Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 959 Key Points

General Lumar's forward command post in northern Senegal.

This place is less a command post and more a fortified stronghold built on an abandoned mine.

The mine shafts deep into the mountain were temporarily set up as a command post and barracks, with sandbags and large logs piled up at the entrance, and heavy machine guns mounted on them.

The air inside the cave was thick and murky, filled with the smells of sweat, cheap tobacco, and engine oil. Under the dim emergency lights, the staff officers sat around a huge wooden map table covered in scratches and stains, the atmosphere as oppressive as a stuffy can before a storm.

In the center of the command post, General Lumar stood like a lion trapped in an iron cage.

He was a burly man, wearing camouflage uniform stained with mud, the stars on his shoulders somewhat dim in the light.

He braced his hands on the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white from the force, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the old television screen hanging on the rock wall.

On the screen, Duer's tear-streaked face and his hoarse, desperate resignation statement played on repeat.

"Coward! Trash!!"

Lumar suddenly roared, like the howl of a wounded beast, causing dust to fall from the cave ceiling.

He grabbed a heavy iron ashtray and smashed it hard against the TV screen!

"Bang—crash!"

The screen shattered instantly and went black.

Duer's humiliated face finally disappeared, leaving only a few twisted sparks of electricity flickering in the darkness.

The ashtray rolled to the ground with a dull thud.

The entire command post fell silent instantly; all the officers held their breath, trembling with fear.

Lumar's chest heaved violently, and his heavy breathing was exceptionally clear in the silent cave.

He whirled around, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over the staff officers standing at their sides by the map table, his gaze so fierce it seemed he wanted to devour them.

"Are you all mute?! Speak up!!"

He roared, spitting almost onto the face of the nearest major.

"What did the British say? Where are those fence-sitters in the AU?! Where are our 'allies'?! Where is the support they promised?! Where the hell is it?!"

A suffocating silence.

Only the faint buzzing sound of the emergency lights could be heard.

Finally, the intelligence officer, a pale-faced captain wearing glasses, stepped forward with a stiff upper lip and reported in a dry voice: "General... London... replied that... they are actively engaging in 'the most active diplomatic efforts' with the UN and the African Union, calling for 'joint pressure from the international community'... but... the proposal to form a peacekeeping force... has been temporarily... shelved at the Security Council due to opposition from the French..."

"Shelved?!"

Lumar's voice suddenly rose, filled with unbelievable rage, "What do you mean by 'suspended'?! What about their promised military support?!"

"British special forces and Royal Marines have made deployments in the Sahel region..."

The operations staff cautiously added, "But... General... they didn't enter Sena because the closest land route is through Darfur in Sudan, which is... Song Heping's territory... However, they said that's already a deterrent..."

"Deterrence? What the hell is that?! Does someone like Song Heping fear deterrence?! He's the kind of guy who dares to kill even Delta Force!"

Lumar kicked over a folding chair next to him, the metal hitting the rock wall with a piercing noise.

"Are you trying to show me the scenery from hundreds of kilometers away?!"

He waved his arms furiously, “We’re here taking the brunt of those rebel gunfire! That idiot Duer is finished! That puppet Isis is sitting in the presidential palace! And us?! We’ve become the ‘rebels’ in their eyes!!”

He pointed to the northern area on the map, which Isis had marked as "rebel-controlled territory," his fingers trembling violently with anger.

"General, we still have six brigades!"

A young major, his face etched with the marks of war, couldn't help but speak, his eyes burning with resentment.

"The terrain in the northern mountains is complex, making it easy to defend but difficult to attack! The government army's tanks can't get up there! As long as we can hold the supply lines and drag it out! Drag it out until the international pressure is high enough! Drag it out until the British and Americans have no choice but to get involved! Drag it out until those fence-sitters in the African Union realize the wind is blowing! Then we'll have a chance to turn the tide!"

"drag?"

Lumar abruptly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the young officer, his gaze seeming to want to devour him.

He approached step by step, his heavy military boots clattering on the gravel, the immense pressure causing the major to involuntarily take a step back.

"What are you going to use to drag it?! Huh?!"

Lumar's voice was hoarse and filled with malice, like sandpaper scraping against the ground. "How long can our ammunition last?! What about medicine?! What about food?! What about the soldiers' morale?! Look outside!"

He pointed sharply toward the mine entrance, as if he could see through the thick rock walls to the exhausted and desperate soldiers outside.

"Song Heping's drones are buzzing around us like flies! His men are infiltrating like ghosts! He's cut off three of our supply lines! That idiot Duer's bullshit agreement has sent all international aid to ISIS! We've been abandoned by the whole world! We've become meat on his chopping block!!"

He grabbed the major by the collar, almost lifting him off the ground, spitting in his face: "Turning the tide? An opportunity?! Let me tell you! Our only 'opportunity' now is to gamble! Gamble that the British and Americans won't give up this piece of fat meat in West Africa! Gamble that the French can't support ISIS, that empty shell! Gamble that the African Union will eventually succumb to the pressure and send troops! Gamble that Song Heping won't really push me to the brink and fight me to the death!!"

Lumar shoved the major away violently.

The major stumbled and crashed into the rock wall, his face deathly pale.

Lumar, panting heavily, paced back and forth in the cramped command post like a trapped beast on the verge of madness, each step heavy enough to crush the ground.

"Send the order!"

