Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1027 The Arrogance of the Empire

Langley, CIA headquarters.

The heavy oak door shut out the noise of the corridor.

Director Vincent's office was blasting air conditioning, and the air was filled with a unique blend of high-quality leather, cigar tobacco, and the scent of power.

He had just finished a conference call with a senior Defense Department official about the final deployment point of the Marlin cargo, and was relatively calm.

The assistant silently pushed open the door, placed a thin folder labeled "Highest Sensitivity/Reliable Source" on his large mahogany desk, and then silently withdrew.

Vincent frowned, picked up the folder, and opened it. Inside was only one page, its contents concise to the point of being cold.

The headline is exceptionally eye-catching: [Persian Gulf Emergency Intelligence - One Billion Dollar Bounty]

The goal, the location, the reward, the requirements... every word was like a red-hot branding iron, making Vincent's pupils shrink sharply.

"One billion..."

He read it out in a low voice almost subconsciously.

A surge of rage mixed with an almost absurd feeling rushed to his head, causing the muscles in his cheeks to twitch uncontrollably.

He stood up abruptly.

"boom!"

Vincent slammed the thin intelligence report onto the smooth tabletop with a dull thud.

The folder popped open, and the papers slid out.

"Song Heping!"

Vincent practically spat out the name through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with icy rage. "It has to be this madman! Who else but him would have the audacity, this...pure madness! A billion dollars? A bounty on an American arms ship?! Does he think this is some kind of pirate game?!"

He braced his hands on the edge of the table, leaned forward slightly, and his chest heaved with anger.

He stared intently at the bounty poster that had slipped onto the table, as if trying to see his adversary thousands of miles away through the paper.

A sense of absurdity surged up again, even diluting a bit of the anger.

Vincent let out a short, sarcastic laugh.

"What a terrible idea!"

He shook his head, his tone filled with the extreme contempt of a superior for someone who overestimates himself. "A notorious mercenary leader thinks that by throwing out a billion dollars, he can turn those rabble in the Middle East into heavenly warriors? That he can shake American transport ships? That's utter nonsense!"

He straightened up, straightened his impeccably tailored suit and tie, and tried to regain his usual composure and sense of control.

The wanted poster, like a stained rag, was picked up by a corner with two fingers in disgust.

"Notify the navy to increase escort. Tell the captain to be vigilant, but not to be overly alarmed."

His voice regained its usual composure, carrying an unquestionable commanding tone, "As for this thing..."

He picked up the document, shook the paper, and a cold smile, sharp as a knife, appeared on his lips.

"Just a bunch of flies blinded by greed."

Vincent looked at it as if it were some insignificant filth.

"Just kill it."

Then, with a flick of his wrist, Director Vincent tossed the bounty notice marked "billion" onto the large mahogany table as if it were trash.

One billion US dollars?

Is a bounty being offered on a US military supply ship?

The lingering sneer on Vincent's lips was as cold as a knife.

Song Heping, that madman, thinks he can incite a mob to shake the sea monster just by throwing money around?
Absurd beyond belief.

He straightened his tie and turned his attention to more important matters—the final deployment point of the "special cargo" aboard the Marlin.

Outside the window, several thick clouds quietly moved in, casting rapidly expanding shadows behind him.

……

That night.

The Arabian Sea, as night begins to fall.

The massive gray hull of the "Marlin" cleaved through the deep blue sea, its engines emitting a deep, steady roar.

Inside the bridge, Captain Jackson stared intently at the radar screen, where the dense clusters of lights were almost suffocating.

On the deck, security guards wearing bulletproof vests leaned against makeshift sandbag bunkers, their fingers gripping the trigger guards of Browning M2HB heavy machine guns, cold sweat trickling down their temples.

The sea breeze carried a salty, fishy smell and a faint, almost imperceptible odor of diesel fuel, but it couldn't dispel the tension that permeated the air.

"Two kilometers away! Port side! Number... God, at least twenty!"

The lookout's voice, trembling almost imperceptibly, pierced everyone's eardrums through the walkie-talkie.

On the sea, those ghostly black dots that had been tracking them since daytime suddenly accelerated, the shrill roar of their engines tearing apart the tranquility of dusk, like a swarm of sharks that had caught the scent of blood.

They are small in size, fast in speed, and incredibly agile as they leap and weave between the waves.

