Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 738 - 678: Twenty Minutes of Bloodthirst

Seeing the massive fireball rise, Jiang Feng shook his head and said, "Doesn't this wipe them all out?"

"Wipe out what!" Song Heping interrupted his excitent. "There's still plenty to do. While their command is in chaos, imdiately start organizing a counterattack!"

He turned to Collins and Klein, saying, "You two, lead the mobile unit right now. Flank from the outskirts and attack the rear of their encirclent to disrupt their deploynt. Their high ground is gone, snipers are out of commission—now the montum is shifting in our favor. Dealing with those bastards, rember one thing: hit hard, kill them all, don't leave anyone alive!"

"Yes!"

Collins and Klein were already fuming with anger.

They had suffered a serious setback tonight.

At the start, they were ambushed, and the casualty situation on the Special Combat Team side was still unknown.

Judging by the earlier calls on the channel, at least one-third were lost.

No wonder Song Heping was enraged and determined to obliterate the black-clad enemies.

After Collins and Klein disappeared into the night, Song Heping imdiately contacted the firepower unit over the channel.

"Disaster Star, firepower unit is yours now. Things should be improving. Seize the opportunity and counterattack imdiately. They'll definitely send reinforcents to the explosion site to check for survivors—set up an interceptive firepower net and block their reinforcents. We're on the offensive now; they're on the defensive!"

"The other four assault units, withdraw from the fight imdiately. Gabri… Gabri, are you there?"

There was no response.

Soon after, shocking news ca through the channel.

"Gabri is dead…"

Dead...

Song Heping's heart felt like it was clenched tightly.

There was an indescribable sadness.

Gabri had been a highly competent commander. Song Heping had always been satisfied with his performance, grooming him to be the future Special Battalion Commander.

Unexpectedly, he fell tonight.

But in the rcenary world, death was a foregone conclusion.

As the saying goes, "The hunting dog will inevitably fall on the mountain, and soldiers cannot avoid dying before the frontlines."

There's no romance in the rcenary profession.

What exists is blood and fire. Of course, there's money too—but whether one has the life to spend it is another matter.

Thus, many rcenaries indulge in fleeting pleasures and reckless abandon.

After all, no one knows whether the hefty paynt they just earned will have a chance to be spent after the next mission's end.

"Baghdadi doesn't matter tonight, but don't let a single one of those black-clad bastards escape. Rember—the montum is in our favor. Bring out your true skills and avenge your brothers tonight. For every kill, there's a $50,000 reward!"

The promise of blood money surged through Song Heping's mind.

Now, he didn't care about the identity of the opposing force anymore.

Screw the US Special Forces!

Screw the CIA secret operations group!

Screw the 'Satan' organization!

Even if it's ISA operatives, they all need to die just the sa!

This order imdiately pumped adrenaline into all the South Arican rcenaries.

The lure of money combined with the hatred for their killed comrades!

If they were asked right now to tear apart those black-clad enemies with their teeth, these n wouldn't even blink!

Song Heping knew he didn't have to direct them now.

All these n had been trained in PLA traditional-style tactics.

The PLA doctrine revolves around small team supremacy—three n dare to challenge an entire battalion.

Training at Venezuela's Falcon School had thoroughly indoctrinated them from the start, modeled completely after PLA thods.

Everything was executed according to the decentralized tactical principles of PLA squads and platoons. Decentralization ans following orders from superiors, and when communication breaks down or commanders die, the next in line imdiately takes over.

This mindset is sothing foreign armies lack, and it's one of PLA's secret weapons.

The four assault units, although heavily damaged earlier, instantly reconstituted their strength under Song Heping's blood-pumping order, reorganizing their remaining manpower into battle formations.

The black-clad unit imdiately felt the raging fury unleashed upon them.

Their earlier advantage was gone, and their commander was already struggling to get forces reoriented. Before they could regroup, the South Arican rcenaries lunged on them like rabid wolves.

Reckless and relentless, they pursued their targets, exploiting terrain and structures masterfully. Splitting into multiple three-man units, they fragnted their force and advanced from various angles, smashing through the black-clad enemy's ambush periter with brutal charges and collisions.

Combat erupted in every building.

The black-clad troops soon found out they were engulfed in what felt like an ocean, where a South Arican rcenary could erge from the shadows at any mont, charging with reckless abandon and unloading a storm of bullets onto them. Even if they reacted in ti, the enemy showed no hesitation—raising their weapons and opening fire instantly, fighting not with courage but pure determination.

"We've got to get the hell out of this cursed place! Away from these lunatics!"

In the black-clad tactical channel, soone finally broke under the pressure of this insane fight.

Watching comrades drop one after another.

The South Arican rcenaries charging out of the darkness were like demons from Hell itself, throwing their lives on the line to kill black-clad soldiers.

