Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1416 Walker's Rampage

Eighty kilometers south of Bakta, a U.S. military base, command center.

03:20 AM.

Three rows of curved control consoles stretched out under the dim blue light, with more than twenty operators wearing headphones, their fingers moving rapidly across touchscreens and keyboards.

The central screen was divided into twelve displays: satellite cloud images, real-time drone footage, location tracking of various units, and status of encrypted communication channels.

The air was filled with a faint ozone smell emanating from electronic devices, mixed with the metallic odor of excessively cold air conditioning.

Major Walker stood in front of the control panel, his OCP camouflage combat uniform soaked with dark sweat stains on the back.

I was covered in cold sweat.

He braced his hands on the edge of the control panel, his knuckles turning white from the force.

On the screen, infrared images transmitted by the MQ-9 Reaper drone are being updated in real time.

Viewed from thousands of meters above, the Amadea Valley resembles a hellish chasm cleaved open by a giant axe.

"Switch to thermal imaging enhancement mode."

Walker's voice was slightly hoarse, and he nervously stroked his big nose as he spoke.

"Switched, sir."

The drone operator was a 24-year-old private first class, his finger sliding across the control panel.

"'Death' is conducting a second low-altitude scan, lowering its altitude to 3,000 meters and maximizing its optical zoom."

The image shook violently for a few seconds before stabilizing.

The details we see now are breathtaking.

The canyon road winds through the dark mountains like a gray-white ribbon.

Along this strip, there are at least twelve glaringly bright white heat sources, which are still burning vehicle wreckage. The flames and high temperatures appear almost transparent white on the thermal imager.

“Mark the area from A1 to A6.” Walker commanded: “Zoom in one by one.”

Area A1: A light armored vehicle lies overturned on the side of the road, its body burned down to its skeleton.

Thermal imaging revealed two dark blue humanoid silhouettes in the cockpit area, clearly cooled corpses, with their temperature almost identical to the surrounding environment.

However, the fuel tank area was still burning slowly, showing orange-yellow residual heat.

Area A2: Two armed pickup trucks have collided, with a bright white heat source piled up in the cargo bed of one of them.

The operator adjusts the spectrum analysis.

"It's an unexploded rocket, sir. The temperature indicator shows the internal explosives are slowly thermally decomposing."

Area A3: The center of the image is a distinctive corpse.

Walker's breath hitched for a second.

The body lay beside an overturned armored vehicle, its torso intact, but only an irregular dark blue outline remained where the head should have been.

This means that the head is no longer there, and the wound temperature is the same as the environment.

The body was wearing a modular tactical vest with a prominent bright white heat source on it.

“Enlarge the vest area,” Walker said.

The image is in focus.

It was a satellite phone that was still warm, with a temperature reading of 42 degrees Celsius, which meant that it had been held in someone's hand not long ago.

Next to the phone was a gear bag that was difficult to identify with thermal imaging but had a familiar outline.

"That's Carlson's tactical kit."

Walker wiped his eyes, his voice trembling as if he were talking to himself.

“I recognize how the radio interface is set up. Only SEALs would organize their equipment like that.”

Carlson, a retired officer from the former Naval Special Operations Development Group.

Walker personally selected him to be in charge of the escort because Carlson's defense company had an impeccable reputation in the black market.

Now, Carlson lies in a desolate canyon north of Iligo, a corpse missing half its head.

“Continue.” Walker took a deep breath and gritted his teeth as he gave the order.

The A4 to A6 areas display a similar scene.

Burning armored vehicles, scattered weapons, and corpses lying dead in various positions.

Thermal imaging faithfully presents the temperature differences at the end of life. The core of a body that has just died still retains a residual temperature of about 30 degrees Celsius and appears dark red; while those that have been dead for some time turn completely into a dark blue that matches the environment.

But some things are clearly missing.

