Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1224 Cash! I want 300 million in cash!
The next day.

As the setting sun painted the last rays of orange-red light onto the mottled earthen walls of Daguge.

A deep engine roar came from afar, breaking the evening's silence.

A convoy consisting of five M939 heavy military trucks painted in desert camouflage and several Humvees equipped with M2 heavy machine guns slowly drove into the checkpoint on the outskirts of Daguge, which was controlled by Song Heping's "Liberation Force".

The tires screeched as they rolled over the gravel road.

The soldiers at the checkpoint immediately became alert, raising their AK-74M assault rifles slightly, but not pointing them at the vehicles.

They recognized the team's affiliation—Americans.

The door of the lead Hummer was pushed open with a bang, and Simon, whose face was as gloomy as the evening sky, was the first to jump out.

Immediately afterward, Colonel Kurt stepped out of the passenger seat.

Kurt had specially changed into a crisp service uniform today, attempting to maintain the last vestiges of dignity and authority of a U.S. military officer.

However, he looked around and glanced at the checkpoint soldiers—these militiamen who used to carry broken AKs were now using AK-74Ms.

It seems that these country bumpkins, under Song Heping's equipment and training, have become the most powerful fighting force in the land of Yilige.

"Colonel Kurt, Mr. Simon."

A junior officer in charge of the reception spoke in broken, cold English, his face expressionless, "Our boss has been waiting at the command post for quite some time."

He made a simple "please" gesture, but the movement was stiff and disrespectful.

It's the same familiar command post.

Song Heping was standing with his back to the door, in front of a long table hastily pieced together from ammunition boxes and door panels, looking down at the huge military map spread out on it.

He heard footsteps, slowly straightened up, and turned around.

His gaze first bypassed Simon and landed precisely on Kurt, a mocking smile instantly spreading across his face as if he had seen something extremely amusing.

"Yo ho!"

Song Heping's voice was loud and clear, and he deliberately raised his voice:

"Look who's graced us with their presence! Isn't this our illustrious Colonel Kurt, the one who commands respect in Illyria? What, is the Pentagon really unable to find a capable lieutenant to run errands?"

He emphasized the words "old friend" with extra force, as if it were a resounding slap across Kurt's face.

Kurt's face instantly turned from ashen to purplish-red, his teeth grinding together. An old friend?
Screw your old friend!
His only thought at that moment was to draw his M9 pistol and riddle the yellow-skinned bastard in front of him, who was grinning like a cunning old fox, with bullets!

But he can't.

Not only could he not, but he also had to personally and respectfully deliver large quantities of weapons to this enemy, like a deliveryman, and watch helplessly as the enemy grew stronger through this.

This is simply a shame!
"Mr. Song."

Kurt practically choked out those words from deep in his throat: "Keep it business! Enough with the nonsense!"

He slammed a folder labeled "US Government" onto the table with a loud bang, making the map jump.

"This is a detailed list of the first batch of equipment, including a reinforced company of M1A1 Abrams main battle tanks, a corresponding number of M2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicles, five basic loads of supporting ammunition, and fuel supplies sufficient to sustain initial operations. Please verify and sign for receipt according to the list!"

He deliberately emphasized the word "sign for receipt," trying to regain some initiative.

Fearing that Kurt's powder keg might explode, Simon quickly stepped forward and took another beautifully bound document from his briefcase:

"Song, this is the draft military services contract signed with the Pentagon, totaling one billion US dollars. This is the final version. Regarding the payment of the first installment of three hundred million US dollars, we have agreed that it will be made along with the first batch of equipment after the contract is signed..."

He paused for a moment, then chose a relatively vague statement.

"...Please review this carefully. If there are no issues with the terms, please sign here."

He pointed to the signature area for Party B, "Once the signature is complete, the equipment outside, as well as subsequent support, will be in place as planned."

Song Heping seemed not to hear Simon's words about payment. He first picked up the equipment list unhurriedly and flipped through it page by page like an antique appraiser.

He observed very carefully, sometimes nodding, sometimes frowning and shaking his head, while muttering to himself.

"M1A1... Hmm, although it's a stripped-down version, with thinner armor and an outdated fire control computer, it's still usable enough to scare those bumpkins from Hurmatu."

He raised his eyelids and glanced at Kurt.

"The number of infantry fighting vehicles... tsk, a bit too few, not even enough for a whole company. When did you Americans become so stingy? Ammunition... just enough for the opening, a warm-up. As for fuel..."

He scoffed, "Only enough for my iron turtles to crawl to the outskirts of Hurmatu and catch a whiff of the wind? Simon, Colonel Kurt, your sincerity looks like counterfeit wine diluted with nine-tenths water. With this little bit of wealth, sending me to tackle that tough nut of Hurmatu makes me incredibly nervous and completely unsure of myself."

