The sound from another group came through.
"Roger. Maintain comms silence, proceed as planned."
Eitan responded. He gestured, and the six-man Fang group instantly formed a standard alternating cover formation, using the huge tires of several bulldozers and a pile of oil barrels as temporary cover, silently crossing the death zone.
Their movements were swift, precise, and smooth, like a Swiss-made precision clock.
Behind them, another hidden battle line was advancing.
The "Poison Fang" group stealthily moved to the end of a dried drainage channel at the southwestern corner of the base like moles.
There, a rusted, sand-covered metal grille was the designated infiltration point.
Poison Fang 1 crouched down and pulled out hydraulic door cutters from the side of his tactical vest.
The cold alloy jaws silently embedded into the grille's thick iron bar gaps. His arm muscles bulged as the hydraulic device emitted a very low "hissing" sound.
The thick iron bars were silently cut like rotten wood. Another team member quickly used a crowbar to pry open the deformed and loosened grille, exposing the dark, rust and sludge reeking tunnel entrance below.
"Poison Fang 1, entering the B3 area drainage tunnel."
Poison Fang 1's voice echoed slightly in his throat mic, typical of the tunnel's acoustics. He crawled in first, the sewage instantly submerging his ankles, icy and bone-chilling.
He held a small thermal imaging device, its eerie blue screen scanning the winding tunnel ahead, confirming it was empty.
"No alerting heat sources. Tunnel condition matches satellite mapping, estimated arrival at specified location in 2 minutes 10 seconds."
"Understood. Stay alert."
Eitan's voice remained calm.
His Fang group had successfully bypassed the base's internal makeshift helipad, ahead was the low but solidly structured, square building marked as the core command center.
It sat like a silent fortress, crouched at the base's heart.
Two mercenaries wearing desert digital camouflage combat uniforms were idly leaning behind sandbag barricades piled outside the command center entrance.
One held a PKM general-purpose machine gun, the other had an AK rifle propped on the sandbags, the two were chatting inattentively in low Arabic, occasionally glancing across the empty square.
One of them lifted his wrist to look at his watch, muttering something, probably complaining about the shift change not being due yet.
They had no idea that death was simultaneously coming from two directions.
"Fang 4, left machine gunner. Fang 5, right rifleman."
Eitan's instructions landed in the throat mic like ice beads hitting the ground.
"Pfft! Pfft!"
Two overlapping, extremely faint gunshots.
The mercenary on the left holding the PKM had his chest bullet-proof plate suddenly caving inward, producing a muffled impact sound, the massive force knocked him backward, his breath caught in his throat.
His companion reacted extremely quickly, almost simultaneously reaching for the red button connected to the internal alarm on the sandbag barricade, terror exploded in his eyes.
Just as his fingertip was less than five centimeters from the button—
"Pfft!"
The third shot rang out.
A 4.6x30mm subsonic ammunition (MP7SD) precisely drilled into his right temple, bursting through the other side with skull fragments and brain matter splattering onto the brown sandbags.
His outstretched hand fell weakly, body slumping, right atop his chest-stricken, yet-to-die companion.
The latter futilely twitched a few times, pupils quickly dilating.
"Outlying sentries cleared. Fang in position."
Fang 4's voice reported calmly.
Major Eitan moved like a shadow sweeping the ground, instantly reaching the heavily reinforced steel blast-proof door of the command center.
The door had no handle, only a keypad and optical scanner, coldly reflecting weak light.
He quickly scanned the seams of the door frame and wall, confirming no concealed vibration or laser alarms.
The demolitions expert silently slid to his side, swiftly extracting two pre-molded M112 directional breaching explosives from the modular hanging plate at the back of his tactical vest.
The adhesive patches firmly adhered to the lock and hinge areas.
He connected the hair-thin detonator wires to the handheld detonator, setting it to a 3-second delay.
"Breaching ready."
The demolitions expert's voice was extremely low.
The remaining five in the Fang group instantly stepped back half a pace, bodies pressed tight against the wall, forming perfect crossfire cover angles, MP7s and X95s poised toward any threat likely from beyond the door.
Silence reigned, only the wind has its lament.
"Fire in the hole."
The demolitions expert pressed down the detonation button with his thumb.
BOOM——!!!
A fierce explosion compressed within a very small range!