Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1163 Division of Troops
The eastern edge of the Gunai Mountains.

Two Typhoon K-63969 ambush protected vehicles sat silently at the entrance of a ditch.

A group of 1515 militants, dressed in camouflage uniforms and all wearing black turbans, were cautiously approaching the two mine-resistant ambush protected vehicles from three directions in a loose skirmish formation.

The muzzles of their AK-47, AKM, and a few AK-74 rifles were warily pointed at the vehicle, their fingers hovering over the triggers.

The leader waved his well-maintained AK-74 and shouted in Arabic with a heavy North Caucasian accent, trying to dispel his subordinates' unease with his voice while urging them to come forward for inspection.

"Quickly! Warriors of Allah, what are you afraid of! Look at the treasures left behind by these infidels! There must still be usable weapons, precious ammunition, and expensive communication equipment inside! Bring them all out! Whoever finds them first gets priority!"

The petty thug grinned, revealing a mouthful of teeth stained yellow from nicotine, as if it were a reward he received after presenting the advanced equipment he had captured to a higher-ups.

Encouraged by him, several younger militants exchanged glances, suppressed their unease, quickened their pace, and rushed toward the nearest Typhoon anti-ambush vehicle with an almost robbery-like eagerness.

Da da da--

Da da da da——

Several people fired wildly at the vehicle from about ten meters away.

There was no movement.

Rifle bullets are like a tickle.

It has no destructive power whatsoever against this armored vehicle.

The car doors were tightly shut and could not be opened.

No one got off the bus.

There was no resistance.

The foreman realized that there seemed to be two empty cars.

Perhaps there was abandoned equipment or ammunition on the vehicle.

That's a gain too...

"Go! There's no one here. They seem to have abandoned the vehicle and escaped!"

Encouraged by their leader, several militants suddenly gained courage and surrounded the car from different directions, guns in hand.

"It seems like no one's here..."

"Empty car..."

After checking the situation, the group confirmed the leader's assessment.

Excitedly, they swarmed forward and began to violently smash, kick, and pull at the deformed and jammed armored vehicle door with their gun butts, the metallic friction producing a piercing "creak" that was particularly clear in the empty valley.

"The front door is open!"

Suddenly, an armed man at the front of the vehicle started shouting at his accomplice, who had been foolishly circling the back door, as if he had discovered a new continent.

After saying that, he forcefully pulled open the already opened driver's side door and eagerly crawled inside like a groundhog.

The driver's cab was pitch black, filled with the smell of blood and burning.

As the militant fumbled around under the seats and dashboard for any potentially valuable items, the sole of his boot accidentally tripped over a very thin, plastic-coated metal wire.

"Click."

A faint, mechanical firing sound, almost completely masked by the wind and the shouts of his companions.

"Ok?"

The militants seemed to realize they had encountered something unusual, and looked down toward the source of the sound to see what it was.

The next second—

"boom!!!"

A violent explosion suddenly erupted from the middle of the underside of the first Typhoon vehicle!
The pre-placed explosive device was triggered, and the blazing flames opened like the jaws of hell. The orange-red blast wave and visible shockwaves expanded instantly, engulfing the armed men who were close to it.

Their bodies were like rag dolls torn apart by an invisible giant hand, their severed limbs mixed with fragments of internal organs and metal parts of the vehicle thrown high into the air, tracing horrific arcs, before crashing down onto the dry earth like blood-red raindrops.

The intense overpressure blast was like a heavy hammer, violently knocking people who were a little further away and had no time to react to the ground, causing blood to seep from their ears and noses.

But this is not over yet!
Almost at the same microsecond that the first explosion rang out, another "Typhoon" vehicle, which appeared to be relatively intact, also suffered a catastrophic secondary explosion!

The chain of booby traps pre-placed near the fuel tank connection and the simulated ammunition storage points inside the vehicle were detonated by the shock wave or a short circuit. A larger fireball, accompanied by a thick column of black smoke, rose into the air, blasting the entire vehicle to pieces. The doors and armor plates were torn apart and thrown away like pieces of paper.

Burning diesel fuel and metal fragments, like countless deadly, scorching locusts, hissed and sprayed wildly in a fan shape in all directions!

"Ah—! My leg!"

"My eyes! I can't see!"

"Allah is the greatest! Save me! Save me..."

The piercing screams and desperate prayers instantly replaced the previous greedy shouts, and the once orderly procession was plunged into hysterical chaos.

At least a dozen militants were either killed or wounded in the series of explosions. The survivors lay on the ground in terror or ran around like headless flies.

The air was quickly filled with a nauseating smell of blood, as well as the unique stench of burnt flesh and fabric.

In the distance, about 150 meters away, on a relatively high rocky slope, Abu Omar witnessed the entire bloody scene.

The explosion startled him, and he fell to the ground.

