Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1568 1269: The "Little White" from England

Twenty minutes later, beside the command vehicle, an area was temporarily outlined by glow sticks and car headlights into a pale white circle, forming a small interrogation site separated from the surrounding darkness.

The prisoners were dragged over roughly by the rcenaries.

Their arms were bound behind them, with dirty burlap sacks over their heads, their steps stumbling, almost being thrown into the center of the circle.

Kneeling on the rough gravel ground, the sharp stones painfully pressed against their knees.

A burly rcenary roughly tore off their hoods.

The sudden light made the two squint uncomfortably.

The door of the command vehicle swung open, and Song Heping's figure appeared in front of them, then he slowly walked up to the two prisoners and stopped.

He examined them calmly in the light.

His gaze first lingered for two seconds on the face of the older Arab, whose eyes filled with hatred clashed with his calm, wave-free stare, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, without causing the slightest ripple.

Then his gaze turned to the young white prisoner.

On that face full of fear, Song Heping's gaze lingered a mont longer.

He could see in the depths of the other's eyes a near-collapse of despair, along with a trace of instinctual longing for survival.

He had seen such a look many tis, from foolish young n from around the world who were beguiled and ultimately struggled in this quagmire of war.

He spoke calmly in English, his voice low yet clearly piercing through the night breeze: "Na? Nationality?"

This simple question, for a young prisoner on the brink of collapse, was nothing short of a lifeline.

He almost rushed to answer, his heavy British accent blurting out, with a sob: "Jack... Jack Wilson... I... I am British... from London... please... don't kill ... I... I don't want to die..."

His speech was so fast it was almost seamless, as if delaying a second would lose him this only chance.

Song Heping listened, secretly laughing inside.

He glanced at the front of the other's pants.

Wet...

Heh heh.

This one would be the easiest to break.

Another fool beguiled by the carefully packaged "jihad" propaganda online and false "heroism", fleeing from the relatively peaceful Western world to join this brutal war they didn't understand.

The idealistic passion t with the harsh reality, and it was instantly pulled...

He no longer looked at Jack's pitifully sad appearance, refocusing his gaze on the slightly older 1515 mber.

This ti, he switched to exceptionally clear Arabic with a slight accent, his questions direct and cold: "Tetric City, how many defenders are there? Where are the defense focal points? How's the command system?"

The older prisoner jerked up his head, eyes fixed on Song Heping as if wanting to tear him apart with his gaze.

Veins bulged on his neck, and he used all his strength to spit blood-stained saliva at Song Heping.

The spittle landed on the sandy ground in front of Song Heping's feet.

"Infidel! Enemy of Allah! You cursed scum!"

He howled, cursing like a mad dog:

"You'll burn in Fire Hell! Forever beyond redemption! I won't tell you anything! Tetric City will be your grave! Commander Az will crush you all!"

Faced with this insulting and provocative roar, Song Heping's face showed no ripple.

Neither anger nor disdain, not even the tiniest change in his gaze.

He had seen many like this 1515 mber.

The hopeless kind.

For hopeless extremists, sending them where they belong is his duty.

His right hand naturally descended to his waist, resting on the quick-draw holster.

A faint "click" of the latch.

He drew out the Glock 19 pistol.

The motion was smooth and natural, without any unnecessary movent, as if rely pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.

Kneeling on the ground, Jack was so scared he plopped down on his backside, instinctively trying to retreat, but the rcenary behind him held him firmly.

Song Heping didn't even look at the older prisoner's final expression.

He raised his hand, his action swift as lightning, the gun barrel almost pressed against the other's forehead, then he unhesitatingly pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The crisp gunshot suddenly tore through the night's silence.

The bullet, carrying trendous kinetic energy, penetrated the skull instantly, creating a larger wound at the back of the head.

Red and white substances, mixed with bone fragnts and brain tissue, sprayed out radially onto the sand beside.

The veteran from 1515 suddenly stiffened, then fell limply forward, his face heavily hitting the sand, never to make another sound.

Jack was completely terrified by the extre coldness of this execution.

The soldier who was howling like a mad dog just now turned into a corpse in the blink of an eye...

The splattered brain matter and warm blood left a few drops on his trouser leg.

