Chapter 1340
The Convoy Heading Towards Death
Chapter 1340 The Convoy Heading Towards Death
storm?
risky.
Although they are on high ground, the terrain at the bottom is complex, with rocks and bushes providing ample cover.
Once a firefight breaks out, even with silenced weapons, the sound may still echo in the relatively enclosed bottom of the canyon, and be picked up by enemy listening stations that may be located in the distance.
Moreover, it's difficult to guarantee an instant annihilation; if anyone escapes or sounds a radio alarm, the plan will fail.
"We need to go down and deal with them silently."
Song Heping made a decision.
The drop from the top of the cliff to the bottom of the valley is about fifty meters, with steep slopes and climbable rock walls.
"Groups A and B will remain on the cliff top to establish fire control points. Groups C and D, follow me down the gentle slope on the north side to the valley floor. We will approach those two positions from the upstream direction along the dry riverbed."
"I'll lead the team down."
Abyu suddenly spoke up.
“I’m going to send these scum to hell with my own hands. Besides, I’m more familiar with this kind of terrain.”
After a moment's thought, Song Heping nodded in agreement.
“Okay. You take Groups C and D down to the bottom of the valley. I'll stay on the cliff top to coordinate. Jiang Feng, your men will provide full surveillance and fire support. If anything unexpected happens, prioritize taking out the missile operators and radio operators.”
"clear."
Abuyu immediately led ten team members down a gully eroded by rainwater on the north side of the cliff top.
They used ropes for assistance, but moved very quickly.
Song Heping monitored their progress from the top of the cliff using thermal imaging and binoculars, while also keeping an eye on the enemy's movements below.
Time passed by minute by minute.
Abuyu's group seeped into the valley silently, like a stream, disappearing into the rocks and shadows.
Through the night vision goggles, only a few blurry green figures could be seen moving quickly, cleverly using every inch of the terrain for cover.
At the bottom of the valley, behind a huge rock at a bend in the riverbed.
Two Barzani special forces soldiers were dozing against the cold rocks, with a Kornet anti-tank missile launcher beside them.
Another person kept watch not far away, but because of the illusion that his companion on the cliff top was "all right," the sentry was not very vigilant and was more focused on resisting the chill of the early morning and his drowsiness.
Unbeknownst to them, death had already crept down the hillside and was now only thirty meters away.
Abuyu personally led a four-man team to deal with the missile site.
He moved across the pebble riverbed using both hands and feet, like a cheetah hunting for food, making almost no sound.
He chose an AK74 with a silencer as his close-combat weapon, which produces very little noise when firing subsonic heavy bullets.
He stopped when he was twenty meters away and raised his fist.
The group dispersed and each group focused on a specific target.
Abuyu's scope crosshairs were firmly locked onto the back of the sentry's head.
He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
"puff!"
A soft sound, like the cork of a champagne bottle being popped.
The sentry tilted his head forward and then fell to the ground.
Almost simultaneously, three other team members sprang up and pounced on the two who were dozing off.
A flash of cold light from the blade, a slit in the throat, a piercing of the heart.
The two enemies died in their sleep or the instant they were awakened.
The whole process was breathtakingly fast.
At the same time, another position in the bushes was also attacked by the commandos.
These mercenaries, personally selected by Song Heping, worked in perfect coordination, using knives, nooses, and close-range silenced fire to eliminate all six targets before the enemy could fully react.
One enemy let out a short, sharp cry before his throat was slit, but the sound was absorbed by the wind and rocks in the canyon and did not elicit any response from afar.
"Clear the valley floor."
Abuyu's slightly panting voice came through the earpiece, carrying a hint of cold satisfaction and relief after revenge.
On the hillside, Song Heping slowly exhaled a breath he had been holding in.
The time is 05:52.
In the entire Vulture Valley, the twenty-four elite ambush troops that Barzani had deployed were all silently eliminated within twenty-two minutes.
Not a single radio alarm was sounded.
They lay quietly beside the graves they had chosen for themselves, as if they had never existed.
"Examine all bodies and finish them off with a shot to ensure they are dead. Collect all communication equipment, documents, and identification items. Concentrate heavy weapons at the cliff top position. Clean up bloodstains and obvious signs of struggle. Hurry, it's almost dawn."
