Walking out of the office door, the spacious lobby was a scene of chaos.

Exquisite murals were riddled with bullet holes, forming a honeycomb pattern, and the luxurious marble columns were peppered with bullet marks and covered in scorch marks from explosions.

Heavily armed mercenaries stood like cold sculptures, leaning against overturned sofas, broken stone columns, and temporary piles of sandbags, forming a tight defensive circle.

The dark muzzles of their guns pointed in every possible threatening direction, while the air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder, the scent of blood, and suffocating dust.

Du Er was at the end of his rope, and the few guard soldiers couldn't withstand a round of shelling from Song Heping.

Outside the door, Song Heping returned to the command vehicle, grabbed a bottle of mineral water, and took a big gulp. Before he could put it down, Jiang Feng arrived.

"Old squad leader!"

Jiang Feng's face was painted in thick jungle camouflage, with sweat mixed with dirt creating streaks on his face. Only after confirming Song Heping was unharmed did he ask, "How's it going? Did that old fox give in?"

Song Heping shook his head: "Notify the tech team to cut off all external communication lines from the President's Mansion, isolate it physically — not even a fiber optic line should remain. Also, have the sniper team occupy the high ground and keep a close watch on the President's Mansion, don't let even a fly get out."

"Understood!"

Without any hesitation, Jiang Feng pressed his earpiece and quickly relayed the orders in a low voice. The instructions, like an invisible current, were instantly transmitted through encrypted channels.

Song Heping stared at the bullet-riddled walls of the President's Mansion, constantly contemplating how to make Du Er surrender as soon as possible.

Time was of the essence.

The British would react soon.

They deployed quite a number of special forces in the Sahel Region of Africa.

Once they learn about the situation here, besides pressuring the African Union or UN through diplomatic means to deal with us, the quickest response will undoubtedly be the British special forces.

The current situation could change at any moment.

To avoid more problems, Du Er must obediently walk out of the President's Mansion and announce his resignation via radio and the internet.

If things really don't work out, it might be necessary to take a hard approach and eliminate him.

That would be the worst-case scenario.

If Du Er dies and the Isis family takes over forcefully, it would be a classic coup.

If Du Er "voluntarily" resigns and the Isis family takes over the government, that's called "transition."

In international politics, every action has profound implications, leading to different consequences, and a small detail can often change the nature of the entire event.

So the best outcome would be for Du Er not to die.

In that case, the French partners cooperating with me would have more room to maneuver on the international stage, more flexibility.

"White Bear."

"Here!"

White Bear had been by his side all along, waiting for orders.

"Boss, what are your orders?"

"The T-72AV main battle tank Jiang Feng seized from the garrison barracks…"

Song Heping's gaze lingered on the President's Mansion's grand but battered main building.

"Now, make it move. Drive it to the front gate and give it a round—"

His finger rose, firmly pointing to the highest point of the main building, where the Sena national flag hung, symbolizing the pinnacle of state power.

"There."

A feral gleam burst forth in White Bear's eyes — it was the excitement of pure destruction being ignited.

"Copy that! Boss!"

He practically shouted, turning and sprinting madly toward the signaler's position, shouting into his earpiece as he ran: "'Anvil'! 'Anvil'! This is 'Hound'! Bring the tank to the doorway of the President's Mansion! Target — the pinnacle of the main building! Topmost point! Quick! Quick!"

The command was like lighting a fuse.

Moments later, a dull rumble came from the ground.

The rumble was faint at first, like a distant thunder, but quickly grew clear, heavy, and rhythmic.

The heavy metal tracks crushed the shattered marble road surface in the forecourt of the President's Mansion, producing a creaking noise as if to crush everything.

A massive steel beast tore through the remaining shrubs of the garden, roaring into the wide-open forecourt.

The hefty vehicle, covered in reactive armor blocks, was like a suit of medieval knight's plates, gleaming with a cold, greasy black sheen in the twilight.

The long 125mm 2A46M smoothbore cannon barrel rose slowly, like a dragon's fang, with a subtle hydraulic hum from the gun stabilizer.

The dark muzzle, exuding a suffocating pressure, steadily inched upwards, finally locking firmly on the highest point of the President's Mansion's main building—the spire bearing the national flag.

The tank engine roared low and fiercely, spewing rolling black smoke from its exhaust pipe.

The number "024" in bold white on the side of the turret appeared and disappeared amid the dust and smoke.

The prisms of the commander's periscope caught the last glimmer of twilight, like a cold, ruthless eye fixating on its prey's most fatal point.

Inside the main building of the President's Mansion — the office symbolizing ultimate power, the deathly silence was utterly shattered by the metallic roar outside the window.

Du Er jolted up from his collapsed position on the leather chair, as if scalded by a hot iron.

He listened intently for a moment, his face turning deathly pale.

Then, he staggered to the large floor-to-ceiling window, grabbed the cold bullet-proof glass with both hands, his nails screeching across the glass.

Below, outside the window, the massive T-72AV tank, like a steel beast from hell, crushed the last remnants of ornate tiles in the forecourt, raising billowing dust.

The long, despair-inducing 125mm barrel, carrying a cold and precise death intent, was rising slowly and steadily!

The gun stabilizer emitted a subtle yet penetrating hydraulic hum, reminiscent of the Grim Reaper's whetstone.

The cannon's trajectory was like an invisible line of death.

Ultimately, the dark muzzle locked unerringly onto its target.

Du Er's pupils instantly shrank to pin points!

A chilling sensation, enough to freeze one's marrow, exploded from the soles of his feet, racing up his spine to his head! He saw it!

