Chapter 1333 - 1130: Out of Ammunition and Supplies (Part 2)

"Chef!!"

Song Heping's heart suddenly tightened.

But at this moment, he has no strength to spare!

There's no time to check whether Chef is dead or alive.

The enemy's pick-up has taken advantage of the chaos to charge closer, the heavy machine gun's firepower causing rocks to fly in his area, making it impossible to lift his head!

Even worse, seven or eight armed militants, seizing the opportunity of reduced firepower after the suicide bomber explosion, have already leapt into the outermost barricade, engaging in direct bayonet fighting and close-quarters gunbattle with the last few defenders!

The dull thud of bayonets piercing flesh, the terrifying crack of gunstocks shattering bones, the horrible wails of the dying, the frenzied roars of fighters...

Instantly transformed this little ruin into the most primitive massacre!

The final defense is crumbling, it could collapse completely at any moment!

Song Heping's eyes have turned blood-red.

He emptied his last rifle magazine, without hesitation, drew the Glock 17 pistol from his waist, and darted out like lightning.

Bam!

A shot accurately downed one enemy who was stabbing a bayonet into a government soldier's chest.

Now, Song Heping was in a state akin to being possessed by the god of death.

His murderous instincts have peaked, everything is muscle memory and extreme killing skills acquired from training in the 203 Unit, being used to their fullest.

He quickly moved between barricades to avoid fire, the pistol producing crisp shots in succession.

Bam!

Bam!

Two more precise shots exploded the heads of two enemies who had just jumped into the barricade but hadn't steadied yet!

His heroics greatly inspired the remaining defenders.

The last three or four combat-ready Wagner members and government soldiers summoned near-death courage, using any weapon they could find—empty rifles as clubs, entrenching tools, even picked-up bricks—to fight the enemies wildly!

Finally, at the cost of nearly everyone sustaining injuries, they eliminated all the enemies who charged into the front of the barricade!

But the cost was catastrophic.

Now, those barely standing on the barricade, including Song Heping, are fewer than five!

Everyone wounded, blood-soaked!

Meanwhile, the enemy's armed pickup truck remains rampant a hundred meters away, the heavy machine gun fire still relentless, pressing them down, not allowing them to lift their heads.

It seems they're organizing yet another attack.

Moreover, this attack will come quickly.

Song Heping took a deep breath of the scorching, blood-reeking air, then looked around.

His gaze finally landed beside a fallen Wagner team member nearby—there, lay the last RPG-7 launcher, with a single lonely PG-7VL rocket beside it.

Without hesitation!

He lunged forward, grabbing the cold launcher and heavy rocket, loading it as quickly as possible!

Then he shouted to a government soldier bandaging his arm beside him: "Cover me!"

The soldier hesitated, then gritted his teeth and nodded, picked up an AK assault rifle with only half a magazine left, and sprang up, wildly firing towards the pickup.

He was drawing fire for Song Heping!

The opposing militants seemed to have noticed this sudden flash of firepower, collectively adjusting their aim to suppress the Silia Government soldier with gunfire.

During the brief diversion of the enemy heavy machine gun fire for a mere fraction of a second—

Song Heping sharply leaned out from the barricade, shouldering the heavy RPG-7 launcher, the simple mechanical sight instantly fixed on the pickup that's spraying flames!

Calm!

Breath!

Prediction!

Fire!

All in one go!

Whoosh—

Boom!!!

The rear trumpet of the rocket launcher spewed a flame several meters long, the rocket trailing a lengthy tail flame and dense smoke, screeching into flight!

Drawing a straight path of death, it precisely smashed into the pickup's hood!

Boom—!!!

A massive fireball instantly engulfed the entire front half of the pickup!

The fuel ignited, triggering a secondary explosion! The entire vehicle, amid a loud bang, turned into a mass of burning scrap metal, the machine gunner and driver instantly vaporized!

Fragments from the explosion showered everywhere.

This final strike seemed to yank the backbone from the frenziedly attacking "Victory Front" militants, causing their assault to stall suddenly.

On the battlefield, a brief yet eerie calm descended.

It seems the "Victory Front" militants were also shocked by this scene.

The next wave of attacks they were organizing halted for now.

In the distance, only the crackling sounds of vehicle wreckage burning, sporadic distant gunfire, and the suppressed moans of the wounded echoed through the air.

Song Heping discarded the emptied launcher and staggered toward where Chef had fallen.

The trembling fingers touched Chef's carotid artery—still pulsing!

After a quick check, he found that Chef was mainly knocked out by the explosion, had a head injury bleeding, and several shrapnel cuts, but appeared non-fatal.

"Chef, wake up! Wake up!"

He reached out, slapping Chef's cheeks hard.

"Cough... cough cough..."

Perhaps due to Song Heping's shaking, Chef coughed out a few breaths of bloody phlegm, his eyelids trembling slightly, then slowly opened his eyes.

His blurry vision focused on Song Heping's anxious face, struggling to draw a familiar rogue smile yet due to pain, contorting into a bizarre grimace.

"Damn... damn it... I'm tough... it seems Satan won't take me..."

Song Heping exhaled a long sigh, dragging him to a relatively intact broken wall, sitting heavily on the ground.

The two leaned against the cold, rough concrete wall, breathing heavily, their chests like bellows.

Extreme fatigue and the crash after the adrenaline surge washed over them like a tide.

Everywhere, the unbearable stench of blood, gunpowder, burnt flesh, and indescribable death lingered, nauseating.

The two silently began mechanically checking the ammo left on them.

Song Heping: Glock 17 pistol, two full magazines left, totaling 34 bullets.

Rifle ammo: zero.

Grenades: zero.

Chef: AK-74U short assault rifle, only half a magazine in the chamber left, estimated not exceeding 15 shots.

Pistol?

Long since lost somewhere.

Grenades: zero.

Chef spat out the blood foam and dust in his mouth, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping, carrying relief after extreme fatigue and deep regret: "Hey... brother... out of ammo and supplies... it seems... damned... it's really over here."

Song Heping didn't speak, just nodded silently, his gaze sweeping past the scattered bodies of comrades and enemies eyeing warily but temporarily not coming forward.

He instinctively searched his tactical vest pocket, looking to find that precious satellite phone.

He wanted to ask Jiang Feng or Arseny where exactly their actions were now.

However, all he touched was a pile of broken plastic parts and twisted antenna fragments—the phone had long since been shot or shrapnel-struck, completely destroyed.

"Damn..."

Song Heping smiled bitterly without words.

But soon, he was indifferent.

Nothing seemed important anymore.

Whether Otaba or Dehuk succeed, the fate for him and Chef seemed to imply only two outcomes—life and death.

Like the two sides of a coin.

No longer mattered.