"Drop the gun..."
Song Heping inwardly cursed his luck.
He didn't understand Illiguo, and it was likely that the other side had no idea what he was saying.
Actually, there was another, more fatal reason.
Because Song Heping spoke in English.
The other side's first impression was that Song Heping belonged to the US Special Forces.
Gela Town had beco one of the Salafi Ard Organization's bases because the local populace harbored strong anti-Arican sentints, which led them to support the more extre Salafi group.
Seeing Song Heping speak English, the man babbled sothing and raised his hand to lift his gun.
Tat tat—
Song Heping could only open fire before his enemy did.
Two bullets tore through the man's chest, and he fell to the ground.
Song Heping went over, kicked away the man's gun, and threw it aside.
Looking at the convulsing man on the ground, Song Heping had an indescribable feeling in his heart.
Blood continuously flowed from the man's chest, like a fountain.
Song Heping's marksmanship was very precise, typically aiming for the left side of the chest; if one wasn't born with their heart on the right side, a single burst would penetrate the heart and take the enemy out.
"Sorry."
Song Heping fired another shot at the man's forehead.
Tat—
With the sound of the gunshot, the man stopped moving altogether.
In reality, this was done to lessen the man's suffering.
There was no chance of saving him.
With the heart and lungs perforated, dying would feel like drowning, and the severe blood loss would cause coldness and pain; it was a form of torture.
A direct shot to the brain severed the feeling of pain, and the man passed away peacefully.
In this way, it was actually a form of rcy.
War...
Heh.
Song Heping lanted helplessly in his heart.
Human lives were but as ants.
He made his way to the roof and gained the high ground.
Song Heping surveyed the surroundings thoroughly.
In the courtyard, several militants huddled by the walls and behind piles of debris, with their guns all aid at the entrance.
Across the entrance, in the street, lay two corpses.
They were undoubtedly two rcenaries from Team 6.
Deaths and injuries of "Musicians" on defense continued to rise; by now, three were dead, and one injured.
Song Heping crouched on the rooftop, aid at the closest ard militant, and pulled the trigger.
Two silenced reports echoed as the man hiding behind the pile of debris collapsed.
And his companions to the left and right had no idea what had happened; the MK18 assault rifle, aided by a silencer, emitted a faint noise, and the gunshots erupting everywhere affected their judgnt.
The remaining n had no clue from where the bullets had co.
Song Heping began to rapidly pick off the unsuspecting militants who had their backs toward him.
After more than ten seconds, everyone in the courtyard was dead.
Song Heping's magazine was nearly empty, so he hastily hid himself and swiftly changed it.
With the courtyard clear and no other militants in sight, Song Heping jumped to another nearby rooftop.
From this position, he could see an intersection in the alleyway.
So he stayed there.
Because this place was important.
To enter or exit the surrounding courtyards, one had to go through this intersection.
When it was unknown which houses the fleeing militants might be hiding in, the plan wasn't to blindly search each building but rather to secure a vantage point and control a key thoroughfare, waiting to catch enemies like sitting ducks.
As expected, in less than a minute, Song Heping had results.
Two Salafi militants ran past the intersection, guns in hand and in a hurry; they had just crossed the intersection when Song Heping mowed them down with a burst of fire.
Song Heping was quite sly.
After every shooting, he would change his position on the rooftop.
There was a small room on the roof, and a pile of grass, probably left there to dry.
Song Heping kept switching his position between these two spots.
In the end, there were no fewer than seven corpses piled up at the intersection.
The gunshots beca more and more sporadic.
The resistance everywhere was gradually extinguished.
"Boss, where are you?"
"On the rooftop next to Team 6, at the 7 o'clock position. Where are you?"
"In the alley straight ahead, at the 1 o'clock position."
"No one's left, right?"
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"Seems like there's no one left."
"You lead the team slowly in, search the courtyard, clean it up, I'll cover you from above."
"No problem!"
