Chapter 1983 - 1441: The Operation Begins!

At 3:20 a.m., the Iliko Government Army's Tenth Division station was torn by a piercing alarm through the sleeping night sky.

"The entire division is to enter level one battle readiness! Repeat, the entire division is to enter level one battle readiness! All personnel are to assemble in full gear immediately! This is not a drill! Repeat, this is not a drill!"

The broadcast echoed in the cold air of the camp, like the war drums of the Grim Reaper beating early.

In an instant, the sleeping military camp turned into a boiling anthill.

The lights in the dormitory building exploded one after another, like beacons ignited instantly, illuminating countless hurried and swaying figures.

Soldiers sprang from their bunks, fumbling with their equipment amid the coarse shouts and curses of the squad leaders, the heavy combat boots pounding on the floor, merging into a rolling thunderous sound.

Ninety seconds, ready, grab the gun, assemble complete.

The rapid footsteps in the hallway were dense like a downpour, pounding on everyone's taut nerves.

The iron door of the third battalion's equipment warehouse was completely pulled open with a loud "bang."

The logistics officer's voice already cracked: "Open storage three! Clear it out! PKM machine guns, bring them all out! Distribute ammo by double rounds, no, triple rounds! Each member of the mortar squad carry two more boxes of shells! Move fast, you lazy bums still half asleep!"

The soldiers lined up silently in two long columns, passing heavy boxes of ammunition in their hands.

In the wooden boxes, the oil-paper-wrapped 7.62mm belts shimmered with a cold copper light.

The vehicle maintenance factory, floodlights cast everything in a ghastly white.

The air was filled with the scorched smell of oil, sweat, and metal friction.

"The transmission of Hummer number three is still howling!"

"Dismantle it! Replace with the spare component! The commander ordered, by six o'clock, all wheels must be turning!"

The hydraulic jack let out a heavy sigh, steadily lifting an armored Hummer.

Underneath the chassis, the mechanic with oil-stained hands rapidly replaced parts, oblivious to the new cuts on his hands bleeding mixed with black oil.

The clanging of wrenches against bolts was the only, death-beckoning rhythm at this moment.

Outside the command center, six fifteen-meter-tall whip-like antennas stabbed into the still-dark sky, cables snaked across the frozen hard mud, connecting to the humming armored communication vehicles, camouflaged command tents, and satellite terminals with flashing green lights.

In the scrambled electromagnetic noise, tuning and calls alternated in Arabic and Kurdish, weaving into an invisible information warfare network.

"Alpha test, channel is clear."

"Bravo responds, encrypted link established."

The heavy blast-proof door of the command center was pushed open, and Samir strode out, his combat boots thudding on the ground.

His adjutant, a pale-faced young major, followed closely behind, holding a stack of documents almost blocking his sight.

"Commander, urgent reports from all battalions! Twelve from the third battalion are on leave; seven Hummers from the fifth battalion urgently need tire replacements, stock exhausted; artillery company's 120mm mortar towing vehicle engine has blown a cylinder..."

"Those on leave, contact the Military Police Command, have them send people immediately to these homes, use any means necessary, get them into military vehicles and back within two hours!"

Samir didn't stop walking, speaking as fast as machine gun fire.

"Borrow tires, dismantle from civilian factories! For any incomplete vehicles, concentrate all runnable wheels to the vanguard battalion! For defective vehicles, dismantle the cannon, drag it with trucks, or pull with donkey carts! I don't care how you do it!"

"But..."

"But my ass!" Samir abruptly halted, turning to glare at his adjutant: "Pass on the order to each battalion commander: at six o'clock sharp, I want to see eight thousand fully armed soldiers standing on the training ground. Missing one soldier, I'll strip his rank and make him a soldier for life! Missing one vehicle, if he has to run on two legs, he'll follow the convoy to Baghdad!"

Just then, a faint commotion came from the direction of the camp gate.

Samir cast his gaze toward the direction.

A figure in a tactical jacket was coming through the early morning mist; passing soldiers paused, either nodding or saluting with a hand to their foreheads.

It was Song Heping arriving.

"Boss." Samir stepped forward to greet him.

Song Heping nodded, his gaze swept over the bustling camp area, finally resting on Samir's face: "Everything in motion?"

"Every ounce of strength from the bone seams has been squeezed out," Samir said in a deep voice, then added, "Boss, the crews of those two Mi-17s you deployed have arrived, performing final formation flights in the eastern airspace now."

"Victor and the others have arrived?" Song Heping asked.

"They arrived late last night." Samir gestured toward the training field: "They're over there."

Both headed toward the training ground.

There, the whirlwind stirred by the rotors whipped the dust into two rolling yellow dragons.

Two Mi-17V5 armed transport helicopters crouched ominously on the ground, the rocket pods and machine gun turrets under their stub wings exuding a cold murderous aura.

At the cabin door, a Russian man with a bald head reflecting blue under the lights, a terrifying scar on his face, shouted in Arabic with a Volgograd accent:

"...Check everything thoroughly, make sure no issues, don't drop on me midair!"

The mechanics were drenched with sweat from the yelling, their inspection actions meticulous.

Song Heping approached.

Victor immediately turned his head, a respectful expression drawn across his scarred face: "Boss!"

"How are things, Victor?"

"Temporarily no issues, the condition of both aircraft is good," Victor said, "Ready for your command, I can depart immediately!"

Song Heping listened quietly, then nodded and said: "Mm, check it thoroughly, don't be careless, I'll be on the plane, don't make me parachute!"

