Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 993 Fragile "Allies"

London, on the banks of the Thames, deep within the MI6 headquarters.

The command center, codenamed "Eagle's Nest," was brightly lit, with high-definition images from the "Sky Eye" spy satellite occupying the center position on a huge electronic screen.

The scene depicts the sand valley that has just been ravaged by bloodshed. Corpses are scattered everywhere, and wisps of smoke rise from the ground, resembling a precisely marked, miniature volcano that has just been extinguished.

On the adjacent split screen, a flashing dot of light is steadily moving north along a pre-set retreat route, its target the tiny oasis marked "Kurtan" on the map.

Ms. M stood in front of the command platform, her silver hair neatly pulled back.

Her face remained as cold and hard as ever, like a meticulously polished marble statue. Only her sharp, hawk-like eyes behind her glasses contracted almost imperceptibly when the satellite image switched to the tragic scene in the sand valley.

"Sir, this is an urgent communication from Captain Dorn, top priority."

A young intelligence officer wearing headphones reports.

M did not turn around; his gaze remained fixed on the dot on the screen that represented Song Heping.

"Take it."

Dorn's hoarse, suppressed, and furious voice immediately came through the loudspeaker, accompanied by the sound of the desert night wind: "'Eagle's Nest'! The target has just slaughtered nearly three hundred GNA soldiers and seized all water supplies! Coordinates sent! He is currently fleeing towards the Kurtan Oasis! I request immediate access to the target's real-time location and surrounding dynamics! My troops will pursue at full speed! Repeat, request real-time satellite guidance!"

M picked up the dedicated communicator, his voice calm and even, yet carrying an undeniable authority: "Captain Dorn, intelligence received and confirmed. Target movement is being continuously tracked, and information will be synchronized to your tactical terminal. Keep the channel open and await further instructions. Operation 'Throat Cut' is not over yet, but exercise caution; the target is extremely dangerous and... cunning."

She deliberately emphasized the word "cunning" with a barely perceptible pause.

"Understood! Awaiting guidance! Over!"

Dorn’s voice carried a forced urgency as he cut off the communication.

The command center returned to silence, dominated by the low rumble of electrical currents.

M put down the intercom and tapped his fingertips lightly on the cold edge of the control panel.

Kurtan…

Is that a trap?
Or does he really believe he can find a respite there?
She needs a broader perspective.

Just then, a middle-aged intelligence chief strode across the busy control panel and walked straight to M, holding a thin paper document in his hand.

He didn't speak, but simply handed over the document, leaning slightly forward and quickly reporting in a voice only the two of them could hear: "Sir, North Darfur, an urgent coded message from 'Nightingale' (codename for a high-ranking MI6 spy operating in Sudan), verified to the highest level."

M took the document, his gaze quickly sweeping over the few lines of brief yet shocking coded translation:
The "Musician" defense forces are showing significant signs of building up in North Darfur. Large-scale mechanized forces (approximately battalion-sized advance units) and a large number of armed personnel (estimated to be over 4,000) have been observed moving northwest (into the Sahara Desert) along traditional border crossing routes. They are well-equipped, their intentions are clear, and they are suspected of reinforcements for "Ghost." Their movements are extremely threatening.

"Musician" Defense!
Four thousand people!
Well-equipped!

rush to the rescue!

Each word was like a heavy hammer blow, striking M's heart hard.

Her fingers tightened instantly around the paper, and her pupils contracted. On the screen, the dot representing Song Heping continued its steady movement towards Kurtan, while to its southeast, near the Sahara Desert in Darfur, the more than four thousand mercenaries, undetected by satellite, were perhaps like a band of orcs, tirelessly marching towards Song Heping!
The Kurtan Oasis is likely no longer the target of the SBS team; it has become a pre-planned slaughterhouse center!
If Dorn's more than 1,000 GNA troops, mainly composed of pickup trucks and light infantry, were dragged into the Kurtan Oasis by Song Heping's wolf pack, and then surrounded by these 4,000 ferocious "Musicians" mercenaries from the flanks or even the rear...

That would be an absolute disaster!

M had no doubt that Song Heping would do such a thing.

