The ancient city of Palmyra is very small, with a population of just over 10,000. It is an oasis in the desert. It once prospered due to the exchange of multiple civilizations. But now, this small city has been devastated by war.
Syria is suffering from the ravages of war, and this result is entirely caused by the Syrians themselves, and they do not deserve sympathy at all. They think that by overthrowing the Assad government, they will usher in a better life, but they do not know what it means to destroy a country and a family.
Only people with extreme ideas will not think that they are wrong. They will only go as far as to succeed or die. The more they are ostracized, the more radical they become.
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 forces are also scum. Even if they are useful, they will not let their
The country has ended up where it is now.
At this moment, three or five bearded rebel soldiers appeared on a small dirt bunker not far from the ancient city. Their main weapons were a man-made anti-aircraft missile and several RPG-7 rocket launchers, and their tactic was to squat.
Wait, wait for the rabbit.
A rebel slightly poked his head out from behind the soil bag and raised his telescope to scan the city of Palmyra. In a desert environment, battles often revolve around water sources. Palmyra has been fought over several times because it is an oasis after all.
.
There are not many government troops in the city because the drinking water this oasis can provide is also very limited. They only occupy it and prevent the rebels from using it as a base to harass other large cities, such as Damascus.
A few hundred meters behind this small group of rebels, there was another small team ambushed. They were covered in camouflage nets, but they did not carry many weapons. Instead, they set up a camera aimed at the small group of rebels.
"Duke, get over here." Behind the camera, a bearded man growled.
An Asian face rolled over and ran over, his body covered with sand and sweat mixed with dirt. He approached the bearded man and said flatteringly: "Mr. Sidell, are you looking for me?"
The bearded man slapped him across the face and yelled angrily: "My name is Hussein now, why can't you, stupid monkey, always remember it?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hussein." The Asian man knew that his boss had been filled with anger in his heart in the past two days. He did not dare to offend him and could only try his best to adapt.
"Go and keep an eye on the camera. Keep an eye on me and don't miss any valuable news. Otherwise I will kill you." The bearded 'Hussein' retreated, opened the kettle on his waist and took a drink.
Take a sip.
The Asian man also had a dry mouth, but he could only watch his boss drink water with envy. He could only swallow his throat, hoping to get some moist feeling, but the dry mucous membranes of his mouth and throat felt tingling.
His throat was burning, his stomach was still growling, and he felt uncomfortable all over, but Duke could only endure it. He turned his attention to the camera, trying his best to pay attention to the movement in front of him, praying that he could capture something today, otherwise his boss's temper would
It's getting more and more popular.
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, and for this purpose, they even go deep into the battlefield in Syria.
In Europe, the anti-government rebels represent freedom and justice. Naturally, Duke and his team had to shoot from the perspective of the rebels. But they have been staying near Palmyra for half a month now, but they have found nothing.
The rebels are having a hard time. Their people move around with weapons every day, looking for opportunities to attack the government forces. But 'Hussein' is not interested in the Syrians' own fighting. He hopes to see the rebels do something bigger.
news, such as killing Russian troops stationed in Syria.
But the Russian army is not stupid, and their fighting quality is much better than that of Syria's fighting scum. The rebels are wandering around in the desert looking for opportunities, and Duke can only follow his boss 'Hussein' everywhere. This
Farming life is not pleasant.
In the desert environment, Duke was very painful from the sun. The food and water he could allocate every day were very limited, and he had to endure the increasingly grumpy "Hussein". But he felt that it was worth it.
The hardships necessary to integrate into white society.
"May God forgive my sins." Duke grabbed the cross on his chest and kissed it, panting and staring at the rebel team in front. They had been in ambush for most of the day today, and it seemed to be another day in vain. He had no eyesight.
God was in a daze, and it was almost getting dark.
Suddenly a black spot appeared in the sky, and soon it expanded rapidly. It was a helicopter flying. Duke, who was in a daze, suddenly became excited and shouted with joy: "Mr. Hussein, there is a helicopter."
The bearded man who was resting not far away suddenly got up and ran quickly to the camera. He looked at the camera and saw a Russian Mi-8 helicopter approaching quickly, and the direction of flight was facing the rebels.
Ambush position.
"Great!" 'Hussein' shouted wildly and quickly locked the helicopter into the frame. "A Russian Mi-8 helicopter was destroyed by the rebels outside Palmyra. We can capture the real-time
Image. This alone can be sold for a lot of money."
Duke followed suit and was silly and happy. After risking his life on the battlefield for half a month, he finally gained something. While 'Hussein' personally fiddled with the camera, he looked back and slapped Duke again, shouting angrily: "
Set up a satellite phone quickly, I want a video connection to a European TV station."
Duke was slapped twice in succession but did not dare to slack off. He quickly set up a satellite phone and contacted the BBC, telling the editor-in-chief of the international department that they had important real-time news here and wanted to sell it at 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 the ambush of the Syrian opposition. You can see this happening with your own eyes." Duke tried his best.
We are promoting and transmitting digital camera signals via satellite.
‘Hussein’ was operating the camera, with both long and close shots. He clearly photographed the helicopter, the ambushing rebels and the surrounding environment. The Mi-8 in the sky looked in danger.
After confirming this, the editor-in-chief of the BBC International Department thousands of kilometers away also realized that this was indeed a great piece of news and that it was even happening.
"For fifty thousand dollars, we sell this news."
"You're kidding, if it's less than two hundred thousand dollars, we'll cut off the signal."
"Two hundred thousand is too much."
"Maybe we should go to Russia Today. I think the Russians will definitely spend money to sell the news and try their best to remind their own helicopters to avoid it. Even if they fail in the end, they will definitely not hesitate to spend how much money."
Duke still had two slap marks on his face, but he felt that he was extremely successful at this moment. He was bargaining with the big shots of the BBC. This was really the pinnacle of his life.
"I remind you that this helicopter is about to enter the missile range. If you hesitate any longer, you will miss this news. We will cut off the signal."
Perhaps due to Duke's ability to talk a lot, 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 news station's live broadcast room.
"Don't worry, your two hundred thousand dollars will be rewarded. Just wait for the ratings to soar." As soon as Duke finished speaking, the rebels a few hundred meters away had completed all missile launch preparations, and a single 'Stinger'
The refrigerant of the anti-aircraft missile begins to forcefully cool the seeker head, and the infrared gaze array locks onto the target.
And Uncle Zhou can...he is catching up on his sleep on that helicopter.