Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1084 - 983: Better to Fight for Your Life Than Wait

"Abandon the vehicles! Everyone! Take as much water, food, and weapons as you can! For the severely wounded..."

Song Heping scanned everyone, his gaze carrying a hint of reluctance.

"How do we handle the severely wounded?"

The dic, nicknad "Doctor" in the special forces platoon, swallowed hard and squeezed out this question through clenched teeth.

"Carry them!" Song Heping said resolutely, "Use stretchers! Dismantle the car doors! Take apart the car canopies! Anything that can be used as a stretcher, dismantle it! Assign a group to take turns carrying them! Everyone else, protect the flanks! Our target is that Wind Erosion Rock Area to the south! Quick! Move!"

His shout was like a thunderclap, instantly awakening everyone numbed by the scorching heat and despair.

The instinct to survive overwheld their fatigue.

The soldiers burst with their last reserves of energy, frantically unloading everything useful from the trucks, roughly dismantling car doors and canvas canopies to make makeshift stretchers.

The groaning severely wounded were carefully placed on stretchers. The lightly injured gritted their teeth, gripping their rifles tightly.

Song Heping took one last look at the twelve immobilized trucks. Under the scorching sun of the Sahara, they would quickly turn into scrap tal and markers, guiding the pursuers.

There was no need to think much to imagine that Mrs. M and her subordinates, sitting in the Q level operation room by the Thas River in London, would order the SBS special squad and the GNA ard forces to spare no expense to ensure they are left behind in Libya.

The number of pursuers behind them was probably not calculated in thousands, but in tens of thousands.

At such a ti, anyone would have likely collapsed long ago.

The more heroic would directly aim at their temples and end it, sparing themselves the humiliation.

The more cowardly would have been prepared to surrender long ago, begging Mrs. M for rcy in exchange for a way out.

But Song Heping was neither.

The more desperate the situation, the more fighting spirit he had.

By nature, he liked to fight against the heavens.

To struggle against destiny.

Just like when he retired and returned ho, his father passed away, the ho was bare, with a younger brother and sister to provide for.

For survival, he went to the Illiguo warzone.

Isn't it all about defying fate?

At this very mont, the fighting spirit in Song Heping's nature was once again stirred up.

Don't admit defeat!

Don't accept setback!

Fight to the end!

Even in death, it must be on the path of assault.

This is the blissful life of a real man!

"Boss, even if we don't abandon any wounded, we might not be able to cross this desert..."

Even the usually reticent Disaster Star, who never wasted words, couldn't help but voice his concern at this mont.

"They have enough logistical support, water, food, ammunition... we..."

"Don't question my decision." Song Heping left no room for argunt with Disaster Star, "What I need now is absolute obedience and execution! Disaster Star, we've been comrades for a long ti, but rember, don't question my decisions at tis like this, don't waste my ti!"

Song Heping pointed south.

"I rember there's an oasis forty kiloters from here in that direction."

"That's right!"

General Haftar's eyes lit up.

"It's the Kurtan Oasis!"

"Yes, this desert is not impossible to cross, it is possible. Once we reach the oasis, we can replenish our water, maybe even find so food!"

Song Heping was very confident in his choice.

Seeing the slightly doubtful look in General Haftar's eyes, Song Heping quipped, "What are you worried about?"

"Worrying about..." General Haftar looked around, "Ammunition... our ammunition is almost depleted."

"You've read 'On Protracted War' many tis, but you haven't grasped its essence." Song Heping teased, "During the Anti-Japanese War, the guerrillas led by great leaders were at a disadvantage in both numbers and equipnt. Do you know where their ammunition ca from?"

"Self-reliance..." General Haftar replied hesitantly, like a timid student afraid of getting the answer wrong.

"You only got half of it right." Song Heping chuckled and humd a tune, "No guns, no cannons, the enemy delivers them to our doorstep..."

With that, he hesitated no more, raised his HK417, pointed towards the Wind Erosion Rock Area in the south, lurking in the heatwave like a monster's fangs.

"Follow my command, move out!"

