Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1406 Accepting Delta's Surrender
Inside the underground command post of the 10th Division, the air was so heavy it seemed as if it would drip water.

The fluorescent tubes emitted a low hum, and the indicator lights on the electronic devices glowed like fireflies in a graveyard in the dim space.

Samir stood in front of the tactical map, his hands resting on the edge of the table, listening intently to the sounds outside.

Minutes earlier, a U.S. F-16 formation precisely destroyed the last three outermost air defense radar sites.

According to procedure, after destroying the air defense positions, the next step will be to bomb important targets.

Although the 10th Division is now deployed in a dispersed manner around Mosul, trying to keep the distance between the combat units as much as possible and making the most of the terrain—even going so far as to disperse some infantry units to hide in nearby villages.

But as a seasoned Ilgok militiaman who had dealt with Americans for over a decade, Samir knew the level of American military technology.

It is difficult for a force of several thousand to completely hide under the watchful eyes of the Americans.

Everyone was prepared to be bombed.

However, nothing happened.

"How long has it been since the last bombing?"

Samir asked, his voice echoing between the concrete walls.

"Fourteen minutes, General."

The communications officer stared at the screen as he answered, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Song Heping sat on a folding chair in the corner, his gaze passing over the busy staff members in the command post and landing on the real-time images of the troops on the main monitoring wall.

Those were images that had just been updated ten minutes ago; the bombed radar site was still burning fiercely in the flames.

“Have they really given up?” Samir turned around, his face filled with disbelief. “This isn’t how the US military operates.”

“Perhaps Washington realizes the cost is too high.” Song Heping slowly stood up and walked to the tactical map: “Destroying us is easy, but they can’t afford the consequences.”

What are the consequences?

"Political consequences."

Song Heping's finger traced the location of the U.S. Joint Operations Group base on the map.

"The media is already speculating whether the White House is preparing to intervene militarily in the Iligian civil war again. This has become the focus on the internet and the news media. If this blows up, the scandals that will follow will be enough to make Obama and the Democratic Party suffer."

Samir shook his head: "I don't believe in the logic of those politicians. On the battlefield, the superior side never backs down because of public opinion."

“That’s how conventional warfare works,” Song said calmly. “But the war I fought with them wasn’t conventional.”

The command post suddenly fell silent.

All eyes were on Song Heping.

"what do you mean--"

"No need to ask any more questions," Song Heping said with a smile. "Just remember one thing: we won the bet again this time."

Samir narrowed his eyes.

In his eyes, Song Heping was always a god-like figure.

My boss always manages to turn the impossible into the possible.

A young officer suddenly stood up from the communications station: "General! The forward observation post reports that the US air formation has completely withdrawn from our air defense zone. Repeat, we have not detected any US air units at this time."

Samir strode to the communications station, took the headset, and asked, "All units confirmed?"

"All units confirm, General. Cross-verification by the second, fourth, and seventh observation stations in the north, and the remaining radar sites in the south. The sky is clear."

Samir took off his headphones and exchanged a glance with Song Heping.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Samir murmured.

"Quite the opposite." A faint smile appeared on Song Heping's lips. "That makes perfect sense. Come with me."

Escorted by several guards, the two walked up the concrete steps.

The heavy blast door slowly opened, letting in the first light of dawn along with the cold air.

The night remained, and the stars twinkled.

On the distant positions, soldiers of the 10th Division peeked out from their bunkers, their expressions a mixture of confusion and vigilance.

There was no roar of engines, no explosions or flames; everything was eerily quiet.

"It's too quiet."

Samir took a deep breath; the air still smelled of gunpowder and dust.

"See, I told you so?" Song Heping looked up at the western sky: "I bet the phone call will come soon."

As if to confirm his words, the satellite phone then vibrated.

After taking it out and glancing at the screen, Song Heping knew it was Simon.

It seems that the CIA director was the one sent by Washington to clean up the mess.

