Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1248 Achieving a New Balance

The air inside the safe house was as heavy as lead.

Outside the window, the desolate Gobi Desert in northern Iligor shimmered and distorted under the midday sun, mirroring the turbulent and unpredictable negotiations inside that would determine their future.

Winslow, in his characteristically smooth tone, uttered the key phrase that Song Heping's team had fought so hard for:

“Based on our fruitful history of cooperation over the past period and our expectations for our common interests in the future, Washington is willing to provide an unofficial but practically binding guarantee within a specific circle... granting you, Mr. Song, and your confirmed core members ‘limited immunity’.”

He paused, his sharp gaze behind his glasses sweeping across Song Heping's expressionless face, as if trying to catch a hint of excitement or agitation.

After all, in Winslow's view, Song Heping had previously obtained an identity exemption and been removed from the KB list, but his core members were still on the blacklist of the US military and intelligence agencies.

This time, the United States granted them all exemptions.

This is a gift.

They should be grateful.

However, he was disappointed.

Song Heping didn't react at all, as if these were things they deserved. It was like watching an unreasonable child make a fuss until they got tired and got up from the ground, wiped their nose, and comforted themselves by saying, "I'm not going to argue with you anymore!"

He had to emphasize the preciousness and fragility of this "goodwill" in his tone:
"This means that as long as your actions do not actively challenge the core national interests of the United States, some past... well... unpleasant things... including the previous attack on our Delta Force team, will not be included in the scope of official investigation. This is a gesture of goodwill based on trust, and I hope you can fully appreciate its weight."

“'Limited exemption'…”

Song Heping silently recited these five words in his heart.

This was indeed a protective shield he fought hard for for himself and his brothers who had struggled through blood and fire.

But Song Heping also knew that the Americans' promises were as fragile as a thin sheet of paper, unofficial, and without the force of international law, and could vanish at any time due to a change in the White House occupant or subtle shifts in the political winds.

But right now, it's crucial.

At least he and his brothers could roam freely in any corner of the world without fear of being hunted down or captured.

“Thank you.” He raised his eyes, calmly meeting Winslow’s gaze, and said, “I appreciate the ‘goodwill’ you have expressed.”

His words were concise; he showed neither overwhelming gratitude nor any dissatisfaction, but simply stated a fact.

This calmness, however, caused Colonel Kurt, who was standing to the side, to frown slightly.

This former military personnel is more accustomed to seeing those receiving assistance express clear gratitude or fear.

The next few hours were the real battle.

Every clause and every word was the result of repeated back-and-forth negotiations, heated debates, veiled threats, and unavoidable compromises.

Interests are like a cake being sliced ​​piece by piece, mutual intimidation is like a venomous snake lurking around the table, and that fragile trust is the thin thread that connects all of this, which could break at any moment.

As the sun gradually sets outside the window and dusk approaches, a secret agreement based on complex calculations and a dangerous balance is finally finalized.

There was no champagne celebration, no handshakes or friendly exchanges.

The only sound was the faint rustling of paper against the table when Jiang Feng pushed the printed agreement in front of both parties.

Song Heping and Winslow each picked up a pen and signed their names at the end of the document.

When the time came, Winslow and Kurt left the safe house under the protection of a group of stern-faced bodyguards.

It was already dark outside, the moon was high in the sky, and its pure white light shone on the ground.

Before boarding the helicopter, Kurt couldn't help but glance back at the slowly closing iron gate of Song Heping's command post.

He lowered his voice and said to Winslow, who was adjusting his suit and tie beside him:
“We just signed an agreement, Winslow. It may have fed a tiger that we can’t fully control in the future. And I have a feeling that this tiger knows exactly where our weaknesses are.”

Winslow finally adjusted his tie to the perfect position, his face displaying a programmed coldness.

He glanced at Kurt, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable authority:
"No, Colonel. You're wrong. We're not taming an uncontrollable beast. We've simply chosen, based on harsh realities, the most cost-effective animal that currently seems best suited to guard this chaotic jungle and knows how to operate within the cage. Remember, as long as the economic chains, military checks and balances, and political reins remain firmly in our hands, the beast's fangs can tear apart other troubles. The key is whether we can always hold the reins tight."

The iron gate closed completely behind him, separating the two worlds.

