His action of unscrewing the bottle cap was clumsy due to urgency, his fingers trembling all the while.
A refreshing scent with a faint plastic aroma wafted towards him. Without hesitation, without a taste, Song Heping tilted his head back, positioning the bottle to his mouth, greedily gulping it down!
The icy liquid, like a sweet spring, instantly poured into his parched throat, cracked like a desert!
He could almost feel every near-dried cell madly absorbing this life-saving nectar, letting out joyful sighs.
He set down the water bottle, exhaling a long, satisfied breath with a trace of metallic blood essence.
His eyes, once bloodshot, nearly burned by thirst and murderous intent, now regained some clarity.
"Disaster Star! Wrench!"
Song Heping's voice, now moistened and hoarse, pierced through the blood-soaked killing field that had just quieted down more than a moment ago, "Move fast! Clean the battlefield! Only take water! Ammo! Food! Dump all other junk! Grab it and retreat! Five minutes!"
The order was like an icy steel needle, piercing through the brief relaxation brought by surviving the massacre and the slight satisfaction from rehydration.
The soldiers, eyes bloodshot like ravenous wolves, sprang up from the pile of corpses, the swiftly as if whipped.
Water pouches!
Became the sole target at this moment.
They roughly rifled through the warm bodies, tearing bulging water bottles from blood-soaked utility belts, pulling sealed field ration packs out of scattered backpacks.
Ammunition boxes were pried open, rows of magazines, hand grenades stuffed into tactical vests, making dull thumping sounds.
No mourning, no hesitation, only highly efficient plundering.
Wrench led a few people, like fierce hyenas, firmly guarding that pile of mound-sized valuable loot—dozens of water pouches of varying sizes.
Song Heping leaned against the cold remains of the sand buggy, quickly assessing his condition.
The wound under his ribs soaked with sweat, every breath bringing a tearing pain, the searing sensation from a grazing bullet on his arm becoming apparent again.
Fatigue, like cold lead, filled his limbs and body, but his mind, spurred by the cold water and the intense sense of danger, became exceptionally alert.
The gaze of that SBS member, calm and aimed before his death, felt like venom-tipped ice spikes deeply embedded in his consciousness.
A truly well-trained hunter, those last few shots almost took his life.
"Boss!"
Disaster Star crouched low, like a shadow skimming across the ground, appearing beside him again, tossing a bulging tactical backpack to the ground, "Water, food, and this!"
He pointed to a black rectangular object tucked in the side pocket of the backpack, "Snatched from the GNA communications soldier's body, an encrypted radio, still usable."
Song Heping's eyes flashed coldly, instantly understanding Disaster Star's intent—the enemy's ear.
"Grab it! Retreat!"
He grabbed the backpack and slung it over his shoulder, the weight causing a sharp pain in the wound under his ribs. He clenched his teeth, his expression unchanged, "Wrench! Lead the way! Target: Kurtan, full speed!"
"OK!"
Wrench responded with a low growl.
The soldiers, who had long since resupplied and rearmed, quickly assembled. With Song Heping and Wrench at the forefront, Disaster Star and a few skilled men formed the rear guard.
They no longer ran but adopted a long-distance running stride with a peculiar rhythm that maximized their endurance on the sand, like true desert wolves. Silently and swiftly, they melted into the deep darkness of the northern end of Sand Valley.
Under the moonlight, over a hundred figures dragged long shadows as they swept past the battlefield strewn with corpses, leaving only the nauseatingly thick stench of blood drifting on the cold night wind and a wasteland of death.
Dead silence.
The heart-wrenching silence replaced the echoes of the frenetic symphony from half an hour ago.
Captain Don stood on the hood of his open-top military jeep, his expensive desert combat boots deeply embedded in the dark red sandy mud that had been repeatedly soaked and trampled by blood.
It was the second time that day he had seen such a scene.
His face, etched with profound lines by the harsh desert sun and years of tense nerves, was as rigid as a weathered rock. Only a bulging vein on his temple throbbed, betraying the tumultuous fury within.