Kurt finally couldn't hold back and let out a heavy snort through his nose:

“Mr. Song, please get this straight! This equipment is enough to arm one of the most elite mechanized battalions of the Iligo government forces and still have some left over! Don’t forget, just a few months ago, most of your soldiers were still using old RPG-7s and AK-47s with rifling worn down to almost nothing! You should be grateful!”

Song Heping finally lifted his gaze completely from the list:

"Colonel Kurt, you said it yourself, that was a few months ago. As the saying goes, 'A scholar should be looked at with new eyes after three days' absence.' The brothers who follow me, Song Heping, naturally need to upgrade their equipment to keep up with the times. Besides..."

He deliberately dragged out his words, and his gaze sharpened.

"If you hadn't used such despicable methods and thought you were so clever when you tricked me, I wouldn't be here picking and choosing."

These words were like a red-hot branding iron, searing into Kurt's deepest, most bleeding wounds.

The incident in the Tuz Valley was an indelible stain on his military career and the root of his deep-seated hatred for Song Heping.

His fists clenched instantly, and his chest heaved violently.

Seeing this, Simon quickly gave him a wink, forcing a more strained smile to try and ease the tense atmosphere: "Song, you're right, times are changing, and our cooperation must also look forward. This is just the first batch of emergency supplies; the subsequent equipment, including more tanks, artillery, and technical support, will definitely arrive as quickly and in full according to our agreed schedule! Right now, the situation in the Northwest is very urgent, and every minute is extremely precious! What do you think... let's sign this contract first? We'll arrange the follow-up matters immediately!"

Song Heping reluctantly picked up the draft contract. He flipped directly to the key payment terms and the assessment clauses linked to combat objectives, his gaze sweeping over them quickly, the mocking smile on his lips never fading.

"alright."

He looked at it for a while, then picked up the cheap plastic ballpoint pen on the table and signed his name in a flamboyant manner in the spot Simon had indicated.

Then he casually tossed the pen aside, as if it were something dirty.

"I've signed it. It's in black and white; I've given your Washington officials and Pentagon generals plenty of face. Now..."

He stared intently at Simon. "It's time to see what's inside your house."

Simon felt a huge weight lifted off his shoulders upon seeing that he had finally signed. He quickly said, "Great! Song, thank you for your cooperation! Please give the order immediately to have your troops begin their echelon advance towards Hurmatu! We must establish an outer defensive line before the 1515 militia completes their strategic encirclement of Harris, to delay their offensive..." "Wait."

Song Heping raised his hand again, interrupting Simon's urgent words.

"what happened again?"

Simon's heart sank, and an ominous premonition surged into his mind once again.

"money."

Song Heping uttered a simple word.

“I signed the contract. I’ve given you the written agreement. But I haven’t seen a trace of my $300 million down payment. Simon, my brothers are willing to risk their lives on the front lines for a hefty reward, but they can’t go to their deaths on empty stomachs, armed with firewood without bullets.”

Simon's face turned deathly pale: "Song! Didn't we agree before? Once the contract is signed and the equipment arrives, your troops will set off immediately! Payment needs to go through procedures! You know the Pentagon's financial approval process and the Treasury's disbursement procedures! This takes time!"

“I know your processes very well: bureaucratic, cumbersome, and slow!”

Song Heping's tone suddenly hardened, "But my brothers don't know! The enemy on the front lines don't know! The bullets fired by Hurmatu certainly don't know!"

He spread his hands, adopting a stance that left no room for negotiation, "And I don't want bank transfers, I want cash, cash, understand? My troops won't move an inch until I see real money!"

"You...you're insane!! Cash?! Where am I supposed to find three hundred million dollars in cash in such a short time?! You signed the contract but didn't send troops, that's...a breach of contract!"

Simon's face immediately turned as black as the bottom of a pot.

That damn mercenary leader!

Why do you never play by the rules?

Colonel Kurt, who witnessed all this, was so enraged that he laughed, a dry laugh filled with hostility:

"Hahaha... Song Heping! I see you now! You're just a greedy and shameless bandit! This isn't cooperation at all, it's blatant extortion! You're taking advantage of our current predicament to carry out despicable blackmail!"

"Breach of contract?"

Song Heping ignored Kurt's insults, scoffed, picked up the copy of the contract he had just signed, and pointed to the clauses on it with his finger.

"Colonel Kurt, open your eyes and look carefully. It says in black and white here that 'the first batch of funds and equipment will be delivered simultaneously as a prerequisite for the commencement of military operations.' Now, I've seen the equipment, and although its quality is questionable, I'll consider it delivered. But where's the money? Where is the money? You're the ones who breached the contract! As for extortion and blackmail..."

He coldly swept his gaze across Kurt's face, which was contorted with rage.

“You need to provide evidence when you speak. This is a fair transaction, with clearly marked prices, and we treat everyone fairly. You can choose not to buy it; the door is over there, and no one is stopping you.”

