Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1234 Hurmatu's Sudden Defeat

To Song Heping's surprise, Hurmatu's collapse happened much faster than he had imagined.

After losing their artillery, the 1515 militia in Hurmatu became easy targets.

Song Heping ordered the "Liberation Force" to mobilize all its technical personnel to modify the "suicide drones" overnight.

His previous actions opened the door to a new world for him.

So this is how drones can be used...

Although this thing flies slowly and doesn't fly very high.

But it is inexpensive and its flight is relatively stealthy.

It would be very difficult for infantry to shoot it down with guns.

Even if it is shot down, the loss will be minimal.

For the next few days, the 1515 armed group, holed up in the city, enjoyed the "treatment" of drones flying over and searching house by house.

As soon as armed personnel are found entering and leaving a house, a missile-laden drone will arrive shortly and then crash into the house.

In just two days, more than 300 drones were used to bomb more than 300 hiding places of the 1515 armed group.

Although there were more than 20,000 militants in the city, the 300 drones only killed about a thousand people. However, the sense of fear brought about by this mode of warfare was unprecedented.

The 1515 extremists hiding in the city were in a state of panic, and they didn't even dare to send out patrol teams on the front line, because in just five days, more than a dozen patrol teams were attacked by drones while on patrol.

Those drones seem to haunt the air like ghosts every day, swarming around any 1515 members they see and sending them to meet their God.

Even more critically, the drone technology of the "Liberation Forces" organization is evolving.

At first, they just threw mortar shells, but later they developed to attach explosives or grenades directly to the shells and install simple triggering devices. As long as they hit the shells, they could blow people and houses into the air with a single bang.

On the third day.

Samir came to the command post to report to Song Heping that someone in the city of Hurmatu had raised a white flag, seemingly intending to surrender.

Song Heping sent Samir to check; if it was a surrender, then they would accept it.

Subduing the enemy without fighting is the best strategy.

As evening approached, new news arrived.

The 1515 militia in Hurmatuli have truly surrendered.

Samir sent in a battalion, and soon sent back news that there were still several thousand 1515 armed soldiers left inside. The remaining 20,000 had been deserting every night for the past two days, and their fighting spirit had completely collapsed.

In the late afternoon, after everything was arranged, Song Heping led the main force into the city.

Upon entering the city, Song Heping's first impression was that this place was worse than hell.

He rolled down the bulletproof car window a crack, and the smell of gunpowder, burnt ash, and the stench of corpses immediately rushed in, making him wince.

Damn it, this smell is like a mixture of a gunpowder depot, a crematorium, and a garbage dump, fermented for three days and three nights under the damned scorching sun of Iligo.

"Boss, should we close the window?"

The driver couldn't help but ask.

"Need not."

Song Heping waved his hand, his gaze sweeping across both sides of the street like a knife.

Hurmatu is finished.

It used to be a peaceful little town on the Tigris River.

Now?

Calling it a branch of hell on earth would be an exaggeration.

Everywhere you look, there isn't a single intact house; all that's left are broken walls and rubble, with broken bricks and tiles scattered all over the ground.

The Hummer's tires carefully rolled over the ruins, occasionally dodging the craters created by the precise bombing by drones, or the pools of blood that had congealed and turned black—a dark red that gleamed eerily in the sunlight.

Quiet, deathly quiet.

"Damn, this smell..."

Sitting in the passenger seat, Jiang Feng muttered, pulling his multi-functional field scarf up even higher, almost covering his eyes, "It's even more pungent than the latrines we use in the summer back home!"

No one laughed at him.

Everyone in the car had a tense expression, and even their breathing was slowed down.

It's not fear, it's disgust.

The smell in the air was so complicated—

The smell of sulfur from burning gunpowder, the burnt smell of wood and stone, the cloying, fishy stench of corpses decomposing rapidly at high temperatures, and most amazingly, there's another one...

It smells like burnt meat that's been overcooked; that's the "masterpiece" of human protein burning.

Several flavors mixed together, thick as a solid substance, stuck to my face, seeped into my lungs, and couldn't be washed off.

The convoy slowly advanced along the main road into the city.

The scene in the city center is even more impressive.

"Flying shells are a priority area."

Song Heping scoffed inwardly.

On both sides of the road, those once arrogant and domineering armed pickup trucks were now overturned and twisted piles of scrap metal.

Several vehicles were directly hit and reduced to charred chassis; the machine guns, ammunition, and crew members were probably blown to bits.

The twisted steel supports stand upright, like those incomprehensible abstract sculptures in modern art museums, exuding a deathly ferocity.

Scattered on the ground were broken glass, spent cartridge cases, and numerous metal tubes with tail fins—

That was a "masterpiece" of modified drones; the wings that once made artillery shells fly are now war junk.

