Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1414 The Long Wait

“Phase one complete.” Walker breathed a sigh of relief and took a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the drawer. “Now, they need to cross the government-controlled area before dawn. After that, they’ll enter the Amadiye Mountains, which is a no-man’s-land.”

He poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Swift: "Have a drink, you need to relax."

Swift took the glass but didn't drink: "Amadea... the terrain there is very complicated. The remnants of 1515, tribal militias, smuggling rings, and..."

“And there are the people we’ve arranged.” Walker took a sip of his drink, a smug smile spreading across his face. “You think I’d really risk six hundred million dollars worth of cargo? I hired people from Blackwater Consulting to scout and clear the route a week in advance. The Amadie Mountains are ‘clean’ now, at least they’ll be clean when we pass through.”

"Desert Scorpions" is a famous mercenary group in Iligor, formed by former Republican Guard officers. They are ruthless and charge exorbitant fees.

Swift felt slightly relieved: "How much did you spend?"

“A million dollars,” Walker said, “but it’s worth it. They killed dozens of ‘suspicious individuals,’ burned down three tribal checkpoints, and now the road is clear. They’ll also set up sentries along the way to warn people if anything unusual happens.”

He swirled his glass, the amber liquid shimmering under the light. "That's professionalism, Swift. Every detail considered, every risk controlled. You think I'm just a greedy officer? No, I'm a project manager, managing a $600 million project."

Swift finally took a sip of the liquor; the strong liquor burned her throat, bringing a brief numbness.

Perhaps Walker is right.

Perhaps I'm overthinking it.

Perhaps Song Heping's $200,000 was just a regular bribe.

He simply wanted to gain more convenience during the handover process.

"The buyer..." Swift asked, "is he reliable?"

"A representative of the Libyan National Army made contact through an intermediary in the UAE." Walker pulled up another document: "Thirty percent prepayment, already received. Forty percent payment upon arrival at the Turkish border, and the remaining balance upon entry into Libya. Payment methods are cryptocurrency and gold."

He clicked on a photo showing several men in robes standing in the desert, with several pickup trucks in the background: "These men are backed by the Camel Kings. They need equipment for their civil war, but they can't buy it through official channels, so they have to go to the black market. The price is 30 percent higher than the market price, and there's no bargaining."

"Why choose us? They should have other options."

"Because we have the goods in stock." Walker pointed to the convoy that had already driven away on the screen. "Fifty vehicles of equipment, from armored vehicles to missiles, from night vision devices to drones, a complete, systematic, and almost brand-new set of US military equipment. You won't find another country in the world with this scale and quality. The Russians are selling used goods, and what our country officially exports are monkey versions (note: referring to simplified export versions). Only what you buy from us is the genuine product."

He turned off the screen and stood up: "Now, all we need to do is wait. The convoy is scheduled to cross the Amadie Mountains at six o'clock tomorrow morning and arrive at the border of the Kolde Autonomous Okrug at ten o'clock. There, we'll meet them, transfer the goods to the Turkish convoy's vehicles, change the documents, change the license plates, and then... the money will be in our account."

Swift stared at the empty monitor screen and suddenly asked, "What if Song Heping finds out? What if he discovers that we're smuggling equipment that was supposed to be handed over to him?"

Walker's smile turned cold: "Then he has to accept reality. The contract says 'equipment stockpiled at Barkhada base,' but stockpiles are dynamic. What's in today might be reassigned tomorrow. We can give a hundred reasons: emergency readiness needs, equipment malfunction, audit adjustments... What can he do? Sue the U.S. military?"

At this point, he couldn't help but laugh smugly, then got up and walked to the door, glancing back at Swift one last time: "Remember, Swift, power doesn't come from rank, it comes from the system you're in. In this system, we represent America. On this land, America is the law. Song Heping can get angry, he can curse, he can even threaten. But in the end, he'll bow his head because he still wants to stay in this industry."

The door closed.

Only Swift remained in the monitoring room, along with the frozen image of the empty road on the screen.

He took out his phone and went to the encrypted photo album.

There's a photo inside; it was taken last night.

Twenty stacks of 100-dollar bills were neatly piled on the dormitory bed.

Each stack is worth $10,000, totaling $200,000.

When Song Heping's assistant Jiang Feng delivered the money, he only said one sentence: "Mr. Song, thank you for your cooperation. I hope we can continue to have a pleasant time together in the future."

At the time, Swift thought it was just a regular bribe.

But now, he increasingly feels that there is something else hidden in that stack of money.