The pirates at the bow of the ship brandished old AK-47s or RPG rocket launchers, howling like beasts. Their ferocious faces were blurred in the twilight, with only their greed and madness clearly visible.

"Fire! Warning shots!" Captain Jackson yelled into the communicator, his voice drowning out the approaching engine noise.

"Da da da--!"

"Bang bang bang-!"

The roar of the heavy machine gun erupted instantly, dull yet powerful, its long tongues of fire exceptionally glaring in the darkening sky.

The 12.7mm armor-piercing rounds tore through the air, creating dense columns of water around the leading pirate speedboats, like boiling white fences.

A speedboat suddenly exploded in a cloud of wood chips and flames from its bow, lost power, and spun around on the sea.

The pirates on the other ship screamed and plunged into the sea.

But this weak blow did not deter the group of desperados; instead, it added fuel to the fire.

"Charge! A billion dollars is just ahead!"

The pirate leader roared in his native language, his voice filled with hysterical fanaticism.

More speedboats fearlessly pierced through the barrage of bullets, their engine roars merging into a deafening cacophony of death.

Taking advantage of their speed and size, they pounced on the relatively clumsy hull of the Marlin from different directions like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves.

Bullets pounded against the ship's armor and superstructure like hailstones, making a sickening clanging sound and scattering sparks.

Several RPGs hurtled in, trailing long plumes of smoke. One exploded near the stern, sending up a huge column of water that shook the ship violently. Another grazed the bridge, the scorching blast even making the portholes buzz.

"Starboard! They're coming up! Damn it!"

One of the team members shouted hoarsely.

Several speedboats clung to the massive hull of the Marlin as it turned to evade it.

The security personnel on the deck frantically poured bullets downwards.

Screams, curses, gunshots, and explosions mingled together, creating a symphony of hell.

Captain Jackson gripped the helm tightly, his palms sweating profusely.

The massive ship tilted as it maneuvered at high speed, waves crashing against its sides with a heavy roar. Each evasive maneuver was fraught with danger; the cumbersome transport ship, surrounded by agile speedboats, was like a giant elephant stuck in mud, every breath carrying the threat of death.

Despair, like icy seawater, began to wash over my heart.

The emergency distress signal kept repeating over the radio, but the nearest reinforcements were 120 nautical miles away...

120 nautical miles from the USS Marlin, the USS Sampson (DDG-102) stood like a steel island, cutting through the waves.

Inside the bridge, urgent alarms sounded.

"Report! Emergency distress signal! The civilian cargo ship 'Marlin,' bearing XXX, 120 nautical miles away, is under massive pirate attack. The situation is critical!" The communications officer's voice drowned out the alarm.

Lieutenant Commander Richardson rushed to the tactical display console, his sharp eyes scanning the location of the flashing distress signal on the electronic chart, and then quickly confirming the ship's position.

"120 nautical miles..."

He frowned. Even traveling at full speed, it would take at least several hours to get there.

His gaze shifted to the flight control room on the side of the bridge. "Deck! Red Eagle One, emergency takeoff! Target: USS Marlin, coordinates sent! SEAL team, boarding, highest priority fire support!"

"Understood! Red Eagle One, take off immediately!"

The flight deck commander's voice responded immediately.

A piercing takeoff alarm shattered the tranquility above the destroyer.

The rotor of an MH-60R Seahawk helicopter, painted in dark gray, began to spin rapidly, creating a violent gust of air that nearly knocked off the deck crew.

Four fully armed Navy SEALs bent over and braved the strong winds as they quickly filed onto the plane.

The heavy weapon crates were quickly pushed into the cabin.

The captain confirmed the coordinates and mission briefing, then gave a thumbs-up towards the bridge.

"Red Eagle One, take off!"

The engine roared to its peak, and the helicopter deftly broke free from the deck, rapidly climbing in the sea breeze.

As it ascended to a certain altitude, the nose tapped slightly, changed direction, and pointed firmly at the location where the "Marlin" was in distress, quickly becoming a black dot speeding across the twilight sea and sky.

The deck of the Marlin has become the prelude to hell.

The pirates, like a leech, used ropes and grappling hooks to climb and jump up and down the ship's sides.

Although the heavy machine gun fire was fierce, the narrow firing angle and the pirates' agile dodging made the killing efficiency far lower than expected.