“Song,” Simon said, “you probably guessed I would call you.”

Song Heping nodded slightly: "That's right, you're the most suitable person to clean up messes."

Simon joked, "I'll take that as a compliment. How did you guess that I would be the one to mediate this?"

“A reasonable assumption,” Song replied calmly. “The sudden halt of routine military operations usually means a political solution is being formulated. And at this point, who else but the CIA could contact me?”

Simon remained silent for a moment before speaking again.

"President Obama has considered your proposal. After an emergency National Security Council meeting, the White House agreed to the three conditions you put forward."

“My conditions are very simple,” Song Heping said coldly, “and also very reasonable.”

Simon continued, "First, we will not hold any individual or organization responsible for this incident, provided that all hostilities cease immediately and all detainees are released."

“Massour and Black?” Song Heping asked.

“Including,” Simon replied succinctly. “Secondly, regarding the handling of equipment left behind by the U.S. military, it can be carried out according to the ‘surplus material disposal procedure.’ Specific details need to be negotiated by the technical personnel of both sides.”

Song Heping noticed that the other party used "surplus supplies" instead of "military equipment," which is typical bureaucratic wording, saving face while actually making a concession.

“Third,” Simon continued, “the 207 mercenaries held by the special operations group will be released. These were all personally approved by the president.”

Samir, standing to the side, could hardly believe his ears.

Song Heping asked, "Did they not have any additional requirements?"

“No,” Simon said. “Everything was done as you requested.”

"Please thank President Obama for me."

Song Heping smiled.

“But I require written documentation.”

Simon's lips twitched slightly: "You don't trust our verbal promises?"

“In Iligo,” Song Heping said casually, “I learned to only trust things that I can see and touch. Especially when dealing with the United States, written documents are not always useful, but having them is better than not having them.”

"You're quite an extraordinary person."

Simon finally nodded: "Okay. I will arrive at Baghdad International Airport at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. There will be official documents then. Let's meet in the Green Zone."

"I suggest we meet in Mosul, which is under the control of the 10th Division, at a location chosen by us."

"This doesn't match—"

“This is the only option, Director.” Song Heping interrupted him: “Considering what has happened in the past twenty-four hours, you should understand my security requirements.”

Simon took a deep breath: "Fine. You cautious Easterner!"

"Each each other."

Communication ended.

Suppressed cheers erupted from inside the command post.

The staff officers hugged and patted each other on the back, celebrating their miraculous survival.

Samir, however, appeared unusually calm.

He pulled Song Heping aside: "This went too smoothly, didn't it?"

"That's normal. Americans have a flexible moral bottom line. They're not stupid. If they don't cut their losses, even if they kill me, their end won't be good."

Song Heping explained in a low voice: "You've been fighting in Iligo for so many years and still don't understand? If it's in their interest, they can make deals with the devil, and even become sworn brothers with the 1515 armed group. But if it's not in their interest, you'll immediately become their 'enemy'."

"That's true..."

Samir understood the meaning behind Song Heping's words.

"So, they're not compromising, they're managing the crisis," Song Heping corrected. "They're using minimal concessions to gain maximum control."

Samir pondered for a moment: "Then would you believe their promises and documents?"

Song Heping chuckled: "I don't believe it. I'm more concerned about the arms deals worth over two billion US dollars. As for any agreements with Simon, that's just toilet paper to smear in their faces when things turn sour. It's meaningless otherwise."

After saying that, he glanced at his watch and added, "Lamont should have received the orders by now, but for someone like him, defeat is very painful. You order the troops to maintain the siege and wait for them to recover before they come out and surrender."

U.S. Joint Operations Group Base.

Deep inside the tunnel, the air was foul and damp.

Lemont stood with his back against the concrete wall, the beam of his tactical flashlight cutting a limited patch of light in the darkness.

He had just received a message from an encrypted channel, brief and clear: cease operations and prepare to surrender.

Repeat command.

"Remont spoke into the microphone."

