Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 932 Bakdadi's Fury

In the heart of Deir ez-Zor province, eastern Syria.

Here, there is no London rain, only dust and cold moonlight.

A campsite converted from an abandoned oil field complex is nestled among desolate hills.

The walls, made of rammed sand, were riddled with bullet holes and patched up with rags and rusty iron sheets.

The air was thick with cheap diesel fuel, lingering gunpowder smoke, and an indescribable, pungent odor mixed with the smell of blood and sweat.

A huge black flag stood in the center of the camp, fluttering in the hot wind, its distorted white lettering patterns resembling some kind of evil totem.

The largest "command center" in the camp was just a relatively intact brick and stone bungalow.

The room was unbearably hot and stuffy, and the only small window was mostly blocked by a thick blanket, making it dimly lit.

A rough battle map hung on the wall, with territories marked by thumbtacks of different colors.

Several worn-out carpets were laid on the floor.

A man in a dirty white robe, sporting a thick beard, stood with his back to the door, emitting a beast-like roar at a newly delivered intelligence report on the table—

"Useless! A bunch of cursed useless people! Eight hundred men! Eight hundred warriors of Allah! And our best equipment! Just like that... just like that, they were turned to ashes in the sands of Mosul by a bunch of filthy militia?!"

His voice was hoarse and violent, filled with unbelievable anger and a sense of near-collapse and shame.

He is Baghdadi, the self-proclaimed "Caliph" and supreme leader of the 1515 armed forces.

The intelligence report on the table had just arrived and was still fresh; it contained an encrypted battle report about the near annihilation of elite troops in the Mosul direction.

Every word was like a red-hot branding iron, searing into Baghdadi's nerves.

He turned abruptly, his bloodshot eyes bulging with rage, his facial muscles contorted, and his beard trembling violently.

He grabbed a relatively intact clay cup from the table and smashed it against the wall!

"boom!"

With a muffled thud, the cup shattered, scattering brown liquid and fragments everywhere.

"God's wrath will burn them! Burn their souls! Make them wail in the fires of hell for a thousand years!"

He waved his fists, cursing hysterically, spitting as he did so. Like a wounded beast trapped in a cage, he paced back and forth in the small room, his heavy leather boots thumping on the floor.

The disastrous defeat in the Mosul direction not only meant huge losses of personnel and equipment, and was not just a shrinking of territory, but also a heavy blow to his authority and a devastating blow to the morale of the organization!
God cannot shed blood!
The reason why the 1515 militia was able to sweep across northwestern Iligorum and roam the border region of Cyria in the past year and months is because everyone is terrified of the 1515 militia's fighting power and extreme methods, to the point that they are feared by the mere mention of their name.

Now, the militia of the "Iligo Liberation Forces" have made God bleed.

From then on, the invincible golden statue of 1515 would no longer exist.

He desperately needed an outlet, a target for revenge that was substantial and bloody enough!

"Immediately mobilize troops from within Cyria, gathering at least ten thousand men! I will personally lead the charge back to Mosul! Let those filthy infidels taste the wrath of Allah! I will burn down their city and slaughter everyone involved in this attack..."

Just as he was about to be consumed by his own anger, a messenger, dressed in equally filthy clothes but with an even more tense expression, practically tumbled into the room.

He was clutching an envelope tightly in his hand.

"My lord! My lord!"

The messenger's voice trembled with fear and excitement as he lay prostrate on the ground, holding the oilcloth bag high in the air.

"'Dark River'! 'Dark River' has sent the most urgent intelligence! About the Mosul attackers!"

"Dark River"—a mysterious and expensive anonymous intelligence trading network, known for its absolute secrecy and precision.

Baghdadi's furious movements abruptly stopped, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the oilcloth bag, like a hungry wolf eyeing fresh meat.

He snatched it, roughly tore open the envelope, and pulled out a note.

Upon opening, there are only a few lines of text, accompanied by a few blurry but distinctive satellite images.

