Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1125 We'll Die Together
The air in the underground command post was unusually stuffy and hot.

Sweat beaded on everyone's foreheads, and the stench of their sweat-soaked uniforms filled everyone's nostrils...

The ventilation system had already been crippled by the previous shelling, and the ventilation fans powered by a few emergency generators were barely groaning and doing nothing.

The radio channel hissed and crackled as staff officers, their voices hoarse and rapid, repeated orders and received battle reports, their voices distorted by extreme fatigue and tension.

Song Heping stood before the huge war sand table, his gaze fixed on the miniature model of the Haibaib city.

On there, the small red flags and arrows representing the enemy forces had become like malignant cancerous spots, deeply seeping into the core area of ​​the city, and like several bloodthirsty red pythons, frantically coiling and tearing at the blue-marked defensive lines of the defenders.

With each report of "fallen" or "loss of contact," a staff officer beside the sand table would, with trembling hands, pull down a small blue flag or push over a section of the blue defense line model.

Every such action meant another neighborhood fell, another group of soldiers fell forever.

"...East District Third Block out of contact! Repeat, East District Third Block out of contact! Last communication was... the sound of a secondary explosion..."

A young staff officer, whose lips were still covered in downy hair, abruptly ripped off his headphones, his voice trembling uncontrollably, his face ashen.

"asshole!"

Lieutenant General Jamal's bloodshot eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he slammed his fist hard on the table covered with maps, causing the entire sand table to tremble.

"Send the reserve 3rd Company to the front! Immediately! Tell the 3rd Company commander that even if we lose every last man and bleed to the last drop, we must hold the passage on the west side of the City Hall! We absolutely cannot let the enemy cut our defensive line in two! Otherwise, we're all doomed!"

The order was quickly relayed through the hissing radio, but everyone in the command post knew exactly what was going on.

Reserve team?
That's just a nice-sounding name.

Those were just a few dozen exhausted and wounded soldiers, some of whom were even lightly wounded, who had been barely pulled from other positions.

They are like a handful of sand thrown into a roaring lava flow, instantly swallowed and evaporated by the scorching death, barely causing a ripple.

Song Heping's expression remained one of almost cold calm, a mask honed by his years of experience in the battlefield.

Only those who know him best, such as the chef standing right next to him, can glimpse the immense pressure and turmoil he is under from the lines of his slightly pursed lips and the fleeting, elusive extreme anxiety deep in his eyes.

Haibab, once a prosperous city, has now been completely transformed into a huge and greedy meat grinder.

It is frantically devouring and consuming the last precious manpower of the Celia government forces at an alarming rate.

The soldiers' fighting spirit was beyond reproach, but their sacrifice was ultimately heartbreaking.

Song Heping understood one principle very well—as a commander, one's heart must be as strong as steel.

There should be no pity.

Especially head-on, life-or-death confrontations.

Whoever softens their heart first loses.

But he also knew that modern warfare was never just a contest of wills.

Faced with an enemy's overwhelming troop strength, continuous logistical supplies, and overwhelming heavy firepower, relying solely on willpower to resist is itself an incredibly tragic and desperate process.

The real deciding factor has long since shifted away from this war of attrition within Haibab City.

He had far fewer chips than his opponent, Abu Omar.

The key to the success or failure of this battle lies with the two surprise forces that are now stealthily advancing in the darkness, attempting to deliver a fatal blow to the enemy.

His gaze passed over the city model representing mountains of corpses and seas of blood, landing on two inconspicuous points on the edge—Dehook in Iligor to the east, and the town of Otaba near the border of Yodan to the west.

That is where the faint glimmer of hope for the revival of the entire war truly resides.

He took a deep breath, picked up the microphone from another dedicated encrypted communication channel, and steadily adjusted the frequency with his fingers. His voice was so calm that it was impossible to detect any fluctuation: "Hive calling Peregrine One, please respond. Over."

After a brief static noise, Jiang Feng's slightly rapid but exceptionally clear and calm voice came back, accompanied by the soft, rapid footsteps and the whistling of the wind through the empty valley: "Peregrine Falcon One received, Hive please speak. Over."

"Peregrine Falcon One, report your exact location and current status. Over."

Song Heping asked, while giving the cook beside him a look.

The cook immediately moved closer, almost touching his bald head to the microphone, and listened intently.

