Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1413 The Thief Under the Cover of Night
The next day.

Mosul at night, the underground command center of the 10th Division headquarters.

Samir's brow furrowed into a deep valley as the tablet in front of him displayed the documents brought by Song Heping—warehouse transfer records, email screenshots, and communications between Walker and "Blackwater Consulting."

"Forty percent..." Samir sneered, "Equipment worth hundreds of millions of dollars, they really dare to steal it?"

On the electronic map in the command center, military bases northwest of Baghdad were marked in red, while the Amadia Mountains further north were circled in blue.

Song Heping stood in front of the map, the laser pointer's beam landing on a winding road in the mountains.

"Thompson's intelligence indicates that the transfer plan is in three days. The equipment will be transported from the base's C-7 area, heading north along Highway 1, turning onto mountain roads west of Mosul, crossing the border of the Kordi Autonomous Region, and finally arriving at the Silopi border crossing in Turkey."

“The route passes through the Amadiye Mountains.” Samir tapped the screen with his thick fingers. “The terrain here is complex, with deep canyons, making it an excellent ambush location. But the problem is that this is a no-man's-land. The remnants of 1515, tribal militias, and smuggling gangs are all active in this area. It’s impossible for our large-scale troop movement to go unnoticed.”

"So we need speed, and even more so, camouflage." Song Heping turned to Samir: "How many rapid reaction forces can the 10th Division mobilize?"

Samir pulled up a troop deployment map: "The border defenses cannot be moved, and at least four thousand people must be left in the city for stability maintenance. The mechanized troops I can mobilize... at most two thousand five hundred, and they must be secretly mobilized at night and returned to their posts during the day to create the illusion that they are still in the same place."

“Two thousand five hundred men are enough.” Song Heping drew a line on the map: “Add two thousand men from Abuyu’s Ninth Brigade. They are familiar with mountainous terrain and are skilled in light infantry warfare.”

Samir nodded: "So, what's the specific plan?"

Song Heping began to explain in detail:
"Phase one: secret assembly. Your 2,500 men will be divided into three groups and, under the guise of 'nighttime exercises,' will arrive at three pre-designated assembly points on the southeast side of the Amadiye Mountains within 72 hours. All vehicles will be demarked, soldiers will change into combat uniforms without rank insignia, and encrypted communication frequencies will be used."

"The second phase was a coordinated deployment. Two thousand men from Abuyu's 9th Brigade entered the mountains from the northeast, seized high ground, and controlled both ends of the valley. Their mission was to block the retreat route and prevent the convoy from escaping or reinforcements from arriving."

"The third phase is the ambush. According to the intelligence provided by Thompson, the convoy will consist of fifty heavy trailers, eight armored personnel carriers, and four armed pickup trucks, escorted by about two hundred men, mainly mercenaries. We will deploy IEDs at the narrowest part of the canyon to disable the vehicles at the front and rear, and then open fire simultaneously from both sides of the ridge."

"What about firepower?" Samir asked.

"Your troops are equipped with six 120mm mortars, eight 12.7mm heavy machine guns, and twenty-four RPG-7s. Abuyu's men will provide sniper teams and anti-tank missiles. Remember, our objective is to capture equipment, not to slaughter them. Fire with precision, targeting escort vehicles and mercenaries first, and try to avoid damaging the cargo on the transport vehicles."

Samir quickly jotted down notes on his tablet: "Time window?"

"Intelligence indicates that the transfer will begin at 2 a.m. the day after tomorrow, and is expected to arrive in the Amadiye Mountains at 6 a.m. We must complete all deployments by 4 a.m. and enter the highest state of readiness at 5 a.m."

"Command system?"

"You will be in charge of overall command, while I will coordinate intelligence and logistics in Mosul. On-site command will be handled by your deputy division commander, Colonel Abbas, who will work directly with Colonel Bashir of the Kold.

Song Heping paused, glanced at the map, and continued, "There's one more crucial point. Walker's convoy will definitely be equipped with satellite communication and GPS positioning systems. Drive all your unit's jamming vehicles over there; we need to implement full-band jamming three minutes before the operation begins."

