Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1251, Lesson One!
Checkpoint No. 4.

Sanders returned with a heavy heart and nowhere to vent his anger.

Inside the checkpoint, the mercenaries were making the best of their ability with the equipment and limited materials they carried.

Some people made do with sleeping bags and sleeping mats to create a rest area in an empty room, while others set up simple warning devices at key locations on the fence.

But the desert wind at night is like countless icy knives, pouring in through the open windows and holes, taking away the body's precious heat and making it hard to fall asleep.

These can be overcome, after all, there are sleeping bags, but the more serious problem is drinking water.

The individual water bags and small amount of bottled water they carried were woefully inadequate for more than thirty adult men who needed to perform high-intensity guard duties and whose water consumption was extremely high in the dry environment.

"Boss, how did the talks go?"

Mans came up to him and asked with concern.

He could tell from the suppressed anger on Sanders' face that the outcome wasn't good.

"Fuck! That damned, cunning yellow-skinned monkey! He's playing us for fools!"

Sanders could no longer contain himself and slammed his fist into the exposed concrete wall beside him, sending dust and debris raining down. "He made us wait three days! Three whole days!"

"Three days?! Damn it! What are we going to do? The brothers' water won't last until noon tomorrow!"

"We can't put our hopes on him!"

Sanders forced himself to calm down.

“We can’t just sit here and wait to die. Take a few men and two pickup trucks immediately. Take all the water containers on the trucks, including those big blue buckets we brought! Set off immediately and head to Hurmatur City to fetch water tonight! There must be water in the city. If not, we’ll buy some from the shops! Find a way to purchase as much as you can and fill all the buckets! Remember, go and come back quickly, and be careful along the way! I suspect that Song Heping won’t just play the double-dealing game.”

"Understood, Boss!"

Mans immediately accepted the order, turned around, and quickly left.

Once outside the room, he quickly selected five experienced team members.

"Come on, let's go to town to fetch water!"

Soon, two pickup trucks, their cargo compartments piled high with several large blue plastic buckets, turned on their glaring headlights and drove out of the desolate and dilapidated checkpoint, speeding along the bumpy dirt road toward the distant town of Hurmatu.

After arranging the water fetching, Sanders didn't dare to delay for a moment. He immediately went into the room where the communication equipment had been temporarily set up and contacted Colonel Cott in Bakta, the capital of Iligo, through an encrypted satellite communication channel.

"Colonel, we've run into trouble."

Sanders tried to keep his tone steady and gave Kurt a detailed account of everything that had happened since arriving at checkpoint 4, from the Kurdish militia's "empty house" to Song Heping's impeccable performance of shirking responsibility.

On the other end of the call, Kurt listened quietly without interrupting.

Only after Sanders finished speaking did a deep, angry voice come through the receiver:

"That damned, arrogant Song! He's openly provoking us! He's using these underhanded and despicable tactics to tell us that he's the one who calls the shots in the Northwest!"

But to Sanders' surprise, Kurt's tone quickly shifted, taking on an almost excited quality:

"However, Sanders, from a strategic perspective, you did a fantastic job! At least, we successfully drove our nail into that crucial strategic juncture with almost no bloodshed! I had originally anticipated the worst-case scenario, that Song Heping would vehemently oppose it, even at the cost of localized conflict, to prevent our entry. I never expected him to be so 'cooperative' in 'giving up' it. This is quite beyond my expectations!"

"What does this mean? It means he still harbors some fear of us! The location of checkpoint No. 4 is too crucial. Controlling it is equivalent to choking the throat of Hulmatu in the southeast. Not only can we effectively monitor the movement of the 1515 armed forces between Mosul and Tikrit, but it can also act like a dagger pressed against our waist, directly deterring and monitoring the town of Hulmatu itself! This is the first and most solid step in our strategic plan to gradually infiltrate and ultimately control the entire region!"

Kurt's voice rose slightly with excitement, his mind rapidly conjuring a grand blueprint for expanding control outwards from Checkpoint 4 as a fulcrum:

"You must hold on! Leave the issue of supplies to me. I will immediately coordinate with the relevant departments to airdrop the necessary supplies to you with the highest priority and as fast as possible! The first batch of supplies will definitely be delivered to you by tomorrow evening at the latest! As for Song Heping... Hmph, let him be smug for a few more days. Once we have firmly established ourselves there and built a complete defense and surveillance system, I will gradually send you more experienced personnel and heavy equipment. We will weave an invisible network around Hurmatu, with checkpoint No. 4 as the core! At that time, I want to see what tricks this Song guy can still pull!"

"Understood, Colonel! We will definitely hold this place and turn it into an outpost!"

Kurt's assurances acted like a shot in the arm, easing Sanders' anxiety somewhat.

As long as there is a stable supply from the rear, the current difficulties can always be overcome.

However, just as his satellite call with Kurt was not yet completely over, and they were discussing the details of the specific supplies list—

"Boss! Boss! Emergency call! It's Mans' team! They're in trouble!"

The communications soldier on duty at the tactical radio suddenly jumped up from his chair as if his backside was on fire. His voice became sharp and piercing due to extreme tension, instantly interrupting the satellite communication conversation.

Sanders' heart sank, and a chill ran from his tailbone to the top of his head, making the hairs on his body stand on end.

He didn't even have time to say "wait a moment" to Kurt before snatching the microphone from the communications soldier's hand and practically yelling, "..."

"This is Sanders! Mans! Report your situation! Report immediately!"

A few minutes earlier, about twelve kilometers outside the city of Hurmatu, on an abandoned ancient road covered with gravel and sand.

