Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1062 Departure! Northern Iligo!

Three days passed in a flash, as fast as a bullet leaving the barrel.

Thanks to the combined effects of potent medication and his own robust physique, Song Heping's left shoulder wound has healed to a considerable extent. Although he still experiences slight pulling pain when exerting himself, it no longer affects his mobility.

Nassin arrived as promised, carrying the equipment list that Afanti had promised and a thick stack of encrypted intelligence documents.

Song Heping carefully examined the list.

Night vision equipment: Persian-made binocular night vision devices, and a small number of Russian-made 1PN93 thermal imaging sights.

Anti-armor weapons: Russian-made RPG-29 "Vampire" anti-tank rocket launcher, as well as a large number of RPG-7V2 rockets and PG-7VR tandem warhead rockets.

There are also several Russian-made Kornet-EM or Persian-made Dehlavieh anti-tank missile systems.

The sniper rifle is the Russian-made SVDK, equipped with a PSO series optical sight.

Machine guns and individual weapons included the PKM/PKTM general-purpose machine gun, with sufficient ammunition. There were also Persian-made G3 rifles and a large quantity of Russian-made F-1 and RGD-5 grenades.

In addition, there were a large number of Russian-made Plastic Explosives (similar to C4) and detonation devices.

This list reveals that there are still many underground transactions between Persia and Russia. The fact that they could offer so many good items shows Afanti's sincerity, and their equipment level is in no way inferior to that of the Revolutionary Guard.

It seems that Afanti indeed had a great interest in this crucial strategic location in northwestern Iligo.

"The general said that the equipment will be transported in batches through secret channels after you arrive, and the first batch will arrive near Samir's controlled area within five days."

Nassin reported from the side.

Song Heping nodded and quickly flipped through the intelligence.

The document details the latest troop deployments in northwestern Iriego in 1515, the activity patterns of key leaders, known supply routes, and...

Some horrifying reports of atrocities.

The intelligence regarding Samir's "Iligo Liberation Force" confirmed Song Heping's previous understanding—their situation was extremely difficult, their controlled area was compressed into a narrow, barren mountainous and desert region in northern Anbar province near the border of Siriah, with a sparse population, scarce resources, and constant threat of being wiped out by 1515.

"Money... or oil?" Song Heping closed the document.

"It's been arranged."

Nassin handed over an encrypted satellite phone and a note with a string of complex code written on it.

“Use this to contact a man named ‘Haji.’ He’s a key figure on our… uh, special trade route. Give him this code, and he’ll arrange for you to receive an oil quota equivalent to one hundred million US dollars. How to transport it out and how to convert it into cash is up to you. The general warned that this route is very sensitive, so you need to act quickly and cleanly.”

Song Heping took the phone and the note and carefully put them away.

He knew this was the real hot potato, but also the lifeline that Samir desperately needed.

I could have paid for it myself.

It's just more cost-effective to use Persian money.

"Let's go."

Song Heping slung a heavy tactical backpack over his shoulder, stuffed with necessary equipment and medicine. "It's time to go see our little friends."

Ten o'clock at night.

A Mi-17 helicopter, unmarked and painted in dark desert camouflage, flew low close to the undulating sand dunes.

The propellers stirred up a cloud of yellow sand, enveloping the aircraft in a moving sandstorm.

Inside the cabin, there was only the cold, eerie green light from the instrument panel and a few dim red lights.

Song Heping and Nasin sat near the hatch, both wearing desert camouflage combat uniforms, their faces heavily painted, and fully armored.

The other eleven elite soldiers huddled in the back of the cabin, silent as rocks, only their eyes gleaming with a wolf-like light in the dim light.

They were the "gifts" carefully selected by Afanti—the "Sand Fox" squad.

Severe jolts are the norm.

Looking out the porthole, Song Heping saw an endless, dark desert below, with only scattered shadows—whether abandoned villages or natural landscapes—flying rapidly past.

The wind and sand lashed against the porthole, making a rustling sound.

The air was filled with the smells of engine oil, sweat, and the dry dust unique to the desert.

"We will arrive at the designated coordinates in ten minutes."

The pilot's voice came through the headset, accompanied by a hissing sound of electricity.

Song Heping's heart skipped a beat.

