Chapter 1969 - 1434: Ideals and Reality (3)

"Impossible." Safar almost blurted out: "Do you understand the bureaucracy of the Ministry of Defense? A procurement request needs to go from the logistics department to the finance department, then to the equipment technology department, and finally line up in the secretary's office of the minister. After the minister signs, it goes back to the finance department for funding, then to the logistics department for procurement execution... Even if my uncle personally supervises, the fastest it takes is ten days."

"So you need to push it."

Song Heping interrupted him, took out a pure black metal box from his briefcase, and pushed it in front of Safar.

"Open and see."

Safar stared at the box for three seconds, then reached out to open the lid.

Inside, there were no documents, only a black metal card, its surface emitting a cold light, the edges encrusted with fine gold lines.

On the front of the card, the same line was engraved in English and Arabic: Swiss United Bank Anonymous Account Certificate.

"This card is linked to an account with 2 million US Dollars." Song Heping's voice was as calm as stating a fact: "You can withdraw cash from the bank now, or transfer to any account worldwide. No conditions, no oversight, no usage restrictions."

The air in the office seemed to freeze.

Safar's hand hovered in mid-air, his fingers just centimeters from the card.

His eyes fixated on the cold glint, his pupils contracted, and his breathing became rapid. The expression seemed less like it was looking at a fortune and more like staring at a poisonous snake coiled in the box, beautiful and deadly.

"This money can be cash, tax-free, stored in a Cayman Islands account, or converted to gold bars buried in your backyard."

Song Heping continued, without any change in tone.

"It's up to you. You can buy an apartment overlooking Dubai Palm Island, send your sister to study in London, or let your father receive the best cancer treatment in Germany—Henry told me, General Jamal's diagnosis isn't good, stage three prostate cancer, Illiguo can't provide the necessary medical care."

Safar suddenly looked up, with shock, anger, and a sense of being utterly seen through.

"You investigated my father?"

"I must know every potential partner." Song Heping candidly admitted: "General Jamal was the commander of the third armored division of the Republican Guard. In 2003, when the US Army reached the outskirts of Baghdad, he could have ordered to hold fast, which would have resulted in thousands of soldiers and civilians dying. But he chose to save his subordinates and civilians, ordered the troops to disband, and the officers and soldiers to go home in civilian clothes. This decision led to him being called a coward and traitor by many, yet it also allowed many to survive."

He paused, looking directly at Safar: "Including you, Major. If then General Jamal had chosen to fight to the death, you wouldn't be standing here now. You owe your father a life, and now you have a chance to repay him, send him to Germany, Heidelberg University Hospital has the best oncology department."

Safar's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white.

His lips trembled, but he couldn't speak.

"Of course, you can also use the money to improve your camp's situation." Song Heping's voice softened: "2 million US Dollars is enough to buy combat boots that fit each soldier, equip the mess hall with decent kitchenware, replace the barracks with complete glass windows, and even provide a pension for the families of those killed in action. I know how much pension the Ministry of Defense gives, Major. When a soldier dies in battle, his family only receives compensation equivalent to 3,000 US Dollars, while a senator's son studying in Europe for a year receives a government subsidy of 50,000 US Dollars."

Unfair.

These three words weren't spoken but were written all over Safar's face.

"Your grandfather was a lieutenant-general, your father was a commander, your uncle is the Defense Minister." Song Heping continued the pressure, each word like a hammer on Safar's heart: "Your family has shed blood for this country for three generations. But what have you received? A dilapidated base, patched-up equipment, and one hundred forty-seven fallen soldiers hung on the wall. If you die on the battlefield tomorrow, the Ministry of Defense will posthumously award you a medal and then replace you with someone else to command the 'Desert Eagle', continuing to send people to their deaths with scrap equipment. But those bureaucrats sitting in air-conditioned offices, those politicians quarreling endlessly in parliament, will they shed tears for you? Will they remember your name?"

Safar turned sharply, facing the wall.

His shoulders trembled, with anger and also humiliation.

Song Heping stood up, walked behind him, his voice pressed lower, but each word clear: "And what I offer you is a choice. Not a charity, but a transaction. You give me what I need—the Ministry of Defense's fast track; I give you the equipment, money, and a promise: From now on, Desert Eagle Camp won't sacrifice in vain for lack of equipment."

He paused for a moment, then said the final word: "We are friends, Major. Samir can attest, I am always generous to friends."

Safar slowly turned around.

When he faced Song Heping again, that youthful idealism, that residual fantasy of the system, that pure pride of a soldier, had already faded from his eyes.

Replaced by the calmness of a mature man facing harsh reality, a near-cold clarity.

"Where is the equipment?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Outside on three trucks, already unloaded. You can go and inspect them now." Song Heping said: "When the Ministry of Defense officially signs with me and starts receiving equipment from the Mosul warehouse, I'll provide another batch, enough to equip your 300 soldiers—with the same full set of individual equipment as the US Special Forces, from weapons to gear to communication devices, all included."

Safar walked to the window.

On the training ground, his soldiers were conducting shooting drills.

Due to a shortage of ammunition, each person could only fire ten rounds at a time, using the cheapest steel core bullets, which had poor accuracy and excessive wear on the barrel.

The gunshots were sparse.

These young men entrusted their lives to him, yet what he could give them was pitifully little.

"If I agree..." Safar didn't turn around, his voice coming from the window: "Can you guarantee that the promised equipment will be delivered? Not just a one-time gift, but long-term support?"

"I can promise in writing." Song Heping said: "In the equipment distribution plan after the handover, I'll recommend to Minister Rashim that Desert Eagle Camp be listed as a priority unit. Moreover, we can sign a long-term cooperation agreement; my company can provide equipment maintenance, ammunition supply, and even specialized training for your troops. Of course, it will be charged, but priced fairly."

Safar turned around.

In that moment, Song Heping saw some kind of transformation on this young officer's face.

"My father often said that in this country, power isn't given by others, it's taken by oneself." Safar returned to the desk, picked up the black metal card, and flipped it in his hand: "And taking power requires two things: weapons and money."

He raised his head, a cold smile curled at his lips: "Now, I have both."

The card was placed in his inner pocket.

Then Safar extended his hand to Song Heping.

"Three o'clock this afternoon, Ministry of Defense Building. I'll take you to meet my uncle. But remember, Mr. Song—"

When they shook hands, Song Heping clearly felt Safar's firm grip.

"If you lie to me, if you merely use my troops as pawns, I'll make you regret setting foot on Illiguo's soil. I mean what I say."

Song Heping met his gaze, without a hint of retreat.

"I think your assumption won't happen." he said: "In Illiguo, reputation is my most valuable asset. I never break faith."

Their hands shook together.

"Deal."