The two pickup trucks of Mans' squad were struggling to move forward in the thick darkness, their high beams on full blast.

The beams of the headlights swayed violently in the endless darkness and billowing dust, barely illuminating the uneven road surface a few dozen meters ahead.

All around were rolling sand dunes and jagged, strangely weathered rock formations, casting grotesque, twisted shadows under the car lights like lurking behemoths before being quickly swallowed by darkness. Mans sat in the passenger seat of the back car, watching everything outside the window warily.

He has participated in countless covert operations in the Afghan mountains and possesses a beast-like keen intuition and rich combat experience.

But at this moment, driving on this completely unfamiliar land, which has been infiltrated by the enemy like a sieve, a strong sense of unease kept pounding on his nerves.

It was too quiet around, except for the monotonous roar of the engine and the noise of tires crushing gravel.

This deathly silence often foreshadows deadly danger.

At the top of a leeward sand dune about 250 meters from the road, five armed men, draped in rough desert camouflage cloths that blended seamlessly with the color of the sand, their faces smeared with dark grease and mud, leaving only the whites of their eyes, lay silently in the sand.

They were an elite reconnaissance and guerrilla squad under the command of the "Levant State" in 1515, and were active in the area between Mosul and Hurmatu for a long time.

They knew every dry ditch, every sand dune, and every rock where they could hide as well as the lines on their own palms.

The leader, a man with a menacing scar on his cheek, stared intently at the two pickup trucks that were gradually entering their optimal ambush range through the makeshift iron sights of a PKM general-purpose machine gun captured from government forces.

Their original mission tonight was to monitor the patrol routes of the "Liberation Forces" militia, looking for weaknesses to harass or arrest lone individuals.

But just as dusk fell, they received a vague yet highly enticing intelligence through a channel supposedly connected to certain "interested individuals" within Hurmatu, suggesting that a "well-equipped and extremely valuable" target might be heading towards Hurmatu that night along this abandoned ancient road.

Scarface's eyes followed the vehicles closely. He noticed that the two cars were driving very cautiously, maintaining a distance of about twenty meters between them.

This is clearly not the style of local militias who crowd together in a swarm, but rather the approach of professionally trained soldiers who have received rigorous training, which can effectively prevent them from being wiped out by a single IED or a sudden barrage of fire.

This discovery, on the contrary, further confirmed the value of the intelligence, intensifying the greed and murderous intent in his eyes.

"Target confirmed...not local armed...keep your distance, very experienced..."

Scarface relayed the message in a very low voice to his comrade who was in charge of detonating the explosives.

"Get ready... listen to my orders... keep an eye on the lead vehicle..."

His gaze was fixed on the patch of sand that the lead vehicle's right front wheel was about to run over—a patch that appeared no different from the rest of the land.

There, buried was an improvised explosive device (IED) made from a modified large-caliber mortar shell and detonated remotely by an old Nokia mobile phone, powerful enough to overturn a light armored personnel carrier.

The attacker responsible for detonating the bomb was a young man with a childlike face but fanatical eyes; he appeared somewhat agitated.

His fingers trembled as he took a deep breath and held the Nokia phone with its shattered screen up to his eyes. His dirty thumb hovered over the green dial button, waiting for the final command.

"Keep your speed! Watch out for the sand dunes and behind the rocks on both sides! Vehicles behind, keep up the distance, don't fall behind but don't get too close either!"

Mans used the car radio to remind the vehicles behind him again.

As a veteran, his keen battlefield instincts were screaming an alarm; this terrain was simply too classic—

The weathered rocks and sand dunes on both sides provide a natural, concealed approach route, making it a slaughterhouse tailor-made for ambushes!

Just as the lead vehicle's right front wheel heavily rolled over that patch of deadly sand—

"boom!!!!!!!"

A deafening, terrifying explosion, seemingly tearing the heavens and earth apart, suddenly rang out!
A huge, blazing orange-red fireball violently shot into the air from under the first pickup truck!

The powerful shockwave instantly lifted the pickup truck off the ground like a toy, causing it to flip over in slow motion in the air before crashing heavily onto the hard ground!
The violent explosion nearly tore the lead vehicle apart in the middle!
The cab was instantly crushed, deformed, and disintegrated; the windows turned to dust; and tires and twisted metal parts, along with human remains, were violently thrown in all directions.

Thick black smoke mixed with sand and dust shot into the sky, and the air was instantly filled with a strong smell of gunpowder.

IED!

"IED! IED! Everyone, get out of the vehicle! Find cover! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

The instant the second pickup truck was violently shaken by the shockwave, Mans screamed at the radio, slammed the door open with his shoulder, and with a nimble tactical roll, he threw himself into a shallow ditch by the roadside that offered only marginal cover. A large amount of sand was shaken down, almost burying half of his body.

Almost as soon as the sound of the explosion had not completely dissipated—

"Da da da da da—!!!!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The distinctive bursts of the PKM general-purpose machine gun, mixed with the rhythmic single shots and short bursts of the AK-47 assault rifle, came from the darkness on the left and right sides of the road!
A hail of bullets rained down on the second pickup truck that had just come to a stop.

Ding-ding-ding-ding!

Puff puff!
Bullets struck the bulletproof steel plates mounted on the pickup truck, producing a piercing bang and sparks flying; countless holes were instantly pierced through the windows, and the bulletproof glass developed spiderweb-like cracks; the body panels were riddled with holes.

Before one of the mercenaries could even fully crouch down after jumping out of the vehicle, a bullet grazed the edge of his helmet with a sickening whistle, sending a chill down his spine.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)