Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1299 Kurt's Bet

The lights in the Baiji refinery's command center came on precisely at six o'clock in the evening, illuminating the analysis room in a stark white light, making it resemble an operating room.

Song Heping stood in front of the three main screens side by side, arms crossed, motionless.

The latest battlefield situation map has been updated—the drones have regained clear reconnaissance capabilities for the first time since the sandstorm.

But what the footage showed was not the steady advance of the coalition forces, but a defensive network riddled with holes.

"Look here."

Song Heping pointed to the center of the screen, his finger tracing a winding zigzag line in the air. "Three days ago, the Allied forces' forward position was here, controlling the intersection of the main road in the north of the city. And now?"

Jiang Feng leaned closer to the screen, his expression turning serious: "They've retreated at least four hundred meters. And the support points here... are gone."

It was a three-story building, originally an observation post for a machine gun team from Thunder Defense.

In the photo, all that remains is a pile of collapsed concrete and twisted steel bars.

The charred remains of vehicles were scattered around, looking like black scars on the earth when viewed from above.

"And here, and here."

Song Heping's finger moved quickly across the map.

The school district in the west of the city, which had already been marked with the flags of the Allied Forces, is now seeing the black battle flags of the 1515 Armed Forces flying over that area.

In the industrial zone south of the city, the machinery factory, which the Allied forces had to kill two people to clear, was once again covered by red markings—indicating frequent enemy activity.

The entire defensive line was like a piece of wood hollowed out by insects; it still maintained its shape on the surface, but the inside was completely ruined.

"Thunder Defense's casualty report is out."

The young analyst handed over a tablet, his finger swiping across the touchscreen. "Sixty-three dead, forty-one seriously wounded. 'Charlie' Company suffered the heaviest losses, with two squad leaders killed and a platoon leader seriously wounded and unconscious."

Song Heping took the tablet and quickly scanned the cold data.

“For a mercenary group,” Song Heping put down his tablet, his voice low, “the casualties are not small after only two days of fighting.”

“What about the Kold'd forces?” he asked, turning to another analyst.

“There are no accurate figures at the moment.” The analyst pulled up several intelligence summaries, “but based on a comprehensive assessment of information from other sources… the casualties are likely between 1,200 and 1,500.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

“What’s even more deadly is,”

The analyst continued, "Many of Kold's units are showing signs of chaos. Company commanders can't find their platoon leaders, and battalion commanders can't contact their company commanders. Some soldiers refuse to return to the front lines, officers are blaming each other in communications, and some are even openly questioning the point of continuing the fight."

Song Heping walked to the window.

The sky was darkening at a visible speed, the distant sand dunes were tinged with dark purple, and at the boundary between the sky and the desert, there was a murky yellow band of light—that was the dust suspended after the sandstorm, like a piece of glass that could never be wiped clean, stretching between heaven and earth.

"Kurt is doomed."

He suddenly sighed.

Jiang Feng turned his head: "Old squad leader, you mean..."

"He can't afford to lose this battle."

Song Heping turned around, his back to the window, his whole body shrouded in the shadow of the backlight. "No matter on any level—the Pentagon's expectations, the contract renewal of Thunder Defense, his own career, or even his self-esteem as a soldier—he cannot afford to lose."

He stood in front of the tactics board and picked up a black marker.

The pen tip slid across the whiteboard, making a screeching sound.

Two red circles were drawn, each precisely placed in a specific location on the map.

"The auto repair shop is the largest industrial complex in the north of the city. It has a three-story main factory building with six repair workshops, and an oil depot and warehouse in the basement."

Song Heping tapped the first circle with the tip of his pen, "From the first day of the war, the mortars here have never stopped. The Allied forces have organized at least three attacks to seize the stronghold, all of which have failed."

The pen tip moved to the second circle: "School complex, four-story main teaching building, two auxiliary buildings, intact walls, and a view covering the three main access roads to the west. The snipers inside have already caused at least thirty casualties among the coalition forces."

Jiang Feng stared at the two red circles, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper: "These two outposts... are too conspicuous. They're like bait deliberately placed there."

