Chapter 1396
Why don't you just rob it?!
Chapter 1396 Why don't you just rob it?!
The night winds of Mosul carry the scent of gunpowder and sandstorms, sweeping in from the northern desert.
The joint operations team's base was located on the edge of an abandoned industrial area in the east of the city. Above a three-meter-high concrete wall, beams of searchlights scanned anxiously in the darkness.
Every thirty seconds, a beam of light would sweep across the open wasteland outside the base, illuminating the cracked asphalt road, the rusty abandoned pipes, and the steel torrent that gleamed coldly in the moonlight in the distance.
Lemont stood at the observation post on the top floor of the control tower, his fingers gripping the handle of the M24 binoculars tightly, his palms sweaty.
The scene captured on camera is breathtaking.
The low silhouette of the T-72 main battle tank was faintly visible, its gun barrel pointing towards the base in the darkness.
BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles formed a mobile steel wall, the 30mm cannons on their turrets reflecting a deathly gleam in the moonlight.
Further away, the barrels of 152mm self-propelled howitzers were already raised, and the firing elevation indicated that their parameters had been set and they were ready to fire at any time.
The most terrifying thing is the quantity.
Lamont had received battlefield assessment training, and he could estimate enemy strength from vehicle spacing and formation density.
total……
There will be no fewer than 3,500 people.
His base only had 127 Delta Force members and 43 Witness agents capable of fighting, half of whom were civilian employees.
One hundred and seventy people versus three thousand five hundred people.
The ratio is 1:20.5.
"Lemont".
Ryan's voice came from behind.
"The last data transmitted by the drone has been confirmed. The 10th Division has deployed three mechanized infantry battalions, and Abuyu's troops have also arrived, hiding in an abandoned textile factory three kilometers away. The total strength is about four thousand."
Remont put down his binoculars, his sweaty handprints already visible on the metal tube.
He took a deep breath, the cold air piercing his lungs and making him a little more awake.
"Have the snipers withdraw from their firing positions and open the east gate," he said, trying to sound calm. "I'll go out and see him."
Ryan frowned. "This is too dangerous. We can communicate from behind cover using a megaphone, or through an encrypted channel—"
“No,” Lemont interrupted him. “If Song Heping wants to talk face-to-face, then let’s talk face-to-face. Make a show of our stance and let him see that we are not afraid.”
He paused, then added, "His entire tactic right now is to see us afraid."
Ryan nodded: "Okay, I'll go prepare the vehicle."
Five minutes later, the east gate slowly opened amidst the hissing of the hydraulic system.
The three-meter-thick reinforced concrete gate slid open to both sides, and Lemont brought only two Delta players with him.
Sergeant Jackson drove a Hummer M1151, while Sergeant Rodriguez sat in the passenger seat with an HK416 equipped with an ACOG scope resting on his lap.
Lamont sat in the back.
“Remember,” Lemont instructed several Delta Force members before the vehicle started, “Don’t touch any weapons unless I give the order. Even if a gun is pointed at your head.”
"Understood, sir."
Several people answered at the same time, their voices devoid of emotion.
The Hummer's diesel engine roared as its tires rolled over the gravel road within the base and drove out of the gate.
When the Hummer drove 500 meters and entered the open area, dozens of blinding white lights suddenly appeared on the opposite position.
It wasn't just one or two lights, but the headlights of dozens of armored vehicles were turned on simultaneously.
The intense beams of light converged into a wall of light, instantly engulfing the Hummer.
Jackson instinctively slowed down.
“Keep going,” Lymont’s voice came from the back seat. “Slow down, keep straight.”
The Hummer moved slowly through the sea of light, like a night ship sailing into daylight.
Lemont squinted, carefully observing the scene ahead.
He saw a more detailed deployment.
Three BMP infantry fighting vehicles form a triangular defensive formation, interspersed with T-72 tanks.
The soldiers built makeshift shelters using the vehicles, with the muzzles of light and heavy machine guns protruding from their firing ports.
With its professional defensive layout, it truly lives up to its reputation as the most capable 10th Border Guard Division in the Iligor government forces.
The wheels moved forward another two hundred meters, and suddenly a gap appeared in the wall of light opposite.
