Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1202 Military Assembly

After the meeting in the Green Zone, Song Heping went to check on the location of the shop that he and Lao Yao had rented to run as a general store years ago.

I haven't been back for many years, and this place has changed completely.

The original store has changed hands and been turned into a coffee shop and bakery.

Song Heping stood at the door for a while, and the waiter inside thought he was a customer and ran out to warmly invite him in to sit down.

Reluctantly, Song Heping smiled and said, "I'll just sit outside."

A sunshade was set up in front of the shop, and a few tables were also placed there.

The waiter assumed that Song Heping liked to enjoy the fresh air outdoors, so he didn't suspect anything and politely led Song Heping to a table under the sunshade to sit down.

The menu was quickly brought to me.

Song Heping opened the menu and saw that it was all Western food, including steak, lamb chops, bread, and pasta, just like any other Western restaurant.

Song Heping ordered a steak and a beer, as alcohol is forbidden by religious doctrine here.

However, the green zone is an exception.

"Order whatever you want."

Song Heping put away the menu, glanced at the "Hunter" sitting opposite him, and smiled, "It's my treat today."

"Boss, you seem to be in a good mood today."

The "hunter" ordered a lamb chop and handed the menu back to the waiter.

He could tell that Song Heping seemed to be in a good mood.

“When I first came to Iligo, I worked here. A friend and I brought small commodities and industrial products from our hometown here and sold them to the people of Iligo who were in conflict.”

Song Heping pointed to the Western restaurant, looked around at its completely different decor, and couldn't help but sigh.

"So how did you end up becoming a mercenary?"

"The Hunter" asked curiously.

When the two met, Song Heping was already the leader of the small team, so he never mentioned these past events to "The Hunter".

"Once, I spent all my savings to buy two high-powered generators, intending to sell them to a local tribal chief who was quite wealthy. However, during the transport, we encountered a firefight. The generators were destroyed, the truck was totaled, and the two driver friends I worked with were also killed..."

Song Heping sighed and turned his gaze back to the shop.

"I had to borrow most of the money to buy the generator, so I was basically bankrupt. With nowhere else to turn, I became a mercenary..."

"The Hunter" couldn't help but say, "I bet you never imagined you'd be able to achieve such a large scale today."

"yes……"

Song Heping smiled and said, "People are all forced to do things."

Just then, the waiter brought in the food.

"Let's eat first. After we finish eating, we need to rush back to Sulaymaniyah. We have to start our operation in seven days. There's still a lot to do."

……

That afternoon.

Upon returning to the temporary command post in Sulaymaniyah, Song Heping immediately began preparations for the war that would begin seven days later.

Fighting a war is not a simple matter.

In particular, multi-party collaborative operations.

Song Heping never attended a formal military academy; his command ability relied on both talent and experience.

After retiring from the 203rd Regiment, he was at most a platoon leader in terms of command.

But over the past eight years, with the increasing number of mercenaries under his command and his participation in various real battles, his accumulated experience has led to a qualitative leap in his command ability.

The battlefield is the best military academy.

This statement will never be outdated.

The Americans were reasonably efficient this time.

With the assistance of technical personnel from Bakhda, the command post in Sulaymaniyah was upgraded into a highly information-based command center in just 24 hours. The system was connected to the system of the US military command in Iraq, and the communication channels were provided by the US military.

To improve the effectiveness of coordinated operations, Song Heping even had Colonel Kurt send eight technical sergeants to be responsible for the operation of the command's combat systems, with everything equipped according to the US military's command standards.

Colonel Kurt was naturally unhappy with Song Heping's command.

But you have to put up with it even if you're unhappy.

This large-scale military operation is of great significance. It is a plan personally approved by the White House. No matter how dissatisfied Kurt and James are with Song Heping, they still have to obediently carry out every order on the surface.

Inside the Sulaymaniyah command post, the exposed walls were covered with military camouflage cloth, and more than a dozen LCD screens of varying sizes were hung on them, displaying satellite images, drone reconnaissance footage, and electronic maps in real time.