This isn't a vacation; it's like jumping into a burning powder keg.

He checked the Glock 17 pistol in the quick-draw holster on his chest, his own sidearm, and then tightened the tactical knife sheath secured to his side.

The helicopter began to decelerate, and its altitude decreased further.

Below, a relatively flat stretch of Gobi Desert appeared, with a few weak campfires outlining a rudimentary landing site in the darkness.

"Prepare for landing!"

Nassin let out a low growl, and the atmosphere inside the cabin instantly tensed up.

The soldiers of the "Desert Fox" squad quickly checked their equipment.

Like a weary giant bird, the helicopter slowly landed on the soft sand, and the sandstorm stirred up by the rotor instantly engulfed the entire fuselage.

The hatch was suddenly pulled open, and a biting cold wind carrying sand rushed in.

"Hurry up!"

Nassin jumped first and quickly established a perimeter around the hatch.

Song Heping followed closely behind, his feet sinking into the soft sand, his vision obscured by the swirling dust.

He quickly turned on the night vision goggles on his helmet, and the scene before him instantly transformed into a cold, green world.

He saw several blurry figures rapidly approaching through the sandstorm, their movements swift and their postures clearly wary.

"This way!"

A voice with a heavy Iligo accent traveled through the sandstorm.

Song Heping looked in the direction of the sound and saw a familiar yet somewhat unfamiliar figure rushing over.

It's Samir!

He was even thinner than when we last met, with sunken cheeks, prominent cheekbones, and skin that was dark and rough from the desert winds and scorching sun.

He was dressed in a worn-out camouflage uniform that was a mix of leftover US military supplies and local features, with a traditional checkered turban on his head and a badly worn AK-74M slung over his waist.

"Samir!"

Song Heping stepped forward, and the two embraced tightly without exchanging any pleasantries.

"Boss! You're finally here!"

Samir's voice carried a hint of excitement.

He glanced quickly at the "Desert Fox" team disembarking in single file and their sophisticated equipment, a glimmer of light flashing in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by deeper worry.

"The situation is terrible! Come with me!"

The group quickly left the landing point, boarded the prepared pickup trucks, and sped through the undulating sand dunes and dry riverbeds like ghosts.

After dropping them off, the helicopter quickly ascended and roared into the vast night.

After driving for about an hour, the terrain began to become rugged, and we entered a mountainous area with jagged rocks.

The air was colder and the sandstorm had subsided.

The convoy led them through a maze of twists and turns, finally disappearing into an extremely hidden valley crevice, where it stopped at the entrance.

The entrance to the fissure is narrow, but it opens up dramatically inside, forming a natural depression surrounded by massive rock walls.

The scene that came into Song Heping's view was even more shocking than the intelligence reports described.

Dozens of canvas tents, stained with oil and patched up, were haphazardly pitched in a corner, shivering in the cold wind.

The so-called "firepower points" were nothing more than makeshift shelters hastily built with rubble in the gaps between natural rocks, with even basic sandbags being rare.

A small campfire burned in the center of the camp. The dim light barely dispelled the chill of the night, but it couldn't dispel the heavy stench that filled the air—the smell of cheap tobacco, sweat, camel dung, the putrid odor of festering wounds, and a deep-seated sense of despair.

This is the current headquarters of the "Iligo Liberation Forces" (hereinafter referred to as "Liberation Forces")—a shelter on the verge of collapse.

The firelight illuminated numb, haggard, and dusty faces.

Most of the soldiers wore tattered, mismatched clothes, and some could only wrap themselves in dirty blankets to keep warm.

Their weapons are even more varied.

The barrels of old AK-47s were polished to a shine, there were rusty Mosin-Nagant rifles, and even an old Lee-Enfield.

Several PKM machine guns were considered heavy firepower, and their bodies were covered with dents and scratches.

Most of the ammunition boxes were empty and were piled up haphazardly to one side.

In the corner, several wounded men lay on dirty blankets, without proper bandages. Their wounds were hastily wrapped with tattered rags, oozing dark red blood and pus. Their painful groans were low and suppressed.

Some soldiers huddled around the fire, clutching their rifles, their eyes blankly fixed on the flickering flames, exhaustion and confusion etched on their faces. When they saw Samir return with Song Heping and a group of well-equipped strangers, they all turned to look at them, their gazes a mixture of curiosity and wariness…

The entire camp was shrouded in a depressing, almost desperate atmosphere, and morale was at its lowest point.

"Boss, Nassin, and brothers, welcome to the outpost of hell."

Samir's voice was filled with bitterness as he looked around the camp, his eyes filled with heartache.

He gestured for everyone to sit around the campfire, and a young soldier with chapped lips brought over several cups of murky, floating hot tea.

Song Heping didn't touch his teacup. His sharp gaze swept over the hellish scene before finally settling on Samir's face: "Speak, Samir. Tell me, just how strong is 1515 now? Just how dire is the situation?"

Samir took a deep breath, as if to release all the pent-up weight and anger in his chest.

He picked up a charred twig and began to draw vigorously on the sand beside the campfire.

"look here."

He pointed to the spot representing Mosul and drew a huge, seemingly all-consuming black X.

"Last June was the beginning of the nightmare! Those madmen waving black flags swarmed in from Cyria like locusts from hell. Mosul... our second largest city in Ilig, the heart of the north! The garrison consisted of three whole divisions! Equipped with tanks, armored vehicles, and artillery left behind by the Americans! And what was the result?"

Samir slammed the branch he was using into the position representing the government forces, with such force that it almost broke the branch.

"A complete rout! An unprecedented defeat! A total disgrace! The soldiers had no will to resist, abandoning their weapons and positions like a flock of frightened sheep, only concerned with their own survival! They handed over the entire city, piles of American-made weapons, armored vehicles, and even warehouses full of ammunition to 1515! Those beasts drove Humvees abandoned by the government army, dragging M198 howitzers, swaggering around the streets of Mosul!"

His voice was hoarse with excitement, and his eyes burned with the flames of humiliation.

"Do you know what's most tragic? Mosul wasn't captured, it was lost out of fear! The government army is rotten to the core! Corruption! Embezzlement of military pay! The generals only think about making money! The soldiers don't know who they're fighting for! That division commander who was defending the city, Maliki's confidant, ran away faster than a rabbit before the cannons even fired!"

The campfire crackled, illuminating the somber, angry faces of the surrounding soldiers.

Nassin and the members of the "Sand Fox" team listened with grave expressions.

Song Heping had no expression, but his eyes were as cold as knives.

"Taking Mosul was like a shot in the arm for 1515!"

Samir's branches moved wildly eastward across the map, sweeping across Tikrit, Sinjar, Ramadi, Fallujah...

"They were armed to the teeth with captured American equipment! Driving Humvees and using mountains of ammunition from government warehouses, they split into multiple routes and swept across the entire northwest like a black plague along the highway network! The government forces? They crumbled at the first sign of trouble! The Kurds tried to resist in Sinjar, but 1515 was too cunning and too cruel, using suicide bomb trucks to clear the way and capturing civilians as human shields. In order to preserve their strength, the Kurds eventually abandoned large areas of Sinjar, leading to the Yazidis there..."

Samir's voice choked with emotion, his eyes bloodshot and filled with deep anguish. "...We suffered utter devastation! Massacre! Rape! Slavery! Men were executed en masse like livestock! Women and children were sold as commodities! Sinjar Mountain... became a living hell! Those images... gnaw at me like venomous snakes!"

He slammed his fist on the ground, sending sand and dirt flying.

"Our 'Liberation Army' at the time united with some tribal militias unwilling to surrender and remnants of the government army, attempting to stop this black tide in the Tikrit and Samarra areas. We fought several tough battles, even ambushing one of their transport convoys on the outskirts of Tikrit and destroying several tanks. But..."

Samir shook his head dejectedly, pointing to the location representing Baghdad on the map. "A drop in the ocean! 1515's momentum is too strong. They've already taken Ramadi and Fallujah, and their forwards are less than 200 kilometers from Baghdad! Their numbers are snowballing..."

"Didn't I lead you to capture Mosul once half a year ago?" Song Heping frowned and said, "At that time, you had several thousand men united. How come you lost Mosul again after only half a year? Isn't their main force currently in Silia?"

"That was six months ago. Now their forces are strong enough to fight on two fronts simultaneously, in Seria and northwestern Ilig..."

Samir raised his head, his gaze sweeping over Song Heping: "Do you want to know why they're so powerful? First, they're rich! They control the oil fields and refineries near Mosul! They sell oil to the Turks through the black market, and even... I suspect there are more complex international forces behind them! They exchange oil for weapons, for US dollars, to support their massive war machine!"

"Secondly, they have foreign aid! A steady stream of foreign support is pouring in from all over the world! Europe, North Africa, Central Asia, Chechnya! These thoroughly brainwashed lunatics will be human bombs when war breaks out!"

"Third, and most fatally, they exploited the divisions between the various factions in this land. In Anbar province, which is predominantly Sunni, many tribes, and even some people from the Saddam era, who had been suppressed and marginalized by the Shia-dominated Baghdad government for a long time and saw no hope, actually... actually regarded 1515 as 'liberators'! They thought they had come to overthrow the 'infidel' government! What a huge irony and tragedy!"

Samir drew a large circle on the map representing the Anbar province, almost covering the entire region: "Now, the entire western and northern Anbar province, including major cities like Fallujah and Ramadi, has become 1515's lair! Only some mountainous areas and desert edges near us, with a few tribes and resistance forces like ours that refuse to surrender, are barely surviving. But our situation..."

He smiled bitterly and pointed to the dilapidated, hopeless camp and the demoralized soldiers around him. "You've seen it with your own eyes. This is hell."

"What are your current areas of control and troop strength?"

Song Heping asked in a deep voice.

"Controlled area?"

Samir chuckled self-deprecatingly. "What else can we control? We're a bunch of ghosts struggling in the cracks. We mainly operate in the northernmost part of Anbar province, in the mountains around Hadid near the border with Siria, and in a few dilapidated villages along the Euphrates River that haven't been completely swallowed up yet. Population? At most twenty thousand, scattered across dozens of outposts that could be wiped out at any moment. As for military strength..."

He glanced around at the soldiers in the camp, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"On paper, there are over a thousand men, but those who can actually handle guns, fight, and are truly combat-ready will number no more than eight hundred. Equipment..."

He pointed to the scrap metal in the soldiers' hands.

"As you've seen, the best we have are some outdated AKs and RPG-7s, a few PKMs that are practically falling apart, and a few beat-up pickup trucks with machine guns welded to them. Ammunition? We'll be out of ammunition after a few decent battles! Medicine? Gauze and painkillers are luxuries! 1515 knows we're here, and they're chasing us like cats and mice. They outnumber us, are better equipped, and have better intelligence. We can only rely on sneaking into ravines and sniping, trading lives for time! In the last two months, we've lost nearly two hundred brothers!"

He suddenly pulled up his sleeve, revealing a hideous burn scar on his forearm, the edges of which were still dark red.

"Outside Hadid, last month, their mortar shells came crashing down... If it weren't for a few brothers risking their lives to drag me out..."

He lowered his sleeves, his voice so low it was almost carried away by the wind.

"What about the intelligence?" Nassin interjected, his brow furrowed.

"Very limited, like groping in the dark."

Samir shook his head helplessly and pointed to a one-eyed warrior sitting silently in the shadows at the edge of the camp, clutching an old-fashioned Mosin-Nagant.

“They’ve practically gouged out all our eyes in the towns. In 1515, they implemented a reign of terror, with their religious police everywhere, their own ‘courts,’ and beheadings for the slightest suspicion! The common people dared not speak out. We could only rely on a few absolutely trustworthy tribal elders to pass on scattered messages, or…”

He paused, his voice tinged with pain, and pointed to a soldier sitting by the campfire.

"...Send the most elite scouts to risk their lives to find out, and the price...is like Hassan, whose squad of five went out, only he returned, and he also lost an eye."

The firelight flickered on Hassan's face, and his empty eye socket seemed to silently tell of the terrible price he had paid.

The camp fell into a heavy, deathly silence.

Song Heping listened in silence; every word Samir spoke felt as heavy as lead.

The frenzied expansion of 1515, the intricate financial chains and international undercurrents behind it, the complete collapse and incompetence of the government forces, and the suffocatingly desperate situation of the "Liberation Army"...

All of this far exceeded his previous predictions.

This is not a simple special operation, but a mission to forge a force capable of fighting against evil on a land utterly torn apart by extremism!
"Samir."

Song Heping's voice broke the silence, unusually calm, like an undercurrent beneath the ice.

"Tell me, what are 1515's main strongholds and activity patterns in this area? Where are their vital supply lines? Who is the commander in charge of this area? What... are they most afraid of?"

Samir's spirits lifted; he knew Song Heping was about to get to the heart of the matter.

He immediately used a twig to mark the sand in detail, his voice carrying a hint of resolute killing intent:
"Hadid Town: It is currently still in the hands of local tribal militias and a small number of government army remnants, but it has been surrounded on three sides by 1515 and is in grave danger! 1515 sees it as a thorn that must be removed, and their offensives are getting fiercer and fiercer. It is our only channel to obtain supplies from the outside world, and it is also the last beacon in the hearts of the resistance fighters! If it falls, the morale will be completely shattered!"

"On the west bank of the Euphrates River, in 1515, the heart of this area! A large military camp and logistical hub, stockpiling large quantities of supplies looted from Mosul, and also a gathering place for newly recruited cannon fodder and foreign lunatics. Commanding the area was a man nicknamed "The Butcher" Zarqawi (not the Jordanian one, but a ruthless character who inherited the name), known for torturing prisoners and creating terror."

“Main supply lines: two major arteries. One is a waterway and road along the Euphrates River from the direction of Mosul, mainly transporting oil, heavy equipment, and troops; the other is a more cunning and deadly desert passage from Raqqa, the stronghold of Siria, specifically for transporting foreign jihadists and light weapons and ammunition. This desert line is their Achilles' heel, but also the most difficult to seize.”

"During the day, the main force of 1515 is as active as locusts, sweeping and patrolling in pickup trucks and armored vehicles. At night, they are relatively huddled in town outposts. However, they have a large amount of captured night vision equipment, and night raids and infiltrations are commonplace."

"What are the weaknesses?" Song Heping asked.

Samir's eyes flashed with a cold light: "First, they're not a monolithic group! The local tribal militias forced to join them are completely at odds with those fanatical foreign lunatics; their conflicts run deep! Second, their supply lines, especially the one in the desert, are too long and heavily reliant on local guides familiar with the terrain—that's their opportunity! It's just that I don't have the ability to cut off that line. Third, they're afraid of death! Especially the leaders! They seem crazy, but they're actually very afraid of dying! They're afraid of being targeted and eliminated! They're afraid their strongholds will be wiped out!"

Song Heping's gaze was fixed on the sand table.

Hadid, this key strategic stronghold, must be held!

This is an important gateway to Bhaktapur.

As for the desert supply line of the 1515 armed forces, especially the one in the direction of Seria, it is the key to cutting off their reinforcements.

"Samir."

Song Heping pointed to Nasin: "I will provide you with support and assist you in reorganizing and expanding your forces. The first batch of equipment will be delivered to you within five days, and Nasin will discuss the specific handover details with you."

I heard there is support and equipment available.

Upon hearing this, Samir and several other key warriors around him instantly lit up with disbelief!

equipment!

What they've always dreamed of!
"The equipment list is here."

Nassin handed the list to Samir.

Samir eagerly scanned the area by the firelight, his breathing instantly becoming heavy: "Night vision goggles! Anti-tank missiles! Kornets! Sniper rifles! SVDKs! My God! This...this is a godsend!"

"It's not just about equipment."

Song Heping said in a deep voice, "There's still money. General Afanti gave us an oil quota worth 100 million US dollars. As long as we sell it, we can use the money to purchase a large amount of medicine and other supplies."

"oil?!"

Samir was stunned at first, then a surge of joy welled up inside him.

“Hadid has connections! Several elders have been secretly working on this! As long as we have oil, we can trade for the resources to survive and keep fighting! But right now, Hadid…”

The joy on his face quickly faded.

“Don’t worry about the oil trade, I’ll take care of it.” Song Heping pointed to the location of Hadid Town on the simple sand table on the ground.

"The most critical issue now is here. If we lose here, I estimate that even Bakhda will be in danger."

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)