190: Chapter 190 Instead of rescue, we were bombarded by our own people!

Zagros Mountains.

The air in the canyon was scorched and distorted, thick with a pungent, chemical, burning smell and the heavy stench of blood.

Pops leaned against a rock wall pitted by strong acid, gasping for breath. The barrel of the M4A1 rifle in his hand was red-hot, and the handguard was even starting to smoke.

Click.

Bolt locked back.

The last magazine was empty.

Pops tossed the gun aside and ripped off his heavy tactical vest.

David lay at his feet; half his body had been stripped of skin by the acid sprayed by the "Walker," leaving him a bloody mess, barely clinging to life.

"Pops..." Blood bubbled from David's mouth, his voice as weak as a mosquito's buzz. "I'm done for. Don't worry about me. Just go."

"Shut up. Save your strength for breathing." Pops cursed, pulling a black paratrooper knife from his leg holster.

Not far away, two "Walkers" with glowing red lights on their bodies were crawling over slowly. Their eight mechanical legs stepped on the gravel, making a teeth-grinding metallic screeching sound. They weren't in a hurry to kill; their two massive front pincers opened and closed, as if they were enjoying the prey's despair before death.

Pops spat out a mouthful of blood.

Over sixty brothers, all finished here.

Not even a complete corpse left behind.

Just then, a dull roar suddenly came from above the clouds.

The sound approached from afar, shaking the gravel in the canyon until it fell.

A burst of light suddenly exploded in David's dim eyes. He didn't know where the strength came from, but he grabbed Pops' pant leg: "Pops! Listen! It's a helicopter! The rescue is here! We're saved!"

Pops raised his head, squinting at the sky.

The roar grew louder and louder.

No.

This wasn't the sound of Black Hawk helicopter rotors churning the air.

This was the sound of high-thrust turbofan engines running at full speed.

Pops had fought in Afghanistan and Iraq for over a decade; he could identify this sound with his eyes closed.

The thick clouds were violently torn open.

Two behemoths with dark gray paint schemes whistled past, skimming the base of the clouds.

Those iconic variable-sweep wings, the slender fuselage.

B-1B "Lancer" strategic bombers.

Pops froze.

What are they sending strategic bombers for? To save people? What kind of international joke is this!

The next second, he saw the bomb bay doors on the bellies of the bombers slowly open.

Densely packed black dots fell from the bomb bays like dumplings being dropped into a pot.

Pops' pupils shrank to the size of needle points.

Those were GBU-57 bunker busters! And white phosphorus bombs and high-explosive bombs with parachutes!

"Fuck you, Kendal!"

Pops understood everything.

What rescue?

The command headquarters never intended to save them.

The biological weapons they bought at a sky-high price had gone out of control, and Coleman, the nephew of a congressional bigwig, had died. To cover up this earth-shattering scandal, the higher-ups had sent bombers directly to scrub the area!

They wanted to wipe them, along with these monsters, right off the map! Dead men tell no tales!

"Pops? What's wrong?" David was still looking up at the sky, eyes full of longing. "Why isn't the helicopter coming down? My mom is waiting for me to go back for Thanksgiving..."

Pops threw away the paratrooper knife and sat down next to David.

He didn't run.

He couldn't run.

Faced with the carpet bombing of strategic bombers, the entire mountain would be turned over.

He turned his head, looked at David, grinned, and reached out to cover David's eyes.

"David, close your eyes. We'll be home soon."

In mid-air, the first high-explosive bomb smashed into the center of the canyon.

Boom—!

A massive fireball rose into the air, and the shockwave instantly overturned boulders weighing tens of tons.

Immediately after, a chain of explosions shattered their eardrums.

Countless white phosphorus bombs exploded in mid-air, and the ghastly white flames poured down like a rainstorm.

Those two "Walkers," which had been strutting their stuff, were instantly swallowed by the sea of high-temperature white phosphorus fire. Their dark gold scales, which they were so proud of, let out a piercing hissing sound under the burning white phosphorus. They didn't even last ten seconds before being burned into scrap metal emitting black smoke.

Pops watched the rain of fire falling from the sky, not even bothering to dodge.

White phosphorus sparks landed on him, instantly burning through his combat uniform, into his flesh, and straight to the bone.

He didn't feel pain.

He only felt irony.

He had sold his life for the U Federation for half his life, dodging snipers from terrorists and roadside bombs, only to die in the end by bombs dropped by his own people.

