Before Song Heping's voice had finished, suddenly a piercing whistle sounded from the outskirts of the camp.
It was a warning whistle.
It meant an enemy incursion.
Enemy?
Everyone present turned their heads towards the outside of the camp.
In their view, they saw Abbas, the reconnaissance team leader sent by Samir, rolling and crawling through the perimeter line. His face was ashen, sweat and sand smeared all over his face, and his eyes were filled with pure horror. He couldn't even catch his breath before he frantically shouted:
"1515 is attacking! They're coming!"
"What?!"
Samir's face underwent a dramatic change.
After all, previous intelligence indicated that the main force of 1515 was in the Tikrit direction, although those tribal militia leaders and remnants that defected to us claimed 1515 armed forces attacked them. We didn't expect them to move so quickly!
In an instant, they've come here?!
"Where did you see them?"
"Forty kilometers away, I drove back desperately to deliver the news. Now, it's estimated they're less than thirty kilometers away!"
Hassan answered, his face filled with horror: "At least three thousand people, and I couldn't see the end of the convoy! I only saw that the leader was a 'Death God Pika' (pickups mounted with heavy machine guns)! Behind were three 'Tanks' modified with truck chassis and welded steel plates. Mounted with KPV heavy machine guns and modified armored trucks with ZU-23 anti-aircraft guns! Southwest direction, they followed the dry riverbed towards us, with dozens of motorcycles at the forefront moving terrifyingly fast!"
"Damn!"
Samir cried out involuntarily.
He wanted to give his team some morale, but when considering the fighting force he had at hand, he instantly lost confidence.
By the looks of it, 1515's armed forces aimed to flat out the north, avoiding any threats to their flank.
With his newly equipped but still less than a thousand core combatant troops, fighting back head-on was suicide!
"Allah..."
Samir suddenly gazed towards the southwest Gobi, swallowed by the night, as if he could already see that steel torrent raising an overwhelming death smoke.
"It's them! Definitely those lunatics!"
The tribal leader who had defected earlier suddenly let out an inhuman scream, like a wild dog whose spine had been snapped.
"I saw them in Shafar Village! Those 'Tanks'! They...they used those guns...and flattened the entire village! People...all turned to fragments! Even...even the kids weren't spared!"
He cried and babbled incoherently, a dark wet stain quickly expanding in his pants crotch, a heavy stench spreading wide.
"Run...run fast! If they catch you...you'll be skinned alive! We're...we're doomed!"
Such total collapse, like a flame thrown into boiling oil.
The pandemic of panic exploded instantly, violently sweeping through the entire camp.
The militia that was barely hanging on shattered like glass struck by a heavy hammer!
Someone accidentally dropped a new ammunition box at his feet, producing a heavy sound; someone instinctively held up their gun, but the barrel aimlessly pointed around, with empty eyes filled only with overwhelming despair; others spun in circles like headless flies, producing meaningless sobs.
Over a thousand eyes all lost their focus at this moment, clouded with the filthy aura of impending doom.
The air of despair quickly enveloped the entire camp.
"A thousand people...against three thousand..."
A young militiaman muttered dazedly, his voice sounding hollow like sleep-talking. The stock of his AK-47 weakly slid to the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
"Fight...let's fight!"
Another man with a scarred face suddenly roared and swung his fists, veins protruding from his neck: "We have new guns! We have rocket launchers!"
"With what do we fight? Filling with lives? That's three thousand people! Three thousand Mad Dogs!"
Immediately, someone rebutted with a crying tone, their voice shrieking so sharply that it changed pitch.
Samir tried several times to open his mouth to roar out a few words to stabilize the troops, yet his throat seemed choked with scorching sand.
His mind flashed with the scenes as described by Abbas: the Death God Pika spitting fire rushing through the sand like the wind, Tanks welded with steel plates like moving fortresses, the thick barrel of the ZU-23 indicating destruction with each turn...
And the legendary KPV heavy machine gun that could easily tear humans to pieces! These visions burned hot like a branding iron on his nerve.
His militia, even though equipped with new gear, the vast majority had only held these new weapons for the first time yesterday, with some not even distinguishing between PKM and DShK safety!
Fight head-on?
That was merely sending himself and these thousand subordinates straight into 1515's decapitation video, becoming a grisly side character in their boasting barbarity.
In the center of the camp, Song Heping coldly watched this chaotic scene unfold.
Discipline.
Bravery.
Will.
Morale.
This team obviously lacked all these.