Song Heping quickly issued a series of instructions.
The team members acted swiftly.
The bodies were dragged into rock crevices or craters and simply covered with camouflage netting and rubble. Important equipment was confiscated, while irrelevant items were disposed of in a centralized manner.
The canyon returned to its surface tranquility, with only the gradually increasing wind and the ever-brightening eastern horizon heralding the approach of a new day.
Song Heping stood on the cliff top, looking down at the controlled Death Valley below.
The most dangerous and precise part of the first phase has been completed.
Now, they have transformed from hunters into ambushers.
The targets of the ambush were Salahuddin Barzani, who thought he had everything under control, and his uncle, who was completely unaware that he had one foot in the grave.
He pressed the radio button: "The trash has been cleaned up. The bird nests await the birds' return. Estimated arrival time?"
A few seconds later, Major General Duke's voice came through, carrying a hint of barely perceptible relief:
"According to the latest monitoring, the target convoy left the residence ahead of schedule at 05:40 Erbil time. The speed was relatively fast. The estimated arrival time at your location is likely between 9:00 and 10:00 AM, which is significantly earlier than originally planned. To reiterate, the target departed ahead of schedule."
Song Heping's eyes narrowed.
We arrived at least two hours early!
Barzani was indeed getting anxious, or had he sensed something amiss?
"Received. We will be prepared."
He ended the call and turned to look at his team members who were busy setting up defenses.
The real test may have only just begun.
They needed to lie in wait in the canyon for several hours without revealing any trace.
When the convoy arrives, the next challenge he will face is how to safely rescue Massoud and take control of Barzani without triggering a full-scale firefight.
As dawn broke, the night vision goggles were turned off.
The outline of the canyon gradually became clear in the morning light.
Song Heping leaned against a rock, took out a high-energy compressed biscuit, and slowly chewed it.
The long wait began.
Erbil, the official residence of the President of the Kolde Regional Government.
Local time: 05:30.
The morning light had not yet completely dispelled the darkness, and the sky was a hazy deep blue, with only a faint line of pale white on the eastern horizon.
The square in front of the official residence was bathed in the stark white light of the guards' searchlights, casting long, hard shadows, like a harbinger of the tragedy that was about to unfold.
Three heavily modified Mercedes-Benz G500 SUVs were already running, their deep diesel engine sounds particularly jarring in the morning silence.
The composite armor plates attached to the vehicle body have a matte dark gray sheen under the lights, and the thickened bulletproof glass is almost opaque, allowing only a blurry silhouette of a person to be seen from a specific angle.
The tires are expensive run-flat models, which can continue to travel for tens of kilometers at a speed of 80 kilometers per hour even if they are punctured.
This is the standard configuration of President Masoud Barzani's motorcade.
Safe and discreet, yet capable of withstanding most roadside bombs and small-caliber weapon attacks.
Two Toyota Hilux armed pickup trucks brought up the rear. On the rotating gun mounts welded into the truck beds, M2HB 12.7mm heavy machine guns were covered with dark green tarpaulins, but the long barrels were still exposed, reflecting a cold metallic luster under the searchlights.
Four fully armed soldiers, dressed in the standard camouflage of the Kold's "Freedom Fighters," sat in the back of each pickup truck, their eyes scanning the dark corners of the surroundings warily.
Salahuddin Barzani stood at the front of the convoy, holding an unfolded military map, and was finalizing the itinerary with Massoud's bodyguard, Lieutenant Colonel Jalal.
"The route has been thoroughly cleared."
Barzani's finger traced across the map, stretching from the city of Erbil all the way to the hilly region northwest of Kirkuk.
“The three checkpoints along the route have all been staffed with our most reliable personnel since last night. All passage records will be ‘specially processed’.”
His voice was steady, but his gaze was complex.
"For the absolute safety of the Chairman, I have ordered all civilian communication base stations from the exit of Soleimani Street all the way to the 'Vulture Valley' area to be put into 'technical maintenance' mode. Cell phone signals will be completely blocked, and satellite phone frequencies will be subject to directional interference—this is to prevent anyone from remotely detonating an IED (improvised explosive device) or conducting unnecessary external communications."
That's a very good excuse.
They righteously blocked Massoud's channels of communication with the outside world.
