Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1316 First Day of Attack

The hot winds of Hurmatu whipped up dust, slapping against the sentries' chapped faces.

Dusk dyed the desert blood-red, and the outlines of distant dunes distorted in the twilight.

The Thunder Defense Command Post is located in a reinforced three-story building on the west side of the city.

Commander Ross reviewed the defense deployment map for the third time, his pencil moving back and forth across the map, the wrinkles on his forehead so deep they could hold the pencil.

As the top commander of this American private military company in northwestern Iligo, he had a desperately thin force at his disposal.

Eight hundred Thunder Defense mercenaries—nearly three hundred of whom were logistics, communications, and support personnel, leaving only about five hundred in actual combat; five hundred Iligor government soldiers who were cooperating in the operation, but their morale was low and their training was uneven; and two hundred Kold militiamen, nominally under unified command, actually only obeyed Erbil's orders and could not be relied upon in critical moments.

Reconnaissance reports indicate that the 1515 armed group has amassed more than 20,000 troops in Titrick.

"Sir, the Baiji side has replied." The communications officer handed over the telegram, his voice low. "Song Heping said he would 'closely monitor the situation in Hurmatu,' but did not promise to send troops to support them."

Ross slammed his fist on the oak table, making the coffee cup jump. "Damn it! What the hell is he playing at?"

Adjutant Jack cautiously said, "Sir, perhaps he is indeed short of troops. The Battle of Baige ended only two weeks ago, and his troops need rest and replenishment."

"Insufficient troops?" Ross sneered, pointing to the map. "He has two elite mercenary battalions of the 'Musicians,' plus the Persian Holy City Brigade and Samir's 'Liberation Forces,' totaling at least ten thousand men! If he wants, he can easily send troops to reinforce us!"

“But he deliberately abandoned Tuz and Fehat,” Miller pointed out, noting these two key towns southeast of Hurmatu. “This shows that he was tightening his defenses and concentrating his forces to hold Baijji.”

Ross walked to the window and looked out at the boundless desert beyond the city.

As the sun sets, the sand dunes cast eerie, long shadows, each one resembling a lurking enemy soldier.

He knew this was no illusion—the 1515 reconnaissance team had certainly infiltrated the city's outskirts and was assessing the weaknesses in the defenses.

"Sir, a video conference in Washington, in three minutes," the communications officer reminded him.

Ross straightened his crumpled desert camouflage uniform, took a deep breath, and walked into the encrypted communications room in the basement.

On the screen, Major General Duke's face appeared in the frame, with the tactical map wall of the Baghdad Green Zone Joint Command Center in the background.

"Ross, how long can Hurmatu hold out?" Duke asked directly, without any pleasantries.

Ross straightened his back: "General, it depends on how many troops 1515 commits and how much air support we can get. If they launch a full-scale attack, with our current fortifications and forces, even with air superiority... we can only hold out for five days at most."

Duke remained silent for a full seven seconds. Ross could hear the hum of communication equipment and the hushed conversations of his staff in the background.

"What's going on with Song Heping?" Duke finally asked.

“There has been no promise of support. His troops are concentrated in Baiji for rest and recuperation, and there is no indication of any deployment.”

Ross hesitated for a moment, but decided to state his opinion: "General, I believe Song Heping is deliberately allowing 1515 to attack us. His abandonment of Tuz and Fehart is too easy and does not conform to military common sense."

Duke didn't answer directly, but instead asked, "Why do you think he did that?"

Ross thought for a few seconds: "Could it be a stress test? Or... is he sending you some kind of signal?"

"Go on."

"If Hurmatu falls, the situation in the northwest will completely collapse."

Ross walked up to his map and, despite knowing Duke couldn't see it, he still gestured with his hands.

"In 1515, the passage from Titrick to Ozam will be opened, forming a 'iron triangle' that directly threatens the heartland of the Erbil Kolde Autonomous Region. At that time, the only one capable of turning the tide will be Song Heping."

He paused, organizing his thoughts: "His reluctance to take over the defense of Hurmatu may be a way of proving his worth."

A complex expression flashed across Duke's face: "That's not all, Ross. He's forcing us to agree to his terms."

"The formalization of Samir's forces?"

“Yes.” Duke nodded slowly. “The Pentagon and the State Department argued about this for a whole week. Some people worried that once Samir was given official status, the armed group would become Song Heping’s proxy in the Iligo government. But others thought that if they weren’t given official status, they would remain uncontrolled warlords forever, which would be even more troublesome.”

Ross understood: "So Song Heping created a crisis to let the opponents see firsthand the cost of non-cooperation."

“A smart man,” Duke said with a wry smile. “And he timed it perfectly. According to intelligence, preparations for the attack on 1515 will take at least two more days. As for Washington’s decision-making… if the White House intervenes directly, the outcome can be determined within forty-eight hours. That will be the crucial moment for our negotiations with him.”

