232: Chapter 232 Fireworks of Death

On the other side, the main assault force personally led by Houssa—a mixed unit composed of the four hundred most elite fighters from three other tribes—was also ready to go. Their equipment was more uniform: all were armed with AKM rifles, each standard-issued with six grenades. Additionally, thirty newly arrived Red Arrow-8 anti-tank missiles and twenty Qianwei-1 anti-aircraft missiles were carefully distributed to the most reliable gunners.

"Remember the tactics," Houssa's voice conveyed through each squad leader's earpiece, "After the rocket artillery barrage, the enemy will fall into chaos. Mustafa's Third Battalion will cut in from the northwest and head straight for the command post; I will lead the First and Second Battalions to flank from the southwest and clear out the peripheral remnants. The Fourth Battalion (Hussein's unit) will serve as the reserve force, blocking the escape route to the southeast."

"Maintain radio silence until contact is made."

"For Yemen."

"For liberation."

4:35 AM.

In the valley, the commander's hand swung down heavily: "Fire!"

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!!!"

The terrifying shrieking sound tore through the silence of the dawn! In five seconds, one hundred and sixty launch tubes hurled one hundred and sixty 122mm rockets into the sky! The rocket exhaust trails carved brilliant and deadly arcs across the night sky, like the fireworks of the Grim Reaper!

Fifteen seconds later, the second volley began. It was the same number, the same terrifying shriek!

A total of three hundred and twenty rockets, traveling at speeds exceeding Mach 4, flew toward Azan Town, thirty-eight kilometers away.

From launch to impact, it would take about one minute.

This minute was the last moment of peace for the defenders in Azan Town.

Ibrahim was awakened by the faint shrieking of the first volley of rockets ascending. He sat up grumbling, pushed away the woman beside him, and walked to the window: "What's that sound? Thunder?"

His adjutant stumbled into the bedroom: "General! The radar station reports a large number of high-speed targets detected to the northeast! It's... it's rockets! At least a hundred of them!"

Ibrahim's drunkenness vanished in an instant, replaced by fear: "Rockets? Where did these rockets come from? The Houthi armed forces are still two hundred kilometers to the north! Sound the alarm! Everyone to their positions!"

It was too late.

The first rocket landed on the peripheral stronghold west of the town.

It was a dual-purpose cluster munition that detonated in mid-air at an altitude of fifty meters, releasing hundreds of steel balls and shrapnel! The militiamen sleeping in the stronghold didn't even have time to put on their clothes before they were riddled like sieves by the rain of steel balls! Barracks, ammunition depots, and vehicles all began to burn in the explosions!

Immediately following, the second, third, tenth, one-hundredth...

Azan Town was instantly swallowed by explosions and flames!

High-explosive fragmentation shells landed around the command post, blowing away sandbag fortifications, gouging huge holes in the exterior walls of concrete buildings, and flipping over anti-aircraft machine guns on the rooftops. The dual-purpose cluster munitions blanketed the four peripheral strongholds and the town's barracks, with steel balls and shrapnel indiscriminately reaping lives.

Screams, explosions, the sound of collapsing buildings, the deafening roars of secondary ammunition explosions... all mixed into a symphony of hell.

Ibrahim hid in the basement of the command post, dust constantly falling from the ceiling as the vibrations from the explosions caused the light bulbs to sway violently. The radio was filled with desperate cries for help from various strongholds:

"The western stronghold is finished! It's all over!"

"The eastern stronghold requests support! Half our men are dead!"

"The ammunition depot at the northern stronghold has exploded! Fire! There's fire everywhere!"

"General! There's a convoy to the south! At least dozens of pickup trucks are charging over!"

"Hold them off! Hold the line!" Ibrahim roared into the microphone, "Where are the tanks? Get the tanks out! Where are the infantry fighting vehicles?!"

"The tank crews... seem to be dead..."

"The infantry fighting vehicles were hit directly by rockets..."

The second volley of rockets landed.

This time, the focus was on covering the main streets of the town, suspected command nodes, and vehicle parking areas. A T-72 tank attempting to start was hit directly on top of its turret by a 122mm high-explosive shell, detonating the ammunition inside; the entire tank was like an opened can, with its turret sent flying over a dozen meters away!

The rocket artillery saturation bombardment lasted only two minutes.

But these two minutes had completely destroyed the defensive system and the morale of the defenders in Azan Town.

As the sound of explosions gradually thinned out, Mustafa's pickup truck convoy had already charged into the town from the northwest.

"Fire! Fire!" Mustafa stood at the machine gun position of the lead vehicle, his PKM general-purpose machine gun spitting tongues of fire, mowing down several panicked defenders at the street corner.

Eighty pickup trucks charged like a pack of hungry wolves into a sheep pen. The heavy machine guns and 107mm rocket launchers on the vehicles poured out fire frantically; any defensive position that dared to resist was destroyed within seconds by concentrated fire from at least three vehicles.

Houssa's main convoy also stormed in from the southwest. Their tactics were more methodical: infantry dismounted and, in combat teams, cleared the buildings one by one; anti-tank teams specifically targeted remaining armored targets; while the anti-aircraft teams kept their eyes on the sky, guarding against any possible enemy helicopters.

The battle was almost a one-sided massacre.

The defenders were either killed or wounded by the rockets, or had lost command in the initial chaos and could only fight on their own. Ibrahim's troops, essentially a mercenary-style warlord militia, could fight when the wind was in their favor, but in the face of such a catastrophic, uphill battle, they collapsed faster than an avalanche.

At 7:00 AM, when the sun had fully risen, the gunfire had thinned out to only sporadic shots to finish off survivors.

In the center of Azan Town, in front of the former government building.

Ibrahim Zakaria was dragged out by two tribal warriors and forced to his knees. He was shirtless, wearing only pajama pants, his face and body covered in dust and blood, having long since lost his previous arrogance.

Houssa walked up to him and crouched down.

"General Ibrahim," Houssa's voice was calm, "I heard you are the best friend of the Squid Nation in southern Yemen?"

"Spare... spare my life!" Ibrahim wept and snot flowed, "I can give you money! A lot of money! I have accounts in Switzerland! And... and I know the location of the Squid Nation intelligence station! I can take you there!"

Houssa shook his head, stood up, and said to Mustafa, "He's yours."

Mustafa drew his ancestral scimitar and walked behind Ibrahim. He didn't act immediately, but instead slowly traced the tip of the blade along the warlord's neck, as if considering where to strike.

"Last November," Mustafa said softly, his voice suppressing a volcanic hatred, "when the Saudi Arabia coalition bombed the village of Bani Amir, there was a ground force assisting in the clearing operation. That unit wore the same uniforms as your men and used armored vehicles you bought from the United Arab Emirates. The officer leading them was your nephew, right?"