Lieutenant Colonel Jalal stood at attention and saluted, his movements as precise as if he were participating in a military parade.
"Understood, General! We will ensure the Chairman's safety!" But the moment his gaze met Barzani's, it involuntarily drifted to the side, and his Adam's apple bobbed almost imperceptibly.
The 45-year-old captain of the guard, who had followed Masoud for twelve years, had fine beads of cold sweat on his forehead.
Just last night at 1 a.m., Rashid, Barzani's most trusted special forces commander, visited Jalal's residence in the west of the city with six fully armed soldiers.
There was no violence, no threats, and the tone was even polite.
Rashid simply smiled and told him, "Lieutenant Colonel, for the safety of your family, and so that you can focus on tomorrow's mission without distractions, the General has specially arranged for your wife and two lovely daughters to 'rest' for a few days at our holiday villa in Duhok. Once everything has settled down, they will return to you unharmed."
In that instant, Jalal understood everything.
The choice before you is simple.
Cooperate, and watch your family return safely; refuse, and then...
Rashid didn't continue, but simply patted the pistol holster at his waist.
At this moment, Barzani seemed to see through Jalal's inner struggle.
He reached out and patted the captain of the guard hard on the shoulder, so hard that Jalal swayed slightly.
“I know it’s tough, Jalal.”
Barzani's voice was low, with an almost benevolent tone.
"But you must remember, everything we do is for the future of Koldestan. For a strong, unified Koldestan that no longer needs to depend on anyone! Sometimes, for a greater goal, we must make... personal sacrifices."
"Yes...yes, General."
Jalal felt his throat was extremely dry and couldn't help but swallow.
He didn't dare to look up, his gaze fixed on the gleaming tips of his military boots.
Just then, the heavy oak gate of the mansion slowly opened.
Masoud came out.
The old man was dressed in a traditional kold's robe, with intricate geometric patterns embroidered in gold thread on the dark blue fabric.
He wore an inconspicuous gray soft bulletproof vest over his robe.
This is his habit; when traveling in public, he always takes some low-key protective measures.
He looked unwell, and he had heavy bags under his eyes.
Clearly, he didn't sleep well last night.
However, decades of political career and guerrilla warfare experience had already etched an upright posture into his very bones.
He stood ramrod straight, his head slightly raised, and his gaze swept over the convoy and the people present with that habitual air of authority.
"Are you all ready?"
As Masoud asked the questions, his gaze fell on his own nephew.
A complex and indescribable emotion flashed in those eyes, which were slightly cloudy with age.
There was concern, scrutiny, and a hint of almost imperceptible regret.
"Everything is ready, Mr. Chairman."
Barzani smoothly opened the rear door of the middle Mercedes, bowed slightly, and his posture was impeccably respectful.
"Please get in the car. The situation at the front is complicated, and I will personally escort you there."
Massoud paused at the car door, his brow furrowing slightly. "You're going in person? Wasn't the Military Commission supposed to hold an emergency meeting this morning regarding the final response to the Kirkuk situation...?"
"I have already arranged for Chief of Staff Farook to take charge in his place."
Barzani's face was plastered with a smile and feigned concern.
“At this critical moment, I must be by your side. After all, the situation on the front line can change in an instant. With me here, command and coordination will be smoother, and we can respond to any emergencies in a timely manner.”
He lowered his voice slightly to make his tone sound more serious.
"Furthermore... intelligence indicates that Abuyu might take drastic measures. Having me and my men here provides an extra layer of protection for your safety."
This reason is reasonable and even seems thoughtful and considerate.
Masoud stared at his nephew's face, which bore a striking resemblance to his brother's in his youth, trying to discern something beneath that perfect mask.
hesitate?
disturbed?
flaw?
But he couldn't read anything.
Salahuddin has been good at controlling his emotions since childhood, a quality of outstanding soldiers and an essential skill for mature politicians.
Perhaps I'm just overthinking things?
Masoud sighed inwardly.
He nodded, said nothing more, and bent down to get into the car.
Barzani got in from the other side and sat next to him.
The motorcade slowly drove out of the official residence and through the streets of Erbil, which were not yet fully awake.
Cleaners are sweeping up the trash left by last night's revelers, milk trucks are unloading at the alley entrance, and in the distance, the melodious call to prayer can be heard from the minaret of the mosque.