In the center of the room, a huge sand table accurately recreates the miniature terrain from Daguk to Titrick, and it is covered with small blue and red flags representing the enemy and our side.

A crisscrossing network of cables lay orderly on the ground, connecting constantly flashing communication terminals and encryption devices.

The sounds of keyboards clicking, radio communications, and staff whispers rose and fell, the air thick with the scent of strong coffee and sweat.

Song Heping stood in front of the sand table, his gaze sweeping over every contour line, road network, and town model like a precision scanner, finally settling on the miniature building complex representing Daguk.

"Time is running out, everyone."

His voice wasn't loud, but it had a peculiar penetrating power that instantly silenced all the noise in the command room.

"The 'furnace' must be lit precisely in seven days. Before that, we have much to do."

He turned to the standby operations staff and communications officer, his tone steady but authoritative: “First priority: the 1st and 2nd combat battalions of the ‘Musician’ Defense Company. Give them seventy-two hours—this is not a suggestion, it’s a direct order. All personnel and heavy equipment must arrive at the assembly point on the southern outskirts of Sulaymaniyah through clandestine channels. Logistics will prioritize the allocation of ammunition, fuel, and medical supplies. I want these two battalions fully equipped and operational to reach Level 1 readiness within three days, ready for high-intensity combat at any time.”

"Second, the 'Liberation Forces' guerrilla battalions will break up into smaller units and secretly infiltrate and assemble in the northern region of Daguk. During the assembly process, maintain radio silence and conduct nighttime maneuvers to ensure the operation's stealth. Reconnaissance detachments will advance to monitor all key routes leading to Daguk; I need to know the whiff of even a fly flying in."

"Third, have the Abuyu Brigade deploy their best reconnaissance troops, spreading them like sand within a 20-kilometer radius of Daguk. Establish concealed observation posts, marking not only firing positions, command posts, and ammunition depots, but also understanding their shift change patterns, supply convoy times, and commanders' activity habits. Unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) units will provide 24/7 battlefield surveillance."

"Fourth, communications support. Establish multiple encrypted channels with the Bakhta Joint Operations Center, the Russian frontline command, and the Persian Quds Force liaison station. Conduct security checks hourly, and ensure backup communication plans are reliable. Tell our 'allies' that the key to coordination lies in timely and accurate information sharing."

Each command was like a drawn sword, its cold light flashing as it shot toward its respective target.

The militia and mercenary forces throughout the Sulaymaniyah region seemed to have been injected with a powerful stimulant, and began to operate at a tense but orderly pace.

About forty kilometers west of Bakda and east of Ozam.

The forward positions of the Iligor government's 9th Armored Division.

Inside the M113 armored command vehicle, reports from battalion commanders of various regiments, accompanied by static, came through the radio headset.

The Iligor government army commander, Saif, frowned, his fingers unconsciously tapping the map spread out on his lap.

The 1515 armed force in the direction of Ozam was by no means a rabble.

They built a deep defense system relying on the complex urban area and surrounding villages and towns, and equipped themselves with a large number of Russian-made anti-tank missiles, American-made grenade launchers, and, most troublesome of all, carefully disguised suicide car bombs.

Although his troops were called an "armored division," their main tanks were still the old T-72s, and some even lacked effective night combat capabilities. Most of the soldiers were conscripts and lacked combat experience.

"Inform the commanders of all units."

Saif said to his chief of staff beside him, “Raise the alert level to the highest level. Keep a close watch on the reconnaissance units; I need to know any subtle changes in their positions. Artillery units, complete the data calibration and stockpile basic ammunition. We don’t need to actually charge in and die, but we need to make them believe that we are ready to launch a general offensive at any time! Create a strong impression! Mr. Song said that we were only required to draw the 1515 forces in the direction of Ozam, not that we were to capture Ozam…”

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

"Have the lads check the equipment, especially the anti-IED devices. They need to conduct thorough checks and mine clearance along the way. We don't want to capsize in a ditch; I don't want to die on the roadside."

A Russian military frontline command post on the edge of the desert in eastern Syria.

