0138 Metal Hell

Not far behind Hou Rui, a section of a three-lane dual-carriageway had been temporarily occupied by a unit of the Alliance. These Alliance soldiers, whose allegiance to any particular lieutenant colonel was unknown, had blocked the street entrance with armed pickup trucks and converted the area into a makeshift camp. At this moment, however, this temporary encampment had also been targeted by the Spectre gunships in the sky.

Suddenly, a trail of smoke streaked across the distant high altitude, followed immediately by a sharp, piercing whistle that grew rapidly closer. When a missile struck the main entrance of the temporary military camp, it blew two armed pickup trucks into shards. This, however, was merely the beginning. Following the explosion at the gate, a 34-meter-tall inferno began to roll like a tidal wave toward the densely packed rows of soldiers' tents on the street.

Amidst the roaring sound and the shockwave of the blast, the firestorm, with temperatures reaching hundreds of degrees, instantly ignited the layers of tents, turning the Alliance soldiers who had failed to escape into charcoal in the blink of an eye.

That was not all. The fire, which had spread for over a hundred meters, continued to lick at the buildings lining both sides of the street. These insidious flames snaked through the doors and windows shattered by the blast, pouring into the buildings one by one. Within seconds, an entire street had been transformed into a ruin—the center cleared out, with raging infernos consuming both flanks.

"Whoosh!"

Hou Rui, who had been stunned by the brutal air raid and was at a loss for what to do, was suddenly startled as a swift, tearing sound streaked directly toward him.

*No! Could the bombers be attacking this hospital?*

As this ominous thought surfaced, a panicked Hou Rui began to sprint forward. He ran for his life with every ounce of strength he possessed. Even though he knew it was futile—how could human legs outrun a missile?—the intense instinct for survival drove him to race madly.

As he ran, Hou Rui glanced back and saw that a missile—of an unknown model—was indeed launched toward the hospital side. The long, glowing tail of the missile was exceptionally clear against the sky.

Three, two, one.

By the time the missile reached the roof of the hospital, Hou Rui had only managed to run about twenty meters. Desperate, he crouched down and covered his head, bracing for the violent explosion. However, the missile suddenly soared over the roof of the hospital, traveled several hundred more meters, and slammed into a building in the distance.

"BOOM!"

Glass within a 500-meter radius shattered instantly from the blast. Even though Hou Rui was crouched on the ground, his body shook violently, and he felt as though the earth beneath his feet had bucked upward with the explosion.

After about fifteen minutes of heavy bombardment, the Spectre gunships had turned the urban area of Kismayo into a sea of fire and rubble. Finally, before leaving Kismayo's airspace, having exhausted most of their ammunition, the gunships did not forget to use a guided bomb to destroy the Kismayo power plant, plunging the entire city into total darkness, leaving only the massive fires burning at the various sites struck by the air raids.

A few minutes later, Hou Rui, who had remained huddled on the street in front of the hospital, stood up, trembling with fear. He finally understood who that masked man was and what his purpose had been. If he hadn't happened to encounter and kill the masked man, that missile would likely not have flown over, but would have landed directly on them; the hospital, and Hou Rui himself, would surely have been reduced to fragments.

Gazing at the chaotic city and the Alliance soldiers scurrying aimlessly like flies, a new question occurred to Hou Rui: why were the Americans launching this air raid?

Could it be that the Americans were also using the UN Security Council peace talks to paralyze the Liberation Alliance, and this fierce bombardment was their true objective? But mere air strikes without ground support would be insufficient to eradicate the Alliance's power. Could the Americans be aiming simply to destroy war potential, or did they have a follow-up plan—would a massive force soon arrive by land?

Hou Rui's speculation was soon confirmed. Intense gunfire suddenly erupted in one corner of Kismayo. Judging by the rate of fire alone, it was not the kind of scale that could be produced by a mere 1,200 men; even by the most conservative estimate, at least a thousand troops were launching the attack from that corner of the city.

Although the Liberation Alliance had been caught off guard by the Spectre gunships' fierce air raid, this was, after all, the long-established lair of Lieutenant Colonel Timo. Many scattered, well-fortified positions could not be fully eliminated by a single round of bombing, so the Alliance troops immediately organized a counterattack.

