Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1324 Trip to Parliament
At 6:30 a.m., the sandy ground of the temporary airport on the outskirts of Hurmatu was bathed in the morning sunlight.

A gray-green helicopter was parked there, its rotors slowly spinning, kicking up clouds of dust.

The logo of "Musician" defense company—an abstract pattern of musical notes crossed with rifles—is painted on the side of the cabin, gleaming matte in the morning light.

Samir stood beside the helicopter, squinting as he looked eastward.

The desert in Anbar province takes on a brief golden-red hue at sunrise, before fading into a relentless earthy yellow.

He tugged at his collar; the brand-new tricolor desert camouflage uniform was stiff as cardboard. The "Liberation Forces" patch on his right arm was carefully sewn on—a crossed AK-47 and an olive branch, with the Arabic inscription "For the Freedom of Iligo" embroidered below.

"Check if there's anything you forgot to bring?"

Song Heping's voice came from behind.

"Documents, identification, speeches. In Baghdad, these are your weapons."

Samir patted his chest pocket, which contained a stack of documents carefully sealed in plastic folders.

"They're all here." He tugged at his new camouflage uniform. "There's no need to change into a new set, is there? The old camouflage is still more comfortable."

"Because symbols are important."

Song Heping approached and adjusted the non-existent wrinkles on Samir's shoulders.

“In parliament, you represent not just yourself, but an armed force awaiting recognition. This uniform tells everyone: you are a soldier, not a politician. But the arm patch reminds them that you come from outside the system.”

The flight crew ran over and handed over two headsets: "Communication test. Please keep the channel clear during the flight."

Samir put on his headset, and a static sound came through: "Ready to go, takeoff in three minutes. Please board."

Song Heping was the first to board the helicopter and reached out to help Samir.

The two sat side by side in the middle of the cabin, with bodyguards in front and behind them, each with an M4 carbine resting on their knees.

After the hatch closed, the world suddenly became isolated and noisy.

The roar of the rotors, the whistling of the engines, and the sound of the wind coming through the bulletproof glass.

"take off."

With a routine announcement from the pilot, the helicopter abruptly lifted off the ground.

The ground sank rapidly, and the ruins of Hurmatu, the makeshift refugee camps, and the sandbag fortifications at the checkpoints all shrank to the size of pieces on a chessboard.

To the east, a branch of the Diyala River meanders through the scorched earth like a dim silver ribbon.

"Heading southeast, directly to Baghdad, estimated flight time one hour and forty minutes," the pilot's voice came through the headset. "We will be bypassing the Ozam airspace, where there are still sporadic reports of firefights."

Samir looked out the window.

The land below resembled skin scratched by a giant beast, riddled with craters, burnt vehicle wreckage, and collapsed buildings, with only occasional patches of green visible.

Those are usually homes that people tenaciously defend, surrounded by makeshift defenses built with tires and earthen walls.

“Remember,” Song Heping’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “this is not the front-line command post, this is another battlefield.”

Samir turned his head.

Song Heping was looking at documents on a tablet computer. The light from the screen reflected on his face, highlighting his calm, marble-like demeanor.

"I would rather face a hundred 1515s charging at me than face the fake smiles of those congressmen."

Samir muttered, his voice mostly drowned out by the noise.

Song Heping smiled.

“Politicians’ bullets don’t hurt people physically, but they can destroy an army’s logistics. A single dissenting vote in parliament can leave frontline soldiers without ammunition for a month. A single defamatory statement in the media can sway international aid. So you have to learn to deal with these situations and scenarios.”

The helicopter began to climb, avoiding an area that might be threatened by portable anti-aircraft missiles.

Samir saw an armed convoy driving on the road below, a long line of Humvees and MRAP armored vehicles kicking up clouds of dust.

That was a patrol unit from the mercenary camp.

Further away, a flock of sheep moved slowly, driven by a shepherd, as if the war had never happened.

“What should I say?” Samir asked. “The speech Yusuf gave me is too political.”

"Tell the truth."

Song Heping turned off the tablet and turned to Samir:
"But only tell them part of the truth. Tell them what you need, but not everything. Emphasize victories, boast about the future appropriately, but don't make specific promises. Most importantly, let them see your value. An armed force that can stabilize the situation in the Northwest is valuable to everyone."

