Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1261 A Hypocritical "Ally"

The next morning, at checkpoint number 4, the sun had just risen.

Time seemed to stand still, carrying an inescapable aura of death.

Song Heping approached at high speed in a convoy of three rugged Humvees in tactical formation.

The vehicle rolled over the soil that had been repeatedly plowed and loosened by dense shrapnel.

A sickening crunching sound came from under the tires from time to time, as they rolled over metal fragments, weapon parts, and other hard, charred objects that were difficult to identify.

A twisted metal strip, vaguely resembling the barrel of an AK-47, was kicked up by the tire, crashed against the car door with a clang, and then fell back into the dust.

The closer we got to checkpoint number 4, the stronger the pungent smell in the air became.

Initially, the pungent fumes from the high-explosive munitions and propellant irritated the nasal mucosa; then came the greasy smell of diesel fuel leaking and burning after the vehicle's fuel tank was punctured.

Finally, an overwhelming, pungent, and nauseating stench filled the air.

Song Heping was familiar with this taste.

It's the smell of charred organic matter, splattered bodily fluids, and fresh blood evaporating at high temperatures.

Song Heping rolled down the passenger window a crack, and the familiar yet nauseating smell of the battlefield rushed directly into his lungs.

Everywhere you look, there is devastation.

The checkpoint, which was originally built on a relatively sturdy abandoned adobe courtyard, has now been almost completely erased from the map, except for the main building.

The dilapidated earthen wall resembled a wound torn open by the claws of a giant beast, with twisted steel bars exposed at the huge gap.

Most of the sandbag-built ring-shaped defensive fortifications collapsed, and several Humvees belonging to Thunder Defense and several Technical pickup trucks equipped with M2HB heavy machine guns were now twisted and deformed metal.

What truly challenges the limits of human senses are the "remnants" left behind by war.

On the open ground outside the checkpoint, and on both sides of the makeshift road leading here, a large number of human remains were scattered haphazardly in various positions.

Some of the bodies were relatively intact, dressed in dirty Arab robes or camouflage clothing, but many more were torn to pieces by the violent shockwave and pre-fabricated shrapnel.

Severed limbs, splattered internal organs, and even half a head still attached to hair and skin, intertwined with shattered AK rifles, broken ammunition vests, and charred fragments of clothing, create an abstract scene on the yellow sand that defies description.

Song Heping roughly estimated that, judging from the large number of "remains", the 1515 armed group suffered at least more than 300 casualties.

Samir's militiamen were moving about expressionlessly, kicking aside the corpses to check for survivors, and occasionally calmly firing a shot with their rifles.

The militiamen were also adept at scavenging any valuable items from the corpses.

Weapons in relatively good condition, unused ammunition, and even a pair of boots that look fairly sturdy.

Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion, with an almost numb efficiency.

Song Heping's convoy stopped near the only relatively intact entrance to the checkpoint.

He pushed open the car door, his heavy combat boots making a soft, thumping sound as they stepped onto the ground, which was a mixture of dark red blood, sand, and oil.

Samir quickly emerged from behind a pile of rubble, his face beaming with barely suppressed excitement: "Boss! You're here!"

"Look! These bastards from 1515 have left behind at least three hundred corpses!"

He waved his arms, pointing to the horrific area of ​​corpses.

Song Heping nodded slightly, his gaze calmly sweeping across the entire battlefield, assessing the damage, before finally settling on Samir's face.

“Well done, Samir. By the way, how were your men’s losses?” His voice was calm, revealing little emotion.

“When we arrived last night, we had a firefight with the 1515 militants for about half an hour, and then they ran away. We had seven wounded and two killed.”

Song Heping reached out and patted his dusty shoulder, saying with certainty:

"The compensation and rewards for the fallen should be paid at the highest standard. You and Jiang Feng can discuss it later and settle the accounts with their families as soon as possible."

After speaking, his gaze passed over Samir and fell into the depths of the checkpoint, where another group of people, out of place with their surroundings, were gathered. They were wearing the same Multicam desert camouflage, but were equally disheveled at the moment.

"Where are Sanders and the others?"

Song Heping lowered his voice.

Samir said in a lower voice, with a hint of schadenfreude:

"Six of Sanders' men died and ten were wounded, four of whom were seriously injured and it's hard to say whether they will survive. The survivors are all wounded, covered in dirt, and their equipment is almost completely destroyed."

Song Heping didn't say anything more, just gave a soft "hmm" and then walked towards that area.

When the militiamen around him saw him, they all stopped what they were doing, nodded slightly or looked at him with awe, and automatically made way for him.

Sanders and his remaining Thunder Defense mercenaries gathered in a corner next to the main building.

Most of them were covered in wounds, with crude bandages wrapped around their foreheads, arms, or legs, and the seeping blood turned dark brown under the cover of sand and dust.

Besides exhaustion, the faces of every mercenary bore an overwhelming rage at being tricked and betrayed. Their valuable equipment—AN/PVS series night vision goggles, AN/PRC series communication radios, long-range infrared surveillance systems (TWS), individual radars, high-powered generators, and more—had mostly been reduced to twisted scrap metal and scattered parts by precise artillery fire.

Sanders stood at the front of the crowd, a bloody gash on his face, cut by high-speed shrapnel, the edges of which were rolled up and had already congealed and turned black.

When he saw Song Heping approaching, his eyes were filled with complex emotions, and a hint of anger could be seen rising within them.