Inside the safe house, Jiang Feng carefully put away the signed copy of the agreement, walked to the window, looked at Song Heping who was standing there gazing at the helicopter taking off in the distance, and said with concern in his tone:

“Old squad leader, they won’t truly be content. Promises are promises, but they will certainly have no shortage of checks and balances. Especially that upcoming ‘Thunder Defense’. I’ve investigated their backgrounds; most of their core members are retired former U.S. special forces soldiers. They have a tough style and complex backgrounds, and I’m afraid they’re up to no good.”

Song Heping did not turn around; his gaze remained fixed on that vast and cruel land.

"I know."

His voice was low and firm.

“What we need now is time and space, and so do the Americans. They are also trying to get through the current difficulties first. When the 1515 militia is eliminated, that will probably be the day they turn against us. Before that, we must be prepared.”

At this point, he finally turned around slowly.

"As for Thunder Defense, hmph—"

He snorted coldly and said, "These outsiders won't stay here for long. There are plenty of ways to make them leave."

Two days after the agreement was reached, on the southeastern flank of Hurmatu, there was a relatively open but tactically vital hilly area.

On the map, this area is marked as "Area 4". It controls an auxiliary passage leading to Mosul and several scattered villages nearby. With a wide field of view, it is an important forward outpost in the southeast direction of Hurmatu.

The "Liberation Forces" militia, originally led by Samir, had set up a forward observation post here and maintained routine patrols.

The afternoon sky was a clear, deep blue, with only a few wisps of thin clouds.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the land was shattered by the roar of propellers approaching from afar.

The sound amplified rapidly, like rumbling thunder rolling across the sky before a storm.

Soon, two UH-60 Black Hawk utility helicopters, painted in tan desert camouflage, roared in at low altitude close to the edge of Hurmatu town, almost in a provocative and showy manner.

They flew extremely low, and the powerful air currents stirred up the sand and dust on the ground, swirling up a sky full of yellow fog, making the already dilapidated buildings on the edge of the town seem to be shrouded in a sandstorm.

Some clothes drying in the sun were blown away, pedestrians on the street covered their faces and hid, and children cried out in fear.

Without slowing down to find the best landing spot, the helicopter made a rough and heavy landing on the open ground that the "Liberation Forces" militia had roughly leveled beforehand and was originally intended for their own vehicles. Before the rotor blades had even completely stopped spinning, the cabin door was yanked open.

The first to leap down were two scouts armed with M4A1 carbines. They moved with the speed of cheetahs, immediately spreading out to take up arms and stand guard upon landing. Their sharp eyes scanned the surrounding 360-degree environment quickly through expensive Oakley tactical goggles.

Immediately afterwards, more fully armed personnel filed out.

There were about thirty people, all wearing the latest MultiCam desert combat uniforms, modular tactical vests with ceramic plates covering the front and back, and M4A1/SOPMOD carbines equipped with holographic sights, tactical lights, laser designators, and high-capacity magazines.

Their helmets are lightweight and high-cut, making it easy to wear high-end noise-canceling headphones. Most of them wear windproof and sandproof face shields or goggles, exuding an "elite" vibe.

These people, once off the plane, could quickly and efficiently get to work without needing many instructions.

Group A quickly spread outwards, occupying several high points and key intersections around the open area, constructing a simple but highly professional circular defense perimeter.

Team B then began rapidly unloading metal equipment cases and communication devices bearing the Thunder Defense logo from the helicopter cabin.

Team C members worked in pairs, each holding a rangefinder and a tablet, to survey the surrounding terrain, communicating in hushed tones and marking potential sniper positions and firing points.

The entire process was smooth and efficient, demonstrating a high level of tactical proficiency and seamless teamwork, a performance typically seen only by troops who have undergone rigorous training and combat experience.

The burly man at the head of the group was the last to jump off the helicopter.

He was nearly 1.9 meters tall and had a muscular build, like a brown bear standing upright.

He had an extremely short buzz cut, and his bluish scalp was clearly visible.

This guy had a thick neck, and the sleeves of his camouflage uniform were roughly rolled up to his elbows, revealing the steel-like muscles and thick body hair on his forearms, as well as a clear tattoo of a combination of a sea anchor and a trident—which almost clearly indicated his background as a former naval special forces member.

He wore Ray-Ban sunglasses and slowly chewed gum; even through the lenses, you could feel his undisguised contempt.