"Then what do we do?" Ross couldn't help but ask. "Are we just going to wait to be used as pawns by him?"

Duke's eyes sharpened: "Try to hold Hurmatu, Ross. Hold it for at least five days. This is an order, and a political necessity. We need to prove to Song Heping that Thunder Defense is not useless, and that the Americans don't have to rely on it. That way, we can retain more initiative at the negotiating table."

"But what if we can't hold on?" Ross pressed.

“We must hold on, even if we can’t.” Duke’s tone left no room for argument. “Use urban warfare to tie them down, and make 1515 pay a bloody price for every house and every street. At the same time, I will expedite the negotiation process. If Hurmatu is truly in dire straits, we will need his intervention—but only within our terms.”

call ended.

Ross stared at the darkened screen for a long time before turning back to the operations room.

Thunder Defense is a major private military company contracted by the U.S. Department of Defense and also a company where retired generals serve as "advisors," making it, in a sense, a "favored son."

In critical moments, it's essential to share the burden with your employer, even at a heavy cost—this is about reputation and survival. Night had completely fallen.

Ross began redeploying his defenses: dividing the city into six zones, each with its own independent chain of command; dispersing his only four armored vehicles and twelve armed pickup trucks as mobile counter-attack forces; and planting hundreds of improvised explosive devices within a three-kilometer radius of the city's perimeter to slow the enemy's advance.

But he knew in his heart that these measures could only buy time and could not change the balance of power. Hurmatu's fate did not depend on his tactical arrangements, but on the calculations of Baiji, the leader of the Chinese mercenaries, on the speed of decision-making by Washington bureaucrats, and on a game that he could only watch from the sidelines and could not control.

Searchlights on the city walls pierced the darkness, their beams scanning the desert. Soldiers on guard posts stared intently into the distance, their weapons gleaming white from gripping them. No one slept tonight.

At the same time, 150 kilometers southeast of Hurmatu, deep in the desert of "Region 4".

This place is known as the "Devil's Chessboard," where the dried-up riverbed has torn the earth apart like a knife, and weathered rock pillars stand under the moonlight, casting distorted shadows.

In this seemingly desolate wasteland, Song Heping's troops had been lying in ambush for a full forty-eight hours.

Two elite mercenary battalions, totaling 620 men, were divided into 15 combat teams, concealed behind rock pillars, beside sand dunes, and at the bottom of the riverbed.

They carried twelve Kornet anti-tank missile systems, eight NSV heavy machine guns, twenty-four RPG-7 rocket launchers, and hundreds of anti-personnel mines and pre-fragmented explosives.

Song Heping crouched in the shadow of a weathered rock, his individual thermal imager displaying moving targets on a distant highway.

It was a huge convoy—twenty-three military trucks, four BTR-80 armored personnel carriers, twenty towed howitzers, and dozens of Toyota pickup trucks equipped with DShK heavy machine guns.

"Old squad leader, it's confirmed that it's the main force of the 1515 attack unit."

Jiang Feng lowered his voice: "The vanguard, about 500 men, has already passed through our ambush zone and is approaching the outskirts of Hurmatu; the central force of 3,000 men is the main attacking force and is entering the ambush zone; the rearguard of 2,000 men is protecting the artillery and logistics, and they are about to arrive in 3 kilometers."

Song Heping did not respond immediately.

He adjusted the focus of his night vision goggles and carefully observed the convoy's formation.

Ahmed had clearly learned from the lessons of the Baiji campaign, no longer concentrating his troops in a single, easily encircled group, but instead adopting a tactic of advancing in echelons, with the three segments spaced three to five kilometers apart, supporting each other.

Very cautious.

But not enough.

"Order Nassin to begin a feint attack on Tuz."

Song Heping glanced at his watch; it was 3:47 a.m.

"Have them all get ready and wait for my orders before making any moves."

"clear."

The encrypted radio silently relayed the orders to the various ambush teams. Confirmation beeps came through the headsets one after another:

"Team A is in place."

"Team B, in position."

"Team C, in position..."

All fifteen groups are ready.

Song Heping raised his binoculars to observe the enemy convoy crossing the dry riverbed.

Because it was a night march, most of the soldiers of 1515 huddled in the truck beds and dozed off, with their guns casually leaning against them.

The officers' vehicles had rudimentary armor protection, but most of the transport vehicles were converted civilian trucks with no protection whatsoever.

The perfect goal.

But the time is not yet right.

Song Heping looked past the convoy and towards the northwest.

That's Hurmatu; sporadic firefights should already be taking place there.

Ross is organizing the defenses, General Duke is anxiously waiting in Baghdad, and Washington bureaucrats are arguing about whether to concede.

And he waited here.

We are waiting for the Americans to back down, waiting for the right moment, and waiting for this meticulously planned game to reach its predetermined conclusion.

"Boss, General Duke's encrypted line, emergency call."

The communications officer's voice came through the headset.

Song Heping frowned slightly.

At this time?
So fast?
　Third update!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)