Long-term salvation

The city has been plunged into chaos, with militias disoriented and at a loss, having lost control of the Somali warlords who control it. In some unchecked districts, even small factions have begun fighting each other, venting old hatreds and grievances.

Most of the ordinary residents were hiding in their houses, shivering, listening to the gunshots outside and looking out of the windows - three giant elephants with fire on their backs were roaring and running, flames invading from the cracks in their charred skin, revealing red veins inside that flowed like magma - perhaps, after a while, it would die on its own, but before that... how many more people would die and become another corpse that stood up staggeringly?

Just as the monster ran through a narrow alley on a city block, Melissa, who had been prepared, immediately squeezed the detonator three times, causing the broadsword mines on the left and right sides of the alley to explode. Hundreds of steel balls and metal fragments instantly filled the entire alley, peeling off the flesh and blood from the giant elephant's two front legs, shattering its bones and tendons, and forcing it to break its joints because it had no time to brake, and fall forward to its knees, howling!

At the same time, Melissa picked up two more detonators and used the C4 to blow down the fragile masonry wall, causing the two walls to fall toward the middle, stopping the giant elephant's struggle to get up.

"Now, before it finishes regenerating its legs!"

There was no need to remind them that the anti-tank missile bays on both sides of the warbird's fuselage would be fully unloaded within ten seconds. The missiles would flash across the dark city with bright tail flames, and then set off flames of explosion inside the city.

The wave of destruction engulfed everything around it, and the rising dust and fog obscured everyone's vision. In the shadows, three figures quickly left to reunite with their companions.

On the way, Sosuke Sagara saw 1-E talking to someone. After turning off the communication, the latter let out a long sigh, feeling relieved.

"Are you reporting the results of the battle to your superiors?"

Sosuke Sagara asked. He was curious about the members of these "BOSS direct troops" - every soldier of the Army Without Borders was proud to be directly commanded by the BOSS, including his mentor, Lieutenant Colonel Andrei Sergeyevich Kalinin - and So Sagara also thought so.

"Superior...ah yes, Superior," Nikki nodded and smiled a little, "I was just telling him that he doesn't need to come."

Chapter 502: Mercenary Wars: Turkey Hunt (4/5)

"Contrary to what many people think, the dogfight is happening at noon, right now."

The man sitting in the airport office sighed and rubbed his thigh which was shaking uncontrollably. But even if it was just a slight tremor, it was enough to sentence him to death as a fighter pilot.

The midday sun shone through the screen window, drawing several grids on the man's white shirt, and the investigative reporter sitting opposite him was not immune - mottled shadows fell on his notebook, covering the words that seemed to be soaked in despair.

"We're going to attack the returning Atlas strike and transport aircraft, cut off their transport routes, and prevent them from attacking the Somali warlords from the air... Oh, of course, we're also going to fight as hired pilots."

"It sounds a bit contradictory. The United States actually condoned Atlas' actions, didn't it?"

"That was after the Mogadishu incident," the man said with a wry smile. He dragged his legs to pour a glass of water for himself and the investigative reporter—while firmly refusing the reporter's help—and after taking a sip of the water, the man continued, "Before that, we were considered hostile in Africa... Don't make that expression, reporter."

"We may be hostile in Africa but cooperative in the Middle East. We may have shaken hands and made peace in the past but will face each other with swords in the future. This is the possibility brought about by interests. The world is not black and white, my friend."

Hearing this, the reporter nodded. As a well-informed adult, he could indeed understand and imagine it. After sorting out his thoughts, the reporter asked:

"Can you give me a detailed description of the air battle?"

"Oh, of course, although the result was not very glorious for me... First of all, I must tell you that what I said is absolutely true. It was a memory that was engraved into my mind with the sharpest chisel while I was sober - our two squadrons, a total of eight F16C fighters were wiped out, and the enemy -"

"The enemy only has two fighter planes."

+ + + + + + + + + +

At noon, the sun burned at the top of the sky over the Horn of Africa, scorching the earth and the metal wings.

"I thought we could fly those two fighter jets, what a shame."

Pixy (from "Ace Combat 0") sighed and said, his eyes sweeping across the radar screen in front of him, then across the red-painted wing. A touch of sadness appeared on his face, but he still spoke lightly:

"If that were the case, we'd probably be enjoying the air conditioning at the base right now."

