Actually, Song Heping did not intend to humiliate Hafez.
Matters of life and death are indeed common, and reason suggests he would be numb to them.
But everything he has seen these past few days, the scenes of suffering among the populace, and those luxury cars he just saw in the parking lot, two starkly different worlds collide in his mind, and he couldn't resist making a sarcastic comnt.
Even though he knows very well that the president before him is also soone forced into a role like ducks driven onto a volcano.
He just couldn't hold back.
Initially, he thought Hafez would explode in anger.
Unexpectedly, after a dozen seconds, Song Heping saw the flush from the anger welling up on Hafez's face quickly fading away.
Swiftly, the other party actually regained his calm.
"Alright."
Hafez reached out to straighten his suit collar, as if feeling that his earlier anger was also a lapse.
His tone beca stable and indifferent.
"If Mr. Song has an eye on those things, he can take them all."
His magnanimity left Song Heping sowhat at a loss.
Originally, he thought Hafez would be furious, might even show him out.
This was quite better.
The current siege on the Chef was also resolved by him.
Honestly speaking, staying in a damned place like Syria really doesn't have much significance—
Syria's oil production area is in the northeast, which is currently occupied by Kurd people supported by Old Arica; if you want to profit from oil, it will probably be very difficult.
War has led to the collapse of Syria's economy; now, let alone taxes, even basic administrative expenditures are hard to sustain, it seems a higher remuneration cannot be provided.
The only thing worth exploiting is using Syria as a pathway for smuggling arms to the Liben and Balistan regions, which still has so value.
But that value alone isn't enough for him to stay here desperately.
Therefore, even though Hafez is currently still the president, he holds little value to Song Heping.
However, unexpectedly, not only did his opponent not get angry, he offered Song Heping whatever he liked.
Hafez's concession actually left a favorable impression on Song Heping.
He saw through.
Hafez really isn't suited to be president.
Especially the president of a war-torn country.
He's not forceful enough.
To do great things in chaotic tis, one must be strong.
Though strongman politics is autocratic, at least it's effective in chaotic tis.
"I was just joking."
Song Heping seized the mont.
Seeing Hafez's respect for him, it was sufficient.
Those dozen luxury cars, Song Heping truly wasn't interested.
"Mr. President, don't take it to heart."
Hafez was slightly startled, looked up at Song Heping.
He was also quite surprised.
He had thought the heads of rcenaries were notoriously greedy, but unexpectedly Song Heping was an anomaly.
Hafez's expression caught Song Heping's attention, so he explained: "Mr. President, I ca to Siria just to help a friend. Regarding money, I indeed want to earn it, but we at East University have a saying that 'A gentleman loves wealth but obtains it properly,' the way your country is now, even if I demand high fees for my services, it's likely scraped from the populace, that kind of money, I really don't care for."
"Then…"
Hafez's eyes lit up.
"What do you want then?"
Song Heping said: "I will let you know once I decide, of course, my compensation will be reasonable, and won't embarrass you."
A trace of surprise and admiration crept onto Hafez's thin face, he nodded vigorously: "No problem, Mr. Song, you are a distinguished guest of our country, if you need anything feel free to call ."
As he spoke, Hafez picked up the pen on the table, wrote a number swiftly on a piece of paper, and handed it to Song Heping.
"I can guarantee that you will receive due compensation."
Song Heping glanced at the paper he received.
It's not a business card, but a number hastily written on paper.
aning this number is certainly not publicly disclosed; it's Hafez's private number.
Getting this number ans Hafez doesn't see him as an outsider.
"So then..."
Hafez stood up.
Song Heping stood up as well.
"Dinner is ready, Mr. Song and Colonel Yevgeny. Let's have dinner together, so I can express my gratitude to you."
...
While Song Heping was having dinner with Hafez, in Eastern Syria, at a hidden command post near the Illiguo border.
Baghdadi stared intently at the pictures on his phone, his lips trembling slightly—the screen showed images of the Dehuk logistics hub after the attack: charred wreckage, exploded vehicles, weapon parts scattered all over...
"Useless! A bunch of useless people!"
After a mont of silence, he violently smashed the ceramic cup in his hand to the ground, shattering it and splattering the dark brown tea everywhere.