But none of these can compare to those "people".

Or rather, something that once belonged to a person.

Song Heping's eyes swept over the back of a broken wall.

There was a guy lying there, still clutching an AK tightly in his hand, but his upper body was gone, torn to shreds by the shockwave and pre-fabricated fragments, with red and white splattered all over half the wall.

The other guy was even more ruthless. He huddled in a crater in the corner, thinking he could find a sense of security, but he and his cover were blasted into dust by the attack from above, leaving only some unrecognizable fragments.

The most eye-catching thing was next to the overturned truck.

Seven or eight corpses were piled together in all sorts of bizarre ways, seemingly intended as a temporary command post or assembly point, but they were spotted by a drone, which shot them down in one fell swoop and wiped them all out.

Limbs and torsos were scattered everywhere, and dark red blood and bits of flesh were splattered like paint on the charred car body and walls, creating an extremely cruel abstract painting.

The weather has been fine these past few days, and the Iligo sun is relentlessly scorching everything. Those extremists who were so frightened by the drones that they didn't even dare to leave their homes, let alone retrieve the bodies of their comrades.

Many of the wrecked corpses lying on the roadside had begun to swell, their skin turning an ominous bluish-black.

Countless flies, a dark, dense mass, buzzed and swarmed over it, crawling about busily on the lifeless eyeballs and the gaping wounds of the skin.

"vomit--"

The sound of suppressed retching could be heard from the roadside.

Song Heping looked in the direction of the sound and saw a raw recruit leaning against a broken wall, his face ashen, bent over and vomiting violently, almost bringing up bile. A scarred veteran silently walked over, patted him on the back, handed him his water bottle, and said nothing.

Some lessons must be learned on the battlefield in the most direct and brutal way.

"Cleanup team."

Song Heping pressed the radio button, his voice so calm and even that it was as if the hell before him was just a construction site. "Mark the area, prioritize the main roads and the piles of corpses. Spray disinfectant, spread lime to prevent the plague."

After the war is over, the victors not only have to enjoy the spoils, but also have to clean up the mess.

Finally, the convoy turned into a relatively intact square in the west of the city.

This place was simply fenced off with barbed wire and became a temporary prisoner-of-war camp.

Good heavens, a sea of ​​black heads.

At least three thousand 1515 militants were crammed into the rubble-strewn open space like herded livestock.

The outer perimeter was guarded by heavily armed soldiers, and from the high ground, the muzzles of light and heavy machine guns were menacingly pointed at the inner circle, revealing an undisguised killing intent.

These prisoners, compared to their comrades who had already died on the street, were merely breathing again.

They were all dressed in rags, their bodies and faces covered in soot and dried blood, their eyes vacant as if their souls had been ripped out.

The fanaticism instilled by the extreme ideology had been completely shattered by the drone bombing over the past few days.

Now all that remains is the bewilderment of surviving a catastrophe and the fear of an unknown fate.

Many people were injured, and dark red blood seeped from the haphazardly wrapped bandages.

They squatted or stood, huddled together, few spoke, and the atmosphere was deathly still.

Occasionally, a few prisoners would break down, letting out suppressed whimpers or cries due to pain or mental breakdown. This would immediately draw stern reprimands from the guards and indifferent or even disgusted looks from the other prisoners.

Stop crying, it's so annoying!

The squad maintaining order, clad in heavy bulletproof vests and helmets, cautiously patrolled the edge of the prisoner group, their eyes sharp, on guard against any possible disturbance or a suicide attack by someone who might try to take others down with them.

Song Heping's convoy stopped at the edge of the prisoner-of-war camp.

He got out of the car, but didn't get close. He just stood by the car, squinting as he surveyed the sea of ​​people.

The battalion commander in charge of guarding the prisoners jogged over, saluted, and said, "Boss! A preliminary count shows about 3,100 prisoners. We are still searching for any remaining enemy forces. Most of them are in very poor health, lacking food and water, and their morale is about to collapse. We are distributing basic rations and water, and the screening work has begun, with a focus on finding high-ranking leaders and foreign personnel."

Song Heping nodded, his gaze sweeping over the ashen faces.

Among them are die-hard fanatics, local youths who have been misled by the 1515 propaganda department on the dark web, and idiots from all over the world who dream of "holy war".

"Keep a close eye on them, don't let anything go wrong."

Song Heping began by instructing, "Prioritize the treatment of the seriously injured, but we cannot let our guard down. We must be meticulous in our investigations, especially those who might know where Basmu has gone, or who are familiar with the defenses of Mosul and Titrick. We must interrogate them thoroughly and extract some information from them."

He paused, then added, "Notify the rear that we urgently need to send more medical supplies, guards, and transport vehicles."

"Let go?"

Jiang Feng, who was standing to the side, asked in surprise, "Aren't you afraid of letting a tiger return to the mountain?"

