Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1080 The Agent's Implanted Chip
Military orders are absolute!
The situation seems to be taking a sharp turn for the worse.

Although the vast majority of soldiers were shocked and confused by the scene, the absolute authority that Song Heping had established with calmness and wisdom during the bloody battle in the valley was now showing its effect.

No one questioned it; the entire camp was like a sleeping behemoth suddenly awakened, then instantly wound up and began to operate at an astonishing efficiency.

The fire was quickly extinguished, the tents were roughly pushed over and packed up, the supplies were sorted, and unnecessary items were directly discarded.

The soldiers ran silently and swiftly, relaying orders and organizing equipment.

At the same time, Ibrahim—a taciturn but electronically proficient Post soldier—ran over carrying a small metal box.

The dozen or so CIA agents had been roughly stripped naked and exposed to the cold night wind. Goosebumps instantly rose on their skin. Their hands were tied behind their backs with restraints, and their mouths were stuffed with dirty rags. They could only groan softly, their eyes filled with shock, shame, and a hint of fear.

Soon, they were forcibly pinned to the ground like livestock.

"Scan them!"

Song Heping ordered Ibrahim: "Focus on scanning the area around the spine, armpits, inner thighs, scalp, behind the ears, and gums! Use the highest sensitivity! Look for any non-metallic or metallic subcutaneous implants! Quickly!"

Ibrahim immediately opened the metal box and took out an instrument about the size of a palm with a thin probe—a high-frequency signal scanner.

He skillfully turned on the machine, calibrated it, and the probe emitted a slight buzzing sound.

With his assistant, he began with the elderly man in the lead, meticulously scanning every part of the prisoner's body with a probe, as if performing a precise surgical operation, while waveforms and data on the screen constantly fluctuated.

The cold probe brushed against their skin, causing the prisoners to tremble violently and struggle even harder, but they were held down firmly by the militia.

"Drip-drip-"

Suddenly, the scanner emitted a rapid beeping sound below the hairline on the back of a relatively young agent's neck!

The screen displayed a faint but regular energy signal!

"here!"

Ibrahim growled.

Song Heping immediately leaned over and gently pressed his finger on the back of the agent's neck.

Soon, my finger touched a small hard object.

He let go of the object and examined it carefully.

Beneath the agent's skin, a tiny, rice-grain-sized bump could be faintly seen.

"Here it is." Song Heping's voice was completely unwavering: "Dig it out!"

Without any hesitation, Ibrahim pulled an extremely sharp fighting knife from his boot, pressed down hard on the wildly shaking head with one hand, and used the tip of the knife to precisely slice open that tiny bit of skin with the other.

The entire set of movements was fast, accurate, and ruthless.

"what--"

A muffled scream rang out.

With a flick of his knife, Ibrahim removed a tiny chip, slightly larger than a grain of rice and stained with blood, which fell into a small, prepared lead box and was then sealed.

The buzzing stopped abruptly.

"continue!"

Song Heping didn't even glance at the chip.

Subsequent scans revealed the same implanted tracking chip in the armpit of another person and in the gluteal muscles of a third person.

They were all treated in the same way and quickly removed from the isolation area.

The entire process was filled with ruthless and efficient violence, carrying a chillingly pragmatic quality.

"Report: All targets scanned, three active trackers detected and removed."

Ibrahim closed the lead box and reported to Song Heping in a calm tone, as if he had just finished a trivial matter.

"Change them into the clothes we prepared."

Song Heping pointed to the bundle of old robes on the ground.

"Then take them away." The scouts' original clothes and equipment, including the activated beacon, were quickly packed up and, along with some discarded equipment and a few tattered tents, haphazardly thrown onto the sites of several abandoned camps—they would become part of the bait.

The team has been assembled.

All the campfires had gone out, and only the faint starlight outlined the silent and tense figures.

"Boss, what exactly is going on..."

