Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 989 Living towards death
The winds continued to howl, and the yellow sand still blotted out the sun.

Song Heping roughly pried open the "hunter's" lips, which were cracked, peeling, and covered with blood scabs due to excessive blood loss and severe dehydration, and poured the last bit of murky, rusty water—more precious than gold—into the water.

The hunter's body convulsed involuntarily, and a hoarse, labored swallowing sound, like a broken bellows, came from his throat.

His head was secured with bandages, which had long been stained a nauseating dark brown by the seeping blood, pus, and sand.

"...Water...please..."

Upon seeing the water, a young soldier under Haftar, who looked only seventeen or eighteen years old, stood nearby. His eyes were unfocused, his lips were cracked and bleeding, and his face, covered in sand, was ashen and lifeless. His voice was so weak that it was almost completely swallowed up by the roar of the wind and sand.

His fingers unconsciously dug into the scorching sand.

"Gone."

Song Heping didn't even glance at him, his actions displaying a kind of ruthless decisiveness and efficiency in extreme circumstances.

He quickly tightened the empty canteen lid and tucked it back into his waistband.

He surveyed the remnants of the army, struggling through the apocalyptic sandstorm.

Everyone looked like they had just crawled out of the mire of hell, covered from head to toe in thick yellow sand, staggering, with cloudy eyes, sustained only by the last bit of survival instinct and remaining willpower.

At the back of the column, two soldiers practically dragged and carried General Haftar, who was already in a semi-conscious state, into a sheltered spot.

The general's uniform, which once symbolized power, was now tattered, stained with blood and sand, his white beard was matted, and he was barely breathing.

"Wrench! Direction!"

Song Heping roared with all his might, but his voice was torn to pieces by the gale as soon as it came out, and it became indistinct a few meters away.

"Wrench" used his entire back and arms to tightly protect the violently shaking military GPS and military compass in his arms.

His cheeks were red, swollen, and bruised from the flying sand. He squinted, desperately trying to see the screen.

"It seems... it's veering... veering west! The wind's too strong! Magnetic interference... damn it! This piece of junk is almost completely filled with sand, it won't last much longer!"

His voice was filled with despair.

"Boss, we were off course by 15 degrees in the sandstorm. We estimate we'll have to walk an extra 10 kilometers after the sandstorm passes..."

10km…

Normally, this would just be a long-distance off-road adventure.

But in today's context, it has a completely different meaning.

In dire circumstances, 10 kilometers can wipe out an entire team.

At that moment, the jinx came close.

"Boss, given our situation, we definitely won't have enough water... Even after the sandstorm passes, I'm afraid..."

As he spoke, the jinx glanced around.

"You'll die if you don't get there."

After one hour.

The sandstorm's massive hand finally loosened its grip.

The last gust of wind, carrying sharp sand and gravel, howled unwillingly as it swept over the rugged rock face above the sheltered spot. Song Heping blinked sharply, brushing the heavy grains of sand off his eyelashes, and his gaze swept over his team, which was on the verge of collapse.

Everyone huddled in the crevices of the rocks and in sheltered spots.

Some people were still unconsciously retching, vomiting thick bile mixed with sand; others were completely limp, their chests rising and falling only very slightly, their eyes staring blankly at the dying sun; and many more were just sitting or lying numbly, their faces frozen in a desolate state of having survived a catastrophe but also being trapped in a desperate situation.

Thirst, like countless burning red ants, gnawed at the last bit of moisture deep in their throats, scorching their reason.

In the silence, only heavy breathing could be heard, like a broken bellows barely clinging to life.

"A jinx."

Song Heping's voice was as dry as sandpaper being rubbed.

He wiped his face, and grit slipped through his fingers, leaving streaks of dirt on his face.

The jinx's eyes held a barely suppressed weariness, as if he were on the verge of collapse.

"boss."

How much water is left?

Song Heping uttered only one word, yet it carried immense weight.

The jinx's Adam's apple bobbed laboriously, as if that simple syllable had exhausted his last bit of strength.

He silently untied a sand-covered, deflated canvas water bag from his waist, then pointed to the only relatively intact 10-liter plastic bucket that another soldier was tightly clutching.

"that's it."

The jinx's voice was low and hoarse, filled with utter despair, "There might still be half a liter left in the canvas bag, and at most ten liters in the bucket. More than a hundred people..."

He shook his head, swallowing back the rest of his words.

The numbers themselves have already delivered a death sentence.

In the heart of the Sahara, this little bit of water is at best a drop of illusory comfort.

Ten liters.

More than a hundred cracked lips.

A 20-kilometer stretch of scorching, hellish sand dunes.

These cold words collided and exploded violently in Song Heping's mind, which was clogged with sand and exhaustion.

Every thought carried the rusty, bloody smell of the desert sun and the scorching pain of the desert heat.

The sandstorm caused it to deviate from its course.

Ten kilometers becomes twenty kilometers…

The sun can bake sand into a hot iron...

Every step was draining the last drop of moisture from his very bones... He was the first to collapse before he even reached five kilometers...

