Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 994 Captain Dorn's Willful Ways
London, MI6 headquarters, operations command center.

Ms. M slowly put down the telephone receiver, which was now only showing a busy tone.

The handpiece was gently placed back into the phone, but in the deathly silent command center, the slight "click" sound was like a boulder thrown into a deep pool, causing the hearts of all the intelligence officers who were holding their breath to sink.

She stood there, her back to the huge electronic screen.

In the center of the screen, the area where the last image was transmitted had turned into a flashing snowy scene and a red "signal interrupted" warning box.

On the adjacent split screen, the light signal representing Song Heping also completely disappeared into a gray area representing the unknown.

The satellite's overhead transit has ended.

The lights in the entire command center seemed to dim, leaving only the faint, cold glow of the instrument indicator lights and the reflection from the screens, illuminating her back, which appeared to have aged considerably in an instant.

A cold, turbulent feeling, mixed with immense frustration and the fury of being blatantly betrayed by her allies, surged and pounded within her.

Vincent's merciless roar still seemed to echo in my ears.

"Sincerity"?
She understood all too well what it meant.

This so-called "explanation" is nothing more than a complete negotiation involving the cession of interests!

The Americans want to take advantage of the situation and demand that Britain offer enough leverage to "quell the anger of the American people" in Lebanon, Africa, and even in other areas of intelligence cooperation!

For the sake of Song Heping, for the sake of a "throat-cutting" operation, is it necessary to pay such a high price that shakes national interests?

Moreover, even if we pay the price now, can the Americans' satellites immediately and seamlessly connect?
Can they get Dorn and the others out before the "Musician" defenses' four thousand swords fall?
The immense uncertainty and unbearable risks weighed heavily on her decision-making scales, like two icebergs.

Coleman's death...

The loss of SBS's elite...

These are wounds that are already irreparable.

If they also lose the entire GNA unit and potentially more SBS members…

M closed his eyes and could almost hear the angry roars from Downing Street and the clamor of parliamentary questioning.

She can't afford it.

MI6 would also find it difficult to bear such a cost.

"Sir..."

The intelligence chief spoke cautiously, his voice hoarse.

M suddenly opened her eyes, turned around, and faced everyone in the command center who were watching her. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a resolute determination that cut off everything, clearly reaching every corner:
"Operation 'Severing the Throat' must be halted immediately."

"Order all SBS teams in the Sahara to immediately disengage from the target and withdraw to the safe point LZ-7 (the pre-designated desert edge evacuation point) as quickly as possible to await rendezvous."

"Notify Captain Dorn that the operation is terminated. GNA forces are to cease all pursuit and establish defensive positions pending further instructions. Emphasize that this is a top-level order!"

The order was given without any explanation.

As a veteran in the intelligence field, Ms. M still has enough decisiveness to make difficult choices.

The command center was deathly silent and oppressive, save for the rapid tapping of operators' keyboards as they relayed commands, a sound like cold raindrops striking everyone's hearts.

The Sahara Desert, the coldest time before dawn.

Captain Dorn stood beside his command vehicle, the rooftop communications antenna spinning futilely with a faint hum. The command just received from "Eagle's Nest" on the vehicle's encrypted radio screen burned his eyes like a red-hot iron:

"Order: Operation terminated. Cease pursuit. Defend in place. SBS has withdrawn. Top command."

"FUCK!!!"

A roar, like that of a trapped beast, filled with endless anger and despair, suddenly burst from Dorn's throat, exploding in the empty, cold desert night sky and startling several dozing soldiers nearby.

He turned around abruptly, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the boundless darkness to the north that had swallowed up Song Heping's traces.

Kurtan!
It's in that direction!

That butcher!

That bastard who killed Coleman, slaughtered hundreds of his soldiers, and stole the life-saving water source!
It's right there!

He's probably less than ten kilometers away!
"Terminate? Defend in place?"

Dorn looked as if he had heard the most absurd joke in the world; his lips twitched nervously, revealing a grotesque and twisted expression.

"Our men died for nothing? Coleman died for nothing?! That damned yellow-skinned bastard is right ahead! He's within easy reach!"

He pointed sharply north, his arm trembling violently with extreme anger.

The team members next to them looked at each other, their faces filled with resentment and humiliation, but even more so with fear of orders.

"Captain... 'Eagle's Nest' has given direct orders... to us..."

"So what if SBS is gone?! So what if the satellites are gone?!"

Dorn abruptly interrupted him, his voice cracking with excitement and carrying an almost manic obsession.

"Do they think that just because there are no eyes in the sky, I'm blind?! Song Heping is going to Kurtan! He can only go to Kurtan! It's the only place in this hell where there might be water! His wheel tracks! The traces left by his men! They're right here on this sand! Not completely erased by the wind yet!"