Song Heping stopped in front of Sanders, his face instantly switching to an expression of grief and concern, his brows furrowing slightly, his tone carrying just the right amount of heaviness and urgency:

"Mr. Sanders! I'm relieved to see you're alright! How are things? The wounded need immediate treatment; there's no time to lose!"

He turned abruptly and gave a rapid order to Samir, who was following closely behind, deliberately making sure everyone around could hear it:

"What are you waiting for! Get all our medics and all the first-aid supplies and get over here immediately! Prioritize treating the wounded brothers of Thunder Defense. For the seriously wounded, immediately organize vehicles to transport them to the temporary field hospital in Hurmatu as quickly as possible! Use all resources to ensure they receive the best treatment! Hurry!"

His commands were clear, imbued with unquestionable "care" and efficiency.

However, this Oscar-worthy performance clearly failed to fool all the mercenaries who had just survived a bizarre and deadly barrage of artillery fire.

A tall, black mercenary with a heavy bandage wrapped around his head took a sudden step forward.

One of his eyes was also covered by a bandage, and his remaining single eye was bloodshot, staring intently at Song Heping as he roared in American English:

"Stop spouting your damn nonsense! Song! Why did the shelling come so 'timely'? Huh? Why did it have to come when we were completely surrounded, running out of ammunition, and our lines were about to be breached?! Why was the area covered by the artillery fire so 'precise,' hitting our vehicles and equipment on the perimeter? You're fucking plotting against us! You damn, insidious, son of a bitch, yellow-skinned monkey!"

He completely lost control of his emotions, spitting as he spoke, as if he were about to rush towards Song Heping and fight him to the death.

His companions were also enraged by this anger, their eyes turning fierce, their hands instinctively reaching for the rifles or pistol holsters at their waists.

Wow!

Click!

Almost simultaneously, the "musician" defense mercenaries on "guard" around them raised their rifles in unison, and dozens of dark gun barrels instantly locked onto the several emotionally charged Thunder Defense mercenaries.

The sound of the bolt being pulled back was crisp and deadly, and the atmosphere suddenly became extremely tense, so heavy that it was hard to breathe.

The increasingly loud buzzing of flies from the pile of corpses in the distance clearly reached everyone's ears.

Song Heping stood still, not even glancing at the black mercenary who was yelling at him, his gaze remaining calmly fixed on Sanders.

Sanders' heart pounded violently in his chest, his temples throbbed, and blood rushed to his head.

He understood the strangeness of the shelling better than any of his men—the perfect timing, the unusually high density of shells, and the seemingly precisely calculated impact points that targeted their front lines and flanks…

Everything reeked of an undisguised, meticulously calculated malice.

Song Heping's intention to use someone else to do his dirty work was almost obvious; he just hadn't said it out loud.

His inner rage was enough to ignite the entire Hurmatu region. The fingers of his right hand, resting near the holster, twitched slightly. He wished he could immediately pull out the M9 pistol inside and smash the head of this seemingly "innocent" guy in front of him into a pulp.

However, his remaining rationality extinguished the dangerous flames of his impulse.

Whose territory is this?
It is the Hurmatu region, which is firmly controlled by Song Heping and Samir, and is more than ten hours away from the nearest US military base.

He had only a dozen or so wounded soldiers left by his side, all of them injured and exhausted, their ammunition almost completely used up in the previous defensive battle.

Besides a dozen or so mercenaries who looked menacing, Song Heping was also surrounded by hundreds of menacing local militiamen.

If a conflict were to break out here, or even just an accidental clash, these few men would be torn to shreds by a hail of bullets within seconds. Their deaths would be meaningless, and the subsequent report would likely only include a record that "Thunder Defense personnel were accidentally shot at by local cooperating forces due to combat stress response, and all of them were unfortunately killed."

Swallow your teeth and blood.

This is the only option, no matter how humiliating it may be.

Sanders took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the rising anger in his throat, and forcefully pulled his impulsive subordinate back with his hand.

"Marcus! Shut up! Get out of the way! Immediately! That's an order!"

He turned to Song Heping, his facial muscles stiff, and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace as he said:
“Mr. Song, thank you very much for your timely support and medical assistance. My subordinate… he has lost his best friend and is somewhat emotionally distraught. Please understand that he absolutely did not mean to offend you.”

Every word he uttered seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth with all his might.

Song Heping's cold expression melted away instantly, replaced by his usual tolerant one. He waved his hand magnanimously, signaling the militiamen around him, who had been on high alert, to lower their guns.

“I completely understand. We’re all brothers who’ve been through thick and thin together. After such a fierce battle, losing our comrades-in-arms is bound to cause emotional distress. Mr. Sanders, please rest assured, I will do my best to treat every one of your wounded with the best medicine. Furthermore, I will personally assist you in handling the funeral arrangements for the fallen, ensuring they return home with dignity. The defense of checkpoint 4 will temporarily be taken over by Samir’s men. You should retreat to Hurmatu to rest and regroup; it’s safer there.”

Sanders could only nod stiffly, his throat feeling as if something was tightly blocking it, and he couldn't utter another word.

He abruptly turned around, no longer looking at Song Heping's face that made his stomach churn, and began sternly urging his men to cooperate with the militiamen's rescue and evacuation arrangements.

He knew that in this round, he, Thunder Defense, and the U.S. military had already lost miserably, and even the possibility of turning the tide had been blocked by the other side's "goodwill" and "aid".

And all of this may really only be the beginning.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)