So even went as far as getting into hand-to-hand brawls—clawing, biting, stabbing. And when cornered by superior numbers, they'd pull grenades, lock arms with their enemy, and sacrifice themselves in a mutual destruction.

These were madn beyond belief.

The black-clad forces were utterly shaken.

Fear took hold.

Once fear sets in, the psychological dam bursts instantly.

Soone shouted retreat, and soon multiple soldiers followed.

One retreated, soon the entire force followed suit.

The Falcon Special Combat Team pursued aggressively.

The pace of collapse for the black-clad force was astonishing.

While the Falcon Team fought ferociously without regard for their lives, Song Heping and Jiang Feng spread out on the ruins of the bombed building, scanning for survivors or clues.

"Sniper's here."

Jiang Feng spotted the barely alive sniper first.

Song Heping adjusted his position and glanced over: "Kill him, then search for intel or clues."

Without batting an eye, Jiang Feng raised his weapon and delivered two precise shots to the struggling sniper.

Ensuring the area was secure, he crouched to rummage through the sniper's belongings.

Apart from so loose change, he found a passport. Nothing else worth noting.

"All US Special Forces gear—standard issue."

Holding up the passport, he said, "Found a passport."

Song Heping replied, "99% chance it's a fake identity. Passport might be real. Once the search is done, snap photos of their faces—might uncover sothing later."

Jiang Feng considered tossing it away.

Song Heping stopped him: "Keep it. Let Henry's team scrutinize it—might find sothing useful."

Real passports fabricated by state-level intelligence agencies were virtually indistinguishable from authentic ones.

Only the identity information would be faked, that much was certain.

From seasoned operatives like the black-clad troops, Song Heping didn't expect to unearth significant leads.

Moving forward, Song Heping encountered several black-clad soldiers who hadn't yet succumbed to death.

Actually, these n were dood; most injuries were external, but many had internal bleeding—fatal without imdiate dical intervention, making interrogation impossible.

Soon enough, Song Heping's eyes lit up.

In his sight, a figure was crawling on the ground, seemingly crippled in the legs.

The man wasn't dead.

Perhaps hearing the footsteps, the enemy suddenly spun around, drawing a pistol with lightning speed.

Song Heping swiftly raised his weapon and fired two rounds at the man's hand.

Ratatata—

"Ah—"

The man let out a scream.

Unhesitating, Song Heping dashed forward and delivered a brutal punch to the man's temple.

The force instantly knocked him unconscious.

Song Heping quickly examined the mouth for poison capsules and checked the hands.

A ring glinted on his finger.

Drawing lessons from earlier mishaps with Jodi, Song Heping imdiately removed the ring and discarded it.

Binding the captive securely with straps, he declared, "This one's worth interrogating."

After finishing, Song Heping glanced at his watch.

Forty minutes had elapsed.

Jabbar rushed over, visibly stunned by the battlefield strewn with corpses. His jaw practically dropped in disbelief.

He knew Avanti regarded Song Heping highly. Previously hearing tales of his formidable combat prowess was one thing—seeing it firsthand, however, revealed him to be nothing short of a war god. Jabbar, who had harbored doubts before, now felt foolish.

"Siria's police force will be here soon; we need to leave."

As the gunfire began to taper off, Song Heping nodded and broadcasted over the channel: "Has anyone located Baghdadi?"

"Sent people to search—he escaped. His family has tunnels…"

Collins quickly responded.

Such results didn't surprise Song Heping.

Earlier, he had demanded the assault teams act swiftly, seeking to seize the ground floor before Baghdadi descended, thus cutting off access to the tunnel entrance.

Now, that plan was shot.

"Recover our n's bodies, regroup, evacuate!"

Within ten minutes, the Falcon Special Combat Team gathered their fallen comrades' remains and withdrew from the town, retreating to the vehicles hidden in the forest.

Song Heping did a count.

Among company core personnel, only Hunter was injured.

Others suffered minor wounds—not a big deal.

Falcon Team suffered catastrophic losses: Gabri killed in action, six others critically injured, seven more dead.

In the forest, the stench of blood hung heavy in the air.

Watching the Falcon rcenaries groaning in subdued agony, Song Heping turned to Jabbar and asked, "Don't you have influence around here? Contact your people to arrange helicopters imdiately—these n need dical care, and only Persia can accommodate it. I'll call Avanti to arrange hospital beds and doctors; you handle the transport. Can you manage that?"

The tone hardly sounded like a question—more like an order.

Jabbar dared not utter a single dissenting word.

He bore a portion of responsibility for the situation spiraling like this.

Intelligence personnel had failed to detect the surrounding ambush set by black-clad forces beforehand—this alone was culpable failure.

At this mont, Jabbar felt like doom was looming over him.

Returning later, would Avanti punish him?

Terrified, he wouldn't dare refuse.

"Yes, yes! I'll arrange it right away."

He nodded repeatedly without uttering a single unnecessary word.