I manufacture weapons in the Middle East and am wanted globally?

Chen Zheng spent a long time browsing the military forum, and the list of PMC companies made his head spin.

Blackwater is too expensive, and its reputation is so bad that it attracts attention wherever it goes; people specifically target Blackwater for attacks.

The main culprits, Blackwater, are truly inhuman; they even raped goats on the Iraqi battlefield.

G4S is a professional security firm, but they primarily provide security consulting services, not personal protection.

Control Risks, those British guys have so many rules, they're as thick as bricks, they say you can't do this or that.

IZO in Israel, run by Jews, is it a way to have a Jew protect you?

Just don't sell yourself out.

As for IS... Chen Zheng glanced at it and swiped past it.

Doing business with those people, you'd lose your head before you even made any money.

Then he saw a name: Instinctive Reaction.

Founded in Baghdad, Iraq in 2004.

The founders are three former British Special Air Service (SAS) soldiers – James Harris, Paul McDonald, and David Wilson.

All three were veterans of SAS B Squadron, having participated in the Gulf War, the Bosnian War, and the Kosovo War.

After the outbreak of the Iraq War in 2003, the three men entered Iraq as private security contractors, providing protection services for executives of a British Petroleum company.

That year, the PMC market in Iraq was still a blue ocean.

Blackwater's reputation was ruined after their failure in Fallujah.

Instinctively, none of the jobs these three took on ever resulted in an accident.

It's not because they have strong firepower—how strong can three people with three guns be?

It's because they're smart.

James Harris is a reconnaissance instructor at the SAS, specializing in route planning and risk assessment. He can break down a route from point A to point B into dozens of risk points, with contingency plans prepared for each point in advance.

Paul McDonald is a communications expert at SAS, specializing in encrypted communications and signals intelligence. He can make clients' communications invisible to enemy surveillance networks.

David Wilson was a combat instructor for the SAS, proficient in close combat, VIP protection, and counter-sniping. He was said to be able to determine within three seconds whether a stranger was a passerby or an assassin.

The three of them each have their own strengths and work together seamlessly.

In 2004, they registered Instinct Response Company and began undertaking private security business in Iraq.

The company's slogan is very short, consisting of only one sentence:

"Your instincts are our reactions."

In layman's terms, it means that clients only need to act on their intuition, and leave everything else to them.

This slogan has generated quite a buzz in the industry.

It's not because it's so awesome, it's just so damn real.

Other PMC companies have increasingly grandiose slogans, such as "Protecting the Free World" and "Defending Civilized Values," making it sound like a Hollywood blockbuster.

Straightforward and concise, like the SAS style.

After its establishment, the company's business expanded rapidly.

From Iraq to Afghanistan, from Afghanistan to Yemen, from Yemen to Libya.

By early 2011, Instinct Response had more than 200 employees worldwide, 70% of whom were veterans of the SAS, SBS (Special Boat Service), Royal Marines and Parachute Regiment.

Their client list includes oil companies, mining companies, banks, insurance companies, and even members of royal families from several countries.

But within the PMC circle, the reputation of instinctive reactions has always been quite delicate.

On the one hand, their professional skills are beyond question.

On the other hand, their fees are exorbitantly high.

Blackwater pays $800 a day for a bodyguard, and Instinctively, they pay $1500 a day to get one, starting from that.

Moreover, their contract contained an unfair clause—"Under no circumstances shall Instinct reserve the right to refuse to carry out orders."

In other words, you pay them to do something, but if you ask them to do something they consider "unnecessary" or "too dangerous," they have the right to refuse.

This is unique in the industry.

Other PMC companies, when clients say go east, dare not go west.

The instinctive reaction is different. If the customer says to go east, they will first analyze the road conditions, weather, enemy situation, and local conditions in the east, and then tell the customer: the risk in the east is too high, and we suggest going west. If you insist on going east, we will terminate the contract.

This approach offended many customers.

But it also allowed our instinctive reactions to survive to this day.

In places like Iraq and Afghanistan, most PMC companies are in it for quick profits, making one quick buck at a time, and surviving for more than three years is considered a miracle.

Instinct has been living for seven years.

In seven years, they lost only three employees: one to a roadside bomb and two to a mortar attack.

In the PMC industry, this casualty rate is ridiculously low.

Chen Zheng picked up his phone and dialed the number left on the forum.

The phone beeped.

