Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 963 Estrangement
"Stop focusing on the missile system, listen to me."

Song Heping stood in front of the map for a long time before finally turning around and breaking the silence.

He turned the laptop screen on the table so it was facing everyone, pointed to the image on it, and said:
“This place is called the ‘Rift Valley Corridor’.”

His fingers traced a narrow, winding, and rugged dry river valley on the sand table.

"Whether entering Seine by air or land, this is the only route that can avoid most radar and aerial surveillance and facilitate covert ground marches if the SAS wants to reach the north and join up with Lumar's troops. This is the only way for them to quickly rendezvous with Lumar after their airborne landing. The valley is narrow, with high ground on both sides... it's a natural slaughterhouse."

Song Heping's words were like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, instantly stirring up waves in the command post.

All eyes were focused on the narrow "rift corridor," and the anger in their eyes was replaced by a purer, colder hunting desire.

The hunter grinned and said, "The Rift Corridor...a good place."

He whispered, then his voice suddenly rose, becoming resolute, each word like a bullet being quenched.

"Let's choose this place! Let's give them a 'welcome ceremony'!"

"Collins, Klein!"

"To!"

The two of them stood up straight instantly.

"You will personally lead two missile batteries forward! Take all the mobile 'SA-6' launchers and search radars! Deploy them at this high point, five kilometers behind the valley exit."

Song Heping pointed heavily at a hilly area at the end of the sand table valley.

"Activate the radar on my orders! Your mission is simple—keep the 'typhoon' that the British might fly in from the Red Sea firmly outside! Not even a fly is allowed to interfere with our 'feast'! Stinger squad, spread out as close-range reinforcements, focusing on preventing low-altitude surprise attacks!"

"Understood! Turn all their iron birds into bonfires in the valley!"

A fanatical light blazed in Jiang Feng's eyes.

"Polar Bear! Hunter! Queen!"

"Boss!"

The two responded simultaneously.

"The highlands on both sides of the valley are yours! White Bear, lead the main force to the left flank, construct anti-infantry and anti-armor fortifications, and nail them down! Hunter, your men are responsible for the right flank, advance covertly, lay mines, set up booby traps, and monitor any possible infiltration reconnaissance teams! I want them to be met with a rain of stones overhead and hellfire beneath their feet the moment they step into the valley! Crush their airdropped elites to the bottom of the valley!"

Song Heping's voice carried the scent of iron and blood.

"Hurrah! Let the British taste the Siberian cold wave!"

The polar bear roared excitedly.

The hunter simply nodded emphatically.

"Henry!"

Song Heping's gaze fell on the Ferrari that had been silent in the corner.

Henry, who had been tinkering with his computer with his head down, looked up and said, "Boss, I'll keep an eye on satellite and electronic intelligence support."

Ferrari said, "Our Russian crew from the aviation division is already on their way and will arrive in Seine tonight. They are technically skilled and familiar with the MiG-23s in the Seine Air Force. They will take over the main force of the Seine Air Force and be responsible for commanding this operation."

Song Heping's eyes flashed with a sharp light: "Good! Have them head to the airport immediately after landing, fill up their tanks with fuel and ammunition, and be ready to go at any time! Tell them that after this job, the commission will be doubled! But if they mess up..."

His tone suddenly turned fierce, "I'll stuff them into the rocket pod and shoot them out!"

After saying that, he clapped his hands twice and shouted, "Everyone, follow my orders and immediately begin preparations for action. From now on, everyone is on high alert. I have received word that the British will make their move within two days."

"Song, there's something else."

A hint of worry appeared on Ferrari's face.

"Now everyone knows about your 'resurrection,' and if the Americans get involved..."

At this point, the worry on his face deepened.

"Don't worry about that. I've already made arrangements to prevent them from joining forces for the time being."

Ten minutes later.

The command, like an invisible current, instantly activated the massive war machine.

Covered in camouflage netting, the SAM-6 missile launchers and Stratola radar vehicles roared toward their designated positions like steel behemoths under the cover of night, their heavy tracks crushing gravel and bushes, leaving deep ruts.

Meanwhile, in the jagged hilly area on both sides of the "Rift Corridor", countless figures crawled like worker ants.

With his shirt off, Bai Xiong personally directed his soldiers to dig machine gun emplacements and anti-tank missile launch positions in the crevices of the rocks.

Heavy sandbags were piled up and covered with camouflage netting, leaving only narrow firing ports.

Anti-personnel directional mines were carefully laid on steep slopes, their tripwires as thin as hair, almost invisible in the starlight.

