The tent was filled with the mixed scent of cigarettes and sweat, the emergency lamp hanging in the tent swayed in the night wind, casting Song Heping's shadow on the canvas like a beast ready to pounce.
He stared at the canyon route marked in red pen on the tactical map, his fingers tapping the table unconsciously, the rhythm growing increasingly rapid.
"Tap, tap, tap..."
The shadow of the F-15E "Strike Eagle" was like a sword hanging overhead, ready to fall at any moment.
20 minutes—the time from the Green Berets' distress signal to the fighter jet arriving at the battlefield takes only a brief 20 minutes.
And they must complete the ambush and evacuate within 10 minutes, or else the whole squad would be buried in the firestorm of precision-guided bombs.
Song Heping's temples throbbed. He grabbed the water bottle and took a sip, the warm water with a rusty taste sliding down his throat, but it could not extinguish the anxiety within his heart.
"Boss, you haven't slept yet?"