Song Heping sneered, "These three thousand-plus mouths can't be kept here forever. If they were tricked into coming here, or if they were forced to join the 1515 organization locally, they're not very harmful, so we can just release them."

"Yes!"

The battalion commander accepted the order, turned around, and quickly left.

Song Heping stood still, took out a piece of chewing gum and put it in his mouth, letting the minty sensation clear his mind so he could think about the next problem.

More than three thousand prisoners are a big problem. Feeding, drinking, relieving themselves, guarding and preventing disease are all troublesome.

But this is also a clear signal—Hurmatu's 1515 has completely collapsed, both in spirit and organization!

The relentless psychological torment from the drones, coupled with the loss of their home base in Mosul and the cutting off of their escape routes, completely shattered the nerves of these extremists.

Basmuna's grandson fled with about a thousand close associates. Calling it a strategic retreat was an understatement; it was more like abandoning his non-core members like a gecko's tail.

Two days earlier, the drone unit had reported to me that there were signs of fleeing troops in Hurmatu and asked whether to bomb it.

Song Heping told them not to bomb.

The reason is simple: while killing people could certainly reduce the armed forces of 1515, there is another benefit to letting these people go.

But Song Heping couldn't explicitly state this benefit.

That is—to nurture enemies to enhance one's own prestige.

If they wipe out the 1515 armed group in one fell swoop, then their cooperation with the Americans will come to an end.

They might even break off relations, and the military contract they promised might be voided.

By allowing 1515 to continue its presence in the Northwest region, and by taking control of the key nodes of Mosul and Titrick, along with important cities in the north such as Dagula and Sulaymaniyah, control of the Northwest region will be firmly in our hands, and we will not have to worry about 1515 causing trouble.

By creating trouble appropriately, he could make both the Iligo government and the Americans need his help, and he would also have a good reason to control multiple cities in the Northwest region—otherwise, he could just let the Americans or the Iligo government forces take over.

It's unlikely that the Americans would be foolish enough to let the government forces take over before the situation is stable. In fact, the 1515 uprising might resurface, and the territory could be lost again.

This was what Song Heping was thinking.

But this is something that can't be said.

Morality aside, even if Samir knew about his own thoughts, he would probably have objections.

The temporary command post was set up in the former Hurmatu City Hall, a building that was quite sturdy and did not collapse even after being bombed.

Inside, various communication antennas were erected like hedgehogs, the equipment hummed, and the voices of operators talking rose and fell, finally bringing a bit of life to the place.

As soon as Song Heping stepped through the door, Samir came to greet him, his face showing signs of exhaustion, but his eyes were filled with excitement.

"Boss, initial results are in!"

Samir handed over the tablet. "We wiped out about 800 people in the city. Adding the results of the previous battles in the field and drone bombing, conservatively speaking, the Basmu Group has suffered more than 4,000 casualties! We captured 3,100. The weapons and ammunition we seized are still in stock, and there's a considerable amount. Our casualties... are well controlled, mainly due to the price we paid in the first engagement."

"Where is Basmu? Where did he go?"

Song Heping was more concerned about the big fish.

"Confirmed. Along Highway 7 towards Teterrick, there are about 1,000 to 1,500 people, not many vehicles. The drone has been monitoring them. Should we..."

Samir made a cutting gesture.

Song Heping shook his head and walked to the huge electronic sand table: "Let him run. Tell Selim to keep a close watch on the Hadise direction to prevent the enemy from Titrick from coming out to meet him, or the remnants of Basmu from running south in desperation. Also, notify Abuyu that Mosul must be stabilized as soon as possible, order restored, and the surrounding transportation lines controlled. Titrick..."

His finger pointed to the city on the sand table, sandwiched between Hurmatu and Mosul: "It's already trapped."

On the sand table, Hurmatu and Mosul were marked with striking blue flags, signifying that they were under their control.

Titrick, that isolated city, is like a walnut clamped tightly between two iron pincers.

"Boss, there's one more thing..."

Samir hesitated for a moment, then leaned closer and whispered, "We've heard word from the Green Zone that Colonel Kurt is very 'shocked' about our capture of Mosul. He feels it's gone beyond the original plan and is furious."

Song Heping smirked, a cold smile playing on his lips: "Shocked? What can he do besides hiding in his Green Zone office cursing? Go to Bakhdadi to complain? To accuse Bakhdadi of being incompetent? To let us take Mosul? Whatever! Let him be shocked."

He paused, then continued, "The official report to the Iligo government should be written according to regulations, emphasizing that our actions were aimed at severing the East-West connection of 1515 and consolidating the results of counter-terrorism, and that it was a battlefield decision made on the spot. We have to leave some fig leaf for our 'allies'."

　Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)