Chapter 1400
2 Electrical Seal
Chapter 1400 Two Phone Calls
Song Heping returned to the command vehicle, the metal doors closing heavily behind him, largely isolating him from the intermittent explosions and the pervasive smell of gunpowder.
In front of the main control console, rows of indicator lights flickered faintly in the dim light, like countless eyes peering into the battlefield.
He sat down, took out the inconspicuous black USB drive, and the "click" sound of the connector being inserted was particularly clear in the quiet carriage.
The screen in front of him lit up, the cold white light illuminating his expressionless face.
The screen was divided into four panels, showing drones from different angles and with different functions, presenting him with a real-time view of the US military base in the distance that was in purgatory, without reservation.
The top left frame focuses on the oil storage area in the northwest corner of the base.
The initial ignition point has expanded into a roaring sea of fire, with thick smoke, like a ferocious black pillar, twisting and shooting into the night sky illuminated by the firelight.
The fire was engulfing the adjacent garage at an alarming rate, the steel structure twisting and glowing red under the intense heat, groaning under its strain.
The three mine-resistant ambush protected (MRAP) vehicles became enormous torches, their bodies crackling in the flames, and the remaining ammunition inside was detonated intermittently, turning into bursts of bright light and scattered metal fragments.
The top right corner shows the chaos in the hangar area.
The surviving U.S. soldiers are racing against time to reinforce the entrance.
They used the wreckage of Humvees damaged by artillery fire, broken concrete blocks, and any other movable debris to desperately build a makeshift barrier.
Although the movements were fast, they were completely disorganized and revealed obvious panic.
Some people kept looking back, while others shouted but received no effective response. The organization had been disrupted, and coordination was almost ineffective.
The bottom right panel is the best.
A body dressed in U.S. military digital desert camouflage lay in an extremely unnatural position beside a half-collapsed ruin, with dark liquid soaking the sand beneath it.
The camera pans slightly, and not far away, five more bodies lie scattered beside the garage.
Song Heping's gaze swept across the four panels one by one, finally settling on the tragic scene in the lower right corner.
Ten seconds later, he raised his hand and made a series of quick operations on the control panel.
Switching home screen images.
Instead of real-time monitoring, it's a carefully edited and sped-up compilation of climactic shelling scenes.
The superb editing skills string together the most visually impactful moments.
perfect.
This is definitely great news material.
Shocking enough.
Every frame is filled with the power of destruction and the brutal aesthetics of war, yet it cleverly avoids extreme gore that could cause excessive discomfort.
After the assessment was completed, Song Heping no longer hesitated.
He reached out and picked up the two satellite phones placed side by side on the console.
First, dial the first number.
The receiver picked up the faint digital noise characteristic of encrypted channels.
After three beeps, Angel's melodious female voice, deliberately lowered but still unable to conceal a hint of urgency, rang out:
"Honey, where are you right now? I've been waiting for your call."
"Honey, I don't have time to say much, the situation is urgent."
Song Heping spoke rapidly: "Check your encrypted email in five minutes. Then, proceed with the first phase as I told you before."
"How is the quality of the materials?" Angel asked directly, as this was her primary concern.
“You’ll be satisfied.” Song Heping’s answer was brief and certain: “There are collapses, flames, corpses, and the background sound of desperate radio conversations. But there are no close-ups of faces, no excessive gore. It conforms to the blurred boundaries of journalistic ethics, but it’s shocking enough, enough to provoke further questions.”
"Timestamp? Location verification information?" Angel pressed for details, as this was the key to transforming "materials" into "evidence."
"All metadata is complete, including precise GPS coordinates and local time. You can have it verified by any third-party technical organization you trust; they are verifiable."
Song Heping's tone left no room for argument.
The sound of crisp, rapid keystrokes immediately came from the other end of the phone, clearly indicating that Angel was already operating in sync.
"Okay. Phase One: Release the shelling video globally, along with an analytical article tentatively titled 'Three Possible Reasons for an Attack on a US Military Base by an Ally,' to guide public opinion to question the relationship between the US military and its local allies and the legality of the operation. Phase Two: One hour later, release the intercepted and processed recordings of emergency communications from inside the base, highlighting the panic and despair. Phase Three: Two hours later, release a complete timeline analysis report, combining existing information to directly point to Washington's decision-making errors and information concealment in this incident."
“Correct,” Song Heping affirmed. “Remember the rhythm, and the most crucial point is: don’t hint that we have more, more damning evidence beforehand. Let them deny it first, make excuses first, hold press conferences saying ‘we’re investigating’ or ‘the information is false.’ Once they’ve nailed themselves to that denial and evasive stance, and public opinion has begun to ferment, then we release the second and third waves. Each time, just as they’ve caught their breath, we tighten the noose again.”
“Understood. The timing is excellent. The White House has a routine foreign policy press conference in an hour, which will be a ‘good opportunity’.”
Angel's voice betrayed a hint of excitement.
"Very good." Song Heping said finally, "Let the bullets fly for a while."
call ended.
He glanced at the time in the corner of the screen: 00:24.
Without the slightest hesitation, he picked up the second one.
