Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 919 The enemy is now
At this moment, a suffocating silence filled the rooftop.

The lingering smell of gunpowder in the air, mixed with dust and some indescribable burnt smell, irritated the nasal cavity.

The debris scattered among the rubble, and the brains and blood splattered everywhere, seemed to silently tell the story of the chaos that had just ended.

Song Heping bent down and picked up the dusty observation mirror from the cold ground.

He pressed himself against the rough brick wall of the fence and carefully peered out through the observation scope.

In the field of vision, about two hundred meters away, a three-story building stands out abruptly among several low-rise buildings.

The building was dilapidated, most of the windows were broken, and the dark holes resembled lifeless eye sockets. The dense gunfire was coming from there.

"The firefight was 200 meters away from us, in that three-story building."

Song Heping's voice was low and steady, as if stating a given fact. He didn't turn around; his gaze remained fixed on the target area behind his glasses.

"There are probably 1515 people inside. It seems Eames and his men are in trouble."

After saying that, he gently tossed the AK-12 assault rifle behind him, the movement as fluid as breathing.

His gaze then fell on the SVD sniper rifle covered in mud on the ground.

He crouched down, picked up the sniper rifle covered in dust and blood, and gently pulled the bolt.

"Click"

A crisp metallic clang rang out clearly in the silent air.

He opened the chamber, leaned closer, and carefully examined it in the dim light—the golden, ready-to-fire bullet gleamed coldly inside the chamber, the rifling was clean, without any trace of copper or dirt.

The firearm is in good condition.

After confirming that everything was correct, he slowly pushed the bolt up, and the "click" of the bolt locking was like announcing that the Grim Reaper's scythe had been drawn.

He quickly found a stable foothold and set up the heavy SVD rifle.

For a sniper like him, 200 meters is practically next door.

Without complex weather interference or annoying crosswinds, the target building was as clear as a paper target on a shooting range.

He took a deep breath, his chest slowly expanding, then held it. His cheek pressed against the cold stock of the rifle, and his right eye approached the PSO-1 optical sight.

The world divided by a cross instantly replaced reality.

The image in the mirror is magnified and brought closer.

Broken windows, walls riddled with bullet holes, a fleeting shadow at the corner of the stairs...

His brain is like a high-speed, sophisticated computer, rapidly scanning, analyzing, and filtering.

In just a few seconds, he locked onto three clear targets, as if they were firmly bound to the center of the cross by invisible threads.

There are three idiots.

Song Heping's voice was barely audible, more like he was stating a fact to himself that was about to happen. There was no contempt in his tone, only a cold assessment.

The prey is now in the trap.

The first target: an armed man dressed in a dark robe and wearing a black turban, standing at the corner of the second-floor staircase. He leaned out halfway and opened fire with his AK rifle at an unseen location below, the muzzle flash flickering in the dim stairwell.

He was clearly engrossed in his suppressive firepower and completely unaware that he had made a fatal mistake—he had chosen a position with his back to a large, open window.

Outside the window was a relatively bright sky, and his silhouette, set against the window frame, became an incredibly clear and unobstructed figure.

"Position exposed, dynamic stability, with a light source behind forming a perfect silhouette..."

A textbook mistake.

This stupid donkey is too focused on the enemy in front of it, forgetting that the real threat could come from any direction. Well, that's good, saves trouble…”

He slightly adjusted the muzzle and steadily aimed the second inverted V-shaped arrow in the scope, which indicated a distance of 200 meters (the PSO-1's reticle has multiple distance marking arrows), at the swaying black figure.

The heart region of the target undulates slightly at the center of the crosshairs.

Song Heping's index finger was already pressed against the trigger, ready to fire. His breath had stopped the moment he aimed, and his body seemed to merge with the rubble beneath him and the steel in his hand.

All that remains in the world is that silhouette and the intersection of the crosshairs.

bah—

The SVD's distinctive, dull yet highly penetrating gunshots suddenly shattered the brief silence!
In the scope's view, the armed man standing at the corner of the stairs suddenly lunged forward!
It felt as if I had been struck hard in the back by an invisible giant hammer.

His firing motion froze instantly, and the AK rifle slipped from his hand, tumbling down the stairs with a clang.

Immediately afterwards, his body lost all support and slumped forward, his upper body landing heavily on the cold metal stair railing, his head drooping limply.

A few seconds later, gravity took effect, and his body slowly slid down the handrail, finally collapsing onto the stair steps with a "thud," curling up in a ball and remaining motionless.

A dark red liquid quickly spread across the steps beneath him.

Having landed a successful blow, Song Heping's breathing remained perfectly steady.

