Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1000: Please, Give Me a Shot!
Dead silence.

A chilling silence swallowed the echoes of gunfire.

Only the wind, carrying the lingering smoke of gunpowder and the sweet, metallic smell of fresh blood, swept across the jagged rocks where Song Heping was hiding, bringing a chill like that of the deepest abyss of hell.

He lay prone behind cover, his bloodshot eyes peering through the gaps, locking onto the entrance to the sand valley below, which had just been a furnace of purgatory.

The sporadic gunfire completely ceased.

The GNA soldiers vanished without a trace, as if swallowed by a giant mouth in the desert.

Only the burning skeleton of the pickup truck spewed billowing black smoke, and broken weapons were scattered all over the ground, and...

Layer upon layer of corpses, their postures twisted and stiff.

The "Jackal" armored vehicle stood alone at the entrance, its turret drooping and machine gun muzzle pointing to the ground, looking like a dead dog with its spine broken.

"Boss...it seems...empty downstairs?"

The sound of a wrench came through the headphones, accompanied by immense confusion.

This guy had been sitting in the best vantage point, and now he was completely bewildered by this strange scene.

The Haftar soldiers around Song Heping looked at each other, their faces covered in blood, sweat and sand, their eyes blank as they stared at everything in front of them.

One second they were shrouded in the oppressive shadow of death, and the next second the pressure vanished into thin air, leaving only an unsettling vacuum.

"God... has appeared to us?"

"Are they all...dead? Or...run away?"

Song Heping frowned, but his vigilance remained unwavering.

The eerie silence was more chilling than a hail of bullets.

What about Dorn?
What about Yarif?

Where are those ghosts of SBS?
Thousands of living people, they can't just vanish into thin air, can they?
"wrench."

Song Heping's voice broke the silence as he cautiously said, "Take two men out to scout ahead. Keep your eyes peeled and watch out for traps. The rest of you, maintain vigilance and provide cover. No one may act without my orders."

"understand!"

The wrench tightened instantly in response.

Three ghostly figures slid down from the high rock crevice, using the wreckage and shell craters as cover, leaping in turn, their nerves taut as they made their way towards that dead zone.

Every stone could hold a deadly secret.

Time dragged on in anxious anticipation.

Through the earpiece, the wrench's suppressed breathing and the intermittent reports pounded on everyone's nerves:

"...Entrance...piles of corpses...GNA...lots of them..."

"...FUCK! It's SBS...I saw several...dead..."

"...The command vehicle...was blown to bits...and is still burning..."

"...Behind the dunes, FUCK..."

What followed was a long silence that lasted for several minutes.

As they arrived, the wrench's voice carried an incredulous complexity: "Boss... safe. Come down... down there... are dead bodies everywhere. Dorn... is lying there too."

Song Heping took a deep breath, the smell of gunpowder and blood filling his lungs.

He stood up and waved to the tense soldiers behind him: "First squad, second squad, follow me. The rest of you, stay put like nails!"

Dozens of soldiers who were still able to move, including veterans of the special operations platoon, quickly assembled and followed behind Song Heping, stepping through the sticky, blood-soaked sand, and re-entering the enemy position that was soaked in death.

A picture of hell unfolds before my eyes.

As far as the eye can see, death is the only theme.

The corpses of GNA soldiers were piled up in layers, filling the narrow entrance to the Windrock Zone and covering the sand on both sides.

Their contorted postures were frozen in a state of near-death terror or final madness.

Blood stained large swamps of yellow sand into dark red mud, emitting a nauseating stench.

The burning wreckage emitted a foul stench of charred flesh.

After passing several pickup trucks reduced to charred skeletons, the scene on the reverse slope of the dunes was even more shocking—this was the eye of the storm.

The area was riddled with craters, and the smoke of battle had not yet dissipated.

The command vehicle was reduced to a charred skeleton, with twisted steel bars emitting wisps of smoke.

The pickup truck, which had been used as cover, was now a twisted junk. But the most shocking sight was the pile of corpses scattered everywhere—

Among these corpses, there were not many wearing SBS special operations uniforms and well-equipped bodies, but their deaths were gruesome, almost all riddled with bullets at close range; the majority were soldiers in GNA uniforms, who fell in a charging posture, their bodies piled up in layers, telling the story of their madness in their final moments of mutual destruction.