Samir looked at the communications officer in the corner: "Can you do it?"

A lean technical officer stood up: "The 'Shrub' electronic warfare system we imported from the Russians was just tested last week. It has an effective jamming radius of 15 kilometers, enough to cover the entire ambush area. But the jamming time cannot exceed twenty minutes, otherwise the US electronic reconnaissance station in Mosul will detect the anomaly."

"Fifteen minutes will be enough," Song Heping said. "From the first explosion to taking control of the entire area, we must end the battle within ten minutes."

Once the plan was finalized, the massive war machine began to operate quietly.

Late at night on the first day, at the 10th Division's garrison on the outskirts of Mosul.

The military camp was brightly lit, and the soldiers were told that they would be conducting a three-day "anti-infiltration night exercise".

Heavy trucks drove out of the garage, and M113 armored personnel carriers and Humvees lined up in a long queue, the roar of diesel engines echoing in the night sky.

However, a closer look reveals an anomaly: all the vehicles' military insignia were covered with tarpaulins, the license plates were temporarily removed, and the soldiers' armbands and rank insignia were all taken off.

Colonel Abbas stood beside the command vehicle, glancing at his watch: "First echelon, move out!"

A convoy of sixty vehicles of various types slowly drove out of the camp and headed north along the predetermined route.

They did not turn on their headlights, relying solely on night vision equipment to navigate through the darkness.

At the same time, in the civilian warehouse district east of Mosul.

Twenty unmarked container trucks quietly assembled.

The vehicle was not loaded with cargo, but with mortars, heavy machine guns, ammunition, and fuel.

These vehicles will set off separately, taking a longer route, and arrive at the assembly point before dawn.

In the command center, Song Heping and Samir stayed up all night.

On the electronic map, blue dots representing friendly forces move slowly, and satellite images show the real-time situation in the Amadiye Mountains.

“Kold’s 9th Brigade has already set off.” Samir pointed to the cluster of lights to the northeast. “Colonel Bashir reports that his advance troops will be in their designated positions within two hours.”

Song Heping nodded, but his eyes were fixed on another screen.

Those were commercial satellite images obtained through clandestine channels, showing activity in Baghdad's C-7 area.

In the image, dozens of heavy-duty trailers are being loaded, with large containers being hoisted onto them.

Despite the limited resolution, the outline of the Stryker armored vehicle and the shape of the missile launchers are still discernible.

“They’re speeding up.” Song Heping frowned. “The transfer, originally scheduled for the early morning of the day after tomorrow, may be moved up to tomorrow night.”

"why?"

“Maybe Walker sensed something, or maybe it’s just greed that made him want to get the money faster.” Song Heping pulled up the weather data: “There will be fog in the mountains tomorrow night, with visibility less than 100 meters. This is advantageous for us, but it also provides cover for the convoy.”

Samir immediately ordered: "Notify all troops that the plan is to be moved forward by 24 hours. They must be in position by 6 p.m. tomorrow and be prepared for an all-night operation."

The commands were transmitted in all directions via encrypted channels.

The troops, which had already covered most of the distance, began to accelerate, and the logistics vehicles risked continuing to advance during the day, disguised as civilian freight convoys.

The soldiers of the 9th Brigade of Kold, carrying heavy equipment, marched along mountain trails.

These soldiers, who grew up in the mountains, moved steadily, and the 2000-strong force moved through the jungle like ghosts, without startling any birds or leaving any obvious traces.

Warehouse in Sector C-7, a military base northwest of Baghdad.

At 11 p.m., this normally quiet and secluded area was brightly lit.

The booms of twelve large cranes cast spiderweb-like shadows under the searchlights, and the roar of their engines shattered the tranquility of the night.

Fifty German MAN heavy-duty trailers were lined up in four columns, each with civilian license plates and canvas awnings covering the cargo box.

But anyone with a little military knowledge could tell from the outline that what lay beneath was definitely not ordinary cargo.

"The third batch, numbered C7-18 to C7-30, consists entirely of Stryker armored personnel carriers equipped with remote weapon stations."

