Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1218 You Can't Succeed Without Me!

In Dagula, thousands of miles away, the night was as dark as ink.

Song Heping stood at the window on the second floor of the command post, looking out at the desolate town. Compared to the hustle and bustle and carnage coming from the direction of Ozam and Agra on the radio inside the room, this place was as quiet as a corner forgotten by the world.

The night is still long.

For many, this was destined to be a sleepless night.

But for me right now, the most abundant thing is time.

I can wait.

We can afford to wait.

Back inside, Song Heping stood before the enormous military map of northwestern Iligo and took a sip of strong tea from the teacup on the table.

On the map, the red and blue arrows representing opposing forces are intertwined, making the situation immediately clear.

He put down his teacup, picked up a red and blue pencil, and gently, yet with immense force, drew a full and resolute red circle at the crucial pivot point—the location of Hurmatur.

One round seals the deal.

Everything is under control.

American?
They always thought they could control everything, using dollars and aircraft carriers to weave a vast network covering the globe.

But they forgot that the stronger they became, the more they resembled the elephant in the game of Animal Chess, who was also afraid of the mouse.

Just as Song Heping put down his pencil, preparing to examine the decisive red circle on the map more closely, the satellite phone on the table stubbornly started vibrating again, emitting a continuous buzzing that broke the silence of the command center.

He didn't answer it immediately.

They didn't even glance at the flashing indicator light.

His gaze slowly swept over the map again.

All the clues and all the variables were unfolding according to his deduced script, even more smoothly than he had anticipated.

The Americans finally couldn't sit still any longer...

The phone kept ringing, one call after another, sounding particularly jarring in the empty room.

He knew who it was.

Very few people knew this hotline number, and the only person who would be so eager to contact him at this moment was Simon, the CIA director who had just been under immense pressure in the White House Situation Room.

He deliberately let the phone ring seven or eight times, fully savoring the pleasure of making the other person suffer while waiting, before slowly picking up the phone.

He didn't speak first, but waited in silence.

After a brief silence filled with radio noise, Simon's voice came through the receiver.

"Song".

Simon skipped all the unnecessary pleasantries and formalities, addressing Song Heping by his surname, which further emphasized the urgency of the matter.

"Oh, it's Director Simon. What instructions do you have so late?"

Song Heping's response was indifferent, as if he were just answering a routine call to sell insurance or ask about the weather. There was no surprise in his tone, but rather a silent sarcasm.

"The situation is urgent, so let's skip the formalities."

Simon said, "First of all, I want to clarify that Colonel Kurt's recklessness and stupidity have nothing to do with me, but it is undeniable that his recklessness has caused unnecessary trouble and... losses for both of us. I think it's time to end this... misunderstanding."

"Misunderstand?"

Song Heping sneered, "Director Simon, in my dictionary, deliberately concealing key intelligence and exploiting information gaps to cause my men to be surrounded and almost wiped out seems to be more than just a 'misunderstanding,' doesn't it? It's more like a betrayal, or, in your Washington's more high-sounding words, a 'necessary sacrifice based on strategic considerations'? Unfortunately, I, Song Heping, don't like to be sacrificed."

There was a silence of about two seconds on the other end of the phone.

"...I admit that there were serious communication discrepancies in previous intelligence sharing. Those responsible will certainly be severely punished."

He attempted to shift blame to one or a few "scapegoats," but then abruptly shifted his tone, trying to seize the moral high ground: "But right now, the situation in Ozam and Agra is rapidly deteriorating, and thousands of innocent lives, as well as our shared counterterrorism goals, are teetering on the brink. We must consider the bigger picture..."

Song Heping did not respond, nor did he make any sound in response.

He simply picked up the red and blue pencil again and rhythmically, gently tapped the red circle that had just been drawn on the map, marking the location of Hurmatu, with the end of the pencil.

Tuk, Tuk, Tuk...

The clear and rhythmic tapping sounds, transmitted without loss through a highly sensitive microphone, reached Simon's ears across the ocean.

The sound wasn't loud, but it struck Simon's heart like a heavy hammer.

Simon seemed to be able to clearly imagine Song Heping's calm and composed demeanor, as if he had everything under control, through that voice, which made him feel inexplicably irritated and powerless.

He had to quicken his pace, his tone now imbued with an unwavering resolve, in an attempt to regain some of the initiative: "We can make amends for the past with new, more sincere terms. But now, time waits for no one! We need 'Musician' Defense Company to immediately resume military operations, exert substantial pressure on Hurmatu, and alleviate the predicament in the Ozam and Agra directions. This is of utmost urgency! To this end, I will personally travel to Dagula for face-to-face talks with you."

finally come.

Song Heping's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly.

The CIA director, the head of America's vast intelligence empire, actually went to the front lines this time, venturing deep into the "territory" controlled by Song Heping. This in itself was an unprecedented gesture and a silent acknowledgment.

He acknowledged that Song Heping had gained enough influence to make even the most arrogant superpowers lower themselves and come to negotiate.

"Dagula is poorly equipped and filled with yellow sand; it probably cannot accommodate a distinguished guest like Director Simon."