"Reporting to Hive: Our unit successfully bypassed the 1515 outer checkpoint, approximately five kilometers northeast of Dehok, twenty-five minutes ago. Our Persian friends' 'migratory bird' drones provided precise early warning and path guidance. Our team is currently traversing the No. 7 dry valley at full speed. The valley is strewn with gravel, slightly slowing our progress, but we expect to arrive at the designated attack launch position east of Dehok (coordinates: E4391, N3285) in four hours. The advance reconnaissance team is in position twenty minutes ahead of schedule and is using thermal imagers to conduct final confirmation of the town's eastern defenses. The demolition team is in good condition, and all explosives are ready. Over."

Jiang Feng spoke quickly, and every piece of information was clear and accurate, demonstrating the qualities of an excellent frontline commander.

"Very good. Any updates on the situation of the garrison in Dehook? Any new discoveries by the drones? Over."

Song Heping pressed for answers, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the dusty tabletop.

Although the 1515 armed forces on the east are not as fierce and aggressive as the "Victory Front" on the front of Haibab, they are currently the fastest advancing of the three forces attacking Damascus.

Once Dehok, a crucial logistical hub and communications node, is successfully eliminated, it will greatly alleviate the immense pressure on the eastern defense line and may even provide an opportunity to redeploy some valuable mobile forces back to the precarious main battlefield of Haibaib.

"The last aerial view transmitted by 'Migratory Bird' ten minutes ago showed that the garrison in Dehok still numbered between 1,500 and 2,000. They were equipped with limited technical gear, including 30 armed pickup trucks equipped with ZPU-1 anti-aircraft machine guns, 20 82mm mortars, and no more than ten armored vehicles. Their defensive fortifications remained concentrated at the main western entrance to the town and several high points such as the town mosque and the old town government building. The eastern area was relatively weakly defended, with only two makeshift machine gun nests and scattered patrols visible, consistent with our previous assessment. There were no signs of mobile reinforcements or significant adjustments to the defensive forces. Over."

Jiang Feng's report was detailed and professional.

"Roger that. Maintain absolute concealment and proceed strictly according to the original plan. Remember, Peregrine One, your mission is a high-speed raid and a precise decapitation strike! The primary objective is to destroy their command node and communications center, create maximum chaos, then blow up their supply depot, and then quickly withdraw from the battlefield. Absolutely no lingering! That's the heart of the 1515 armed group's controlled territory; if you don't act quickly enough, you'll be surrounded. Your mission is to raid, not to occupy territory. Understand? Over."

"Understood, Hive. A swift and decisive strike, without hesitation or lingering."

Jiang Feng's voice, transmitted through the radio waves, conveyed an unwavering determination.

"Keep the channel open and report any issues immediately. Over."

Song Heping ended the call and gently placed the microphone back on its base.

It seems that things are going relatively smoothly on the eastern front so far, but the real showdown, the one that will determine the fate of Haibaib and even the entire southern war, is still in Otaba.

He barely paused before skillfully switching to another encryption frequency.

"Hive calling Steel Knife, Commander Arseni, please report on your unit's situation. Over."

The channel first picked up a low, rumbling engine idling sound, along with the distinctive, grating noise of metal tracks grinding against gravel. A moment later, a rough voice with a Russian accent rang out.

"Steel Knife received, Hive. Our advance armored unit has reached approximately 800 meters ahead of the last outer perimeter of the southern outpost of Otaba. According to the latest thermal imaging scan transmitted by the Il-20 reconnaissance aircraft ten minutes ago, the rebels have added a temporary checkpoint to the existing outpost, equipped with large searchlights, two DShK heavy machine guns, and a ring of sandbags. The visual distance between the two outposts is about 200 meters, with overlapping fire coverage. We are trying to find an infiltration route, but it is extremely difficult. Damn it, it seems that Otaba has indeed amassed a large force, and they have set up checkpoints around the area. Over."

Song Heping's heart sank.

Otaba was not only the logistical heart of the southern front of the "Victory Front," with its mountains of ammunition, fuel, and medicine, but also the main assembly point for its foreign legions and military advisory groups, so a high level of vigilance was inevitable.

However, any unforeseen event or the slightest oversight could lead to the failure of the surprise attack, sending this infiltration force to its doom.

"Could we try a long-distance detour? Or, organize a skilled team for a silent elimination? Over."

