Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 956 I surrender!
Stepping out of the office, the spacious lobby was a mess.

The exquisite murals were riddled with honeycomb-like holes from bullets, and the magnificent marble pillars were covered with bullet holes and traces of explosion soot.

The fully armed mercenaries, like cold sculptures, used overturned sofas, broken stone pillars, and makeshift sandbags to build a tight defensive perimeter.

The dark muzzles of guns were pointed in all directions of potential threats, and the air was thick with the pungent smells of gunpowder, blood, and dust.

Duer was already at his wit's end; with just this few guards, he couldn't withstand a round of artillery fire from Song Heping.

Once outside the gate, Song Heping returned to the command vehicle, picked up a bottle of mineral water, and took a big gulp. Before he could put the water down, Jiang Feng arrived.

"Old monitor!"

His face was covered in thick jungle camouflage, and sweat mixed with dust etched several deep lines on his skin. Only after confirming that Song Heping was unharmed did he ask, "So? Has that old fox finally bowed his head?"

Song Heping shook his head: "Notify the technical team to cut off all external communication lines of the Presidential Palace, physically isolate it, don't leave a single fiber optic cable. Also, have the sniper team occupy high ground and keep a close watch on every move of the Presidential Palace, don't let a single fly out."

"understand!"

Without the slightest hesitation, Jiang Feng immediately pressed the earpiece, lowered his voice, and quickly transmitted the command. The instruction, like an invisible current, was instantly transmitted through the encrypted channel.

Song Heping stared at the bullet-riddled walls of the presidential palace, constantly thinking about how to get Duer to surrender as soon as possible.

Time is tight.

The British will react quickly.

They have deployed a significant number of special forces units in the Sahel region of Africa.

Once the specific situation here is known, besides pressuring the African Union or the UN through diplomatic means to deal with them, the fastest thing to send over will definitely be British special forces.

The current situation is subject to change at any time.

To avoid any unforeseen complications, Touré must obediently leave the presidential palace and read his resignation via radio or the internet.

If all else fails, we'll probably have to resort to force and just take them out.

That's the worst possible solution.

If Duer dies and the Isis family seizes power forcefully, that would be a classic case of betrayal.

If Toul resigns "voluntarily" and the Isis family takes over power, that would be considered "excessive."

In international politics, every action has profound implications and can lead to different consequences; a small detail can often change the nature of the entire event.

Therefore, the best outcome would be for Duer not to die.

That way, the French partners will have more room to maneuver and more room to maneuver on the international stage.

"polar bear."

"exist!"

The polar bear was right there, waiting for the command.

"Boss, what are the orders?"

"The T-72AV main battle tank that Jiang Feng captured from the garrison barracks..."

Song Heping's gaze lingered on the magnificent yet scarred main building of the Presidential Palace.

"Now, get it moving. Open it to the main gate and fire a shot—"

He raised his finger and pointed steadily to the top of the main building, where the Seine flag flew, symbolizing the spire of the nation's highest power.

"There."

A wolfish glint flashed in the polar bear's eyes—the excitement of a pure, ignited destructive urge.

"Got it! Boss!"

He practically roared it out as he turned and sprinted toward the communications officer's position, yelling into his headset as he ran: "'Anvil!' 'Anvil!' This is 'Hound'! Drive the tanks to the Presidential Palace gate! Target—the spire of the Presidential Palace main building! The highest point! Hurry! Hurry!"

The order was like lighting a fuse.

A moment later, a dull tremor came from the ground.

The tremors were initially faint, like a distant rumble of the earth, but quickly became clear, heavy, and rhythmic.

The heavy steel tracks rolled over the broken marble pavement in front of the presidential palace, making a "crunching" sound as if they were about to crush everything.

A massive steel behemoth tore through the remaining bushes in the garden and roared into the open front yard.

The heavy vehicle body was covered with reactive armor blocks, like the armor plates of an ancient warrior, gleaming with a cold, hard, and greasy black light in the afterglow of the setting sun.

The thick, long 125mm 2A46M smoothbore gun barrel, like the fangs of a dragon, slowly rose, and the muzzle stabilizer emitted a faint hydraulic hum.

The dark muzzle, carrying a suffocating sense of oppression, moved upwards inch by inch, finally locking onto the highest point of the Presidential Palace's main building—the spire where the national flag was hung.

The tank engine roared deep and fiercely, spewing thick black smoke from its exhaust pipe.

On the side of the turret, the conspicuous white number "024" was faintly visible in the smoke and dust.

The gunner's periscope prism reflected the last rays of daylight, like a cold, merciless eye, fixed on the prey's most fatal head.

Inside the main building of the Presidential Palace—the office that symbolizes supreme power—the deathly silence was shattered by the roar of steel coming from outside the window.

Duer sprang up abruptly from the slumped leather chair, as if he had been branded with a hot iron.

He listened intently for a moment, then his face turned deathly pale.

Then, he staggered to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, gripping the cold bulletproof glass tightly with both hands, his fingernails scraping against the glass with a harsh sound.

Below the window, the massive T-72AV tank, like a steel behemoth crawling out of hell, crushed the last remaining exquisite floor tiles in the forecourt with its tracks, kicking up billowing dust.

That thick, long 125mm cannon barrel, exuding an aura of despair, was now slowly and steadily rising, carrying a cold and precise will to die!

The muzzle stabilizer emitted a faint yet extremely penetrating hydraulic hum, like the Grim Reaper's whetstone.

The trajectory of the gun barrel's movement resembled an invisible line of death.

In the end, the dark muzzle locked onto the target with perfect accuracy.

Duer's pupils instantly shrank to the size of pinpoints!

A chilling cold, enough to freeze to the bone, exploded from the soles of his feet, rushing up his spine to the top of his head! He saw it!