When he finally got up again after confirming that he was safe, he was met with a scene of hell.

"Useless! A bunch of brainless idiots! Can't you even see this obvious death trap set by heretics?! Are your eyes blinded by the sand in the desert?!"

A trusted lieutenant who had followed him for many years cautiously approached, lowering his voice to try and persuade him: "Chief, calm down! The enemy... the enemy is too cunning! Like a scorpion in the desert! They are deliberately provoking us, using the blood of our brothers as bait! Ahead... ahead there are probably more, more hidden traps waiting for us... Shouldn't... shouldn't we first have the surviving brothers retreat, calm down, and then send engineers to carefully clear the way after the reinforcements arrive..."

"withdraw?!!"

Abu Omar whirled around, his bloodshot eyes fixed on his deputy who dared to suggest a "retreat," as if he wanted to devour him alive.

He roared, spitting all over his deputy's face: "Where to retreat?! Tell me, where to retreat?! Those damned, blasphemous infidel Russians, who killed so many of our loyal brothers, are now right ahead, fleeing like frightened sand foxes! You want me to retreat now?!"

He brandished his scimitar wildly: "The warriors of God never fear death! Death is the shortcut to Paradise! Only the filthy blood and agonizing cries of these infidels can wash away the shame they have brought us, and comfort the souls of our fallen brothers who have ascended to Paradise! Tell everyone!"

He roared with all his might, and his voice echoed throughout the entire team.

"Chase them! Follow the tracks and footprints left by those heretics to the ends of the earth, to the very depths of hell! I want to personally rip out their hearts one by one to offer as a sacrifice to our fallen brothers!"

His roar echoed repeatedly through the mountains, carrying the madness and determination of religious fanaticism.

The surrounding militants, initially still somewhat shaken, were quickly infected by their leader's highly inflammatory roar, and a collective fanaticism rapidly replaced their fear. They raised their various weapons, pointed them at the blood-red sky, and unleashed a deafening roar of fervor:

"Allahu Akbar! (God is the greatest!)"

"Follow the leader!"

"Slaughter all the heretics! Let their blood stain the desert red!"

At the same time, the rugged and difficult-to-access ridgeline and dry river valleys of the Gunaishan area.

Song Heping and Major Petrovsky led the Russian SSO special forces team in a frantic run through the valley.

Now, time and speed are life.

Armed raids at high altitudes are no easy feat.

The heavy individual soldier equipment weighs over 30 kilograms – including rifles equipped with scopes and night vision devices, spare magazines, explosives, communication equipment, individual drones, medical kits, water bags, and individual rations.

Everyone's lungs felt burning hot; with each forceful inhale, it felt as if a rough piece of sandpaper was relentlessly rubbing inside.

The thin, oxygen-deficient air in the mountains relentlessly exacerbates this suffering.

The intense combat and high mental stress that lasted for dozens of hours were taking a heavy toll on everyone's physical and mental strength.

Although the Russian special forces soldiers of the SSO were all tall and strong, far superior to ordinary soldiers, they did not seem to play a significant role in the extreme cross-country march in such harsh terrain.

On the contrary, Song Heping demonstrated almost superhuman endurance and adaptability to mountainous terrain.

He maintained a steady pace of movement, and although his breathing was rapid, it was far from his limit.

He would occasionally stop for a moment, using the protruding rocks or dead tree trunks beside him as cover, kneeling on one knee, quickly raising the binoculars hanging around his neck, and vigilantly observing the rear, flanks, and any possible high points in front of the team, providing valuable vigilance for the entire squad.

"Cough...cough cough...vomit..."

Signal, the communications soldier in the SSO squad, finally couldn't hold it in any longer. He coughed violently, then leaned against a piece of weathered granite, bent over, and vomited violently.

But apart from acidic fluid, almost nothing else came out.

"Hold on! Keep going!"

Major Petrovsky swallowed the last of his saliva and encouraged his team members with the firmest possible tone.

"See that mountain pass ahead that looks like a camel's back? Go through it! Behind it is the edge of the Mannier Valley! Once we get there, we can use the complex terrain to gain temporary initiative! We can then lure the hyenas behind us into the battlefield we've chosen!"

Like a ghost, Song Heping turned back from behind a stone embankment ahead, quickly surveying the team members' near-limited condition. He said to Petrovsky, "Major, we can't keep running like this without any effort. Their stamina is almost exhausted. We must conserve our last bit of strength to deal with the inevitable close combat that follows. Otherwise, even if we reach the valley, we'll just be lambs to the slaughter."

Petrovsky wiped the sweat and dust from his face with his dirty tactical gloves, took a few heavy breaths, and said, "Song...you...what suggestions do you have? Time is running out."

Without wasting words, Song Heping squatted down, picked up a relatively easy-to-handle dry branch, and quickly drew lines on the relatively soft sandy ground beneath his feet, the lines simple yet precise.