Based on past analysis of this person's tactical thinking, he would definitely do this!
If Nightingale's intelligence is accurate, the SBS team's small force wouldn't even be enough to fill the enemy's teeth!

The loss of SBS personnel was already a significant blow; if the entire GNA force and even more SBS elites were to be lost, it would expose just how vulnerable the British-backed forces in Lebia truly were…

The consequences are enough to unleash a tsunami on Downing Street!
A chill instantly shot up my spine and up to the top of my head.

For the first time, a clear crack appeared in her proud mask of composure.

No!

We absolutely cannot let Dorn walk right into it!

The real-time images from the reconnaissance satellite are still on the screen, but its overhead time is limited.

To obtain more accurate intelligence support and pinpoint the movements and trajectories of the thousands of mercenaries at "Musician" Defense, she needs stronger support.

M jerked his head up, his voice resolute: "Get me connected to Langley immediately! CIA Director Vincent's line! Top encryption! Now!"

Time is a noose, and it's tightening.

She needs the eyes of Americans!
They need their vast satellite constellation, spread across the globe, especially over Africa, to provide seamless surveillance!

Only real-time intelligence from the CIA could allow her to see the exact location and speed of the "Musicians" unit, and to determine whether Dorn could still be evacuated, or...

Could SBS risk a precise decapitation strike before reinforcements arrive, eliminating Song Heping, the key figure?

……

Langley, Washington, CIA Headquarters, Director's Office.

The heavy oak door is tightly closed, providing excellent sound insulation and completely blocking out the noise from the outside world.

Director Vincent leaned back in his large, high-backed leather chair, his brow furrowed, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the smooth mahogany tabletop.

Across from the desk sat Deputy Director Simon.

Simon was relaxed, leaning slightly forward with his hands crossed on his knees, his eyes sharp and calm, like a leopard assessing its prey.

"The British request... What do you think, Simon?"

Vincent's voice carried its usual low tone and a hint of barely perceptible fatigue. The lingering echo of his call with Ms. M, urgently requesting the sharing of satellite reconnaissance resources, especially real-time footage covering the northwestern Sahara Desert and the Sudan-Lebia border region, seemed to still resonate in the air from the encrypted communication terminal in front of him.

Simon leaned back, a mixture of mockery and worry on his face.

"Chief, if I may be so bold, Ms. M's request... sounds more like an urgent plea for our help to cover up a major blunder in her own operation. Operation 'Throat Cut' has clearly gone horribly wrong, otherwise she wouldn't have acted so distraught. More importantly..."

He paused, then emphasized, “Our interests in Lebia, especially in oil and our influence over the future political situation, are being gradually eroded by the British-backed Government of National Accord (GNA). This large-scale mobilization of the ‘Musician’ defense forces, targeting the GNA troops pursuing Song Heping, might not necessarily be a bad thing for us.” Vincent’s gaze sharpened: “A good thing?”

"Yes, Director."

Simon's voice was calm and persuasive.

"If the GNA's main force is severely damaged, or even... wiped out, by the 'Musician,' it will effectively balance the power in Lebia and prevent Britain from becoming the sole superpower. We can simply sit back and watch them fight it out. Once they are both exhausted, we can intervene from a more advantageous position. Why waste precious satellite resources, especially real-time, high-value reconnaissance channels, on cleaning up the mess for the British? That's not in America's interest, Director."

Vincent remained silent, his fingers tapping the table more rapidly.

Simon's words precisely struck at his deepest doubts and dissatisfaction with the insatiable greed of the British.

The British certainly took too big a slice of Lebia's cake.

Using Song Heping as a weapon to weaken the British-backed GNA…

The idea has a chilling allure.

Just then, there was a rapid knock on the office door. Before Vincent could respond, his senior assistant rushed in, looking slightly flustered, holding a tablet computer.

"Chief! You'd better take a look at this! CNN, Fox, MSNBC... almost all the major news channels are interrupting our coverage! This is a huge problem!"

Vincent and Simon looked up at the same time.

The assistant quickly placed a tablet in front of Vincent, on which was playing an emergency news interview from CNN.

