Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 875 Survival Plan
The tent was filled with the smell of cigarettes and sweat. An emergency light hung from the top of the tent, swaying in the night wind and casting Song Heping's shadow on the canvas like a beast poised to pounce.

He stared at the canyon route marked in red on the tactical map, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table, the rhythm quickening.

"Tap, tap, tap"

The shadow of the F-15E "Strike Eagle" hangs like a sword of Damocles, ready to fall at any moment.

20 minutes—from the Green Berets sending out a distress signal to the fighter jets arriving on the battlefield, only 20 minutes are needed.

They had to complete the ambush and evacuate within 10 minutes, or the entire squad would perish in the flames of the precision-guided bombs.

Song Heping's temples throbbed. He grabbed the kettle and took a swig; the warm water, with its metallic taste, slid down his throat, but it couldn't quench the anxiety in his heart.

"Boss, you're still awake?"

The hunter lifted the curtain, carrying two warm cans of beer.

The burly man, standing 1.9 meters tall, crouched low and slipped into the tent, his movements as light as a cheetah.

The scar on his right cheek looked particularly grotesque in the dim light.

"I can't sleep."

Song Heping looked up, a slight smile appearing on his lips.

"Just like you said, this job is going to be tough."

The hunter handed him the beer, pulled the tab on the can, and foam immediately gushed out.

"Damn, this godforsaken place doesn't even have a refrigerator."

He cursed, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with each swallow.

Are you worried about the operation the day after tomorrow?

Song Heping took the beer; the icy touch sobered him up a little.

“Not just operations,” he whispered, his voice seeming to come from underground, “I’m thinking about the F-15E.”

The hunter's expression froze instantly, and the beer can in his hand made a slight creaking sound.

"Hasn't the communication blackout zone already been confirmed? As long as they're in the canyon, the signal can't get out."

"Plans can never keep up with changes."

Song Heping's voice was frighteningly calm. He stood up and traced his finger across the map.

“What if the Green Berets detected the ambush beforehand? What if they had hidden relay equipment?” His fingertip hovered over a narrow pass. “Or, even if just one person escapes the canyon and sends out coordinates.”

He listed out all the possible unexpected situations.

The hunter was silent for a moment, the beer can being squeezed so tightly in his hand that it was completely deformed, and the pale yellow liquid dripped through his fingers.

"Then we're all doomed."

As he said this, his eyes were fixed on the marker of a neighboring country's air force base on the map—where two F-15Es, fully loaded with munitions, were parked.

Song Heping's gaze shifted to the red marker, his eyes sharp as knives.

"We need insurance."

"What kind of insurance?" The hunter frowned.

Song Heping didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked to the tent entrance, lifted a corner to confirm no one was watching, and then turned back to the hunter and whispered, "Go and call Ferrari over now."

A hint of doubt flashed in the hunter's eyes, but he nodded nonetheless. As he turned to leave, he casually tossed the crushed beer can into the trash can, the metallic clanging sound particularly jarring in the quiet night.

A few minutes later, a thin figure silently entered the tent.

Ferrari pushed up his tactical glasses on the bridge of his nose; the lenses reflected the light of the kerosene lamp, making it impossible to see his eyes.

"Song, you were looking for me?" His voice was soft but unusually clear, and he glanced down at his watch.

Clearly, they must have an urgent mission to contact him so late at night. Song Heping gestured for him to sit down, then took out a hand-drawn map from his tactical bag and spread it on the table.

The map was densely marked with various symbols and routes, its edges already worn. "I need you to leave tonight and return to Darfur."

Both Ferrari and the hunter were taken aback.

"Now?" the hunter couldn't help but ask, his voice unconsciously rising a few decibels. "So soon!?"

Song Heping's gaze was like a knife: "It's precisely because time is so tight that I need the Ferrari back in Darfur immediately."

Ferrari asked, "What do you want me to go back for?"

“Go back to your camp in the Akhenate Oasis in Darfur and transport the remaining two SAM-6 missile systems from near our camp here overnight.”

The hunter suddenly stood up, the chair screeching as it did so.

"You want to shoot down an F-15E with a SAM-6?" His voice was filled with disbelief.

Ferrari shook his head and said, "It's not that it's impossible, but the chances of shooting down an F-15E with a SAM-6 missile are very low."

He turned to Song Heping, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "If the F-15E carries anti-radiation missiles, the SAM-6 will be doomed if it can't hit itself."

Song Heping was well aware that Ferrari's concerns were not unfounded.

The SAM-6 has a range of 5-25 kilometers, which should be sufficient for firing. However, due to its early design, it has relatively weak anti-jamming capabilities.

During the Middle East wars, it was suppressed by the Hebrew electronic warfare, resulting in an interception failure rate as high as 80%.

Furthermore, the F-15E is equipped with the AN/ALQ-128 electronic warfare suite, which can interfere with the lock-on of radar-guided missiles.

If the SAM-6 uses conventional radar guidance, the F-15E can evade the attack by releasing flares or activating electronic countermeasures. By making sharp turns, dropping infrared flares, or quickly leaving the range, the probability of being hit can be significantly reduced.

"Don't worry, the SAM-6s on the ground will not be attacked."

Song Heping's voice was unusually firm, "Because the government forces on the Sena side simply don't have an effective air defense system, let alone a SAM-6. I estimate that the two F-15Es deployed will only be carrying precision-guided bombs to target ground personnel."

A brief silence fell over the tent, broken only by the incessant buzzing of mosquitoes and the occasional changing of the guard command from afar.

Ferrari nodded slowly, his fingers tapping lightly on the map, as if he were calculating something.

"All right."

He finally spoke, "I'm leaving now, I'm going to Darfur right away."

He stood up, moving as nimbly as a cat, and stopped abruptly at the tent entrance. "How many men do you need me to take?"

“Just you. When you come back, take a missile operations platoon and a special operations platoon with you.” Song Heping’s voice left no room for argument. “Remember, the quieter the better. This matter must be kept strictly confidential. Otherwise, if word gets out, the Americans will have an inside man in Sena as well.”

Ferrari lifted the curtain, and the night wind immediately rushed in.

A shooting star streaks across the night sky, disappearing in an instant.

Watching the Ferrari disappear into the darkness, Song Heping murmured:
"The day after tomorrow, either we leave with our payment, or..."

He didn't finish speaking, but the hunter understood.

Or they will become just another pile of unclaimed bones in the desolate wasteland of Sena.

The hunter took another can of beer and lightly tapped it against Song Heping's; the sound of metal clashing was particularly crisp in the quiet night.

"To survive and get the money."

Song Heping forced a smile, a hint of weariness flashing in his eyes: "To survive."

Outside the tent, the night was as dark as ink, and the distant mountains resembled lurking giants.

In the unseen distance, two F-15E Strike Eagles lay silently on the runway, awaiting any possible call-up.

That would be the biggest threat to Song Heping and the "Musician" defense operation.

(End of this chapter)