The warehouse manager held a tablet computer, his voice echoing in the empty hangar.

He was a clerical contractor in his fifties, wearing khaki overalls and glasses that had slipped down to the tip of his nose.

"The mileage is all below 500 miles, the electronic systems are in good condition, and the ammunition load is full. The documents for each vehicle are prepared, such as 'training wear and tear,' 'mechanical failure retirement,' and 'battlefield damage beyond repair.' The reasons can be randomly assigned, and no problems will be found during the audit."

Major Walker stood on the observation platform on the second floor of the warehouse, his hands behind his back, looking down at the bustling scene below.

“The progress is slow.” Walker’s voice was not loud, but slightly anxious: “The train was scheduled to depart at two o’clock in the morning, and there are still forty-three trains that have not been loaded. Mr. Perkins, your efficiency has disappointed me.”

The warehouse supervisor wiped the sweat from his brow: "Major, these vehicles need final 'treatment.' The serial numbers on each vehicle need to be repainted, military markings need to be removed, and the GPS trackers need to be removed or jammed. This will take time..."

“Then send more people.” Walker interrupted him. “I don’t care what you do, all the vehicles must be loaded by 1 a.m. The buyers are waiting at the Turkish border, and every hour of delay increases our risk tenfold.”

"But--"

“No buts,” Walker said firmly. “Do you know the total value of this shipment? Five hundred and eighty million dollars. Do you know how many people are waiting to share this money? From the Pentagon to the State Department, from contractors to transportation companies. If your delays cause the deal to fall through…”

He didn't finish speaking, but the threat was clear enough.

The warehouse manager, his face pale, turned and yelled into the walkie-talkie, "Everyone! Cancel the break! I want to see all forty-three vehicles loaded onto the trailers within forty-five minutes! Bring over crane sets number three and seven as well!"

The pace of work below suddenly quickened. Workers started running, the crane's slings screeched, and the hydraulic system hissed.

Walker nodded in satisfaction and walked down the metal stairs from the observation deck.

His military boots clattered crisply on the steel plates, each step exuding the confidence of a master. On the warehouse floor, the scene was even more awe-inspiring.

On the left, twenty-four M-ATV mine-resistant ambush protected vehicles (MRAPs) are being hoisted in sequence. These armored vehicles, each worth $800,000, are almost brand new, the anti-rust coating on their V-shaped chassis still gleaming. Workers are quickly grinding off the US ARMY markings on the vehicles with angle grinders and spraying on the logo of a civilian company—a fictitious "Universal Mining Equipment Company" emblem.

In the central area, twelve Javelin anti-tank missile systems were loaded into specially designed transport crates and transported onto trailers by forklifts. Each crate was labeled "Industrial Laser Calibration Equipment," but faint military serial numbers could still be seen in the corners of the crates.

The right-hand area is the most sensitive.

Eight sets of "Switchblade-300" loitering munition systems are being packaged.

These suicide drones were disassembled into parts and packed into more than a dozen boxes labeled "geological exploration drone parts".

There were also two "Crow" small reconnaissance drones next to it, with the packaging boxes labeled "film and television aerial photography equipment".

“These sensitive items will be handled by a separate team,” Walker said to a mercenary commander beside him. “Your A team will escort them along the alternate route. If we encounter any checks… you know what to do.”

The mercenary commander was a bald, muscular man with a scar running from his brow bone to his chin.

He nodded and patted the pistol at his waist: "Understood, Major. 'In the event of an armed robbery, immediately destroy sensitive goods'—we've rehearsed that three times."

Walker was about to speak when he heard footsteps behind him.

Lieutenant Colonel Swift walked up.

In stark contrast to Walker's impeccable appearance, Swift looked tired. His combat uniform was wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he held a cup of cold coffee in his hand.

“Walker, we need to talk,” Swift said in a low voice.

Walker glanced at him and waved to the mercenary commander: "Go and oversee the loading. I want the convoy ready by 12:30."

The commander saluted and turned to leave.