"Rest assured, Boss!" Victor laughed loudly: "The Mi17 is very durable, even if there's a malfunction, with my piloting skills I can definitely make a safe emergency landing!"

Song Heping looked at the serious-faced Victor, scolding humorously: "You jinx!"

The words had barely left his mouth when suddenly outside the camp gate came a dense and violent roar and screech of engines and brakes.

Everyone's attention was drawn to it.

A vast, endless convoy surged into the camp like a torrent of steel.

Uniform Toyota Hilux pickups, their bodies covered with fresh welding marks—the beds equipped with general-purpose machine gun mounts, reinforced bulletproof steel plates added inside the front windshields, and circular weapon platforms welded on the roofs gleaming coldly under the lights.

A total of two hundred vehicles!

Out of the leading vehicle jumped a man, none other than Abu You, the commander of the Kurdish Armed Ninth Brigade.

"Boss!" Abu You excitedly strode forward, then turned to gesture behind him, "Not a single one of the iron horses you wanted is missing! Chairman Masood instructed me to fully support your operation this time. I emptied my garage and scraped every friend in Elbil and Kirkuk! The welding guns at the modification plant haven't cooled down yet!"

Song Heping embraced him, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder: "Tell Chairman Masood, I owe him this favor!"

"The chairman said, don't worry and use them. Even if they're lost, it's not a problem; we can still afford one or two hundred armed pickups!" Abu You lowered his voice, his smile fading, "Our intelligence system has also gathered a lot of information. The Dulaim tribe assembled eight hundred desperados; reportedly, some English-speaking 'tourists' were providing guidance. The Jabur Tribe is mobilizing too; more troubling is that some 'bandits' crossed the border from Siria, bringing heavy equipment. Today, this road...might be a bloodstained path."

Song Heping said coldly, "The darker the road, the brighter the escort lights need to be. Abu You, please do me another favor: find forty of the best drivers, ones who have driven large trucks and know every dune in Anbar Province. Daily wage of a thousand, return safely, and there's a five-thousand bonus."

Abu You's eyes lit up: "A thousand a day? Allah above, it's worth it for me to drive personally! The men will be ready, all old foxes who drove oil trucks through the desert during the Iran-Iraq War!"

Samir looked at the massive convoy, which arrived in an instant, and softly said to Song Heping, "Boss, such a big setup, the expenses aren't small...is it worth it?"

Song Heping responded calmly, "It's small change. In the face of prestige and reputation, money is just toilet paper! After the mission, all these vehicles will be yours, Samir. You can form a real rapid response unit, making your position more secure, as a reward for your significant contribution this time."

Samir's Adam's apple moved, and he was so excited that he almost couldn't speak.

Two hundred armed pickups!

This gift is so heavy that it can only be repaid with action and loyalty.

He recalled his first day joining the "Musician" defense many years ago, when this same man in front of him thrust an AK47 into his hands, then told him: "Samir, remember one thing—in our company, trust is rarer than diamonds, loyalty tougher than diamonds."

Woo——

Woo——

Woo——

The deep, resonant rallying call echoed through the camp, overpowering all other noise, like a sound from deep in history.

Soldiers poured toward the central parade ground, like streams converging into a sea of steel.

An eight-thousand-man phalanx spread out in the deepest darkness before dawn, silent, murderous.

Samir stepped onto the simple podium, picked up the microphone.

He paused for a moment, then turned and stepped down, handing the microphone to Song Heping.

"Boss, it's better if you do the motivational speech."

Song Heping did not step onto the platform.

He stood at the front of the formation, between the dirt and the soldiers, casually raising the microphone.

"I am Song Heping."

The voice spread through the speakers, stable, clear, without a hint of tremor.

"To most of you, I am the paymaster, an arms dealer, a stranger from the Far East."

The formation was silent, only the slight rustle of the morning breeze brushing the flagpole.

"You've heard many rumors about me. Some are true, such as I am wealthy, dangerous, and ruthless to achieve my goals."

He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping the phalanx.

"Some are false. But today, at this moment, there's only one thing you need to know and must believe—"

His voice suddenly rose:

"Today's escort mission is a road to hell, but I will walk it with you."

"I will not stay in the rear command, will not hide behind a satellite phone. My place is in the leading helicopter. Whichever road is ambushed, I'll be the first to know; whichever position needs support, my aircraft will be the first to rush there; whoever falls, the medical team I stationed here will fight to save him."

He took a deep breath, his voice calm and steady:

"I don't ask whom you fight for, nor do I understand the Allah you pray to. But I know, for every one of you standing here, there is someone waiting for you to return home."

The sound of breathing on the parade ground seemed to disappear at this moment.

"So, I, Song Heping, stand here to promise you one thing only—"

He paused, letting complete silence last for three seconds before he spoke each word deliberately, pounding into everyone's ears:

"I will use all my money, all my resources, all my skills, to do just one thing, and that is to bring as many of you back, alive and kicking."

There was no cheering, no shouting.

First, dead silence.

Then, the first clap rang from an unknown corner, heavy, slow.

Then came the second, third...

Quickly spreading out, forming a low and surging thunderous applause.

Song Heping handed back the microphone to Samir and raised his hand to check his watch.

The luminous hands on the watch face clearly pointed to—

Five fifty-five a.m.

Five minutes left until the escort action begins.

"Time's up," Song Heping said.

Samir picked up the microphone and issued the final order to the eight-thousand-strong army:

"Attention units—depart according to the planned sequence!"