Samir, while giving his rifle magazine a final check, couldn't help but ask urgently.

Although he carried out the order, the shock and doubt in his heart had reached their peak.

"That's bait! And a death signal!"

Song Heping spoke rapidly, his eyes flashing with a cold, sharp light in the dim starlight: "They've sent a signal! American warplanes or drones are coming soon! Their precision-guided munitions will rain down on this signal source! We must leave the canyon immediately! Their clothes and that beacon were meant to be our tombstones, but now, they're our substitutes! Move fast!"

He had planned everything long ago.

Once the spies are caught, they are used to send out false location signals, while the spies themselves escape.

The clothes stripped from the enemy corpses and the captured beacons were among the tools he prepared to use to mislead his opponents and substitute one enemy for another when necessary.

Without the slightest hesitation, the team surged out of the canyon swiftly and orderly, like a dark torrent bursting its banks or a silent ghost, rushing toward the northeastern border.

Song Heping was in the middle of the group, constantly urging everyone on in a low voice, keeping track of the time, and listening alertly for any unusual sounds in the night sky.

The group marched swiftly in silence, the only sounds echoing between the rocks: rapid breathing, the soft clanging of equipment, and the rustling of footsteps. Everyone was giving it their all, the shadow of death looming heavy behind them.

Just as they left the canyon about five kilometers away, having just circled around behind a huge rock wall—

A deep and terrifying whistling sound came from the very high and far reaches of the night sky, rapidly approaching.

Several US F-15E Strike Eagle fighter-bombers, which had been airlifted and waiting nearby, locked onto Black Hawk Canyon based on the continuous beacon signals they received, and unleashed deadly precision-guided munitions on the signal source area!
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—

boom!
boom!
boom!
boom!
The deafening explosion shattered the tranquility of the night.

A huge, orange-red fireball shot violently into the air from the spot in the canyon where they had just set up camp and dropped their bait, turning half of the dark sky red.

Almost everyone in the running team couldn't help but look back. Seeing the valley that was instantly swallowed up by fire, thick smoke, and death, everyone felt a chill run down their spines and a sense of lingering fear.

The sweat instantly turned icy cold.

If they had left an hour later, they would have been reduced to ashes and charred remains along with the bait!

Samir looked at Song Heping not far away, his eyes filled with indescribable shock and utter awe.

He once again clearly felt the terrifying intuition, ruthless calculation, and thorough understanding of the enemy's methods of this Eastern man, who once again pulled them back from the brink of death!
"Quickly! Speed ​​up! We must get into Persia before the enemy can react!"

Song Heping's low growl clearly reached everyone's ears amidst the deafening aftershocks of the explosion and the howling wind.

The team didn't turn back, exerting every ounce of strength, even discarding unnecessary loads, and charged madly toward the border that was faintly in sight.

Langley, USA, CIA Headquarters.

Deputy Director Simon sat in his office, the interface of the combat command system displayed on an LCD screen.

A few minutes earlier, he received a preliminary written report from the forward operations center stating, "Beacon remains active, air strike mission completed, assessment in progress."

He stared at the words, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the smooth mahogany tabletop, his heart filled with mixed emotions.

The airstrike was carried out as planned, and the target area was completely covered. Technically, the mission was a success.

But what about Song Heping?
Will that cunning, fox-like, and tenacious, target really be there?
Or is this yet another sarcastic remark he left behind?
This sense of uncertainty made him extremely uncomfortable.

After a moment's thought, he picked up the phone in front of him to contact Director Vincent, his mind racing as he began to formulate his arguments—regardless of the outcome, he needed a perfect explanation to deal with his superiors and the Pentagon's inquiries.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, the fires in Black Hawk Down still raged, burning the abandoned equipment and the robes with tracking chips. The churning flames seemed to be silently mocking this seemingly precise "surgical operation" launched from thousands of kilometers away.

But the real prey had already escaped, disappearing into the vast darkness with a cold mockery.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)