Seeing Song Heping smash their leader's jaw with a single blow, the remaining two or three bandits were utterly terrified, screaming as if they'd seen a ghost before jumping onto a pickup truck, desperately trying to escape this terrifying place.
Song Heping's eyes were cold. He quickly raised the AKM assault rifle in his hand, roughly aid, and fired two short bursts.
"Da-da! Da-da!"
The driver of the first pickup jerked his head backward. The windshield exploded in a splash of crimson, and the truck careened out of control into the nearby earthen wall.
The second pickup had just started when its rear tires were shot out, sending the truck lurching to a halt. The last bandit in the truck bed jumped out, attempting to run.
Song Heping walked toward him calmly, like a hunter eyeing its pitiful prey.
When the bandit had run about a hundred ters, Song finally lifted the gun, firing a single burst.
The running bandit's back burst into a spray of blood as he tumbled into the dust.
Silence.
The village, which had been full of chaos and violence monts before, was now only filled with the suppressed groans of wounded villagers, the terrified cries of children, and the dying hum of the engines of the three shot-up pickups.
The scent of blood and gunpowder was suffocating.
Song Heping discarded the empty AKM, sprinting toward the low wall where Faris and his daughter Sayina were hiding.
"Brother Faris! Sayina! Are you..."
His voice trailed off abruptly.
Behind the low wall, Faris lay on the ground, his chest a glaring crimson, blood still gushing out.
His eyes were wide open, looking at the approaching Song Heping, lips moving as if trying to speak, but only blood-tinged foam erged.
His arm still held the posture of shielding Sayina firmly behind him.
Sayina was curled up behind her father, her small body trembling like a leaf in the wind. She held her mouth tightly, preventing herself from crying out.
She stared blankly at the blood on her father's chest, then looked up at Song Heping, who was covered in blood.
Song Heping stood frozen, looking into Faris's eyes, which had lost focus yet still held a lingering will to protect. A wave of cold, rust-flavored anger, and imnse helplessness seized him. He knelt beside Faris, fingers trembling as he reached for the artery in his neck.
No pulse.
He was too late.
Just one step too late.
Song Heping clenched his fist tightly, fingernails digging into the palm, drawing blood.
He abruptly shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, only a nearly ruthless calm remained.
He gently closed Faris's unwilling eyes.
He stood and walked over to Sayina.
The little girl instinctively shrank back, her big eyes filled with fear.
This man, whom she had been rescued by on the riverbank earlier, had just executed a clean series of kills, enough to terrify any normal person.
Song Heping crouched down, trying to soften his voice, although his hoarse tone still sounded intimidating: "Sayina, don't be afraid. It's ."
Hearing the familiar voice, so of the fear in Sayina's eyes receded, but emptiness and sadness instantly surged forward.
She looked at Song Heping, then at her father on the ground who was now cold, her small mouth quivered, and finally, she let out a heart-wrenching cry and threw herself into Song Heping's blood-stained and dusty embrace.
Song Heping stiffened for a mont, then extended his arms, holding the little girl who had just lost everything tightly.
Her cries cut into his heart like a knife.
He gently patted her back, his gaze scanning the village ravaged by war and atrocities, passing over the still-shaken villagers, finally returning to the little girl crying in his arms.
This wasn't his war.
But he had been drawn into it.
He couldn't save everyone, not even the man who had saved him.
But at least, he could save this child.
He picked up the almost completely exhausted Sayina, wrapping her tightly in an old robe, letting her little face bury against his shoulder, shielding her from so of the bloody scenes.
He turned to a villager: "What is the na of the ard organization these people belong to?"
"Freedom Alliance..."
The villager seed familiar with this ard organization.
"Their base is about 40 kiloters south, near the Bil Gehenna Desert..."
Seeming to guess what Song Heping intended to do, the villager quickly recounted the origins of those militants.
"Thank you."
Song Heping nodded at the villager in gratitude, then took five hundred US Dollars from his pocket and handed it over.
"Do a favor, brother, find a place outside the village for Faris's burial. Rember, you can earn the money, but make sure the grave is made."
"Understood, absolutely!"