“Where are the transport vehicles?” Walker suddenly asked. “Fifty heavy equipment transport vehicles, each fifteen meters long and four meters high, their infrared signatures should look like rows of mobile houses. Where are they? I haven’t seen a single one!!”

The intelligence officer quickly retrieved the synthetic aperture radar (SAR) scan data from the drone.

SAR can penetrate smoke and some obstructions to detect the outline of metallic objects.

The screen switches to radar image.

The highway was covered with a dense array of metallic signals, but they were all small pieces of debris.

The intelligence officer circled several areas with the cursor: "Here, here, and here, there are traces of large vehicles that have stopped, the ground is compacted to varying degrees, and there are oil stains. But the vehicles themselves... are gone."

“Fifty heavy trucks couldn’t just vanish into thin air.” Walker turned and glanced across the command room: “Check satellite overhead records! Any convoys that left the area in the past two hours!”

“It’s been checked, sir.” Another intelligence officer looked up, his face grim. “The National Reconnaissance Office (NRO)’s KH-13 satellite made an overhead pass at 01:30. At that time, the Amadie Valley area was covered by dense fog, rendering optical imaging ineffective. Radar scans showed…signs of large-scale vehicle movement in the area, but the exact number and destination could not be determined.”

"Dense fog?" Walker sneered. "What a coincidence?"

"Meteorological data confirms that unusually dense fog did form in the area last night, with visibility dropping below fifty meters at one point. But..."

The intelligence officer paused for a moment: "But the dense fog suddenly began to dissipate around 02:15, and visibility has now returned to normal levels."

"It seems the weather isn't on our side."

Swift, who had been standing silently in the corner, suddenly spoke up.

Everyone in the command room looked at him.

Swift and Walker were in charge of different areas; Walker was responsible for equipment transfer and logistics coordination, while Swift was responsible for intelligence integration and coordination.

The two were theoretically independent of each other, but in practice, Walker often held the upper hand in discourse due to his relationship with certain figures in Washington.

At that moment, Swift slowly walked to the control panel.

“Dense fog can form naturally in the northern mountains of Iligo under certain conditions,” Swift said, pointing to the weather data. “But if someone releases smoke agents or weather intervention agents in the right location, it is entirely possible to create or prolong the duration of dense fog, thus providing cover for the movement of large convoys.”

Walker stared at Swift: "What are you trying to say?"

“I want to say that this is not something the remnants of 1515 could have done.” Swift met Walker’s gaze. “This was not a terrorist attack, but a well-planned professional military operation. The attackers had the time, the intelligence, the resources, and most importantly, they knew the convoy would be passing through there and what it was carrying.”

The command room was deathly silent.

Walker suddenly slammed his fist on the control panel.

boom!
The metal countertop made a dull, loud thud, knocking over the coffee cup next to it.

The half-cold coffee spilled out, creating a smudge on the map of northern Iligo, which happened to cover the location of the Amadia Valley.

"It's Song Heping, it must be him!" Walker gritted his teeth, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth: "Only he has the motive to do this!"

"Walker, what evidence?" Swift's voice remained calm. "Walker, we currently have no direct evidence pointing to Song Heping. There were no attackers' bodies left at the scene, and no weapon remains that can be traced back to a specific force. Are you going to draw conclusions based on just one sentence?"

He pointed to the screen: "Based on thermal imaging and radar data, the attack occurred in a very short time. The first salvo was most likely fired by mortars or rockets; look at the distribution of these craters—"

Swift zoomed in on the marked explosion points on the map. "Six rounds landed simultaneously, creating a perfect kill zone. Then heavy machine guns suppressed the area from both sides of the mountain, and finally infantry rappelled down to clear the area. The whole process wouldn't take more than fifteen minutes."

Swift turned to Walker: “Tell me, Walker, what other force in northern Iligo is capable of carrying out an ambush of this caliber? The 10th Border Division? Whose unit is that?”

"The 10th Division conducted exercises north of Mosul last night."

Walker said, but his tone was less certain.