The sea of fire instantly engulfed the entire canyon.

The wreckage of Coleman's crashed F-16, the bodies of over sixty special forces soldiers, and those five out-of-control "Walkers" were all reduced to ashes in this cataclysmic, world-destroying heat.

Nothing was left.

UAE, Al Dhafra Air Base.

The command center was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

On the big screen, the thermal imaging satellite map of the Zagros Mountains had turned into a large, glaring white area.

That was the high-temperature zone created by the explosion.

A new technician had taken over at the technical console, staring at the radar screen, trembling with fear.

"Report, General..." The technician swallowed, his voice trembling. "Vital sign signals in the target area... have all disappeared. The heat source is fading. Area A4 has been completely destroyed. No survivors."

Kendal stood in front of the console and let out a long breath.

His tense shoulders finally slumped.

Slumping into a large leather chair, Kendal loosened his tie, gasping for air.

It was resolved.

As long as everyone was dead, and even their ashes were scattered, who could uncover the truth?

Those five runaway monsters didn't exist, and Coleman wasn't killed by a defective product bought by their own side.

The Chief of Staff stood to the side, his clothes soaked through on his back, not even daring to breathe.

"What are you still standing there for?" Kendal glanced sideways at the Chief of Staff. "Are you waiting for me to teach you how to write the combat report?"

The Chief of Staff hurriedly stood at attention: "General, how should the report be written?"

Kendal picked up the coffee on the table, which had already gone cold, and took a sip.

"Colonel Coleman, an ace pilot of the U Federation Middle East Theater, was ambushed by the main anti-aircraft fire of the Da Shi State Revolutionary Guard while performing a routine patrol mission and unfortunately crashed."

Kendal leaned back in his chair, his speaking pace steady, as if reciting a script he had long memorized.

"Our side quickly organized elite special forces to go for a rescue. However, during the engagement, Da Shi State frantically used unknown electromagnetic Pulse biochemical weapons that are strictly prohibited by international conventions."

"This weapon caused our tactical network to be completely paralyzed, and communications were cut off."

"The rescue team, having lost support from the rear, engaged in a desperate fight against an enemy ten times their number. In the end... they were completely wiped out."

Speaking to this point, Kendal even feigned a sigh, squeezing out two crocodile tears.

"Colonel Coleman, along with the sixty-three special forces soldiers who participated in the rescue, all died heroically."

"In order to prevent the further spread of the enemy's biochemical weapons, I, as the highest commander of the theater, decisively ordered the Air Force to conduct blanket bombing and completely destroyed the biochemical position."

The Chief of Staff felt his scalp tingle.

Incredible.

This scapegoating was textbook level.

Not only did he push away all responsibility, but he also conveniently slapped Da Shi State with the label of "using weapons of mass destruction and biochemical weapons." Even his own act of ordering the bombing to silence witnesses had turned into a "wise decision to decisively prevent the spread of a biochemical crisis."

This isn't a trip to a military tribunal; this is a trip to get a Congressional Medal of Honor!

"General, you are brilliant!" The Chief of Staff hurriedly flattered him, "I'll go draft the combat report right away and send it to The Pentagon immediately!"

"Go. Remember, change the flight logs for those two B-1Bs to a routine cruise off-target accidental bombing exercise. All communication records and radar tracks must be physically destroyed." Kendal ordered methodically.

"Understood!"

The Chief of Staff had only taken two steps when Kendal called him back.

"Wait. That one on the ground..." Kendal pointed to the technician he had previously shot in the head. "Get it cleaned up. Just say he was a spy planted by Da Shi State, attempting to sabotage the command system, and was killed on the spot."

The Chief of Staff hurriedly called over two military police to drag the body out.

The command center returned to calm.

Kendal looked at the satellite map on the big screen, which was gradually dimming, and sneered.

The weapons bought for five billion were defective?

It doesn't matter.

As long as he can pull the wool over their eyes, The Pentagon will naturally accept the bill. Just list it as "highly classified tactical equipment combat loss."

As for that unlucky guy Coleman, he's dead and that's it. Even if his uncle, Senator Tieliman, is furious, he can only vent his anger on Qasim and Da Shi State.

Not only would he not have to take responsibility, but he might even be able to use this "tragic" battle to ask Congress for another huge sum of military funding.

Perfect.

Flawless.

Kendal picked up his coffee cup and toasted the screen from afar.

"Have a good time in hell, boys."