His face twisted with extre anger, the hollow eyes almost ablaze with madness.
"Our tens of millions of US Dollars! Enough to arm a brigade's worth of equipnt! And those precious 'Holy Warriors'! All destroyed at Dehuk, in our controlled territory in Illiguo, by a militia force! And you bunch of useless fools couldn't even catch their tails! Tell ! What kind of incompetence is this! What kind of sha!"
His voice echoed in the makeshift command post, and the few senior commanders in camouflage uniforms, their heads wrapped in black headscarves, stood silent, bowing their heads, not daring to et his gaze.
"That Lord Dong! That demon nad Song Heping!"
Baghdadi's nails almost dug into his palms.
"It's him again! He who made us suffer heavy losses in the northwest! I want him dead! I want his head turned into a goblet! I want his body to float on the Euphrates River! Order all our forces in Siria to advance on Damascus! At all costs, find him, kill him!"
A commander in charge of logistics and transport steeled himself to step forward, his voice slightly trembling: "Honored Caliph... your will is our direction of action. However... the losses at Dehuk are too severe. Over sixty percent of the supplies we acquire through Northwest Illiguo are transited and distributed through Dehuk. Now..."
He paused, stealing a glance at Baghdadi's increasingly gloomy face, and continued to speak with difficulty: "The ammunition reserves, dicines, and especially anti-tank missiles and heavy machine gun bullets of the combat units within Siria are already critically low. Many units' offensives have slowed or even stalled due to logistical issues. We... we desperately need ti to establish at least a temporary transit hub in Illiguo to resu continuous supplies toward Siria. Until then... large-scale, long-distance offensives will be... difficult to maintain."
Baghdadi's chest heaved violently, breathing heavily, like a trapped beast.
But he wasn't brainless, and he knew well that what his subordinates said was true.
Without ammunition, even the most fanatic warrior is just a live target.
This strike at Dehuk hit him right in the weak spot.
He remained silent for nearly a minute, the suppressed fury nearly igniting the air.
Finally, he squeezed out an order between clenched teeth, filled with reluctance and savagery: "Then hurry up and build it! As fast as possible! Contact our people in Nineveh Province and have them provide every convenience! anwhile, within Siria, military operations... will temporarily retract to consolidate existing controlled areas. But—"
He suddenly lifted his head, his gaze sweeping across all his subordinates: "—Keep a close watch on Damascus, and on that Song Heping! Once the supplies recover, I want to take Homs first, then flatten Damascus! Wash away our sha with his blood!"
"As you wish, honored Caliph!"
The crowd responded as if pardoned, quickly exiting to carry out their orders.
Only Baghdadi remained in the command post. He walked to the wall and slamd his fist at the location of Damascus on the map of Siria, his eyes filled with irrepressible resentnt and murderous intent.
...
Two days later.
In a mansion on the outskirts of Damascus.
Song Heping stood in front of a large electronic screen, which was updating in real-ti with the battlefield situation map of all Siya.
On the southern front, the governnt army's counteroffensive had made so progress, reclaiming a few small towns, showing a slow but steady advance.
On the eastern front, the originally aggressive 1515 Ard forces' offensive had quickly deflated like a punctured balloon, and their supply lines had fallen into chaos after being hit hard at Dehuk, rendering them unable to continue pressing west.
"Jiang Feng and Samir... well done..."
Song Heping murmured in his heart.
This troop had quietly erged from the Persian Plateau, struck directly at Dehuk, destroyed supplies, and killed all 1515 elents before swiftly retreating to the safe zone, completing the operation cleanly and preserving their strength to the maximum.
However, his brows were tightly knit, his gaze focused on the north of Siria—Idlib Province.
On the map there, red arrows indicating the anti-governnt ard forces, primarily HTS and the Freedom Army, continued to assault the shakily defended line of the governnt army.
Although the governnt army fought desperately there, the situation was evidently deteriorating rapidly.
"The north... trouble..."
Song Heping muttered to himself.
Idlib is the northern gateway to Homs and even Damascus, and once it falls completely, the entire core of the western region will be exposed to the enemy's attack.
Bang—
At that mont, the door was suddenly pushed open.
The Chef burst in, full of urgency.
"Song! Sothing's wrong!"
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