Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 809 The Fall of "Death"

Lieutenant Mitchell's finger hovered less than a centimeter above the launch button, cold sweat trickling down his temples.

The red warning box on the screen flashed wildly, and a piercing alarm filled the entire control room.

"Locked! Locked! Locked!"

"Avoid it! Avoid it immediately!"

He screamed frantically, but the order came too late.

The SAM-6 missile, trailing a deadly plume of flame, tore through the air and hurtled towards the "Grim Reaper" in the sky at Mach 2.8.

"Deploy chaff and flares!"

Mitchell roared as he slammed down the electronic warfare button.

On the screen, the MQ-9 Reaper drone rapidly released a series of magnesia-trimethoate decoy grenades, which exploded into dozens of brilliant sparks in the night sky.

But it was too late.

In order to achieve better attack results, the drone has lowered to a low-to-medium altitude of 3000 meters, where the two sides are too close.

The SAM-6's radar seeker remained completely unmoved—it had already locked onto the target's thermal signature.

The most fatal thing was that the drone was flying in the direction from which the missile was coming—Song Heping had already estimated the approximate trajectory of the drone when it attacked, and the air defense positions were set up in the drone's inevitable path, which can be described as waiting for the rabbit to run into the tree stump.

Now that the rabbits are here, there's no way to escape.

bang——

The first missile exploded less than 20 meters from "Blood Feud 1".

The pre-formed fragments formed a deadly net thirty meters in diameter, instantly tearing the drone's right wing to shreds.

The aircraft tumbled violently as it crashed into the desert, the last images transmitted by the camera showing the rapidly spinning starry sky and the earth.

"Number 1 has been hit! Number 1 has been hit!" Technician Tom's voice trembled. "Loss of signal connection!"

Mitchell's fingers flew across the keyboard as he tried to control the remaining "Blood Feud 2" to climb and evacuate.

But a second SAM-6 had already taken off from the same launch site.

This time, fragments from the missile explosion struck the middle of the fuselage directly, turning the MQ-9, which costs more than $3000 million per aircraft, into a fireball.

There was dead silence in the control room.

The words "Signal lost" flashed in red on all eight screens at the same time.

Mitchell slowly took off his headphones; the back of his shirt was already soaked with sweat.

Fifteen minutes ago, they were discussing where to go for a drink after completing their mission.

"Contact Langley."

His voice was as dry as the desert wind: "Tell them... we've completely messed up, it was all premeditated..."

On the sandy ground of the Atron Oasis, Song Heping put down his binoculars, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

He turned to look at Jiang Feng beside him, who was holding a military tablet and receiving data from various air defense observation points.

"Two MQ-9s, confirmed shot down." Jiang Feng's voice held a suppressed excitement. "Radar shows that the reconnaissance drone has turned around and is trying to escape. Should we shoot it down too?"

"Let it go. This thing is too high up, it's hard to hit. Don't waste missiles."

Song Heping smiled and nodded, then took out a satellite phone from his tactical vest.

He pressed the preset number, which was the phone number for the defense department of the North Sudanese government.

The call was connected almost instantly.

“I am Song Heping,” he said in fluent Arabic. “Tell your Minister of Defense that the game has begun.”

After hanging up the phone, Song Heping raised his middle finger towards the sky.

He knew that although the reconnaissance drone in the sky was withdrawing, it was definitely still filming the situation on the ground, including assessing the scene after the two attack "Reaper" drones landed and exploded, so that the footage could be sent back to headquarters for damage assessment.

After making the call, Song Heping picked up the walkie-talkie and began calling his missile company commander.

"Alz, you'll have to stay on the position a little longer. The battle alert can't be lifted yet. I'll have someone send you water and food right away so you can have a good meal."

"Roger that, boss!"

Alz sounded very excited.

This is probably the first time in his life that he has shot down a large U.S. drone.

This one incident alone is enough for him to brag about for the rest of his life.

"Boss, I did a pretty good job, didn't I?!"

This guy took the opportunity to claim credit.

Song Heping quickly gave him great satisfaction: "Not bad, well done, Alz. Your personal reward is $30. I will give you an additional personal reward. Keep up the good work, and in the future I will expand your company to a battalion, or even a regiment, and make you a regimental commander."

"Thank you, boss! Thank you, boss!"

Alz was so excited he almost couldn't speak.

Since retiring, he has been in dire financial straits.

Special forces or even retired army officers in Africa can at least become mercenaries, and the income is decent.

He's a missile specialist; no mercenary group would have him operate such a thing.

When his comrade recruited Song Heping as a missile specialist command officer, Alz didn't even ask how much the salary was, and immediately packed his bags and rushed over to report for duty.

Unexpectedly, the salary was not only not low, but also high, exceptionally high!
It's incredibly, incredibly tall!

A $300,000 individual bonus, plus a $2 million team commission...

Beautiful!

He went from being a penniless retired African military officer to becoming a wealthy man overnight.

Even if Song Heping ordered him to rush up and block the gun, this guy probably wouldn't even blink.