This exhausted group left behind their last ans of mobility, as if a pack of desperate lemmings migrating in the desert, plunged into the boundless sea of sand, heading towards that unreachable glimpse of hope, beginning a trek destined to be bloody.

Behind them, the roar of engines was like the Grim Reaper's hideous laughter, drawing ever closer.

An hour later.

The scorching wind of the Sahara Desert carried along choking sand, slicing like a knife across Song Heping's cracked cheeks.

He knelt in the shadows of the wind-eroded rocks, with the labored and stifled breaths of the "Disaster Star" squad mbers and the painful groans of the wounded soldiers filling his ears.

The air was thick with the sll of gunpowder, blood, and an even stronger scent—despair.

The last hundred or so soldiers under General Haftar, like withered grass ravaged by a storm, were curled up amid the ruins, their eyes vacant, sustained only by the instinct to survive.

"Boss, we're out of water..."

A hoarse voice sounded behind Song Heping; it was "Disaster Star," his lips cracked and bleeding, his fingers weakly tapping on an empty canteen.

Song Heping did not turn around, his eyes scanned like a hawk over the sun-baked expanse ahead — the only road leading south, toward Northern Darfur.

The charred wrecks of several trucks lay askew by the roadside, black smoke pillars piercing the yellowish sky.

He licked his equally chapped lips, his throat burning.

"You take two platoons from the special forces and stay behind. Hunter will lead the others to escort the wounded through the wind-eroded rock area heading south."

As he spoke, Song Heping turned to Haftar.

"General, your lightly wounded soldiers will assist, and follow my people. How many able fighters are left?"

"A little over a hundred and forty..." Haftar had done the count earlier: "Barely a battalion."

After giving this figure, a deep sadness surged from within him.

Previously, he had over eight thousand soldiers under his command.

In a single night, half of them betrayed him.

The rest either died in Desert City last night or scattered, managing to escape under the cover of darkness.

Sotis life is very much like a gamble.

Sotis, in one night, you can end up with nothing.

"All one hundred and forty-so will stay, all under my command," Song Heping declared his decision and then asked, "Is that alright?"

"Yes... of course."

Haftar gave a bitter smile.

What did a little over a hundred people count for?

Even though they were his last assets.

But what use would they be left in his hands?

Better to entrust them to Song Heping, let him lead them in a final stand.

If they really faced a disastrous defeat, then death would be the least of it.

Haftar was a man indeed. He turned to his subordinates and through gritted teeth said, "From now on, Song is our absolute commander, including myself. Follow his orders, and if anyone has a problem, leave here now and surrender to the GNA!"

No one uttered a word.

After all, the question was redundant.

It was rely a declaration from Haftar.

Haftar's n and the GNA ard forces not only had differing ideologies and positions, but a bloody feud accumulated from their mutual conflicts and killings over the past year.

Surrender to their enemies?

Better to die!

Once sure that his subordinates were all sworn to follow, Haftar turned to Song Heping, asking, "What's your plan?"

"There."

Song Heping pointed with his hand.

"That's the only route the pursuers can take. I've said it before, without guns, artillery, or ammunition, the enemy will deliver themselves to us."

As he spoke, he grinned.

"They'll also have water and food on them."

Haftar seed to understand sothing, pausing for a mont before nodding repeatedly.

"Yes, yes, yes! Exactly!"

Song Heping said, "The ones trailing us now are definitely not the main forces of the GNA, but the first batch of SBS special forces and so GNA ard mbers who chased out of Desert City after last night's engagent, likely including your mutineers. They are estimated to be about a thousand strong. Entering the desert requires a lot of logistical support. Without two or three days, it's impossible for thousands, even tens of thousands, to collectively enter the desert to hunt us down. We need water and food, and so do they. The desert presents a challenge for us, but their test is the sa!"

He reached out and firmly patted Haftar's shoulder.

"To learn from 'On Protracted War,' you must grasp its military essence, which is guerrilla warfare strategy, understand?"

"I understand..."

Haftar half-understood.

Song Heping had no ti for a lecture, waved his hand grandly.

"Execute the plan! Follow !"