Bayji Refinery Command Center, 3:47 AM.
Song Heping, who was woken up by nature's call in the middle of the night, pushed open the door of the Tactical Analysis Room, where the three main screens on the wall flashed different bands of data streams.
The left screen showed a weather satellite cloud map, the center showed the electronic signal density distribution in the battle zone, and the right displayed a drone overview obtained through special channels with about a fifteen-minute delay.
Two on-duty analysts were quietly exchanging data.
"Boss."
A young analyst from "Musician" Defense looked up, "There's a change in the weather. Hot convection in the western desert is unusually active. The weather model predicts a severe sandstorm will hit the Tetric region in three to four hours."
"A sandstorm?"
Song Heping felt a slight shock.
It seems like even the heavens aren't on the Americans' side.
He quickly moved to the center screen, sliding his fingers over the touchpad to overlay meteorological data with the battle zone map.
A murky yellow band of cloud was slowly moving eastward from the desert interior, its speed increasing.
He squinted, quickly envisioning the scene after the sandstorm engulfed the battlefield — zero visibility, laser guidance failure, drones forced to return, helicopters grounded, and early warning radar efficiency sharply reduced…
"Did Kote's side receive the warning?" he asked.
"The Alliance Army Meteorological Center issued an orange alert two hours ago, but…"
The analyst paused, "The 'Balance Beam' operation's air assault is still scheduled for dawn."
Song Heping said nothing.
He walked to the window, gazing southeast.
Even over a hundred kilometers away, he could vaguely see an abnormal yellowish hue on the horizon.
This was the faint light of the sand wall's approach.
"Hmph, they're going to suffer a big loss," he murmured, as if stating a conclusion he'd already foreseen.
At the same time, on the Tetric front line, at the "Outpost" Command Center.
Colonel Kote looked at the weather report, his brow furrowed.
The sandstorm warning level had been upgraded from orange to red, with expected maximum wind speeds exceeding seventy kilometers per hour, and visibility possibly dropping to below twenty meters.
"Sir, should the air assault plan be postponed?"
The operations staff officer asked cautiously.
Kote's forehead was covered in fine sweat.
His gaze fell on the operations map —
Those blue markers representing the Alliance Army's advance had already stalled in the northern suburbs of Tetric City for thirty-six hours.
During the Pentagon's video conference last night, although the three-star General didn't use harsh words, his tone was clearly impatient.
"Kote, the President expects a progress report every week, hoping to see that battle report from you by this weekend."
"We cannot delay," Kote gritted his teeth, eventually saying, "Inform all units to prepare as planned. The sandstorm affects us, but also the enemy. Our equipment advantage still exists."
When he said this, he deliberately overlooked the old, almost dust-proof equipment of the Kurd Armed, and the fact that thermal imaging and laser targeting equipment would be significantly compromised in the sandstorm.
Sometimes, the first person a Commander needs to persuade is himself.
Pentagon, Command Center.
On the video wall, multiple screens displayed the situation in various global hotspots.
Tetric was just one of them, occupying a small screen in the lower left corner.
"Kote insists on attacking as planned."
An Air Force Major General shook his head, "The Meteorological Department says this is the strongest sandstorm in the area in five years."
"He's taking a gamble." The Lieutenant General sitting in the center sipped his coffee, "If he wins the gamble, we can see images of the troops entering the city by tomorrow morning. If he loses…"
"If he loses, we need a backup plan."
Another General chimed in, "We cannot expend too much political capital on one Illiguo city."
Their discussion was calm and pragmatic, as if evaluating the risk-return of an investment.
The blue arrows and red defensive circles on the screen were merely data points and trend lines in their eyes.
As for those soldiers crouched in foxholes during the sandstorm, whether Kurd people, Thunder Mercenaries, or members of the 1515 Armed group, they were nothing more than parts of data to these military officials.
At 5:20 AM, the sand wall arrived.
Initially, there was a sudden increase in wind force, followed by the distant horizon turning into a churning murky yellow.
Within ten minutes, the sandstorm front overwhelmed the outskirts of the Tetric City positions like a tsunami. Visibility plummeted from five hundred meters to fifty meters, then dropped below ten meters.
The entire world was simplified to the roar of the wind and the omnipresent sound of sand grains striking.
Terrified shouts came through the alliance army's radio: "Can't see! Can't see anything!"
An MQ-9 "Grim Reaper" drone, conducting reconnaissance at the front line, suddenly lost its data link connection. The operator at the rear control center watched helplessly as the screen turned to static, the last transmitted image showing the drone tumbling and plummeting within the violent airstream.