"Decrease the scale by 4, direction left 002, fire two rounds!"
At this moment, Song Heping was not anywhere else but atop a tower in the workshop area.
The artillery position was about four kilometers behind him, located in an open space at the center of the living area.
The Soviet-made 120-caliber mortars had been delivered by Ferrari the day before yesterday.
They were not new, all second-hand.
But they were well-maintained, with little wear in the barrel.
These items, without a question, used to belong to Sadam.
They were probably the equipment that the former government army had abandoned when the Americans came.
An old gun is not to be feared, the crucial point is that it works well.
A classic weapon has a characteristic, that even after decades, it still operates vigorously.
The killing radius of a 120 mortar could reach up to about 60 meters.
The larger the killing radius, the less demand for aiming precision.
The mortar was operated by Samir and about a dozen local mercenaries.
These mercenaries all had one thing in common: they were highly educated.
The highly educated ones all took on the roles of gunners and commanders.
The commander was responsible for calculating the parameters, the gunner for aiming and adjusting elevation.
These two positions required quick thinking and a certain level of education.
As for the role of artillery commander, Song Heping, alongside Hunter, Grey Wolf, and the Chef took on the responsibility personally.
This time, Song Heping had prepared a significant gift for Naxin.
Apart from several newly purchased mortars, Song Heping had gathered more than fifty people near the living area.
He and the Chef and some others then looked for vantage points in the nearby workshop area, using night vision goggles to track the attacking trajectory of distant assailants; each person was responsible for one direction, immediately guiding artillery fire upon spotting the enemy.
The defensive perimeter of Hassan Oil Field was too large, which was a drawback.
Having dozens of people spread out for defense was akin to sending them to their death.
They could not possibly stop an attack and encirclement by several hundred people from different directions.
The only strategy was to consolidate.
Concentrate forces to defend a single spot.
Use mortars for striking and continuously sap the enemy's strength during their attack.
Due to the sizable area of the oil region, attacking from the periphery to the center also spanned several kilometers.
Since the oil region was now abandoned, many of the roads were damaged, some even blasted, with various metal frames and abandoned equipment lying about everywhere.
This inadvertently created natural barriers, making it impossible for Naxin's forces to drive directly to the central area.
Song Heping had already thoroughly mapped out the terrain here.
If Naxin were to bring people back for another attack, his pickups and all-terrain vehicles could only be parked at the edge of the oil field, then approach the central living area through slow infantry deployment.
Thus, they had to walk several kilometers to achieve their tactical objective.
This provided Song Heping with a chance to intercept and deplete the enemy's forces.
Having a large oil field area had its drawbacks, but if the tactics were correct exploiting strengths and avoiding weaknesses, those disadvantages could also turn into advantages.
Under Song Heping's guidance, two rounds of 120 mortar shells were fired, soaring towards the barren wilderness outside the oil field.
One exploded in mid-air, missing the target.
But the other landed right between two pickups.
Boom—
The fragments of the Killing Bomb shot out in all directions.
Countless small holes instantly appeared on the bodies of the two pickup trucks.
One of the fragments fortunately hit a driver of one of the pickups in the neck, blood spurting out immediately and smearing the windshield.
The vehicle instantly lost control, its front right wheel at high speed climbed over a half-meter tall small sand dune, immediately performing a flying car stunt.
The entire pickup soared three meters up high and shot forward more than ten meters.
Song Heping even saw through his night vision binoculars that a pickup truck was flying through the air in a rather comical posture, its wheels up, hurling live bodies from the truck bed and the cab along the way.
These unfortunate ones smashed heavily onto the ground, either breaking an arm or a leg, or having their necks snapped, instantly killed.
Another pickup, although it hadn't flipped, was spared from hits to its driver, but the armed men standing in the truck bed weren't so lucky.
If a shrapnel hit a vital spot and killed them instantly, it wouldn't be painful—they'd close their eyes and reach the gates of hell in a few seconds.
The fear was being hit by shrapnel in a non-vital area, making life unbearably painful.
Suddenly, a chorus of agonizing screams came from the truck bed.