"What if they ask about the ownership of command after the reorganization?"

"They want to hear that the Ministry of National Defense will take unified command. As for the actual operation," Song Heping paused meaningfully, "once it's under the system, there will be a way."

Samir silently gazed out the window.

Nearly two hours later, the outline of Baghdad began to appear beneath the clouds.

The Tigris River, like a lazy giant python, meanders through the city, dividing areas such as the Green Zone, Karada, and Sadr City.

He could make out the vague outline of the Palace of the Republic, a landmark building from the Saddam era, now adorned with the flag of Iligo.

Even more striking is the Green Zone—the “international zone” designated by the U.S. military in 2003, with its high walls, barbed wire, and checkpoints, resembling a city within a city, where Irithyll’s political heart beats weakly.

That's your new battlefield.

Song Heping followed his gaze and remarked with emotion.

The helicopter landed on the "Victory Base" helipad, which is dedicated to the Green Zone.

The moment the hatch opened, the distinctive smell of Baghdad wafted out.

Dust, car exhaust, the faint fishy smell of the Tigris River, and a certain indescribable urban atmosphere that blends ruins and reconstruction.

When they arrived, it was already past nine o'clock. Yusuf was already waiting there with a small team next to the tarmac.

Today, this shrewd politician, dressed in a neatly pressed robe, stands out incongruously yet harmoniously amidst a group of fully armed private security personnel.

Security personnel, dressed in uniform black tactical gear and wearing sunglasses, vigilantly scanned their surroundings.

Outside the tarmac, two U.S. soldiers leaned against a Humvee, watching the scene with indifference.

“My dear cousin!” Yusuf opened his arms and greeted Samir with the warm embrace of the Iligo people, kissing him on both cheeks, his stubble sticking out of his skin.

"Baghdad welcomes its triumphant heroes!"

Then he turned to Song Heping, shaking his hand with extra force, for two seconds longer than usual.

"Mr. Song, did you have a safe journey?"

"It went fairly smoothly," Song Heping replied simply, his gaze already sweeping over the surrounding environment: there were sniper positions on three high points, and two armored SUVs were parked at the entrance to the helipad, with special license plates and dark explosion-proof film on their windows.

A typical green zone configuration – safe, but beneath that safety lurks countless undercurrents.

The convoy consisted of three modified Lexus 570s and several armored SUVs, with Yusuf riding in the middle car with two other people.

Passing through the first checkpoint.

Reinforced concrete piers, snake-belly shaped barbed wire, and blast-proof walls up to three meters high.

The Iligo soldiers remained expressionless as they checked identification, but their eyes flickered slightly when they saw Samir's name.

The second checkpoint was staffed by the U.S. military, where the soldiers were more relaxed and even joked with the driver, but the red light on the scanning equipment carefully slid over the vehicle's chassis.

Upon entering the green zone, the scenery changes abruptly.

Wide tree-lined avenues, meticulously manicured lawns, and government buildings under reconstruction covered in brand-new marble.

Occasionally, you can see armed U.S. soldiers on the rooftops on guard, but more often you see civilian employees in suits hurrying by.

Several Western journalists sat on the outdoor seating area of ​​the café, with half-empty coffee cups next to their laptops.

This place is like another piece of land torn apart from Iligo, orderly, clean, and with a false sense of peace.

"Is your speech ready?"

As Yusuf asked the question, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief.

The car's air conditioning was on full blast, but dark sweat stains still showed through the back of his robe.

Samir nodded and pulled the crumpled notebook from his pocket.

"As the boss said, keep it short and direct."

Yusuf's smile became somewhat forced, and he glanced at Song Heping, seemingly seeking confirmation.

"Regarding the proposal to incorporate them into the National Defense Force, there are some details I need to inform you of in advance. I originally intended to say this before the meeting began, but I think you need to be prepared."

He lowered his voice, despite the excellent sound insulation inside the car.

"The Americans have indeed expressed their support. General Duke personally called the Speaker yesterday to express his support for all measures to enhance Iligo's security capabilities. However, procedurally, the military's proposal must be voted on by the plenary session of Parliament and requires a simple majority."

Song Heping's gaze sharpened. "Is there resistance?"

