Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 86 Night Battle
On the battlefield in the western suburbs of Garam, the Shuangzhi armored forces are advancing in a wedge formation, braving artillery fire.

Private Hassan gripped the handle of his rifle tightly; the rifle was wrapped in duct tape, and his knuckles were white from the force.

Sweat trickled down their helmet straps and into their collars. Amidst the hail of bullets, the T-17 tank in front of them was their only mobile cover.

As members of armored infantry squads, their primary task is to eliminate anti-tank teams that threaten main battle tanks.

The tank's exhaust pipe was spewing blue smoke, and the smell of diesel fuel mixed with the night fog filled his nostrils. He could hear the bullets clanging against the tank's rolled homogeneous armor. Under intense tension, Hassan's thoughts began to wander.

A burst of orange-red light erupted from the three o'clock position; another tank from the same battalion had been hit. An anti-tank missile had penetrated the engine compartment of the M60A1, and the turret was lifted ten meters into the air by the blast wave before embedding itself in the ground.

At that moment, the squad leader's loud shout pulled him back to reality: "Anti-tank missile! Eleven o'clock!"

Hassan was startled. At the same time, the main gun of the T-17 tank in front of them also opened fire, and a concrete bunker two kilometers away was blown into a sky full of debris.

But more tracer rounds flew out of the dark trenches, and a high-explosive round hit the M60A1's turret directly, bringing the tank to a stop.

The loader lifted the hatch, but the next second his head exploded like a watermelon.

The shots were fired by Zion snipers, who were hidden in the darkness and specifically targeted the engineers clearing trenches and the tank commanders who dared to stick their heads out of the tanks.

The artillery fire around them seemed to suddenly intensify, raining down on the stationary tank like a storm.

The soldiers could only huddle behind the tank, and the squad leader pounded on the rear armor, shouting, "Move! Don't stop!!"

Just then, Hassan heard a muffled thud from his right. He turned around and saw the new recruit Adil standing there, his chin missing, blood gushing uncontrollably from the latter's neck.

The young man who showed him photos of his fiancée yesterday is now lying on the ground like a piece of wood, lifeless.

Hassan was terrified, but then a pair of large hands scooped him up, and his sergeant shouted, "Stay alert! Don't leave the tank, or you're dead!"

The loader's body was pushed out and slammed to the ground, the tank's engine roared again, and thick smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe once more.

Several kilometers away, a howitzer shell landed on the anti-tank position that had just fired at them. The huge explosion shook the entire battlefield, and in Hassan's view, it looked like a mushroom cloud rising from the ground.

"No matter who hit it, it was a good play!"

They stepped over the bodies of their fallen comrades and continued forward, now very close to the trenches Zion had built.

The tanks of the Hammerhead Battalion were equipped with mine-clearing devices, and when they rolled over minefields, columns of earth shot up like fountains.

The other armored units followed behind the Hammerhead Battalion, advancing steadily.

The tracks of the M60A1 rolled over the barbed wire, and the coaxial machine gun began to fire. Suddenly, three dark figures rushed out of the smoke.

"Ahalai!"

Hassan fired instinctively, his 5.56mm bullets riddling the chest of the first Zion soldier. But the second enemy had already thrown a grenade. The machine gunner on the left, Mahir, was thrown over by the shockwave. He struggled to grab back the fallen machine gun, but was riddled with bullets by the third Zion soldier's submachine gun.

Squad leader Khalid quickly finished off the Zion infantrymen, mowing them down in the trenches.

A loud bang struck the side armor of the T-17 vehicle, and the metal jet melted a large hole in the tank.

This steel behemoth is now completely broken down.

"They have anti-tank weapons!" The squad leader, clutching his bleeding abdomen, shouted over the radio in the back of the vehicle, "Requesting fire support! Requesting fire support!"

Meanwhile, other Twins tank crews had also pushed up Zion's first trench, and a brutal meat grinder began.

Hassan shuddered as he changed to a new magazine, noticing that the trigger guard was covered in sticky blood.

