Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1250 Demolish! Demolish it all!

Southeast flank of Hurmatu, checkpoint No. 4.

The setting sun, like a furnace cooling down, poured its last light and heat onto this desolate hilly area.

The forward outpost that once flew the "Liberation Force" flag has now quietly changed hands. Heavy equipment crates bearing the black and yellow lightning bolt logo of Thunderbolt Security Solutions are scattered like invading beetles on the rutted ground inside the perimeter wall.

Several mercenaries dressed in top-of-the-line MultiCam desert combat suits were skillfully setting up portable satellite communication antennas and remote ground sensor systems, their movements swift yet tinged with a hint of unfamiliarity.

At the highest point of the wall, instead of the usual militiamen, came sentries from Thunder Defense, carrying M4A1 carbines equipped with various expensive accessories, vigilantly scanning the surrounding wilderness that was being swallowed up by twilight.

The main building of the checkpoint, a two-story building that could comfortably accommodate a company of soldiers, now looked like the skeleton of a giant whose internal organs had been emptied, appearing exceptionally empty in the dimming light.

This is a disturbing cleanliness.

Yes, it was outrageously clean.

It looked like a plate of food that had been thoroughly licked clean by someone who hadn't eaten for three days.

Squad leader Hassan gripped the walkie-talkie tightly, veins throbbing near his temples.

Samir's stern and unquestionable tone from his personal phone call still echoed in his ears.

Despite the pent-up humiliation and resentment welling up inside him, he gritted his teeth and gave orders to his fellow militiamen, whose eyes were also blazing with fury:

"Withdraw! Execute orders! Take everything that belongs to us, everything! Not a single screw, not a single plank, take it all! Leave these arrogant invaders nothing usable!"

The order was carried out by the enraged militiamen without fail, even with a creative destructive urge, exceeding expectations.

They move swiftly inside and outside the building, like efficient worker ants.

All the bed boards, tables, and chairs made of local hardwood in the room were quickly dismantled and carried away; the stored food bags and ammunition boxes were loaded onto pickup trucks one by one; the old-fashioned diesel generator that roared and provided power to the entire checkpoint was disconnected and dragged away along with the precious fuel canisters; the huge, rusty but well-sealed stainless steel water tank fixed to the foundation was forcibly peeled off its concrete base with crowbars and hammers, laid down, and rolled onto the truck.

This is not enough.

Some people began using screwdrivers and pliers to remove all the wooden window frames and the broken but still windproof shards of glass from the windows; others carefully pried off all the usable hinges and screws from the doors and cabinets; even the pile of black charcoal used for boiling water and cooking in the corner of the kitchen was ruthlessly scooped up by a young militiaman with a shovel and stuffed into a sack...

Amidst the whirlwind of activity, when the last pickup truck, laden with "trophies" such as bed boards, window frames, water tank fragments, and various odds and ends, sprawled away from the checkpoint, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust, all that remained of Thunder Defense was a truly empty shell, except for the load-bearing walls that couldn't be moved and the bare roof structure.

Sanders stood in the center of the second-floor room, which should have been the command center but was now just a few bare concrete blocks covered in a thick layer of dust. His blue eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets and fall to the ground.

Looking around at the "purified" ruins, the fat on his face twitched slightly uncontrollably.

He forcefully pushed the piece of chewed gum, which had long since lost its flavor, out of his mouth with his tongue, as if spitting out a grievance, and it stuck to the dusty ground with a "smack".

"FUCK!"

A curse burst from deep in his throat sounded particularly jarring in the empty room.

One of his squad leaders walked up to him, his usually expressionless face now clouded with gloom.

"Boss, those damn natives... they've emptied this place cleaner than a plate licked a hundred times! Water, food, fuel, a place to lie down and sleep... all gone! Not even a broken window to keep out the wind! We're going to starve in this godforsaken place tonight!"

Sanders took a deep breath, suppressing the anger surging within him.

Just hours earlier, he thought that taking this key stronghold without bloodshed was a perfect display of force and a brilliant start to establishing their dominance in the region.

But now, he felt like a foolish scavenger, excitedly picking up a seemingly whole nut only to find it hollowed out by borers, leaving just a worthless empty shell.

"Why panic!"

He shouted sternly.