He pressed on with his last glimmer of hope.

"Bypass?"

Arseni sneered on the radio, “The most recent flanking route will take at least forty more minutes, and there’s no guarantee we won’t be exposed to other enemy patrols or observation posts. Silently eliminating… the Hive, is extremely difficult. There’s an overlap in line of sight between the two outposts, and there’s over three hundred meters of open ground from the bushes where we’re hiding. Unless they’re both asleep at the same time, it’s almost impossible to take out both points without alerting anyone. My personal professional advice is—a direct assault!”

His tone suddenly became fierce and decisive, carrying the ferocity and almost insane desire to attack characteristic of Wagner's mercenaries.

"Use our BMP-1 infantry fighting vehicles' 73mm low-pressure smoothbore guns and 'Kornet' anti-tank missiles to knock out these two damn firing positions at the same time! Then advance at full speed, over!"

Song Heping's mind raced, calculating all the possibilities.

A direct assault would undoubtedly reveal the operation's intentions prematurely. If the rebel soldiers in the checkpoint could not be eliminated instantly, a single signal sent out would give Otaba's garrison time to prepare.

However, if the action is swift and decisive enough, taking advantage of the darkness and the element of surprise, it is indeed possible to eliminate everyone before the enemy can mount an effective resistance.

At this moment, any hesitation would be fatal.

"Approval of the offensive plan! But it must be ruthless, precise, and swift!"

Song Heping no longer hesitated, his voice resolute, "We cannot give them any time to react; we cannot send out information that a battle has broken out!"

“I understand completely, Hive.”

Arseni's voice crackled with excitement, "I'll bombard them directly, guaranteeing they'll be reporting to their God before they even understand what's happening! Over!" The communication abruptly ended. Song Heping slowly put down the receiver, feeling a dampness on his palms.

His gaze returned to the sand table in Haibab, as if he could see the horrific scenes unfolding in the real world through the miniature model.

The explosions outside seemed to be getting closer, becoming even more deafening. The vibrations of the ceiling above grew more intense, and more dust and small pebbles fell like a never-ending drizzle.

The cook silently handed over a military-style water bottle, with a faint steam rising from its spout.

"Have a sip to perk yourself up. This 'horse urine' I brought from my hometown is really potent."

The kettle contained strong coffee, brewed by some unknown method. It was jet black and incredibly bitter, as if it contained all the hardships of the moment.

Song Heping took it, tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful. The extreme bitterness instantly swept over his taste buds, stimulating his almost numb nerves and making his tired brain a little more awake.

"The eastern front is progressing smoothly, but the western front is encountering obstacles. Arseni has decided to launch a strong attack on the temporary checkpoint and use artillery fire to annihilate the enemy instantly, rather than taking a detour to avoid wasting time."

He gave a concise report on the situation.

"Don't worry, that guy used to be an artilleryman, his aim is absolutely perfect."

The cook grinned, revealing a set of teeth slightly yellowed from smoking, seemingly quite familiar with Arseni's style, even with a hint of admiration.

But then, his smile faded, he sighed, and lowered his voice.

"In the city... on our side, we're almost at our limit. A rough statistic I received just five minutes ago shows that the casualty rate reported by various units... has probably exceeded 45%. As for heavy weapons, apart from those few old vehicles we're hiding for a last-ditch effort, we've lost almost everything. Our anti-tank missiles are almost gone, and we're even running out of RPG rockets."

Song Heping nodded silently, his gaze sweeping over every busy yet desperate figure in the command post.
How could I not know?
The atmosphere of despair here is heavier than the dust and smoke that fill the air.

He could even clearly distinguish the various gunshots coming from the street outside: the crisp bursts of AK assault rifles, the elite rebel commandos clearing houses; the muffled explosions of RPG rockets hitting walls, followed by the crashing sound of collapsing bricks; and the increasingly loud and frantic howls of the rebel soldiers, shouting "Allahu Akbar" in Arabic, surging in like a tidal wave—the enemy was indeed within reach!
Just then, with a loud crash, the reinforced iron door of the command post was slammed open, and the captain of the Wagner guard squad, his face covered in soot and congealed blood, his bulletproof vest smeared with mud, rushed in. He didn't even have time to salute, his voice urgent and almost distorted: "Boss! Mr. Song! Something terrible has happened! The last barricade on the east side has been flattened by the rebel tanks! Their men are swarming in along Casa Street and Victory Street! They may be less than 500 meters from the command post building! The guard platoon is fighting desperately, but there are too many of them, and they have tank support! It's too dangerous here! We must immediately evacuate through the emergency exit on the west side! Immediately!"

