Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 844 Please enter the urn
Late at night, at an oil refinery on the outskirts of Aden.

The moonlight was cut into fragments by the twisted pipes. Song Heping squatted behind a cracked distillation tower, his fingertips brushing against the fresh scratches on the AKM receiver.

An hour earlier, Simon's encrypted text message had made him realize that he had no way out.

The CIA is indeed one of the world's top intelligence agencies.

They've got their eyes on you...

Damn it, this is awful!

Now, this oil refinery, built with Soviet aid in the 1970s, has become its last battlefield.

Since we can't avoid it, let's fight!

Let's see who comes out on top.

Song Heping's decision was not rash.

Despite the CIA's formidable reputation, Yemen is not a place where they can act with impunity.

He speculated that the CIA's entry into Yemen this time was only a small assassination team, not a large force.

The firefight at Pier 3 showed that the "Watchmen" who came this time numbered at most a dozen or so.

He killed five of them there himself.

At most, only 7 to 10 people will come here.

If it's just 7-10 agents, I and three others can handle it as long as we set up traps in advance.

"The east entrance is ready."

Antonov's voice came through the radio, carrying the roughness characteristic of Slavs, "Using the 'chopstick grenade' you taught me, I guarantee the Americans will taste Eastern wisdom."

Song Heping smiled slightly.

It was a booby trap secured by two crossed iron wires, seemingly simple but extremely difficult to dismantle.

This booby trap is very simple, but very practical. You can make it by simply finding a TNT block, inserting a detonator, or directly connecting it to a grenade.

Antonov then asked, "How much longer, Nassin?"

"About two hours."

Song Heping's eyes gleamed green behind the night vision goggles.

"But the CIA will get there before them."

Nura suddenly pressed her earpiece: "It sounds like a drone. Listen."

"Hide well and keep quiet."

Song Heping's pupils contracted sharply.

If the drones that can fly here are just CIA reconnaissance drones, it's not a big deal. But if they're MQ-9s or something...

That would put me in a lot of trouble.

Fortunately, the factory area is large enough that even if an MQ-9 comes, it can't do anything to us if it can't find our exact location.

Although the MQ-9 Reaper drone can carry four Hellfire missiles, its power is insufficient to level a large oil refinery.

After a while, the low noise from the sky seemed to disappear.

Song Heping then noticed that Khalid was staring at the tablet computer.

This is a wireless camera that I installed on the only way to get to the factory when I came in.

On the screen, nine figures are fanning out and approaching the oil refinery.

“It must be someone from the CIA,” Khalid said softly.

Song Heping took the tablet and zoomed in on the image.

After the nine people passed by, a flash suddenly appeared about three hundred meters away, as if a figure had passed by.

"Ok?"

It vanished in an instant.

"Am I seeing things?"

He rubbed his eyes and zoomed in on the camera.

But found nothing.

The sound of gravel rolling down came from the factory gate in the distance.

Song Heping raised the thermal imager—three blurry figures were moving along the ruptured oil pipeline, a standard CIA tactical formation.

"The game begins." Song Heping commanded everyone: "Everyone, perk up and get ready to hunt."

Jasper Team, South of Refinery
Jasper's boots rolled over a rusted valve, the beam of his tactical flashlight piercing the darkness. The abandoned oil refinery was eerily quiet.

According to satellite thermal imaging, Song Heping should be hiding in the abandoned equipment control room ahead.

"Team A, in position," the sniper reported through the headset. "No target detected."

Jasper's intuition told him—something was wrong here!

The year-long manhunt had made him all too familiar with that Chinese specter—Song Heping never sat idly by and waited for his doom. Just as he was about to order a retreat, a sharp metallic clang came from beneath his feet.

"Booby trap!!"

Jasper lunged to the side.

The shockwave from the explosion threw him three meters, instantly deafening him in his right ear. Through the thick smoke, he saw two of his teammates turn into burning torches, their screams ripping through the night.

It wasn't an ordinary landmine—it was actually a white phosphorus booby mine!

Jasper's stomach started to convulse.

Such weapons, which violate the Geneva Convention, are only used by mercenaries, but Song Heping happens to be the damned owner of a mercenary company.

"Group B encountered IED! Repeat, Group B encountered—"

Communication suddenly went down, replaced by continuous gunfire and screams.

Jasper struggled to his feet and noticed that the red dots representing the team members on the tactical tablet were rapidly going out.

Seven, five, three
"Calling for backup! Calling for backup! We've been ambushed!"

He pressed the call button and began contacting the forward command post, which was located in a safe house, requesting drone reinforcements.

However, he noticed that the communication channel seemed to have suddenly become unusually quiet.

"Simon! Watchman calling Simon!"

Jasper called several more times.

However, there was no response; the channel seemed to be experiencing some kind of interference, making a hissing sound, and my words sounded like I was talking to myself.

The communications were disrupted.

He quickly opened the tactical tablet.

It's all snowflakes; there's no image at all.

A terrible fear welled up from the bottom of my heart like a spring.

Clearly, all of his communications had been cut off!

"Kobe! Where are you?!"

He shouted loudly, completely disregarding the fact that his voice would reveal his location.

terrible!

Someone cut off all their communications.

The gunfire around them gradually subsided.

No one answered Jasper.

The oil refinery was deathly silent, like a tomb.

More than ten kilometers away in a safe house, chaos reigned in the CIA's frontline command post.

Numerous pop-up windows appeared on all the computers, and they kept popping up.

Too many windows were consuming computer memory, causing all the computers in the command center to crash.

The technician exclaimed, "It's a virus! A worm!"

Simon strode in from outside, shouting, "What are you doing! Why is the communication down?!"

"Our system has been compromised by a virus and is completely paralyzed. We are currently unable to contact the frontline operations team!"

The technician stood up, pale-faced, as if he had witnessed the end of the world; his eyes were filled with fear.

"This—I can't explain it!"

He certainly couldn't explain it.

The CIA's systems were so secure that they were hacked.

It’s simply a fantasy.

"What exactly happened at the refinery? What's the situation now?"

"I don't know, we've completely lost contact with them."

"damn it!"

Simon shouted, "You guys get to the repairs right away and restore the system! Mark, Andy, you two come with me over there right now to see what happened, and bring plenty of weapons!"

"YES SIR!"

The two agents who were originally responsible for guarding the safe house immediately turned around and ran towards the armory.

Simon threw a tantrum on the spot, ordered the technicians to restore communication as quickly as possible, and then turned and left the safe house.

He went into the garage, got into his car, lit a cigarette, and waited leisurely for Andy and Mark.

However, a barely perceptible smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

(End of this chapter)