Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1198 Heading to Erbil
The message feedback was faster than expected.

Petrovich's side was the first to send a message that, after an emergency assessment, the Russian side believed that although there were risks involved in the Erbil meeting, they were within a controllable range and in line with current strategic interests, and therefore agreed.

Petrovich was formally appointed as the chief representative of the Russian military advisory group to participate in the talks, and was granted the authority to make on-the-spot decisions.

Immediately afterwards, the Persian side also gave a positive reply through secret channels, agreeing to let Afanti go to Erbil as his plenipotentiary representative.

After receiving the final confirmation from Song Heping, Simon replied with only a brief, encrypted message:
"Received. Arrange the specific time and safe house. I will go there in person."

Two days later, in Persia, on the outskirts of Tehran, at a military airfield under martial law.

Before dawn, only a sliver of light in the east outlined the distant mountains.

The early spring wind blew across the empty track, carrying a biting chill.

Two Mi-17 military transport helicopters, with mottled paint and no national markings, had started up. The huge main rotors began to rotate slowly, emitting a deafening roar that tore through the silence of dawn. The wind stirred up by the rotor blades whipped up the dust on the ground, making it almost impossible to open one's eyes.

The Mi-17 is a mainstay of Russian-made multi-purpose helicopters.

Although it was older than Song Heping, the Persians, who had been under sanctions for many years, still treasured it.

Song Heping, dressed in tactical gear with a lightweight ceramic bulletproof vest over it, boarded one of the helicopters carrying only a pistol.

Following Song Heping, Petrovic and the SSO team boarded the plane.

Today, he changed out of his usual formal attire at the Kremlin and into a Russian Multicam camouflage combat uniform without any markings, with a Glock 19 pistol tucked into a quick-draw holster at his waist.

He patted the seat next to Song Heping, plopped down, fastened his seatbelt, and then began a final check of his personal equipment.

Finally, the Persian representative, Afanti, came up.

He was accompanied by Nassin and some members of his renowned "Desert Fox" squad.

There was no excessive small talk; everything that needed to be discussed had already been covered. A simple nod was enough to acknowledge the other person.

The hatch closed with a dull metallic clang.

"All personnel in position, seatbelt check!"

The pilot's calm voice came through the headset; it was English with a heavy Persian accent.

Soon, the helicopter slowly lifted off the ground with its powerful engine, quickly rising to an altitude of fifty meters. Then, it gently tapped its nose, adjusted its direction, and flew south towards Erbil, the capital of the Iligord Autonomous Okrug.

The noise and vibration inside the cabin were extremely loud; even with noise-canceling headphones on, one could still feel the omnipresent low-frequency roar.

Song Heping leaned his head against the cold bulkhead, closed his eyes to rest, and breathed steadily and slowly, as if he had already fallen asleep.

But his mind was racing, anticipating all the possible scenarios that might occur during the upcoming meeting and the corresponding strategies.

Petrovich, on the other hand, seemed more lively. He looked down through the porthole at the land below, which was gradually becoming clearer, humming an unknown tune in Russian and tapping his fingers unconsciously on his knees.

Occasionally, he would pick up his binoculars to observe the terrain below and the movement of vehicles on the road.

The flight was generally smooth, but not without its challenges.

The helicopter deliberately avoided sensitive airspace and stayed away from areas known to be inhabited by the 1515 armed group, which possesses portable anti-aircraft missiles.

Below lies the rolling Persian Plateau and mountain ranges, their tawny slopes rugged and desolate, occasionally dotted with ribbon-like dirt roads or scattered villages in the valleys.

Everyone in the cabin, whether it was Song Heping resting with his eyes closed, Petrovich who seemed relaxed, or the silent special forces soldiers from various countries, was on high alert.

They knew that beneath this seemingly magnificent landscape lay countless deadly traps. Any fleeting flash of light could be the sunlight locking onto a Stinger missile.

Although this meeting was confidential.

But nobody can say for sure what's going on in the intelligence community.

No one can guarantee that a sudden air defense team won't appear and fire a shot at these helicopters that haven't disengaged from their shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles.

After all, not everyone among the high-ranking officials of the countries that met with the delegation agreed to implement this cooperation plan.

After several hours of bumpy and tense flight, the outline of Erbil finally appeared on the distant horizon.

The silhouettes of modern buildings and ancient castles intertwine, while the red, white, and green flag of the Kolde Autonomous Okrug, with a bright sun in the center, is faintly visible atop some high-rise buildings.

"Prepare to descend. We will arrive at the target area in ten minutes."

The pilot's announcement sounded again.

The helicopter began to noticeably decrease in altitude and speed, and a strong feeling of weightlessness came over us.

Instead of flying towards the city center, they landed at a large, seemingly abandoned textile factory located on the outskirts of the city, near the mountains.

The factory square appeared to have been cleared beforehand, with armed personnel dressed in Kold's "Freedom Fighters" uniforms scattered around. They occupied high ground and key entrances, vigilantly watching their surroundings, the muzzles of their weapons slightly lowered, but ready to be raised at any moment.

Two Mi-17s landed steadily in the center of the square, which was full of gravel and weeds, and the dust stirred up by their rotors spread out like a thick yellow fog.

As the propeller speed gradually decreased, the loud roar also diminished.

The hatch was opened from the inside.

The group disembarked from the plane under the protection of their bodyguards.

At that moment, several people walked out from inside the largest factory building.

Leading the group was Simon, who was wearing a well-tailored dark blue suit, but out of place was a low-key black soft bulletproof vest over it.

His hair was neatly combed, and he wore a professional smile. His gaze swept quickly and precisely over Song Heping, then over Petrovich, and finally lingered for a moment on Afanti.