He clearly saw the white, cold number on the side of the turret—"024"!
He recognized the car!

These are tanks from the armored battalion directly under the Capital Garrison.

Just three days ago, he personally awarded medals to this battalion.

Now, its dark, gaping cannon muzzle is pointed at itself!

"No...impossible..."

A hoarse, bellowing sound came from Dur's throat, and his body trembled violently. Lumar's armored brigade?
Photos of the siege of the Omarkan Valley?
All false support, all self-deceiving illusions, are crushed to dust before this roaring 125mm cannon!

He lost!
Utter defeat! Even the last ounce of strength to struggle was drained away by that cold cannon barrel!
What wealth, what family, what exile...

None of that matters right now!
Live!
All he wanted was to live!

"Don't fire—!!!"

A heart-wrenching scream, filled with endless fear and despair, suddenly erupted from the depths of Duer's throat.

He used all his strength to frantically wave his arms, pointing towards the door, trying to let the people outside hear his shouts of surrender.

He needs the white flag!
immediately!

immediately!

He wandered around the office like a headless fly, knocking over an expensive antique vase that shattered with a crisp sound.

He lunged at the heavy curtains, trying to tear off a piece of fabric, but the cloth was incredibly tough. He tore at it in vain, letting out desperate sobs.

at this time--

"boom--!!!"

A deafening roar, like the earth shaking, suddenly erupted!
Boom!
A violent explosion came from above, the office roof shook, and cement dust and plaster fell down.

A wave of air swept in.

Duer felt like a withered leaf in a storm, violently blown away by an irresistible force.

His body slammed heavily against the wall, and it felt as if his internal organs had shifted.

The deafening explosion sounded like countless heavy hammers slamming into his eardrums, leaving his mind blank and filled only with a sharp buzzing.

The sky is falling!
This is not a metaphor.

The office’s huge dome, covered with ornate plaster reliefs, shattered and collapsed above his head.

A concrete block the size of a millstone, twisted and broken steel bars...

Like an apocalyptic meteorite, it came crashing down like a torrential downpour, carrying smoke and flames.

He felt the entire room was falling apart, the walls were groaning in a sickening way, and huge cracks were spreading out like a spider web in an instant.

Duer huddled in the corner, clutching his head tightly with both hands, his body curled up in a ball, trembling violently.

His expensive shirt was torn by flying pebbles and covered in dust and dirt. His face was cut in several places by flying debris, and blood mixed with dust flowed down.

The power of that 125mm high-explosive grenade utterly pulverized his last shred of hope and arrogance, along with the office that symbolized power.

Distant water?

Near the fire?

Six armored brigades?
Lumar?
Compared to that devastating roar just now, all of that became the most laughable and powerless babbling.

The cold, stark reality of death had just brushed past his scalp!

Song Heping wasn't negotiating; he was proclaiming a verdict with the muzzle of a cannon!
"Uh...uh..."

Duer let out an unintelligible sob, tears and snot streaming uncontrollably from his throat, mingling with the blood and dust on his face.

He struggled, crawling on his hands and feet through the thick rubble and debris; his expensive leather shoes were long gone.

He had only one thought: Get out! Get out right now!
Surrender to the man who brought destruction!

I'll agree to any conditions!

The door leading from the office to the inner corridor was severely deformed by the shockwave of the explosion and became stuck in the door frame.

Duer slammed the door shut with his shoulder, making dull thuds, but the door didn't budge.

"Help! Help! Where is everyone?!"

He roared in despair, like a dying beast.

Finally, he used all his strength to slam into the cracked decorative panel wall next to him!
The rotten wooden plank shattered with a crack, revealing a narrow hole.

Ignoring the splinters and cuts covering his body, he scrambled through the hole, stumbling and falling into the messy corridor.

The corridor looked like hell.

The emergency lights flashed a ghastly green light, and thick smoke billowed in the broken ceiling space.

The walls were covered with huge cracks, and the gorgeous wallpaper was torn off, hanging like dying butterflies.

Scattered on the ground were fragments of lamps, plaster blocks, and other unidentified debris.

Several surviving presidential guard soldiers, covered in dust and dirt, huddled in a corner, their faces filled with shock and confusion. Their weapons hung limply in their hands, and they did nothing when the president rushed out like a madman.

Duer stumbled forward, the broken glass and sharp pebbles piercing his feet, causing excruciating pain, but he paid no heed.

He rushed to a relatively intact, huge floor-to-ceiling window—a glass door leading to the main balcony.

He saw the T-72AV tank that had brought destruction, its cannon still emitting wisps of smoke.

The cannon barrel appears to be moving slowly again, searching for its next target.

Not far in front of the tank, Song Heping stood and pointed to the location of his office.

That shot just now was a warning...

just now……

He wanted his own life...

Duer's blood seemed to freeze completely in that instant.

An immense fear, like a cold, venomous snake, coiled tightly around his heart.

He suddenly let out a scream that sounded inhuman, and his hands frantically searched his body! White flag!

He needs the white flag!
Nothing at all!

In his desperation, he grabbed the hem of his expensive white shirt, which was already tattered, stained with blood and dust!
With all his might, he ripped the entire front of the shirt off with a "rip"!

The pure white cloth was now stained with dark red bloodstains and dirty gray-black, wrinkled and crumpled, like a filthy shroud.

With trembling hands, Duer raised the "white flag" high, and with every last breath, he cried out the most heart-wrenching and humble scream of his life toward Song Heping:
"Don't fire! Song Heping! Don't fire—!!!"

"I'll sign! I'll sign! I'll sign anything—!!!"

"I surrender! I surrender! I surrender!"

(End of this chapter)