The host looked serious, and the screen was divided in two. One half featured a gray-haired, seemingly venerable international relations analyst, while the other half displayed a striking title and several blurred photos.

"...Our exclusive sources have confirmed this to us."

The "expert" spoke in a somber tone, with a sense of justice in revealing the truth.

"An international security contractor (referring to Song Heping) previously listed as a wanted leader of KB organized multiple deadly attacks on US special forces. The intelligence support behind this attack most likely came directly from the British Secret Intelligence Service, also known as MI6! Even more shockingly, there is evidence that MI6 is suspected of secretly passing on critical intelligence that should have been shared with allies to this contractor, resulting in significant and avoidable losses for our (referring to the US) special forces during operations! This is a blatant betrayal! A serious desecration of the transatlantic alliance!"

boom!
Vincent felt a surge of heat rush to his head, and his vision seemed to go black for a moment.

The blurry photos on the screen, the host's indignant questions, and the "expert's" irrefutable "evidence" accusations—every word felt like a red-hot branding iron, searing his face and heart.

betray!

Backstab!

Significant loss!

These words echoed wildly in his mind.

"Snapped!"

Vincent slammed his fist heavily on the mahogany table, making the tablet computer jump.

His face was ashen, and he said to his assistant, "You can leave now!"

The assistant picked up the tablet and quickly left.

"Damn it! Why is this being hyped up again!?"

Vincent wiped his face hard with his hand.

"Didn't you previously order this matter to be kept quiet and suppressed?!"

Simon looked at Vincent's murderous expression and sneered inwardly, but his face showed just the right amount of shock and sympathy: "That's right! I don't know how this information was leaked again. For God's sake, those media outlets really love to stir up trouble!"

After a moment's thought, Vincent, panting heavily, suddenly grabbed the red encrypted phone on the table that connected directly to London.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but the anger in his voice was like boiling lava, impossible to suppress: "M! It's me, Vincent!"

He skipped all pleasantries, his tone so cold it could freeze steel.

"I just watched a very 'spectacular' TV interview! Your dirty dealings with Song are now being broadcast all over our country's TV stations. It seems things between us aren't so simple!"

On the other end of the phone, Ms. M was clearly taken aback by the other party's aggressive opening. After a moment of silence, she tried to explain, "Vincent, listen to me, that's nonsense! It's a propaganda tactic targeting Song Heping! His 'Musician' defenses are under control..."

"I don't care whose methods they used!"

Vincent abruptly interrupted her, his voice rising sharply, "The whole of America is watching this 'nonsense'! They're all laughing at the CIA! Watching how our so-called 'closest ally' stabs us in the back! In this media storm, you expect me to face congressional questioning and the wrath of the nation, and use precious national intelligence resources to support your damned, flawed 'Throat Cut' operation? M, do you think that's possible?!"

M's voice also turned cold, carrying a hint of offended firmness: "Vincent, this is blatant slander! It's a deliberate attempt to sow discord! We must..."

"There is no 'us'!"

Vincent's tone was firm and decisive, each word like a bullet fired from a hot gun: "Listen, M, satellite support, now, immediately, right now, absolutely not! All cooperation is suspended until you provide a satisfactory explanation and 'sincerity' regarding this scandal to the satisfaction of us and the American people! The CIA will no longer provide any substantive support for MI6 operations! That's it!"

"Vincent! The situation is critical! The 'Musician's' troops..."

M's voice revealed a rare hint of anxiety.

"That's your problem! You dug your own mess, so clean it up! Goodbye!"

Vincent didn't give the other person a chance to speak again, slamming the microphone back onto the landline with a loud bang.

His chest heaved, his face still ashen, and he turned to Simon, his eyes like those of a furious lion: "Notify all relevant departments! Suspend all intelligence sharing with MI6! Especially those involving satellite reconnaissance and signals intelligence! Without my direct order, not a single KB of data is allowed to flow to London! Let those damned British bulls play by themselves!"

"Yes, Director!"

Simon accepted the order with a solemn air, a chilling sense of satisfaction washing over him.

Song Heping's move had a far greater impact than expected.

Public opinion is indeed a deadly weapon, capable of killing without drawing blood.

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(End of this chapter)