He straightened up, started pacing slowly in front of the command platform, his hands clasped behind his back, exuding an air of confidence:
"Let them fight! Let them fight desperately! Song Heping is a tough nut to crack, and the 1515 are a pack of mad dogs. A tough nut can chip a mad dog's teeth, and a mad dog can shatter the shell of a tough nut. When both sides have bled dry and exhausted their strength—that's when it's the best time for us to make our move."
He stopped walking, his gaze sweeping over the other personnel busily operating equipment in the command center, his voice clear and full of confidence:
"By then, the main forces of Thunder Defense deployed in Hulmatu will cooperate with the 9th Mechanized Division of the Illigo Government Army, already assembled and on combat readiness, along with the friendly forces of the Northern Kurd Armed group. With our unparalleled air support and the precise guidance of the Delta Special Forces, we will sweep across the entire Northwest Region with overwhelming force! We will completely eliminate the remnants of the 1515 and 'incidentally'... take control of all strategically valuable key points, including... Bayji and Mosul."
He deliberately emphasized the word "incidentally" then looked meaningfully at McCoy:
"At that time, Bayji will no longer be a border town that relies on some mercenary leader not fully under control to maintain stability. It will become a strategic foothold firmly in our grasp, in our hands. That is the bigger picture, Major."
He walked back to McCoy's side, patting the young staff officer's somewhat stiff shoulder, his tone carrying an almost cruel "rationality":
"Death is inevitable, McCoy. This is the eternal melody of war. The sacrifice of thousands of mercenaries and local armed personnel, in exchange for control of the entire Northwest Region, is a very worthwhile bargain. As for Song Heping..."
He paused, his gaze once again directed at the struggling marching troops on the screen.
"He's a formidable character, but no matter how outstanding, he's still just an excellent piece, but ultimately... a piece. And the player must know when to seize the opportunity, when to be willing... to sacrifice a piece to gain an advantage."
McCoy fell into complete silence.
He couldn't refute Colonel Kote's set of cold logic built on macro-strategic levels.
From a purely military and geopolitical perspective, it might indeed be the "optimal solution."
But the stain on credibility, the loss of morality, and the potentially out-of-control regional situation due to over-calculation...
Can these unquantifiable risks really be so easily concealed and offset by this cold calculation?
He didn't try to argue anymore; complying with superiors was his duty.
120 kilometers east of Bayji.
The sunset was visibly sinking toward the horizon, dyeing the sky a magnificent yet desolate blood-red.
The air was filled with particles of gun smoke, the pungent residue of explosives, the sweet, cloying smell of blood, and the suffocating dust kicked up by numerous explosions.
The various odors mixed into an indescribable, death-representative scent, choking the nostrils, stinging the throat, and burning the lungs of every survivor.
The staccato gunfire of M4 carbines and AK-47 assault rifles, the continuous roar of PKM machine guns, the distinct blast of RPG rockets, the thunderous explosions of artillery shells, the dying roar of vehicle engines, human shouts, curses, command orders, and the inescapable wails of the injured and unconscious moans before death...
All these sounds interwove into a massive, chaotic, deafening symphony of destruction, ceaselessly assaulting everyone's eardrums and nerves.
The troops led by Song Heping had already lost their complete formation.
The original force of nearly seven thousand was melting away under layered blockades like ice under the sun.
Killed, missing, severely wounded and unable to move...
The brutal selection process continued every minute, every second.
At this moment, those still able to move with the troops and maintain basic combat capability might barely number less than five thousand.
The local soldiers of the Abu You Brigade, the militia of the Liberation Forces, and the two experienced mercenary camps that Song Heping had mobilized from Africa had just repelled a fierce pursuit, taking the opportunity to occupy a relatively advantageous position—
An "S"-shaped sandy slope and a thirty-meter-high ridge of gravel on one side.
With no time to build comprehensive fortifications, all the soldiers could only use the rugged rocks of the high ground as cover to hastily establish a temporary circular defensive line.
This thin defensive line appeared on the verge of collapse in the face of the wave-like onslaught of the 1515 militants.
The enemy's numerical advantage was too great; they seemed endless, emerging from the horizon from all directions, shouting unified slogans, charging forward with a near-religious fervor, disregarding casualties.
"Drone swarm! Third wave, coordinates Alpha-7, saturation attack! Repeat, saturation attack!"
Song Heping's voice came through the encrypted radio.
He was half-crouched at a temporary command position behind a rock, intently watching the screen of a tactical tablet displaying real-time images transmitted by reconnaissance drones.
Over ten drones of varying sizes were making their final flights under his command.
These unauthorized drones custom-ordered back from Dongdahuaqiangbei were playing the dual roles of savior and Grim Reaper at the moment.
Several larger drones, equipped with small high-explosive warheads, suddenly ascended from a concealed launch point under remote operator control, tracing a fatal arc through the sky before diving down at over a hundred kilometers per hour!
Bang!
Boom—!
One drone precisely crashed into the cab of an enemy pickup truck trying to set up a machine-gun position on the flank.
The violent explosion tore the pickup into shreds in an instant, the heavy engine hurled into the air, tires rolling aflame into the distance, surrounding militants blown apart by shrapnel and blast waves.
Another drone detonated over a group of gathering enemies while flying low, its pre-loaded steel balls raining down like the Grim Reaper's scythe, instantly clearing a small area.
Meanwhile, several small, agile reconnaissance drones hovered tirelessly in the sky like ghosts.
The real-time images they captured were continuously fed back to Song Heping's tablet and the terminals of commanders at various levels.
"Group B! Attention! Right slope, three o'clock direction, a small enemy detachment attempting infiltration! At least a platoon size! Cover with grenades! Don't let them get close!"
Based on the drone feed, Song Heping quickly issued commands to the mercenary squad responsible for the right-wing defense.
On the high ground, several well-equipped mercenaries immediately fired the underslung M203 grenade launchers on their M4 carbines with dull "thump" sounds.
The grenade rounds traced slight parabolas, landing accurately on the slope dozens of meters away, erupting into clouds of dust mixed with sand and body fragments.
Enemies trying to sneak up using the terrain were stunned by this sudden precise firepower, halting their assault.
"Nice work!"
A short acknowledgment from the leader of Group B came through the headset.
However, local successes couldn't reverse the overall decline.
The enemy's offensive was like a relentless tide.
They quickly organized a new charge.
More RPG rockets trailed conspicuous white smoke, whistling down onto the defensive line. Each explosion could mean a breach in the line, taking more lives.
Sniper fire was everywhere, with bullets unpredictably shot from unknown corners, occasionally silently taking down a soldier changing a magazine or peeking out.
The battle had reached its most brutal, most primitive stage.
The soldiers on both sides had their rationality depleted to the limit, eyes bloodshot, leaving only the most instinctual desires for killing and survival.
What was once hard sandy ground was now soaked in thick blood, turning it into a dark red quagmire.
Broken limbs, scattered weapon parts, spent shell casings, charred clothing fragments were everywhere.
The dusky light of the setting sun filtered through the smoke, casting a mottled and eerie shadow on this land, illuminating it like an abyss of purgatory from Dante's pen.