Chapter 1984 - 1442: Fire of Greed

At the same time that the Tenth Division's station was tensely preparing for battle, the virus of intelligence was crazily spreading in Northwest Illinois.

Anbar Province, Dulaim tribe camp.

Mahir Duraim sat cross-legged on a wool carpet, with a laptop computer on the low table in front of him.

The screen showed the interface of an encrypted email, displaying a newly received file.

The tent was crowded with the tribe's leaders and elders, each face filled with greed and anxiety.

The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and sweat, and there was a faint hint of gunpowder—the sound of youths outside cleaning weapons, the clinking of metal coming through the tent cloth.

"The information is confirmed."

Mahir stayed up all night, his eyes bloodshot.

"The third piece of intelligence from Mosul is completely consistent. At two o'clock tomorrow afternoon, the convoy will pass through Death Curve. The cargo list is even more than we imagined—assault rifles, light machine guns, night vision devices, bulletproof vests, and even many Gustav recoilless cannons! All US goods!"

A collective gasp rose inside the tent.

"Is it really fifteen billion dollars worth of arms?" an elder with a full white beard asked shakily, "And all US-made?"

"Exactly! The intelligence is absolutely accurate!" Mahir replied confidently, "The goods passing through our tribe's area are worth at least 300 million dollars!"

This figure exploded in the tent like a bomb.

300 million dollars worth of arms.

For the Dulaim tribe, this was an astronomical figure.

Last year, the entire tribe's total income from oil fields, smuggling, and 'protection fees' was just 3 million dollars. 160 million is enough for every family to live in villas, drive new cars, and send all the children to study in Europe.

"But the escort forces have also increased."

Mahir's son Ahmed calmly reminded them, this 27-year-old was one of the few in the tribe to have received higher education, having studied engineering at Baghdad University.

"The latest intelligence says that Song Heping has mobilized another 4,000 people, bringing the total force to 8,000. And there are two armed helicopters escorting them."

The atmosphere in the tent instantly cooled a bit.

8,000 regular troops, plus air support.

The Dulaim tribe could at most assemble 800 armed men, and the equipment was heaven and earth apart, most having AK-47s and RPG-7s, only twelve heavy guns, and three mortars, and ammunition stock was insufficient.

"They say there are 8,000, but didn't you read the intel? They actually split into six routes, plus the Kurdish Armed Ninth Brigade, totaling only about 10,000 men. Each daily route has at most 2,000 people, and we have the advantage of terrain, local terrain advantage."

Mahir stood up and went to the sand table in the center of the tent.

It was a miniature model of Highway 7 made with sand and rocks.

"At Death Curve, 1,000 men or 8,000 men make no difference. The road is only eight meters wide, one side a steep slope, one side a cliff, and the convoy has to slow down to twenty kilometers per hour to pass. We set up machine gun positions at the vantage point and use IEDs to destroy the lead and tail vehicles, and the entire convoy will be blocked at the curve."

He pointed at the sand table with a stick, "Then we cover fire with mortars, no need for precise hits, just create chaos. When they start to scatter, our assault teams cut in from the flanks, focusing on seizing those trucks carrying valuable cargo."

"What about the helicopters?" a leader asked.

Mahir showed a mysterious smile, "The 'advisors' from America brought three sets of Stinger missiles. As long as the helicopters dare to fly low, we'll shoot them down."

The tent was stirred up again.

Stinger missiles!

This level of weapon, they had only heard of in legends.

During the Afghanistan War, the CIA had once provided Stinger missiles to the Holy Warriors to counter Soviet helicopters, achieving spectacular results.

"Are those Americans reliable?" Ahmed still had doubts, "Why are they helping us? Is it worth the risk for them?"

Mahir went to the door of the tent and lifted the flap.

In the morning light, three foreigners in desert camouflage sat beside an off-road vehicle checking equipment.

Their movements were professional and efficient, clearly seasoned soldiers.

"I had their backgrounds checked." Mahir lowered the flap and whispered, "The bald-headed one in charge, code-named 'Evil Wolf', was in the US Army Delta Force, serving in Illinois and Afghanistan for eight years. The other two are also ex-special forces. Their current employer is a Dubai-based security company, but who really pays them...it might be someone else."

"Someone else?" Ahmed frowned, "Who could it be? Why would they..."

"I suspect it's US contractors behind it, because Song Heping stole their business." Mahir sneered, "Those big US companies, on the surface, they're in suits and ties, but behind the scenes, they're more ruthless than us 'terrorists'. They won't allow an Oriental to steal their interests on their turf, so they want to use our hands to get rid of the competition, while we use their weapons and technology to seize the arms. Everyone gets what they need."

The elders exchanged glances.

Tribal grudges, sectarian conflicts, foreign intervention...

These were all too complex for them.

They only knew one thing: that shipment of arms was worth fifteen billion dollars, even capturing a tenth of it would be enough to change the tribe's entire destiny.

"Do it!" The white-bearded elder slapped his thigh vigorously, "A chance granted by Allah, not to be missed! Even if there's risk, it's worth it!"