Three Toyota pickup trucks drove out of the position, with soldiers in desert camouflage standing in the truck beds. The muzzles of their AK-74M rifles were hanging down naturally, but their index fingers were resting on the trigger guards.
The pickup trucks surrounded the Hummer in a triangular formation, maintaining a distance of twenty meters.
This distance is sufficient for both reaction and firing.
In the bed of the middle pickup truck, an officer stood upright.
Using the reflection of the car headlights, Lemont could make out his epaulets.
He was an Ilgodrico Army lieutenant.
The lieutenant made a gesture, and Jackson stepped on the brakes.
“Mr. Lamont.” The lieutenant’s English had a distinct Arabic accent, but it was clear: “Mr. Song is waiting for you at headquarters. Please follow our vehicle.”
There were no questions, no pleasantries, just a direct command.
Remont answered loudly, "Lead the way."
The pickup truck turned around, with the Hummer following behind, and two other pickup trucks monitoring from the left and right.
As the convoy entered the 10th Division's position, Lamont's eyes scanned the surroundings through the car window.
As the distance closes, the scene becomes even more breathtaking.
The muzzle of the 125mm smoothbore gun on the turret of the T-72 tank gleamed coldly.
The rear hatch of the BMP vehicle was open, and soldiers sat inside with RPG-7 rocket launchers on their laps.
Further away, he spotted the launch tubes of the SA-16 "Hand Drill" portable anti-aircraft missile.
There are even more deadly ones.
The radars of the two Pantsir-S1 air defense systems are slowly rotating.
Song Heping even made arrangements for air defense.
This means he knew he might need to call in air support and was prepared to respond.
All signs point to the same fact.
This is not a deterrent, not an exercise; it is genuine war preparation.
The convoy traveled through the area for about ten minutes before finally entering a natural depression.
This is clearly a temporary command post, with a dozen or so military tents scattered in a circle. In the center of the open space, two BTR-80 armored vehicles equipped with communication antennas are parked, and the antennas are rotating at high frequency.
The pickup truck stopped, and the lieutenant jumped out and walked to the window of the Hummer.
“Mr. Lamont, please follow me. Your soldiers may remain in the vehicle or come along, but they may not carry long weapons.”
Lemont pushed open the car door and stepped onto the solid Iraqi ground.
The night wind grew colder, and he instinctively pulled the collar of his combat uniform tighter.
“Rodriguez, come with me. Jackson, stay here and keep the engine running.” He gave the brief order, then looked at the lieutenant: “Lead the way.”
The group walked toward the largest tent in the center of the depression.
The Iligo soldiers who passed by looked at them with complicated expressions.
It wasn't hatred or hostility, but rather a scrutiny mixed with curiosity and vigilance.
Lamont noticed that the soldiers' equipment was a mixed bag.
The rifles include American M4 rifles, Russian AK-74s, and even German G36s, but they are all in good condition.
Four guards stood outside the tent. Upon seeing Lamont, one of them lifted the tent flap.
The lieutenant stopped in his tracks: "Mr. Song is waiting for you inside."
Lemont took a deep breath and bent down to enter the tent.
The interior space is larger than it appears from the outside, about forty square meters.
In the center was a folding table covered with a satellite map of the Mosul region, marked with red and blue markers showing attack routes and defensive deployments.
Several military laptops had their screens lit up, displaying drone footage and communication status.
There was only one person in the tent.
Song Heping had his back to the entrance and was bending over to mark something on a map.
Hearing footsteps, he straightened up and turned around.
“Mr. Lamont,” Song Heping greeted him first, even with a slight smile on his face, “The weather is nice tonight, perfect for a walk. It’s just a bit windy and dusty.”
Lemont's face turned ashen, ignoring the deliberate teasing.
He stopped five meters away from Song Heping.
This distance is sufficient for conversation, and also enough for the Delta Force team members behind to react if necessary.
Although he knew that the four guards outside the tent and hundreds of rifles not far away were all pointed at their heads.
"Song Heping!" Remont's voice was filled with suppressed rage: "Are you fucking insane? You dare surround a US military base? Do you know what that means?"
"What does it mean?"
Song Heping tilted his head, his expression suggesting he was seriously considering an interesting question.
"Does that mean your hundred-plus men are surrounded by four thousand? Does that mean your multi-million dollar high-tech equipment is like paper in front of a 152mm howitzer? Or does it mean..."