Although this order seemed to have been expected, he was still somewhat unwilling.

They actually lost. They lost to a mercenary leader.

"Order confirmed. Immediately cease all hostilities with Song Heping, make contact with the local 10th Division, and transfer personnel and equipment according to standard procedures. They will provide evacuation routes after the transfer is completed."

Remont took off his headphones, leaving them hanging in front of his chest.

In the darkness, he heard his heartbeat gradually slow down.

it is finally over.

“Lymont,” Ryan leaned closer, “what are they saying in Washington?”

“Game over,” Remont replied calmly. “Prepare for handover.”

A commotion broke out inside the tunnel.

More than twenty Delta Force members and eight CIA special operations team members who had entered the tunnel without being captured gathered together. Their expressions were difficult to discern in the dim light, but their tense body language said it all.

"Surrender?" one of the team members asked incredulously. "To these Iligos?"

“This isn’t exactly a surrender, it’s just that both sides have stopped fighting, presumably because the terms have been agreed upon.” Lamont’s tone left no room for doubt: “That was an order directly issued by the White House.”

He sighed and said, "Besides, we have no chance of winning at all. Isn't it better to be alive?"

“What about Milos and his two hundred men?” Ryan asked.

"To be transferred together."

Silence fell over the tunnel.

The sound of dripping water could be faintly heard in the distance; it was unclear whether it was from water seepage or a pipe leak.

"Damn it! We're actually going to surrender to these militia-like bastards!"

One Delta Force member shook his head, unwilling to accept the facts.

Lamont switched on his flashlight, the beam sweeping across the team members' faces: "Listen carefully, this isn't a request, it's an order. Any disobedience will be considered treason. Understand?"

"Understood, sir."

The answers varied, but at least they were answered.

"Organize equipment, destroy sensitive documents, and retain basic self-defense weapons." Lamont ordered a Delta Force captain, "Wilson, take two men up to make contact with the 10th Division. Tell them we're going to..."

He glanced at his luminous watch. "The handover will begin in one hour."

"What if they demand we hand over our weapons first?"

“Standard procedure: only heavy weapons and explosives are surrendered. Personal weapons are retained until the handover is complete.” Lamont paused for a moment: “But if they insist on following this procedure, resistance is pointless.”

The team members began to quietly organize their equipment.

The laptop was physically destroyed, the encrypted communication device had its chip removed, and the documents were placed in a burning bag.

Their movements were practiced and mechanical, but everyone had a tense expression.

Lamont walked deep into the tunnel to a temporary detention area.

Milos sat in the corner, his hands bound with plastic cable ties, his face bruised, but his eyes still sharp.

"It seems you've run into trouble."

Milos mocked dismissively in English with a heavy Eastern European accent.

Lymont crouched down and cut the cable ties with his knife: "Your boss won."

Milos flexed his wrist and quickly bared his teeth. Several of his finger joints were broken, and even the slightest movement caused excruciating pain in all ten fingers.

"I told you, you can't beat my boss."

"Don't get too cocky," Lymont said coldly. "Your boss was just lucky. If it had been any later, he would have been hit by the bomb too!"

"But the fact is, you lost."

Milos stood up and was half a head taller than Lemont.

He said something that really broke Lymont's nerves: "And my boss would never abandon us, while your superiors are sending you here to die! That's the difference!"

Lemont's face turned pale and then red.

Milos's words struck a nerve.

Previously, politicians in Washington indeed didn't care whether they lived or died.

Compared to Song Heping's treatment of his subordinates.

There is indeed a world of difference between them.

Suddenly, a team member called out from the other end of the tunnel: "SIR! The 10th Division has responded. They have accepted the handover procedure and require us to assemble at the main exit."

The sudden report, ironically, gave Lamont an opportunity to escape his embarrassment.

Lemont gave Milos one last look and said bitterly, “Go back and tell your boss that he won this time, but no one who goes against the United States will have a good end.”

