Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1085 Wait

The Persian Plateau, a secret camp.

The satellite phone's encrypted channel indicator light stubbornly flashed in the dimly lit cave command post, emitting a low, rhythmic buzzing sound.

Song Heping looked up from a large map of the northwestern Iligo theater and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, which were bloodshot from long hours of focused work.

On the map, Mosul, Tal Afar, Sinjar and other places are densely marked with red and blue pencils, and arrows, traps and question marks intertwine to form a complex war game diagram.

He put down the surveying ruler in his hand and picked up the cold receiver of the satellite phone.

"speak."

"Boss, it's me, Henry."

Henry's familiar voice came from the other end of the phone, sounding somewhat grave: "The storm in the northwest has passed... the preliminary assessment results are in."

"Go ahead."

Song Heping's response was extremely concise; he needed facts and data, not emotional descriptions.

“Tragic…unprecedentedly tragic.”

Henry took a deep breath on the other end of the phone before slowly beginning his report.

"Based on fragmented information from limited public channels, as well as messages circulating in the underworld and black market, the CIA's intelligence network in northwestern Iligo, which it has cultivated for many years, has suffered a near-devastating systemic attack in the past 48 to 72 hours. Mosul, Tal Afar, Sinjar, Tal Farr... almost all key locations have been wiped out."

"specific situation."

Song Heping pressed on, his fingers unconsciously tapping the location of Mosul on the map. The cold touch kept him perfectly alert.

"Among the confirmed dead or captured senior field agents, there are 'History Teacher,' 'Hyacinth,' 'Technician'... The list is long, but at least eight can be confirmed so far, all of them experienced veterans. More than fifteen mid-level coordinators and key liaisons have been lost. As for the lower-level informants..."

Henry paused, a barely perceptible hint of bitterness in his voice. "It's impossible to give an exact count, but the preliminary estimate is between forty and sixty, or even more. Many were executed on the spot after being captured, many contacts were cut off directly, and there were no records left at all. At least four of our known important safe houses and equipment storage sites were completely destroyed, and a large amount of expensive communication equipment, weapons, sensitive documents that were not destroyed, and even the operation funds have fallen into the hands of 1515."

Seemingly sensing that the ending was too serious, Henry stopped speaking. Through the phone, Song Heping could hear him licking his lips, as if he needed to moisten his mouth, which was dry from nervousness.

"Boss, to be objective, more than 90 percent of the CIA's covert forces and intelligence gathering and operational capabilities in northwestern Iligo have been uprooted and are basically paralyzed."

Song Heping listened in silence, his gaze fixed on the marked cities on the map.

This result was even "better" than he had expected.

The extreme cruelty and high efficiency of the 1515 armed forces perfectly served as the sharpest invisible blade in their hands, carrying out a precise and ruthless purge.

Henry continued, “This means that, at least for the foreseeable future, the precision and timeliness of the Americans and their international coalition’s airstrikes, drone decapitations, and special forces operations in northwestern Iligo will be greatly reduced. They have lost their ‘eyes’ and ‘ears’ on the ground and will have to rely more on satellites and high-altitude drones for wide-area surveillance, but that kind of surveillance lacks detail and real-time capability.”

"If the leaders of 1515 had become more cautious, reduced electronic communications, lowered their activity frequency, avoided open areas, and maintained fixed routines, their risk of being targeted and beheaded by air power would have been greatly reduced. Boss, your move... has almost temporarily crippled a major arm of the Americans in northwestern Iligo, and gouged out their eyes as well..."

"It's just for now."

Song Heping finally spoke again, his voice devoid of any pride or joy, only a cold sense of reality.

"The CIA will suffer terribly, descend into internal chaos and finger-pointing, but they will not give up. They will rebuild their network at all costs and re-infiltrate using more covert and ruthless methods. But this takes time, a lot of manpower, resources, and time. And this precious time is exactly what we need most right now."

"So what do we do next?"

Henry asked, his tone becoming urgent, "The Northwest is in complete chaos right now. 1515 is frantically hunting down any remaining suspicious individuals, using the opportunity to eliminate dissidents. Various tribes and small armed factions are living in fear, which is precisely the time for us to expand our influence..."

"Wait."

Song Heping interrupted him, giving him only one word.

"wait?"

Henry's voice was filled with astonishment; this was completely unlike the boss he knew who was always proactive and adept at creating and seizing opportunities.

"That's right, wait."

Song Heping’s tone left no room for doubt, carrying the patience of a strategist.

