Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1279 Iron-Blooded Sunset
Just as Az was determined to pursue Song Heping at all costs, in the joint command center of the Green Zone of Bakda.

The constant temperature and humidity air conditioning system emits a low hum, evenly delivering filtered, cool air to every corner. The air is filled with the metallic cooling smell unique to electronic devices and a faint aroma of coffee.

The huge electronic screen was divided into several windows: real-time satellite cloud images, electromagnetic signal spectrum analysis, and location updates of friendly units...

But the most crucial and eye-catching part was the real-time footage transmitted from a Global Hawk drone that hovered silently at tens of thousands of feet.

In the video, the landscape displays the distinctive earthy yellow and ochre red of the Gobi Desert, with a dried-up riverbed winding through it like a huge scar.

Along this riverbed, a cloud of dust, kicked up by vehicles and people, is slowly creeping toward Iji.

This is what Colonel Kurt is currently focusing on—the mixed force led by Song Heping.

Behind them was a thick, murky cloud of dust, like a boiling sea of ​​sand, or a pack of wolves relentlessly chasing their prey.

That was a pursuit wave of more than 20,000 ISIS militants.

The distance between the two sides is precisely marked on the screen, sometimes far and sometimes near.

Every now and then, tiny but blinding white flashes would erupt on the contact line, followed by billowing gray-black smoke, as small rearguard units clashed with the advance troops of the pursuing forces.

Colonel Kurt held a cup of freshly brewed black coffee, its rich aroma perfectly matching his mood.

He was comfortably nestled in his conductor's chair, a barely concealed smile playing on his lips.

“Look, McCoy.”

Colonel Kurt spoke as casually as if he were commenting on a weekend football game, “Doesn’t it look like wildebeest crossing the Mara River on the Masai Mara?”

Standing beside him was Major McCoy, a young staff officer whose brows betrayed a hint of worry.

His electronic tactical board was constantly updating with data compiled from signals intelligence, drone imagery AI recognition, and sporadic reports from the front lines.

The decreasing IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) signals indicate an ominous rise in casualties.

Each jump in the numbers felt like a heavy hammer blow to his heart.

"Colonel."

McCoy said, his voice tinged with obvious anxiety:
"Based on simulations, given their current speed and the intensity of the enemy's pursuit, it's almost impossible for them to safely reach the relatively safe zone on the outskirts of Baiji before nightfall. We..."

He paused, took a deep breath, and asked cautiously:
"Can't we really provide any air support? Even a symbolic one or two Apache helicopters, using precision-guided weapons to clear out the advance troops of the approaching pursuers, would greatly relieve their pressure."

Kurt calmly took a sip of his coffee, then slowly shook his head, his smile unwavering.

“Symbolic? McCoy, my dear Major, war is not a show, nor is it for satisfying moral self-consolation. We do have an agreement with Song Heping: they are responsible for fighting 1515 on the front lines, and we provide the necessary intelligence, logistics, and…theoretically…air cover. But agreements are dead, people are alive, and the strategic situation is constantly changing.”

He placed his coffee cup on the control panel, reached out and operated the touchscreen a few times, zooming in on a close-up view of a localized area of ​​firefight captured by the drone.

In the footage, several armed pickup trucks equipped with DShK heavy machine guns are using the undulating terrain to unleash a barrage of bullets on a makeshift position built against several large rocks.

The 12.7mm caliber bullet struck the rocks, sending up dense sparks and stone dust, making it almost impossible for the figures in the position to raise their heads.

Occasionally, a figure would attempt to retaliate, only to be met with even more intense gunfire, with sand and possible blood splattering in front of the camera.

“Look here,”

Kurt tapped the screen with his fingertips, his tone carrying the calmness of an analyst.

"The main force of 1515 is now like sharks smelling blood, completely captivated by them. This is the situation we've been dreaming of for the past few months! I estimate that Song Heping will be crippled if he doesn't die this time! Maybe... hahaha! He won't live past tonight."

"But, Colonel! This is a breach of contract..."

McCoy's voice involuntarily rose a few decibels.

