Early next morning, at Checkpoint 4, the sun has just risen.
Ti seed to have frozen, carrying an inescapable aura of death.
Song Heping rode in a convoy of three reinforced Humvees, rapidly approaching in tactical formation.
The vehicles rolled over soil repeatedly ploughed loose by dense shrapnel.
The tires occasionally made a bone-chilling crunching sound, rolling over tal fragnts, weapon parts, and other unidentifiable charred hard objects.
A twisted tal strip, vaguely recognizable as an AK-47 barrel, was pressed by tire, clanged against the car door, and fell back into the dust.
The closer to Checkpoint 4, the stronger the pungent sll in the air beca.
At first, it was the acrid smoke from high-explosive ammunition and propellant that hadn't fully dissipated, irritating the nasal mucous mbranes; then it was the greasy stench of diesel burning from punctured fuel tanks.
Finally, a dense, overwhelming stench of sweet blood and rot.
This sll was familiar to Song Heping.
It was the sll of scorched organic matter, splattered bodily fluids, and fresh blood vaporized in high heat.
Song Heping rolled down the passenger window a bit, allowing the familiar and nauseating battlefield air to flow more directly into his lungs.
As far as the eye could see, it was desolation.
The checkpoint, originally built relying on a relatively solid abandoned earthen courtyard, was nearly erased except for the main building at this mont.
Incomplete earthen walls seed like wounds torn open by a giant beast's claws, exposing twisted steel bars in the huge gashes.
The circular defense works built with sandbags mostly collapsed. Several Humvees belonging to Thunder Defense and several Technical pickups mounted with M2HB heavy machine guns beca twisted, deford tal.
What truly challenged human sensory limits were the "remnants" left by war.
On the empty field outside the checkpoint and on both sides of the dirt road leading here, lay nurous human remains in various postures.
So corpses were relatively intact, wearing dirty Arabic robes or mottled camouflage, but more were torn to pieces by brutal shockwaves and prefabricated fragnts.
Severed limbs, splattered internal organs, even half faces with hair and skin, intertwined with blasted AK series rifles, shattered ammo vests, and charred clothing pieces, painting an abstract picture indescribable with words on the yellow sand.
Song Heping roughly estimated, judging by the "remnants" here, the 1515 Ard lost at least over three hundred people.
Samir's militia moved emotionlessly amongst them, using their feet to kick aside prone bodies, checking for any survivors, occasionally calmly administering a final shot with their rifles.
The militia also efficiently collected any valuable items from the bodies—
Well-kept weapons, unused ammunition, even a pair of fairly sturdy boots.
All this proceeded thodically, with an almost numb efficiency.
Song Heping's convoy stopped near the only remaining intact entrance to the checkpoint.
He pushed open the car door, his heavy combat boots stepping onto the ground mixed with dark red blood, sand, and oil, making a soft squelching sound.
Samir hurriedly ca around from a pile of rubble, barely containing his excitent: "Boss! You're here!"
"Look! These 1515 bastards left at least over three hundred corpses!"
He waved his arms, pointing towards the terrifying array of body remnants.
Song Heping nodded slightly, his gaze calmly sweeping across the entire battlefield, assessing the damage, finally landing on Samir's face.
"Well done, Samir. By the way, how's the damage to your n?" His voice was steady, conveying little emotion.
"Last night, when we arrived, we fought with the 1515 Ard for about half an hour, then they fled. We had seven wounded, two killed."
Song Heping reached out to pat his dust-covered shoulder, affirmatively saying:
"Compensation and rewards for the fallen should be at the highest standards, discuss with Jiang Feng later for prompt settlent to their families."
After speaking, his gaze went past Samir, towards the deeper part of the checkpoint, where another group of people incongruous with the surroundings gathered, wearing unified Multicam desert camouflage, yet looking equally disheveled.
"What about Sanders and his n?"
Song Heping's voice lowered sowhat.
Samir replied with a lower voice, containing a hint of schadenfreude:
"Sanders' n lost six, ten wounded, four critically. Whether they can pull through is uncertain. Even those alive are injured, looking dusty and desperate, with equipnt nearly all lost."
Song Heping said nothing further, only lightly uttered "Hmm," and then stepped towards that area.
Surrounding militia, upon seeing him, stopped their activities, nodded slightly or gazed at him in awe, automatically clearing a path.
Sanders and his remaining Thunder Defense rcenaries were gathered in a corner next to the main building.
Most bore injuries, with makeshift bandages wrapped around foreheads, arms, or legs, with oozing blood turning dark brown under the sand's cover.
On each rcenary's face, besides exhaustion, was an uncontainable anger from being deceived and betrayed.
Their valuable equipnt—AN/PVS series night vision devices, AN/PRC series communication radios, long-range infrared surveillance systems (TWS), personal radar, high-power generators, etc., have mostly turned into twisted scrap tal and scattered parts under precise artillery fire.
Sanders stands at the front of the crowd, a bloody cut from high-speed shrapnel across his face, its edges curling and already coagulating black.
Seeing Song Heping approach, his eyes filled with utmost complexity, faintly exuding anger.