He clearly saw the white, cold number on the turret side — "024"!

He recognized this vehicle!

This was a tank from the Capital Garrison's direct armored battalion.

Just three days ago, he personally awarded honors to this battalion.

Now, its dark muzzle was aimed directly at him!

"No… Impossible…"

Du Er's throat emitted a rattling, bellows-like sound, and his body trembled violently like a sieve.

Lumar's armored brigade?

The siege photos of the Omar Gan River Valley?

All the illusory supports, all the self-deceiving fantasies, were crushed into dust before the soon-to-roar 125mm cannon!

He lost!

Lost utterly! Even the last bit of strength to struggle was drained by this cold muzzle!

What wealth, what family, what exile overseas…

None of it mattered at this moment!

Stay alive!

He just wanted to stay alive!

"Don't shoot---!!!"

A heart-wrenching, endless scream of terror and despair burst out from deep within Du Er's throat.

He used all his strength, frantically waving his arms, pointing toward the door, trying to make those outside hear his cries of surrender.

He needed a white flag!

Immediately!

Instantly!

He dashed around the office like a headless fly, knocking over an expensive antique vase, which shattered with a crisp cracking sound.

He pounced on the heavy curtains, trying to tear off a piece of cloth, but the fabric was incredibly tough, and he pulled at it in vain, letting out a desperate whimper.

And just then—

"Boom——!!!"

A ground-shaking explosion suddenly erupted!

Bam!

A violent explosion sounded from above, causing the office ceiling to shake, with fine particles of cement and wall surfaces raining down.

A blast wave swept in.

Du Er felt like a dry leaf in a storm, violently swept away by an irresistible force.

His body slammed hard against the wall, as if his internal organs had shifted positions.

The deafening blast waves pounded onto his eardrums like countless heavy hammers, leaving his mind blank with only a sharp ringing.

The sky had collapsed!

This was no metaphor.

The huge office dome, covered in elaborate plaster reliefs, shattered and collapsed above his head.

Concrete blocks the size of millstones, broken and twisted steel bars...

Fell down with smoke and fire like doomsday meteors, in a torrential downpour.

He felt the entire room was disintegrating, the walls groaning with a teeth-chattering sound, huge cracks spreading instantly like a spider web.

Du Er curled up in the corner, clutching his head with both hands, his body curled into a ball, trembling violently.

His expensive shirt was shredded by flying debris, covered in dust and grime, with cuts on his face from flying fragments, blood mingling with the dust.

That 125mm high-explosive shell's power turned his last bit of complacency and arrogance, along with this office symbolizing power, into utter powder.

Distant water?

Nearby fire?

Six armored brigades?

Lumar?

Before the annihilation of the recent roar, they all became the most ridiculous, powerless ravings.

Cold, naked death had just skimmed over his head!

Song Heping was not negotiating; he was pronouncing a verdict with the cannon's mouth!

"Ugh… ugh…"

Indistinct sobs came from Du Er's throat, tears and snot uncontrollably oozing out, mixing with the blood and dust on his face.

He struggled, crawling through thick rubble and debris with hands and feet, his expensive leather shoes long gone.

He had one thought: get out! Get out now!

Surrender to the man who brought destruction!

Agree to any terms!

The door leading to the inner corridor was severely deformed by the explosion's shockwave, stuck in the door frame.

Du Er frantically rammed it with his shoulder, with dull "thud" sounds, but the door remained unmoved.

"Someone! Anyone! Where are you!"

He howled in despair, like a dying beast.

Finally, with all his strength, he slammed into the side decorative panel wall that had been cracked by the blast!

The rotten wooden board shattered with a sound, revealing a narrow hole.

Ignoring the splinters and scratches on his body, he crawled through the opening, stumbling into a ravaged corridor.

The corridor looked like hell.

Emergency lights flickered with a ghastly green glow, and dense smoke churned in the broken ceiling space.

The walls were lined with massive cracks, the luxurious wallpaper ripped down, hanging like a dying butterfly.

The floor was littered with lamp fragments, plaster, and unidentified debris.

A few surviving members of the Presidential Guard huddled, ashen-faced, in the corner, their faces filled with shock and bewilderment, their weapons lowered. Seeing the president burst out like a madman, they made no response.

Du Er staggered forward, the shattered glass and sharp stones digging into his soles, causing piercing pain, but he didn't care.

He rushed to a relatively intact giant floor-to-ceiling window—the glass door leading to the main balcony.

He saw the T-72AV tank that brought destruction, with its barrel still emitting faint smoke.

The cannon seemed to be slowly moving again, searching for its next target.

And not far in front of the tank, Song Heping stood there, his finger pointing at the location of his office.

That shot was a warning...

Now...

He was after his life...

Every drop of blood in Du Er's body seemed to freeze completely at this moment.

An immense fear twisted around his heart like a cold poison snake.

He let out a scream that didn't sound human, frantically fumbling his body! A white flag!

He needed a white flag!

There was nothing!

In desperation, he grabbed the hem of his already tattered, blood-stained, dust-covered expensive white shirt!

With all his might, he tore the entire front off with a ripping sound!

The pure white fabric, now stained with dark red bloodstains and filthy gray-black, was wrinkled, like a dirty shroud.

Du Er, his hands trembling, held this "white flag" high, using all the air in his lungs to shout in the direction of Song Heping the most mournful, most wretched scream of his life:

"Don't shoot! Song Heping! Don't shoot---!!!"

"I'll sign! I'll sign! I'll sign anything---!!!"

"I surrender! I surrender! I surrender!"

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com