He didn't bother looking at the final outcome of the first objective; it was pointless. His mind, like a precise clock, had already calculated everything.

The muzzle moved slightly to the lower left with minimal amplitude and the most precise angle.

The crosshairs barely left the target building before spotting his second target—behind a similarly broken window on the other side of the second floor.

The gunshot is the signal.

If your accomplice downstairs is suddenly shot and falls to the ground, what will be the first reaction of the enemy upstairs?
panic?

Looking for cover? No, for these untrained fanatics, the more likely reaction is to instinctively rush over to check on their comrades!

This is a basic human reaction, especially when people are inside buildings where they feel safe.

Song Heping bet that he would make a move and that he would be exposed.

He made the right bet.

Everything went as he predicted!
Before the echo of the gunshot had even faded, a figure appeared behind the window.

An armed man, also wearing a turban, was peeking towards the stairwell with obvious astonishment and a hint of panic on his face. Then, he seemed to see his comrade fall to the ground, his body jolted, and he instinctively rushed towards the stairwell!
He completely forgot about finding cover, exposing his entire upper body to the window in an attempt to see what was happening downstairs.

"idiot."

Song Heping coldly uttered two words in his heart.

Opportunities are fleeting.

The moment the target rushed into the corridor, his figure appeared exactly where Song Heping had already anticipated.

The muzzle didn't even need to be moved or adjusted much; with just the slightest coordination of the wrist and shoulder, the center point of the crosshairs was once again firmly locked onto the middle of the running figure's torso.

bah—

The second shot rang out almost immediately!

The SVD let out another muffled roar.

Through the scope, the militant who rushed out looked as if he had been hit by a speeding car, and he fell forward violently!
The immense impact lifted his feet off the ground, causing him to briefly lose his balance in mid-air before crashing heavily forward to the ground!
He didn't even have time to let out a complete scream.

Driven by inertia, the body slid for more than two meters across the dusty and gravelly corridor floor, leaving a shocking drag mark, before finally coming to a stop near the stairwell, motionless.

The headscarf fell away, revealing half of a young but lifeless face.

After eliminating the two targets on the second floor, Song Heping's actions were swift and decisive.

Like the most precise machine, his arm muscles tensed instantly, and the muzzle of the gun rose upward in a smooth and swift arc!

The PSO-1 scope rapidly swept upwards, past the mottled walls and broken window frames, instantly locking onto the edge of the third-floor rooftop.

Two people fell to the ground on the second floor in quick succession, and the gunshots were clearly audible.

The sentry on the third floor couldn't possibly be completely unaware, but how would he make his judgment?

The sound of a sniper rifle?

He definitely needed to confirm the situation, and the most likely action he would take was to peek out and observe the direction from which the gunshot was coming!

And Song Heping was right in front of him.

really!

Just as Song Heping raised his gun, a figure appeared behind the low wall at the edge of the third-floor rooftop.

It was a sentry on guard duty. He had clearly heard two gunshots in the distance and the sound of his comrade falling to the ground downstairs. His face was filled with confusion and vigilance as he nervously looked around, trying to determine the source of the gunshots.

His gaze first swept across the street below, then extended to the more distant blocks, and finally, with a hint of hesitation and unease, landed on the five-story building where Song Heping and Utkin were hiding!
The moment his gaze focused on it, the face, completely covered by a black scarf and headscarf, revealing only a pair of surprised and uncertain eyes, was directly facing Song Heping's gun muzzle!
Distance, angle, and the target's dynamics—all reached a perfect synergy at this moment.

Song Heping's eyes were devoid of any emotion; his heart was like a deep, still well, reflecting only the cold crosshairs and the life that was about to vanish.

The pre-pressed index finger completed the final stroke without hesitation.

bah—

The third bullet burst from the barrel with a deathly shriek!

The scope's field of view wobbled slightly.

Song Heping clearly saw that the sentry on the third floor suddenly jerked his head back!
The immense kinetic energy of the 7.62x54mm R rifle bullet slammed into his skull like an invisible hammer.

The black headscarf was instantly torn and blown away! A large piece of skull, mixed with red and white material, was violently ejected backward and upward in a fan shape under the impact of the bullet, drawing a brief but cruel arc in the afternoon sunlight.

The headless corpse swayed stiffly for a moment, then, as if all its bones had been removed, it slumped limply to the edge of the rooftop, its lower body still hanging from the low wall, while its upper body hung limply down. Three shots.

Three corpses.

It felt like less than ten seconds had passed.

Song Heping slowly loosened his grip on the trigger, letting out the breath he had been holding in his chest.