"We're here to fight, not to fucking have a five-star hotel vacation! If there aren't enough conditions, create them for me! Let the brothers make do for now, eat the individual rations they brought, and drink the water from their water bags! Group A, keep your eyes peeled and be on guard around the perimeter, make sure no suspicious individuals get close! Group B, find a relatively clean corner, clean up, take turns resting, and conserve your energy! Group C, come with me, we need to find a way to get the most basic living supplies immediately, especially water! Without water, we won't last three days!"

He clearly realized that while their individual combat capabilities and teamwork were undoubtedly top-notch, the crucial lifeline of logistical support had been blatantly severed, and the harsh reality was laid bare before them.

In this godforsaken place far from the main logistics hubs of the U.S. military, these well-equipped elites had to worry about the most basic and cheapest drinking water and a roof to shelter them from the wind.

Right now, the only one who seems to be able to quickly provide these things is the man they just treated with arrogance and force—Song Heping.

A subtle but persistent sense of foreboding began to coil around my heart like a cold, venomous snake.

“Mans, you take some men and guard this place. Be vigilant. I have a feeling this place is eerie.”

Sanders made his decision and said in a heavy tone:

I'll personally go to Hurmatu and talk to that guy surnamed Song! We must resolve the supply problem as soon as possible, otherwise, even before the enemy makes a move, this godforsaken place and the damn water shortage will cripple us!

Hurmatu, the headquarters of the "Liberation Forces".

Song Heping was standing in front of a huge tactical map that covered an entire wall, listening to Jiang Feng report the latest high-definition reconnaissance intelligence from drones transmitted from the direction of Mosul.

On the map, arrows and colored blocks representing different forces are intricately interwoven, outlining the turmoil and bloodshed of this land.

The satellite phone on the table rang at an inopportune moment, breaking the somber atmosphere in the command room.

Song Heping glanced at the number flashing on the screen; it was Samir.

He picked up the phone and put it to his ear.

Samir's voice, clearly filled with confusion and anger, immediately came through:
“Boss, I’ve carried out your orders. Checkpoint 4 is now completely cleared out, and all our personnel, along with everything movable, have been withdrawn. But I have to ask, why? Why hand over that checkpoint we fought so hard for with our blood and lives to those arrogant Americans? And why empty it out? Isn’t this just helping them clear the area, making it more comfortable for them to stay there, like nails monitoring and controlling us?”

Song Heping, holding the phone, slowly walked to the window, looked at the sparse and faint lights in the town of Hurmatur outside, and said calmly:

“Samir, you have to believe me. Sometimes, taking a step back isn't about running away, it's about drawing the bowstring. Checkpoint 4 is indeed a good place—a wide-open view and control of key routes. But precisely because of this, it's also the eye of the storm, the favorite target for those mad dogs from 1515 to sniff and tear apart. Think about it, how many attacks have occurred there in the last seven days?” “Five times…”

Samir gave the answer instinctively.

“That’s right.” Song Heping laughed. “Isn’t it a worthwhile thing to let these self-proclaimed ‘professional’ and well-equipped American mercenaries help us withstand the most intense firepower and personally experience the ‘hospitality’ and ‘local customs’ of this land?”

Samir was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the phone before cautiously asking, "You mean... borrow a knife..."

"I mean……"

Song Heping interrupted him:
"Hospitality is a traditional virtue of you Iligo people, but we don't need to offer any help to those uninvited guests who bare their teeth at us. Let them stay there and 'get familiar' with the environment. As for the rest, just follow our original plan step by step."

Just as I finished my call with Samir and gently placed the satellite phone back on the table, there was a knock on the heavy wooden door of the command center.

The guard pushed open the door, stood at attention, and reported: "Advisor Song, Mr. Derek Sanders, the head of Thunder Defense, is outside and requests to see you immediately."

Song Heping and Jiang Feng, who was standing to the side, exchanged a knowing glance.

"Invite him in."

Song Heping's voice returned to its usual gentle tone, and he even had a perfectly timed smile on his face.

Sanders strode in, trying to straighten his back and maintain the cool and imposing aura typical of elite Navy SEALs.

But the barely concealed anxiety in his eyes betrayed him.

He didn't stand on ceremony, nor did he even sit down; he went straight to the point:
“Mr. Song, we have moved into checkpoint number 4 as agreed. However, your people took all the basic living facilities with them when they left, including that crucial water tank. We are now severely lacking in drinking water and necessary accommodation. I hope you can immediately order your people to return these things to us. Don't forget, we are now in a 'cooperative' relationship.”