This man is Derek Sanders, the on-site manager for this operation by Thunder Defense, and a former senior sergeant major in the Navy SEALs.

"call--"

Sanders exhaled a minty breath and mumbled in heavily nasal English to his assistant, who was holding a rugged tablet:

"This is the legendary Hurmatu? Damn, it's even more dilapidated and primitive than described in the intelligence briefing. I really suspect that those Pentagon civilians were planning this using maps from twenty years ago."

His voice was loud and clear, making no attempt to hide it, and it reached the ears of the "Liberation Forces" militia who had just arrived nearby.

Almost at the same time the helicopter landed, three dilapidated pickup trucks with peeling paint and crudely welded steel plates came rushing over, kicking up clouds of dust and roaring engines, before screeching to a stop a hundred meters from the helicopter's landing point.

About a dozen armed men jumped out of the car with a bang.

Their clothing was varied, some wearing multicolored digital desert suits, others simply wearing civilian clothes with a tactical vest over them, and they mainly carried various models of old AK series rifles with severely worn handguards.

They were a "Liberation Forces" militia squad under Samir, responsible for the daily guard and patrols of this area.

The squad leader, a junior civil engineer named Hassan, strode forward and shouted in Arabic to the group of "uninvited guests" who were busy making arrangements:
"This is the 'Liberation Forces' controlled area! Who are you? You are not allowed to land or deploy military forces here without permission! Immediately state your identity and intentions!"

However, Sanders seemed not to hear the warning at all, or rather, he heard it but completely ignored it.

He didn't even glance at Hassan, but simply removed his sunglasses, scanned his outstretched hands with his sharp, arrogant, hawk-like eyes, and then loudly commanded in English that everyone could hear:

"Team A, keep your eyes peeled! Establish a solid perimeter; I don't want anyone who shouldn't be within 100 meters!"

"Team B, speed things up! Unload all that valuable equipment and prioritize setting up communication and detection devices!"

"Team C, stop fucking looking at the scenery! I need to mark all the possible sniper positions and firing positions in this area on my map within half an hour! Hurry up! We're not here for a vacation, we don't have time to waste on this..."

He paused, seemingly searching for a suitable word, before finally uttering it with undisguised contempt.

"...Don't waste your time on these 'natives'."

His utter disregard and insulting language instantly ignited the militiamen's anger.

Captain Hassan's face flushed crimson. He took a few more steps forward, almost shouting, and waved his arms wildly:

"Listen up! I don't care who sent you! This is the 'Liberation Forces' territory! We have our orders and rules! Immediately cease all your actions and state your identities and purposes! Otherwise, we will consider your behavior as hostile invasion and take all necessary measures!"

This time, Sanders finally seemed a little impatient with the buzzing of flies and slowly turned around.

With an expression that was a mixture of extreme impatience and blatant mockery, he looked Hassan up and down and at the poorly equipped militia behind him, then responded in broken but still understandable Arabic:
"We are Thunder Defense."

He emphasized the name, as if it were some kind of prestigious brand.

"Based on a direct agreement with U.S. Central Command, we are stationed here to assist—note, 'assist'—in regional security. This is a designated 'cooperation zone' on the flank, understand? Cooperation. Not your jurisdiction."

He deliberately emphasized the "agreement with the U.S. Central Command" again, his intention being clear: to use Washington's influence to intimidate others.

"Cooperation? We have not received any notification regarding external forces entering our defense zone for 'cooperation'!"

Captain Hassan stood his ground, and the militiamen behind him raised their rifles. Although the muzzles were not fully raised, the threat was already very clear.

"This is our traditional patrol route and forward observation post! You cannot establish a base here without consultation! This is our land!"

"Traditional? Haha!"

Sanders chuckled as if he had heard something utterly ridiculous, revealing a set of white teeth.

He nudged the barrel of an AK assault rifle in a militiaman's hand and scoffed disdainfully:
“Natives, wake up! Your commander has reached an agreement with the US military. Now, security here is handled by more professional people. Your childish ‘traditional’ patrols can be moved to a safer place to play.”

The condescending sense of racial superiority and utter contempt for the local armed forces in his words were like gasoline poured on an already blazing fire.

"What did you say?!"

"asshole!"

"Get out of our land!"

The militiamen were enraged and roared as they raised their rifles, the clanging of bolts echoing as the dark muzzles pointed directly at Sanders and his men nearby.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)