This peaceful scene appeared blurry and distant in Massoud's eyes through the dark bulletproof glass, like a reflection of another world.
The motorcade left the official residence and headed south along the streets of Erbil.
The car was quiet, with only the low rumble of the engine and the faint hiss of the air conditioning system blowing air.
Masoud looked out the window at the rapidly receding city street scene and suddenly spoke.
The voice was very soft, as if talking to oneself, or as if traveling through a long time tunnel:
"Barzani, do you remember when we fled into the mountains north of Harabja in the spring of 1991?"
Barzani's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Of course he remembered. He was sixteen years old that year, when Saddam Hussein's army launched a brutal crackdown on the Kold forces.
Faced with the powerful offensive of the Iligor government forces at the time, the Kold'd forces, who were in a completely weak position, had no choice but to abandon the towns they had just captured and retreat into the mountains.
Massoud was forty years old at the time and was already one of the important leaders of the insurgents, but he insisted on bringing along his seriously ill brother's only son.
That is, himself, Salahuddin Barzani.
"remember."
Barzani cleared his throat, trying to keep his emotions from fluctuating too much.
“At that time, I had malaria and a high fever of almost 40 degrees Celsius. You carried me on your back and walked all night. The mountain road was steep and slippery. You fell three times, hitting your right knee on a rock. Blood soaked through your pants, but you never put me down.”
"Your father entrusted you to me before he died, saying: 'Masood, if I don't survive, take good care of my son and make him a true Kold'd warrior.'"
Masoud turned his head and looked at his nephew beside him.
The morning light streamed through the car window, casting a soft glow on his aged face. His eyes shone exceptionally brightly in the light, as if they could see through everything.
“I agreed to his request. Over the years, I’ve watched you grow from a frail boy into an outstanding commander and a respected general. In my heart, you’re more than just a nephew… Sometimes I even feel that you are more like my ideal successor than my two biological sons.”
Barzani's fingers unconsciously curled up on his knees, his nails digging deep into his palms, the slight pain helping him maintain a calm facade.
“I have always been grateful to you, Uncle. Without your protection and education, I might have died in the refugee camp long ago, or become another corpse under the gun of Saddam secret police.”
"So when I recently heard some rumors that you were frequently moving troops around, planning something... unusual,"
Massoud's voice was still very soft, but each word was like a cold needle, slowly piercing Barzani's eardrums.
“I feel heartbroken. It’s like a father seeing his most valued son walking step by step toward a cliff.”
The air inside the car froze instantly.
The driver gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing intentionally or unintentionally at the rearview mirror in the driver's seat.
Lieutenant Colonel Jalal, in the passenger seat, quietly moved his right hand toward the holster at his waist, but his fingertips stopped when they touched the cold, hard leather, trembling slightly.
Barzani forced himself to smile.
But that smile was as stiff as a freshly cast plaster mask.
“Uncle, you’re overthinking it. Those are all rumors, spread by Abyu and his backers to sow discord among us and undermine the unity within Kold’s.
He tried to make himself more "sincere".
“I am simply fulfilling my duty to protect our land and defend our resources. You know better than anyone that the Kirkuk oil fields are the economic lifeline of our Kurdistan and must not fall into the hands of traitors.”
"Then order the withdrawal of the troops that are currently gathering in Kirkuk."
Masoud looked directly into his nephew's eyes.
He tried to give his nephew one last chance.
“After today, I will stay in Kirkuk and inform Abuyu to come for a meeting. We will then hold formal negotiations on the front lines to resolve the dispute peacefully. I am old, Barzani, and I do not want to see the blood of the Kurds stain their land in the last years of my life. We have already shed too much blood for independence, for freedom, for dignity… Isn’t that enough?”
"Sometimes, a short war is to buy a longer peace."
Upon hearing that his uncle was going to personally meet and negotiate with Abuyu in Kirkuk, Barzani's voice gradually turned cold.
"Compromise and concessions will only embolden the enemy. Abuyu is a living example—we give him an inch, he demands a foot; we give him a foot, he demands a mile! Uncle, your kindness and patience have been seen as weakness and vulnerability by some!"
First update! 5,000 words.
(End of this chapter)