Soon, Song Heping saw White Bear leading three local rcenaries, split into two groups, approaching the entrance from both sides of the courtyard.
Song Heping shifted his position with gun in hand, ready to cover the courtyard below at any mont.
White Bear saw Song Heping not far away on the rooftop and gave him a hand signal.
Song Heping returned a hand signal, signaling White Bear to enter the courtyard that seed safe.
The search went very smoothly.
The ard n inside were all dead.
"Boss!"
White Bear shouted to Song Heping as he erged from the house.
"It's safe!"
The fight had ended by this point.
Song Heping checked his watch.
Only twenty-two minutes had passed.
Bodies were gradually moved to near the Salafi headquarters' courtyard and piled in the street.
The "Musician" defense Illigo rcenaries began to clean up the battlefield.
They took everything that could be taken.
Money, weapons.
"Boss, we're rich!"
Samir ca out of a room with a backpack in his hand.
This old-fashioned khaki canvas backpack looked quite unassuming.
Samir opened it to reveal its contents.
Song Heping and White Bear's eyes lit up at a glance.
It was full of US dollars.
Cash.
The Salafi Ard Organization actually had so much cash on hand.
"Why so much US currency in cash?"
White Bear reached in and riffled through the money in the bag.
It appeared to be several hundred thousand US dollars.
"Not a small amount, looks like a couple of hundreds of thousand."
Hunter laughed, "Who would have thought we'd strike it rich..."
Disaster Star said, "It's so easy to make money this way, we might as well just start hunting down ard organizations and rob them!"
Song Heping picked up a handful of US dollars from the backpack and held one up to the moonlight to check it.
The texture felt right, and the watermark was fine.
Real money.
"How should we deal with this money?" Samir asked Song Heping.
Song Heping said, "There's a couple of hundreds of thousand here... This is what we'll do..."
He thought for a mont and then looked at White Bear and the others, "I have a suggestion. We lost three local friends tonight, and although insurance will cover $5,000 per person, I'm also going to add an extra $5,000 each. Still, it feels insufficient. I suggest we take $30,000 from this money, give an additional $10,000 to each, and help their families out. What do you think?"
White Bear and the others exchanged glances and nodded in agreent.
"Boss, whatever you decide is fine by . I have no objections."
"I have no objections either."
"I have no objections! Just reward with a sheep to roast and eat well when we get back!"
Disaster Star cared only about food.
He was alone in the world; money wasn't that important to him.
What he cared about was whom he followed.
As long as he was with Hunter, he was satisfied.
"As for the rest of the money, 50% will be distributed as a reward to everyone who participated in tonight's operation, and 50% will go into the company's account to set up a relief fund. From here on out, we follow this rule: cash and valuables seized on-site get divided among those who participated in the action."
Song Heping was now the boss; his word was final.
Besides, the allocation plan was very appealing to the heart.
Welfare and posthumous compensation were all taken into account.
The Illigo rcenaries were even happier.
Currently, an ordinary governnt job in Illigo paid only $80 per person, while even the most dangerous and elite ISF Special Forces earned just $300 a month.
According to Song Heping's distribution thod, taking half of the several hundred thousand dollars seized tonight would yield about $70,000. There were only about twenty participants, so each person would get a bonus of around three to four thousand dollars, equivalent to two to three years of a common person's salary—absolutely thrilling!
Who wouldn't want to follow such a boss? Who wouldn't be willing to lay down their life?
Furthermore, Song Heping's compensation for the deceased local rcenaries was extrely generous. Many of these forr governnt soldiers had worked as private bodyguards, earning only a little over a hundred a month and without insurance.
Compared to that, Song Heping had a halo shining around his head—he was like a deity!
"Pack it up, grab the good stuff, and let's withdraw quickly!"
Song Heping was eager to leave the town.
Now that the mission was completed, it was best to head back to his own water station territory.
The Temporary Managent Committee's engineering departnt would send people over to start repairing the water station tomorrow; there was a lot to arrange.
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