He abruptly stopped, his voice carrying a desperate resolve, "Contract the defenses! Abandon all outer outposts! Concentrate our forces and hold the core defense zones one and two! Drag out all the heavy weapons from the warehouses! Landmines, booby traps, fill every passageway! Tell every soldier that there's a cliff behind us! There's no turning back! Either hold on and wait for a turning point! Or..." A hint of almost ferocious madness flashed in his eyes, "...and drag enough of them down with us to hell!"

The staff officers turned pale, exchanged bewildered glances, and finally responded in unison, "Yes, General!"

The order was passed on quickly.

From deep within the mine came the chaotic sounds of soldiers running and the clanging of weapons, a desperate yet fierce atmosphere born of being driven to the brink.

Lumar walked back to the map table, his calloused fingers pressing heavily on the red area marked "rebels," his fingers trembling slightly.

He's gambling.

It is hoped that international intervention will be like a giant hammer falling from the sky, shattering Song Heping's wishful thinking.

He didn't know how much longer he could hold on, but he had no other choice.

Either win everything back, or... be shattered to pieces.

The presidential palace in Seine, the capital of the country.

Although the horrific sight of the main building's spire being blown off is still shocking, some core areas inside have been quickly cleared and have been barely restored to basic functionality.

Isis sat in a makeshift, relatively tidy office.

His face showed undisguised fatigue, but his eyes were unusually firm, even sharp.

Sitting opposite me were two men in neatly pressed dark suits, exuding a sharp and capable air; they were senior special envoys from the French DGSE (Directorate General for External Security).

"President Isis."

The older special envoy, codenamed "Lyon," had a deep, magnetic voice, exuding French elegance.

"First of all, please allow me, on behalf of the French Republic, to extend my sincerest congratulations and support to you."

He bowed slightly.

Isis nodded, a reserved and restrained smile on her face: "Thank you to the French Republic and DGSE for their valuable support at this critical moment."

He was alluding to the powerful propaganda offensive launched by the DGSE through channels such as AFP, which portrayed the Touré government as utterly worthless while cloaking him in the guise of a "legitimate successor" and a "hope for peace."

“This is what we should do, Mr. President.”

Lyon smiled slightly and said bluntly, "The friendship between your family and our country, as well as our common interests, are worth defending together."

He then shifted his tone, becoming serious and concerned, "Currently, your primary task is to consolidate your power and stabilize the domestic situation. We have noticed that General Lumar and the rebel forces under his control are still putting up a stubborn resistance in the east, which poses a serious threat to your authority. At the same time, diplomatic pressure and military deterrence from Britain and the United States are like a Damocles' sword hanging over your head."

He leaned forward slightly, looking directly at Isis: "DGSE can provide more in-depth intelligence support, helping you to grasp the detailed deployment, supply status, and internal movements of the Lumar rebels. We can also use our special channels in West Africa to influence Lumar and cut off any external aid he might receive. Of course, all of this will be done in the most covert way possible, to ensure that it does not damage your government's image or international standing."

Isis listened intently, her fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the smooth tabletop.

He knew that the French support was not a free lunch; they were after Seine's rich mineral resources and its strategic position in West Africa.

But at this moment, he needs this powerful external support.

"Intelligence support is crucial."

Isis spoke, her voice clear and calm, "Lumaar is the most stubborn remnant of the former regime; his very existence is a huge threat to national stability. As for external pressure..."

A barely perceptible glint flashed in his eyes. "I believe the international community will eventually recognize the truth. The African Union's attitude will be key."

"You are absolutely right."

The young commissioner next to Lyon, codenamed "Marseille," seemed more adept at the operational level. "The African Union is not a monolithic entity. We are actively mediating, leveraging historical ties and economic cooperation to gain more understanding and support for your legitimate government from African countries. I believe that with our influence in Africa, this is not difficult to achieve."

“Especially those countries that also face internal instability can better appreciate the importance of a government committed to stability. Lumar came to power through a coup and has long been labeled a ‘rebel,’ which has already cost him a lot of international moral standing.”

Isis understood.

The French not only helped him build public opinion, but also worked behind the scenes to divide and win over African Union member states, attempting to undermine the British and American efforts to push the African Union to intervene militarily.

This is a diplomatic war fought without the smoke of gunpowder.

“Thank you very much for your comprehensive support.” Isis stood up and extended her hand. “The people of Seine will remember true friends. Currently, stabilizing the capital and surrounding areas, restoring basic livelihoods, and exposing the destructive acts of the Lumar rebels are my priorities. Specific counter-insurgency operations…”

He didn't finish his sentence, but his eyes already showed that the initiative in the military operation was actually firmly in the hands of another person.

Lyon and Marseille, understanding each other perfectly, stood up and shook hands with Isis.

“We fully understand, Mr. President. We will coordinate with Mr. Song, please rest assured. We wish you all the best.”

The two bowed slightly, bid farewell, and left.

The office door closed gently.

Isis slowly sat back down in her chair. The determination and composure she had shown earlier faded, replaced by a deep weariness.

He rubbed his temples, his gaze falling on the city outside the window, still shrouded in smoke and ruins.

The title of president carries the weight of a mountain, and the support of the French people is like a rose with thorns. The real test has only just begun.

Whether she can manage the domestic chaos and balance the various forces depends on that man from the East.

That person is the true supreme ruler of the Republic of Sena at present.

(End of this chapter)