The call went directly to his defense company headquarters in Africa, and the person who answered was Henry, the company's intelligence chief.
The phone was answered almost immediately after only one ring.
It seems Henry has been waiting for this all along.
"boss."
Henry's voice came through, and you could hear a hint of tension in it.
He knew the perilous situation Song Heping was in, and he understood that this phone call meant the operation was entering its most crucial practical phase.
"In a few minutes, you will receive four video files on Security Server 7, encrypted in the same way as before."
Song Heping's instructions were clear and unambiguous: "Distribute to the media according to the pre-determined list, and then gradually leak them online. The IP address from which each document is sent must use our pre-set jump servers in different countries to ensure that the IP addresses are geographically dispersed."
“Completely understood, boss.” Henry repeated and confirmed the process: “Seventeen target media outlets, divided into three batches: the first batch of five, mainstream Western television networks and news agencies; the second batch of seven, influential media outlets in Asia and the Middle East; the third batch of five, well-known investigative journalist teams and independent news organizations. Send them out sequentially to create the effect of ‘gradual information leakage’ and multiple parties obtaining evidence.”
“Yes.” Song Heping nodded slightly. “Technical details also need attention. For each media outlet’s video version, we need to make subtle differences. This could be a slight shift in the shooting angle, a difference of a few seconds in the editing length, or even a minor adjustment to the level of background noise. This way, when these media outlets check the footage against each other in post-production, they will be convinced that it is evidence from multiple sources and multiple angles, rather than a forgery from a single source. I don’t need to teach you these technical processing techniques anymore, do I?”
"Don't worry! The documents have been received! Leave it to me. The company's technical team is already in place and preparing differentiated versions simultaneously. In addition, as per your prior instructions, we have also prepared three different announcements of 'leaked documents,' implying that besides the existing videos, there are even more shocking internal documents, command chain communication records, and other evidence that have not yet been made public, but we will hold off on that for now." Henry
Lidton paused for a moment, then asked, "Are you... going fishing?"
“Yes, fishing.” Song Heping confirmed: “I want to see Washington’s reaction. I want to see whether they choose to continue to take a tough stance and pressure their allies after the first wave of public opinion, or whether they start to look for a way out and shirk responsibility in private. I want to see whether Secretary Clinton’s team will adjust their strategy and try to reach out and ease tensions, or whether they will double down and take more aggressive measures for the sake of the election and political face.”
“What if…” Henry’s voice grew more worried, “What if, under immense pressure, they choose to deploy air power and bomb the base directly in order to completely silence them and cover up all traces? That would be their fastest way to ‘solve the problem’.”
Song Heping remained silent for about two or three seconds.
His gaze seemed to penetrate the armor plating of the command vehicle and return to the tiny figures busily struggling to survive amidst the ruins on the screen, those orange-red dots on the thermal imaging.
“Then…” he said slowly, “we have obtained the best evidence—the US government, in order to cover up its own scandals and decision-making errors, ordered the massacre of its own elite soldiers on the front lines. That will be more politically destructive and morally impactful than any footage of shelling by a third party. The whole world will see what a true ‘sacrifice’ looks like.”
"But you will also be in extreme danger, boss. They will definitely use all resources to trace the source of the leak, and you..."
Henry didn't continue.
“Henry,” Song Heping interrupted him, “No victory worth winning comes without taking huge risks. Execute the orders.” “Yes, boss, I’ll do it immediately. Take care of yourself.” Henry said no more.
The second phone call ended. The time jumped to 00:26.
At the same moment, at the joint operations team's temporary base, Colonel Lamont had just completed the final round of tactical deployment adjustments.
The number of personnel still capable of fighting was 117.
Ten of them, bearing minor injuries that did not impair their mobility, had already received basic first aid and were incorporated into the combat formation.
All personnel, including those with minor injuries, have now retreated into the three remaining reinforced bunkers within the base.
It mainly consists of the underground command post and the lower level of the relatively well-preserved hangar.
As for the others who failed to get into the bunker in time or who were killed or seriously wounded in the shelling, he was unwilling to go into the details, as that would only weaken the decisiveness necessary at this moment.
The valuable Javelin anti-tank missile launchers were deployed behind two camouflaged and reinforced firing ports on the second floor of the main building.
The operators were two gunners from Delta Force.
Lamont's orders to them were concise: if the wall was breached and enemy tanks poured in, priority was given to destroying the first two leading tanks, aiming for a decisive kill, and using their massive wreckage to block the main passage, buying time for subsequent defenses.
The light and heavy machine gunners in each bunker are in position, and the firing arc has been redesigned to form a crossfire network with no blind spots, covering possible infiltration routes and open areas inside the base.
The riflemen, as a mobile reserve, were dispersed at key points inside the bunkers, ready to fill fire gaps or launch short counterattacks at any time.
Deep within the underground command post, the makeshift medical station was filled with the smells of blood, disinfectant, and suppressed groans.
The seriously wounded lay on the only available stretchers or mats, their faces pale.
Under the dim emergency lights, six medics desperately tried to maintain the vital signs of their comrades with rapidly depleting medicines and dwindling medical equipment.