He held the shoulder-mounted position for a few seconds, his sharp eyes quickly scanning all the windows and possible firing ports of the target building through the scope again, confirming that there was no longer any threat.

Then, he carefully ejected the bullet, switched off the safety, his movements still steady, as if the lightning-fast sniper kill just now was just a routine training exercise.

He straightened up and gently leaned the warm SVD sniper rifle against the wall.

He took the walkie-talkie from his waist, pressed the call button, and his voice regained its usual calmness, even carrying a hint of undeniable decisiveness:

"Jiang Feng, drive the car to the point of engagement and give them a shock." The order was concise and clear.

He knew Jiang Feng would understand what "shock" meant—the 12.7 caliber heavy machine gun mounted on that pickup truck was enough to sweep away the remaining resistance with a storm of metal, declaring that the "Death Squad" had taken over the battlefield.

After saying that, he bent down, picked up another captured SVD from the ground, and hung it on his shoulder along with his own.

The heavy gun gave him a sense of weightlessness, yet it also provided a strange sense of security. He quickly gathered the few SVD magazines scattered on the ground and stuffed them into the ammunition pouch on his tactical vest.

After doing all this, he turned to Utkin, who had been silently standing by with a complex expression:
“Let’s go, let’s go take a look over there.” His tone was casual, as if he were merely inviting his companion to see a scenic spot.

Utkin witnessed the entire event.

From the moment Song Heping picked up the SVD, to the three gunshots rang out with extremely short intervals, like the knocking of death, and then to Song Heping's terrifyingly calm expression at this moment.

Even this former GRU special forces member, a veteran who had experienced the Chechen hell, couldn't help but let a barely perceptible look of awe flash in his eyes.

He nodded, saying nothing more, but tightened his grip on the AK in his hand, indicating that he was ready.

The two walked down the rubble-strewn stairs, one after the other.

They had only gone halfway down when a deafening roar, like the pounding of a drum, came from not far away—

Thud thud thud!
All of them!
That was the distinctive roar of a 12.7mm heavy machine gun—deep, continuous, and with an aura of annihilation.

The whistling of bullets tearing through the air and the cracking of buildings being blasted together announced that Jiang Feng's "Death Squad" was clearing the battlefield in the most violent way.

Song Heping's steps did not falter in the slightest.

He understood Jiang Feng, and trusted the veterans of the "Death Squad" who had been tempered in blood and fire.

They will handle everything.

However, the heavy gloom in my heart did not dissipate because of this brief tactical victory.

Today has been incredibly unlucky.

He thought to himself.

Having driven only about 100 kilometers from their temporary outpost in Latakia, on the outskirts of Isriyah, a so-called "gateway town," they ran right into the advance detachment of the 1515 terrorist organization.

In a sudden and unexpected encounter, although they annihilated the enemy thanks to their speed of reaction and superior firepower, the cost was the death of two soldiers from the "Death Squad".

Issam's elite government special forces team now has only 10 men left.

There are still more than 300 kilometers to go before reaching Deir ez-Zor. How many rebel groups and terrorists will we encounter along the way?
No one could have predicted it.

How many members of the "Death Squad" will be left when they arrive in Deir ez-Zor?

Song Heping dared not think about it in detail, nor did he want to.

Thinking about these things now will only increase your stress.

"never mind."

He forced himself to clear his mind and his gaze sharpened again.

Once they reach Deir ez-Zor, they can rendezvous with the main force of the Wakna mercenaries who are coming from the direction of Damascus.

Even a battalion-sized Wakna mercenary force, no matter what, is far superior in combat effectiveness and organization to the demoralized troops of the Celia government army.

But the scene in Isliya town before him made Song Heping feel very depressed.

This place should have been an important gateway and strategic stronghold protecting Latakia.

However, along the way, apart from the devastation and terrified civilians fleeing in panic, Song Heping did not see a single living government soldier, or even a corpse of a government soldier!
The only sight was of civilians lying in pools of blood. Although the buildings in the town were dilapidated, the bullet holes were not particularly dense, and most of the main structures were still intact, far from the appearance of having experienced fierce urban warfare.

This was completely different from previous experiences fighting the "Free Army" on the outskirts of Latakia—those opposition armed groups preferred to use suicide bombs and heavy artillery to wipe out the resistance fighters along with the buildings.

Therefore, we can infer...

The defending troops here, the so-called 12th Armored Division, probably didn't put up any decent resistance at all. They fired a few token shots, and when they saw things weren't going well, they slipped away.

An army whose fighting spirit to defend its own territory has been so low that it can't even be bothered to build decent fortifications...

This country is probably much more likely to lose the entire civil war than we imagine.

Song Heping's heart sank little by little.