He took a step forward, his voice lowered:
"You want my life, so I'll take yours first?"
The air inside the tent seemed to freeze instantly.
Remont could hear his heart pounding in his chest and feel Delta Force player Rodriguez's muscles tense up instantly behind him.
"We don't have—"
Lemont instinctively denied it, but was interrupted as soon as he spoke.
"Don't lie." Song Heping's voice suddenly turned cold: "The 'Witness' department's' arrest warrant for me, the order to detain Milos and his 247 men, the torture of my people—do you need me to storm your base now and bring Milos out for a confrontation?"
Lamont felt a dryness in his throat.
He knew that some facts couldn't be denied with words alone.
"We can negotiate."
Lamont forced himself to keep his voice steady.
“If you withdraw your troops now, everything is negotiable. What do you want? Money? Safe passage? I can arrange it all. Even… I can guarantee that the ‘Witness’ department will no longer pursue any of your previous actions.”
Song Heping smiled.
That wasn't a sneer, but a heartfelt mockery.
Laughter echoed in the quiet tent.
"Hahahaha! Lymont, do you think you're an idiot, or do you think I'm an idiot?"
He held up one finger and waved it from side to side in front of him, as casually as if he were refusing a drink in a bar.
"If you continue to play dumb in front of me, there are only two outcomes here today." Song Heping's smile vanished, his eyes turning icy: "Either you die, or I perish. There is no third way. You should have expected this day to come when you pushed me to this point."
"Then let's go to war!" Lamont raised his voice, trying to regain control of the conversation. "You think you can win? Even if you take this base and kill us all, then what? The US military will keep pouring in, the 10th Division will be wiped out of the organization, Samir will be court-martialed, your 'Musician' defenses will be uprooted, and you'll become a global fugitive, spending the rest of your life hiding in the sewers!"
He stepped forward, staring into Song Heping's eyes: "If you withdraw your troops now, I can still give you a way out. This is my last act of goodwill."
Song Heping stared at him quietly for a full five seconds.
Then he spread his hands, his expression almost defiant.
“Come on then,” he said. “Let’s see if I can move faster, or if those bureaucrats in Washington can. Let’s see if your reinforcements arrive first, or if my shells hit your base first.” He walked to the table, picked up a tablet, turned on the screen, and turned to Lamont.
"By the way, I have a little something. The 'Witness' department's records of all its operations in Iligoria and Seria over the past decade. Including a full report on multiple violations of the Chemical Weapons Convention on Biological and Chemical Weapons Tests—yes, those '1515 chemical weapons use' incidents outside Raqqa in 2014, the warheads were actually provided by you."
Lamont's heart sank.
Song Heping swiped the screen: "And there's your complete plan to overthrow the Hafez regime using NGOs, codenamed 'Operation Spring Flood.' And... the most exciting part."
He zoomed in on a photograph.
In the video, a white man in civilian clothes is shaking hands with several armed men wearing headscarves, with tents in the desert in the background.
The timestamp in the bottom right corner of the photo shows: March 17, 2014.
"This is what your intelligence officers did in Deir ez-Zor and the 'quartermaster' of 1515, exchanging fifty 'Javelin' anti-tank missiles for their non-attack on the Kold'd armed-controlled areas in northern Silia."
Song Heping raised his head and stared intently at Lamont.
“I have photos, recordings, and even soil from the scene. What do you think would happen if this material appeared in the editorial office of The New York Times tomorrow, or was uploaded directly to the dark web?”
Lemont stared intently at Song Heping, trying to find any trace of bluff on the other's face.
Any slight flaw in a micro-expression, any wavering in a glance.
But he found nothing.
The man's eyes were as calm as a deep pool.
That wasn't madness; it was a meticulously calculated determination.
Lamont believed he was serious.
He will really release these materials, he will really launch an attack, he will really risk everything.
"What conditions do you want?"
Lamont finally compromised.
Song Heping put down the tablet and held up three fingers.
"It's very simple, just three conditions."
His tone returned to that annoyingly relaxed one.
"First, release my men. Milos and his 247 men, not one less. And return all their equipment and vehicles."
