Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 808 Finally here
Seventh day.

Jasper sat in his own big leather chair in Langley's monitoring room, half asleep.

He hasn't been home for seven days.

It's normal for secret agents not to go home.

But now this long and tedious surveillance process is driving people crazy.

Every day, drones hover over the Atron Oasis, conducting reconnaissance of the base where Song Heping is located.

Every day, I take hundreds of high-resolution photos of the ground with my camera.

Jasper was almost sick of looking at Song Heping's face in the photo; he had never looked at a photo of his girlfriend for so long when they were dating.

"Ah--"

He yawned and stretched.

I glanced at the wall clock; it was already three in the morning.

At that time, it was daytime in Sudan.

There's a 6-hour time difference; it's a little after 9 a.m. at the Atron Oasis.

He slowly poured himself another cup of coffee, then slowly turned his gaze to the screen.

Every day at this time, Song Heping would get up and appear in the open space of the camp, where he would run, and then return to his tent to sit under a tree and have breakfast with his subordinates.

This happens every single day, without exception.

Jasper thought Song Heping was a very self-disciplined person, perhaps related to his military service experience. At least during the few days he was monitoring Song Heping, he ran every day without fail, and in the afternoon he would take his gun to the nearby hillside to conduct various rapid-fire and reaction-fire exercises, and occasionally he would even fire a sniper rifle.

Judging from the surveillance footage, this guy's marksmanship is really good; he never misses a shot.

No wonder both Mossad and the Watchmen suffered heavy losses at his hands before.

Killing him with a bomb might be the best option.

Sending a ground team to wipe out this madman is definitely not a good option.

However, today he suddenly noticed that Song Heping in the picture seemed different from usual.

"Ok?"

Jasper rubbed his eyes.

On the screen, Song Heping, dressed in tactical gear and accompanied by several mercenaries who appeared to be his bodyguards, walked out of the tent and stood near the parking lot.

His men gathered around and seemed to be talking about something.

To Jasper's surprise, some mercenaries were loading things onto the two SUVs. Song Heping chatted with his subordinates for a few words and then turned around and said something to the mercenaries who were loading things.

It looks like they're about to go out.

"He's leaving?"

Jasper sat up abruptly.

"The target appears to be leaving the camp."

The agent monitoring the surveillance footage turned around and reported, "Sir, what should we do?"

Jasper was wide awake and immediately grabbed his cell phone from the table and dialed Pence's number.

Pence went home to hug his wife.

However, his home is not far from the headquarters, less than five kilometers away.

The phone rang twice and was answered.

“Jasper, you’d better have a good reason for waking me up so late.”

“Sir, Song Heping is leaving the camp.”

Jasper got straight to the point.

"what?"

Pence's voice, which had been slightly tired, suddenly became tense.

Then I heard a rustling sound.

Jasper deduced that Pence was getting up.

Where is he going?

"It's unclear at the moment, but we saw him already in the parking lot, and his subordinates were moving things into the SUV; it seems they're about to leave. What should we do?"

"I'll be right there, but you can tell me your opinion first."

Pence had already gotten up and was hurriedly putting on his clothes.

“I suggest we act immediately, because it takes five hours for the attack drone to take off and reach the airspace over the Atron Oasis in Sudan, which is enough time for Song Heping to disappear.”

"Can't we keep watching him with drones all the time?"

"Yes, but it's not clear where he's going yet. If he goes somewhere that passes through the UN peacekeeping force's radar scanning area, it could very well expose our drones. Once exposed, it could cause a diplomatic incident, and the president would probably have to explain."

Jasper raised the risks.

There was silence on the other end of the phone, except for the sound of someone getting dressed.

Finally, the sound of dressing disappeared, and the sound of Pence's footsteps coming downstairs could be heard.

"Jasper, immediately order the nearest base in the Middle East to launch MQ-9s, load them with weapons, and head to Atron Oasis."

The order has been given.

Pence finally made up his mind.

He even began to doubt whether it was necessary for him to have been monitoring them for so many days.

Over a period of seven days, they wasted numerous attack opportunities.

Now, Song Heping is leaving the camp.

Pence suddenly became nervous.

If we miss this opportunity, we don't know when the window for assassinating Song Heping will open again.

"YES SIR!"

Jasper suppressed his excitement.

He finally waited for this opportunity.

Fifteen minutes later, at a US Air Force base on the outskirts of a coastal city in a Middle Eastern country, the pre-dawn sea breeze carried a salty smell as ground crew conducted final takeoff checks.

Two MQ-9 Reaper drones gleamed coldly in the morning light, their two missiles mounted under their wings painted black.

Lieutenant Mitchell and several colleagues were debugging equipment in the control room of the airport service building. Eight high-definition screens displayed flight data, real-time images, and electronic maps.

Unlike surveillance drones, these attack drones have a temporary control room here to ensure more stable signal transmission.

He put on the noise-canceling headphones, adjusted the equipment, gave a thumbs up, and then sent a request to the control center through the headset.

"Blood Feud 1 and 2 are ready and requesting clearance for takeoff."

The airport control tower replied: "'Blood Feud' formation, wind direction 030, wind speed 8 m/s, cleared for takeoff."

On the airport runway, two MQ-9s taxied onto the main runway one after the other, and then slowly accelerated one after the other.

