I Have a Mansion in the Post-apocalyptic World

Chapter 1324 - Code Named: Firefight

Chapter 1324: Code Named: Firefight

Colonel Gibson was right, his watch was indeed broken.

And it was not just his electronic watch...

As night began to settle, the entire base gradually became dark.

Sergeant Duke took his comrades and exchanged positions with the patrolling soldiers. He shouted at the patrol on duty on the sentry tower.

“What happened? Why didn’t you turn on the light?”

“I don’t know... the power system seems to be malfunctioning. I have sent someone to notify the repair team. Damn, is my walkie-talkie broken too? I have to ask logistics to get me a new one.”

“Yours is broken too?”

“What do you... wait, yours is broken too?”

Sergeant Duke’s expression gradually became serious, and sweat began to ooze out from his forehead.

He started to realize what may have happened, and he believed that the headquarters must also realize what may have happened.

It was just that as a soldier, when he started to realize the seriousness of the problem and didn’t receive any communication...

It might be too late.

At the same time, on the runway in front of the hangar on the other side of the military base.

Inside the cockpit of the F35 fighter jet, the pilot who was on an airstrike mission pressed the buttons on his control panel, and the confusion in his eyes started to become apparent.

“Strange.”

The engine did not respond, and some of the instruments seemed to be broken as they no longer changed.

“This is Gladiator-1, the aircraft’s ignition system has malfunctioned, mission is terminated...”

There was no response from the command tower.

The pilot took off his helmet and was about to open the cockpit, but his extended hand stopped in mid-air.

When he looked up in the air, his pupils gradually enlarged, his lips moved slightly, but he only let out one word.

Reflected in the dilated pupils were rows of emerald green flare.

“God...”

...

The operation codenamed “Firefight” was a direct response to NATO’s Operation “Torch”.

In the mountainous region east of Bucaramanga, the 14th NATO Mechanical Battalion and the 27th Infantry Brigade of Colombia, stationed on the 772 Heights, were relentlessly bombed by Moro’s firepower.

There was no warning, only the tail flames in the air announced the beginning of the bombing.

The mighty and invincible Type 63 multiple rocket launcher once again rewritten its legend on the Colombian battlefield. When the hurricane-like rocket rains ravaged on the NATO forces, other than the raging dust and shrapnel, nothing else was visible.

“DAMMIT! How did they get so close! Where did our patrols go!”

Curled up in the foxhole, the battalion commander of NATO’s 14th Mechanical Battalion tightened his helmet.

Not far from him, an armored vehicle that had just driven out of the garage was penetrated by a 107mm rocket after it failed to dodge. The rocket hit the ammunition rack, and the explosions skyrocketed, and the shock even ripped off the turret.

The flames of the exploded armored car reflected from his pupils, and a trace of despair appeared on the face of the battalion commander.

Until now, he had not seen any reinforcements, nor had he seen fighters whizzing past his head to harvest those arrogant rocket launchers.

What happened?

...

What happened?

The patrols stationed under the high ground were also confused.

Walkie-talkies, night vision goggles, even the red dot sight on the rifle, all electronic products were completely useless, it felt like returning to the Stone Age in just a night. When they heard the sound of rockets roaring in the air, the punishment from the guerrilla also arrived.

Just as the nearby support artillery launched a relentless bombardment of Highland 772, a squad of NATO soldiers was facing a siege from a company of Moro soldiers in a post four kilometers away.

The bullets dented the wall and peeled off the cement from the steel frame.

Sergeant Charles pulled his wounded comrade from the pool of blood as he returned fire with his rifle, but he was quickly suppressed by the heavy machine gun.

Another RPG hit.

A house ten meters away was hit directly, and the M249 light machine gun framed in the window, as well as the wall, collapsed from the explosion. Another soldier fell. In less than five minutes, they had lost more than half of the squad.

“This is Warrior-1, we are under attack! I repeat, we are under attack! SH*T!”

There was no response to the hoarse roar, and only panic remained on Sergeant Charles’s face.

Guerrilla soldiers could fight till the last person without fear of death, but it was impossible for him who came from a first world country.

He cut open his clothes with a dagger in a panic, and tore off most of the white shirt.

He tied his shirt to the butt of his rifle, grabbed the muzzle and raised it up, and shouted in his broken Spanish.

“Surrender! Surrender! Ceasefire!”

“What is that guy even saying?” The Moro soldier asked the Colombian next to him.

“He said they’ve surrendered and is asking us to ceasefire.” The FARC soldier understood Spanish and already lowered his guns.

The same scene took place at every post and firepower point on Highland 772. In the absence of reinforcements, lack of firepower support, and zero communication from the command headquarters, almost no one could fight to the end.

It was not due to the lack of the NATO coalition forces’ combat capability.

On the contrary, their combat effectiveness was very strong.

If they hadn’t been blindfolded, mouths covered, and ears blocked, the guerrillas that left the cover of the tropical jungle would only be sitting ducks for the fighters and artilleries.

However, there were not so many ifs on the battlefield.

The NATO coalition forces, whose communication system was paralyzed, had no way to call for artillery support or direct airstrikes.

Moro and FARC easily crossed the defense line of the Colombian government army. They dragged out the soldiers trembling under the artillery bombardment from the trenches, foxholes, and concrete fortifications.

Most of the armored vehicles were destroyed by the rocket launchers.

But the remaining vehicles was happily accepted by Moro soldiers.

Of course, Moro soldiers were the most delighted by the captured prisoners.

The prisoners of the Colombian government army were left to FARC, but the guests from afar were treated nicely.

Under gunpoint, the NATO soldier handed in their tags in confusion, and squatted against the wall with their hands on their head.

They didn’t know why these people were so fascinated by their tags, would they use this as chips for poker?

They also won’t know that they were already priced by Xin’s officers.

How much for the dead, how much for being alive, everyone was priced clearly...

July 11th, 2020 was definitely the darkest day in Colombia since the 21st century.

The literal definition of darkness.

Because of an EMP, the power system was completely paralyzed from the coast of the Gulf of Mexico in northern Colombia to the central Andes. Over 50% of all electronics were damaged. The more sophisticated the equipment, the more serious the damage, and the direct economic loss exceeded 500 billion dollars...

Jiang Chen said that they would bear the consequences.

And now, they paid the price.

Just one hour after the detonation of the EMP, Celestial Trade issued a weather warning on its official website.

At five o’clock in the afternoon on July 11th, the Celestial Trade Astronomical Telescope observed a strong solar wind passing through Earth. Please protect all electronic products such as phones and computers...