“Second,” he held up a second finger, “all the remaining munitions left behind by the American troops during their withdrawal from Iriego. All the equipment stored in the underground warehouses at Taji, Balad, and Mosul airport…”
At this point, Song Heping couldn't help but laugh:
"And those 'Stinger' missiles you secretly hid, intending to sell to the Kold'd forces—as far as I know, they include twenty-four launchers and one hundred and ninety-two missiles, all of them. I want them all. As for the price..."
Song Heping smiled and said, "According to the standard price in the international scrap metal market, it's $0.5 per kilogram. I will find a professional scrap recycling company to appraise it, so it will be fair and impartial."
Lemont almost cursed out loud.
He knew all too well the total value of that batch of weapons.
More than two billion US dollars!
This is not negotiation, this is robbery.
A blatant, undisguised robbery.
The most shameful thing is that Americans have always been the ones taking from others, when did it become the turn of others to take from Americans?
crazy.
Song Heping is absolutely insane.
He either completely lost his mind, or he was absolutely certain that the United States would yield.
“Third,” Song Heping held up his third finger, his voice becoming serious, “a written commitment. An official White House document, the kind with the presidential seal. A commitment to no longer persecute Maisour and Black, to recognize them as asylum-holding political refugees, and to allow them to settle in third countries. And a commitment that the ‘Witness’ department will not retaliate against or sanction me, my company, my employees, or my partners at any time or in any form.”
He walked up to Lamont, and the distance between them shortened to two meters.
"Finally, allow me to retain copies of all evidence regarding the 'Witness' and 'Sower' programs as 'insurance.' Of course, I promise not to disclose them voluntarily—unless you breach the agreement."
A brief silence fell over the tent.
The only sounds were the low rumble of generators outside and the faint noise of vehicle engines in the distance.
"FUCK!"
Lamont finally couldn't hold back and cursed, his spittle almost hitting Song Heping's face.
"You're fucking insane! This is impossible! The White House would never sign a document like this! It's tantamount to admitting to all our covert operations, it's like handing you a knife!"
"Then don't sign it."
Song Heping shrugged.
"But I will attack the base tonight, plow through every building with 152mm howitzers, and kill everyone inside. Then, before dawn, I will send this evidence to the encrypted submission email addresses of seventeen major media outlets around the world, upload it to thirty different dark web nodes, and back it up on cloud servers in seven countries."
He glanced at the military watch on his wrist; its dial gleamed coldly under the tent's light.
"If you want to shut down the internet, delete posts, suppress news... then try it. You can guess whether Hillary's campaign team will collapse first, or whether the entire Democratic Party will cut its losses to survive and throw your 'Witness' department out as a scapegoat."
He raised his head, his eyes leaving no room for negotiation.
"You have thirty minutes. Start the timer now."
Lemont opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
He wanted to say "You dare," he wanted to say "You don't dare," he wanted to say "We will retaliate." But all the words stuck in his throat.
Because he knew that Song Heping was truly daring...
When a person is willing to risk their life, they possess the most powerful bargaining chip.
There's no point in continuing to argue here; it's just a waste of time.
Every second that passes means we are one step closer to shelling.
In the end, Lemont just glared fiercely at Song Heping. If that look could kill, Song Heping would have been dead a hundred times over by now.
Then he turned around, strode out of the tent, and the canvas curtain swung down heavily behind him.
On the way back, the carriage was deathly silent.
Jackson drove the Hummer incredibly fast, the tires kicking up long plumes of dust on the gravel road.
Lemont sat in the back, his hands clenched into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped bloodstains.
When he returned to base, Ryan was already waiting at the entrance of the command center.
Seeing the expression on Lamont's face as he got out of the car, he understood everything.
"Summon all officers."
Lemont took off his dusty coat and threw it hard onto the chair next to him.
“We need to develop a contingency plan. Then…”
He took a deep breath. "I'm going to connect directly to Washington."
Five minutes later, all the officers in the base who were still able to move gathered in the briefing room.
Twelve people sat around a long table, each with varying degrees of anxiety on their faces.
The Delta Force commander is in the lead position on the right, his camouflage paint on his face appearing mottled under the light.
Ryan was sitting to Lamont's left, and the projector was already on.
Lemont stood in front of the projection screen, which displayed a thermal image of the encirclement taken by a drone half an hour earlier.
Dense red dots, like cancer cells, surround the green area representing the base.
"Ahem, to put it simply, that's the situation..."