[Target: Song Heping (nicknamed "Sang," "African Eagle,"...the head of "Musician" defense, and leader of the armed forces in northern Seine)]

[Location: Confirmed to have entered Syrian territory; current area of activity: western Deir ez-Zor province, outside the town of Asara.]

[Intent: To rescue his captured former team member (codename: Cook). Expected hiding/gathering area: Southeast foothills of Gharby Mountain.]

[Related: He planned and directed the Mosul ambush.]

[Information Source: Anonymous (Reliability: Highest)]

Every word was like a heavy hammer blow, striking Baghdadi's heart.

"Song Heping... the African Eagle... is gone..."

Baghdadi spat out the name through gritted teeth, with a deep-seated hatred in his voice.

This name was not unfamiliar to him.

More than two years ago, my hiding place was raided in the border region of Syria, and this was the person who led the team!

“Galby Hill…Ashara…”

Baghdadi suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the huge map of Deir ez-Zor province on the wall.

His gaze swept rapidly across the map, confirming everything.

Mount Gelby, that rugged, desolate, cave-filled mountain range not far from Asara town, was indeed an ideal place to hide and assemble troops!
Now, everything is connected!
"Luring the tiger away from the mountain..."

Baghdadi muttered to himself, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a violent air of sudden realization.

"Good tactic! Using Mosul as bait to lure away our sharpest claws... The real target is Asara! They want to rescue that damned cook and stab us in the back!"

A strong sense of humiliation at being mocked, mixed with the overwhelming rage of Mosul's crushing defeat, instantly overwhelmed his last shred of reason.

"what--!"

He suddenly let out a wounded beast-like howl, slamming his hands hard on the table, making the teacups on it jump.

When he turned around, his bloodshot eyes swept over the several leaders in the room who were trembling with fear and dared not utter a sound. Every syllable was soaked in bloodlust and madness:

"Order!"

His voice had a grating, grinding sound to it.

"Deir ez-Zor! Everyone in the vicinity of Deir ez-Zor who can handle a gun! Immediately! Right now! Move! Target: southeastern foothills of Gelby Mountain! Turn that mountain upside down! Dig three feet into the ground! Find that Song Heping! That bastard! Find him for me!"

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, his bushy beard trembling with excitement: "Assemble! Assemble three thousand men! No! Send everyone who can move! Armored vehicles! Pickups! Heavy machine guns! Mortars! Bring them all! I want to see every stone of Gelby Mountain tremble beneath our feet! I want every scorpion and every snake there to remember this day!"

He abruptly drew his scimitar, inlaid with cheap gems, from his waist, the tip pointing directly at the location of Mount Gelby on the map. His voice was distorted by extreme hatred: "Find him! Surround him! I want him alive! If I can't catch him alive..." He paused, then a hideous grin spread across his face, revealing yellowed teeth.

“Then tear his body to pieces, inch by inch! Grind his bones into powder and scatter them on the land of Mosul, where Allah’s warriors sacrificed themselves! I want everyone to know the consequences of offending the sword of Allah!”

The order spread like wildfire throughout the camp and was then frantically transmitted to ISIS-controlled strongholds throughout Deir ez-Zor province via encrypted radio and motorcycle messengers.

The desolate desert near Deir ez-Zor was suddenly awakened.

The roar of engines brutally tore through the dry air, and rusty, armed pickup trucks with welded machine gun mounts kicked up clouds of yellow dust as they surged out from sand dunes, ruins, and ravines in all directions, merging into turbid torrents of iron.

Armed men with black headscarves and fanatical eyes filled the truck bed, and the cheap ammunition belts reflected a blinding light in the sunlight.

The heavy, black-painted Soviet-made BMP-1 infantry fighting vehicles and their modified truck-mounted guns also groaned heavily, their tracks and tires creaking and groaning as they rolled over the gravel road.