“Once the news gets out, our credibility throughout the Middle East will be ruined! Who will be willing to believe our promises and serve us in the future? Moreover, if Song Heping’s troops are completely annihilated here, the situation we have finally stabilized in northwestern Iligo will be in danger of collapse! 1515 may very well return with the momentum of their great victory, and they will be even more rampant than before! All the resources we have invested may be wasted!”

"Collapse? Or a comeback?"

Kurt interrupted him, his tone tinged with impatience. He put down his coffee cup, placed his hands on the smooth control panel, leaned forward, and focused his sharp gaze on the screen.

“McCoey, you’re looking at the problem too superficially, too limited to the tactical level. You only see what we might lose, but not what we can gain. How many troops will the 1515 need to commit to take down Song Heping, this tough nut to crack? Look at the scale of this pursuit; it’s almost all the forces they can mobilize in the Northwest! How much will they have to pay to take this nut?”

He straightened up and began to pace slowly in front of the command platform, his hands behind his back, exuding confidence.
"Let them fight! Let them fight to the death! Song Heping is a tough nut to crack, and 1515 is a pack of mad dogs. The tough nut can knock out the mad dogs' teeth, but the mad dogs can also crush the tough nut's shell. When both sides have bled dry and exhausted their strength, that will be the best time for us to step in."

He stopped, his gaze sweeping over the other personnel busy operating equipment in the command center, his voice clear and confident:
"At that time, the main force of Thunder Defense deployed in Hurmatu will cooperate with the 9th Mechanized Division of the Ilig government forces, which has completed its combat readiness assembly, along with friendly forces from the northern Kold'd forces. With the support of our unparalleled air power and the precise guidance of Delta Force, we will sweep across the entire Northwest region with overwhelming force! We will completely eliminate the remaining forces of 1515, and 'incidentally'... take over all key nodes of strategic value, including... Baiji and Mosul."

He emphasized the word "by the way," then looked at McCoy meaningfully:

"Baiji will no longer be a border town that needs to rely on a mercenary leader who is not entirely under our control to maintain stability. It will become a strategic foothold firmly in our hands. That's the big picture, Major."

He walked back to McCoy, patted the young staff officer's somewhat stiff shoulder, and spoke with an almost cruel "rationality":
“Death is inevitable, McCoy. It’s the eternal melody of war. Trading the sacrifice of thousands of mercenaries and local fighters for control of the entire Northwest is a very worthwhile deal. As for Song Heping…”

He paused, then turned his gaze back to the struggling marching column on the screen.

"He is a formidable character, but no matter how formidable he is, he is still just an excellent pawn, but ultimately... a pawn. A chess player must know how to assess the situation and dare to sacrifice a piece to gain the upper hand at crucial moments."

McCoy fell completely silent.

He could not refute Colonel Kurt's cold logic, which was based on macro-strategic principles.

From a purely military and geopolitical perspective, this may indeed be the "optimal solution".

But the stain on credibility, the loss of morality, and the regional situation that could spiral completely out of control due to excessive calculation...

Can these risks, which cannot be quantified, really be so easily concealed and offset by such cold-blooded calculations? He did not try to argue any further; obeying his superiors was his duty.

120 kilometers east of Baiji.

The setting sun was sinking toward the horizon at a visible speed, dyeing the sky a magnificent yet desolate blood red.

The air was filled with gunpowder particles, pungent explosive residue, a sweet, bloody stench, and suffocating dust kicked up by countless explosions.

The various smells mixed together to form an indescribable stench of death, choking the nasal cavity, stinging the throat, and burning the lungs of every survivor.

The bursts of M4 carbines and AK-47 assault rifles, the muffled roar of PKM general-purpose machine guns, the distinctive explosions of RPG rockets, the deafening thuds of artillery shells hitting the ground, the dying roars of vehicle engines, the angry shouts, curses, commands, and the uncontrollable screams of the wounded and the unconscious groans before death...

All these sounds intertwined and mixed together, forming a massive, chaotic, and deafening symphony of destruction that relentlessly assaulted everyone's eardrums and nerves.

The troops led by Song Heping had long since lost their complete organizational structure.

The team, originally numbering nearly seven thousand, was gradually melting away like ice under the sun amidst layers of resistance.