Lamont coughed twice before speaking.
"We are completely surrounded. The enemy has a total force of about four thousand men, including artillery, tank units, a large number of infantry, and supporting armored vehicles. The commander is Song Heping."
He glanced at everyone present, giving them time to process what he had said, and then continued:
"He gave him a 30-minute ultimatum. There were three conditions: First, release Milos and his 247 men and return all equipment; second, purchase all the munitions left behind by the US military after their withdrawal at scrap metal prices, including Stinger missile launchers; third, the White House must sign a written commitment not to pursue or kill the relevant personnel and allow him to keep copies of the evidence as insurance."
The room was deathly silent. The only sound was the low hum of the ventilation system.
The Delta Force commander was the first to speak: "Sir, we can hold out. The base's defenses are quite solid, and we have enough ammunition and supplies to last at least an hour. As long as the air force can arrive within an hour—"
“No air force,” Lamont interrupted him. “Or rather, it would take at least ninety minutes for the air force to arrive, assuming Washington orders the air force to be deployed now. And Song Heping knows that.”
He pulled up another image, which was the air defense deployment that the electronic reconnaissance unit had just analyzed.
"Look here, here, and here. At least eight air defense systems, including four Pantsir-S1s, two Tor-M2s, and at least twelve man-portable air defense systems. Even if we escape by helicopter, we have no chance. As for fixed-wing aircraft..."
He switched to satellite images and zoomed in on several areas.
"The 10th Division's artillery positions are scattered across six locations within a 15-kilometer radius, all hidden within residential areas or industrial plants. If the air force were to bomb them, it would cause at least two hundred civilian casualties, and the political consequences would be unacceptable."
"Then let them attack!"
A young agent sitting at the end of the table stood up excitedly. He was an operations analyst from the "Witness" department and looked to be no more than twenty-five years old.
"We're Americans! They wouldn't dare attack us! It's just a bluff!"
Ryan gave him a cold look: "Twenty minutes ago, our eight-man reconnaissance team was detained and is still in their hands. Moreover, according to the last reconnaissance footage from the drone, the 10th Division's tanks have been warmed up, all the cannons are loaded with live ammunition, and the camouflage nets on the artillery positions have been removed. They were prepared long ago."
He pulled up a video.
The image is somewhat blurry, but it is clear that in the yard of an abandoned factory three kilometers away, six 152mm howitzers are deployed, with the barrels raised and the gunners standing by, ready to go.
Even more shocking was that the ammunition box had been opened.
“Those are high-explosive grenades,” Delta’s commander whispered. “One shot can destroy a three-story building.”
The room fell silent again.
This time, it was a desperate silence.
Lemont glanced at his watch.
On the watch face, the second hand ticked away, the sound exceptionally clear in the silence.
"Twenty-seven minutes left," he said. "Now we'll vote: war or peace?"
No one raised their hands.
No one speaks.
Everyone's eyes were lowered, staring at the table, at their own hands, at anything that could be avoided from Lamont's gaze.
war?
One hundred and seventy men against four thousand, with tanks and artillery.
and?
They had to accept those humiliating terms, sell off two billion dollars worth of American arms as scrap metal, and sign documents that amounted to surrender.
Either choice is hell.
“Then it’s my decision.” Remont’s voice broke the silence: “All Delta Force personnel and combatants, go to maximum readiness. Check all weapon systems and assign positions to anti-tank missiles and heavy machine guns. But—unless the enemy fires first, we will not fire the first shot. That’s a death order.”
The Delta commander stood up: "Understood, sir."
Lamont turned to Ryan: “Set up a video conference immediately, with the highest level of encryption. We need to contact the White House Situation Room directly; we need Walter, Hillary, and the Department of Defense all online.”
"Do we need to draft a briefing first?"
“There’s no time.” Lemont shook his head. “Just connect. Tell them we only have… twenty-five minutes left.”
Ryan strode towards the communications room.
Lemont stood still, looking at the encirclement image on the projection screen.
Those red dots were so dense and so orderly, like a meticulously woven net.
His base is the moth in the center of the net that can never fly away again.
He raised his hand and touched the inside pocket of his combat uniform.
There was an M9 pistol there, with a full magazine and a bullet in the chamber.
That was the last option.
He hoped he wouldn't need it.
Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)