Only two units of the plasma needed to sustain the lives of the critically injured were left, and they were being kept like gold, reserved for those who needed them most.
Lemont carefully observed the darkness outside the walls through the periscope extending from the observation port of the reinforced command post.
The shelling had stopped for more than two minutes, but the sudden silence was more unsettling than the deafening explosions that had just followed.
In the night vision goggles, the tank column of the 10th Division came to a complete stop about two kilometers from the base wall, with their headlights still on.
“What are they waiting for?” Ryan asked in a low voice.
“Wait until we make a mistake and expose our weaknesses.” Lamont’s gaze never left the periscope. “Or… wait until Washington changes its mind and issues new orders.”
He himself felt that the latter possibility was slim.
Just then, his satellite phone vibrated.
The unique encrypted frequency identifier indicated that the caller was Simon, the director of the CIA and also his superior.
Lamont's heart tightened, and he quickly retreated to a relatively quiet corner to answer the call.
“Breaking news.” Simon began without any pleasantries, his tone cold and formulaic: “Song Heping’s counterattack has begun. Our network surveillance shows he is making frequent contacts with foreign media. Horizon News has just released the first wave of edited video footage of the attack, and the number of views and reposts is increasing exponentially.”
"So?" Lymont gripped the phone tighter.
What he needs is a solution, not a situation report.
“So you must hold on and withstand the pressure.” Simon replied, “Lamont, it was those high-ranking officials in the White House who bypassed the usual procedures and directly authorized and insisted on placing you in the position of Iligo, with the aim of finalizing the ‘Sower’ program and ensuring that all ‘unstable factors’ were eliminated before the election so as not to affect the Democratic Party’s election prospects. Before you took office, I gave you a personal, well-intentioned warning, reminding you that Song Heping’s background was complicated and his methods were unpredictable, and that it was best to keep your distance, do your job well, and not provoke him. But you didn’t listen.”
Lamont remained silent.
Simon was telling the truth.
Although he had taken Simon's warning about Song Heping to heart, he did not truly realize its weight until the conflict spiraled out of control.
"How much longer do we need to hold out, Director? I need a rough timeframe to plan our defenses and resource allocation!" Lamont asked, barely containing his emotions.
“I can’t predict.” Simon’s voice suddenly became colder and harder: “The evolution of the situation depends on too many variables: the political games in Washington, the speed at which public opinion takes hold, the opponent’s next move, and even luck. I’m not a prophet.”
A cold, icy feeling, mixed with despair and anger, suddenly surged into Lymont's heart and rushed to the top of his head.
“Sir!” His voice rose slightly involuntarily. “My hundred-plus soldiers and I are huddled in the ruins, each of us risking our lives! And you’re sitting in Langley’s soundproof office, telling me you can’t predict the future?!”
Simon on the other end of the phone seemed enraged; the coldness in his voice was almost icy.
“Watch your attitude, Colonel Reymont! Let me remind you, you are not ‘one of mine’! This special assignment of yours, and all related operations derived from it, have absolutely nothing to do with me or the CIA’s normal overseas operations command chain! None of the operational orders or authorization documents will bear my signature, not in the past, not now, and not in the future!”
"You want to complain? OK! Go complain to the bigwigs in the White House! Go find National Security Advisor Walter, or go directly to Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton! FUCK! I'm not the kind of person who has to clean up your mess and your actions! If it weren't for the fact that you're still nominally a subordinate of the bureau, do you think I would personally make this call and tell you this intelligence at a time like this?"
A series of cold and cruel, blunt words, like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguished the anger that had just surged within Lymont, leaving only a bone-chilling cold and a sense of powerlessness.
He was rendered speechless by the rebuttal; he opened his mouth but could not utter a single meaningful syllable.
Yes, this is politics, this is a typical "stripping process".
When things go well, everyone shares the credit; when things are exposed and could lead to a scandal, everyone at every level tries to distance themselves to avoid being implicated.
Simon seemed to catch his breath, but his tone remained cold, carrying a barely perceptible, complex undertone:
"Things have come to this point, and you, Lamont, can only pray that God will be a little merciful to you and your men. Pray that Song Heping's propaganda offensive will work, that it will put enough pressure on some people to change their minds. Otherwise... heh heh,"
The cold laugh was short and grating.
"You and your soldiers, just wait to be draped in the national flag and go home."
With a click, the communication was unilaterally cut off, and a busy tone followed.
Lemont stood there, frozen in place.
Simon's words cut at his nerves like a dull knife.
It took him more than ten seconds to recover from the huge psychological shock, and his thoughts began to turn again with difficulty.
He slowly moved the phone away from his ear, preparing to put it down.
However, in that very instant—
That familiar shriek came once again from the distant horizon, approaching rapidly!
But this time, the density and intensity of the sound were completely different from before.
Not just once.
It wasn't just a few shots.
It was a dense, continuous shriek that seemed to tear the entire sky apart!
At least twelve, or even more, they arrived at the edge of hearing almost simultaneously, foreshadowing the impending downpour of devastation.
The firing has begun.
The real steel storm has arrived.
Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)