Chapter 1433 - 1194: Time to Reveal Something Astonishing

After a long time, Vladimir leaned forward, his gaze sharp as a blade, as if trying to penetrate Song Heping's soul: "Song, now I understand completely where your confidence comes from. You're not just flexing muscles... you're pressing a gun to the Americans' temples and giving them two choices—negotiate or annihilation."

Song Heping met that gaze, which was enough to break an ordinary person, with a calm reply: "Mr. President, chaos is a ladder for adventurers, but also a grave for the reckless. I am an adventurer, but not reckless. I don't do things I'm not sure of, just as I don't fight battles I'm uncertain of winning."

Vladimir stared deeply at Song Heping, in silence, for a full ten seconds.

Those ten seconds seemed as long as a century.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for this ruler to make the final decision.

Finally, Vladimir slowly leaned back against his chair, his knuckles made two slight taps on the smooth tabletop.

"I must say, you truly impressed me."

He was indeed speaking from his heart, then turned to look at a few of his trusted aides: "Petrovich, Zhaoyi Valley... Let me say something that might disappoint you, our military system lacks a strategic-level military genius like Song."

It was merely an expression of admiration.

He knew very well that not only could he not recruit Song Heping for his own use, but even Song Heping himself would never be willing to become his subordinate or advisor.

The last time Song Heping came to Moscow, the then Defense Minister Anatoly also tried to forcibly recruit Song Heping, wanting him to take his mercenaries from the defense company to Siria as cannon fodder, yet this guy preferred to stage a nighttime escape from Moscow rather than submit to others.

This shows that he is very assertive and intelligent, most importantly, he dares to take risks.

The more he looked, the more he admired Song Heping.

Valuing talent is a trait every visionary leader possesses.

He was well aware of the capabilities of the Russian Federation's military system and the confidant advisors around him.

"What a pity..."

He couldn't help but sigh softly.

"A pity for what, Mr. President?"

Song Heping had evidently heard his lament.

"Your Russian is quite good, learned from Yevgeny, right?"

Vladimir was unwilling to continue this topic.

He was a cold-blooded leader.

Things that are useless and have no results, there's no need to waste time discussing.

Therefore, he got back to business: "Let's discard all the hypocritical pleasantries and probing. Now, as I sit here, tell me, what specific, measurable resources does Moscow need to contribute in the 'new order' blueprint you depict? And what clear, sustainable strategic returns, capable of altering the regional power dynamics, can you and your 'Liberation Forces' bring us? What I want to hear are the details, the path, the risk assessment, the guarantee of victory."

The real test was fashionably late at this moment.

All that happened before were just warm-up rehearsals.

Song Heping knew well that the only one capable of making the final decision was the agent-turned-president in front of him.

Song Heping walked back to the electronic sand table, picking up a light pen, began to expertly mark the battlefield situation, once more detailing the cooperative framework he had long conceived—from the deep sharing of intelligence networks, precise delivery of specific weapons, coordinated operation in the international public opinion arena, to the staged configuration of joint offensives against the 1515 Armed, and in potential future political solutions, how to ensure the core interests base terms of the 'Liberation Forces' and its supporters...

As a top-level negotiation was initiated in this secluded room of the Kremlin that could shift the Middle Eastern pattern.

On the other side of the earth, in Washington D.C., the sun shone brightly.

At the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) headquarters, in an office with the highest level of anti-electronic leak measures, Acting Director Simon had just finished an encrypted satellite communication.

"It's finally here..."

He stared at the map of the Middle East on the computer for almost half a minute before recovering.

The channel just transmitted back intelligence from the Illiguo side—1515 launched a violent attack on the southern Kurdish Control Zone, US air interventions could barely maintain the situation, Song Heping's 'Liberation Forces' launched a surprise attack on Sulaimaniyah, a decisive blow, cutting off the US Army and Baghdad land route for troop and supply transport to Elbil.

"Song... you are one ruthless son of a bitch!"

Simon's shock was not entirely unexpected.

The last time he discussed with Song Heping over the phone mentioning to "wait for the right moment", he had a premonition that the storm was about to descend.

Because Song Heping always follows through on what he says, never making empty promises.

It's just that this storm arrived so fiercely, which left him a bit astonished.

After all, this was outright challenging the US Army.

An absolute risky move.

He truly dares to gamble!