Hidden pickup trucks either charged directly to the front lines to provide support or patrolled the streets of Kismayo, using mounted loudspeakers to broadcast, rally the scattered Alliance units, and order them to regroup and hold their ground. Within a dozen minutes, the coalition forces that had breached Kismayo were blocked at the city's outskirts, unable to advance further.

"Rat-tat-tat, boom, thud-thud-thud, bang, bang, bang!"

On a battlefield where various light and heavy weapons were spitting fire, a government major was firing his M16A4 from behind a half-collapsed wall. Suddenly, an Alliance pickup truck burst out of an alleyway 200 meters away. The 12.7mm machine gun in its bed opened fire, instantly punching through the brick wall and killing the coalition soldiers hiding behind it.

Seeing the situation turn dire, the major shouted, "Rocket launcher! Take out that vehicle!"

"Major, look out!" Before the major could finish his command, the Alliance's 12.7mm machine gun raked across their position. If a sharp-eyed soldier hadn't tackled the major to the ground in time, he would have been riddled with holes just like the brick wall beside him.

However, when the fallen major climbed back up, the situation had spiraled out of control. Following the first pickup, another emerged from the alleyway, this one mounted with a 60mm machine gun. Even more terrifying, a massive wave of fearless, child soldiers of the Alliance had charged into the fray. Under their assault, the coalition soldiers began to retreat, and those who were a step too slow were immediately swarmed by the child soldiers.

In the blink of an eye, the main road into the city, which had been mostly cleared, was snatched back by the Alliance.

"Damn it!" the government major yelled in frustration. But the officer beside him was clearly in an even worse state. One of them, with a look of horror, suggested to the major, "Sir, this operation has failed. We should retreat; perhaps we can still make it back to the border."

"Get away, you idiot! We can still fight. The Americans—the Americans will come to support us soon!" The major knew full well that his coalition troops could only fight when the tide was in their favor; if they chose to retreat, it would all be over, and it would almost certainly turn into a gruesome rout.

"The Americans? Didn't the Americans withdraw after the bombing?"

"No, we still have an American AC-130 overhead. It can effectively..."

"Rat-tat-tat!" Before the major could finish, a burst of gunfire from the child soldiers pinned the officer who had suggested retreat against the wall. As the officer's corpse slowly slid down, it left a long, blood-smeared streak against the masonry.

Just as the government major screamed and shot a child soldier who had closed in on him, another group of over a hundred child soldiers appeared in the distance as reinforcements. The coalition troops on the scene began to panic, and it seemed the ground offensive was on the verge of total collapse.

"Thud! BOOM!"

A 105mm shell dropped from the sky, blowing the pickup truck approaching the major into fragments. Then, a whining, spinning sound followed, and "Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!"—countless Gatling gun rounds raked the entire street, kicking up a storm of craters and bullet holes among the Alliance child soldiers. Within two or three seconds, all of them—both the original forces and the reinforcements—lay dead on the street.

From the major's perspective, they were piled in dense heaps, as if someone had deliberately arranged them close together. These child soldiers lay lifelessly, slumped against the bodies of their comrades. Moments ago, they had been ferocious, but in an instant, they had been slaughtered en masse.

Swallowing hard, the major was stunned by the sheer efficiency of the carnage. A massive black silhouette then swept overhead, continuing toward the city center of Kismayo while ruthlessly harvesting the Alliance targets on the ground.

This AC-130 gunship, flying at an altitude of 800 meters, moved forward while unleashing various types of ammunition from the cannons and machine guns mounted on its nose, side doors, and belly.

It used its 105mm cannon to destroy the Alliance's fortified positions and armored vehicles, its 40mm cannons to tear apart pickup trucks and the heavy machine guns inside buildings, and its multiple linked Gatling guns to mow down Alliance soldiers in swathes. In short, wherever the AC-130 passed, within a 1,000-meter radius beneath its belly, anything belonging to the Alliance that dared to show itself was torn to shreds without exception.

After the appearance of this AC-130, the Alliance defense line, which had barely managed to contain the coalition's advance, collapsed once more. It was not that the Alliance officers failed to organize a counterattack, but the moment their anti-aircraft guns opened fire, the 40mm cannons—capable of punching through 20 centimeters of reinforced concrete—would immediately lock onto them. A few incoming shells would then obliterate everything at the anti-aircraft position, whether it was the personnel or the weapons.