"That's right! It must have been the 10th Division! Damn it! That Samir is Song Heping's dog! FUCK! I should have known!"

He started to lose control of his emotions, cursing and swearing.

The atmosphere in the command room grew increasingly tense.

The young operators exchanged glances, and one of them put on headphones and quietly turned away, clearly not wanting to hear anything he shouldn't.

Walker realized this.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, but the veins on his temples were still throbbing.

“Everyone,” Walker scanned the command room. “What you just saw and heard is top secret. According to Article 104 of the Unified Military Justice Code, any unauthorized disclosure of information is considered treason. Understand?”

"Understood, sir!"

The voices that answered were in unison but trembled slightly.

“Continue to monitor the area and search for any possible traces of the convoy. I will update the report every ten minutes.”

After Walker finished speaking, he turned to Swift.

“Let’s talk privately.”

The two entered the intelligence analysis cubicle next to the command room.

The cubicles are designed with acoustic shielding, so that external noise completely disappears when the door is closed.

“What did you mean by that?” Walker stared at Swift. “What are you implying?”

Swift did not answer immediately.

He walked to the small refrigerator, took out two bottles of ice water, tossed one to Walker, and opened the other bottle for himself, taking a big gulp.

“What I mean is, this is more complicated than it appears on the surface.”

Swift said frankly, “Walker, we’ve all been in this business long enough to know the rules. Some deals can be done, but they have to be done cleanly. If they’re not done cleanly…”

He paused, then shrugged: "Then all participants must bear the consequences."

Walker unscrewed the water bottle but didn't drink: "Consequences?! What consequences do you think a contractor can make us bear?!"

Swift interrupted him: "I warned you not to underestimate Song Heping!"

"You're a coward! A wimp!"

Walker was already furious, and Swift's words sounded like a reprimand, which made him explode again.

The two stared at each other, and the air in the cubicle almost seemed to crackle with sparks.

“So you knew beforehand that he was going to make a move? To take action?!” Walker said. “You knew, but you didn’t stop him or report it.”

"Why should I report it?" Swift retorted. "That's your 'business,' Walker. As long as it doesn't affect my duties, jeopardize the coalition operations, or leave any leverage that could backfire on us, what you do is none of my business. Besides, I already warned you! And I have no evidence that Song Heping had the exact transport route and wanted to take action against the convoy. You arranged the route yourself, and now you're blaming me?!"

"And now?" Walker's voice rose: "Now the goods are gone! Equipment worth hundreds of millions of dollars, including twelve Switchblade 300 loitering munition systems, forty Stinger Block II missiles, and two hundred Raven drones—these were sensitive pieces of equipment that the higher-ups specifically requested to be 'specially handled'! Now they're all gone!"

Swift was silent for a few seconds.

He walked to the explosion-proof window of the cubicle. Outside the window was the pitch-black camp in the Green Zone, with only the searchlights of patrol vehicles occasionally streaking across the night sky.

"How much did Libya pay?" Swift suddenly asked.

Walker was taken aback: "What?"

“General Haftar’s ‘National Army’.” Swift turned around. “They’ve been making little progress on the Tripoli front lately and urgently need a batch of precision-strike weapons through ‘informal channels.’ My intelligence indicates they’re willing to pay three times the market price for US-made active-duty equipment. How much are you negotiating? Five hundred million? Six hundred million?”

Walker's face turned extremely pale.

Swift continued, “Let me guess the deal structure. The equipment was officially recorded as ‘battle-damaged’ or ‘missing during transfer,’ and the Pentagon’s audit system has a complete chain of documents. In reality, it was loaded onto trucks, transported to the northern border, exchanged for handwritten ‘humanitarian supplies’ documents at a checkpoint, entered Turkey, and then transshipped from the Mediterranean to Libya.”

"you……"

Walker opened his mouth, but couldn't make a complete sound.

