Chapter 1975 - 1437: Military Camp Meeting

The bulletproof tires of the black SUV crushed the cracked asphalt of the northern suburbs of Baghdad, raising a cloud of enduring dust.

Inside the vehicle, the air conditioning system operated at full power, yet struggled to dispel the sticky heat wave in Iraq's October afternoon.

Outside the window, the scenery resembled snippets of a war documentary on repeat: the walls of partially collapsed homes riddled with bullet holes, the rusted frames of burnt-out cars on the roadside, and occasionally seen graffiti slogans, in Arabic, proclaiming outdated political messages.

Song Heping leaned back in the leather seat, eyes closed in rest, but Safar knew he wasn't asleep.

"Fifteen billion dollars."

Safar broke twenty minutes of silence as he gently wiped his gilded Colt 1911 pistol with a piece of chamois, as tenderly as if caressing a lover's skin.

"My uncle has staked all his political capital this time. The opposition in parliament will pounce like hyenas, especially those from the 'Fatah Alliance'. They've always tried to snatch the lucrative defense procurement from my uncle's hands."

Song Heping opened his eyes, his gaze passing through the dark tint of the car window at the bleak scene outside: "The contract bears Minister Rashed's signature, the Ministry of Defense's stamp, and the Prime Minister's Office's filing number. Legally, it's an ironclad case."

"Legal?" Safar chuckled briefly and plugged the gun into a custom quick-release holster at his waist: "Song, how long have you been in Iraq? Three years? Four years? Or ten years? You should know that here the law is only on paper; the real rules are written on the barrel of different factions' guns."

The car drove past a checkpoint.

Four Iraq soldiers stood lazily beside the roadblocks made of cement blocks and barbed wire, one carrying a rusted RPG-7 rocket launcher on his shoulder.

The driver rolled down the window and handed over a pass.

The soldier glanced at the document and then caught sight of Safar's shoulder with its Major insignia, immediately straightening up to salute and signaling companions to quickly clear the roadblock.

Power.

Song Heping calmly watched this scene.

In post-war Iraq, the simplest manifestation of power is who can pass checkpoints unimpeded, or who can make soldiers stand and salute, who can carve a path straight to their goal through the maze of bureaucratic institutions.

The car accelerated again, leaving the checkpoint behind.

Safar lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke slowly fill the vehicle: "I've received intelligence that at least four factions are focused on your shipment. First, the remnants of 1515. Defeated by you in Mosul, they're now more challenging after going underground. They desperately need heavy weapons to regroup."

Song Heping nodded, signaling him to continue.

"Second, the radicals within People's Mobilization Forces." Safar lowered his voice: "Especially those radical factions in the Shiye sect. They've always wanted US high-tech equipment to combat the Kurd people."

"And the third?"

"Of course, tribal armed forces." Safar flicked off the ash: "The Sunni tribes in Anbar Province and Salah al-Din Province, having cooperated with the US Army against 1515, now that the war is over, some tribal elders believe the government should 'reward' their contributions; if the reward doesn't come..."

He made a grabbing gesture.

Song Heping picked up the conversation: "Then they'll take action themselves. So... what's the fourth faction?"

Safar was silent for a few seconds, looking at the date palm groves flying by outside the window: "The fourth... might be someone from within our own ranks."

"The Ministry of Defense?"

"Or higher-ups." Safar took a deep drag, speaking coldly: "Fifteen billion dollars, enough to make many people envious. My uncle bypassed regular procurement procedures to sign directly with you, affecting too many people's interests. That Hashimi guy, you know him, always wearing Italian suits with an Arabic headscarf, a hypocrite—heard he smashed a cup in his office yesterday because this contract cost him at least twenty million dollars in kickback."

Song Heping's lips slightly curled: "So he'll cause trouble."

"He certainly will." Safar affirmed, "He'll use every means to delay payment, increase inspections, even citing 'national security' to temporarily withhold the goods. Bureaucratic systems have a myriad ways to find trouble."

Song Heping thought, You're still not speaking the whole truth.

Even NATO system contractors here, and the CIA Iraq Station, are watching him closely.

He stretched lazily and smiled: "It seems these arms have made me offend everyone..."

The car entered a relatively intact motorway and sped up to 120 kilometers per hour.

In the distance, the Tigris River shimmered a muddy yellow under the scorching sun, like a giant serpent winding through the parched land.

"Don't worry, I'll find a way to solve all obstacles."

Song Heping knew discussing this now was utterly pointless.

He knew well how many enemies were there.

But solving problems can't be done sitting here.

"Let's talk about your payment. My men will deliver the equipment to 'Desert Eagle' within 24 hours." Song Heping changed the topic: "Twenty M-ATV mine-resistant vehicles, thirty upgraded Humvees, fifty M2 heavy machine guns and fifty MK19 automatic grenade launchers, with enough ammunition for a medium-scale battle. Plus two hundred sets of individual equipment with night vision, level III bullet-proof plates, tactical communications systems, and the M4A1 carbines you specifically requested, all from US Marine Corps inventory, ninety percent new."