Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1124 - 1010: Technical Difficulties

Late night, X17 berth, Alexandria Port.

Away from the brightly lit main port area, here only a few dim high mast lamps cast a bleak glow.

The rust-covered, paint-peeling Seagull, like a ghost, slowly approaches the shore.

The waves beat against its decaying hull, echoing hollowly.

Several blurry figures move swiftly across the berth, connecting thick ropes.

No detailed boarding checks by customs officials, only a few uniford personnel silently watching from afar, oblivious to the varied, tightly canvas-wrapped "mining crusher components" being unloaded from the ship.

Occasionally, a flashlight flickers by, more like going through the motions.

A line of inconspicuous information is entered into the port authority's electronic record:

Ship Na: MV Seagull

Berth: X17

Cargo Description: Heavy Mining Crusher Components & Auxiliary Facilities

Status: Loading (Night Operations Permission Granted - Port Special Approval/Customs Expedited Inspection Completed)

In the shadows of the port control tower, Toby Papadopoulos lights a cigar, the red glow flickering in the darkness.

He watches the massive crane lift those heavy "components" into the Seagull's cavernous hold, producing a dull thud.

An undercurrent of bundles of cash has quietly completed its mission, precisely lubricating the vast and corrupted Egyptian machine, allowing this sea-mobile scrap tal to carry unntionable secrets, soon to subrge again into the dark night and sea.

He blows a smoke ring, nodding slightly toward a direction in the darkness.

In the distance, a Navy patrol boat's silhouette slowly turns, heading towards the "exercise area" designated by Colonel Rashid, leaving berth X17 to silence and secrets.

A sophisticated cri machine, driven by money and relationships, operates at full speed, nearly noiselessly.

By the Thas River, MI6 headquarters.

The wall's large screen is divided into countless images: satellite cloud maps, encrypted communication streams, hotspots marked worldwide.

One screen freezes the blurred infrared image of the rust-covered Seagull at Alexandria Port's X17 berth, next to Toby Papadopoulos's faint cigar glow.

M, like a statue cast of will and steel, stands at the command desk.

Ti has etched frost on her face but failed to dull the hawk-like sharpness in her eyes.

She wears a finely tailored but unadorned dark suit, ticulous.

The "ghostly unloading" report from Alexandria Port has just been flagged in the internal system, and in her eyes, the official record regarding "heavy mining crusher components" is no different from a criminal's arrogant signature.

Smuggling is certain, but what exactly?

Where is it headed?

Who is the target?

Questions coil like a poison snake.

"Papadopoulos... Rashid..."

She murmurs these nas, her voice has no warmth, only a tallic texture.

"The ulcer of money, the maggot of power."

The analysts behind her hold their breath, instinctively quieting the sound of keystrokes.

At this mont, a hurried yet controlled footstep breaks the silence.

Her chief intelligence officer strides over, holding a thin, encrypted-bordered folder.

His expression more solemn than usual.

"Madam."

The subordinate's voice is low but each word is clear and forceful, "Northern Darfur, our 'Sand Eye' (satellite reconnaissance code) has detected abnormal activity in the area controlled by Song Heping. In the past 72 hours, twelve military trucks in batches secretly left his base, clearly headed for Khartoum."

M's gaze instantly shifts from the Alexandria Port display, like a sniper locking onto a new target, "Details. What is Song Heping up to this ti?"

"Convoy size: Twelve military trucks, no specific serial markings. Departure tis scattered across three different intervals, perfectly avoiding standard air reconnaissance windows. Route choice: Using secondary roads and desert trails from Darfur to Khartoum, avoiding all major checkpoint areas."

The intelligence analyst points to another screen, displaying Khartoum's satellite map, a red dot in the northeastern suburbs industrial district edge flashed briefly and then disappeared.

"Satellite thermal imaging shows trucks fully loaded, tightly covered with canvas, specific contents unidentifiable.

Last confird position here, completely lost track after entering this industrial 'blind zone.' Ti... 9 hours ago."

"9 hours? In Khartoum?"

M's fingertips lightly tap on the cold tal command desk, a rhythm much like the ticking seconds of a countdown.

"Twelve fully loaded military trucks, not heading to border patrol, but sneaking into the core region of the capital, then vanishing like steam?"

Her eyes flashed coldly.

"This is definitely not routine resupply transport. Song Heping, any abnormal move he makes deserves the highest vigilance. The 'ghost ship' of Alexandria Port, the 'ghost convoy' of Northern Darfur... Is the timing so close just a coincidence?"

The intelligence officer nodded, "The preliminary judgnt of the analysis team: there is a temporal correlation between the two, worth further investigation. Although the content of the trucks cannot be confird, combined with Song Heping's background and activities, it is possible that the trucks are loaded with high-value sensitive items, and their destination and purpose may pose a potential threat to regional security. We need to know what he's up to in Khartoum."