“I’m the intelligence officer, Walker,” Swift repeated. “Do you really think your little tricks can fool everyone? There are at least three informants at the CIA’s Bakda station watching the shipment. The Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) even sent an inquiry last week asking why the ‘loss rate’ at the Mosul warehouse suddenly spiked by 300 percent.”

Walker finally slumped into his chair, dropping the water bottle in his hand and spilling water all over the floor.

“Then why…” he hissed, “why didn’t anyone stop it? If you knew, if the CIA knew—”

"Because every department gets a share of this business, or at least a piece of the pie, they're turning a blind eye!"

Swift took a few steps closer and lowered his voice, "Walker, listen to me. What I said just now was only assuming nothing happens. If something does happen..."

Walker looked up abruptly, his eyes filled with fear.

“By then…” Swift said, emphasizing each word, “the investigation won’t be about a ‘missing cargo,’ but a ‘treasonous arms smuggling case.’ Everyone involved, including the big shots who provided you with asylum in Washington, will immediately sever ties and throw you out as a scapegoat. You know what they’ll do: your computer will ‘suddenly’ show communications with foreign powers, your bank account will ‘show’ large sums of money from unknown sources, and your mental health assessment will ‘show’ that you suffer from severe PTSD due to long-term battlefield service and may therefore engage in ‘irrational behavior.’”

"That's enough." Walker covered his face with his hands.

But Swift wasn't finished: "Then a military court will prosecute you for treason, corruption, and endangering national security. The best-case scenario is spending the rest of your life in Leavenworth Military Prison, the worst-case scenario..."

He made a throat-slitting gesture.

"Some people won't allow someone who knows too much to live too long."

The cubicle was quiet for a full minute.

Walker lowered his hand, his eyes bloodshot, but his expression had changed from anger and panic to a kind of desperate calm.

“What suggestions do you have?” he asked.

Swift knew that the crucial moment had arrived.

“Find Song Heping and negotiate,” he said.

Walker let out a short, cold laugh: "Negotiation? Make him spit out what he's eaten? Swift, you saw what happened. That guy used a massive force to carry out a textbook example of annihilation. Now you want me to negotiate with him?"

“It’s not about making him spit it out.” Swift’s mind raced. “It’s about proposing a ‘buyback.’ We can make up a story: this batch of equipment was hijacked by terrorists, we discovered clues during the tracking process, launched a timely raid to retrieve the equipment, but some equipment was damaged in the battle. Then we buy it back from Song Heping at scrap metal prices under the guise of ‘disposal.’”

Walker stared at Swift as if she were a madwoman: "I'm going to pay to get my own stuff back? And thank that robber? Swift, are you serious?"

“This is about stopping the bleeding!” Swift raised his voice. “Where do you think that equipment is right now? It’s already on its way! Every hour, it’s getting further away from us! If we can negotiate to buy back even 70 percent of the equipment at scrap price, we can put together a new batch and deliver it to the Libyans. If we use the ‘special fund,’ the losses can be kept within an acceptable range, and everyone can save face.”

The “Special Fund” is a shady account set up by Walker and the forces behind him, with complex sources of funds, used to handle various “inconvenient” expenses.

Walker stood up and paced around the cramped cubicle.

Take three steps to the end, turn around, and walk back.

"Why?" He suddenly stopped, staring intently at Swift. "Why are you taking Song Heping's side? What kind of deal do you two have?"

Swift's heart skipped a beat, but her face remained unchanged.

“Walker, we’re all involved in this,” he said calmly. “If the goods really disappear forever, if things really blow up, the investigation will affect everyone. Do you think I can keep my career? I’m just looking for a solution that will cause the least harm to all of us.”

"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"

Walker's eyes turned bloodshot, and his expression gradually became frantic.

"You're such a coward! Swift! I was right about you! When it really matters, you're just a guy who wets his pants and screams for his mom!"

He pointed to the door: "Get out! Get out of here! I'll get my stuff back in my own way! I don't believe that guy from Dongda University can swallow our American weapons! That's ours, our money!"

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(End of this chapter)