“We are here now. East of the Mannier Valley. Logically speaking, this is the direction from which the pursuers of 1515 came, while I estimate that the Americans and the Kolds came from the north. Someone needs to ‘guide’ them from there.”

After speaking, Song Heping glanced at the several tall, burly but pale-faced SSO special forces soldiers.

“Your physical strength has reached its limit, and we are still 4 kilometers away from the northern entrance. They probably can’t run anymore. My plan is to split up. You stay here to lure out the 1515 militants, while Hunter and I will go north to mobilize the Americans.”

"Split the troops?"

Petrovsky frowned deeply.

"Yes. We must divide our forces."

Song Heping's tone was resolute and left no room for doubt.

"You lead the entire SSO team to establish a minefield here, utilizing the terrain, along with at least two... ideally three crossfire points to cover the entire passage."

He used a twig to press heavily at the entrance of the "passage".

"Those guys from 1515 have been enraged and lost their minds. They'll definitely chase after us like mad dogs smelling blood. Once their vanguard enters the ambush zone and triggers the mines, you'll be on high ground, unleashing the most intense firepower on them! PKMs for sweeping fire, SVDs for precise targeting, and grenade launchers for saturation! But remember the core objective—not to annihilate them, but to further enrage them, create maximum chaos, and then feign insufficient firepower and ammunition, deliberately retreating to lure them towards the center of the valley! Make them think we're forced to retreat because we couldn't withstand their pressure!"

He paused, and then the branch suddenly pointed in a completely different direction—north.

"And I, the hunter and I, head north. Our mission is to provoke the Americans and their well-trained Kold's vassals. The two of us are small and inconspicuous, mobile and agile, with strong infiltration and escape capabilities, making us more suitable for this kind of 'flirting' work. We'll be like the most annoying desert mosquitoes, finding the right opportunity to bite them, drawing blood and leaving without lingering, and then leading them to the heart of the Mannier Valley."

Major Petrovsky immediately understood.

“That’s a good idea…but…there are only two of you, and over there might be a US special forces team and a hundred or so members of the Kold’s militia…it will be very dangerous…”

Dividing the troops was incredibly audacious, but also extremely dangerous!

In particular, Song Heping and the hunter team, who were responsible for actively luring the American troops, consisted of only two people!
They faced a U.S. special forces force equipped with the world's most advanced individual soldier gear, highly trained and equally proficient in mountain warfare and squad tactics, as well as an unspecified but equally formidable local armed detachment familiar with the local terrain.

This is tantamount to dancing on the edge of a knife.

"That's right!"

Song Heping laughed and said, "There's an old saying from our ancestors: 'You can't catch a wolf without risking your cub.'"

Petrovsky looked at Song Heping with an extremely complex expression, filled with admiration for his strength and courage, as well as instinctive worry: "Song! This...this is too dangerous! There are only two of you! Once you're caught, even if it's just being locked onto by the 'Death' drone..."

Song Heping interrupted him without hesitation, his tone resolute and leaving no room for argument: "This is the only optimal solution under the current circumstances that could reverse our absolute disadvantage! We must achieve maximum chaos and survival with minimal cost. We have no time to hesitate or discuss! Remember the communication signals and backup plans: whichever side encounters the enemy first, after the firefight, try to lure them towards the center of the valley. If they reach the designated rendezvous point and don't see the other side, create a sufficiently loud disturbance—gunfire, explosions—to draw the enemy towards where they might be! We must make them meet!"

Without saying another word, he suddenly stood up, his movements swift and decisive, and pulled out a satellite phone from the waterproof pocket inside his tactical vest.

The cold metal and plastic casing reflected a faint light in the afterglow of the setting sun.

"Now."

Song Heping's voice was eerily calm: "I'm here to send a formal 'death invitation' to those self-proclaimed hunters of America."

After saying this, under the watchful eyes of Petrovsky and several Russian special forces soldiers around him, he pressed the power button on the satellite phone without hesitation.

The screen lit up instantly, the pale blue backlight illuminating his dusty gloves.

The icon searching for satellite signals began to flash slowly and persistently, each blink tugging at everyone's heartbeat.

Although only a few seconds later, the instant the screen displayed "Registered and connected to the network," he forced the phone to shut down again and, with dazzling speed, skillfully removed the back cover, took out the battery, pulled out the SIM card, and stored all the parts separately.

But this brief beacon release, measured in seconds, was enough for the RC-12 electronic reconnaissance aircraft, the "electronic ghost" that had been closely monitoring the area like a phantom at an altitude of nine thousand meters.

……

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

　　During the National Day holiday, my family went on vacation, and I stayed home writing. It's not too much to ask for some monthly votes, is it?

　　
　
(End of this chapter)