Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1019 Major Etan's Adventure Plan

Three blinding afterimages of the explosions still lingered on Ilan's retina.

The screams of his comrades on the channel abruptly stopped, replaced by suffocating static noise.

"Hammers #2, #3, and #4, answer!"

Ilan's voice trembled, and his fingers almost crushed the joystick.

no respond.

On the radar screen, the three friendly forces' markings simultaneously turned into flashing "X" symbols.

Three F-15Is.

Six of the best pilots.

Total destruction.

There was no time to think further.

The red lights inside the cockpit were still flashing wildly.

Ilan suddenly realized that his own crisis was not yet over, and that grieving for his teammates was completely unnecessary.
"Damn it!"

He jerked the stick to the right and simultaneously pressed the detonation button, causing the fighter jet to spin sharply at an angle that nearly tore the wings apart.

The sky was once again illuminated by red heat decoys.

At that very moment, the fourth missile whizzed past the left wing, its scorching exhaust burning the metal skin.

"You dodged it!"

Just as Ilan breathed a sigh of relief, he saw the missile trace an impossible sharp arc in the distance, then turn around and pounce again!
"How is that possible?! The SA-6 couldn't possibly have such maneuverability!"

Ilan's pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints.

This completely violates the laws of physics—unless...
Unless the missile's guidance system has been enhanced by some unknown technology.

The missile was 2000 meters away.

15 seconds.

Ilan's fingertips danced across the ECM (Electronic Countermeasures) panel, releasing the last batch of decoy flares.

The dazzling flower of death bloomed once again in the night sky.

The missile pierced through the jamming cloud without hesitation.

1500 m.

10 seconds.

"Mayday! Mayday!"

Ilan screamed into the radio, his voice distorted by overload.

"This is Hammer 1! The entire formation is destroyed! Repeat, Hammer formation destroyed! Enemy missile malfunction! Requesting—"

1000 m.

7 seconds.

The missile's rocket engine emitted a demonic shriek.

500 m.

3 seconds.

Ilan made one last desperate maneuver.

He pushed the throttle valve to the afterburner position and simultaneously pulled the deceleration brake sharply.

The fighter jet shuddered violently as if struck by a giant hammer, and its speed plummeted.

The missile overshot its target due to inertia, but then began to spin inexplicably.

200 m.

1 seconds.

"Eject! Eject! Eject—"

boom--

The world shattered before Iran.

Near the blast, fragments hit the tail.

The shockwave from the explosion snapped the fighter jet in half.

The cockpit instantly turned into a pressure cooker; Ilan's eardrums ruptured in excruciating pain, and blood gushed from his nostrils.

The oxygen mask was ripped off, and a cold, gust of wind rushed into the cockpit.

The fighter jet began its spiral descent.

The altimeter is spinning wildly:
6000 meters.
5500 meters.
5000 meters.
"The ejection system is damaged."

A cold, electronic female voice announced the death sentence.

He turned to look at the back seat.

The weapons officer's face was covered in blood, and his head hung down like a suffocated goose.

His deputy is dead...

Without thinking twice, he quickly grabbed the ejection pin with his bloodied right hand and pulled with all his might.

no response.

4000 m.

He spotted the disguised cargo ship on the sea, its strange launch pad slowly retracting from the deck.

This is the murderer.

3500 m.

Ilan pulled out his survival knife and plunged it deep under the dashboard, severing the safety cable of the backup ejection system.

The alarm blared as shrilly as a death knell from hell.

3000 m.

He gripped the pull ring with both hands, braced his knees against the control lever, and leaned his entire weight backward.

boom! ! !
The rocket booster seat unleashed its final roar.

Ilan felt his spine almost crushed by the G-force, and his vision went completely black for a moment. When his vision returned, he found himself suspended under a parachute.

Below, the wreckage of his fighter jet, trailing thick smoke, crashed into the sea, creating a huge splash.

The cold sea breeze lashed against his face.

Ilan trembled as he reached for the survival kit at his side—a pistol, flares, and a first-aid kit.

He is still alive.

The parachute carried the blood-covered man slowly down to the dark sea.

