Chapter 1171: Ambush

The ancient city of Palmyra is very small, with a population of just over 10,000. It is an oasis in the desert, which once flourished due to the exchange of various civilizations. Now, the small town is devastated by war.

Syria is suffering from the flames of war, and this result is entirely the result of the Syrians themselves, and it is not worthy of sympathy at all. They thought they could usher in a better life if they overthrew the Assad government, but they didn't know what it means to destroy the country and destroy the family.

It's just that people with extreme thinking will not think that they are wrong, they will only go to the dark side, either succeed or die. The more excluded, the more radical.

And there are still a lot of rebels and terrorists active near the ancient city of Palmyra, harassing government soldiers all the time. And the Syrian government army is also scum. As long as they are useful, they will not let their country end up in the current situation.

At this moment, three or five rebel soldiers with big beards appeared on the small mound not far from the ancient city. Their main weapon is an individual anti-aircraft missile and several Rpg-7 rocket launchers.

A rebel poked his head slightly out from behind the dirt bag, raised his binoculars and scanned the city of Palmyra. In a desert environment, battles often revolve around water sources. Palmyra has been contested several times, simply because it is an oasis after all.

There are not many government troops in the city, because the drinking water that this oasis can provide is also very limited. They just occupied it, so that the rebels would not use it as a base to harass other big cities, such as Damascus.

And hundreds of meters behind this small group of rebels, there is another small group ambushing. They wore camouflage nets, but they didn't carry too many weapons in their hands. Instead, they set up a camera facing a small group of rebels.

"Duke, get over here." Behind the camera, a bearded man growled.

An Asian face crawled over, his body was dirty with sand mixed with sweat. After approaching the bearded man, he said flatteringly, "Mr. Siddell, are you looking for me?"

The bearded man slapped him across the face, and shouted angrily, "My name is Hussein now, why can't you remember, you stupid monkey?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hussein." The Asian man knew that his boss had accumulated a lot of hostility in the past two days. He didn't dare to offend the other party, so he could only try his best to adapt.

"Go and stare at the camera. Keep watching for me, don't miss any valuable news. Otherwise I will kill you." The bearded 'Hussein' stepped back, opened the water bottle on his waist and drank happily Take a sip.

The Asian man was also thirsty, but he could only watch enviously as his boss drank water. He could only swallow his throat, hoping to get a moist feeling, but the dry mouth and throat mucous membranes felt tingling.

His throat was burning, his stomach was still growling, and his whole body was uncomfortable, but Duke could only bear it. He shifted his gaze to the camera, tried his best to pay attention to the movement in front of him, and prayed that he could capture something today, otherwise his boss' temper would become more and more violent.

Duke belongs to a small news agency from Europe, and a white man who calls himself "Hussein" is the president. They want to make some sensational news, so they even go deep into the Syrian battlefield for this purpose.

In Europe, the independent rebels represent freedom and justice. Duke and his team naturally wanted to shoot from the perspective of the rebels. And they have been staying near Palmyra for half a month now, but they have found nothing.

The life of the rebels is not easy. Their people move around with weapons every day, looking for opportunities to attack the government forces. But "Hussein" is not interested in the fighting of the Syrians themselves. He hopes to see the rebels make some bigger news, such as killing the Russian troops stationed in Syria.

But the Russian army is not stupid, and its combat quality is much better than that of Syria's war scum. The rebels were looking for opportunities in the desert, and Duke could only run around with his boss 'Hussein'. It's not a good day.

In the desert environment, Duke was quite painfully sunburned. The food and water he can be allocated every day are very limited, and he has to endure the increasingly irritable 'Hussein'.

But he felt that it was worth it, the hardship necessary to integrate into white society.

"May God forgive my sins." Duke grabbed the cross on his chest and kissed it, panting heavily and staring at the rebel squad ahead. Today has been in ambush for most of the day, and it seems to be another futile day. His eyes were blank, and it seemed that it was going to be dark.

A black spot suddenly appeared in the sky, and soon the black spot expanded rapidly, and it was a helicopter flying. Du Ke, who was stunned, suddenly got excited and shouted happily: "Mr. Hussein, there is a helicopter."

The bearded man who was resting not far away suddenly got up and ran to the camera. He looked at the camera and saw a Russian Mi-8 helicopter approaching, and the direction of the flight was facing the ambush position of the rebels.

"Great!" 'Hussein' yelled wildly, and quickly locked the helicopter into the viewfinder frame, "A Russian Mi-8 helicopter was destroyed by rebels outside Palmyra, and we can take pictures in real time. Imagery. That alone can fetch a lot of money.”

Duke was also silly and happy, risking his life on the battlefield for half a month, and finally gained something. While "Hussein" was fiddling with the camera himself, he slapped Duke again and shouted angrily, "Quickly set up the satellite phone, I want to connect to European TV stations via video."

Duke was slapped twice in a row but didn't dare to slack off. He quickly set up a satellite phone and contacted BBC, telling the editor-in-chief of the international department that they had important real-time news here and wanted to sell it for a good price.

"A Russian Mi-8 helicopter is about to be shot down. Yes, it is right in front of us. It crashed into an ambush circle of the Syrian opposition. You can see this happening with your own eyes." Duke tried his best It is selling, and the signal of the digital camera is transmitted through the satellite.

'Hussein' is operating the camera, both in the foreground and close up. He clearly photographed the helicopter, the ambush rebels and the surrounding environment, and the Mi-8 in the sky seemed to be in danger.

After confirming this scene, the editor-in-chief of the BBc International Department, thousands of kilometers away, also realized that this is indeed a very good piece of news, and it is even in production.

"Fifty thousand dollars, we sell this news."

"You're kidding, if it's less than $200,000, we'll cut off the signal."

"Twenty thousand is too much."

"Maybe we should go to 'Russia Today'. I think the Russians will spend money to sell the news and try their best to remind their own helicopters to evade. Even if they are unsuccessful in the end, they will definitely not hesitate to spend money."

There were still two slap marks on Duke's face, but he felt that he was extremely successful at the moment. He was haggling with the bigwigs of the BBC, it was the pinnacle of life.

"Let me remind you that this helicopter is about to enter the range of the missile. If you hesitate any longer, you will miss this news. We will cut off the signal."

Perhaps it was Duke's ability to turn his tongue around that played a role. The editor-in-chief of the BBC International Department agreed to sell this real-time news for $200,000, and immediately transmitted the signal to the live broadcast room of the news station.

"Don't worry, your two hundred thousand dollars will be rewarded, just wait for the ratings to soar." Just as Duke finished speaking, the rebel army a few hundred meters away had completed all missile launch preparations, and a single soldier with a 'Stinger' The refrigerant of the anti-aircraft missile began to forcibly cool the seeker, and the infrared staring array locked the target.

And Uncle Zhou can..., he just caught up on that helicopter. 8 For more exciting novels, welcome to visit our Reading Academy