The air inside the command post instantly froze completely!

All the staff members involuntarily stopped what they were doing, their eyes turning to Song Heping and the cook, their eyes filled with panic, fear, and a last glimmer of hope.

The cook remained silent, only turning his gaze to Song Heping, awaiting his decision.

Under everyone's gaze, Song Heping slowly and with unusual firmness shook his head.

His gaze slowly swept over each face, and finally landed on the sand table, on the small blue arrow representing the "Steel Knife" troops—it was stubbornly and unwaveringly pointing towards the heart of Otaba.

"Don't go."

Song Heping appeared very calm and resolute.

"This is the brain and heart of the entire Haibab army. If we leave, the radio will be cut off, orders will not be transmitted, and the troops in the city will instantly lose unified command and coordination, turning into a disorganized mess. All the troops will completely collapse in a very short time. We must stay here, with everyone, and hold on to the last moment."

He paused, raised his wrist, and glanced at his military watch, the hands relentlessly moving toward four in the morning.

“Arseni needs more time. At least two hours, maybe longer. We must risk our lives to buy him those two hours.”

He raised his head, his gaze piercing as he looked at Captain Wagner, whose face was contorted with anxiety: "Immediately relay my orders: All guards, retreat to the core area of ​​the command post building! Construct the last line of defense using all doors, windows, and ventilation openings! Bring out all the remaining 'Match' anti-tank missiles and 'Kornet' launchers from the warehouse! Set up those NSV heavy machine guns at the key windows! Fire until the ammunition runs out! Tell them, this is Haibaib's last stronghold! This is our graveyard, or our wall of medals! There is no retreat!"

Captain Wagner was stunned for a moment, seemingly shocked by the order to fight to the death. But when he saw the cold, iron-like determination in Song Heping's eyes and the equally fearless look in the cook's eyes, a surge of blood rushed through his chest.

He straightened up abruptly, assuming a perfect Russian military posture, and slammed his right fist heavily into his left chest over his heart with a dull thud. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of admiration, determination, and fanatical fighting spirit: "Yes, Commander! We will hold the line to the death! Wagner will never retreat!"

The captain turned around and charged out of the command post like an enraged beast.

An eerie silence fell over the command post, broken only by the constant cacophony of reports and calls for help from the radio, and the intense gunfire and explosions that were now so clear they seemed to be coming from the next room.

The cook suddenly chuckled, breaking the deathly silence. He spoke in Chinese, which only the two of them could hear: "Old Song, to be honest, do you regret it? You were staying in the Persian Plateau. Although the environment wasn't great, at least you wouldn't have lost your head so easily. But I tricked you into wading into this mess in Syria. Maybe today you'll really be stuck in this rat hole with your hundred-plus pounds."

There was little fear in his tone; rather, it sounded more like a witty remark about having seen through fate.

Looking at his old friend who had fought alongside him through thick and thin, Song Heping couldn't help but show a rare, complex, and genuine smile.

He countered, "And you? I remember years ago, when you were drunk at Yili's, you grabbed me and said that what you missed most was the days when you were tossing woks in your hometown kitchen, saying that the wok hei (the smoky aroma imparted by a hot wok) was the true taste of life. How did you end up getting so deeply involved, giving up a perfectly good restaurant business to go into this dangerous, high-risk business?"

Upon hearing this, the cook stretched out his rough, large hands and vigorously rubbed his bald scalp, chuckling, "The restaurant business? Sigh, that stuff makes money too slowly! And there's so much to worry about—purchasing, chefs, customers, you name it. My wife can manage it all by herself, and she's happy with it. As for this line of work… hey, damn, it's exciting! And the money comes in fast! One order is enough to keep the restaurant running for half a year. But that's just my fate, like the sand and dollars in the Middle East—who knows, one day a gust of wind will come and it'll all be gone."

His smile contained a strong sense of self-deprecation, but also a nonchalant air of someone who had long since seen through life and death.

"Are my wife and kids at home doing well?"

Song Heping suddenly felt a sense of urgency, his thoughts drifting to the extremely distant East, his voice carrying a hint of almost imperceptible loneliness.