Was it really wise for the cook and his Wackernais mercenaries to get involved in such a quagmire?

The thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly suppressed it.

By the time Song Heping and Utkin cautiously reached the point of the firefight at the three-story building, stepping over gravel and bloodstains, Jiang Feng and his men had already largely completed the battlefield cleanup.

The soldiers of the "Death Squad" were searching layer by layer in pairs, covering each other, to make sure no one had escaped.

The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder, mixed with the smell of dust, making it suffocating.

How many terrorists are inside?

Song Heping cut to the chase and asked Jiang Feng, who was directing his men to move a heavy machine gun ammunition belt.

Jiang Feng wiped his sweat and immediately replied, "Not many, thirteen bodies have been found so far. Including the two snipers you took out outside."

He pointed to the direction where Song Heping had sniped the first target in the distance: "There were only fifteen people in total. A small squad."

Fifteen people.

An advance reconnaissance team.

Song Heping silently noted down the number, then turned to Lieutenant Issam, whose face was pale and whose expression was complicated: "Issam, Isriyah is the gateway to Latakia, and its strategic significance is immense. Taking it down would allow us to advance westward directly to the port of Latakia, and southward to threaten the port of Tartus and even Damascus. Don't you have any troops stationed here to defend it? What about the 12th Division? I remember you mentioned that this is their garrison, an armored division..."

As he spoke, he glanced around, his voice carrying an undercurrent of barely suppressed questioning and sarcasm.

"Look here, look at this town! Can you still see a single one of your comrades? Not even a corpse in uniform?"

Issam's face instantly drained of color, his lips trembled, and his eyes were filled with embarrassment, pain, and a profound sense of bewilderment.

He clearly guessed what had happened—his proud army and the government he had sworn allegiance to had chosen a shameful retreat in the face of the enemy.

He shook his head with difficulty, his voice dry and hoarse: "There...there should be...here...but..."

Song Heping sighed.

There's really no need for me to ask too many questions about this.

After all, it's not our own war, it's someone else's war, so we can't let ourselves get carried away.

Moreover, this is not Issam's personal fault; it is the decay of the entire corrupt system.

He patted Issam on the shoulder, lightly, with the reassuring tone of a veteran to a younger man: "It's alright, Issam. It's not your fault."

This statement was addressed not only to Issam, but also, in a way, to the entire country.

He turned to Jiang Feng and gave the order, his voice regaining the clarity of a commander: "Clean up the battlefield and see what ammunition and weapons are still usable, especially heavy machine gun bullets and RPG rocket launchers. Take them to the vehicle. Hurry up, we don't have much time."

"Yes!"

Jiang Feng responded and immediately ordered his men to speed up their actions.

Just then, a soldier from the "Death Squad" came running down from the third floor, panting, clutching a captured, blood-stained portable radio.

The walkie-talkie was emitting a hissing electrical noise, but in the intervals between the noises, one could faintly hear someone calling out in rapid Arabic.

“…Falcon! Falcon! This is ‘Sandstorm’! Respond if you hear me! How is Isriye? Repeat, how is Isriye? Reply if you receive! Over!” An anxious voice kept repeating.

Song Heping's Arabic proficiency was sufficient for him to understand the conversation.

His expression changed instantly.

The other side was clearly calling out to the 1515 squad (codenamed "Falcon") that they had wiped out.

The caller identified himself as "Sandstorm," and judging from the content of his inquiry and his tone, he was the superior unit of this small team!
"...'Sandstorm' calls all units. The Falcon Squadron's reconnaissance mission in Isriyah has exceeded its allotted time by one hour. The last communication reported that the town's garrison appears to have collapsed, with a large number of civilians fleeing... They may have encountered an accident... All units, prepare for battle! Proceed to the town and establish outposts as planned! Over!"

The fragmented call information, pieced together, revealed a chilling truth—

The 15-man squad that they wiped out was just a reconnaissance detachment sent out by a company-level unit of the 1515 Armed Forces (codenamed "Sandstorm") to explore the way!
Their mission was merely to probe the defenses of the town of Isliya!
The test yielded the results just as Song Heping had predicted—the defending troops collapsed and the civilians fled.

If this 15-man squad hadn't been unable to stop the tens of thousands of people, they probably would have already started a massacre.

They have reported the fact that this place is "easily accessible" to their superiors.

And now, the main force of the "sandstorm" is almost upon us!
Issam, holding the still-scrambling radio, was deathly pale, his voice trembling noticeably: "They...they said it's less than ten kilometers from here...at most...at most a twenty-minute drive..."

He looked at Song Heping, his eyes filled with panic: "What should we do, Mr. Song!"

(End of this chapter)