The brief but devastating death pyrotechnics over the eastern Mediterranean sent shockwaves that tore through the heavy atmosphere at the Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv, thousands of kilometers away, within minutes.

The encrypted line sent incredible, real-time communication snippets, along with preliminary satellite infrared data—four massive heat sources that suddenly lit up and then quickly dimmed, each with an ominous trail of diffusion—crashing into Jacob's office.

"Hammer... total wipeout... confirmed... Seagull... SAM-6..."

The intelligence officer tried his best to maintain a rigid reporting tone, but the slight tremor at the end of his voice was like glass in a violent typhoon.

Jacob stood in front of the huge electronic situation map, with his back to the door.

On the screen, the four bright blue triangular dots representing the "Hammer" squadron, and the slightly larger dot representing the KC-707 "Cutlass," were automatically marked as a glaring red "X" by the system just seconds before, and then completely faded away, as if they had been brutally wiped away by an invisible hand.

Their last location information is frozen on a cold nautical chart about ninety nautical miles northwest of Alexandria.

He remained motionless, only the muscles near his shoulder blades tensed and rippled slightly beneath the expensive suit fabric.

The only sounds in the office were the low hum of the server racks and his own heavy, almost stagnant breathing. The air felt heavy, like it was filled with lead.

A few seconds, or a few minutes?

The passage of time has lost its measure.

Until a standalone, exceptionally sleek black encrypted communication terminal on the desktop emitted a deep, continuous hum, its screen lit up, displaying a complex authentication emblem. Jacob turned almost stiffly, his fingers gliding across the touchpad with an almost numb precision, typing in a lengthy dynamic password.

The screen flickered, and Ms. M's face, which still exuded a cold and hard texture even in encrypted video transmission, appeared on the screen, against the familiar cold light of the MI6 headquarters command room.

“Yage”.

Ms. M's voice came through the speaker, clear and calm, without any distortion typical of long-distance communication.

"You have probably received the images of the Mediterranean Sea."

She paused slightly, her sharp gaze piercing through the screen.

"Let me remind you, this seems to confirm some of my previous... concerns? About the cost of underestimating the enemy. I said before, this Song Heping is no ordinary mercenary leader."

Jacob felt a chilling rage surge up his spine, instantly dispelling the brief numbness.

He took a deep breath, his chest heaving, and said in a low voice, "M! Now is not the time to dredge up the past! The losses of 'Hammer' were catastrophic, but the war is not over yet! Saif's 20,000 troops gathered on the border are not just for show! Even without air support, a ground offensive can still crush the pitiful defenses of North Darfur!"

He slammed his fingers heavily on the North African border map spread out on the table. "Haftar's ragtag army, plus Song Heping's mercenaries who fight for money, adds up to just over ten thousand! We have the numerical advantage! We must attack! Immediately!"

Ms. M's image remained motionless, only a faint, almost imperceptible hint of mockery flashed deep in her eyes, but her tone remained calm: "Yage, anger can cloud judgment. To use 20,000 GNA militiamen with questionable organization to launch a direct assault on a pre-established defensive line that professional soldier Song Heping had cultivated for months?"

"Especially after the enemy just demonstrated such precise and deadly naval ambush capabilities? This is tantamount to driving sheep into the tiger's den. I suggest ordering Saif to immediately withdraw to the Benghazi region, hold the existing coastal area, and preserve our strength. Song Heping dug a pit for us, and we just lost an elite squadron in it. Now, are we going to throw Saif, our last remaining asset, into it as well?"

"Retreat? Hold the line?"

Jacob practically growled, the veins on his forehead throbbing beneath his skin.

“That would mean we have completely lost control of the oil fields in southern Lebia! Lost our foothold for influencing the Sudanese border! All our previous investments and sacrifices would have been for nothing! Song Heping would be driven in there like a nail! That’s absolutely impossible!”

He leaned forward abruptly, bracing himself on the table with both hands, his face almost touching the screen.

“We still have a chance! As soon as Saif’s army moves, it can keep Song Heping’s main force firmly tied to the border! This is part of our plan!”

"The plan has a fatal flaw!"