Five hundred US Dollars was a substantial sum in war-torn Siria.
The young villager took the bills, nodding vigorously: "I swear by Allah, I will get it done."
"Let's leave here."
Song Heping turned to Sayina, his voice low and firm, as if he were speaking to her and to himself.
"Find a phone in town. Then, I'll get you out of Siria."
He didn't know what the future held, whether Utekin and the others were safe, or if he could escape the CIA's pursuit.
But at this mont, he had only one thought in his mind: to help the little girl who saved him yet lost her father survive and leave this hell.
As a rcenary leader, Song Heping was long accustod to life and death.
Yet there was still a soft place in his heart.
eting is fate.
Especially when it's soone who once saved you.
He carried Sayina into one of the still operable pickup trucks and quickly left the desolate village.
The pickup truck bumped along the ruined road, a thick cloud of dust trailing behind like a yellow shroud that refused to disperse.
Sayina curled up in the passenger seat, her small body wrapped in Song Heping's robe stained with gunpowder, dust, and coagulating blood, only her pale face visible.
The eyes that once shone like a clear stream were now hollow, tears long dry, leaving behind boundless ashes.
War...
Destroyed more than just hos.
Also childhood...
Song Heping gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his rough knuckles white from the force.
The other hand, subconsciously and with an awkward protective gesture, gently rested on Sayina's frail shoulder.
With each jolt, her tiny body would involuntarily tremble, like a candle fla about to extinguish in the wind.
Faris's chest stained with that glaring blood red, Sayina's heart-wrenching cries when she threw herself into his arms, and the villagers' eyes filled with terror and numbness, burned repeatedly in his mind.
For Song Heping, it was a suffocating tornt.
The truck drove into a moderately sized town, no less marked by the ravages of war.
Ruins were everywhere, few pedestrians on the streets, their eyes wary and weary. Song Heping's sharp gaze swept across the alleys, finally stopping in a relatively concealed corner.
There was an inconspicuous grocery store, with a lean middle-aged man at the door, eyes murky yet revealing a shrewdness characteristic of a businessman, like a vulture lurking in the shadows.
This was the black-market phone shop Faris had ntioned before.
Song Heping stopped the car, lifted Sayina, her body so light it was as if a gust of wind could blow her away.
"Wait here for , don't make a sound, and don't look at anyone."
Song Heping's voice was low, as gentle as possible, yet still carrying a gravelly roughness. Sayina didn't respond, just buried her face deeper into his sweat and blood-scented collar, her small hands instinctively clutching the fabric over his chest.
Song Heping carried her to the man, straight to the point: "Satellite phone, an international call."
The man's murky eyes flicked over Song Heping's bloodstained clothes and the clearly frightened child in his arms, then cautiously glanced around before slowly extending five thin fingers, his other hand signaling a "one".
"One hundred US Dollars. Five minutes."
His voice was dry and hoarse, with a hint of greed in his gaze.
Song Heping did not hesitate.
He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it crisply onto the man's oil-stained little wooden table.
The bill made a faint noise as it landed, exceptionally clear in the dead-silent air.
A flash of surprise crossed the man's eyes, clearly not expecting this scruffy-looking man to be so forthright, not even bargaining.
He quickly pocketed the money, efficiently dragging out a heavy black case covered in thick shock-absorbing foam from under the counter.
He unlocked the case, revealing an old satellite phone.
The man deftly pulled out the antenna and powered on the device, the piercing dialing tone echoing in the quiet.
"Number." The man was sparing with his words.
Song Heping recited a string of numbers etched deep in his mory.
It was Ferrari's satellite phone number.
The waiting tones were relentless, pounding on Song Heping's nerves.
Every second felt like an eternity.
He instinctively tightened his hold on Sayina, as if she were his only anchor at that mont.
Sayina shifted slightly in his arms, seemingly disturbed by the persistent noise, yet remained silent.
Finally, the busy tone stopped, and the call connected.
"Who?"
A voice, extrely weary, full of vigilance, and even carrying a hint of despair, ca from the other end. It was Ferrari.
In the background, there were faint sounds of intense arguing and radio static.
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