"Yes."

Song Heping put down his pen and rested his hands on the edge of the tactical board. "Amad isn't stupid. He's been operating in this city for nine months. He knows every building, every alley, and every sewer entrance like the back of his hand. Why would he place two such important strongholds in such conspicuous locations?"

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the room:

"Because he knew the coalition would definitely attack here. He knew Kurt needed a 'victory,' even if it was just a tactical one, to prove to everyone that Operation Balance Beam had not failed."

"So this is a trap?" Jiang Feng's voice turned cold.

"not quite."

Song Heping walked to the refrigerator and took a bottle of mineral water.

"The trap is too rudimentary. Ahmed doesn't want to wipe out a platoon or two; he wants..."

He took a sip of coffee, the bitter taste spreading on his tongue.

“What he wants is for Kurt to throw in the last reserves. Thunder Defense’s ‘Alpha’ and ‘Bravo’ companies are the only mobile, fully combat-ready units the Allied forces currently have. Once those two knives are stuck, or worse—broken in two…”

He didn't say the rest, but everyone understood.

The room quieted down, with only the low hum of the fan.

The clock on the wall pointed to 6:20, the second hand ticking away, each tick like a countdown.

Pentagon, Conference Room E-742.

The time is 9 p.m. in Washington, which is 4 a.m. in Illinois.

The meeting room had no windows, and the lights were a cold white that never went out.

The air was filled with the smells of disinfectant and caffeine—the former from the daily cleaning, and the latter from the concentration in the blood of everyone present.

The curved wall, composed of twelve screens, displays the real-time situation of sixteen hotspots around the world.

Titrick occupies the third screen in the bottom left corner. It's not a large area, but it has attracted everyone's attention at this moment.

Colonel Kurt's image appeared on the main screen.

He stood in front of the map in the "outpost" command center, with busy staff members behind him, but everyone deliberately kept their voices low, as if afraid of disturbing the call.

"...In conclusion, although the enemy encountered temporary difficulties due to the sandstorm on the fourth day, they also suffered heavy losses."

Kurt's voice was a little hoarse.

"Our aerial reconnaissance indicates that the 1515 militia suffered at least 1,500 casualties in yesterday's counterattack. A third of their elite infiltration units did not return. As for the coalition forces..."

He paused, then added, "Although we've encountered some setbacks, our main force remains intact, and our morale is high." On the other end of the screen, seven people sat around a long conference table.

The man in the middle is Lieutenant General Rimmel, Director of the Operations Bureau of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"Morale is available?"

Lieutenant General Miller repeated those four words, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Colonel Kurt, the casualty report I just saw shows that the Kold's forces have lost more than 20 percent of their combat personnel. Thunder Defense's attrition rate has also reached 10 percent. You call this 'ready morale'?"

There was silence in the conference room for a moment.

The other generals maintained the same sitting posture, with identical, expressionless faces.

Kurt visibly swallowed on screen, but his voice remained steady:
"Sir, urban warfare is inherently a war of attrition. The losses suffered by the Kold's forces have indeed exceeded expectations, but their second-line troops are being moved forward to fill the gaps. Thunder Defense's core elite combat forces, 'Alpha' Company and 'Bravo' Company, remain intact and are ready to be deployed at any time."

"What is your plan?" This time, the question was posed by an Air Force lieutenant general who was responsible for coordinating air power in the theater.

"At dawn tomorrow, we will launch a tactical raid codenamed 'Dawn Hammer'."

Kurt signaled to his staff to switch the screen, and a simplified operational diagram appeared on the screen.

"There are two targets: the auto repair complex in the north of the city and the school buildings on the west side. These two strongholds are like nails driven into our defense line. If we remove them, the entire northern front can be stabilized."

In the diagram, blue arrows point to the red target area from two directions simultaneously.

The attached icons show two company-level assault teams, four artillery batteries for support, two Apache helicopters for escort, and at least four F-16s for rapid air response.

"Duration of the operation?" the Marine Corps lieutenant general asked.

