169: Chapter 169 The Gold Mine War (Part Two)

Inside the main fortress of the "Great Wall" defense line.

All National Defense Force combatants had already taken their respective battle positions.

But they were not nervously lying in trenches; instead, they were seated comfortably within firing emplacements constructed from thick alloy.

The emplacements were equipped with comfortable climate control systems, iced drinks, and even dedicated tactical information terminals.

Outside the massive bulletproof observation windows lay a pitch-black desert.

But through the high-definition displays in front of each combatant, everything outside was clearly visible.

On the screens, countless heat-emitting figures and vehicles were surging from the horizon, coalescing into a patch of moving light spots under night-vision mode.

"Boss, they're coming up."

A combatant chewed gum as he reported to his squad leader through the built-in communicator, his tone as lighthearted as if he were discussing a ball game.

"Don't rush, let them get closer," came the voice of squad leader Mark Smith. "Wait until they enter the two-kilometer range."

These elite soldiers, recruited from all over the world, wore expressions of casual indifference as they watched the disorganized tribal forces charging on their screens.

They had participated in countless brutal engagements and faced enemies with all kinds of superior equipment.

In their eyes, the scene before them simply didn't carry enough weight.

"Are these guys for real? They don't even have a basic attack formation?"

"Look at that pickup truck, driving all wobbly—is the driver drunk?"

"My god, they've even mounted a heavy machine gun on the truck. Are they planning to mow down their own men?"

The public channel was filled with the banter of the combatants.

He Jun, in the underground command post, listened to these reports without stopping them.

This group of arrogant "war artists" needed a resounding victory to forge their sense of belonging to this army.

"Report, the enemy's vanguard has entered the two-kilometer strike range."

The staff officer beside Colonel Zhou Zheng reported calmly.

He Jun glanced at the screen; those pickup trucks were rushing into the open ground in front of the defense line like headless flies.

"Begin," he said, his voice flat.

As the order was issued, dozens of camouflaged panels on the outer walls of the defense line slid open silently, revealing rows of densely packed honeycomb missile launch ports.

"Micro-missiles, launch pods one through twenty, free fire. Target: all enemy vehicles."

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

The piercing sound of missiles cutting through the air merged into one.

Dozens of QN-202 micro-missiles, trailing scorching wakes, drew dozens of intersecting lines of fire through the night sky as they pounced on the charging pickup truck convoy.

Tribal leader Musa Ibrahim was standing on his modified pickup truck, waving his scimitar and shouting loudly.

He saw sparks lighting up the night sky and mistook them for flares fired by his own men.

The next second, another pickup truck beside him was blown into a cloud of flying debris with a massive explosion.

The armed personnel on board didn't even have a chance to scream before they and the vehicle were reduced to fragments.

"Enemy attack! It's missiles!"

Musa's hearing was instantly stripped away, and his vision was filled only with the bursting fireball. Before he could make any move, dense explosions rang out one after another within his convoy.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Every missile had found its target.

In the face of micro-missiles that could easily penetrate light armor, these armed pickup trucks were vulnerable.

Some were hit directly and shattered in mid-air.

Some were overturned by the blast wave, rolling and burning on the ground.

Some, though lucky enough not to be hit directly, had their tires and engines completely shredded by flying shrapnel, leaving them paralyzed in place.

Just one volley, in less than thirty seconds.

Over eighty percent of the hundred-plus pickup trucks at the forefront were destroyed or disabled, turning into piles of burning scrap metal.

The momentum of the entire charge was abruptly cut off.

The tribal militants following behind, seeing this sea of fire suddenly descend from the sky before them, were all so frightened that they stopped in their tracks.

They stared at the scene in terror; without seeing a single enemy, without hearing a single gunshot, their "steel torrent" was gone.

Panic spread rapidly through the crowd, spiraling out of control.

"Demons! They are demons!"

"Run!"

Unknown who shouted first, the remaining crowd collapsed instantly.

They threw away their weapons, turned around, and ran back, wishing only that their parents had given them more legs.

The once aggressive charge turned into a frantic rout in the blink of an eye.

Musa Ibrahim crawled up from the ground; he had been knocked off his vehicle by the blast wave and was covered in blood.

He stared at his completely disintegrated army, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound could come out. He could only mutter intermittently: "This... what kind of sorcery is this..."

Inside the "Great Wall" defense line, the combatants watched the scene of the rout on their screens and burst into laughter.

"That's it?"

"I thought we'd be able to trade a few blows; this doesn't even count as a warm-up."

"Boss, are we still fighting? They've all run away."

Mark Smith smacked his lips, clearly not having had his fill. He looked toward the command post, waiting for new orders.

In the command post, He Jun watched the red dots fleeing in all directions on the sand table, his expression remaining calm.

"Order all ground units to switch to pursuit mode."

As soon as he said this, even Colonel Zhou Zheng beside him was stunned.

"Pursuit? Minister He, they have already been routed; we have already won."

"Won?" He Jun shook his head. "This is not enough."

He recalled Lin Zhou's words.

"A single act of punishment can buy decades of stability."

He walked to the communication screen and said to Lin Zhou's virtual image: "My Lord, my suggestion is to drive them all back into Sudan, and then, cross the border to conduct a limited punitive strike."

"Beat them until it hurts, beat them until they are afraid, beat them until they get weak in the knees whenever they hear the name 'Cyber Freedom Republic' in the future."

Lin Zhou on the screen was silent for a moment, his fingertips tapping lightly on the virtual desktop.

A few seconds later, he gave his answer.

"You may."

"But remember our goal. Minimize unnecessary casualties; focus on driving them out and intimidation."

"Let them know that we have the ability to trample their lands, but we have chosen mercy. This condescending 'mercy' implants fear more effectively than slaughter itself."

Lin Zhou's gaze became sharp.

"I want you to trample their dignity completely underfoot, and then throw it back at them."

"Understood." He Jun nodded and turned to give orders to his command team behind him.

"Order the First Company to deploy. Target: drive all fleeing troops into Sudan!"