Several guards fell in pools of blood, and their bodies were dragged behind cover by their comrades.

The pirates' bullets thudded against the sandbags, kicking up clouds of dust.

"Hold the stairwell! Don't let them rush onto the bridge!"

The guard captain screamed hoarsely as a stray bullet grazed his arm, staining his sleeve with blood.

He grabbed a stun grenade, pulled the safety pin, aimed at a gathering point below, and hurled it down hard.

The bright lights and loud noises temporarily suppressed the pirates in that direction, but more speedboats were flanking from the sides, trying to find a new breakthrough.

A speedboat even risked getting close to the stern, and several pirates tried to sabotage the massive propeller.

The RPG's exhaust flames occasionally lit up near the hull, and each explosion caused the ship to shake violently, leaving charred bullet marks.

The emergency lights on the ship flickered, illuminating every face etched with exhaustion and despair.

Ammunition was being consumed rapidly, and the defensive line was on the verge of collapse.

The pirates' beastly howls and the engine's shrill roar seemed almost within reach, and the greedy flames nearly burned through the steel hull.

Just as the defense line was about to collapse, a new, dull, and extremely oppressive roar came from afar, quickly drowning out the noise on the sea.

The sound came from the sky.

Everyone in the midst of the fierce battle instinctively raised their heads.

As dusk settled in the sky, a colossal, dark gray steel eagle tore through the clouds, swooping down with an aura of supreme dominance.

Beneath the fuselage, the dark muzzle of the M240 7.62mm door machine gun was locked onto the densest group of pirate speedboats on the sea.

"Eagle's Nest calling Marlin! Hold on! Red Eagle One in position!"

The helicopter pilot's calm voice, like heavenly music, instantly pierced through the noisy radio waves and clearly reached the bridge of the USS Marlin.

"Fire! Free Hunt!"

The SEAL team commander gave a concise order from inside the cabin.

"Thump thump thump—!!!"

The machine gun at the hatch suddenly spat out long tongues of fire, and the tracer rounds, like crimson whips of death, lashed fiercely at the sea surface.

In an instant, the two speedboats at the forefront were riddled with holes, and wood chips, fuel, and human remains mixed with seawater soared into the sky.

The engine room of a pirate ship was hit, causing a violent explosion. A ball of orange fire shot into the air, illuminating the pirates' terrified faces.

"RPG! RPG!"

Someone screamed from the pirate group.

Several plumes of white smoke shot hastily toward the giant steel eagle in the sky.

The helicopter pilot calmly pushed the control stick, and the massive aircraft deftly rolled to the side.

The RPG rocket, with a piercing whistle, barely grazed beneath the fuselage before plunging into the sea and exploding.

"Target locked, prepare Hellfire."

The driver's voice remained completely still.

Under the short wing pylon, an AGM-114 Hellfire missile detached from the pylon and ignited!
It spewed out blazing white flames from its tail, and like an arrow released from a bow, it rushed toward a slightly larger pirate ship with the shriek of death.

Boom! ! !

A deafening roar.

The mothership was hit directly in the middle, and the huge fireball instantly engulfed the hull, with steel fragments and burning debris raining down on the surrounding sea.

The intense heat even caused speedboats on the nearby sea to rock violently.

Absolute air superiority!
The remaining pirate speedboats collapsed instantly, like an ant colony being doused with boiling water.

The previous frenzied courage to besiege the giant ship vanished in the face of precise and deadly air strikes.

The speedboats turned around, revved their engines to maximum, and fled in different directions as if their lives depended on it, leaving behind only burning wreckage, floating debris and oil slicks on the sea surface, as well as scattered cries for help that were gradually swallowed by the waves.

The deck of the Marlin was deathly silent, with only the sound of waves crashing against the hull and the distant roar of helicopter engines.

The security team members, who had survived the ordeal, slumped behind their bunkers, panting heavily, their faces a mixture of blood, sweat, and disbelief.

Captain Jackson gripped the helm, watching the flames on the sea gradually die down. His body trembled slightly; the cold, sharp sensation of his brush with death was still vivid in his mind.

He picked up the communicator, his voice hoarse: "Red Eagle One... Marlin... Thank you for your support. Repeat, the pirates have scattered."

"Roger that, Marlin. Stay alert. The Sampson is on its way at full speed. Red Hawk One will continue to keep watch overhead."

　Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)