The atmosphere here is completely different from that of Sulaymaniyah.

The command post was located in a reinforced underground bunker, and the air smelled of vodka.

Brigadier General Netsov stood before a huge paper map, the stars on his shoulder insignia still prominent in the dim light.

He was surrounded by commanders known as "Cooks" from the Aerospace Force, SSO special forces, and Wagner Group, all with stern faces.

"A 48-hour window."

Netsov pointed to the map and said, "There are still forty-eight hours until the general offensive begins. After the artillery fire from Ilya, we will immediately launch a general offensive towards Deir ez-Zor in the east, to let those mad dogs of the 1515 armed group understand who the boss of this land is."

He raised his hand to control the laser pointer, directing the beam across a wide area from Deir ez-Zor to Raqqa.

"The first wave of attacks by the Aerospace Force will prioritize destroying enemy command centers, communication nodes, logistical hubs, and fuel and ammunition storage sites. Use precision-guided munitions and blow their heads off!"

"The SSO special forces will depart tonight, tasked with infiltrating behind enemy lines to provide laser guidance for heavy firepower and air strikes, and, if necessary, conduct targeted eliminations."

"Wagner's troops, and our friends in Celia."

He looked at the "cook": "Yevgeny, your tanks and infantry fighting vehicles are bulldozers. Once the air strikes weaken the enemy's resistance, I want you to crush them like ants, pushing them aside without leaving any blind spots!"

The orders were concise and brutal, yet they carried the efficiency and destructiveness unique to Russian war aesthetics.

Deep in the rugged mountains north of Iligo.

The Persian Holy City Brigade has advanced to the border, cleverly concealing its main force in the mountain valleys.

Afanti, dressed in a green military uniform, walks among the silent soldiers.

These soldiers were all from the most elite Holy City Brigade of the Persian Army. They were well-equipped with modified assault rifles, sniper equipment, and anti-tank missiles, and many of them bore the marks of years of fighting.

"Patience is the sharpest blade."

Afanti whispered to the commanders accompanying him, "Song's signal is the order to attack. When the signal fires are lit in Daguk and Titrick is thrown into chaos, that's when we'll descend the mountain."

He gazed southward at the valleys and towns controlled by 1515. "Remember," he said, "our goal isn't just killing. We want valuable intelligence, surviving witnesses, and territories to consolidate our influence. Act swiftly and ruthlessly, like a hawk hunting its prey—a single, decisive strike."

Near Bakda, at the Assad Air Base, the night was deep.

The runway was brightly lit, turning the desert night sky orange-red.

Under the huge beams of searchlight, ground crew members, like busy worker ants, moved tirelessly among the massive fleet of aircraft.

The F-15E Strike Eagle fighter-bomber's massive fuselage is laden with GBU-series precision-guided bombs and AGM-air-to-ground missiles; under the short, stubby wings of the A-10C Warthog attack aircraft, the terrifying muzzle of the seven-barreled GAU-8 Gatling gun is deep and dark, with rocket pods and Maverick missiles mounted nearby.

Since the withdrawal began three years ago, the US military in Iraq has not conducted such a large-scale military operation for a long time.

In the Special Operations Mission Coordination Center in a corner of the base, Major James watched as large screens continuously updated weather data, enemy situation reports, and mission area maps.

"Have the Alpha and Bravo teams confirmed to have reached the designated observation point?"

His voice was transmitted to the front via encrypted communication.

"Alpha reports that they have arrived at the border observation post Lima and are establishing a hideout."

"Bravo reports: We have entered the Delta observation post in the desert hunting zone; visibility is good."

"Maintain radio silence and conduct laser target designation drills as planned. Ensure that your identification signals and those of your air units are flawless."

James coldly gave the order. Despite his deep resentment towards Song Heping's command, his professional soldier's discipline required him to ensure the perfection of every aspect of the mission.

Meanwhile, at the airport outside, several Black Hawk and Chinook helicopters, under the cover of night, swept across the desert like ghosts, dropping more special operations teams to key positions.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)