"From the moment the first shell landed until the assault team withdrew to the safe zone, the total time was no more than ninety minutes."

Kurt's tone became more confident: "Quick in, quick out, quick out. We'll use a surgical strike to cut out these two cancers."

The soft sound of papers turning could be heard in the conference room.

The generals looked down at the briefings in their hands, which contained more detailed troop strength comparisons, risk assessments, and, most importantly, assessments of the political impact.

"Do we need reinforcements?" Lieutenant General Miller finally spoke again.

Kurt answered almost instinctively, “Not at the moment, sir. We have enough troops to accomplish the mission.”

This answer sparked a subtle reaction in the meeting room.

The generals exchanged glances briefly, but enough to convey a message.

They all knew why Kurt said that.

Requesting reinforcements would mean admitting that Operation Balance Beam is out of control, that the Pentagon needs to invest more resources to fill this bottomless pit, and that Kurt's command ability would be questioned.

At this juncture, at this critical moment, Kurt would rather take a gamble than admit defeat.

"What are the casualty projections?" someone asked.

"Optimistically, light casualties. Conservatively, moderate casualties," Kurt gave the standard answer. "But in any case, the gains will far outweigh the costs."

There was another moment of silence.

Lieutenant General Miller removed his glasses and slowly wiped the lenses with a soft cloth. He did this for ten seconds before putting them back on.

"Colonel Kurt," his voice remained flat, "are you sure you want to carry out this plan?"

"Yes, sir."

Kurt's voice was firm and resolute: "This is the best chance to break the deadlock."

“Then go ahead and do it.” Lieutenant General Miller nodded. “But remember—proceed cautiously and report progress promptly. Washington needs to know every step of the way. The president reads the battle reports every Monday, and hopefully the reports on his desk will satisfy him.”

"Understood, sir."

The video connection was interrupted.

Kurt's image disappeared from the screen.

The lights in the conference room were turned up a bit.

The staff officers began packing up their documents, preparing to leave, but none of the generals moved.

"What do you think?" Lieutenant General Miller was the first to speak.

"He's gambling," the Air Force lieutenant general bluntly stated. "He's betting his last reserves on a tactical victory. If he wins, he can temporarily stabilize the situation. If he loses..."

“If the gamble is lost, the ‘balance beam’ will be completely broken,” the Marine Corps lieutenant general continued. “But honestly, gentlemen, is it really necessary to continue walking on that ‘balance beam’?”

This question brought silence back into the room.

The "Balance Beam" project has been controversial since its inception.

Its core idea is to leverage information technology advantages to use a small number of elite troops to guide air and long-range firepower, quickly defeat the enemy's main force, and avoid the high casualties and political risks associated with large-scale ground troop deployments.

The theory is wonderful, but the reality is that Titrick's 1515 armed forces have no "main force".

They broke into smaller groups, hiding in various corners of the city, using the most primitive tactics to wear down the most advanced technology.

After three days of fighting, the cost to the coalition forces has far exceeded expectations.

“If Operation Dawn Hammer fails,” Lieutenant General Miller said slowly, “we need a backup plan. The president will be briefed on the situation in the Middle East next week, and we can’t show him a complete failure.”

"Then let Kurt go and gamble."

The lieutenant general from Special Operations Command shrugged. "If he wins, all the better. If he loses... then it's because the frontline commander misjudged the situation and failed to execute tactics effectively. We'll cut our losses and switch to a more conservative approach."

The others nodded slightly.

These are the rules of the game.

Victory has countless fathers, but defeat is always an orphan.

And what those people sitting on the third basement level of the Pentagon have to do is ensure that, no matter what the outcome, they won't be the orphan.

“Notify Central Command,” Lieutenant General Miller concluded, “to closely monitor the progress of Operation Dawn Hammer. All relevant intelligence should be synchronized here in real time.”

"Yes, sir."

The generals rose and left.

The lights gradually went out, until only the screen displaying Titrick remained lit.

The city remained asleep in darkness.

But there were less than two hours left until dawn.

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(End of this chapter)