Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1068 Three Hundred Death Warriors
Just as the camp was in a flurry of activity, Samir quietly approached Song Heping and whispered, "Boss! So many weapons and ammunition! Just loading them onto the trucks will take at least two or three hours! But the enemy..."

He pointed sharply to the southwest, in the direction where the 1515 armed group was heading, his face full of worry.

"They're only 30 kilometers away! That's not enough time! We can't take them all!"

Song Heping's gaze swept over the ammunition boxes and brand-new weapons piled up in the camp, reflecting a cold metallic luster in the sunlight, his eyes unwavering.

He knew, of course, that time was of the essence, and he was even more aware that these green recruits with their new guns couldn't withstand the onslaught of three thousand mad dogs.

Point A, the pre-designated border retreat point, is adjacent to the Persian border guards. It is a red line that the 1515 armed group dares not easily cross, and it is their only way out.

But the prerequisite is that they can evacuate alive.

"If there's not enough time, create time!"

Song Heping's voice was resolute and without the slightest hesitation.

He whirled around, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the militiamen frantically loading the trucks, their expressions a mixture of fear and the will to survive. His gaze finally settled on Samir's face: "Immediately select three hundred men from among those who are capable of fighting! Form two reinforced companies!"

"Three hundred?"

Samir was stunned, almost thinking he had misheard.

"Yes! Three hundred people!"

Song Heping's voice rang clearly in the ears of everyone who had perked up their ears: "As a blocking force! Deploy 15 kilometers south of the camp, in the Gansha River area! The sand there is soft and the terrain is rugged. The 1515 mobile force will definitely slow down when it gets there, making it the perfect place to block them. Your mission is not to annihilate them, but to delay them! At all costs, keep the main force of 1515 tied down at the Gansha River! Hold them back! Buy time for our main force to withdraw!"

"Ganshahe...holding off...three thousand people?!"

Samir gasped, his eyes widening in shock.

The surrounding squad leaders also stopped moving instantly, looking at Song Heping in disbelief, as if they were looking at a madman.

Three hundred men, to intercept an enemy ten times their size and equipped with heavy firepower?
And those mad dog-like 1515 armed soldiers?

Even with a thousand people, they didn't have a chance of winning, let alone three hundred...

This is practically suicide!

No, it's a death that's even faster than suicide!

The air seemed to freeze, with only the roar of the engine sounding particularly jarring.

"Mr. Song! This...this is impossible!"

A squad leader with a full beard cried out, "Three hundred men against three thousand? That's a dry sandy river, not an iron fortress! We'll be crushed like ants!"

"Yes! This is practically suicide!"

Another militiaman's voice was choked with sobs.

Panic, like a venomous snake, once again tried to entangle the little bit of order that Song Heping had forcibly brought together.

An atmosphere of despair permeated the air once again.

"Shut up, everyone!"

Song Heping's loud shout, like a thunderclap from a clear sky, instantly silenced all doubts.

He looked around at the faces filled with surprise, doubt, and fear.

"Impossible? Sending them to their deaths?"

A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips, his eyes sharp as knives as he swept over each militiaman.

"Then tell me, what other choice do we have?! Are we all stuck here, waiting for those three thousand mad dogs to come in with their 'made-up tanks' and heavy artillery, crush us all into mincemeat, and make it into the next beheading video on their internet?! Or are we sending three hundred men to hold the line, risking their lives to buy time, so that the rest of us can take our weapons and ammunition and retreat to the Persian border to survive! Only by surviving can we have a future! Only by surviving can we take revenge!"

His voice was like a heavy hammer, striking everyone's heart.

Either we all die, or some of us might die, but most of us will survive!

This is war.

This is also a survival rule that is cruel to the extreme.

It was just that Song Heping dissected it in the coldest way and laid it out in front of everyone.

"Now!"

Song Heping's voice suddenly rose, carrying an unquestionable determination.

"I'm giving you ten minutes! Within ten minutes, anyone who volunteers to join the blocking force, step forward! Nassin and I will personally lead the team to the Dry Sand River area to intercept those mad dogs from 1515. But if there aren't enough people after ten minutes..."

His gaze shifted to Nassin and the well-equipped, silent squad behind him, the meaning of which was self-evident.

"Nassin's squad and I will withdraw on our own. You 'Liberation Forces'... fend for yourselves!"

He raised his index finger and pointed forcefully at everyone in the air.

"Remember, this is not my war, it's yours! Yours! Understand?!"

Dead silence.

Silence returned.

An even heavier, deathly silence than before the gunshot.

The scorching sun mercilessly baked the earth, and sweat dripped from everyone's chins onto the burning sand, evaporating instantly with a soft "hissing" sound.

Time seemed to stretch out, each second feeling like an eternity.

Three hundred men, facing the iron hooves of three thousand mad dogs?
The estimated probability of death is 100%!

Who would be willing?
Fear gripped my heart once more.

Many people subconsciously avoided Song Heping's sharp, eagle-like gaze, lowered their heads, and looked at their boots covered in sand and dust.

The timidity that had been forcibly suppressed a few minutes ago is now resurfacing.

