Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 008
Chapter Title: Coup Conditions 5: Ingredients for Justification
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"Will you be piloting it yourself again?"
In response to Hassan's question, I masked my excitement and replied as if I had no choice.
"What can I do? No one flies at night like I do."
For some reason, the experiences from games in my past life had transferred over as real skills, just like that.
As if someone who mixed up their game time with actual life had mistakenly logged those memories as lived experience.
Well, it wasn't entirely wrong—I'd spent most of my previous life immersed in games, after all.
Thanks to that, my piloting skills were at a level where even veteran pilots wouldn't dare show their faces in front of me.
And this bird? I'd flown it hundreds of times in the game.
Truth be told, ever since then, I'd preferred the Hind over Western models—not for the specs, but for that hefty, imposing silhouette.
Layered titanium armor plating, rockets and anti-tank missiles optimized for ground-pounding, plus a 20mm Gatling gun.
It was the full setup for that euphoric rush of mowing down civilians, the kind of nicotine hit that no Call of Destiny player could quit after one taste.
And even the nickname suited my tastes perfectly.
Satan's Chariot.
Just thinking about taking this beast out had my heart thumping already.
"I can tell you're grinning, even in the dark."
I quickly changed the subject.
"Let's get going. Those guys are probably hauling ass right now to destroy the evidence."
No sooner had Hassan spoken than the waiting operatives boarded the chopper with practiced efficiency.
And finally, I headed to the cockpit.
Inside the cockpit.
The buttons, control levers, and stick were exactly as I'd seen them in the game.
My hands and feet moved on instinct, faster than my brain could catch up.
I pulled on my helmet,
powered up,
checked the gauges in sequence, flipping switches one by one.
Click-click! Click-click-click!
Voltage, pressure, fuel, ordnance—all green.
With the bird's systems confirmed step by step, I ramped up the engine torque.
Whirr~ Whirr~ Whirr-whirr-whirr-whirr~~~ Wheeeee~~.
The rotors above sliced through the air with growing fury, kicking up a vicious sandstorm around us.
As the gale whipped in all directions,
the torque finally hit optimal levels.
Gripping the stick, I keyed the mic near my mouth and called back to the team.
"We're lifting off. Everyone hold tight."
I didn't wait for a reply before easing the collective up.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud~~~~.
The massive frame shuddered for a split second before gently peeling off the ground.
Finessing the stick, cranking the throttle higher, I banked into position.
The Hind tilted to one side,
swung around, and began skimming the ground at treetop height.
Ceiling: 25 meters.
Just high enough to slip past Iranian Air Force radar to the target.
No choice—we were operating in total secrecy from both the loyalists and the opposition.
Flying 30 meters off the deck at night on night vision alone was borderline suicidal,
but I'd run the Call of Destiny campaign scenario dozens of times. Piece of cake.
Thud-thud-thud~~~.
The Hind crept forward, barely clearing the terrain, then started picking up speed.
And in an instant,
it pitched forward, hurtling along like it was scraping the earth.
Thud-thud-thud~~~!
Constantly adjusting altitude against the shifting ground, the chopper barreled northeast like a rollercoaster gone rogue.
Vroom-vroom-rumble~~
Mashhad outskirts.
A remote road, utterly devoid of lights.
A Toyota pickup led the way, trailed by a line of trucks and more pickups.
The convoy that had slipped out of the city barreled down the pitch-black road, relying solely on headlights.
Muhammad, riding shotgun in the lead vehicle, kept glancing in the rearview mirror.
So far, so good—no sign of trouble.
He checked his watch.
By now, vote counting would be in full swing.
The swapped ballot boxes were probably already cracked open.
All that was left was to haul the cargo in those trucks to some deserted spot and torch it. End of story.
Come morning, God—and His priests—would rule Iran again, guiding the faithful back to the righteous path.
What they were doing now? Just the growing pains of birthing a new world.
And since he'd handled this critical task himself,
it was obvious who'd snag the next high priest gig.
The anxiety from moments ago had given way to eager anticipation.
"Wrap this up quick and head back. Results'll be out before midnight. Gotta verify them myself."
- "Yes, priest."
As the lead truck sped up,
the followers revved their engines and strung out behind it.
Vroooom~~~!!Rumble-rumble~~~!!
Deep into the night,
on the darkened plain.
With the growl of old engines echoing faintly into the distant sky,
the convoy crested a hill.
Rumble-rumble~~!!
Muhammad grabbed the overhead handle as the lead truck shook.
"Just over this hill and we're there. Hang in a bit longer, everyone."
- "Yes."
Just as the lead vehicle neared the hilltop,
a roar pierced the cabin from somewhere.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
"What the hell is that?"
