Chapter 1921 - 1415: The Long Wait (Part 3)

"Mortar positions are set here, here, and here."

Abbas marked six points on the map with a red and blue pencil, not the three as previously stated.

"Each mortar must have four preset firing points, move immediately after firing two rounds."

Beside him, Major Mahmoud squinted his wind-blown red eyes: "Four points? Colonel, this means each crew needs to move twice the previous distance."

"That's why I selected the best gunners in the whole division." Abbas continued to mark heavy machine gun positions without looking up: "See those four protrusions? Station an NSV heavy machine gun at each, supplemented by two DShKs. Crossfire must cover the entire stretch of road, including the shoulders and potential concealed spots. I want a web of death, not a sieve."

Mahmoud leaned closer to the map and suddenly grasped Abbas's intention.

It's no longer simple crossfire, but a three-dimensional fire trap.

Machine guns at high ground provide suppression, mid-range riflemen offer precision killing, and rocket teams at the lowest level target armored threats.

"Colonel, is the intel confirmed?" Mahmoud asked quietly: "Only two hundred guards on the other side?"

Abbas finally set down his binoculars and looked at the subordinate beside him.

"Boss Song's intel has never been wrong," Abbas said, "but intelligence is like desert weather; it changes in an instant. Therefore, the third and fourth companies act as reserves, concealed in area C7. If unexpected reinforcements appear, I want them in battle within three minutes."

Mahmoud nodded, but couldn't help asking: "What about the Kurd people?"

Abbas pointed to the ridgeline in the northeast.

"Members of the Ninth Brigade have been lurking there for ten hours. Their task is not only to seal off the exit but also to establish a blocking position to fend off possible support coming from the Turkey direction."

He paused and continued: "As for the south, two mobile battalions are on standby five kilometers behind us. If the enemy attempts a breakout southwards, they'll hit a steel perimeter."

The entire ambush circle is like a meticulously crafted trap, with a pocket-shaped valley stretching about two kilometers, the width ranging from three hundred meters at its broadest to only eighty at its narrowest.

Four thousand soldiers, twelve mortars, twenty-eight heavy machine guns, forty RPG rocket launchers and eight anti-tank missile launchers, all concealed in rocks, caves, and bushes.

The valley was terrifyingly silent.

The four thousand men seemed to vanish into the wilderness.

No reflections, no smoke, even waste had been specially treated.

At 7:30 PM, the first wisps of fog began to rise from the valley floor.

At first, just a few strands of mist, intertwining among the bushes at the bottom of the valley.

But soon, more moisture evaporated from cracks, streams, and plants, converging into a milky sea of fog.

Visibility dropped at a speed noticeable to the naked eye.

The soldiers wrapped themselves tighter in their coats, checked their weapon safeties, and donned the PN-14K night vision goggles. Although these Russian-made devices weren't as advanced as the American ones, they performed more steadily in dense fog, better adapted to changes in humidity.

At 8:03 PM, the intelligence from the command center finally arrived.

"Convoy has left Buckda Base, six hours ahead of schedule. Repeat, six hours ahead. Expected arrival at ambush zone by 1 AM."

Abbas glanced at his luminous watch, the dial glowing softly in the dark.

"Four hours and fifty-seven minutes remaining. Have the men rotate rest, two hours of sleep each. At precisely midnight, take final combat positions."

The orders rippled through the valley.

Half the soldiers curled up with their guns under camouflage nets, the other half maintained vigilance.

No one spoke, only the sound of the wind and the calls of unknown nocturnal birds echoed in the distance.

At 11:50 PM, the fog reached its peak density.

Visibility was less than thirty meters.

Front scout unit sent back the information.

"Vanguard One reporting, prey sighted."

Abbas's heart began to pound more vigorously.

He pressed the radio transmission button three times.

That was the prearranged signal indicating "target approaching, prepare to fight."

In the darkness, four thousand people started functioning like a precise machine.

Mortar crews adjusted angles one last time, calculating trajectories factoring in humidity's effect.

Machine gunners chambered rounds, made final tweaks within their firing range.

Anti-tank missile operators activated the thermal sight of the 9M133 "Kornet," locking on the most vulnerable road segment.

Engineers checked the remote detonation devices for the IEDs, ensuring every piece of C4 detonated at the right moment.

At 12:07 AM, the first beam of headlights pierced the thick fog.

"Car One calling Hawkeye, convoy entering Amadiye stretch, visibility below fifty meters, suggest slowing to twenty kilometers per hour."

The lead armored vehicle's driver reported the road conditions via radio.

In the middle of the convoy, inside a modified armored personnel carrier, Carlson chewed on a quit-smoking gum, glued to four monitoring screens ahead.

The screens showed the convoy's real-time images front, back, left, and right: all a blur of grayish-white.

"Do not slow down, maintain forty-five kilometers per hour." Carlson's voice carried a Texan drawl: "We're pressed for time."

"But sir, in this visibility—"

"I said maintain speed." Carlson interrupted, then switched to the internal channel: "All units, this is Carlson. Maintain fifteen-meter vehicle distance. Machine gunners ready. This damned fog has blinded us, so keep ears and instincts sharp. Report any anomalies immediately."

Carlson, age forty-six, former Seal Team Six commander, veteran of Desert Storm, Enduring Freedom, and Iraqi Freedom. Retired to join Blackwater Consulting Company (now called Academi), earning five hundred US dollars per hour, handling armed security in various grey zones.

His left arm bore a tattoo of an eagle clutching a trident, his right arm bore the names of his wife and two daughters—who hadn't spoken to him in three years.

This mission paid five hundred thousand US dollars, enough for him to buy a small farm in Texas and truly retire.

But he disliked this mission.

Departing six hours early, choosing an abandoned old road, traversing a no-man's-land in a foggy night.

This violated all operational principles.

"Sir, why aren't we using the main road?"

The young mercenary in the passenger seat asked, his name was Jack, former 101st Airborne, on his third security mission.

"Because the main road has checkpoints, and these goods," Carlson gestured to the trailers behind: "don't want to be inspected."

Jack wanted to say something else, but Carlson raised his hand.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if sniffing danger in the air.

Years on the battlefield granted him an almost animal-like intuition, and now, that intuition was screaming.

"Stop."

Carlson suddenly opened his eyes, speaking as if possessed.

"What?"

"I said stop the damn vehicles!" Carlson grabbed the radio: "All units, emergency stop! Immediately!"

But it was already too late.

Abbas watched as the convoy fully entered the narrowest part of the ambush circle.

He took a deep breath and pressed the first detonator.

"Boom—!!!"

Seven meters in front of the lead armored vehicle, a TM-62M anti-tank mine buried beneath the road was detonated.

The shockwave from twelve kilograms of TNT lifted the fifteen-ton armored vehicle like a toy.

The armored vehicle spun 180 degrees through the air, crashing heavily onto the road, blocking two-thirds of the path.

Almost simultaneously, a larger explosion occurred at the convoy's tail.

Two mines arranged at angles destroyed the last pickup truck and the second-to-last armored vehicle.

The burning wreckage formed a perfect roadblock, sealing the retreat.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" Carlson's roar exploded over the radio channel: "All units dismount! Form a circular defense! Call for air support!"

The trained mercenaries reacted quickly.

The doors of surviving armored vehicles simultaneously opened, soldiers rolled out, setting up weapons using the vehicles as cover.

But their reactions were within the predetermined ambush plan.