Chapter 1616 - 1295: Dusk Assault (2)

This timing is too deadly!

The first wave of direct fire weapons, the Black Hawk Helicopter instinctually fired flares following evasion procedures.

When the flares were nearly depleted, next came the old shoulder-fired Soviet missiles...

The first one was the old Soviet "Arrow-2"; although the guidance head was outdated, it was interfered by the Black Hawk's violent maneuvers and remaining few flares, flying erratically towards the distance and exploding on a hill.

The second and third ones were distinctly faster, with tracking trajectories more sensitive and determined!

Especially the one aimed at number 01, its launch features and flight posture were instantly recognized by a mercenary with rich experience in the rear cabin—

"That's not Arrow-2! That's a Stinger! It's a Stinger!"

He shouted in despair.

US-made FIM-92 "Stinger" anti-air missiles!

How could it appear here?!

The pilot of vehicle 01 made the last desperate maneuver, an almost vertical barrel roll sideways, while launching all the remaining flares.

The missile exploded less than ten meters from the edge of the decoy flare!

But the "Stinger's" proximity fuse and pre-fragmented warhead were designed to destroy high-performance aircraft.

Countless deadly tungsten alloy steel balls swept like a storm across the fragile tail and mid-rear section of the Black Hawk.

Crack—

Bang!

The tail rotor drive shaft was severed, tail rotor blades scattered.

The rear of the cabin was torn open, two members near the cabin door were shredded by shrapnel without a sound.

Hydraulic system alarm, control instantly became extremely heavy.

"Tail rotor failure! Loss of control! We are descending!"

The Black Hawk began to spin uncontrollably horizontally, smoking and sparking, crashing straight into the rock-filled valley like a leaf torn by a tempest.

Boom!!!

The number 01 Black Hawk crashed heavily at nearly a forty-degree angle onto the rocks at the edge of the valley, instantly disintegrating. Fuel ignited, causing a secondary explosion.

A massive fireball rose into the sky, illuminating the dark valley, shattered rotor blades flew like knives in all directions.

Onboard, including the two pilots, fourteen people nearly all died instantly in the crash and explosion.

Two mercenaries ejected landed on the hard rocks, dead or severely injured.

Combat Knife 02 narrowly escaped the missile—

The one attacking it was suspected to be an imitation "Needle" missile, slightly inferior in performance, successfully diverted by flares.

However, it was also repeatedly hit by heavy machine gun fire, the fuselage riddled with bullet holes, one engine's power decreased, hydraulic oil leaking.

"01 crashed! Repeat, 01 crashed! We were ambushed! Need immediate evacuation!"

The voice of the pilot of vehicle 02 was distorted by fear and adrenaline. He lifted the heavily damaged aircraft, escaping the valley as fast as possible, unable to confirm if there were survivors.

The entire ambush process, from start to finish, took less than forty seconds.

"Outpost" command center.

When the signal from Combat Knife 01 disappeared simultaneously from the screen and communication channel, leaving only the urgent and frantic calls from vehicle 02, the entire center fell into dead silence.

Only the hum of equipment and the pilot of vehicle 02's panting echoed.

Colonel Kote stood in place, his face paled under the cold light of the screen.

He felt a severe dizziness, having to grab the edge of the tactical table.

One day.

Only the first day.

Misjudgment of intelligence, frontal assault thwarted, now his most hopeful flank raid not only failed completely but also lost the entire elite assault platoon and an expensive Black Hawk.

Helicopter downed in recent US military operations had become extremely rare.

And to bring down with a "Stinger" missile likely from America itself...

It's simply a disgrace.

"Sentry! What the hell are you doing?!"

Kote sharply turned, yelling into the communication channel connected to the warning aircraft: "Why didn't you detect those ambush positions?! Those missile operators!"

The voice of the commanding officer on the warning aircraft was equally harsh:

"Colonel... they... did not use radar, thermal signals perfectly masked by rocks, only weak signals a few seconds before firing. Launching missiles was manual targeting, extremely short time... We..."

The explanation was hollow.

The fact was, this Sentry warning aircraft set hailed as a wonder weapon for battlefield information disparity faced its first major blind spot against the opponent's simple yet effective camouflage, discipline, and terrain utilization.

Kote closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

A heavy sense of defeat and icy anger intertwined in his chest cavity.

He seemed to see, in a certain underground command post in Titrick, a commander named Ahmed from 1515 displaying a mocking smile at the map.

"Balance Beam" hadn't truly been erected, yet already showed signs of collapsing.

This is merely the beginning.

That night, south of Mosul, Highway 9 checkpoint.

A lieutenant from the second company of the third battalion of the Liberation Forces sat in a simple post chewing cold chickpea canned food.

Sporadic gunfire echoed from a distance, whether it was looting or tribal conflict, it had long become commonplace in this land.

An armored off-road vehicle with headlights on, rolled over the pothole-ridden road, stopping in front of the checkpoint.

Two people alighted from the car, one was a subordinate of the Lieutenant, the other wore a dark robe, wrapped in a headscarf, his face hidden in shadow, but his waist bulging, evidently carrying weapons.

The subordinate leaned to whisper a few words in the Lieutenant's ear.

The Lieutenant nodded, put down the canned food, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his gaze turning to the man in black.

"The goods?"

The man in black didn't speak, pulled out a heavy small canvas bag from his arms, placed it on the table stained with grease.

The bag was open, under the dim light, several gold bars reflected enticing glimmers.

Not just gold bars, there were stacks of US dollars pressed underneath.

"Advance payment."

The voice of the man in black was hoarse, with a thick accent from Anbar Province.

"There's more later. We only need a passage... open for eight hours. From now until dawn tomorrow."

The Lieutenant fiddled with the gold bars with his fingers, the cold touch making him sober.

He looked up, staring at the man in black: "Eight hours? What is crossing? How many people?"

"All are God's warriors, going to support our brothers in Titrick, absolutely not enemies of yours. The number... won't make it difficult for you. They'll disperse, camouflage, pass in batches. Your men only need to 'turn a blind eye' at crucial junctions."

The Lieutenant remained silent, didn't answer immediately.

But he was merely pretending.

Even without the gold bars, he would allow passage.

"If afterwards I'm investigated..."

The Lieutenant hesitated slowly.

"This is Mosul."

The voice of the man in black bore an allure: "The battle is intense, intelligence chaotic, who can clarify the ownership of each convoy? Moreover... letting Titrick's flames burn brighter and longer, isn't it a boon for all who don't want complete US control?"

The tight expression on the Lieutenant's face slowly relaxed, seemingly swayed by these words.

He slowly collected the canvas bag, tucked it into his arms, stood up, waving to his subordinates: "Tell the brothers, I'm going to patrol the old camp south. Here... you decide. Eyes tired, you can rest in shifts. Ears... sometimes don't need to be so keen."

The man in black nodded slightly, turned and disappeared into the off-road vehicle.

The engine growled, the vehicle turned around, quickly blending into the distant darkness.