"Allah Akbar!!!"
A desperate scream to the extreme came from an unexpected direction.
Not far away, a 1515 member, who had originally collapsed in a pool of blood and was on the brink of death, somehow mustered the last flicker of strength. Struggling, he lifted his upper body and, with a hand covered in his own blood and trembling, raised a heavy Makarov pistol, the muzzle unsteadily aimed at the infantry fighting vehicle.
His eyes were filled with deep-seated hatred and unwillingness, seemingly trying to ignite the flame of revenge with this last flicker of life.
However, this futile struggle lasted less than a second.
"Damn your Allah!"
Bang bang bang——
A burst of sharp and precise gunfire, chilling to the bone, erupted from the gun barrel atop the BMP-97.
The 12.7 caliber bullets instantly tore the foolish person, clueless of impending death, in half.
The vehicle stopped.
The door opened, and Song Heping appeared in Abu Zari's line of sight.
Abu Zari struggled to stand up.
Only to find it useless.
Bang bang——
Bang bang——
Gunshots continued.
Song Heping walked along, raising his gun to deliver two final bullets to any remaining breathing foes.
Soon, the center of the explosion and its surroundings fell into silence.
A shadow came over Abu Zari's face—Song Heping stood before him, blocking the light.
Abu Zari clenched his teeth, gathering his last ounce of strength, reaching for a pistol.
"He is a brave man."
Song Heping remarked, raising his hand to feed him two bullets.
Bang bang——
Abu Zari's raised arm froze abruptly in midair, and the eyes, once burning with unwilling flames, instantly lost all vigor, turning hollow and dull.
His facial expression froze in a moment of extreme amazement and disbelief.
The stiffened body, as if drained of bones, heavy hit back to the mud already mixed with blood and sand, stirring up a small patch of dark red dust.
The deputy commander of the notorious "Storm" squad died like a stray dog in the yellow sands of the Isriye outskirts.
Song Heping walked to Ibrahim's body, coldly swept a glance from above, and after confirming the death, pulled the radio from the combat vest.
"The 1515 operators have been decapitated, Imes, it's your turn to counterattack."
With that, he turned back into the vehicle, closed the door, and said to Utekin, "Let's go hunting!"
In the western district of Isriye City, inside a three-story cement building, battered and barely standing from the previous fierce firefight.
Imes, who had just received Song Heping's notification, was leaning against the cold, bullet-ridden, and dust-covered wall, his chest heaving intensely, greedily inhaling air mixed with the strong smell of gunpowder and blood.
Sweat soaked his hair, flowing down his forehead, forming muddy streams on his dust-covered face.
His ears were still ringing, a souvenir left by the enemy mortar shell exploding nearby.
The barrel of the AK rifle in his hands was scorching, and the bullets in the magazine had already emptied.
Just a minute ago, he almost sensed the breath of death.
The vanguard of the "Storm" squad, like hyenas smelling blood, had charged to the stairway of this building.
The sound of hand grenades exploding, automatic rifles firing, and the enemy's fanatical shouts were all within earshot.
He could hear the heavy footsteps of the enemy coming from downstairs.
He clearly understood, once the enemy completed the encirclement of this building and nearby positions, their options would be numbered and each led straight to hell—either trapped to death or torn apart in the hopeless close combat.
He had even already felt for his last Glock pistol and a suicide grenade at his waist, preparing to face the ultimate end which was much better than falling into the hands of those head-chopping 1515 extremists.
However, at the brink of life and death, a miracle occurred.
The continuous, seemingly endless gunfire outside the building suddenly became sparse and sporadic! Replaced by a chaotic, haphazard firing, and...
A more unbelievable sound—engines roaring and tires screeching against the gravel road! Retreating! The enemies are retreating?!
The stark contrast nearly made Imes' heart jump out of his throat.
He suppressed the urge to shout out loud, using all of his strength to keep the last shred of rationality and vigilance.
He carefully moved, avoiding any potential sniper lines from the windows, and found a hole blown open by an RPG in the wall, only large enough for one person to observe through.
Holding his breath, he slowly inched one eye close to the irregular opening.
The scene before him left him stunned, almost unable to believe his eyes!
Just moments ago, the "Storm" militants who were charging with overwhelming force like a tidal wave, were now retreating chaotically towards the desert outside the city like a swarm of ants scalded by boiling water!