On the right wing, the hunter and his men blended into the darkness like ghosts.

They moved nimbly and were highly experienced, laying booby traps along the edge of the valley and along possible infiltration routes—a seemingly casually discarded Soviet-made F-1 "Lemon" grenade with its pull ring connected to a nearby dead branch by a thin wire; pressure-activated mines were shallowly buried under soft sand, covered with carefully selected fallen leaves; and bounding mines were placed in narrow rock crevices, ready to unleash a fan-shaped spray of deadly steel balls once triggered.

The hunter himself lay like a rock on a cliff observation point with excellent visibility, the cold eyepiece of the high-powered night vision device pressed against his eyes, not missing a single rustling sound in the valley below.

Time flew by amidst the tense preparations.

At three in the morning, the air was icy cold.

On two makeshift runways at an airfield in southern Senegal, two rugged MiG-23 fighter jets, exuding a strong Cold War steely aura, landed one after another amidst a piercing whistle, kicking up clouds of dust.

The old, faded paint on the fuselage still faintly shows the red five-pointed star, but it is now covered by the hastily painted Seine interim government logo.

Two burly Russian pilots jumped down the gangway, their movements slightly stiff.

Captain Vasily, who was leading the group, had the ruggedness typical of Slavs and the weariness of a long flight on his face, but his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's.

"How is the aircraft?"

Jiang Feng was already waiting by the runway, asking two colleagues who had been working in the aviation department of the Venezuelan Special Forces School in South America.

"There's a minor issue, but we brought a mechanics team with us, and they'll work through the night to maintain it." "That's good. The boss said that if you do a good job this time, your commission will double, and it will almost double by the end of the year. If you mess it up, he'll put you on a rocket launch pad and launch you out."

Without any further pleasantries, Jiang Feng directly handed the encrypted tactical tablet to Vasily.

"Target area coordinates, flight path, altitude restrictions, IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) response frequency—all here. Your mission—"

Jiang Feng pointed to the map on the tablet and said, "While the SAS and Lumar's rabble are pinned down at the bottom of the valley by our ground fire, launch a low-altitude raid. Keep the altitude below 200 meters, using the terrain to avoid potential threats. Weapons can use S-24 rocket pods for area-of-effect damage; if necessary, use OFAB-250 bombs to destroy their heavy equipment assembly points. Follow ground guidance, understand? Repeat!"

Vasily quickly scanned the information on the tablet and replied in heavily accented Russian English: "Understood! Low-altitude raid, 100 meters below, follow ground command, rockets and iron bombs! Money in, work well!"

He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco, and patted the MiG-23 fuselage beside him, which was covered with heavy rocket pods.

"Don't let her age fool you, she can still perform a dance of death in my hands!"

Jiang Feng nodded expressionlessly: "Fill up the fuel tanks, stand by. Good luck, Vasily."

He turned and left, leaving the Russian pilots and ground crew to begin the tense final checks and arming of the fighter jet.

Just as troops in all directions were making tense pre-battle preparations, inside the Seine government army's front-line command post, Song Heping walked up to Henry and handed him a USB drive.

"Leak these things out to me via the internet."

"secret?"

Henry took the USB drive, a meaningful smile on his face: "Is it related intelligence from MI6?"

“Hmm.” Song Heping said, “I’ll give those two a little nip in the bud, so they can’t team up against us.”

"OK, I know what to do."

Henry took the USB drive, grinned, and plugged it into his laptop. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he retrieved some top-secret information. Then he activated his stealth software and logged onto the internet…

Inside the underground command post, the strong smell of engine oil and sweat almost solidified.

Henry's fingers flew across the keyboard, so fast they were just blurs, the screen's blue light reflecting his amused smile.

The USB drive that Song Heping handed over was currently plugged into his heavily encrypted laptop.

"Tsk tsk, boss, this gift of yours is hot to handle."

Shortly after, Henry whistled, and a list of encrypted files and audio waveforms scrolled rapidly across the screen.

“MI6’s ‘dirty gloves,’ Ms. M’s icy tone… and the ‘friendly’ phone records with you. The CIA’s expression would be priceless if they saw their ‘number one terrorist’ stabbing themselves in the back with their ‘closest’ ally, MI6.”

Song Heping stood expressionless to the side, his gaze sharp as a hawk's, staring at the green bar on the screen that represented the progress of data transmission.

"Stop talking nonsense, Henry. Use the 'Ghost Protocol' to spread it to several key nodes of the 'Deep Web,' especially to those 'moles' forums that like to dig up information and the mailboxes of a few specific 'journalists.' Add something to it, suggesting that this is just the tip of the iceberg, and that the source points to discontented people within London. I want it to burn across the network before dawn."