"Let the chaos within the CIA escalate further, let their internal infighting and investigations consume more of their energy. Let the brutal crackdown of 1515 trigger a backlash and fear from more tribes and factions. Let those local armed groups and organizations driven to the brink and seeing no other hope make their own choices. What we need most now is to lie low, to accumulate strength, and to make ourselves stronger. You continue to monitor all available channels, utilize all resources, and immediately notify me of any movements of important figures in the Northwest, unusual activities by tribal armed groups, or any indication that the CIA is attempting to rebuild its network."

"Understood." Although Henry still had doubts, his long-standing trust in Song Heping and his confidence in Song's judgment led him to resolutely carry out the order.

After hanging up the phone, Song Heping downed the cold Arabic tea in one gulp, then got up and walked out of the cave command post.

The night wind of the Persian Plateau immediately enveloped him, carrying a biting chill and the scent of dry sand.

The campsite was dotted with campfires, and the monotonous footsteps of patrol teams could be heard in the distance.

The night sky here is beautiful.

The starry sky over the plateau is exceptionally clear and cold, and the Milky Way stretches across the sky like a river paved with broken diamonds.

In a relatively flat open space in the center of the camp, dozens of newly recruited militiamen were conducting basic drills and weapons exercises, illuminated by a few makeshift electric lights.

Samir and Nassin moved among them, shouting in heavily accented Arabic and Kurdish, trying to correct the actions of the former tribal militants, farmers, and even urban youths who were used to being free and undisciplined.

Their roars were exceptionally clear over the vast plateau.

Looking at this team, which was full of vengeful anger but was still 108,000 men short of the elite force he envisioned that could fight tough battles, Song Heping knew that the decision to "wait" was the right one.

He must use this precious window of time, which he created with the blood of CIA agents and informants, to refine these potential but unpolished "sand" into a sharp sword that can sweep away the 1515 armed forces in the future.

He turned back into the cave, took out another satellite phone from the secure box, and dialed a familiar number.

The phone rang for a long time before being answered. The background noise was extremely loud, filled with clamorous African drumbeats, indistinct local language hawking cries, and the roar of old engines, like a chaotic symphony.

"Hello? Who is it?"

A voice filled with professional vigilance rang out, interspersed with a laugh and a curse in the background, "Hey, black guy, you can't just swap that thing out like that..."

"Jiang Feng, it's me."

A smile involuntarily crept onto Song Heping's lips.

It seems Jiang Feng is just wandering around some market.

It is right for us to decouple from Africa and the “musician” in terms of defense.

At least the pressure on the other brothers has been reduced a lot.

"This is my new phone number."

To evade CIA tracking, Song Heping had to frequently change his phone number.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, then it exploded like a powder keg had been lit, bursting with immense joy: "Old Squad Leader?! Holy crap! It really is you?! I haven't heard from you for days! I heard you've made quite a stir with Brother Yili! I went to ask Henry, but that old bastard gave me the runaround and kept it a secret from me too!"

"I'm fine, I'm doing well for now," Song Heping replied briefly, getting straight to the point. "Is it very quiet in Africa? I've found you a decent job here in Persia, are you interested?"

Yes! Absolutely! A million times over!

Jiang Feng's voice immediately became excited, and the background noise seemed to be suppressed by his high spirits.

"Right now, the various armed factions in Lebia are in the middle of negotiations, talking about integrating into some kind of joint governing committee. It's not our business anymore, so Ferrari took us all back to Sena. He and Henry are quite busy, one in charge of finances and the other in intelligence. The White Bear couple and Nura are transporting weapons, so they're also busy... Hunter and Calamity are at their base in Sudan. On the contrary, I'm the one with the least to do. I'm like a useless person just waiting to die..."

"Come help me train the militia."

Song Heping's tone left no room for doubt: "The location is on the Persian Plateau. Samir's men only number a little over seven hundred right now, all good prospects, full of fighting spirit and brimming with hatred, but they lack systematic military training and are a disorganized bunch. You come over and teach them the training methods you used in the training unit, as well as the company and platoon defense and offensive tactics, and while you're at it, give them a good check on their individual military skills, how about it?"

Jiang Feng became even more excited, his voice rising eight octaves: "No problem! This is my specialty! I guarantee I'll train you until you scream with excitement! They'll have a conditioned reflex whenever they hear your whistle! When do we set off?"

"Immediately, right now." Song Heping's command was concise and forceful. "I'll have Ferrari book your plane ticket, and I'll have someone take care of your visa and other formalities here. Get here as quickly as possible, and don't cause any trouble along the way."

"Alright! No problem!"

Jiang Feng was as happy as a child about to celebrate the New Year.

"I'm going back to pack my things now. Tell that Ferrari guy to book me a plane ticket as soon as possible!"
-
　Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)