Ms. M's voice suddenly rose, carrying a metallic coldness, "The vulnerability's name is Song Heping! He was able to shoot down the most advanced F-15I in the Mediterranean with an old-fashioned missile from decades ago! What does this mean? It means his prediction of our actions is terrifyingly accurate! And there's a force behind him that we have no idea about! It means he may have been waiting for Saif's army to step into the battlefield he carefully chose! On the border, what awaits Saif is probably not an encounter battle, but a meat grinder! A fire trap! A graveyard he tailored for us! It's not too late to stop now and cut our losses!"

"Stop the losses? Retreating in the face of the enemy is the greatest failure!"

Yager remained unyielding, his eyes like sharpened blades. "We're not at our wits' end yet! Don't forget, we still have an ace up our sleeve!"

Just as the two were on the verge of a heated argument, another red encrypted phone next to Jacob rang sharply, its shrill sound penetrating the static of the video call.

Yager glanced at the caller ID; it was the ace he had just mentioned, Major Ethan, the commander of the "Alpha" team.

"Wait a moment, M."

Without hesitation, Jacob ended the video call with Ms. M, took a deep breath, grabbed the red phone, and instantly switched his voice to the cold, hard tone characteristic of a battlefield commander: "Etan, speak."

"Sir, we understand about the 'Hammer' incident."

Major Eitan's voice came through an encrypted line from the distant northern Darfur border region, carrying the dryness characteristic of the Gobi night wind, yet unusually calm and without the slightest hint of panic.

"It's a pity we've lost several excellent pilots, but our mission window remains open, and may even be better."

Jacob's eyes narrowed: "Explain."

"The SAS were attacked 60 kilometers southeast of the 'Musician' base, and they are now in a fierce battle."

Ethan speaks very quickly and provides precise information.

"The fighting is fierce. Song Heping's elite special operations platoon has been successfully tied down and cannot return to reinforce the core base in the short term. Now, news of 'Hammer's' annihilation will surely reach Song Heping's ears. If Saif's army advances northward into Darfur now—this is an open strategy. Given Song Heping's character and responsibilities, he will definitely mobilize all available forces within the base to reinforce the border defenses! Sir, think about it, when Song Heping's 10,000 soldiers and Saif's 20,000 troops are lined up on the border, guns roaring, what will be left in Song Heping's base? Logistics? Clerks? Guard platoon?"

Etan's voice held a suppressed excitement, like a hunter spotting a perfect opportunity: "The base is now more vulnerable than ever before! This is the perfect moment we've been waiting for! We're in position now, our ambush point less than two kilometers from the base's outer perimeter sentry post. As soon as Saif's 'performance' at the border begins and captures everyone's attention, I guarantee that within thirty minutes, my dagger will be piercing Song Heping's heart! A decapitation strike is highly feasible! Requesting execution!"

Jacob's heart pounded violently in his chest. Ethan's analysis was like a lightning bolt tearing through the fog.

Anger and frustration were replaced by a moment of desperate resolve.

risk?

huge!

But the potential rewards—directly severing Song Heping, the core node, paralyzing the entire "Musician" defense system, and even reversing the entire North African war situation—are even more tempting!

A gambler's blood was coursing through his veins.

He could almost see Ethan's commando team infiltrating like ghosts, and Song Heping collapsing in his command chair.

This may be the only consolation for the spirits of the "Hammer" squadron in heaven!
"Major Eitan!"

Jacob's voice was deep and powerful, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying an undeniable determination.

"Your judgment aligns with my thoughts. I now authorize the 'decapitation' operation! I will immediately coordinate to ensure Saif's 'opening' at the border on time! Remember, there is only one target: Song Heping! Dead or alive, but I need to confirm it! You are in charge of the timing of the operation, but you must ensure a fatal blow! 'The Pit' will provide you with the highest priority satellite and intelligence support! God bless Israel!"

"Roger that, sir! The 'Alpha' team has locked onto the target and will not let you down!"

Ethan's voice was firm and decisive, and then the communication was cut off.

　Requesting monthly votes! Requesting monthly votes! With plenty of monthly votes, I'll still maintain a 10,000-word update schedule.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)