The sandstorm, like a giant yellow dragon, rose and spread across the desert, heading straight for the silent, rugged mountains to the west—the Gelby Mountains.

The air was thick with the smell of cheap diesel, sweat, and a kind of excitement called "revenge."

The aura of death was rapidly closing in on Gelby Hill, carried by the dust kicked up by the convoy.

Seria, west of Deir ez-Zor, in the Gelby Mountains.

Song Heping leaned against a huge rock, anxiously looking at the military watch on his wrist.

Time was slipping away, and dawn was drawing ever closer.

If it's daylight, it means we'll have to wait until sunset again.

At this time, 400 Wakna soldiers were already hiding in the nearby ravines, waiting for their orders to set off for Asara Town to launch a surprise attack and rescue the Wakna mercenaries trapped inside, as well as the cook whose fate was unknown.

The most crucial point now is whether there are any signs that the 1515 armed forces outside Asara town have left.

Once the 1515 militants around Deir ez-Zor and the nearby town of Asara withdraw in large numbers, it means that the effects of the Mosul operation have become apparent, the time is ripe to carry out the planned action, and the operation can proceed with full force.

However, so far, there seems to be no movement...

He had spoken to Samir on the phone just over twenty minutes ago.

The latest news from Mosul is that the "Iligoro Liberation Forces" militia's operation was very successful, and a brilliant ambush wiped out all 800 1515 militants who had pursued them out of the city.

Now, they are organizing forces to launch a new offensive against Mosul. It is estimated that there are less than two hundred 1515 militants left in the city. The recapture of Mosul is almost a certainty.

"Why is there still no movement?"

Song Heping checked his watch again and couldn't help but pick up the radio to ask the outpost: "Jiang Feng, have the 1515 armed members in Asara Town and Deir ez-Zor made any moves?"

"No……"

"Strange……"

"and many more!"

Jiang Feng's tone suddenly became tense.

"They moved! They moved! They moved!"

"is it?"

Song Heping breathed a sigh of relief.

"but……"

Jiang Feng's tone became puzzled.

"It seems they're heading in our direction... Yes! They're coming towards us... No, they're surrounding us!"

"what?!"

Song Heping suddenly stood up and ran quickly toward higher ground.

Why are we heading towards the Gelby Mountains?
If the mission is to defend Mosul, the route should be eastward, while the Gelby Mountains are to the southwest.

Something is wrong!
Two minutes later, he reached the outpost on high ground.

Jiang Feng pointed to the high-powered telescope that had been set up: "Look!"

Song Heping pressed his eyes against the binoculars, looking towards the towns of Deir ez-Zor and Ashar.

Dust billowed across the distant horizon.

Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be yellow sand and dust kicked up by the convoy.

The previously observable 1515 camp has become restless. The sporadic patrols have disappeared, replaced by countless ant-like, rapidly moving figures!

They were pouring out of various scattered camps and fortifications, converging into distinct streams of people.

The pickup truck's engine roared dully in the silent desert night, its headlights deliberately obscured, leaving only two blurry, fast-moving dark green halos.

What made Song Heping frown even more was that several armed pickup trucks painted with black skull and crossbones symbols were towing ZPU-2 twin-barreled anti-aircraft machine guns that should have been deployed at key firing points. These machine guns are usually used by extremists as direct fire. The way these heavy weapons were disassembled and loaded onto the trucks was so fast that it didn't seem like a normal shift change, but rather like a formation to launch an attack.

Abnormal!

Extremely abnormal!

Song Heping unconsciously breathed lighter and slower, but all the muscles in his body were taut like a fully drawn bowstring.

He slowly turned the night vision goggles, his gaze fixed on the final direction of the movement of people and vehicles.

Not heading towards Mosul on the Ilig border!
That direction was completely silent.

But...

east!

It was right in the direction of the main peak of the Gelby Mountains where he was currently hiding!

They're after me!

"Damn it! They know we're here!"

Song Heping cursed fiercely.

"We suspect we've been betrayed!"