The two walked to a temporary office area in the corner of the warehouse, which was filled with file boxes and the air was filled with the smell of dust and machine oil.

“You look tired, Swift.” Walker leaned against the table, took a cigar from his pocket, and slowly cut off the cap. “Didn’t sleep well last night? Or…”

Swift didn't laugh: "Song Heping came to me last night and gave me two hundred thousand dollars privately."

Walker paused for half a second while lighting his cigar, then continued.

The lighter's flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating half of his face.

“So? We all took his money. Johnson took half a million, Miller took three hundred thousand, and I took…” He exhaled a puff of smoke: “More than you think. That’s the game, Swift. How do you think these pieces of equipment disappear from the official list? How do you think the Department of Defense auditors suddenly went blind? How do you think transport permits are approved in twenty-four hours?”

“I wasn’t talking about the money.” Swift put down her coffee cup. “I was asking why Song Heping gave me this money separately, and why it was the day before we started the shipment?”

Walker finally looked him in the eye: "What do you think?"

“I don’t think he was simply trying to bribe me.” Swift walked to the window and looked at the bustling scene outside. “He was sending a message that he probably knew what we were doing. The two hundred thousand wasn’t a bribe; it was a warning. ‘I know your price. I can pay, but I can do other things too.’”

Walker scoffed, "You watch too many movies, Swift. Who is Song Heping? A former soldier from Dongda University, now an arms dealer and PMC contractor. What would he dare do to us? Report us to the embassy? Expose us in the media?"

He walked over to Swift and looked out the window as well: “Look down, Swift. Look at the scale. Fifty heavy trailers, nearly six hundred million dollars worth of equipment. You think this is just a small business for you and me? This is systems engineering. From offices in Washington to warehouses in Baghdad, from civilians at the Department of Defense to frontline commanders, everyone is on this food chain.”

He pointed to a Stryker being hoisted: "That vehicle is worth $2.1 million on paper. But in reality, it should have been retired three years ago. The military purchased a new batch, and the old batch should theoretically be destroyed. What is the cost of destruction? $50,000 per vehicle. But if we 'dispose' of it and sell it on the black market, we can get $1.8 million. The difference is the profit."

He then pointed to the Javelin missiles: "Those are even more outrageous. Each launch unit is worth 250,000 on paper, and each missile is worth 80,000. The cost of destruction? Almost zero, the explosives are gone in an instant. But the black market price? 150,000 for a launch unit, 120,000 for a missile. Do you know why? Because missiles are disposable, once used, they're gone, but the demand is always there."

Walker turned to face Swift: "Do you understand? This isn't theft, it's profit optimization. If these items were sold to him under the contract, they'd be worth scrap at best. Now, they've found new owners and are putting their value to use, while we... we're just charging a reasonable service fee."

Swift remained silent for a long time.

The alarm of a crane came from outside the warehouse. An M-ATV was hoisted into the air and slowly rotated under the searchlight, like a beetle pinned to a specimen board.

“Song Heping killed the commander of the French Foreign Legion in Africa,” Swift suddenly said. “In Mali, a colonel tried to steal a batch of weapons from him, but three days later he was found dead in his camp, a bullet entering the back of his head. The scene was staged to look like a robbery. There was no evidence pointing to Song Heping, but everyone knew it was him.”

"Are you trying to scare me, Swift?" Walker laughed, his laughter full of sarcasm. "This isn't Africa, this isn't Ukraine. This is Iligo, an area controlled by the United States. If Song Heping dares to lay a finger on me, his company will be listed as a terrorist organization the next day, his assets will be frozen, and his people will be wanted worldwide."

“He has four thousand mercenaries under his command,” Swift said. “Well-equipped and experienced. General Samir’s 10th Division is his ally, with fifteen thousand men. He also has connections with the 9th Brigade in Kold’s forces. If he really decides…”

"Decid what? Start a war?" Walker interrupted him, the butt of his cigar tracing a red arc in the darkness. "For this batch of equipment? Don't be silly. Song Heping is a businessman, not a madman. A businessman's logic is to calculate costs and benefits. What are the costs of confronting us? Going against the United States? Becoming a key target of the CIA? What are the benefits? This batch of equipment? He can wait for the next batch. The Middle East is always at war, and there will always be a need for weapons. He won't ruin his multi-billion dollar business for six hundred million dollars worth of goods."