- "Dunno. Some engine noise?"
"From behind us?"
- "Doesn't sound like it. Coming from over the hill, maybe..."
"Over the hill?"
But beyond the crest lay only inky blackness, no lights in sight.
If anything was out there this late, headlights would've given it away.
As confusion rippled through the group,
Wheeee~~!! Thud-thud-thud-thud~~~~!!!
a sudden sandstorm erupted from beyond the hill,
and a hulking silhouette burst over the ridge in its wake.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud~~!!!
The massive shape crested the hill in a flash, then nose-dived straight at the uphill-climbing convoy.
- "Whoa!"
- "It's coming down!"
- "Watch out!"
- "Collision!"
Panicked drivers slammed the brakes as the behemoth bore down, rotors first.
Screeech!Screeech!!
Passengers lurched forward, tumbling in the sudden deceleration.
- "Ugh!"
- "Heads up!"
- "Oof!"
Crash-clang~~!!
Thud-thud-thud~~!!
The chopper skimmed the ground right up to collision before pulling up razor-thin over the truck roofs.
The sandstorm in its wake engulfed the convoy.
Whoooosh~~~!!!
- "Whoa!"
- "Sandstorm!!"
- "Helicopter! Attack chopper!"
Vision obscured, chaos reigned in the blinded convoy.
But the Hind had already wheeled around in the dark and now hovered dead ahead of the lead vehicle, blocking the path.
Moments later, blinding searchlights poured from the chopper.
- "Argh! My eyes!"
- "What the fuck?!"
A stranger's voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
"This is Blades of the Black King, royal special operations unit. All personnel in the vehicles—drop your weapons and surrender. Resist or refuse, and you will be executed on the spot."
Muhammad shielded his eyes with both hands, mind blank on what to do next.
Who were they?
How had they tracked them down?
And now what?
As he froze, shadowy figures rappelling from the chopper's flanks caught his eye.
If those men reached the trucks,
saw the ballot boxes—everything unraveled.
The Islamic Republic's dawn tomorrow.
The temple. His future.
Panic overrode his thoughts: Stop them, whatever it takes.
He snatched the radio and bellowed.
"Everyone, open fire! Keep them off the trucks!"
Thud-thud-thud-thud~~!!!
The dead of night, no lights in sight.
Two hours of terrain-hugging flight, and we'd found our target.
Sandstorm suppression via rotor wash and searchlight—time to insert the team.
I keyed the mic with orders.
"Troops in. Lethal force authorized."
- "Understood, Your Highness."
Side doors slid open,
and operatives fast-roped down the lines.
Hassan, last man down, took point with expert precision toward the vehicles.
Spreading out in a fan, rifles at the ready, they advanced methodically.
I held the Hind steady overhead, eyes glued to the scene.
Then.
On the lead pickup's bed.
A black-clad figure clambered up, seized the mounted machine gun, and swung the barrel around.
I'd warned them. My hands are tied now.
Radio first: warning.
"Enemy machine gun. Everyone, cover!"
The team hit the dirt instantly.
The gunner swung on the massive Hind target and squeezed the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat~~!!Ping~!! Ping-ping-ping~~!!
Tracers arced toward us, but they sparked harmlessly off the frontal armor.
"That all you got? Tickles."
I flicked the firing switch on the stick, casual as ever.
Instantly.
The nose-mounted 20mm Gatling barked a short burst.
20mm Vulcan Cannon Activated
Target Shredded / Fuel Detonation / Lethal Penetration
Rrrat-tat-tat~~!!
The report was light.
The effect? Devastating.
Splat-splatter~crash-crash-crash~splat-splatter~!!
In a heartbeat, the windshield, hood—everything punched through and shredded.
The truck's frame tore like tissue paper.
Bodies burst like fireworks, spraying gore everywhere.
The rounds didn't discriminate, ripping vehicle and flesh alike until they ignited the fuel tank.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM~!!!
A few seconds of fire turned the truck—and its crew—into smoldering confetti.
The survivors trembled in terror at the sudden slaughter.
I hit the loudspeaker again.
"I repeat: Drop your weapons and surrender. Resist, and you will be terminated without mercy."
No sooner had I finished than the passengers piled out, hands raised, scrambling from the vehicles.
The prone team rose,
rifles trained as they closed in, cuffing them one by one.
Moments later, Hassan's voice crackled over the radio from the trucks.
- "Your Highness. Ballot boxes secured."
"Good. RTB. I'll head back first—you handle the rest."
- "See you at the palace."
Last transmission done, Hassan and the team loaded the prisoners into the trucks and convoyed back the way they'd come.
The Hind nosed west and vanished into the night.
On the empty hill, only the lone, flaming truck remained, quietly burning itself out.