The tent was filled with the mixed scent of cigarettes and sweat, the ergency lamp hanging in the tent swayed in the night wind, casting Song Heping's shadow on the canvas like a beast ready to pounce.
He stared at the canyon route marked in red pen on the tactical map, his fingers tapping the table unconsciously, the rhythm growing increasingly rapid.
"Tap, tap, tap..."
The shadow of the F-15E "Strike Eagle" was like a sword hanging overhead, ready to fall at any mont.
20 minutes—the ti from the Green Berets' distress signal to the fighter jet arriving at the battlefield takes only a brief 20 minutes.
And they must complete the ambush and evacuate within 10 minutes, or else the whole squad would be buried in the firestorm of precision-guided bombs.
Song Heping's temples throbbed. He grabbed the water bottle and took a sip, the warm water with a rusty taste sliding down his throat, but it could not extinguish the anxiety within his heart.
"Boss, you haven't slept yet?"
Hunter lifted the curtain, carrying two cans of warm beer.
This six-foot-tall man crouched down as he entered the tent, yet his movents were as light as a leopard.
The scar on his right cheek appeared particularly nacing in the dim light.
"Can't sleep."
Song Heping looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Just like you said, this job isn't easy."
Hunter handed him the beer, pulling the tab of the can, causing foam to spill out imdiately.
"Damn, this godforsaken place doesn't even have a fridge."
He cursed, taking a big gulp, his Adam's apple rolling up and down with the swallowing motion.
"You're worried about the operation the day after tomorrow?"
Song Heping took the beer, the cold touch making him slightly more alert.
"Not just the operation," he said in a low voice, his voice seemingly coming from underground, "I'm thinking about the F-15E issue."
Hunter's expression froze instantly, and the beer can in his hand emitted a slight sound of deformation.
"The communication blackout area has already been confird, right? As long as they're in the canyon, the signal can't get out."
"Plans can never keep up with changes."
Song Heping's voice was frighteningly calm as he stood up, his fingers tracing across the map.
"What if the Green Berets sense the ambush early? What if they have concealed relay equipnt?" His fingertip stopped at a narrow pass, "Or, even if just one person escapes the canyon and sends out coordinates..."
He listed out various unexpected scenarios that might occur.
Hunter remained silent for a mont, the beer can in his hand was crushed completely, with the pale yellow liquid dripping through his fingers.
"Then we're all done for."
He said this while staring intently at the map's mark of the neighboring country's air force base—where two fully ard F-15Es were stationed.
Song Heping's gaze shifted to the red mark, his eyes sharp as a knife.
"We need a backup plan."
"What backup?" Hunter frowned.
Song Heping did not answer imdiately but walked to the tent's entrance, lifted a corner to confirm no surveillance outside, then turned his head back to Hunter and said in a low voice: "Go call Ferrari over now."
Hunter's eyes showed a trace of confusion, but he still nodded, turning away while casually throwing the crushed beer can into the trash, the sound of tal clashing resounding sharply in the quiet night.
A few minutes later, a slender figure quietly entered the tent.
Ferrari adjusted the tactical glasses on his nose bridge, the lens reflecting the kerosene lamp's light, making it difficult to see his eyes.
"Song, you called for ?" His voice was very soft, yet exceptionally clear, as he simultaneously glanced down at his watch.
Evidently, being summoned so late must an an urgent task.
Song Heping motioned for him to sit down, then pulled out a hand-drawn map from the tactical bag and laid it on the table.
The map was densely marked with various symbols and routes, its edges a bit worn. "I need you to set off tonight, back to Darfur."
Ferrari and Hunter froze at the sa mont.
"Now?" Hunter couldn't help but ask, his voice inadvertently rising a few decibels, "So urgent!?"
Song Heping's eyes were sharp as a knife: "It's precisely because ti is so tight that I need Ferrari to return to Darfur imdiately."
Ferrari asked: "What do you want to do when I go back?"
"You return to the camp in Akent Oasis, Darfur, and bring the remaining two sets of SAM-6 missile systems from near our camp here overnight."
Hunter abruptly stood up, the chair making a harsh scraping sound.
"You want to use SAM-6 to shoot down F-15E?" His voice was filled with disbelief.
Ferrari shook his head and said: "It's not impossible, but the chance of shooting down an F-15E with SAM-6 missiles is very low..."
He turned to Song Heping, his eyes squinting into slits behind the lens, "If the F-15E carried anti-radiation missiles, it would be over for the SAM-6 if it missed."
Song Heping understood that Ferrari's concerns were justified.
SAM-6 has a range of 5-25 kiloters, and theoretically speaking, the altitude is sufficient. But its design is quite old, and its anti-jamming capability is weak.
During the Middle East wars, they were suppressed by the Hebrews' electronic warfare, leading to interception failure rates of up to 80%.
Moreover, the F-15E is equipped with the AN/ALQ-128 electronic warfare suite, which can interfere with radar-guided missile lock.
If SAM-6 uses traditional radar-guided mode, the F-15E can evade attacks by releasing decoys or initiating electronic counterasures, significantly lowering the probability of being hit through sharp turns, deploying infrared flares, or quickly leaving the range.
"Rest assured, the ground-based SAM-6 won't be attacked."
Song Heping's voice was exceptionally firm, "Because the governnt army in Sena has no effective air defense systems, let alone SAM-6. I estimate that even if two F-15Es are dispatched, they will only carry precision-guided bombs for ground troops."
The tent fell into a brief silence, the buzzing of mosquitoes in the air was audibly brazen, along with the occasional sentinel shift command from afar.
Ferrari nodded slowly, his fingers lightly tapping the map, as if calculating sothing.
"Alright."
He finally spoke, "I'll leave right now, and head back to Darfur."
He stood up, his movents as nimble as a cat, stopping suddenly at the tent entrance, "How many hands do I need to bring?"
"Just yourself, and bring back the missile operating platoon and a special operations platoon when you return." Song Heping's voice was unmistakable, "Rember, the less noise the better; this must be kept strictly confidential, or any leaks will an the Aricans have insiders in Sena."
Ferrari lifted the curtain, and the night wind poured in imdiately.
In the night sky, a teor flashed by, disappearing in an instant.
Watching Ferrari vanish into the darkness, Song Heping muttered:
"After the day after tomorrow, either we leave with our reward, or..."
He did not finish, but Hunter understood.
Either, they would beco yet another pile of unclaid bones on the wilderness of Sena.
Hunter grabbed another can of beer and lightly clinked it with Song Heping's, the sound of tal colliding was exceptionally crisp in the quiet night.
"For living to get the money."
Song Heping tugged at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of fatigue in his eyes: "For living."
Outside the tent, the night was as dark as ink, the distant mountain ranges like lurking beasts.
And far in the unseen distance, two F-15E "Strike Eagles" stood quietly on the runway, awaiting a possible call.
That would be the greatest threat to Song Heping and the "Musician" defense's current operation.
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