Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1656 1324: Journey to the Parliament

At 6:30 in the morning, the sand of the temporary airport outskirts of Hulmatu was bathed in the dawn light.

A gray-green helicopter stood there, its rotors slowly rotating, stirring up clouds of sand and dust.

The emblem of the "Musician" Defense Company—an abstract musical note crossed with a rifle—was spray-painted on the side of the cabin, gleaming with a matte finish in the morning light.

Samir stood beside the helicopter, squinting toward the east.

At sunrise, the desert of Anbar Province showed a brief golden-red hue before fading into a relentless earth yellow.

He tugged at his collar; the new three-color desert camouflage uniform was stiff as cardboard, and the "Liberation Forces" insignia was carefully sewn onto his right arm—a crossed AK-47 with olive branches, with the Arabic words "For the Freedom of Iligo" embroidered below.

"Check if there's anything you forgot to bring?"

Song Heping's voice ca from behind.

"Docunts, ID, speech. In Baghdad, these are your weapons."

Samir patted the pocket on his chest, which held a stack of docunts sealed carefully in a plastic folder.

"All in." He tugged at the new camouflage: "No need to change into a new set, right? The old camouflage is more comfortable."

"Because symbols are important."

Song Heping approached and adjusted the nonexistent crease on Samir's shoulder.

"In parliant, you represent not just yourself, but an ard force waiting to be recognized. This outfit tells everyone: you are a soldier, not a politician. But the insignia reminds them you're from outside the establishnt."

The crew ran over, offering two headsets: "Communication test. Please keep the channel clear during the flight."

Samir put on the headset, inside ca the sound of electric current: "Ready to go, take off in three minutes. Please board."

Song Heping boarded the helicopter first, reaching out to pull Samir up.

The two sat side by side in the middle of the cabin, surrounded by bodyguards, each with an M4 carbine resting on their knees.

As the cabin door closed, the world suddenly beca isolated and noisy.

The roar of the rotors, the shriek of the engine, the sound of wind coming through the bullet-proof glass.

"Take off."

With an official notice from the pilot, the helicopter lifted off sharply.

The ground quickly sank, Hulmatu's ruins, makeshift refugee camps, checkpoint sandbag fortifications, all shrunk into re pieces on a chessboard.

To the east, a branch of the Diyala River snaked through the scorched earth like a dull silver ribbon.

"Heading southeast, direct flight to Baghdad, estimated flying ti one hour and forty minutes." The pilot's voice ca through the headset, "We'll be detouring around Ozham airspace, as there are reports of sporadic firefights there."

Samir looked out the window.

The land below resembled skin scratched by a giant beast, craters, burnt-out vehicle wrecks, collapsed buildings, occasionally dotted with patches of green.

Those were usually hos stubbornly guarded, surrounded by makeshift defenses of tires and earthen walls.

"Rember," Song Heping's voice interrupted his thoughts, "this isn't a frontline command post; this is another battlefield."

Samir turned his head.

Song Heping was looking at the files on a tablet computer, the screen's light reflecting on his face, highlighting his marble-like calm.

"I'd rather face a hundred charges from 1515 than those politicians' fake smiles."

Samir muttered, his voice mostly masked by noise.

Song Heping laughed.

"Politicians' bullets don't harm the flesh, but they can destroy an army's logistics. A vote cast against in parliant can leave frontline soldiers without ammunition for a month. A defamation in the dia can shift international aid away. So you must learn to handle these situations and scenes."

The helicopter began to ascend, avoiding an area possibly threatened by portable anti-aircraft missiles.

Samir saw an ard convoy traveling on the road below, a long line of Humrs and MRAP armored vehicles kicking up dust clouds.

That was the patrol unit of the rcenary Camp.

Further away, a flock of sheep moved slowly under the shepherd's drive, as if war had never happened.

"What should I say?" Samir asked, "Yusuf's speech is too...politician-like."

"Speak the truth."

Song Heping turned off the tablet and turned to Samir:

"But only tell part of the truth. Tell them what you need, but there's no need to tell them everything. Emphasize victory, hype the future appropriately, but don't make specific commitnts. Most importantly, let them see your value. A force capable of stabilizing the Northwest is of value to everyone."

"What if they ask about the post-reorganization command ownership?"

"Just say it will be under the unified command of the Ministry of Defense, that's what they want to hear. As for the actual operation…" Song Heping paused aningfully, "once you're in the system, there will be ways."

Samir silently gazed out the window.

Nearly two hours later, the outline of Baghdad began to erge below the clouds.

The Tigris River slithered lazily through the city like a giant serpent, dividing the Green Zone, Karrada, Sadir City, and other areas.

He could discern the blurred outline of the Republic Palace, once an iconic building in Sadam's era, now draped with the Iligo Country flag.

More striking was the Green Zone—a high-walled, barbed-wire, checkpoint-laden "International District" delineated by the US Army in 2003, like a city within a city, the political heart of Iligo weakly beating inside.

"That's your new battlefield."

Song Heping looked where he did and remarked.

The helicopter landed on the "Victory Base" helipad dedicated to the Green Zone.

As the cabin door opened, the unique scent of Baghdad rushed in.