“I… I can’t go back anymore. My file is probably stamped with the red mark of ‘terrorist’ or ‘dangerous person’ long ago. I haven’t heard from my younger siblings in a long time either. I don’t dare to contact them, afraid of causing them trouble.”

The cook's smile faded, and he patted Song Heping's shoulder forcefully, his broad hand conveying a solid strength: "Hey, don't think too much about it. In our line of work, some things are no longer up to us; we just have to accept it."

The two of them were relatively speechless for a moment.

Outside the command post, the roar of gunfire and the boom of explosions became the only background music.

A deep understanding and mutual appreciation between men flowed quietly in the murky air, more powerful than any grand pronouncements.

Sudden--

boom! ! !
An unprecedentedly violent explosion seemed to have occurred right above our heads!
The entire underground bunker began to shake violently, like a small boat in a raging storm!

Blinding sparks erupted from the lighting circuitry, the overhead lights flickered violently a few times, and finally went out completely. Only a few emergency red lights emitted a dim and eerie glow, stretching and distorting everyone's shadows onto the violently shaking walls.

Large amounts of dust and cement fragments fell like a torrential rain, almost blinding people and causing them to cough repeatedly.

A desperate scream came through the radio from an observation post: "They're firing tank cannons directly! Entrance number three has completely collapsed! They've broken through! Repeat! They've broken through entrance number three! They're advancing towards the main command post! A lot of people! At least a platoon!"

"Attention! Prepare for battle! All non-combatants, take up your weapons! For Celia!"

Lieutenant General Jamal drew his Makarov pistol from his waist and roared like a trapped beast.

Song Heping and the cook stood up abruptly almost at the same moment.

Song Heping inspected the bolt of the AK-74M assault rifle in his hand, which was equipped with a PK-AS red dot sight and a GP-30 grenade launcher. The movement was smooth and stable, as if he were just performing routine maintenance.

He looked at the cook and extended his right hand: "Looks like our chat is over. Brother, we'll have to walk this final journey together."

Without any hesitation, the cook laughed heartily, grabbed Song Heping's hand, and the immense force made both of their arms tremble slightly: "Of course! Damn it, I've had enough of living! Today I'll take a few more down with me!"

Song Heping nodded emphatically, gripped the microphone tightly, then quickly released it, strode to the central communications station, and grabbed the microphone that connected to the military's broadcasting channel.

"To all my brothers in the garrison of Haibab, this is Song Heping. General Jamal, along with all the staff and communications personnel in the command post, are still here! We are right behind you, and we will not retreat a single step! Our surprise force, 'Steel Knife' and 'Peregrine Falcon,' is thrusting straight into the heart of the enemy! If we hold out for just two hours, their rear will be on fire! I assure you, if you die, I will die with you!"

His voice suddenly rose, filled with unwavering conviction and a powerful infectiousness: "Hold on! My brothers! Defend every building, every window, every basement entrance! With your rifles, with your last grenade, with your teeth and your fury, tell those traitors who betrayed the country and those foreign invaders! Haibab will never fall! For Celia! For your parents, wives and children behind you! Fight to the end! Glory belongs to you!"

"Fight to the end!"

"For Celia!"

"Victory belongs to those who hold fast!"

On the public radio channel, countless hoarse, fervent, and even tearful responses erupted instantly!
Song Heping tossed aside the microphone, slung the rifle sling over his shoulder, and made a final adjustment to the angle of the grenade launcher.

"Let's go."

He spoke to the chef, who was already prepared, in a calm tone as if inviting an old friend for a walk.

“Let’s go to the door and give a ‘warm welcome’ to these ‘uninvited guests’ sent by Mr. Abu Omar.”

The cook grinned maliciously and skillfully loaded the belt of over 150 rounds into the receiver of the PKP Pecheneg general-purpose machine gun.

The gun made a reassuring metallic clanging sound, and the heavy ammunition belt rattled.

"You sons of bitches, I've been itching for this for ages! Today I'll let you taste the authentic steel feast prepared by a Russian 'cook'!"

The two exchanged a smile, and one after the other, they strode confidently toward the heavy blast-proof iron door of the command post.

Outside the door, a hell on earth is formed by streets engulfed in flames, cold and hard steel wreckage, and freely flowing hot blood.

　A long chapter of over 7,000 words.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)