Song Heping's tone continued with a hint of mockery, like a cat playing with a mouse, "Moreover, if I may be frank, the situation here is not entirely peaceful, and I'm afraid I cannot fully guarantee your safety."

"This is not a visit, it's about resolving a problem. As for security, you don't need to worry about it; I'll take care of it myself."

Simon completely abandoned his usual bureaucratic euphemisms.

“My plane is ready and will be taking off soon. I hope that when I arrive, we can have a…productive conversation. Song, I believe you are a sensible man and should understand that the current stalemate is not good for anyone except our common enemy—'1515'.”

A common enemy?
Song Heping sneered in his heart.

In the eyes of true war enthusiasts, especially in the Middle East, a perpetual vortex of interests, the line between enemy and ally is always blurred.

The so-called friend or foe can change at any time depending on the situation and the needs of the interests.

Today's friends may turn against each other tomorrow over an oil field.

"I understand."

Song Heping finally relented: "I will be waiting for you in Dagula. However, I hope that what you bring this time is not just empty 'sincerity' and empty promises from Washington. That would be a waste of my time and the patience of my men."

"of course."

Simon's reply was brief: "I'll bring you something you're interested in. Well then, see you in Dagula."

"See you, Dagula."

call ended.

Song Heping slowly put down the satellite phone.

The command center returned to its previous silence.

Simon's personal arrival signifies that the Americans, under the dual pressure of frontline military collapse and international public opinion initiated by Angell, have finally bowed their proud heads completely.

He recalled the words of the great man: "If American imperialism has any sense of reason, it is because it has been forced into this situation."

A great man is a great man.

This statement is timeless.

Now, the Americans have not only implicitly acknowledged that Kurt's actions were wrong and even despicable, but they have also admitted that Song Heping is an indispensable "player" on the chessboard of Iligo. Everything is proceeding exactly as he set out, without the slightest deviation.

This also means that I have finally truly arrived at the dining table.

The chips are already on the table.

Now, all that remains is for that "distinguished guest" from Washington to personally add the final, most lavish, and most symbolic touch to his victory.

Simon was very punctual; the CIA's global deployment capabilities are indeed well-deserved.

In less than sixteen hours, the military helicopter carrying Simon had already landed slowly on an open space in Dagug City.

As the hatch opened, the dust and the stench of blood that hit him made Simon instinctively furrow his brow.

He habitually straightened his crisply pressed suit, which looked so out of place and ridiculous in this chaotic land filled with armed pickup trucks, rocket launchers, and masked soldiers. But he still needed this "armor" to maintain his personal dignity and the last symbol of order for the powerful nation he represented.

Several armed pickup trucks, equipped with heavy machine guns and bulletproof steel plates, were already waiting like ghosts. The mercenaries from the "Musician" defense company inside were all professional and vigilant, exuding the fierce aura unique to veterans.

There was no welcoming ceremony, no polite greetings, not even a proper reception official. There was only a burly man with a scar on his face silently making a "follow me" gesture.

Simon, accompanied only by two bodyguards who appeared highly tense and kept their hands on their holsters, got into the middle pickup truck with the newcomers.

The convoy once again kicked up a cloud of dust, like a moving sandstorm, as it headed toward the military command post located in the city.

Inside the command post, the light was dim, with only an old desk lamp on the table emitting a dim yellow glow.

Song Heping did not come out to greet him, nor did he even turn around.

He remained with his back to the door, standing before the enormous military map. Only the occasional soft scratching of the red and blue pencil on the map testified to his presence and focus.

"Director Simon, you must be tired from your journey."

Song Heping did not turn around. His tone was as indifferent as if he were greeting an old neighbor he saw every day, rather than the CIA chief who had traveled thousands of miles and risked his life to come to negotiate.

Simon suppressed the slight displeasure that welled up inside him from being slighted, and then his eyes scanned the map eagerly.

The red circle drawn on Hurmatu looked exceptionally glaring under the dim light.

Meanwhile, the blue arrows representing Ozam and Agra were collapsing and retreating like melting snow, indicating that the two puppet states supported by the Americans were in a precarious and collapsing state along the entire Northwest Front.

The reality was far more direct and brutally horrifying than the embellished intelligence briefings he had seen in Washington.

"Mr. Song, time is of the essence, let's get straight to the point."

Simon didn't want to waste a single minute right now.

Every minute wasted is a disaster for both the Iligor government forces and the Kold'd militia.

"The White House and we are deeply regretful and angered by Colonel Kurt's unauthorized and overreaching actions. This was absolutely not our intention, and we sincerely apologize to you here. Now, we urgently need 'Musicians' to immediately resume strong military pressure on Hurmatu and stop the fierce offensive of the 'Conquest Front' from continuing to spread and expand. To this end, we can immediately open a higher-level, higher-resolution real-time satellite intelligence sharing channel, and provide subsequent equipment and funding..."

"Director Simon."

Song Heping interrupted his opening remarks and finally turned around.

"If apologies were enough, what would be the point of justice?"

He looked at America's top intelligence chief, who was clenching a heavy fist, with a disdainful smile.