"The F-15C is more than adequate for the current situation. Prompting the enemy's military technological development too early is not a good idea, especially in a world with supernatural powers... Who knows if they'll take the risk of integrating human souls and flesh into their fighter jets, creating some kind of monstrosity."

Michael (from "Ace Combat 7") spoke calmly in the communication channel. Unlike Pixy, whose personality changed a lot after his youth, even after returning to youth from old age, he still carried the calmness and fearlessness accumulated over the years.

"Perhaps one day in the future, we will only need to connect the fighter jets to the data link of the early warning aircraft and the ground radar, lock the target through other radars, and then press the launch button. Wouldn't that be much easier?"

"Wow, that's a great day! I'm really looking forward to it," Pixy grinned. He glanced down at the radar screen again, then tightened his grip on the joystick. "Oh? The AWACS data is coming in... Eight of them, marked F-16C. How about we each split it in half?"

"This kind of thing seems to depend on personal ability, right?"

"Hey you old man, trying to sneak away again!"

Two F-15C fighter jets flew through the clouds in a two-plane formation, one in front and one behind, and began to climb.

When four AIM-120 air-to-air missiles attacked from above, the F16C fleet in the front realized that they had stepped into an ambush circle. They scattered in panic and abandoned auxiliary fuel tanks, sprayed chaff, or performed various maneuvers to evade.

It's too late.

Four fireballs exploded in mid-air, and the fuselage of the fighter plane shattered like shredded paper, crashing into the sea of ​​sand. In the mushroom cloud that rose upon impact, a storm of dust and metal debris swept across the surrounding area, instantly engulfing the low shrubbery. Only the withered branches of the acacia trees struggled to poke out from the billowing smoke.

Only two lucky people were able to eject, but when they looked up, what they saw in their dizziness were two F-15Cs piercing the clouds like silver arrows - the sunlight bloomed into dazzling spots of light on the leading edge of the vertical tail of the fighter, and milky white turbulence surrounded the belly of the aircraft, like an angel's robe - the robe of the angel of death!

The first fleet to depart was slaughtered, but the four fighters behind it chose the stupidest option:

fighting.

"They launched missiles! It seems these pilots already know that the previous team was wiped out. Haha... they don't even plan to escape," Pixy sneered in the communication channel. He squeezed out the second half of the sentence through gritted teeth while tightening the airbags of the anti-gravity suit to resist the G-force. "Fortunately, they... damn gravity!"

"We're approaching from both sides. These F-16Cs don't seem to be very new production batches, and they don't carry any ultra-long-range air-to-air missiles. But don't let them capsize in the gutter, goblin."

"You should save this for Rhodes."

Two fighter jets, one on the left and one on the right, quickly approached the remaining F16C fighter jets from different directions and altitudes, while the opponent chose to confront the enemy head-on after abandoning the auxiliary fuel tanks - the enemy fleet was divided into groups of two, and after exchanging a round of long-range air-to-air missiles, they quickly prepared to carry out the Satchel Shears tactics - their ideas were too obvious and their tactics were too rigid.

Mikay casually moved his finger to the cannon fire button, narrowing his eyes slightly, and putting aside the discomfort caused by the sweat swelling in his anti-gravity suit. Then, he ruthlessly issued a ruling:

The machine gun shells flew diagonally upwards along the wings of the F16 fighter, smashing the cockpit to pieces. The human bodies were crushed into minced meat and covered the remaining cabin glass. As the fighter, which had lost power, spun and fell downwards, the person who made the judgment twisted the fuselage casually to avoid a series of fire lines filled with shock and anger.

The two fighter planes crossed each other. Mikay turned the fuselage sideways, and took advantage of the situation to let his plane enter the flight path of the reckless enemy, locking it from the rear - pressing the missile launch button - simple and easy, just like pressing a button on a radio.

Rock music composed of explosions and flames suddenly resounded throughout the sky. Countless metal fragments of the fighter plane disintegrating in mid-air reflected the bright sunlight, like sparkling embellishments on the long skirt of a nightclub actress.

"Phew… My work is done, goblin."

Michael exhaled, looking around and seeing the familiar F-15C fighter jet with a red wing painted on one side, flying steadily to his right rear. As if noticing his gaze, the fighter jet swung left and right twice before entering formation.

"Me too. Honestly, there's a pilot on the other side who's quite formidable. He has pretty good skills."