“I will relay the message.” Milos said expressionlessly. “Now, where are my men?”

"Other areas. You will be transferred together."

Milos nodded and followed Lemont toward the tunnel exit.

During the journey, they passed through other detention areas, where more than two hundred mercenaries were released one after another.

Most of them remained silent, a few muttered curses under their breath, but all lined up in columns under the watchful eyes of the Delta Force members.

At the main exit of the tunnel, when Lamont pushed open the heavy iron gate, the distant horizon was already showing the faint light of dawn.

Outside the gate, soldiers of the 10th Division had already set up a defensive line.

Armored vehicles blocked the base exit, snipers occupied high ground, and hundreds of soldiers deployed in tactical formations, their guns pointed at the exit.

Samir stood beside an armored vehicle, while Song Heping stood at the front of the vehicle, having been waiting for some time.

"Lemont," Samir shouted through the megaphone, "order your men to come out one by one, hands in sight, disarm. I don't want any unpleasantness to happen after the ceasefire. As long as you cooperate, we will ensure your safe departure."

Lemont took a deep breath and was the first to emerge from the tunnel.

The car headlights were blinding, so he squinted and raised his hands.

"All personnel shall follow the standard handover procedures."

Delta Force members and agents filed out, each walking to their designated area and placing their rifles, pistols, and explosives one by one on the blast blanket.

Their movements were precise, their faces expressionless, but everyone stood up straight.

Milos and his mercenaries were the last to emerge.

Compared to the disciplined Delta Force, these mercenaries appeared much more disorganized. Some were rubbing their wrists, some were talking in hushed tones, and many raised their hands to signal when they saw Song Heping.

Song Heping nodded slightly in response, his gaze fixed on Lamont.

The armed seizure lasted for twenty minutes.

When the last rifle was placed on the blast blanket, Samir signaled for the soldiers to come forward and inspect it.

“Mr. Lemont, I need your men to remove all protective gear,” Samir said as he approached.

Lemont stared at him for a few seconds, then began to unfasten his bulletproof vest.

The other team members did the same, and soon, bulletproof plates, tactical vests, and helmets were piled up like a small mountain on the open ground.

"Now, please cooperate with identity verification."

An officer from the 10th Division stepped forward with a list.

Just as the confirmation process was halfway through, the roar of an engine suddenly came from afar.

Everyone instinctively looked up and saw two Black Hawk helicopters flying low overhead, but they didn't approach; they just hovered in the distance.

“Our evacuation team,” Lamont explained, “is ensuring a smooth handover.”

Samir looked at Song Heping, who nodded slightly, indicating that there was no problem.

Identity verification complete.

All two hundred-plus detained mercenaries have been counted.

Delta Force and CIA agents were instructed to take their comrades' bodies onto trucks provided by the 10th Division. They would first be taken to a temporary containment site to await receipt by U.S. personnel before leaving by helicopter.

Before Lemont was the last to board the bus, he stopped and turned to Song Heping.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Lamont said. “You see this as weakness in Washington.”

Song Heping took a few steps closer, the two of them now only a meter apart: "I think this is Washington's rationality. You lost one battle, but you avoided losing more."

"We will meet again, Song."

“Perhaps,” Song Heping replied calmly, “but next time, you should first figure out who you are fighting for and why you are fighting.”

Lemont's expression froze for a moment before he turned and got into the car.

The truck engine started, kicking up dust, and slowly drove away from the scene.

Milos walked up to Song Heping: "He hates you."

“He hates failure.” Song Heping watched the truck drive away. “The difference is that some people learn from failure, while others just accumulate hatred.”

“What do we do now?” Milos asked.

“Now…” Song Heping turned to look at his subordinate, his gaze falling on his hands.

“You should see a doctor and get some rest. Tell the brothers who are being held in custody that each of them will receive an extra $30,000 in special subsidies this month. As for you, I have other plans for you.”

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(End of this chapter)