Simon was embarrassed and speechless for a moment, not knowing how to respond to the conversation.

Song Heping continued:

"Are you Americans used to pushing out your so-called 'allies' as cannon fodder when you need them to fight for you, and then stabbing them in the back without hesitation when you don't need them or find them a hindrance, and calling it 'strategic adjustment'?"

Simon's expression stiffened slightly, and the muscles of the two bodyguards behind him tensed instantly. Their right hands instinctively reached for the holsters under their arms, and their eyes sharpened.

However, when they saw the even colder and more undisguised murderous gazes of the "musicians" employees around them, their newly raised momentum deflated like a balloon punctured by a needle. They could only force themselves to relax, but their hands still did not leave the gun handles.

Here, in this command post, they are the ones who are outnumbered and whose lives are in the hands of others.

“Song, I understand your anger and dissatisfaction. But please believe me, that was by no means an official policy, nor did it represent the will of the White House. It was merely an unforgivable mistake by a few individuals.”

Simon tried to shift the blame, but his tone unconsciously softened.

"Mistake?"

Song Heping scoffed, his laughter filled with undisguised contempt.

He strolled leisurely to the steaming coffee machine next to him, poured himself a cup of black coffee, and made no attempt to offer Simon, who looked travel-worn, a subtle gesture that revealed his disdain.

"A seemingly insignificant 'mistake' cost me more than twenty of my most elite soldiers! Do you think that a mere 'mistake' and a few seemingly nice but ultimately empty promises can easily erase all of this?"

He took a sip of his hot coffee, then stared intently at Simon: "I am not one of those local warlords who can be manipulated at will with a few dollars and empty words, nor am I one of those Baktad politicians who cannot survive without your economic and military aid. Cooperation is possible. My door to peace is always open to mutual benefit. However, the rules, now, are to be set by me."

Simon's heart sank.

He knew that the most difficult and crucial stage of negotiation was about to begin.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady: "So, what are your conditions? What exactly do you want for you to allow Operation 'The Crucible' to continue and immediately send troops to attack Hurmatu?"

Song Heping slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a loud "thud."

He held out three fingers:
“First,” his voice echoed in the silent command center, “I want to sign a formal, legally binding defense contract with the U.S. military—note, the Pentagon, the Department of Defense, the regular U.S. military, not your CIA, an intelligence agency that hides in the shadows.”

"All military operations under Operation 'The Crucible,' from frontline combat to logistical support, must be carried out under the name of my 'Musician' Defense Company. I want it to be legitimate, backed by official documents in black and white, stamped with the seal of the Ministry of National Defense! I want the whole world to know that it is your US military that is hiring me, Song Heping, to fight this war!"

Simon's eyelids twitched uncontrollably a few times.

SHIT!

This is like stabbing a knife into the heart of Washington's politics!
This means that Song Heping, a dangerous figure who was once publicly listed and labeled a "terrorist," is being openly included in the U.S. military's cooperation system, albeit under the guise of a private military contractor. However, its political symbolism is far more than just a simple contract.

"second,"

Song Heping gave him no time to process or refute, and continued in a cold tone, "The contract amount is one billion US dollars. Moreover, 30% must be prepaid, which is three billion US dollars, as start-up capital and personnel settlement expenses. Furthermore, within forty-eight hours after I successfully take Hurmatu, the US military stationed in Iligo must unconditionally and immediately provide us with a batch of urgently needed equipment and munitions."

He casually slapped a pre-prepared document onto the table in front of Simon, as if he were tossing away a piece of waste paper.

Simon suppressed his humiliation, picked up the note and quickly glanced at it. Even a cursory glance made it difficult for him to breathe, and his heart felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand.

The note clearly listed—

At least one battalion of M777 ultralight howitzers.

A company of Stryker wheeled armored vehicles.

At least 200 sets of the "Switchblade" 300/600 loitering munition.

50 Javelin anti-tank missile launch units, along with a large quantity of supporting ammunition, communication equipment, and individual soldier gear...

This is almost the configuration of a modern light combined arms battalion, and much of it consists of front-line equipment currently in service with the U.S. military!
"These."

Song Heping's voice interrupted his shock, "This is a necessary preparation for my next attack on the 'Conquest Front's' stronghold—Titrick. You don't expect me to take on that tough nut with AKs and RPGs, do you?"

A record-breaking contract worth a billion dollars!
In addition, there is this sensitive, advanced American-made equipment, enough to arm an elite battalion!

Simon felt a throbbing sensation in his temples.

This isn't cooperation! This is outright robbery!

That's outrageous!
"third,"

Song Heping's voice suddenly turned even colder: "Arrange for me to give an exclusive television interview to Horizon News Corporation. Note that this is a live-streamed interview broadcast globally. In the interview, I will reveal my true identity and clarify all my past transgressions. And your US military and CIA must simultaneously release a clearly worded official joint statement at the same time as my interview airs, acknowledging that listing me on the 'terrorist' list was due to the 'secrecy requirements of special military operations,' an 'unfortunate misunderstanding,' and an 'intelligence identification error.' I will completely clear my name!"

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(End of this chapter)