Song Heping stopped in front of Sanders, his face instantly switching to a look of sorrow and concern, with slightly furrowed brows and a voice carrying the perfect blend of heaviness and urgency:
"Mr. Sanders! I'm relieved to see you're okay! How's the situation? The wounded must be treated imdiately, there's not a mont to delay!"
He suddenly turned his head, giving rapid orders to Samir who followed closely, intentionally ensuring everyone around heard:
"What are you waiting for? Bring all our dics and ergency supplies over imdiately! Prioritize treating the Thunder Defense brothers' injuries, organize vehicles for severely wounded, and rush them to Hulmatu's temporary field hospital! Use all resources to ensure the best treatnt for them! Hurry!"
His orders were clear, filled with undeniable 'care' and efficiency.
However, this Oscar-worthy performance clearly failed to deceive all the rcenaries who had narrowly survived a bizarre and deadly bombardnt.
A tall Black rcenary, heavily bandaged around the head, suddenly stepped forward.
One of his eyes was covered by the bandage, with the remaining eye blood-red, glaring at Song Heping, roaring in Arican-style English:
"You damn hypocrite! Song! Why did the bombardnt co so 'tily'? Hmm? Why precisely when we were completely surrounded, running low on ammo, with defenses about to be breached?! Why was the artillery fire so damn 'precise', just hitting our outer vehicles and equipnt? You're scheming against us! You damned, treacherous, motherfucking yellow-skinned monkey!"
He was thoroughly hysterical, spitting with rage, as if ready to charge at Song Heping and fight to the death.
The few comrades around him were also ignited by this anger, their eyes fierce, instinctively reaching for rifles or pistol holsters at their waists.
Clang!
Click!
Almost simultaneously, the surrounding "Musician" Defense rcenaries orderly raised their rifles, locking on the few emotionally charged Thunder Defense rcenaries with countless black barrels.
The sound of bolts being drawn was crisp and lethal, the atmosphere suddenly reaching a peak of tension, weighing heavily on everyone's breath.
From afar, the increasingly loud buzzing of flies above piled corpses clearly echoed in everyone's ears.
Song Heping stood his ground, never glancing at the Black rcenary roaring at him, his gaze unhurriedly fixed on Sanders.
Sander's heart pounded in his chest like a drum, temples throbbing, blood racing to his head.
More than anyone under his command, he grasped the peculiarities of the recent shelling—the perfect timing, the unusually dense landing spots, those seemingly ticulously calculated points specifically covering their front and side defensive positions...
Everything exuded an unhidden, precisely calculated malice.
Song Heping's intention to kill with a borrowed knife was nearly laid bare, just short of being spoken outright.
His inner fury was enough to ignite the entire Hulmatu Region, his right-hand fingers near his pistol holster slightly twitching, itching to draw the M9 pistol and blow out the brains of this 'innocent' individual before him.
However, remnants of sanity extinguished his perilous impulsive fla.
Whose territory was this?
It was Song Heping and Samir's firmly controlled Hulmatu Region, more than a ten-hour journey from the nearest US Military Base.
Beside him were only these dozen wounded remnants, exhausted physically, all but depleted of ammo during the prior defense battle.
While Song Heping had more than a dozen obviously intimidating rcenaries with him, surrounded by hundreds of ferocious local militia.
Should conflict erupt here, even a re exchange of fire, these few n would be shredded into pieces within seconds by a storm of bullets, dying for nothing, potentially leaving only a report line stating 'Thunder Defense personnel fell during combat stress reaction in a misfire with local cooperating forces, unfortunately all perished'.
Swallow the broken teeth and blood.
This is the only choice, no matter the humiliation.
Sanders took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging anger in his throat, abruptly pulling back the impulsive subordinate firmly.
"Marcus! Shut up! Stand down! Imdiately! This is an order!"
Turning to Song Heping, facial muscles rigid, he mustered a smile worse than crying, saying:
"Mr. Song, thank you very much for your tily support and dical assistance. My subordinate... he lost his best friend, his emotions are sowhat out of control, please understand, he bears no offense to you."
Each word seed forcibly squeezed out from between clenched teeth.
Song Heping's cold expression instantly thawed, replacing it again with an 'understanding' look, generously signaling for the surrounding militia on high alert to lower their barrels:
"I completely understand. We're all brothers licking blood from the blade, having experienced such a fierce battle and losing comrades they've lived with day to day, emotional outbursts are inevitable. Mr. Sanders, please rest assured, I'll do my utmost to treat every wounded of yours with the best dicine. Moreover, I'll personally assist in handling the deceased's affairs, allowing them a dignified return ho. The defense at checkpoint 4 will temporarily be taken over by Samir's n, you shall withdraw to Hulmatu for recuperation, it's safer there."
Sanders could only nod stiffly, his throat seemingly blocked by sothing, unable to utter another word.
He abruptly turned away, no longer looking at Song Heping's stomach-turning face, began strictly urging his n to cooperate with the militia's rescue and evacuation arrangents.
He knew, in this round, he and Thunder Defense behind him, and the US military, had lost thoroughly, with even the chance of a coback blocked by the opponent's 'goodwill' and 'assistance'.
And this may only be the beginning.
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