“It’s huge.” Yusuf sighed and took out a list from his briefcase, which showed the distribution of the 328 seats in parliament in Arabic and English.

"It's mainly the Koldes. They have 58 seats in parliament, and the Koldestan Democratic Party, the Patriotic Union, the Movement for Change... these parties are almost unanimously opposed. In addition, some Sunni members of parliament are also echoing this sentiment—several elders in the 'National Power Union' have privately expressed their opposition."

Samir slammed his fist on the car door, making a dull thud.

"Didn't the Americans support it? They should exert pressure—"

"There is no question of 'should' or 'shouldn't'; on the surface, the Americans have fulfilled their promises."

Song Heping interrupted him calmly, as if he had expected it.

“Duke supported the proposal; it was an agreement between him and me. He only expressed his support, not promised to guarantee your successful incorporation. Using interference in Iligo’s internal affairs as a pretext is very appropriate—at least on the surface. As for the issues within the parliament, they adopt a ‘neither hindering nor actively assisting’ attitude. Even if it doesn’t pass in the future, they can shirk responsibility: we have already supported it; it’s you Iligoans who disagreed.”

Yusuf nodded repeatedly.

"Yes, yes, Song, you're absolutely right. That's the attitude the Americans have now. Whether the proposal passes or not is now our own problem. I've tried contacting some of the opposing members of Congress..."

He made a subtle gesture, rubbing his thumb against his index and middle fingers, as if counting money.

"But it's not very useful. The Kurds occupy parts of the Erbil and Kirkuk oil fields and are economically self-sufficient. The Kurdistan Autonomous Region earns more than $80 billion in oil revenue every year, so they are not short of money."

"What they lack is a sense of security."

Song Heping looked out the window, his eyes as deep and unfathomable as the Tigris River.

"But it's not just about military security. Think about the current geopolitical situation in Kurdistan—to the north is Turkey, to the northeast is Persia, both of which are hostile to the Kurdish independence movement. To the west is Syria, where the Kurds are fighting against the Hafez regime and the Turks. And to the south? It was originally an area controlled by the central government of Iligo, and if Samir controls the northwest and becomes a regular army..."

Yusuf continued, "That's right, that means Koldestan will be surrounded on all sides. To the north are the Persians, and to the east, south, and west are Shia-dominated forces. Once the Samir gains power, the Koldes will be at the mercy of others, whether they want to fight for greater autonomy or maintain their current status. This is not just a military threat; it's geopolitical suffocation."

Samir understood, but became even angrier: "So they'd rather see the remnants of 1515 regroup? They'd rather the northwest descend into chaos? Rather see my troops incorporated into the defense force? Humph! These Kurds! Historically, they've been thieves! Robbers! Exiles! They have no affection for the country they live in!"

"Because chaos is to their advantage."

Song Heping turned to Samir, speaking in a tone as if he were lecturing a new recruit.

"Chaos means the central government is powerless to consolidate, and the Kold can continue their de facto independence. And you, Samir, you represent what they fear most. A strong Iligo government is not a good thing for them. Even if you say you only care about counterterrorism now, once you become a regular army, your troops will represent an extension of national authority."

The motorcade approached the Parliament building.

It was a magnificent but bullet-riddled Ottoman-style building, with traces of the 2013 car bomb attack still visible on the marble pillars of the main entrance—cracks spread like a spider web, and some of the stone carvings were blackened.

The security level is clearly very high.

Concrete roadblocks, armed Humvees, and police officers wearing heavy bulletproof vests.

The press area was already packed with people, with cameras and microphones pointed at the convoy.

"The speech will be at 10:00 a.m. sharp." Yusuf concluded by giving instructions: "There will be a short press conference afterward. Remember, only speak the prepared content. Be careful when reporters ask sensitive questions, especially about the Kold's issue, sectarian conflict, the role of the United States, and the like. Answer all such questions with 'We are currently focused on the counterterrorism mission and are not concerned with other matters.'"

Samir took a deep breath and adjusted his arm patch.

He could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest, not the adrenaline rush of facing a gun, but a strange, unsettling tension.

Song Heping patted his shoulder hard, said nothing, but gave him an encouraging look.

The car door opens.

The flashbulbs instantly engulfed everything.

　First update!
　　
　
(End of this chapter)