"Boss, the video is edited." A subordinate emerged from the tent and handed over an encrypted hard drive.

"What you need includes the full radar record of the drone's intrusion into our airspace, as well as infrared images of the missile being shot down."

Song Heping took the hard drive and weighed it in his hand.

This small metal block contained a bomb powerful enough to shake Washington.

"There aren't any photos of the drone wreckage yet, are there?"

"not yet."

"Go, take pictures of the wreckage of the two crashed drones. Remember, I need details. Make sure the badges and markings on the wreckage, as well as the serial numbers and features on the circuit components inside, are clearly visible."

"Yes, I'll do it right away!"

After his men left, Song Heping called Henry over.

"Henry, after he finishes these things, send the information to Al Jazeera, the BBC, and all the mainstream media. Also, send a copy to the dark web and the internet."

he ordered.

"As for the headline... we need a good one... let's use 'US drone illegally intrudes into Sudanese airspace and is shot down.'"

"Is it such a big deal?"

Henry's eyebrow twitched.

"We're already at the gambling table, do we have a choice? Let's go big, there's no way out now even if we surrender."

“OK!” Henry nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

Jiang Feng walked over and handed Song Heping a cup of coffee: "Pence should have received the bad news by now."

Song Heping took a sip of the bitter liquid and looked up at the northern sky.

The sun had already set on the horizon, bathing the desert and oasis landscape in a golden glow.

Whether it was the beautiful scenery or something else, Song Heping felt that everything was beautiful and indescribably comfortable.

“This is just the beginning,” he said softly. “I don’t want to shoot down a few drones; I want the entire CIA to pay the price for their arrogance.”

Washington, D.C.

As CIA Deputy Director Pence stood before the electronic map in the White House Situation Room, he felt his stomach slowly freezing.

National Security Advisor Ellis had just hung up the call with the Pentagon, his face so dark it could drip water.

Beside him stood Director Vincent, who looked constipated—he had arrived earlier than Pence and had already received a severe scolding.

"Two MQ-9 drones, carrying Hellfire missiles, entered the airspace of a sovereign state without authorization."

Ellis spoke slowly and deliberately, as if announcing the crimes of a criminal in the dock, each word like a slap in the face to Pence.

"It was even shot down by a Soviet-era anti-aircraft missile. The president wants to know, Director Vincent, Deputy Director Pence, what the hell was the idiot who came up with this idea? Can you tell me?!"

Ellis looked like she wanted to devour someone.

Pence's temples throbbed.

He glanced at the clock on the wall—only five hours had passed since the drone was shot down, and the video released by Song Heping had already caused a sensation on social media.

Al Jazeera is broadcasting footage of the missile launch on a loop, with captions in three languages ​​stating "US military violates Sudanese sovereignty."

"This was a precision strike against high-risk terrorists."

Pence carefully chose his words.

"Target Song Heping is linked to multiple attacks against U.S. interests and is on our list of KB leaders. We recently obtained his coordinates, so we planned this operation to decapitate him. However, we consulted the Department of Justice for detailed legal advice before the operation."

"fart!"

Ellis jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, slamming his fist on the table and roaring, "The Attorney General just told me he has never provided any legal reference documents regarding the strikes in Sudan! The President is supposed to have breakfast with the UN Secretary-General this morning, and now how are we supposed to explain the presence of US drones in African airspace?"

The door to the Situation Room was pushed open, and the president's chief aide, Jackson, strode in, holding a tablet computer.

"The Sudanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs just held a press conference."

His voice was tense, as if a piece of iron was stuck in his throat.

"They presented radar records showing multiple intrusions into their airspace by US drones over a ten-day period and requested the UN to convene an emergency meeting to discuss the incident."

Pence felt a wave of dizziness.

He realized he had fallen into an elaborate trap—Song Heping was deliberately showing signs of leaving the camp to lure them into making a hasty decision.

Those regular daily routines, those training scenarios deliberately shown to the satellites—it was all an act.

"I need to explain this to the president in person."

Pence rubbed his sweaty palms together, making a final struggle.

Ellis scoffed. "The president said he doesn't want to see you until he's ready for a press conference. Now, tell me, do those drones have any markings that can trace them back to the United States?"

Pence swallowed hard. "As per standard procedure, we will remove all identification tags."

“So it was a black operation,” Ellis concluded. “Unauthorized, undeniable, and caught red-handed. Mr. Vincent, you know what’s going to happen next.”

Pence certainly knew.

Whenever such underhanded actions cause international disputes, someone has to step in and take the blame.

And this time, it was his turn.

“I will prepare my resignation letter,” he said in a low voice.

Ellis shook his head: "The president wants more than just resignation. He wants a complete overhaul of the Special Operations Service, from top to bottom. Submit a list of all personnel involved in this operation to my office by noon tomorrow."

As Pence walked out of the West Wing of the White House, the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten.

He took out his phone and dialed Jasper's number.

“Clean up all documents related to ‘Operation Blood Feud,’” he said curtly. “We’re finished.”

(End of this chapter)