A slightly distracted voice came from the communication channel, but soon, Pixy asked again:

"What do we do next, strike deep into the enemy base?"

"That wasn't planned... There's no way to hide it during the day. We'll have to wait for another chance." A smile played on Michael's lips. He was indeed very interested in Pixy's suggestion. Although Michael, who had returned to the sky, didn't feel bored with the training, he still dreamed of fighting with the aces in the sky. However, now, in this world, he couldn't do whatever he wanted. "How much fuel do you have left?"

"Well... one and a half hours at cruising speed is enough."

"Then we'll circle around and have the tanker come and join us."

Michael said this, gazing out of the cockpit at the tranquil sky, a beautiful, azure blue. It felt as if the life-or-death struggle had been nothing more than a mirage. Suppressing the pounding of his heart, Michael turned the plane right, diverting his course and returning to the heart of Somalia.

The contrails of the two fighter planes crossed the sky and quickly dissipated among the breeze and thin clouds.

Eight new ugly charred scars have appeared on the grasslands and sand dunes along the border between Ethiopia and Somalia, which makes people feel regretful.

However, the midday sun still mercilessly scorched this land of death, leaving the pilots who managed to escape facing an even more cruel test of death - knowledge was better for them than having to walk across the grassland than facing the two kings of the sky again.

Chapter 503: Mercenary Wars: The Storm Pauses (3K·5/5)

"Thank you for coming and accepting my interview, sir. I just don't understand...why did you leave Atlas? The treatment there is very good, and the soldiers there are very respected."

The investigative reporter looked at the ordinary-looking man opposite him. The small mustache under his nose was neatly groomed. He was wearing a white apron of a restaurant chef and seemed to be the owner and chef of this restaurant.

“It’s my personal reason.”

The restaurant owner said this, his eyes fell on the investigative reporter's notebook, and he said thoughtfully:

"You seem to have traveled a lot and interviewed a lot of people. You're quite courageous, Mr. Reporter."

"Yeah, maybe I should be a war correspondent, but my current job is to reveal the truth to the world," the investigative reporter smiled, but quickly hid the smile behind his professional words. "So, what exactly happened in Mogadishu? Why did the permanent members of the Security Council remain so secretive about it, allowing Atlas Corporation to occupy the city and begin reconstruction?"

"At the same time, I noticed that the live video feed of the Mogadishu incident always seemed to be disconnected at some point, as if it had been erased and tampered with. Honestly, it felt a bit dissonant and strange, as if an indescribable voice was whispering in my ear, telling me to forget these things."

Hearing the reporter's words, the restaurant owner shook his head in amusement, but he did not explain anything. Instead, he turned to talk about other topics:

"First, this story begins with Atlas Corporation completing most of its operational objectives and its elite forces occupying the city of Marka outside Mogadishu, where they engaged in a standoff with the Joint Task Force..."

+ + + + + + + + + +

The scorching sun baked the cracked earth, and the scorched grass stems curled up into the shape of dead bones, rustling in the heat wave, as if the earth was breathing in pain, but more like the last sigh squeezed out of the throat of a dying person.

In the barren sand, some children and women were digging in vain, trying to find some plant roots to satisfy their hunger. Beside them, the faded UN food bags were bulging in the dust, but there was nothing inside - the warlords' plundering had long turned the relief supplies into gunpowder in their gun barrels - among them, Aidid was the worst off, as he controlled more people, more weapons and more support.

It was the sixth day of the mercenary war, and the fighting in central and southern Somalia was basically over. Everyone's eyes were on Mogadishu.

No one cares about the fate of those warlords anymore, and no gentleman in the civilized world will care about the future of the Somalis who are about to be ruled by private companies... Of course, if the latter are willing to make things difficult for Atlas, then the gentlemen will naturally not hesitate to give some "help", but that is a matter for the future.

Now, Atlas's sweeping multi-front advance has greatly shocked the joint task force stationed at Mogadishu airport and coastline - more accurately, it has shocked the United States Army, from top to bottom, from officers to soldiers - no one wants to fight against Atlas at this time and here.

But everyone wants others to try it.

"How long are we going to stare blankly at those people across the street?"

Delta Force Sergeant Major (Master Sergeant) Jeff Sanderson muttered under his breath, his rifle slung askew around his neck as he wore a light, short-sleeved shirt over a chest rig and body armor.