The air was as still as lead, suffocating everyone. Just as this oppressive silence was about to crush them all, a figure suddenly took a step forward!
The footsteps were unusually clear in the deathly silence.

It's Samir!

His face showed no hesitation, only a desperate, almost tragic resolve, as if he had already decided to burn his bridges.

He walked up to Song Heping, raised his hand in a crisp military salute, and said in a hoarse but resolute voice, "Boss! Samir requests to join the blocking force! I'll stay! Even if Ganshahe is my graveyard, I'll skin them alive!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it was like an electric current, instantly piercing through the frozen air.

Immediately afterwards, an unexpected figure staggered out!

Song Heping looked closely, and surprise instantly appeared on his face.

It turned out to be the tribal chief who had been so frightened that he lost control of his bladder and collapsed to the ground!

The man's face still bore traces of tears and mud, and the wet marks on his crotch were particularly glaring in the sunlight, but his eyes were bloodshot, burning with a kind of almost insane flame after being driven to the brink of despair!

He picked up a worn-out AK from somewhere, propped it up with the butt, and roared hoarsely, "Me! I'll go too! Shafar village... I watched them bombard it with their artillery... my wife... my children... all gone! All to pieces!"

His voice was distorted and deformed by extreme pain and hatred, hoarse and filled with a blood-curdling quality.

"Run? Where can we run to? Those scumbags from 1515... they won't let anyone go! We'll die no matter where we run! Rather than be caught and skinned like rats, we might as well fight them! Let's fight them at Ganshahe! Killing one is enough, killing two is a bonus! God above!"

This mournful roar instantly ignited the bloodlust and hatred that had been suppressed deep within the crowd and temporarily concealed by fear!

Everyone present carried the burden of bloodshed.

It's either family...

Or perhaps a member of their clan...

They're either friends...

Or they're comrades...

"Yes! Let's fight them!"

"The blood feud in Shafar Village has not yet been avenged!"

"Count me in! My parents are still in the village behind!"

"Damn it! We're going to die anyway! I'll take a piece of their flesh!"

"Let's fight! God is great!"

Roars echoed from all around.

It started as a few scattered points, but quickly coalesced into a desperate torrent.

Those heads that had just been bowed in fear suddenly rose, their eyes no longer filled with murky despair, but burning with a kind of tragic, suicidal flame.

The humiliation ignited by Song Heping's angry rebuke, the sense of responsibility ignited by Samir's leadership, the hatred ignited by the tribal chief's tearful accusations, and the extreme anger transformed from the deep-seated fear of the 1515 armed forces—these emotions erupted violently like volcanic lava!
One, two, ten, dozens...

More and more militiamen stepped forward, brandishing their weapons and shouting loudly.

Their eyes, however, were unusually fierce, like a pack of wolves cornered at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump off in order to hold back the hunter!
In just a few dozen seconds, the atmosphere of the entire camp shifted abruptly from deathly despair to a near-frenzied, tragic atmosphere of preparing for death!

The air was no longer filled with pure fear, but with a strong smell of blood and a burning fighting spirit!

The most surprised was Nassin.

It's important to know that Persia and Iligo were sworn enemies, having fought a war for eight years.

Since the U.S. military occupied Iligo, the Persians have looked down on the Iligoese, considering them to be the dogs of the Americans.

Later, in 1515, they rose to power and occupied a large area in northwestern Iligo, and the Persians held the Iligos in even higher esteem.

But the scene before him gave Nassin a new perspective on the Iligos.

The Iligo people weren't born sheep; they just didn't have a tiger by their side.

And that fierce tiger was Song Heping standing next to him.

This Easterner possesses a strange magic; he can always show people the light of victory in desperate situations and instill confidence that they will ultimately triumph.

Perhaps this is innate leadership.

Song Heping stood on the ammunition box, looking at the scene before him that was boiling like a furnace, and at those eyes burning with the will to die.

He knew that this 300-man blocking force would be the only chance for this hastily retreating team to survive.

He took a deep breath of the scorching, gunpowder-scented air and roared, "Good! You're a real man! Samir, get the whole team together and move out with me immediately, bringing all the heavy firepower you can carry! RPGs! Anti-tank missiles! 107mm rocket launchers! Hold them off! Buy every second possible for our retreat!"

"Yes! Boss!"

Samir roared as he accepted the order, then turned abruptly and charged toward the militiamen who had volunteered to die.

"First Company! Second Company! All of you, assemble here! Collect your weapons and get on the vehicles! Destination—Ganshahe!"

The volunteers roared and surged toward the place where heavy weapons were stored, like a flood bursting its banks.

The heavy RPG-7 was hoisted onto a shoulder, and the anti-tank missile launcher was lifted onto a modified pickup truck by several people working together. The barrel of the 107mm rocket launcher reflected a cold luster in the sunlight.

Although his movements were still flustered, his eyes were incredibly fierce and focused.

They knew they were heading towards hell, but at this moment, they seemed to have no fear of death.

Ten minutes later, several trucks and pickup trucks filled with "Liberation Force" militiamen who volunteered to die, like arrows released from a bow, headed south without hesitation under the leadership of Song Heping.

A bloody battle is about to begin between the most terrifying extremist group on Earth, 1515.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)