Is this a warning?

still is……

insurance?
My phone suddenly vibrated; it was an encrypted message.

The sender was an unknown number, and the message contained only one sentence:

"The fog is very thick in Amadiye, drive carefully."

Swift stopped breathing.

He rushed to the control panel and pulled up the weather data.

In the Amadiye Mountains, visibility will be less than 50 meters tonight and tomorrow morning.

Dense fog.

His hands trembled as he tried to call Walker, to tell him the news, to suggest that he postpone the shipment.

But his finger remained on the dial key, hesitant to press it.

If I do, how do I explain the source of the information?
If he tells the truth, what will Walker think of him?

A coward terrified by anonymous information?

A mole who might have leaked information?

And what if it's just a coincidence?

What if someone sent it to the wrong person?

Swift stared at the message for a full three minutes.

In the end, he deleted it.

I put my phone back in my pocket and finished the rest of my whiskey.

The alcohol burned in my stomach, but it couldn't dispel the chill.

He walked out of the monitoring room and onto the open ground outside the warehouse.

The night wind was cold, and it felt like a knife cutting my face.

In the distance, the city of Bakhta is sparsely lit. This city has endured too many wars and has long since learned to remain silent at night.

A drone flew silently across the sky.

It was very small and quiet, like a nocturnal bird.

Swift glanced up, assuming it was a U.S. military reconnaissance drone, and paid no attention.

He was unaware that the drone came from another direction.

The camera under the fuselage slowly rotated, capturing images of the empty C-7 warehouse, his figure standing in the cold wind, and the taillights of the convoy that had disappeared on the northern road.

Mosul Command Center.

Looking at the live feed, Song Heping said to Samir, "They've set off."

Samir stared at the red dot representing the convoy on the screen: "Fifty vehicles, with more than two hundred mercenaries as escorts. It seems that Walker is really willing to spend money."

“Because the goods are worth hundreds of millions of dollars,” Song said calmly. “Notify Abbas and Bashir that the prey has emerged. Proceed according to plan. Remember, we want the goods, not the slaughter.”

The command was transmitted to the Amadiye Mountains via an encrypted channel.

The ambush force of four thousand men stared wide-eyed in the thick fog, each finger on the trigger, adjusting the angle of the gun barrels, and locking the missiles into their preset positions.

Meanwhile, at the Bakda base, Major Walker had just returned to his office.

He opened the safe, which contained a thick stack of transfer receipts, an encrypted USB drive, and several passports with different names.

He picked up the satellite phone and dialed a Swiss number.

“The convoy has departed,” he said in a low voice. “It is expected to arrive at the designated location in thirty-six hours. Please prepare for the second payment.”

A deep voice came from the other end of the phone: "We've received information that things are getting unstable in the Amadiye region lately. Have you ensured the route is safe?"

“Of course,” Walker said confidently. “I hired the best cleaners. Now that road is safer than the Green Zone in Buckingham.”

"Hopefully so. This shipment has many people watching it, including... the original buyer."

Walker laughed: "The original buyer was just a middleman. What could he do? Send his mercenaries to rob it? Would he dare to go against the US military?"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

“Don’t underestimate anyone, Walker. Especially those who have been living in the gray area for over a decade. They’ve survived, not by luck.”

“I understand,” Walker said, but his tone was full of skepticism. “But I have the whole system backing me up. On this land, America is God. And God… won’t lose.”

The call has ended.

Walker put the satellite phone back in the safe and locked it.

He walked to the window and looked at the northern night sky.

In a few hours, the convoy will enter the mountains. In a dozen or so hours, the $600 million will arrive. His share—15 percent, $90 million—will be distributed across seven offshore accounts.

Enough for him to retire, enough for him to buy a small island in the Caribbean, enough for him to forget all of this: the war, the corruption, the theft, and the people who might have died because of this equipment.

My phone rang; it was Swift.

"Walker, I...I still feel uneasy. Maybe we should send a drone to scout the Amadea section of the road?"

Walker sighed. "Swift, go get some sleep. You're under too much pressure. Everything's under control, I assure you."

He hung up the phone, shook his head, and sighed.

People who are indecisive like Swift will never achieve great things.

They will be tormented by their conscience, bound by fear, and will hesitate at crucial moments.

But I don't know how.

I am well aware of the rules of this world: might makes right, and money makes justice.

As for Song Heping?
If he's smart, he'll just have to swallow this bitter pill.

Walker turned on his computer and began planning his retirement.