Jack trembled violently, like having a malaria attack, tears and snot uncontrolledly gushing out, covering his entire face.

He scread incoherently, his voice sharp and despairing:

"No! No! Please! Don't shoot ! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything! Everything I know!"

Song Heping lowered his gun-holding hand expressionlessly, skillfully checked the firearm, then smoothly tucked the still-warm pistol back into the holster at his waist.

After doing all this, he calmly turned his gaze to the completely broken British youth and said blandly in English:

"Very well. Jack, now tell , are there many 'foreign fighters' like you in Tetric City?"

Jack acted as if he'd found his only way to survive, nodding desperately, with an intensity that almost twisted his neck.

He hastily confessed with a heavy sobbing tone, afraid that speaking too slowly would lead him to follow his companion's fate:

"There… there are so, not many, probably… probably dozens… mainly from Europe, Britain, France, Germany… and… and a few Aricans… they… they don't trust us much, usually let us guard the periter, or be cannon fodder…"

"How many troops are in the city? Who is the Commander? Which direction are the defensive works mainly concentrated?"

Song Heping's questions were like a barrage of bullets, clear, direct, with no superfluous words.

"I… I'm not sure about the exact numbers… really not sure…"

Jack tried hard to recall; his mind was sowhat chaotic due to extre fear, but he forced himself to focus because it was his only hope to survive.

This guy in front of him is simply…

Saying a wrong word might cost him his life.

"But… but recently, many people have arrived! Many trucks, coming from Ozham… at least twenty thousand in the city now, maybe more! The commander is… is Az Omar, he… he is very ruthless, heard that he personally executed deserters… defense… mainly in the north and west of the city, facing your direction, dug many deep and wide anti-tank ditches, buried countless mines… and… and many snipers, specially placed in high-rise buildings, like post office buildings and school buildings… they… they said they want to let you in, fight street battles, wear you down…"

He stutteringly let out everything he saw, heard, and even guessed during chats with other captives, spilling out like beans without reservation.

This included approximate troop deploynt areas, likely locations of important command posts and material warehouses, and information on foreign fighters usually being deployed at relatively dangerous, forward positions most likely to encounter the enemy first.

Song Heping listened quietly, occasionally interjecting to ask for a couple of key details, like the specific width and depth of anti-tank ditches, the approximate distribution density of snipers, or the equipnt conditions of new troops.

His brain was operating rapidly, like an efficient computer, cross-verifying, analyzing, and reconstructing the fragnted information Jack provided with aerial reconnaissance drone footage.

When Jack could no longer offer any valuable information, only repeatedly pleading "I've told you everything I know, please spare ," Song Heping gave Milosh a slight nod.

Milosh understood, waved to the side.

Two rcenaries like wolves imdiately stepped forward, covering the now limp Jack with a hood again, ignoring his weak struggles and sobs, dragged him away like a sack of garbage, disappearing back into the darkness.

The fate of this deluded British fool—as a hostage, a laborer, or eventually disposed of—had yet to be decided.

But at least, before Song Heping finishes obtaining and verifying intelligence, he temporarily kept his life.

Jiang Feng, standing slightly behind Song Heping, watched Jack being dragged away, then looked down at the corpse on the sand which had already begun to stiffen, and said quietly to Song Heping:

"Old squad leader, it seems you've guessed right again, Buckdadi's pouring resources in, wants to turn Tetric City into an impregnable fortress, clearly setting up to fight us to the death here."

His tone carried a hint of worry, the disparity in forces and strong city defenses were indeed real difficulties before them.

Song He did not answer imdiately, his gaze crossed over the corpse at his feet, directed toward Tetric City.

"Fight to the death?"

He seed to have heard an absurd joke, lightly shaking his head.

"Sotis I really can't understand, these Middle Eastern terrorists, why each of them feels like they're gladiators in an arena, insisting on facing off head-on with others?"

His voice carried extre disdain, "Who the hell would give up their advantage and play this head-on attrition battle with them?"

He withdrew his gaze and turned to Jiang Feng:

"Now go notify Samir, assemble in the operation briefing room in five minutes."

In the end, he shook his head again and spoke quietly as if to himself:

"These idiots! They've fought so many tis with us, yet still haven't gained any ground, truly not feeling like any qualified opponent!"