"Imdiately activate our 'Mole' in Khartoum."

Ms. M's order was unequivocal, without the slightest hesitation.

"Top priority directive: at all costs, ascertain what the twelve missing military trucks are carrying, and the true intention behind Song Heping's covert operation. I want to know what's hidden in those trucks within 12 hours, and what ga Song Heping is playing!"

The intelligence officer quickly recorded and sent the order, encrypted signals instantly penetrating thousands of miles of space, flying toward that sand-drenched capital of Africa. The "Mole" is their deepest, most covert piece planted in the high echelons of the Khartoum military and police, priceless, and would not be awakened unless absolutely necessary. At this mont, to uncover Song Heping's secret, Ms. M unhesitatingly revealed this trump card.

"Simultaneously enhance intelligence gathering on the Seagull ship and its route at Alexandria Port," Ms. M added, her gaze shifting between satellite images of Seagull and Khartoum, "Keep both lines tightly monitored."

The atmosphere in the command center instantly tightened, the sound of keyboards clattering like rain, encrypted communication channel indicator lights flashing madly.

Several hours later.

The North African sandstorm also blew into the "Musician" defense base in Northern Darfur.

In a room with tightly closed curtains, Song Heping had just ended a satellite phone call that left him frowning deeply.

Laid out before him were the projected route of the Seagull and a map of potential attack corridors by the Ibis Air Force, ash from his cigarette silently falling on the blue diterranean area.

The call was from Vasily at Alexandria Port, bringing not good news.

"Boss, everything's loaded, the Seagull is just a mobile arsenal."

Vasily's voice carried a heavy Russian accent even through the encrypted line.

"But, the problem is serious. We did preliminary assembly and testing on deck, and the results... are terrible!"

"Focus, Vasily!" Song Heping's heart sank.

"Radar! The mariti environnt is a nightmare for SAM-6's 'stratospheric' radar!"

Vasily's tone was filled with frustration, "Sea clutter interference is ten tis stronger than on land! Wave reflections make the radar screen look like a snowstorm! Detection range and accuracy have sharply decreased, locking onto fast, low-altitude targets? Success rate... less than thirty percent by my estimation! Even if Ibis's F15 cos, we know their flight ti and route, but we might still be blind, missiles could be fired not knowing where they'll fly!"

Song Heping silently listened, his finger unconsciously tracing the route on the map.

Vasily is a top technical expert, his judgnt is practically the final verdict.

It seems his foresight regarding this technical issue was still too simplistic.

To use an old SAM-6 to shoot down an Ibis military F15I in sea conditions...

Difficult!

Difficult as climbing to heaven!

"Is there a backup plan? Any plan!" Song Heping's voice was low.

"There is... but... alas..." Vasily sighed, "Theoretically... if we could obtain extrely precise, real-ti target position information, preferably a continuously updated coordinate stream, to match with our fire control system, it could potentially compensate for radar accuracy shortcomings. I've heard of a technology called 'multistar collaborative gaze tracking'..."

"This technology involves using multiple reconnaissance satellites like eyes to lock onto the target, generating real-ti centiter-level precision positioning data..."

"Can Russia do it?"

Song Heping interrupted him, grasping a ray of hope.

After all, the chef owes him a huge favor.

This guy is quite the popular figure in Russia now.

Finding him might be able to help.

"Cannot do it!"

Vasily's answer was straightforward, with a hint of helplessness.

"This level of space-based reconnaissance and data processing capability is not sothing ordinary countries can achieve; during the Forr Soviet Union period, there were people researching it, but unfortunately, after the Soviet Union's dissolution, there hasn't been anyone ntioning it... Currently, only... well, you know, those top players might have it, and it's definitely top secret, impossible for us to use. We... do not have these resources."

The call ended in a heavy atmosphere.

Song Heping stared at the blue strip representing the death route on the map, feeling like a cold giant stone pressing on his chest.

Intel from Alexandria Port confird the cargo was loaded onto the ship, and the Ibis Air Force's frenzied reaction and airstrike plan were also learned through internal lines, the ti window closing.

This should have been the signal to close the net, yet Vasily's ssage poured down like a cold water basin — the plan he envisioned was nearly failing at sea!

Song Heping well understood the variables: flight altitude, speed, sea conditions, wind speed, even slight operator deviations, could cause bombs to miss targets by hundreds of ters.

Moreover, the Seagull itself is moving...

'Multistar collaborative gaze tracking'...

Who can do it?

He suddenly rembered the key keyword in Vasily's previous words — "currently only... well, you know, those top players might have..."

Right!

Top players!

Isn't it the usual suspects!

A na, a na familiar yet holding complex emotions, surfaced in his mind — Lei Ming.