On a relatively "open" sandy area, Song Heping finally saw "Wrench," with his opponent lying at his feet—Captain Dorn Rodriguez.

This once arrogant SBS commander, who treated human life like dirt, now lies face down in the dark red sand like a discarded, blood-soaked sack. His once-proud combat uniform, a symbol of his "elite" status, has been torn to shreds by countless bullets and is soaked with thick, semi-coagulated blood.

Back, lower back, thighs...

It was riddled with bullet holes, making it look exactly like a human-shaped sieve.

One arm was eerily pressed down beneath him, while the other arm stretched out desperately forward, its fingers digging deep into the sand, as if he were trying to crawl back to his bullet-riddled command vehicle before he breathed his last.

Song Heping squatted down, and with his tactical gloved hand, he disrespectfully grabbed Dorn's shoulder and flipped him over like a salted fish.

A face was revealed—pale as paper from blood loss, covered in sand and blood scabs.

The eyes that once shone with arrogance and violence were now wide open and empty, the unfocused pupils reflecting the blinding yet cold sun of the Sahara.

Dorn's mouth gaped open, frozen in utter astonishment and immense resentment.

The wounds on his chest and abdomen were even more gruesome, with his shattered internal organs vaguely visible.

Just as Song Heping was about to get up, Dorn's already dilated pupils twitched extremely, extremely slightly!
Immediately afterwards, a faint "ho...ho..." sound, like air leaking from a broken bellows, came from deep in his throat!

A trickle of dark red, foamy blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.

"Holy crap! He's not quite dead yet?"

Song Heping was also taken aback.

This vitality is comparable to that of a lizard in the desert.

The surrounding soldiers instantly snapped their rifles shut with a clatter, their nerves on edge.

Song Heping raised his hand to stop them.

He knew very well that Dorn was practically a dead man now.

The only difference is the heartbeat.

His gaze, like a cold probe, scrutinized the dying face.

Those empty eyes turned with great effort, weakly focusing on Song Heping's face.

There was no anger, no hatred, only boundless, almost overflowing pain, and a kind of humble, naked pleading.

His lips moved violently, but no clear sound came out. However, the message conveyed by his eyes was clearer than any shout.

"Kill...me...please..."

Song Heping looked at him silently, his face expressionless.

All that remained on the battlefield was the crackling of flames and Dorn's increasingly faint and painful "ho...ho..." sounds, like a broken bellows making its final struggle.

There was no pity, nor any pleasure in revenge.

There was only a kind of indifference, like dealing with battlefield trash, even with a touch of absurd black humor—this arrogant SBS officer's final destination was a hail of bullets from a group of African soldiers, and he was ultimately humbly abandoned here.

Then, he would beg for a shot to end his life, like a maggot begging his prey for a quick death.

The few seconds of silence felt as long as a frozen moment.

Song Heping slowly drew the Glock 17 pistol from his waist.

The cold, black gun barrel reflected a chilling light.

He raised his arm, his movements steady without the slightest tremor, and the muzzle of the gun was firmly aimed at the patch of blood-stained skin between Dorn's eyebrows.

"boom!"

The gunshots were crisp and clean, exploding on the deathly silent battlefield, particularly jarring, and carrying a sense of decisive end.

Dorn's convulsing body stiffened abruptly, the last "hoarse" sound fading away completely. A brand-new, charred bullet hole between his brows precisely ended all the pain and that pitiful resentment.

Those empty eyes finally lost all their last bit of luster, leaving only a solidified gray-white.

With a flick of his wrist, Song Heping neatly sheathed his pistol, as if he had merely crushed an eyesore.

He stood up and looked around at the slaughterhouse, a place created by madness and stupidity.

His gaze swept over the cold corpses of the SBS team members, over the mountain of GNA soldiers' remains, and finally landed on Dorn's completely lifeless face, frozen in a pleading expression.

"Clean the battlefield."

His voice was as calm as the wind on a desert night.

"Scrape out everything of value: weapons, ammunition, equipment, especially those expensive SBS communication gadgets and individual soldier gear. Be quick and don't waste time."

"Yes!"

The soldiers roared in response and pounced on the wreckage like hungry wolves.

　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)