The shocking scene of the T-72 being buried alive only slightly delayed the momentum of the extreme militants' attack.
To them, Entrance No. 3 was like a piece of juicy meat hanging at the mouth of a wild wolf.
It seemed like they were about to break through, but they were just a tiny bit short.
This made the officer commanding the attack even more irritable.
"Keep attacking! Don't stop! They can't hold on for much longer! The supervisory team, keep an eye on them. Anyone who dares retreat is showing disrespect and disloyalty to Allah, and I permit you to judge them in the name of God!"
"And the artillery, at all costs, unleash a full volley on Entrance No. 3! I want to blast them into mince meat!"
Under the prodding of the supervisory officer, the "Victory Front" launched another attack.
Song Heping leaned against the cover, barely catching a breath, when he suddenly heard a strange sound coming from the night sky...
Sssss——
Puff, puff, puff——
This sound was too familiar...
"Shelling! Take cover—!"
The dust from the buried tank hadn't settled when Song Heping's roar rang out again.
His prediction was frighteningly accurate— the "Victory Front's" command was clearly enraged by this loud slap in the face, and retaliatory artillery fire poured down like a sudden storm, no longer the probing harassment from before, but a targeted coverage strike!
Everyone immediately sought shelter from the artillery.
Diving under every concrete building, be it a sewer or a wreckage supported by concrete ruins.
Staying in the open, even on the front line, meant death when the shells hit.
Boom!
Crash!
Rumble——!
The hailstorm of shells smashed into the streets around Entrance No. 3, the deafening explosions were unceasing, and the earth trembled in agony.
The scorching waves carrying debris, shrapnel, and the screech of death, furiously swept over every inch of land.
The already precarious ruins and walls collapsed in explosions, raising clouds of dust that nearly obscured the emerging dawn light.
Bullets raked the streets like raindrops, producing the sharp "jew-jew", "whoosh-whoosh" sounds, sparking and chipping away the concrete, weaving the air into a deadly web of fire.
"Conserve ammunition! Aim before you shoot! Keep an eye on the street openings!"
Song Heping's voice was already hoarse like a broken gong.
He couldn't help but swallow a mouthful of spit.
But it was futile.
The battlefield smoke greatly affected the respiratory tract.
Now, he felt as if his throat was coated with a thick layer of dust, sticky and grimy.
Half-crouched behind a corner of a bombed-out staircase, Song Heping swiftly changed an empty AK-74 magazine, his eyes scanning the position already shrouded in smoke.
There weren't many left who could still fight.
The elite of the Wagner Guard and a dozen crippled veteran government soldiers formed this shaky last line of defense.
Each of these men was a grizzled veteran who had crawled out from mountains of corpses and seas of blood, and facing a desperate situation, they exhibited astonishing combat skills and ruthless efficiency.
Fortunately, the ones left were all elites.
These veterans wasted not a single bullet.
Burst fire, precise short bursts, and the occasional opportunistic cold shots became the main methods of reaping the extreme militants.
Da-da-da...
Da-da-da...
A steady and rhythmic PKM general-purpose machine gun burst fire sound overshadowed the chaotic battlefield noise.
The sound came from behind a half-obliterated load-bearing wall on the right flank.
That was Ivan, the Wagner machine gunner, like a steady giant bear, he mounted his PKM gun on the gap in the broken wall, with a long ammo belt extending from an opened ammo box beside him, the yellowish bullets glistening coldly in the dim light.
From his exceptionally skilled shooting style, Song Heping could tell this was a veteran who had once served in the military.
Every short burst he fired was like a snake flicking its tongue, always hitting the spots where the Victory Front militants attempted a quick pass or suppressing enemy RPG shooters and machine gun positions trying to emerge.
Two enemies with shoulder-mounted RPG-7s barely peeked out from the ruins, only to be cut down by the whistling 7.62mm long burst fire, tumbling to the ground.
"Nicely done, Ivan! Keep hitting those bastards!"
The Chef called out excitedly from behind a nearby wall, suddenly popping out, firing a rapid burst with his compact AK-74U towards the left flank, then immediately withdrawing after emptying the magazine, bullets peppering the spot he had just occupied with flying earth.
"No big deal, Chef! This little scene..."
Ivan's hearty voice hadn't even finished when it was abruptly interrupted by a piercingly sharp whistling sound!
"Watch out!!!"