On the third line of defense in Zion in the distance, an armored group composed of centurions and chieftains was firing in short bursts. The sound of shells hitting the armor was like being hit in the chest by a heavy hammer.

He looked around and saw the burning wreckage of M60 tanks scattered across the battlefield like torches. A gunner from the Shuangzhi was stuck in the hatch, his upper body still writhing in the flames.

Twenty meters away, Zion's machine gunners were firing at the wounded, the bullets making the bodies twitch as if electrocuted.

“!(There’s another one alive over there!)” A Zion soldier pointed to Hassan’s location and shouted in gibberish, startling Hassan into a cold sweat.

The sound attracted the attention of a machine gun emplacement, and bullets immediately rained down on him.

Hassan rolled to avoid the first wave of gunfire, but he was quickly cornered.

He tried to fire back, but as soon as the gun was extended, he was met with fierce fire.

Hassan realized with despair that he seemed to have no other recourse but to pray for God's protection.

He took out the feather he had hidden in his breast pocket and offered a final prayer: "O God, you are our trusted guardian, please help us."

Amidst the hail of bullets, Hassan seemed to hear the cry of an eagle, growing louder as it approached. (In reality, it was the whistling of a 155mm artillery shell.)
Immediately afterwards, a huge roar came from behind him, and the sound of the machine gun came to an abrupt halt.

Five seconds later, Hassan cautiously poked his head out and found that the machine gun emplacement that had been firing at him had been reduced to burning ruins.

O God

Hassan's body went limp, and in his vision, countless crews like theirs were advancing one after another across the Zionist trenches.

The war is still ongoing.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Lu Lin stood on a high point and observed the situation with binoculars.

Of course, he was faking it. Ibrahim said beside him, "The Zionians have adopted a standard three-tiered defense system. The first tier is infantry trenches, the second tier is anti-aircraft missiles and anti-tank missiles, and the third tier is reserves."

Lu Lin: "They learned all of this from Ant. The only thing I admire about these Zion devils is their learning ability."

Previously in Sergiad, Brigadier General Eugene had also learned the tactics he used in Nukoshir, using inflatable tanks to draw fire and using burning tires and oil drums to disguise artillery positions.

However, Lu Lin's eagle-like perspective has built-in markings, so these little tricks are useless against him.

"Continue the advance," Lu Lin ordered. "At least before sunrise, we must force the enemy's armored formation into a direct confrontation with us!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"This Major General Amir is different from other Arab commanders."

Major General Cohen stared at the battle report in his hand, his brow furrowed.

Originally, the Zion artillery had an absolute advantage—they were equipped with the Mk.2 counter-battery radar secretly provided by the United Kingdom. This advanced technology could reverse-engineer the enemy's artillery positions by using the sound waves of artillery shells, and then quickly launch a devastating counterattack.

However, after each salvo from Major General Amir's artillery, the opposing force would quickly shift its position, greatly reducing the locking efficiency of the counter-battery radar.

What's even more troublesome is that the enemy's artillery is incredibly accurate. As soon as their artillery positions are exposed, they will immediately be subjected to precise coverage strikes.

With the balance of power shifting, the two sides ended up in a war of attrition, evenly matched.

“We can’t let this drag on any longer,” Major General Cohen said. “We must take care of their artillery!”

The chief of staff hesitated for a moment, then suggested, "Perhaps... we could try radio jamming? The RAF system provided by the United Kingdom should be able to cripple their tactical communications."

"That's right!" Major General Cohen looked up abruptly, then glared at the Chief of Staff. "Why didn't you say so sooner?"

The chief of staff looked helpless – RAF is a vehicle-mounted device with a maximum interference range of ten kilometers. If it is sent to the front line rashly, it will be easily affected by artillery fire.

But I can't worry about that now.

"Send the jamming vehicles up immediately!" Major General Cohen ordered sharply, then grabbed the communicator, "And call Eagle Nest, they've been resting for so long (his slip of the tongue), they should send us a few support teams by now!"

(End of this chapter)