Simon knew that arguing like this was pointless and would only waste precious time.

He suppressed his strong urge to strangle Song Heping, turned around abruptly and walked out of the command center. Then he found a relatively quiet corner and took out his satellite phone again.

The call was answered almost instantly; clearly, the person on the other end had been anxiously awaiting news.

"What trick has he pulled this time?!"

Brennan's voice was like a volcano about to erupt, filled with barely suppressed rage. Clearly, he had a premonition from his previous experience that things would not go smoothly.

“SIR…Song…he refused to send troops.”

Simon's voice was hoarse and tired, tinged with despair.

"What?! You son of a bitch! He's already signed the contract! What else does he want?! Does he want me to send the president to him on Air Force One as a hostage?!"

Brennan's roar, even without speakerphone, could be faintly heard a few steps away, and a look of grimness appeared on Kurt's face.

“He said… he must see the initial payment of three hundred million dollars in his account, and it must be delivered to Dagug in cash, otherwise his troops will not move a single soldier. He said… this is his rule, his ironclad law,” Simon repeated with difficulty.

"Screw the rules! Bullshit ironclad laws! Three hundred million dollars! That's three hundred million greenbacks! Not some child's toy money! Do you think it's coming out of my personal credit card?! The Pentagon's budget approval process is rigorous! Those nitpicking old men on Capitol Hill are like vultures watching every expenditure! And there are other military contractors waiting in line for payment! Who does he think he is?! The Chairman of the Federal Reserve?! Someone who can just start the printing presses at will?!"

Brennan completely erupted on the other end of the phone, unleashing a torrent of profanities.

Simon had no choice but to bite the bullet and report the terrible news—the kind that would make any high-ranking Washington official's heart stop—at top speed: "SIR! Please calm down and let me finish! We received the latest briefing on our way here!"

"The trapped Kold's forces have suffered over 60% casualties! In addition, the vanguard of the 1515 forces has completely broken through all the outer defenses of Ozam and is advancing rapidly towards Harris like a red-hot dagger along the vital Highway 7! Our air power has carried out multiple bombing runs, but the effect is limited and cannot stop their ground advance!"

"Intelligence indicates that the morale of the garrison in Harris is low and their defenses are weak. They may fall within the next 24 to 48 hours! Once Harris falls, Kazimier will be next! And Kazimier is less than 100 kilometers from Bakda! Sir, we don't have time for those damn procedures anymore! Not a second left!"

On the other end of the phone, Brennan's frantic roar, like a rooster being choked, abruptly stopped.

Instead, there was a deathly silence.

Simon could clearly imagine Brennan pacing back and forth in his spacious, luxurious office like a wounded wild beast trapped in a cage.

The silence felt as long as an eternity.

Finally, Brennan's voice came through the receiver:
“...Tell him...the money...we'll give it...but three hundred million dollars in cash! Is he fucking kidding me?! Where am I supposed to get three hundred million dollars in cash in such a short time?! Make him accept a bank transfer! Immediately! Right now! This is the bottom line!”

Simon covered the microphone and turned to Song Heping: "Song, three hundred million US dollars in cash is too much to ask! It's simply impossible to raise in a short time! Bank transfers are the same; we can provide proof of receipt to guarantee the absolute safety and timeliness of the funds..."

"Do not."

Song Heping's answer was crisp and decisive, leaving no room for negotiation.

“I only want cash. Hundred-dollar bills. No checks, no promissory notes, and definitely no those intangible numbers in the bank. You guys are experts in finance, and I don’t want you to know my real account number. As for the cash…”

He smiled as he said this.

"Simon, your CIA outpost in Bakhta, or some secret vault of your forces in Iligo, can't even produce three hundred million dollars in cash?"

He slowly walked to the window and looked at the American trucks unloading cargo outside:
“I’ve heard that you Americans love to pave the way with cash. Bribing tribal elders, funding local militias, buying crucial intelligence, even ‘compensating’ for civilian casualties… none of this can be done without boxes and boxes of dollars. In Ilig, in Afghanistan, you’ve brought in almost as much cash as you’ve brought in artillery shells. Three hundred million? That’s an astronomical figure for others, but for you, it’s just a matter of a few safes. Am I right, Mr. Simon?”

Simon opened his mouth, but his throat felt blocked, and he couldn't utter a single word. Because what Song Heping said was true.

The CIA and the U.S. military do indeed have large cash reserves in war zones for various "special activities," which are not even considered top secret internally.

But he didn't expect that Song Heping knew so much about this!
Song Heping turned around and stared at Simon:

"Nine o'clock tonight. I'm giving you a final deadline. By nine o'clock tonight, deliver three hundred million US dollars in cash, every single penny, to Guge. If you see the money, my troops will move out immediately. If you don't see the money..."

He shrugged. "Then let the 1515 militia go to Bakhta and have tea with your ambassador."

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)