Soon, the required speed was reached, and Lieutenant Mitchell gently pulled the control stick, propelling the drone into the air with a powerful jerk of airflow.

Mitchell's fingers flew across the console, adjusting the flaps and throttle.

On the display screen, the drone's field of view rapidly rose, and the deep blue of the Red Sea shimmered with gold edges in the morning light.

"Phase one navigation point secured. Maintain radio silence."

Mitchell spoke into the microphone, though he knew that only the technicians in the control room could hear him at that moment.

The drone turned southwest and flew along its planned route toward the Sudanese coast.

Mitchell glanced at the weather forecast on the secondary screen—a sandstorm was expected along the flight path in the next six hours, which would provide cover for the drone.

After a flight of 3 hours and 17 minutes, over the northern desert of Sudan.

"Altitude reduced to 400 meters, entering terrain-following mode."

Mitchell gave instructions to the attack team through the microphone.

The drone's camera feed showed endless yellow sand below, with only a few rocks occasionally peeking out.

At this point, it had just entered Sudanese territory. Flying at extremely low altitudes allowed it to avoid being scanned by ground radar, and the Sudanese government forces' radar equipment was not capable of detecting the MQ-9 flying at such low altitudes.

Technician Tom stared at the radar screen: "'Blood Feud' formation is about to enter the edge of the first air defense identification zone. The UN 37th Brigade's radar station is at our 11 o'clock position, 80 kilometers away."

Mitchell adjusted the joystick, guiding the drone along a dry riverbed. The cliffs on either side of the riverbed effectively shielded it from radar waves.

"Activate ECM (Electronic Countermeasures), tune the frequency to the UN's commonly used band."

A red warning box suddenly popped up on the screen—Radar Contact!
A UN mobile radar vehicle appeared to have changed its patrol route and was heading towards the drone.

"Damn it!" Mitchell quickly typed in a series of commands, "Activate active jamming, turn 20 degrees to the right, use that ridge for cover!"

The drone suddenly turned, and the camera feed shook violently.

A few seconds later, the radar warning disappeared.

“They didn’t spot us,” Tom said, relieved, “but the radar vehicle stopped, probably to check for malfunctions.”

Mitchell wiped the sweat from his brow: "Keep going, keep the lowest altitude."

After a flight of 4 hours and 42 minutes, we arrived in the North Darfur region.

The dust storm arrived earlier than expected. The drone's camera feed became blurry, forcing Mitchell to switch to synthetic aperture radar navigation.

"63% fuel remaining," Tom reported regarding the drone. "76 kilometers from the target."

Tom pulled up satellite images: "Activity at the Atron Oasis camp is normal; thermal imaging shows about 80 people. The latest image shows the target—" He zoomed in, "Yes, that's Song Heping. He was on the west side of the camp an hour ago; he hasn't left the camp yet…wait…"

Tom turned to Mitchell and asked, "Didn't they say a few hours ago he was leaving the camp? Why is he still there?"

Mitchell immediately contacted Langley headquarters.

Jasper replied, "He hasn't left yet, he's still here. Something must have happened, so wait for someone to notify you. You continue the mission. Regardless of other factors, just keep an eye on the target and take him down. I will notify you immediately of any unexpected situations that arise during the mission, without needing to ask any questions."

"receive."

Lieutenant Mitchell turned his gaze to the screen, staring at the blurry figure in the image: "Prepare for stage two weapon unlocking. I want to make sure the missiles launch immediately once they're within range."

Five hours and 30 minutes into the flight, the "Musician" defense camp in Sudan was visible above the Atron Oasis.

The sandstorm has passed, and the afternoon sun has gilded the desert with a golden hue.

The drone has climbed to an altitude of 5000 meters and activated its high-magnification optical camera.

“Camp spotted.” Tom pointed to several tents and makeshift structures on the screen: “Zoom in on the Sierra-3 area.”

The image zooms in, showing two men talking on a hillside at the edge of the camp.

Mitchell activated the facial recognition system, and a few seconds later, the computer issued a confirmation tone—the match rate was 98.7%.

"High-value target confirmed. Song Heping, formation descend to 3000 meters, prepare for attack."

Mitchell's voice trembled slightly with nervousness: "That's Jiang Feng next to me, target number two."

He activated the weapon system, and the two Hellfire missiles completed their final self-checks.

"'Blood Feud One' has locked onto the target. 'Blood Feud One' has activated its weapon lock and is requesting clearance to fire."

The control room suddenly fell silent.

Everyone stared at the two figures on the main screen—they were facing the hillside, clearly unaware of what was happening.

Pence's hoarse voice came through the communicator: "Launch approved. Send that son of a bitch to hell."

Mitchell's finger hovered above the launch button when suddenly something flickered at the edge of the screen, and a red exclamation mark appeared in the corner of the screen.

Dududududu——

Beep beep beep beep beep beep—

A warning buzzer sounded.

A warning box popped up in the center of the screen, and an electronic voice continuously issued prompts—

"Locked! Locked! Locked!"

"FUCK! Anti-aircraft missiles!"

Lieutenant Mitchell cried out in surprise.

"Avoid! Avoid!"

Before his voice had even faded, a fireball suddenly erupted from a depression between two sand dunes, each several tens of meters high, on the east side of the camp. A SAM-6 missile, trailing a fiery tail, soared into the sky at incredible speed, like a venomous snake pouncing on its prey…

(End of this chapter)