“Welcome to Erbil, gentlemen.” Simon’s voice was not loud, but it clearly pierced through the last lingering sound of the helicopter engine.
"Please forgive any shortcomings in our hospitality due to limited resources. For the sake of our shared time efficiency and everyone's safety, let's get straight to the point."

Song Heping remained calm and nodded slightly in response.

Petrovich shrugged indifferently, a cryptic smile on his face.

Afanti simply looked at Simon expressionlessly and nodded slightly as a greeting.

In this dusty and tense abandoned factory, people from all four sides made their first historic meeting.

Guided by Simon, they silently walked toward the converted factory.

The Kold's armed men silently parted to make way, their gazes fixed on this group of key figures representing different factions, figures who could influence the course of the entire region.

The interior of the factory is surprisingly spacious and secluded.

It was clearly the result of careful preparation and reinforcement.

The windows were sealed off from the inside with thick steel plates, leaving only a few observation ports with firing holes. The light mainly came from several high-powered LED lights hanging from the ceiling, emitting a cold white light that made the interior as bright as an operating room, but also seemed lifeless.

In the central open space, there was a rectangular wooden table that looked like it had been temporarily put together. It was covered with a dark green tablecloth and had several bottles of mineral water, several glasses, and several small boxes that looked like signal jammers and anti-eavesdropping equipment on it.

A dozen or so chairs of different styles were placed around the table.

A small number of highly skilled security personnel stood around the table.

There were Americans dressed in the usual CIA operations uniforms, with alert eyes and earpiece wires hanging down to their collars; there were also local bodyguards dressed in traditional Kold's clothing, but with bulging waistbands.

The representatives from the four parties took their seats.

Song Heping chose to sit with his back to a sturdy load-bearing wall, where his view covered the entrance and most of the windows.

Petrovich sat casually to his left, while Afanti sat opposite him, and Simon, as the host, sat at the head of the long table.

Song Heping noticed that there were no representatives of the Kolds here.

Ok……

They weren't even qualified to sit at the table...

There was no tea break, and no polite welcome.

Simon cut straight to the point, reiterating the U.S.'s basic position and inviolable bottom line in a clear tone: this contact is limited to coordinating military operations against the common enemy 1515 in northwestern Iligo, with the aim of establishing a basic conflict avoidance mechanism to prevent direct firefights between the parties due to miscalculations, discussing cooperation matters, and deliberating on tactical arrangements for the next six months to a year.

He emphasized that this does not mean any political recognition by the United States of Russia or Persia, nor does it represent any form of long-term cooperation agreement.

Song Heping chuckled inwardly as he listened to Simon's official-sounding speech.

Americans are very flexible, but they always try to appear principled in public. However, this kind of cooperation is itself a very unprincipled act.

Contradictions, dilemmas.

That's just how Americans are.

After Simon finished his opening remarks, it was Petrovic's turn to speak.

His accent was almost identical to Simon's.

The statement indicated that the Russian side expressed similar views, agreeing to limited tactical coordination, but emphasizing that Russia's vested interests and freedom of action in Syria must be respected, and implicitly suggesting that the scope of activities of "certain forces" (actually alluding to forces supported by the United States) should be limited.

Afanti's statement was more concise and forceful. On behalf of the Persian side, he agreed to conduct necessary information sharing and action coordination in the fight against the 1515 armed group, but explicitly demanded that the United States guarantee the "legitimate rights and security" of the various Persian-backed armed groups in Iligo, especially in the northern region, and asked the United States to exert influence to limit the actions of its regional allies (implicitly referring to the hoopoe) that might take the opportunity to destabilize the regional landscape.

The debate and bargaining were exceptionally intense from the very beginning.

Where exactly is that invisible "boundary" drawn?
Under what circumstances can the US and Russia provide air support to whom, the depth and breadth of intelligence sharing, the specific operational areas and restrictions for ground forces of each side…

Every detail involves huge practical interests, future impacts, and irreconcilable positions.

The atmosphere in the conference room was sometimes like a frozen glacier, and sometimes like a volcano about to erupt.

English, Russian, and Persian were spoken alternately, and translation was occasionally needed for precise communication, adding to the tension and uncertainty.

Song Heping remained silent for most of the time, like a silent reef, letting the words of the representatives from all sides crash against him like waves.

He simply observed calmly every expression, every subtle movement, and every seemingly casual yet subtly witty remark between Simon, Petrovich, and Afanti.

He only interjects with a concise, forceful, and unquestionable tone when it comes to key issues such as the operational autonomy of his armed forces, the security of logistical supply lines, and the principles of post-war profit distribution, clearly drawing red lines.

He was like a chess player in the eye of a storm, seemingly calm, but actually controlling all the pieces on his side, as well as the hidden connection between himself and Simon.

After hours of intense discussion, compromise, and exchange, a preliminary consensus was finally reached on a basic, verbal framework for "temporary de-escalation and coordinated clearing operations."

Although many details still need to be communicated and implemented by subsequent military and technical teams, at least the general direction has been determined, paving the initial path for the upcoming joint operation.

"All right."

Simon rubbed his throbbing temples, picked up the bottled water on the table, unscrewed the cap, and moistened his parched throat.

Even with his energy and experience, such a high-intensity game was still exhausting.

He turned his gaze to Song Heping, who had remained remarkably composed, and said, “Now that the framework has been initially established, then… Song, as the most crucial contact person and executor for our four parties in this operation, could you please give us a detailed explanation of your specific plan to completely drive the 1515 militants out of northwestern Iligo? You are now the executor of the entire operation. It’s not that I don’t trust your abilities, but I simply want a clear, feasible, and effective tactical plan that can coordinate the forces of all parties.”

Instantly, all eyes in the conference room, filled with scrutiny and anticipation, focused on Song Heping.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)