This is a forward observation post with a shift system. A United Nations flag is ostentatiously erected above the post, which is made up of several camouflage tents.

"That depends on what the big guys above us say. That will determine where we sleep tomorrow night—in the trenches or in the cemeteries."

Norm Hoot Gibson, also a Third Class Master Sergeant, shrugged. His attire was no different from his friend's, and the same sadness lingered in his eyes... He extended a finger and tapped the Atlas armored vehicles across from him, a gesture both provocative and self-deprecating:

"But now, if they want to, they can just fire that 25mm cannon at us, and we'll all end up like the roasted wild boar we ate at the base last night."

"A heavy machine gun will suffice, bro."

"I don't deny that... Oh wait, someone's coming over here."

Hut shrugged, but as he listened to Sanderson's report to the rear and carefully looked forward at the face of the visitor, he slowly frowned, reached out and patted his friend's shoulder, and whispered:

"Do you remember Jace Coleman from B Squadron?"

"That guy who was terrible at playing cards? I remember you often played cards with him, but he retired a long time ago... He was a sergeant before he retired."

"Now it's the Second Sergeant, Fvck, who's just one level higher than us." Hut's expression twisted. "He's walking towards us now. Think about what to say for a while."

Meeting acquaintances was indeed somewhat awkward, especially when they were on opposite sides. However, for others, this was indeed a new experience. Even the elite special forces soldiers of the United States clearly shared common human nature and hobbies—curiosity, in short, a love of gossip.

A dozen other soldiers from different units also gathered around to see what would happen between the unruly Deltas and the Atlas elites on the opposite side.

"They look like they want to see us punch each other, Hutt."

A smile appeared on the corner of Jace Coleman's mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest. This action made the mechanical exoskeleton on his body emit a wonderful buzzing sound, which made the Delta people on the opposite side stare blankly.

After catching the subtle change in his eyes, Jace coughed lightly and continued:

"How are you?"

"I……"

"I'm doing well," Jace quickly added, not giving Delta a chance to speak. "My salary is three times what it is in the military, I get medical insurance, and I'm entitled to free prosthetic limbs for combat injuries. Of course, you have to wait in line... about two months—and, ah, Atlas's lawyers, ahem, I mean, the legal team, also provide divorce lawsuits to ensure that your property and dog won't be taken away by a bitch."

"...Fvck, you bastard, this isn't the Atlas Corporation recruiting ground!"

"What's the difference?" Jace's smile quickly turned into a forced sneer. "You sound like you wouldn't want to work at Atlas after you get out of the military."

Deltas and other soldiers: "..."

That's the truth, but could you please not put it so bluntly?

With a snap of his fingers, he asked the mechanical dog behind him to carry two boxes of iced cola. Jace took out a few bottles and gave them to his old friends, and asked other United States soldiers to share them.

After taking a sip of Coke and burping with satisfaction, Jace lowered his voice and said slowly:

"If a fight really breaks out, you can just sit outside the tent. Mr. Irons has no intention of targeting you... Or do you intend to use the small hoses in your hands or the helicopters parked at the airport to collide with us?"

Touch it? The Deltas shook their heads. They had seen many of Atlas's "big toys" in the past few days.

Whether it's the M6 ​​AS, which has already completed mass production design, the top-of-the-line main battle tanks and infantry fighting vehicles that the United States itself doesn't have, the large-scale transport aircraft and advanced fighter aircraft clusters, or the mechanical exoskeletons deployed to all members of the main force... all of them demonstrate Atlas' financial strength and manufacturing capabilities. The only thing that can constrain them now is the size of the force, manufacturing resources, and the sustainable replenishment of manpower.

No one wants to fight with Atlas. As I said before, we still have to work...

"You are all the best soldiers. There is no need to hang yourself on the tree of the United States. Will Atlas Company attack Washington?"

Jace shrugged, looking at the people in front of him with satisfaction as they showed some excited expressions on their faces - this was his mission, to show more of the treatment of Atlas Company in the most realistic image - his old friends all received large salaries, did the most free work, and in the future they could pass the assessment and dedicate their hearts to human civilization.

Listen, for the sake of human civilization!

"So, you don't have to..."

Suddenly, the sound of both communication devices rang simultaneously, interrupting Jace's words. He and his old friends looked at each other and tacitly avoided each other's calls - however, they would hear the same message: