Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1067 A Powerful Enemy is Approaching
Before Song Heping could finish speaking, a sharp whistle suddenly rang out from the perimeter of the camp.

This is a warning whistle.

It means that an enemy is coming to attack.

enemy?

Everyone present turned to look outside the camp.

In his field of vision, he saw Abbas, the reconnaissance team leader sent by Samir, stumble and crawl across the cordon, his face ashen, covered in sweat and sand, his eyes filled with pure horror. He didn't even have time to catch his breath before he started shouting wildly:
"1515 has attacked! They're here!"

"what?!"

Samir's expression changed drastically.

After all, previous intelligence indicated that the main force of 1515 was in the direction of Tikrit. Although the tribal militia leaders and remnants who came to join them claimed that 1515 had attacked their territory, they did not expect them to act so quickly!

They've already turned their attention to us?!

Where did you see them?

"It's 40 kilometers away. I drove like crazy to get back and deliver the message. Now it's probably less than 30 kilometers away!"

Hassan replied with a look of horror, "There are at least three thousand people. I can't even see the tail of the convoy! I can only see the 'Death Pickup' (a pickup truck with a heavy machine gun mounted) leading the way! Behind it are three 'makeshift tanks' made from truck chassis with welded steel plates, equipped with KPV heavy machine guns, and modified armored trucks with ZU-23 anti-aircraft guns! From the southwest, they are coming towards us along the dry riverbed, with dozens of motorcycles leading the way, moving at a frightening speed!"

"Damn it!"

Samir cried out in alarm.

He wanted to boost the morale of his troops, but when he thought about the limited number of soldiers he had, he immediately lost his confidence.

It seems that the 1515 armed group intends to completely wipe out the north and prevent its flanks from being threatened in any way.

For a force that had just been equipped but still had fewer than a thousand core combatants, fighting head-on would be suicidal!

"Oh God..."

Samir suddenly looked southwest towards the Gobi Desert swallowed by the night, as if he could already see the sky-covering, deathly dust stirred up by that torrent of steel.

"It's them! It's definitely those lunatics!"

The tribal chief who had previously sought refuge with the tribe suddenly let out a shriek, like a wild dog whose spine had been broken.

“I saw it in Shafar village! It’s one of those ‘made-up tanks’! They…they used that cannon…to flatten the whole village! People…were all torn to pieces! They didn’t even spare the children!”

Tears streamed down his face, and he spoke incoherently. A dark, wet stain quickly spread from his crotch, and a strong, fishy smell filled the air.

"Run...run! If they catch us...we'll be skinned alive! We...we're doomed!"

This utter collapse was like a spark thrown into boiling oil.

Panic erupted instantly, violently sweeping across the entire camp.

The militia, which was already holding on, shattered like glass struck by a heavy hammer!
Some people accidentally dropped brand-new ammunition boxes at their feet, making a dull thud; others instinctively picked up their guns, but the muzzles pointed aimlessly, their empty eyes filled with utter despair; still others spun around in place like headless flies, emitting meaningless sobs.

More than a thousand pairs of eyes lost their focus at this moment, filled with the murky, deathly aura of the impending apocalypse.

An atmosphere of despair quickly enveloped the entire camp.

"One thousand people... against three thousand..."

A young militiaman muttered to himself absentmindedly, his voice hollow as if he were talking in his sleep. The butt of his AK-47 slipped limply to the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

"Let's... let's give it our all!"

Another man with a scar on his face suddenly roared, waving his fists, veins bulging on his neck: "We have new guns! We have rocket launchers!"

"What are we going to fight with? Our lives? There are three thousand men! Three thousand mad dogs!"

Immediately, someone retorted with a sob in their voice, the tone shrill and distorted.

Samir opened his mouth several times, trying to shout out some words to calm the troops, but his throat felt as if it were blocked by scalding sand.

The scene Abbas described flashed before his eyes: a Pikachu, spitting fire, sped across the sand like the wind; "earth tanks" welded with steel plates stood like mobile fortresses; and every rotation of the robust ZU-23 cannon foreshadowed impending destruction...

And then there was the legendary KPV heavy machine gun, capable of easily tearing a human body apart! These images were like red-hot branding irons, searing his nerves.

Although his militia had been re-equipped, most of them had only touched these new weapons for the first time yesterday, and some hadn't even figured out where the safety was on the PKM and DShK!

A direct confrontation?

That would only send him and his thousand or so subordinates into the beheading video of the 1515 armed group, making them supporting characters to flaunt their brutality.

In the center of the camp, Song Heping coldly watched the chaotic scene before him.

discipline.

courage.

will.

Morale.

This team clearly lacks all of these qualities.

There's a reason why Ilig has lost territory over the past six months, and why the government forces and local militias are in such a state of panic.

Compared to those madmen who have been brainwashed by extremist ideologies, these militiamen are indeed no match for them.

"Mr. Song..."

Nassin, who was standing to the side, seemed to be at a loss as well, and turned his expectant gaze to Song Heping.

Song Heping ignored him, instead raising his right hand, drawing the pistol from his waist, and then deftly cocking it in one smooth motion.

The next second, he suddenly raised his arm, the gun pointed straight at the sky.

"boom--!"

"Bang—!" "Bang—!"

He pulled the trigger three times in a row.

The three deafening gunshots, like thunderclaps, froze all the militiamen present as if they had been struck by acupuncture.

All the noise was abruptly silenced by this sudden, thunderous strike.

Time seemed to have been paused.

More than a thousand pairs of eyes, still shaken, focused on Song Heping.

"What a coward! What's the panic about!"

Song Heping slowly lowered his arm, the muzzle of the gun still emitting a faint wisp of smoke.

"Only those who are not afraid of death deserve to live! You bunch of cowards! No wonder you have lost so much territory in the past six months. If you are afraid of death, why are you afraid of losing your country? If you fall into the hands of 1515, you won't have to die?! A bunch of fools!"

He hurled insults at the group of grown men in front of him without any mercy, his gaze colder than metal that had been soaked in ice water all day, his tone full of contempt.

The militiamen looked at each other.

Many people lowered their heads in shame.

Song Heping is an outsider.

It does not belong to this country.

It is not an ethnic group native to this area.

The outsider wasn't panicked, but we, the men of Yili, were completely terrified; some even wet themselves on the spot…

It's so embarrassing to tell others about it.

No matter how cowardly a man may be, he still has his own dignity.

The previous atmosphere of panic seemed to have dissipated somewhat.

Seeing that the time was right, Song Heping said loudly, "Now I'll be in charge, and you all listen to me!"

"Pass on my order: all combat units of the Liberation Forces are to enter a state of maximum combat readiness! Samir!"

His gaze pierced Samir like an arrow.

"Yes, boss!"

Samir straightened his back almost reflexively and gritted his teeth.

"I...I'll lead the team and fight them right now!"

Song Heping stepped off the ammunition box and instantly closed in on Samir.

Their noses almost touched, and Song Heping's hot breath sprayed directly onto Samir's sweat-covered face.

His voice was extremely low, yet each word was deliberate and powerful:

"Idiot! Remember who you are! You are the spark! You are the blade that will tear those mad dogs apart in the future! Your responsibility is not to lead your pitiful forces to your deaths now, but to save these brothers—"

Song Heping suddenly swung his arm, pointing at the blank, expectant faces around him.

"Take them to point A on the border! Take them right under the Persians' noses! Take them to a place where we can sharpen our claws and let these new guns truly drink blood and seek revenge! What will happen if we charge in now? The spark will be extinguished by mad dogs before it can even be lit! The brand-new weapons will become junk for them to flaunt their war achievements before they've even had a chance to be used! Everyone will become the next bloody beheading video on their internet! Samir! Use your brain to think about what I said—If we lose land but save people, we can save both people and land! If we lose people but save land, we can lose both people and land! Execute the order!"

Song Heping's gaze was like two steel cones, piercing deep into Samir's eyes. There was no room for negotiation in that gaze, like a basin of liquid nitrogen at minus 100 degrees Celsius, instantly extinguishing the reckless and crazy courage in Samir's eyes.

Samir's chest heaved violently, his jaw clenched tightly, the heavy taste of blood filling his mouth, almost suffocating him.

The few seconds of silence felt as long as centuries.

Suddenly, he turned around abruptly and raised his right hand.

"Release the power!"

Samir's roar instantly drowned out all the other noises in the camp.

"Immediate evacuation! Target—Point A! Move! Load! Hurry! Hurry!!!"

The roar was like a spark thrown into boiling oil, instantly igniting the camp frozen by fear and despair!
The order spread like wildfire!
The instinct for survival, honed by rigorous training, instantly took over the body!

"Get moving! Get moving! Load the ammunition onto the trucks quickly! Prioritize loading new stuff, forget about those tattered tents and stuff, focus on the weapons! PKM! DShK! RPG! 107mm shells! Hurry!"

The squad leaders were also motivated.

They roared, their voices hoarse, and the veins on their necks bulged under the scorching sun.

The soldiers, like wound-up machines, roared as they relayed orders and stumbled towards the piles of supplies.

Heavy ammunition boxes were frantically passed, thrown, and rolled onto truck beds on the scorching sand, making dull, rapid clattering sounds.

A brand-new PKM general-purpose machine gun, a DShK heavy machine gun gleaming with a blinding cold light, bundles of RPG-7 rocket launchers, 107mm rocket shells painted green...

These weapons, representing hope for the future, were quickly mounted by the soldiers onto the scorching hot trucks.

The makeshift tent was roughly torn down and overturned, with the sound of tearing canvas echoing incessantly.

The old, rusty AK rifles that couldn't be taken away were piled up haphazardly into small mountains. Nassin and the engineers in his "Fox Killer" squad rushed up like ghosts, their movements so fast it was dazzling. They quickly stuffed simple booby traps deep into the pile of debris and connected them to the pull wires or firing devices.

The tribal chief, still sitting on the ground with his crotch soaked, was roughly dragged and pushed away by several militiamen, like a piece of useless trash being discarded. At this moment, no one had the leisure to cast a single pitying glance at him.

Within minutes, the entire camp transformed from a chaotic mess on the verge of collapse into a highly efficient evacuation machine operating under the scorching sun, yet filled with a chaotic, apocalyptic frenzy.

The clanging of metal, the roar of engines, the desperate urging, the cracking sounds of broken objects...

They converged into a massive, heart-stopping torrent of noise, surging wildly under the shadow of death and the scorching midday sun.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)