Like a thoroughly enraged lion, he paced restlessly beside the command vehicle, his heavy military boots crunching loudly on the gravel beneath his feet.

Shame, anger, the desire to avenge his comrades, and a deep-seated hatred for that cunning target, like boiling poison, completely consumed his remaining reason and reverence for orders.

He abruptly stopped, his eyes burning with an almost destructive flame. He glared at the communications officer, his words sharp and steely: "Shut down all active communication links with 'Eagle's Nest' and the rear command post! Maintain silent reception!"

"Order all combat units! Start the engines immediately!"

"Destination—Kultan Oasis! Full speed ahead!"

"Captain! This...this is disobedience..."

The communications soldier's face turned ashen.

"defy?!"

Dorn grabbed the communications soldier by the collar and pulled him close, their faces almost touching. He could smell the sweat from the man's fear.

"Listen! The satellite is gone, but our people cannot have died in vain! Blood debts must be repaid in blood! In this desert, now! I'm in charge!"

He shoved the communications soldier away violently, his voice as sharp and piercing as a desert night wind, carrying a desperate madness:

"No satellite surveillance... so what? We still have over a thousand people! He only has a little over a hundred!"

"I'll climb! I'll use camels! I'll catch up! I'll twist that bastard's head off! To pay tribute to Coleman! To pay tribute to our fallen brothers!"

"Close all active communication links! Remain silent!"

"Order all combat units! Immediately check how many vehicles are still operational!"

"Destination—Kultan Oasis! Full speed ahead!"

Captain Dorn's voice was like sandpaper polishing raw iron, each word imbued with a chilling madness.

The command was given, and the air around the command vehicle froze instantly.

GNA Commander Yarif's face drained of all color instantly, his lips trembling as he stammered, "Captain! This...this is disobeying orders! And...and the wounded!"

His gaze swept over the makeshift positions temporarily laid out on the sand.

The faint groans drifted through the cold air as more than three hundred wounded, some lightly and some seriously, huddled on the icy sand like abandoned, tattered sacks.

The stench of blood, sweat, and despair was so strong it was almost palpable.

"defy?!"

Dorn whirled around, his movements as swift as a leopard pouncing on its prey, and grabbed Arief by the collar, the force of which nearly lifted him off the ground.

The two were instantly very close. Ariff could clearly see the burning bloodshot in Dorn's eyes and the chilling destructive desire, and could smell the hot breath emanating from him, which carried the scent of blood.

"Listen, Yarif!"

Dorn's voice was extremely low, yet it was like a viper's hiss, cold and piercing.

"On this sand, now I'm in charge! Your men's lives and deaths depend on whether you obey me!"

The cold muzzle of the gun was suddenly pressed against Yarif's temple.

Dorn's sidearm has a hard, ruthless muzzle.

Yarif's body stiffened instantly, his blood seemingly freezing.

He looked into Dorn's eyes, which were completely consumed by hatred and devoid of any reason, and then laboriously swept his gaze over the wounded men who were staring at him in despair.

Abandoning them in this death desert is tantamount to sentencing them to death.

The immense humiliation tore at his heart.

"Captain... Captain..."

Yarif's voice was as dry as the friction of gravel.

"Order!"

Dorn's index finger rested on the trigger guard, his eyes blazing with a frenzied fire.

"Abandon all the wounded who can't move! Take only those who can carry guns! Immediately! Right now! Otherwise, I don't mind eliminating one disobedient piece of trash first!"

The chilling aura of death instantly gripped Ariff.

He had no doubt that the SBS captain, who had gone completely mad, would pull the trigger in the next second.

He could only lick his dry lips: "...Yes, Captain. Execute... orders."

"very good!"

Dorn released his grip, roughly shoving Yarif aside, his gun still pointed at him. "You have ten minutes! In ten minutes, I want to see everyone capable of fighting on the bus! One second late, and you'll face the consequences!"

He stopped looking at Yarif, turned to his communications officer, and shouted sternly, "Execute silence! Cut off active firing! All vehicles, target Kurtan, prepare for departure!"

The roar of the engine once again ripped through the silence of dawn, this time with a cruel and resolute abandonment of comrades.

The able-bodied soldiers silently and quickly climbed onto the vehicles, their eyes avoiding the desperate outstretched hands and pleading gazes on the sand.

Armored vehicles and armed pickup trucks roughly rolled across the sand, leaving deep tracks, and rushed into the still-lingering darkness of the north without looking back.

Amidst the deathly silence of the abandoned wounded positions, a few mournful cries and curses erupted, only to be swiftly swallowed up by the relentless sandstorm.

　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)