"Understood! I guarantee Ms. M and her gentlemen won't get a good night's sleep tonight!"

Henry grinned, his eyes gleaming with the triumphant excitement of a successful prank. He skillfully activated sophisticated stealth software, nesting virtual paths layer by layer, his IP address frantically jumping between servers around the world. Finally, through the Tor network, he precisely deployed the "poisoned bait"—enough to trigger a diplomatic earthquake—including a short, processed recording of a conversation between a distinctly metallic British accent and Song Heping's icy voice, as well as several highly targeted summaries of action reports—into the pre-set deep web vortex.

Like dropping several heavy bombs into a calm lake, the ripples created by the intelligence that Henry spread spread at the speed of light.

Almost at the same time Henry pressed the final confirmation button, Song Heping turned and walked towards the specially encrypted satellite phone in the corner.

After picking up the phone, he entered a long, complex password and connected to a top-secret channel.

"You still dare to contact me? Do you know how big of a mess you've made! Sena..."

The phone was answered quickly after only one ring, and a deep, clearly wary voice came through—it was Simon, the CIA's deputy director in charge of African affairs.

"Deputy Director Simon."

Song Heping coldly interrupted him: "Listen, I've sent you a 'gift,' which is circulating online. I suggest you take a look immediately; it's quite interesting. It's about your 'good ally' MI6, especially that elegant Ms. M, and how she secretly collaborates with the 'terrorists' on your wanted list to sabotage your CIA."

There was complete silence on the other end of the phone, except for the sound of Simon's suddenly heavy breathing.

"What...what nonsense are you talking about?!"

Simon's voice trembled slightly, a tremor born of shock and an overwhelming sense of threat.

"Whether it's nonsense or not, you'll know after watching it. The recording is very clear, and the time, location, and operation code name all match up."

Song Heping pinpointed Simon's most hidden sore spot and suspicion: "This 'gift' is a 'meeting gift' I'm giving to Director Vincent (the CIA director). Of course, it's also a 'pledge of allegiance' to you."

He paused, then continued, “Now, I need you to do me a small favor. Take this ‘gift’ and go find Vincent right away. Spill all your suspicions and grievances about the British, and the possibility that they might try to drag you down with them again in Seine! Make the waters run deep! Sow discord, prevent any American department—whether it’s your CIA or the military—from joining forces with the British in this Seine incident!”

"You...you want me to be your gun?!"

Simon's voice was filled with humiliation and anger, but even more so with a sense of powerlessness as he was held hostage by a huge weapon.

If Vincent finds out that Simon was the one who "first" discovered and reported what Song Heping threw out, it could certainly hurt MI6. However, Song Heping was clearly using himself to isolate the British in order to consolidate his power in Sena.

The stronger Song Heping becomes, the slimmer the chances of him getting rid of him become...

But if it's not reported, and Vincent finds out online himself...

The consequences would be even more unimaginable!
“No,” Song Heping’s voice was cold and cruel, “You are saving yourself, and you are also cutting your losses for the CIA. Think about it, does Vincent hate me, his ‘open enemy,’ more, or do he hate those ‘close allies’ who stabbed him in the back and treated him like a fool? The British now want to take over Sena for themselves and then use me to weaken your influence. Stop them, make Britain and the US check and balance each other on the Sena issue, and you can keep your position, and even… have a chance to turn this crisis into your achievement. As for me? After dealing with the British, we’ll have plenty of time to ‘catch up’.”

Song Heping's words were like a venomous snake, precisely coiling around Simon's heart, injecting a mixture of fear and temptation.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, lasting more than ten seconds, with only Simon's suppressed breathing.

"...Where is the information?"

Finally, Simon's voice was hoarse with a sense of resignation and a cold, resolute tone.

"On the deep web, at the top of the 'Mole Hole' forum, there's a pinned post with the keyword 'cracks in the alliance.' There are also a few encrypted email addresses belonging to 'journalists,' which you should be able to find."

Song Heping relayed the message, “Move quickly, Simon. British, get moving. If I see any American drone or hear any news of American special forces appearing in Sena… you know the consequences. The full version of this ‘gift’ will be on Vincent’s, Capitol Hill’s, and The Washington Post’s desks right on time.”

Without saying goodbye, Song Heping abruptly ended the communication.

He didn't need Simon's promises; this deadly "gift" and the enormous political risks it carried were the best driving force.

Simon is a smart man, and more importantly, a politician; he knows what to do.

(End of this chapter)