There was a long silence on the phone.
Song Heping could even imagine Avanti on the other end rapidly weighing the pros and cons, his fingers possibly tapping unconsciously on the desk.
"...What kind of camp do you need?"
Avanti finally asked.
This sentence was tantamount to tacit approval of Song Heping's plan.
Song Heping smiled and said, "Large enough to accommodate at least five thousand people for training and living. Absolutely concealed, with underground or mountain fortifications to defend against airstrikes and reconnaissance. Close to the border, but with a reliable barrier for easy supply input and... necessary personnel mobility. Most importantly, secrecy, known only to the highest level, no one else."
"Such a place... exists, but it will take ti to prepare and coordinate."
Avanti's voice beca serious and efficient, "Give five days."
"Okay. In five days, I will lead the team to depart."
After Song Heping finished speaking, he decisively ended the call.
He put down the phone, feeling a wave of exhaustion, yet unusually exhilarated.
Convincing Avanti was only the second step of the plan.
The next step was to persuade the more than seven hundred militia in the camp who had just been ignited by the news of the airstrike for revenge.
Early the next morning, Song Heping gathered everyone in the camp at the central open ground.
Including those valley survivors still wrapped in bandages.
He stood on an ammunition box, looking at the dense crowd below, every face written with fatigue, sadness, and the agitation and anticipation stirred by the news of the 1515 airstrike.
He didn't waste words and directly announced the decision: "Brothers, I know you want revenge, want to imdiately fight those bastards of 1515. But I order, in five days, to fully evacuate the A point camp and head north into the new camp within the Persian territory for rest and reorganization."
As soon as the order was given, there was an uproar below.
"What? Enter Persia?"
"Why? The Aricans are bombing for us!"
"We should be fighting 1515 now! Not running away!"
"I'm not going! My father died at the hands of the Persians! (Iran-Iraq War)"
"Yes! They are infidels! We can't go to their territory!"
The voices of doubt, opposition, and angry shouts instantly flooded the field. Emotions ran high, especially among the local militias from Illiguo, who had historical grievances and sectarian differences with Persia, and reacted especially vehently.
Samir and Naxin stood at the front of the team, their faces also grim, but they had to carry out Song Heping's order, trying hard to maintain order.
Song Heping quietly stood, his gaze coldly sweeping over the agitated crowd, without imdiately stopping them.
He waited a few minutes, letting emotions get slightly vented, then suddenly took a deep breath and, with the loudest voice he could muster, spoke over all the noise:
"Afraid of death?! If I were afraid of death, those three hundred brothers and I wouldn't have blocked three thousand people in the valley! We would have run a long ti ago!"
A roar like a thunderclap quieted the scene noticeably.
Everyone recalled the horrors of the valley, recalled the fifty bloodied n carried down.
"Look around you!"
Song Heping pointed at the wounded, pointed at everyone's face still carrying fatigue and fear, "Look how many of us are left? Look how much ammo we have left? Look how many able-bodied people are left who can hold a gun and charge?"
His voice lowered yet beca more penetrating: "The Aricans bombed, yes! But what does that an? It ans 1515 suffered a loss in Tikrit, now they're like a hornet's nest that's been poked! What will they do next? They will crazily retaliate! They will clear all the targets they see as threats! And we, the 'Liberation Forces,' killed more than two thousand of them in the valley! Do you think they will let us go?!"
He paused, letting the seeds of fear germinate in everyone's heart.
"Stay here, and what will await us is the mad siege of 1515's main force! Can we hold with our over seven hundred exhausted, ammo-deficient people? In the valley, we had terrain advantages, we were prepared; here, what do we have? At that ti, it wouldn't be us seeking revenge, but us marching to death! It would be the three hundred brothers who died in vain in the valley!"
The crowd was silent, anger gradually extinguished by the cold of reality.
"Entering Persia is not running away! It's about survival! It's about fighting back better!"
Song Heping's voice rose again, full of indisputable determination.
"We need ti! We need to recruit new brothers! We need training! We need weapons and ammunition! We need to beco a stronger fist, not a finger that breaks at a touch!"
His gaze swept over those with grievances against Persia: "Historical grievances? Sectarian differences? If you can't let go of these, we have no future! 1515 will watch smilingly as you kill each other and then easily kill each of you! If you want to survive, want revenge, want to completely drive 1515 out of Illiguo, everyone must unite all forces that can be united! The Persians now are willing to help you, providing place, weapons, financial support, this is your opportunity!"
"Rember!" he was almost roaring, "Survive to fight! Get stronger to win! A temporary retreat is for ultimately striking a more powerful blow at our enemies! This is not retreat, this is strategy! It's a step we must take for the final victory! Those willing to follow , survive, get stronger, and co back for revenge, get ready! Depart in five days! Those unwilling..."
Song Heping's gaze beca extrely sharp, slowly sweeping across the scene: "... can stay, receive travel expenses, and leave on your own. But I tell you, staying is a dead end."
After saying this, he jumped off the ammunition box and walked toward his tent without looking back.
Behind him was a deathly silence.
No one left.
After experiencing the hell of the valley and Song Heping's blunt and brutal analysis, the instinct for survival and the desire for revenge ultimately outweighed all doubts and historical burdens.
Five days later, all the mbers of the 'Liberation Forces,' with the wounded and equipnt, left the A point camp in silence and order, moving northward, into the deep mountains at the Persian border.
Song Heping walked in the middle of the team, glanced back at the gradually receding camp, his gaze profound.
He knew entering Persia was rely an expedient asure, a hibernation.
He would use this ti not only to train the troops but also to weave an even larger net. There was still no news from Henry, but he had a premonition that the list about the CIA would be the key to his next move.
And in far-off Tehran, Avanti, after arranging the camp matters, sat in his office, repeatedly savoring Song Heping's words.
He had to admit, this Chinese man's strategic vision and cold determination far exceeded his expectations. What he wanted was indeed more than just a guerrilla force, but a bargaining chip capable of changing the geopolitical landscape.
Only, he vaguely felt that Song Heping's ambitions might be even larger than what he himself had revealed.
Where this collaboration would ultimately lead, even Avanti found sowhat unpredictable.
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