He deliberately emphasized the word "collaboration" again.

Song Heping's face immediately showed just the right amount of surprise and difficulty. He spread his hands and made a helpless gesture: "Mr. Sanders, this matter... well, I'm afraid it's really difficult to handle."

He sighed heavily, delivering an Oscar-worthy performance that perfectly captured the image of a mediator caught in the middle, torn between two conflicting interests.

“As you saw, I was the one who gave the order for you to move into Area 4 today. Because of that, the militiamen were extremely agitated, almost causing a conflict. That's where they shed their blood. I went to great lengths, practically forcibly suppressing their discontent, to persuade them to withdraw. Now, if I were to turn around and order them to return what they've already moved…”

At this point, he shrugged helplessly.

“Mr. Sanders, to be frank, putting aside whether they will actually carry it out, I’m the first one who can’t explain myself to Samir! On the surface, the ‘Liberation Forces’ accept my tactical guidance and advisory command, but fundamentally, they only obey the orders of their leader, Samir. After all, I’m an outsider, and some things are very difficult for me.”

His words were logically clear and sincere, perfectly absolving himself of responsibility and cleverly shifting all the blame to the "emotionally charged" grassroots militiamen and Samir, who "had the final say."

The character of a vulnerable consultant who is "willing to help but powerless to reverse the situation" is portrayed flawlessly.

Sanders stared intently at Song Heping, his gaze behind his sunglasses as sharp as two knives.

If looks could kill, he would have stabbed Song Heping a thousand times over!

He knew perfectly well that Song Heping was simply putting on an act, using this insidious, subtle approach to slowly wear down their spirit and patience.

But he was currently in Hurmatu, on the other side's territory, and he dared not, and could not, take any rash actions.

The ancient Eastern proverb, "Even a powerful dragon can't suppress a local snake," now acts like an invisible shackle, binding his hands and feet.

Mr. Song,

Sanders took a deep breath and tried to exert pressure by appealing to vested interests.

"I hope you can clearly understand that our presence is to safeguard the common security interests of this region, which is beneficial to both of us. If our combat capabilities are severely affected by such ridiculous logistical issues, or even if unnecessary casualties occur as a result, I think this will not have any positive impact on the prospects of our cooperation."

"Of course! Of course I understand! I completely get what you mean!"

Song Heping immediately put on an expression of deep agreement and nodded repeatedly.

"As staunch allies, how could we possibly stand idly by while you face difficulties? Please believe in our sincerity! Give me three days, just three days! I will personally go to Samir and work with the brothers below, doing my best to coordinate and communicate, and find a way to allocate some basic supplies for you. Is this arrangement acceptable?"

"Three days?!"

Sanders' voice suddenly rose, almost cracking, as he nearly lost control of his emotions and was about to unleash the most vicious curses on the other person's hypocritical face.

In such an environment with extreme temperature differences between day and night and extremely precious water resources, without a stable and reliable water supply, three days would be enough for his team to meet their maker!
"This is the fastest I can buy, Mr. Sanders. Please understand that the situation here is very complicated and requires time to communicate and reassure people."

Song Heping wore an expression of sincerity that said, "I'm more anxious than you are," but in his heart he was calmly assessing the other party's limit of patience.

Sanders knew there was no point in wasting his breath here.

Song Heping was determined to give him a real lesson.

He suppressed his anger, the veins on his forehead throbbing, and squeezed out a sentence, word by word, through clenched teeth:

"Good! Very good! I hope Mr. Song will remember his promise today and resolve this as soon as possible! I look forward to your good news!"

After saying that, he didn't linger and turned around abruptly, quickly leaving the command post.

Watching Sanders' frustrated and angry figure disappear through the door, Jiang Feng finally couldn't help but chuckle in a low voice:

"Old squad leader, your move is brilliant! Three days? That's enough to give those arrogant guys a good beating. I'd like to see if they can conjure water out of their top-of-the-line gear."

The "troubled" and "sincere" expression on Song Heping's face quickly faded, and he instantly regained his usual composure.
"He won't wait patiently for three days. This guy isn't stupid; he'll definitely call for help from Kote in Bakda immediately. But... distant water can't quench immediate thirst, and besides, the road from Bakda to Hurmatu isn't safe; 'accidents' are always inevitable, aren't they?"

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)