Ten kilometers, half the people turned into mummies on the sand dunes…

Fifteen kilometers…

The oasis is right there, but no one can climb it... Everyone, including Haftar, will become dried specimens.

If he were alone, Song Heping could give it a shot.

but……

His gaze involuntarily fell on the hollow in the rock, where two soldiers were carefully laying General Haftar flat.

This former tyrant now resembled a discarded, dilapidated doll. His tattered military uniform was stained dark brown with blood and sand, his white beard was tangled in a ball, and the rise and fall of his chest was so faint as to be almost invisible.

The general's presence is the final meaning and constraint for their unit.

He's dead, and that's the end of it all.

Song Heping forced his gaze away from the general, scanning the faces of the soldiers—apathetic, numb, and driven only by the instinct for survival—before finally settling on the "Hunter's" face, wrapped in filthy bandages with only dry, cracked skin showing—from which came unconscious, dying hoarse sounds.

Waiting to die?

A voice swept through my mind.

Will they die of thirst on the road like gerbils?

Turn everyone into fertilizer for this desert?
Do not!
no way!

Another cold voice suddenly echoed clearly within his skull—

No water?

Then let's go find water!
If you can't find it, just rob it!
Steal it from the enemy's veins!
Those GNA scum, those SBS sons of bitches…

They must be wet!
They were also ravaged by the sandstorm, and they must be in complete chaos now, like sand scorpions whose nest has been disturbed!
The enemy's chaos...

This is an opportunity!

It was the only way for him and these hundred-odd people to survive!
Once this idea takes root, it's like the most tenacious thorn in the desert, instantly piercing through all the soil of hesitation and growing wildly.

Polar bear and Ferrari…

Four thousand people…

Well-equipped…

They have crossed the border and are heading this way.

The original plan was to meet at the oasis.

But no matter where they meet, it will take time!
They need time!
I need time too!
The pursuers behind them were like more than two thousand knives hanging over their necks; these guys were no more than fifteen kilometers away from their troops!
We must first eliminate the threat behind us and seize the resources to survive in order to hold out until reinforcements arrive!

time!

water!
Take the initiative!
We must bite back hard before the enemy recovers from the sandstorm and before they can regroup their fangs to pursue us!
"wrench!"

Song Heping suddenly turned his head, the movement pulling at his chapped lips, a salty, fishy taste seeping into his mouth.

"boss!"

Wrench raised his head from beside the pile of electronic devices half-buried in sand, his face marked with bloodstains from the sand and extreme exhaustion, but his eyes still maintained their characteristic focus.

"Guess what's going on with the GNA forces that are now relentlessly chasing and tearing us apart?"

Song Heping asked coldly.

Wrench paused for a moment, then understood Song Heping's intention. A look of horror flashed in his eyes, but it was immediately replaced by a gambler's frenzy.

He frantically fiddled with the GPS screen, then grabbed the compass and shook it vigorously, trying to shake off the sand inside.

"Signal...extremely poor! The interference is too strong! But...the storm is sweeping from northwest to southeast...they're chasing it against the wind...the losses...are absolutely devastating! The organization is definitely scattered! The equipment...must be damaged too! Now..."

He licked his dry, bleeding lips, and his eyes sharpened.

"They're just a bunch of headless flies! They're no more than 15 kilometers away from us? Maybe even closer! They're also looking for a place to hide! It's complete chaos!"

"confusion…"

Song Heping licked his dry lips, savoring the word, a resolute, rusty aura emanating from him.

He took a deep breath of the air, which was no longer so polluted, and suddenly stood up straight.

The dried-out joints made a slight creaking sound, like rusty gears being forced to start.

"Everyone! Listen up!"

His voice suddenly rose, like a rusty military knife being drawn from its sheath.

Each syllable carried a hoarse, almost tearing force, slamming into the ears of every numb soldier.

More than a hundred heads, almost completely shut down, turned toward him with difficulty and sluggishness.

"Water! It's gone!"

Song Heping picked up the completely deflated military water bottle and shook it vigorously. Only the sound of a few grains of sand rolling inside could be heard, hollow and chilling.

"We're veering off course! We're still at least 20 kilometers from the oasis!"

He stretched out his finger and pointed fiercely at the unreachable direction of the Kurtan Oasis.

"Twenty kilometers! Under the sun! Under the sand! Under the thirst!"

His gaze, like a cold probe, pierced through each of those desperate faces. "Tell me! Who can get there? Who can?!"

The roar crashed against the rock walls, stirring up fine dust that fell down.

Dead silence.

Only heavy breathing and the silent lament of weathered rocks could be heard.

"Waiting to die?"

Song Heping's voice suddenly lowered, yet it was like a poisoned ice pick, even more piercing: "To die of thirst like a stray dog ​​on the roadside? To become vulture dung?"

The soldiers' eyes flickered violently, filled with fear, resentment, and a tiny, ignited flame struggling beneath the ashes of despair.

"No!"

Song Heping's tone was resolute, and his arm drew a sharp arc in the air, pointing in the direction they had come from—the direction from which thousands of pursuers had come.

"A way out! It's there!"

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(End of this chapter)