He patted Swift on the shoulder, hard: “Relax. You’re just too nervous. This is your first time working on an operation of this scale. Believe me, I’ve been doing this for seven years, from Afghanistan to Ili, from Syria to Yemen. The process is always the same: find buyers, revise documents, ship goods, and distribute profits. The only difference is that this time it’s on a bigger scale, that’s all.”

Swift looked out the window; the last Stryker was being loaded onto the truck.

That car was a bit unusual.

The roof-mounted remote weapon station is an upgraded version, equipped with a 30mm automatic cannon and an anti-tank missile launcher.

This is the configuration of the company commander's command vehicle; there are only three in the entire base.

“That car wasn’t on the list,” Swift said. “I remember very clearly that the handover list only included the standard model.”

Walker followed his gaze and smiled. "Oh, that. It was a freebie. The buyer paid an extra $500,000 for a 'special edition.' I checked, and this car is a test model; theoretically, it doesn't exist, so it's not recorded. Things not recorded aren't considered lost."

"Test model? You mean..."

“Yes, it’s an upgrade kit that’s still in the experimental stage.” Walker lowered his voice: “The active defense system can intercept RPGs, the onboard AI can automatically identify threat targets, and the fire control system integrates the drone data link. This thing is at least five years ahead of current equipment.”

Swift felt a chill: "If this stuff gets out, and then it's reverse engineered..."

“That’s not our problem,” Walker said nonchalantly. “The Russians, the Japanese, the Persians—they’ll get the technology sooner or later. We just… accelerated the process. Besides, these two cars alone will give us half a million dollars.”

At this moment, the warehouse supervisor jogged over, a smile finally appearing on his face: "Major, all vehicles are loaded! All fifty trailers are fully loaded, all documents are prepared, and the escort convoy is in position!"

Walker checked his watch: 12:28 a.m.

It was half an hour earlier than originally planned.

“Very good.” He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. “Notify all units: the convoy will depart in one minute. Follow the planned route, maintain radio silence, and report your position every hour. In case of any unforeseen circumstances—and I mean any unforeseen circumstances—activate the emergency plan immediately.”

"Yes!" The warehouse manager turned and ran to relay the order.

Walker straightened his collar and said to Swift, “See, everything’s going well. Now, I’m going to the control room to watch the convoy depart. Want to come along? Seeing six hundred million dollars disappear under the cover of night… it’s quite a sight.”

Swift hesitated for a moment, but then followed.

The monitoring room is on the second floor of the warehouse, with three walls covered by screens that display real-time footage of the warehouse from various angles, the base gate, and several key intersections along the way.

On the central screen, the convoy is slowly driving out of Zone C-7.

Fifty heavy-duty trailers, each covered with a thick tarpaulin and secured with ropes.

Eight Maasca armored vehicles provided protection in three positions: front, middle, and rear, with 12.7mm heavy machine guns on the roofs pointing in various directions.

Four Toyota pickup trucks served as mobile sentries, patrolling around the convoy.

The mercenaries guarding the area wore unmarked combat uniforms and hoods, revealing only their eyes. Their weapons were a mixed bag: M4 carbines, SCAR assault rifles, and even a few German HK417s.

These were obtained from different channels and cannot be traced.

“The total escort force is two hundred and twenty men.” Walker sat at the control panel and pulled up the personnel list. “They are all veterans, with experience in at least three war zones. Commander Carl, former SEAL Team Six, did four years of side jobs in Afghanistan and Syria. He knows what to do.”

On the screen, the convoy drove out of the base gate.

The soldier on duty at the gate glanced at the document and waved for them to pass.

He didn't even check any of the cars, because everything had already been taken care of.

The convoy merged into the highway outside Bakta, the headlights forming a winding ribbon of light, like a glowing centipede crawling northwest.

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(End of this chapter)