Then there was an automated voice, in English, a female voice, speaking at a moderate pace:

(Thank you for calling Instinct. Our office is currently unattended. Please leave your name, contact information, and a brief message after the prompt. A specialist will get back to you within 24 hours.)

beep--

Chen Zheng took a deep breath and said in English:

"My name is Bruce, and I'm in Daraa, Syria. I need professional security services. My factory has valuable equipment that needs protection, and I also need protection myself. Please contact me as soon as possible."

After saying that, he gave his phone number and then hung up.

He put his phone on the table, lit a cigarette, and turned to go downstairs.

"Alright, everyone stop for a moment."

The six laborers turned around at the same time, their big eyes blinking as they looked at him.

He pointed at the bald man, "Bald man, you take four people and come with me."

"Gulp!" The bald man stood up and puffed out his chest.

Chen Zheng stood up, walked into the yard, and opened the cargo bed of the pickup truck.

The cargo bed isn't big, so it can't hold much.

He frowned, took out his phone, found Qiao Gen's number, and dialed it.

"Uncle Qiao, has the car arrived?"

"We're here, we're here." Jorgen's voice came through the receiver, slightly out of breath. "I just had someone drive up to your factory gate, and I was just about to call you."

Chen Zheng walked to the gate of the courtyard.

A sixteen-wheeled truck was parked at the entrance.

The Dongfeng brand truck is a domestically produced vehicle. It has a flat front and a long, wide cargo box covered with a dark green canvas. The side panels are made of sheet metal and painted gray, with some areas where the paint has peeled off, revealing the rust underneath.

A young driver jumped out of the driver's seat. He was in his early twenties, tanned, and wearing a white vest with the words "Chinese Dragon" printed on the chest.

He walked over, extended his hand, and said, "Uncle Qiao sent me. My name is Li Yang, you can just call me Xiao Li."

Chen Zheng shook hands with him, "Xiao Li, thank you for your hard work."

"It's no trouble at all." Li Yang grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "You can have the car; I'll drive it tomorrow."

"Okay, thank you!"

...

9:50 p.m.

Following the address given by Mahmoud, Chen drove to a location north of Dera City.

He had never been to this place before.

High walls lined both sides of the road, with barbed wire strung on top. Every few dozen meters there was a utility pole with a light bulb hanging on it, emitting a dim yellow light.

Behind the wall were rows of warehouses with tin roofs, gray walls, no windows, and only a few iron doors that were tightly closed.

Two military vehicles, dark green in color, were parked at the entrance, with machine guns mounted on their roofs.

Several soldiers in camouflage uniforms stood at the door, holding AKMs with the muzzles pointing downwards.

Chen Zheng parked the truck at the entrance.

A lieutenant walked over.

This man was in his early thirties, tall and thin, with high cheekbones, small but bright eyes, and thin lips that were pressed into a line.

He was wearing camouflage clothing, with a pistol tucked into his waistband, and his military boots were polished to a shine.

"What do you do?" he asked in Arabic.

"Mr. Mahmoud sent me," Chen Zheng said, taking out a prepared note from his pocket and handing it over.

The lieutenant took it, glanced at it, looked up, and stared at Chen Zheng for two seconds.

The lieutenant folded the note, stuffed it into his pocket, turned around, and waved to the soldiers behind him: "Open the door."

The iron gate creaked open.

The shelves were filled with things—steel, copper, aluminum, and various alloy materials, including round steel, square steel, steel plates, steel pipes, angle steel, and channel steel, with specifications ranging from a few millimeters to hundreds of millimeters.

There were stacks of pallets on the ground, with boxes of things wrapped in plastic film on top, so you couldn't see what was inside.

In the distance, against the wall, there were several large pieces of equipment covered with tarpaulins, but their outlines revealed them to be machine tools.

The lieutenant turned around, looked at Chen Zheng, and lowered his voice: "One hour. Take as much as you can within one hour. Once the hour is up, you must leave."

Chen Zheng nodded: "Understood."

He pulled $100 from his pocket and stuffed it into the other man's hand, winking, "This is for the gentlemen to have a late-night snack."

The lieutenant's expression softened considerably.

"Call me anytime if you need anything."

After saying that, he left.

Chen Zheng opened the truck door and said to those inside, "Come out, little ones!"

"Baldy!" His voice echoed in the empty warehouse. "Move! Move the steel first! 45# steel, 40Cr, tool steel, move it all! And all the equipment too!"

"Gurgle!"

At the bald man's command, the five monster laborers moved simultaneously.

The bald man walked up to a pile of No. 45 seamless steel pipes, bent down, and grabbed a bundle of steel pipes with his three short, thick fingers.

A bundle of steel pipes, twenty in total, each two meters long, with an outer diameter of 32 millimeters and a wall thickness of 5.5 millimeters.

