Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1146 Petrovsky's Invitation

The embers of the air raid had not yet completely cooled, and the sky north of Homs was stained a dirty gray-black by thick smoke, with the air filled with acrid gunpowder smoke, burning rubber, and an even more nauseating smell of burning.

The once deafening battlefield was now eerily silent, with only the crackling of burning vehicle wreckage and the faint cries and chaotic shouts of fleeing Free Army soldiers in the distance.

The Russian Aerospace Forces' textbook-perfect precision strike was like a red-hot iron on butter, instantly crushing the seemingly fierce armored offensive of HTS and the Free Army.

Faced with an absolute technological and power gap, those militants who rely on fanaticism and rudimentary equipment are extremely vulnerable.

Government soldiers cautiously emerged from their bunkers, clearing the battlefield and collecting weapons, their faces showing a mixture of post-disaster bewilderment and awe of overwhelming power.

Song Heping, "The Cook," "The Hunter," and others returned from the observation post to the relatively safe command post.

My tense nerves suddenly relaxed, and a wave of fatigue washed over me.

The group found a few ammunition boxes and sat down casually. The "cook" took out crumpled cigarettes and distributed them.

When it was Song Heping's turn, he waved his hand as usual: "I don't smoke, you know that."

After saying that, he took out a piece of chewing gum, put it in his mouth, and started chewing.

"You should learn to smoke; it can soothe your nerves."

The cook smiled dismissively, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag, as if trying to expel the smell of gunpowder from his lungs.

"Damn it, I finally made it through..."

He exhaled a smoke ring, looking at the still-rising black smoke outside the window, still feeling lingering fear. "Song, actually, every time I participate in a battle, I think... Damn it, what if I don't come back one day?"

Song Heping didn't say anything.

There's no point in discussing this topic.

For those in this line of work, death is never predictable.

The "hunter" remained silent, carefully wiping his beloved pistol with gentle and focused movements, as if everything around him was irrelevant.

"Then give me one."

Song Heping stretched out his hand.

The cook paused for a moment, then grinned and quickly took out a cigarette from his pack and tossed it to Song Heping.

Song Heping lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it; he just watched the smoke rise.

His mind was not completely at ease.

Major Petrovsky's words, "It's a private matter I'd like to discuss with you alone," echoed in my mind.

A force of SSO caliber would never be interested in an "outsider" like him for no reason, especially in such a war-torn situation.

“That Petrovsky guy, there’s something strange about the way he’s looking at you.”

The cook had clearly noticed this as well, and lowered his voice to say to Song Heping, "Like a wolf eyeing its prey. Have you offended the Russian special forces somewhere before?"

"Could it be that your boss is unhappy because you left without saying goodbye in Moscow last time?"

Song Heping frowned slightly: "I've never had any direct dealings with SSO. But I've heard of SSO's reputation; they do all the dirty and hard work. If they come knocking, it's never going to be easy."

As they were talking, the light at the entrance of the command post dimmed, and a tall figure walked in.

The one leading the group was Major Petrovsky, whom the two had been discussing.

He had wiped off most of the makeup from his face, revealing his sharply defined features. He walked straight toward Song Heping, his gaze sweeping over the "cook" and the "hunter" beside him before finally settling on Song Heping.

"Mr. Song."

Petrovsky asked very politely, "Is now a convenient time? Let's talk."

What is coming will eventually come.

But judging from their tone, they didn't seem to be there to cause trouble.

Song Heping stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and calmly nodded: "Okay."

"plz follow me."

Petrovsky made a gesture and turned to walk away.

Song Heping gave the "cook" and the "hunter" a reassuring look and followed them.

Petrovsky did not go far, but led Song Heping to a relatively intact two-story building in a corner of the military camp.

This place has clearly been temporarily requisitioned by the SSO team as a base.

Government soldiers stood guard around the small building, but the atmosphere inside was completely different.

In the lobby on the first floor, several SSO members were busy.

Some people sat in the corner, quickly disassembling and maintaining their AK-12 assault rifles, the parts neatly arranged; others were checking and debugging drones and control terminals; still others were organizing medical kits, the medicines and equipment inside looking more advanced than those in government military hospitals.

The air was filled with the mixed smells of gun oil, sweat, and tobacco.

When Song Heping followed Petrovsky in, almost all the SSO members stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.

These gazes were complex and sharp, carrying scrutiny, curiosity, and even a hint of barely perceptible provocation.

Some people's eyes were like cold detectors, scanning Song Heping up and down, assessing his threat level; others had a faint sneer on their lips, as if they wanted to see what was so special about this "outsider" personally brought by the major; and then there was a burly team member with a scar on his neck who made no attempt to hide his neck movement, making a slight clicking sound, his eyes revealing a sense of eagerness, as if he wanted to test Song Heping's strength.

This is a group of proud, top-notch professional soldiers who have undergone the most rigorous selection and combat. They naturally approached the sudden appearance of Song Heping with instinctive vigilance and scrutiny.

Song Heping could feel the invisible pressure, but his expression remained unchanged, and he looked back calmly without any hesitation or cowardice.

He knew all too well that any weakness would be magnified in front of such a person.

Ignoring the gazes of his teammates, Petrovsky led Song Heping straight upstairs to a small, private room.

The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a table and two chairs, with bullet holes still visible in the walls. Petrovsky closed the door, cutting off all sight and sound from the outside.

"sit."

Petrovsky pointed to the chair, then sat down opposite him, placing his hands on the table and sitting up straight.

Song Heping sat down as instructed, without speaking, but simply looking at the other person quietly, waiting for him to explain his purpose.

Petrovsky didn't beat around the bush and went straight to the point: "Mr. Song, first of all, let me clarify that the main purpose of our squad's deployment to the Holmes area is not to relieve the fighting here."

Song Heping raised an eyebrow; this was somewhat unexpected.

With the Homs Line in dire straits, it was perfectly reasonable for the Russian military to send its most elite SSOs to guide the airstrikes.

Is there anything more important than holding the Holmes front steady?
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(End of this chapter)