He was completely unaware that the time displayed in the lower right corner of the screen showed that it was past midnight.

A new day begins.

Meanwhile, that shipment of equipment worth hundreds of millions of dollars was heading towards an elaborate trap. In that fog-shrouded valley, four thousand wolf-like eyes were fixed on the only path, waiting for their prey to fall into the trap.

At 4:17 p.m. the next day, in the Amadiye Mountains, at an altitude of 2143 meters.

The wind swept up from the depths of the canyon, carrying gravel and dust that lashed against the rocks.

Colonel Abbas Hadi of the 10th Division crouched behind a moss-covered basalt rock, the lens of his high-powered telescope reflecting a grayish-white light under the gloomy sky.

The telescope's crosshairs slowly swept across the winding, serpentine road below.

This is a road forgotten by time and war.

The asphalt road surface had long been cracked, and tenacious thistles and camel thorns grew from the cracks.

The road is only wide enough for two trucks to pass each other with difficulty. On one side is a nearly vertical limestone cliff, and on the other side is a canyon that is 170 meters deep, with white pebbles on the dry riverbed faintly visible at the bottom.

"The mortar positions are set up here, here, and here."

Abbas marked six points on the topographic map with red and blue pencils, instead of the three he had previously mentioned.

"Each cannon must be pre-set with four firing points, and it must be moved immediately after firing two rounds."

Major Mahmoud, the company commander beside him, blinked his wind-reddened eyes: "Four points? Colonel, that doubles the distance each artillery group needs to move."

“That’s why I chose the best gunner in the entire division.” Abbas didn’t look up, continuing to mark the positions of the heavy machine guns: “See those four salients? Place one NSV heavy machine gun at each, and two DShKs as supplements. Crossfire must cover the entire road, including the shoulders and any possible hiding spots. I need a net of death, not a sieve.”

Mahmoud leaned closer to the map and suddenly understood Abbas's intention.

This is no longer a simple crossfire, but a three-dimensional fire trap.

Machine guns at higher positions provided suppression, riflemen at medium range provided precision fire, and rocket launcher teams at the lowest positions destroyed armored targets.

"Colonel, is the intelligence confirmed?" Mahmoud lowered his voice. "The enemy only has two hundred guards?"

Abbas finally put down his binoculars and turned to look at his subordinate beside him.

“Boss Song’s intelligence has never been wrong,” Abbas said. “But intelligence is like the weather in the desert, it can change in an instant. So the third and fourth companies are in reserve, hidden in area C7. If there is any unexpected reinforcement, I want them to be in the battle within three minutes.”

Mahmoud nodded, but couldn't help asking, "What about those Kolds?"

Abbas pointed to the ridgeline to the northeast.

"The Ninth Brigade has been lying in wait there for ten hours. Their mission is not only to block the exit, but also to establish a blocking position in case a support force might appear from the direction of Turkey."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "As for the south, two mobile battalions are on standby five kilometers behind us. If the enemy tries to break out to the south, they will run into the ironclad defenses."

The entire ambush zone resembled an elaborately crafted animal trap, a pocket-shaped valley about two kilometers long, with a maximum width of no more than three hundred meters and a minimum width of only eighty meters.

Four thousand soldiers, twelve mortars, twenty-eight heavy machine guns, forty RPG rocket launchers, and eight anti-tank missile launchers were all hidden in rocks, caves, and bushes.

The valley was eerily silent.

The four thousand men seemed to have vanished into the mountains and fields.

There was no glare, no smoke, and even the excrement was specially treated.

At 7:30 p.m., the first wisp of mist rose from the bottom of the valley.

At first, it was just a few wisps of white smoke, swirling among the bushes at the bottom of the valley.

But soon, more water vapor evaporated from the rock crevices, streams, and plants, gathering into a milky white sea of ​​fog.

Visibility is decreasing at a rate visible to the naked eye.

The soldiers wrapped their coats tighter, checked their weapons' safety, and put on their PN-14K night vision goggles. While these Russian-made equipment weren't as advanced as their American counterparts, they performed more reliably in dense fog and were more adaptable to changes in humidity.

At 8:03 PM, the intelligence from the command center finally arrived.

"The convoy has left the Bakhda base, 6 hours ahead of schedule. Repeat, 6 hours ahead of schedule. Expected arrival at the ambush zone at 1 a.m."

Abbas glanced at his luminous watch; the dial glowed a soft green light in the darkness.

"Four hours and fifty-seven minutes to go. Let the brothers take turns resting, two hours of sleep each. Enter the final battle position at 12:00 AM sharp."