The total weight is at least 300 kilograms.

The bald man hoisted it onto his shoulder and turned to leave.

His steps were steady and deliberate, as if he were carrying a sack of cotton.

Walking over to the truck, it placed the steel pipes neatly inside the cargo compartment, then turned and ran back.

Niu was carrying 40Cr steel bars. He picked them up with both hands, and the bundle of bars was like a bundle of chopsticks. He hoisted it onto his shoulder, and with his short legs moving quickly, he ran to the side of the truck in a few steps.

Niu Er was carrying steel plates.

The 6mm thick Q235 steel plate is two meters long and one meter wide, weighing more than 90 kilograms. It can carry one in each hand, stack two together, and tuck them under its arm, making it run with great speed.

Niu San was carrying copper.

The brass rods are 60 millimeters in diameter and one meter long, each weighing about 25 kilograms. It carries six rods at a time, weighing 150 kilograms, running back and forth from the shelf area to the truck without even breaking a sweat.

Niu Si is the most ruthless.

It set its sights on the few pieces of equipment in the corner of the warehouse.

The first machine was an old milling machine.

The X6132 horizontal universal milling machine, manufactured by Beijing No. 1 Machine Tool Factory, weighs at least four or five hundred kilograms.

Niu Si squatted down, hugged the base of the milling machine with both hands, and tested its weight.

Then it took a deep breath—

"Gurgle!!!"

A low growl.

It lifted the milling machine.

Niu Si carried the milling machine and walked forward step by step, each step making a dull sound on the ground, like a pile driver pounding the ground.

Chen Zheng stood to the side, dumbfounded.

Damn it...

After the Syrian war is over, I can contact local reconstruction projects and see if they need me to do manual labor...

Can you just pick up a milling machine weighing four or five hundred kilograms and carry it away?

Is this some kind of backbreaking labor or a crane?

After bald man finished moving the bundle of steel pipes, he turned around and saw Niu Si moving a milling machine. He grunted and ran over to help.

Two laborers, one on each side, lifted the milling machine and gently placed it into the cargo compartment of the truck.

"Alright!" Chen Zheng clapped his hands. "Continue! Move that one over there too! That one! Yes, that one! The old grinding machine! And that one! That press! Move them all!"

Five laborers ran back and forth in the warehouse, like five industrious ants.

Bundles of steel were loaded onto the truck, and pieces of equipment were lifted onto the truck one by one.

Chen Zheng wasn't idle either.

He walked to the shelf area, rummaged around, and found some good stuff: whole boxes of carbide blades, imported CNC cutting tools, measuring tools, gauges, cutting tools...

Without saying a word, he started loading the boxes into the truck.

After bald man finished moving the last bundle of steel, he ran over to look at the truck bed, tilted his head, and grumbled.

"What's wrong?" Chen Zheng asked.

The bald man pointed to the truck bed, then to the warehouse, and gestured with his hands—it couldn't fit any more.

Chen Zheng looked at the cargo box of the truck.

Inside the carriage, the steel was neatly stacked, bundle after bundle, already half a person high.

The milling machine, the grinding machine, and the press were securely fixed at the very back of the carriage, tied with several ropes.

"Alright!" Chen Zheng clapped his hands. "Load it up! Let's go!"

Five laborers jumped off the train. The bald man was the last to board. He squatted down in the carriage and gave Chen Zheng an OK sign.

Chen Zheng walked to the warehouse door and glanced outside.

The lieutenant stood at the doorway, his back to the warehouse, talking to a soldier.

Hearing footsteps, he turned around.

"All moved?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. "So fast?"

"Small business."

"Come again next time." Perhaps because of the $100, the lieutenant said with a smile, "Same as always, Mahmoud just needs to nod."

"Definitely, definitely." Chen Zheng climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and slowly drove out of the warehouse gate.

In the rearview mirror, the lieutenant stood at the door, watching the convoy leave with a satisfied expression on his face.

Chen Zheng stepped on the gas, and the truck accelerated onto the main road.

His mouth stretched into a wide grin, so wide he couldn't close it.

At the warehouse entrance.

The lieutenant watched the truck disappear at the end of the street, then turned around and said to the soldiers behind him, "You guys keep watch for now, I'm going to check the warehouse."

"Yes, sir!" the soldier saluted.

The lieutenant pushed open the iron door of the warehouse and went inside.

Standing at the doorway, his pupils suddenly widened!

Two mice crawled across the ground in a tally pattern, then looked up at it for a moment before crawling away again.

「كسأمك!!!(CNM!!)」

……