Chapter 1989 - 1443: Schemes from All Sides (Part 3)

The sun rises from the horizon, dyeing the clouds a blood-red color.

Perhaps that Chinese man is also watching the same sun at this moment.

Rashim put down his pen, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue.

This fatigue does not come from insomnia, but from the wear and tear of navigating the maze of power over the years.

Each corner hides a dagger, and behind every door lies a trap.

He learned to think three steps ahead before speaking, and to contemplate the cost of betrayal before trusting anyone.

He learned to shake hands with Hashimi while calculating in his mind how the items in his office could be distributed to others after his downfall.

This was not the general he wanted to become in his youth.

In his youth, he dreamed of the battlefield.

The real battlefield, where bullets whistle past the ears, soldiers shout as they charge, and people flood the streets cheering after victory.

Back then, he thought politics was the filth that generals disdained.

Now, he sits in Baghdad's most fortified office building, commanding eighty thousand troops, yet needs to clear away opponents through an escort accident.

The pigeons outside returned, cooing as they fought over the breadcrumb on the windowsill.

"Faruk."

"Here."

"Send an encrypted telegram to the Tenth Division," Rashim said. "Tell them the Ministry of Defense wishes the escort operation success. Make the wording formal, carbon copy the President's Mansion and the Defense Committee of Parliament."

"Yes."

"Also," Rashim paused, "tell Safar not to get too close to Song Heping during this action."

Faruk hesitated slightly: "Minister, Colonel Safar is one of the commanders of the escort troops..."

"He will understand," Rashim interrupted him. "He is impulsive, but not foolish."

Faruk saluted and turned to leave.

The office door closed silently.

Rashim looked out the window again.

The sun had fully risen; the flock of pigeons under the eaves soared into the sky, their feathers shimmering with bluish-green metallic sheen in the light. From afar, the call to morning prayer echoed from the mosque, its elongated notes drifting in the morning breeze.

Today is going to be a long day.

...

At the same time.

Mosul, Tenth Division base, 5:55 AM.

Song Heping put on his headset, adjusting the microphone's position.

He sat in the co-pilot seat of a Mi-17 helicopter, looking out the window at the field below.

All eight thousand soldiers had boarded. Two hundred pickup trucks, thirty armored Hummers, and fifty military trucks formed a steel convoy two kilometers long.

The roar of the engines was deafening, and the exhaust pipes spewing black smoke formed a low-hanging cloud in the morning fog.

Samir's voice came through the radio: "All units attention, departure countdown five minutes. Repeat, departure countdown five minutes. Route commanders final check on communications and equipment status."

Song Heping pressed the communication button: "Command center, this is 'Hawkeye One.' Two Mi-17s are ready for takeoff, the special operations group has boarded. We will take off twenty minutes prior to establish an advance reconnaissance line."

"Copy, Hawkeye One. Good luck."

The helicopter rotors began to spin faster, and the immense roar drowned out all other sounds.

Song Heping fastened his seatbelt and turned to look into the cabin.

Eight elite mercenaries sat on both sides, performing final checks on their equipment.

They were all seasoned veterans recruited by Song Heping from around the world, of different nationalities and backgrounds, but all battle-hardened.

The team leader was a former British airborne trooper, codenamed "KK."

Noticing Song Heping's gaze, he gave a thumbs-up.

Song Heping nodded and turned his head forward.

Outside the window, the eastern sky was fully bright. The sun rose from the horizon, dyeing the clouds blood-red and then burning that red into gold.

On the ground, the steel convoy began to move slowly, like a waking giant snake, winding out of the barracks, heading down six different roads towards a dawn stained with blood.

Song Heping pressed the communication button: "Hawkeye Two, follow me, maintain formation. Objective: clear any obstacles on the advance route."

"Copy, Hawkeye One. Following you."

The two Mi-17 helicopters lifted off, turning towards the west in the morning light.

Below them, six convoys headed down six different bloody paths.

In front of them, multiple forces sharpened their knives in anticipation.