The command spread through the valley like ripples.

Half of the soldiers huddled under the camouflage netting, clutching their guns, while the other half remained on guard.

No one spoke, only the sound of the wind and the distant cries of unknown night birds.

At 11:50 p.m., the fog concentration reached its peak.

Visibility was less than 30 meters.

The forward reconnaissance team sent back information.

"Soldier One reports, prey spotted."

Abbas's heart began to beat strongly.

He pressed the radio transmit button three times.

That was a pre-arranged signal, indicating "target approaching, prepare for battle".

In the darkness, four thousand people, like a sophisticated machine, began to operate.

When the gunner made the final adjustment to the mortar angle and calculated the firing data, he took into account the effect of humidity on the trajectory.

The machine gunner pulls the bolt to chamber a round and makes final adjustments within the predetermined firing range.

The anti-tank missile operator activated the thermal imaging sight of the 9M133 "Kornet" and locked onto the most vulnerable section of the road.

Engineers inspect the remote detonation device of the IED to ensure that each piece of C4 explosive detonates at the correct time.

At 12:07 a.m., the first beam of headlights pierced through the thick fog.

"Car No. 1 calling Eagle Eye: The convoy has entered the Amadiye section, visibility is less than 50 meters, and it is recommended to reduce to 20 kilometers per hour."

The driver of the lead armored vehicle reported the road conditions over the radio.

In the middle of the convoy, in a modified armored personnel carrier, Carlson chewed nicotine gum while staring at the four monitoring screens in front of him.

The screen displayed real-time images of the convoy from all sides, all of which were a blurry gray and white mess.

“Don’t slow down, maintain 45 kilometers per hour.” Carlson’s voice had that characteristic Texan drawl: “Time is of the essence.”

"But sir, with this level of visibility—"

“I said, maintain speed,” Carlson interrupted, then switched to the internal channel: “Attention all units, this is Carlson. Maintain 15-meter distance between vehicles, machine gunners in position. This damn fog has blinded us, so get your ears and instincts on. Report any abnormalities immediately.”

Carlson, 46, is a former commander of SEAL Team Six, who participated in the Desert Storm, Enduring Freedom, and Iraqi Freedom operations. After retiring, he joined Blackwater Consulting (now called Academi) for $500 an hour, responsible for armed protection in various gray areas.

He has an eagle holding a trident tattooed on his left arm, and the names of his wife and two daughters tattooed on his right arm—though they haven't spoken to him in three years.

The reward for this mission is $500,000, enough for him to buy a small farm in Texas and truly retire.

But he didn't like the mission.

We set off six hours early, choosing an abandoned old road to traverse a no-man's-land in the thick fog of night.

This violates all principles of warfare.

"Boss, why aren't we taking the main road?"

The young mercenary in the co-pilot asked. His name was Jack, a former member of the 101st Airborne Division, and this was his third escort mission.

“Because there are checkpoints on the main road, and these goods,” Carlson pointed to the trailer behind, “don’t want to be checked.”

Jack was about to say something, but Carlson raised his hand.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if sniffing out danger in the air.

Years of battlefield experience had given him an almost animalistic intuition, and now, that intuition was screaming.

"parking."

Carlson suddenly opened his eyes and said as if he were possessed.

"what?"

"I fucking said stop the car!" Carlson grabbed the radio: "Attention all personnel, emergency stop! Immediately!"

But it's too late.

Abbas watched as the convoy entered the narrowest part of the ambush zone.

He took a deep breath and pressed the first detonator.

"boom--!!!"

A TM-62M anti-tank mine buried under the road surface was detonated seven meters in front of the first armored vehicle.

The shockwave from twelve kilograms of TNT overturned a fifteen-ton armored vehicle like a toy.

The armored vehicle flipped 180 degrees in the air and crashed heavily onto the road, blocking two-thirds of the road.

Almost simultaneously, a larger explosion occurred at the rear of the convoy.

The two landmines were positioned at an angle, destroying the last pickup truck and the second-to-last armored vehicle together.

The burning wreckage formed a perfect roadblock, sealing off any escape route.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" Carlson's roar exploded on the radio: "Everyone off the vehicles! Establish a ring defense! Call in air support!"

The well-trained mercenaries reacted swiftly.

The doors of the surviving armored vehicles opened simultaneously, and the soldiers rolled out, using the vehicles as cover to set up their weapons.

But their reaction was within the predetermined range of the ambush plan.

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(End of this chapter)