Rifles:
AKM assault rifles: 1500 units
G3A1 assault rifles: 500 units (including accessories) * (Licensed by Iran) *
Ammunition:
7.62×39mm rounds: 1.5 million (packed in wooden crates)
7.62×51mm NATO rounds: 500,000 (packed in wooden crates)
Machine Guns/Heavy Firepower:**
PKM general-purpose machine guns: 100 units (including tripods)
DShK 1938/46 heavy machine guns: 30 units (including high-low dual-purpose mounts)
Ammunition:
7.62×54mmR rounds: 500,000 (tal link boxes)
12.7×108mm rounds: 200,000 (tal link boxes)
Anti-Armor/Breaching Weapons:
RPG-7 rocket launchers: 300 units
PG-7VR tandem warhead rockets: 1500 rounds
OG-7V fragntation rockets: 500 rounds
Supporting Fire Weapons:
107mm towed rocket launchers: 12 units
107mm rockets: 600 rounds
Explosives/Throwables:
F1 fragntation hand grenades: 3000 units
RGD-5 fragntation hand grenades: 2000 units
Smoke Bombs: 1000 units
Materials for Improvised Explosive Devices (IED) and detonation devices: large quantities
Support Equipnt:
Individual first-aid kits: 2000 sets
Military rations: enough for 2000 people for two weeks
Satellite phones and spare batteries: 20 sets
Portable shortwave radios: 10 sets
Night vision devices (first/second generation): 50 units
Unopened brand new bulletproof vests (level III): 2000 pieces
"Have your people inspect the goods."
Song Heping handed the list to Samir, then turned to walk towards one of the trucks.
The canvas was lifted, and the strong scent of gun oil and wooden crates poured out.
Samir led his n to climb onto the truck bed.
The yellow bullets piled up like mountains in the dim light, the cold firearms gleaming with a ghostly blue.
Samir picked up a brand new PKM, the heavy gun giving a reassuring sense of solidity.
"Click!"
The sound of the bolt being pulled back was crisp and pleasant.
"Good gun!"
Samir exclaid in surprise.
Song Heping quickly inspected the boxes of RPG-7s and rockets, ensuring the safety rings of the fuses were intact and the packaging was undamaged.
He focused on checking the bolt and sights of a couple of the 107 rocket launchers.
The movents were professional and swift.
"The ammunition is brand new and the seal is intact!" Naxin shouted.
"The RPG-7 is in good condition!"
"All parts of the 107 cannons are complete!"
"The bulletproof vests are brand new, level III!"
Voices reporting echoed one after another.
Song Heping approached the Persian officer, extending his hand: "Everything is excellent. Please convey to the General that everything he has done will certainly be rewarded. I assure him that."
The officer gripped firmly, replying, "Mr. Song, the General has great confidence in you. He fully trusts and asked to tell you that he wishes you success in all your operations here."
Song Heping did not waste words or courtesy, as he knew that so many trucks crossing the border into Illiguo was a large target; the unloading needed to be completed quickly.
"Samir, don't just stand there, call everyone out. Unload the trucks as quickly as possible and move them back to the camp!"
The arrival of this massive shipnt of equipnt was like a booster shot, briefly dispelling the gloom.
The soldiers surrounded the trucks, passing ammunition boxes and distributing weapons, eyes reigniting with hope.
Samir caressed the thick barrel of a DShK, gesturing towards the darkness.
It took a full three hours for the materials to be completely unloaded.
The Persians did not linger long, saying a simple farewell, they took the convoy and left northward, soon disappearing on the side of the border.
However, the joy of receiving the equipnt support had not yet settled when cries and pleas suddenly tore through the fleeting excitent at the edge of the camp.
The sentry escorted in a group of people, about a few dozen ragged, blood-stained individuals staggering into the camp, looking battered.
With just one glance, Song Heping recognized one of them was a tribal leader who had spoken harshly to him by the campfire a few days ago, along with his personal guards.
The leading robust man who had slamd the table and roared, "Joining forces with the plague will get us killed," now had his left arm in a dirty sling, a deep gash on his face still oozing blood, his eyes unfocused like a defeated dog.
Another tall, thin leader who had accused Song Heping of bringing Arican retaliation was also present, now clutching a bloodstained child's jacket, trembling as if he had chills, only able to utter incoherent sobs.
A few days ago, they were here pounding the table, shouting:
"Samir! Why did you bring such a plague?!"
"Are we teaming up with a fugitive? The Aricans will blow us to bits!"
"Risking our lives for so worthless equipnt? Not worth it!"
Their eyes were filled with unabashed dread, rejection, and disdain as they gazed at Song Heping, as if he were a bomb about to explode.
Now, this group crawled before Samir and Song Heping as if they had lost their backbone.
The leading robust man fell hard to his knees, his forehead hitting the sand with a dull thud, his face sared with tears, mucus, and blood, his voice hoarse and broken:
"Samir! Mr. Song! Save us! For the sake of Allah!"
"Devils! Those black-robed devils have co! Our village... it's all gone! The n were beheaded like animals! The won and children... dragged away... they... woooo..." He sobbed uncontrollably, body shaking violently.
The tall, thin leader suddenly lunged forward, clinging onto Samir's boot, kissing the muddy shoe surface, babbling incoherently: "Take us in! Take us with you! Revenge! I want revenge! My son... he's only eight years old..." He held up the bloodstained coat, emitting a beastly wail.
The others also crawled on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly, their faces a mix of extre fear, despair, and regret for their arrogance just days before, utterly humbled into the dust.
Samir held onto the brand new PKM, watching this group of "tough nuts" who had not long ago been spitting and treating Song Heping like a monstrous flood, now reduced to crushed insects groveling at their feet.
A strong disdain churned within his chest.
He pressed his lips tightly, his gaze locking onto Song Heping.
Song Heping stood by the just-unloaded 107 rocket launcher ammunition boxes, fingers brushing over the cold tallic surface.
He didn't even fully turn his head, only casting a sidelong glance at the group with cold indifference.
Their cries and pleas t with no response, as if their life-or-death lantations were nothing but insignificant background noise.
His gaze swiftly passed over them, firmly fixed on the southwest direction.
These tribal militia leaders were previously in the southern parts or areas north of Mosul, now evidently, their locales had suffered fierce attacks, indicating that the 1515 force not only pointed its spearhead directly at Baghdad but also took the montum in clearing out all tribal militia organizations along the northern and southern flanks of Haddid's residual influence.
This was consistent with strategic thinking.
If they were to push rapidly eastward towards Baghdad without clearing their flanks behind, their supply lines and rear could easily be flanked and even cut off, causing the 1515 forces in Syria and Illiguo to be unable to support each other east and west.
That would be a fatal mistake.
Evidently, there were military-savvy individuals within the 1515 forces, not just brainless extremists.
"Give them dical treatnt, give them food and water, those willing to join us, may join, but on one condition—"
Song Heping finally turned his head to look at these defeated remnants.
"If you co to , you will have to follow my orders. This is not a playground where you co and go as you please. There is only one outco for disobedience."
He made no gestures, nor did he specify what "outco" ant, but everyone swept by his gaze understood.
One word—Death!
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