Killed, missing, seriously wounded and unable to move...

The brutal selection process is underway every minute.

At this moment, the number of people who can still move with the troops and maintain basic combat effectiveness is probably less than five thousand.

The local soldiers of Abuyu Brigade, the militia of the "Liberation Forces," and two experienced mercenary battalions that Song Heping had transferred from Africa had just repelled a fierce pursuit and seized a relatively advantageous piece of terrain.

A sand dune that curves in an "S" shape and a gravel hill about 20 to 30 meters high that rises to one side.

With no time to construct proper fortifications, all the soldiers could only use the rugged rocks of the high ground as cover, hastily establishing a temporary circular defensive line.

This flimsy defensive line appeared precarious in the face of the waves of 1515 militants.

The enemy's numerical advantage was too great; they seemed endless, emerging from the horizon from all directions, shouting slogans of unity, charging forward with near-religious fanaticism, ignoring casualties.

"Drone swarm! Third wave, coordinates Alpha-7, coverage attack! Repeat, coverage attack!"

Song Heping's voice came through an encrypted radio.

He crouched in a makeshift command post behind a rock, his eyes glued to the images transmitted in real time by a reconnaissance drone on the tactical tablet screen in his hand.

More than a dozen drones of varying sizes are making their final flights under his command.

These unmanned devices, custom-made from Huaqiangbei in Northeast China, are now playing a dual role as both saviors and death gods.

Several larger suicide drones, equipped with small high-explosive warheads, were launched from concealed takeoff points under the remote control of operators. They drew a deadly arc in the air and then swooped down at a speed of over 100 kilometers per hour!

boom!
boom--!
One of them precisely crashed into the cab of an enemy pickup truck that was just attempting to establish a machine gun position on the flank.

The violent explosion instantly tore the pickup truck to pieces, the heavy engine was thrown into the air, and the tires rolled away in flames. The surrounding militants were overturned by the debris and blast wave.

Another aircraft exploded in mid-air as it flew low over a group of enemy soldiers who were gathering. The pre-loaded steel balls sprayed down in a fan shape like the scythe of death, instantly clearing a small area.

Meanwhile, several small and agile reconnaissance drones hovered high and low over the battlefield like tireless ghosts.

They continuously transmit the captured real-time footage back to Song Heping's tablet and the terminals of commanders at all levels.

"Group B! Attention! On the right slope, at the three o'clock position, a small enemy force is attempting to infiltrate! At least a platoon size! Cover them with grenades! Don't let them get any closer!"

Based on the drone footage, Song Heping rapidly issued instructions to the mercenary squad responsible for the right flank defense.

On the high ground, several well-equipped mercenaries immediately leaned out and fired muffled "bang" sounds from the M203 grenade launchers hanging from their M4 carbines.

The grenade traced a slight parabola and landed precisely on the slope dozens of meters away, exploding in succession into clouds of smoke and dust mixed with sand, gravel, and dismembered limbs.

The enemy, who were trying to sneak up by taking advantage of the terrain, were stunned by the sudden and precise firepower, and their offensive stalled.

"Good job!"

A brief response came through the headset from the leader of Group B.

However, local success cannot reverse the overall decline.

The enemy's offensive was like a never-ending wave.

They quickly organized a new assault.

More RPG rockets, trailing bright white flames, whistled as they crashed down on the defensive line. Each explosion meant a potential breach in the line, taking several lives.

Sniper rifles were everywhere; bullets fired from who-knows-where would occasionally cause a soldier changing a magazine or peering out to take cover to fall silently.

The battle has entered its most brutal and primal stage.

Both sides' soldiers had their rationality exhausted to the limit, their eyes were bloodshot, and all that remained was the most instinctive desire to kill and the will to survive.

The once hard sandy soil has now been soaked in thick blood, turning into a dark red swamp.

Mutilated limbs, scattered weapon parts, empty bullet casings, and charred pieces of clothing were everywhere.

The afterglow of the setting sun pierced through the lingering smoke, casting dappled and eerie light and shadow, making this land resemble the abyss of purgatory described by Dante.

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(End of this chapter)