Fifteen minutes into the battle, the situation in the front yard was largely under control. All buildings were secured, with the presidential guard in the front yard completely eliminated. On the mercenary side, only three African soldiers had suffered minor shrapnel wounds to their hands and feet.
The African soldiers had absorbed Semler's training thoroughly. They had no intention of taking prisoners, nor did they care if the target was a guard, servant, or unarmed; anyone without an armband was shot on sight.
By this point, the advantage of a surprise attack had been lost. The guards defending the presidential mansion had likely regrouped, reorganizing defenses in anticipation of the next assault. The mercenaries were about to face a direct, brutal engagement.
The premature start of the fight had disrupted the original plan. Because he underestimated the effect of bombing, Deng Shiyang changed the original combat plan of simultaneous air landing in the front yard and inner yard to a more cautious phased delivery. This gave the guards a chance to regroup and delayed the mercenaries from capturing the mansion in one swift assault. Worse, the prolonged assault on the front yard had used up valuable time, the remaining fuel of "Arc light One" is only enough to continue circling for ten minutes, which means that they will soon lose their biggest trump card-air support.
Assessing the current situation, Deng Shiyang decided to launch a full-scale assault immediately. Over the radio, he urged Mark and Du Preez to prepare for a frontal attack, then instructed Sien to ascend above the mansion and hover. With twelve boxes of mortars remaining, a total of 144 rounds, Deng Shiyang planned to drop them all on the mansion’s rooftop.
When targeting a large building, precision was no longer essential. To expedite the bombing and maintain pressure on the guards, Deng Shiyang cut the fishing lines holding the mortars in place and turned the boxes’ openings upward, directing two African soldiers strapped with safety harnesses to lift each box near the rear cabin of the helicopter and “dump” the entire box out, mortar shells and all.
Du Preez reorganized the team: In the machine gun position, Mark and two other machine gunners operated three machine guns, leaving two ammunition handlers to supply ammunition and provide assistance; Du Preez transferred one of the machine gun teams into the commando team, Together with the squad machine gunner, they provide suppressive fire for the commando team while on the move. The commandos were lying at the gate leading to the inner courtyard. They were on the grass about eighty yards away from the official residence, shooting at various windows with rifles, the machine gun position on the roof also opened fire.
A few seconds after *Arc Light One* began dropping mortar shells, a dense barrage fell on the mansion’s roof, with deafening explosions that made the assault team’s ears ring.
Before they could recover, the second and third waves of mortars rained down, blasting the mansion’s roof and the lawn in front.
The 81mm mortar shells couldn’t penetrate the roof but sent concrete shards flying. Inside the mansion, it felt like an earthquake. Chandeliers swayed violently, dust and debris fell from the ceiling, the hangings on the wall were knocked to the ground, and even the floorboards shook slightly.
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The people in the official residence have never experienced this kind of situation , it felt as if shells could land on their heads at any moment, their nerves were frayed by the relentless impacts. Outside, nothing was visible but bursts of light, and occasional bullets streaming in through the windows kept everyone pinned down. No one could discern what weaponry was being used; it felt as if dozens of artillery pieces were pounding them, and hundreds of attackers were assaulting the perimeter.
After being ravaged by more than a hundred mortar shells, the official residence had completely changed. There were very few lights left, and all the glass doors and windows near the garden were shattered. The meticulously kept lawn was now a pockmarked mess, littered with craters of varying depths, and the palm trees lining the driveway lay toppled, some even sheared in half by shrapnel.
Du Preez shook off the ringing in his head, crawled across the lawn, knelt on one knee, shouldered an RPG-7 rocket launcher, aimed at the mansion’s front door, and pulled the trigger. A rocket burst from the launcher, trailing fire, flying through the shattered glass door and exploding in the entrance hall.
This was the signal for the charge. Seeing the explosion, the African soldiers leaped up and rushed toward the mansion. Du Preez discarded the rocket launcher, grabbed an MGL grenade launcher, and joined the advance. The machine gunners on the front yard’s high points increased their rate of fire, sweeping every window facing the entrance with heavy fire.
Eighty yards isn’t far under normal conditions, but running it while carrying fifty to sixty pounds of gear is another matter. The assault team knew that the open lawn in front of the mansion was the most dangerous ground, so everyone sprinted forward with all they had.
Their caution was justified: as they reached the driveway’s turnaround point, about twenty-five yards from the awning, a barrage of bullets suddenly raked across their ranks, splitting the team in two. Two African soldiers running in front were hit by bullets and fell to the ground on their backs, and the rest immediately get down to the ground.
“Damn! What is that?” Du Preez saw a large dark shape at the side of the doorway, spitting bullets from above.
Du Preez urgently requested fire support from Mark over the radio, and a rain of bullets struck the dark shape, sending tiny sparks.
“It’s an armored vehicle! There’s an armored vehicle at the entrance! Suppress it, suppress it…” With the sparks highlighting the dark figure, Du Preez finally identified the shape and shouted into the radio. He propped himself up, firing six 40mm low-velocity grenades from his MGL at the front of the vehicle, briefly slowing its fire.
As he was about to reload the MGL grenade launcher, a wounded African soldier suddenly began writhing on the ground, frantically patting his chest.
A bullet had struck the soldier’s chest, passing through a magazine pouch and the magazine inside, stopping against the ballistic plate. Though it hadn’t penetrated the plate, the bullet somehow ignited the propellant in the magazine, leaving the man desperately flailing.
Du Preez seeing this, he bent over and ran over, crouched over to pull the man to safety. He grabbed the handle on the back of the opponent's tactical vest and pulled back, trying to drag him behind a nearby palm tree.
It was the worst mistake of his life.
The flames from the soldier’s ignited magazine marked them as a clear target in the darkness, guiding the guards in the armored vehicle. Du Preez suddenly felt a sharp, hot pain in his side. He pressed his hand against the wound, feeling warm liquid coat his palm. In an instant, his strength drained away, his legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground as his consciousness began to fade.