He went to the safe, unlocked the biometric lock, and took out a file that seemed thin but was as heavy as Mount Tai.

Its cover bore no markings, only an internal code, and a scarlet "Top Secret" stamp.

Inside, it detailed his "cooperation" proposal—in exchange for assisting in the annihilation of the 1515 Armed, to gain US agreement for limited cooperation with the parties in the Northern Illigo, Persia, and Russia, as well as securing the 'Musician' defense's interests in the Northwest region of Iraq.

This proposal had lain in the safe for days, like a hot iron.

After waiting all these days, wasn't it for this very opportunity?

Now it seems, does Song Heping truly have the power to create a fait accompli that forces the United States to bow?

Just like...

At this very moment!

Just as his fingertips brushed against the cold cover of the document, locked in an inner conflict, the red phone on the desk—directly linked to the pinnacle of power—suddenly emitted an ear-piercing buzz.

With just a glance at the phone, Simon could roughly guess who was calling.

Returning to his desk, he picked up the receiver and confirmed his identity as per the usual protocol: "This is Simon Miller."

A somewhat aged female voice came from the other end: "Director Simon, Mr. Brenan orders you to immediately halt all activities and proceed to the White House West Wing Underground Situation Room with the highest priority. It's an emergency meeting; the topic: a major incident in Northern Illigo."

Indeed, it was as expected!

Everything was anticipated.

"I understand, I'll depart immediately."

Simon hung up the phone, took one last look at the documents in his hand, a determined spark flashing in his eyes.

This meeting was an opportunity for Song Heping, and why not for himself as well?

If successful in eliminating the 1515 Armed Forces, the acting title could quickly be removed from his name.

Of course, there could also be considerable risk.

After all, any American would be left speechless upon seeing such a plan.

The time for hesitation soon ended.

He stuffed the documents into an inconspicuous black briefcase, striding out of the office, leaving behind a quick "highest priority task" to his assistant, then headed straight to the designated elevator, ascending to the rooftop helipad.

The distance of 230 kilometers was covered in an instant.

When Simon pushed open the thick soundproof door to that small conference room in the White House West Wing, heavyweights were already gathered inside.

In the center sat National Security Advisor Brenan, whose face was as dark as the bottom of a pot.

On his sides were the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary of Defense (connected via video), and several senior officials responsible for Middle Eastern and strategic affairs.

On the giant screen ahead, a military map of Northern Illigo was prominently suspended, with Sulaimaniyah pinned down tightly by a blood-red mark.

Upon seeing Simon arrive, Brenan nodded towards him, signaling the meeting could commence.

A Pentagon intelligence officer dressed in Air Force blue was pointing at the map with a laser pen, speaking in an urgent tone:

"Gentlemen, the situation has worsened to a critical point. The 1515 Armed Forces have launched their fiercest offensive to date, though heavily damaged by our air power, their follow-up forces continue to be deployed frantically. The Kurd Armed Forces' defenses have been ruptured at multiple points, and the telegrams begging for aid are pouring in like snowflakes. What's most critical is, approximately three hours ago, the militia group 'Liberation Forces', actually controlled by 'Musician' Defense Company, and Abu You Brigade, in coordination with other local armed groups, used textbook-level special operations modes to raid and completely control Sulaimaniyah Town!"

The laser red dot quickly circled around Sulaimaniyah.

The strategic position of this location needs no elaboration. The M5 highway and multiple auxiliary trunk lines converge here, serving as the main lifeline for transporting ammunition, fuel, supplies, and rotation of troops to my direction north of Elbil, including several Kurd control zones and forward strongholds on the west wing of Kirkuk. At this moment, this lifeline has been completely cut off! Though my war zone's air transport capacity can address the immediate urgency, relying on air transport long-term is immensely costly and unsustainable for supporting several brigade-level units in continuous combat in the north! More severely, the occupying forces have demonstrated a strong resolve to defend and hostility, have begun disrupting key road sections, and have set up numerous checkpoints and obstacles..."

The intelligence briefing continued for a full fifteen minutes before concluding.

Once that low-ranking officer stepped down, the conference room erupted.

"We must immediately regain control!"

A four-star general (via video) angrily slammed the table.

"This is a blatant provocation against our authority! A deadly blow to our allies' confidence! Intolerable! We must crush them with the swiftest strike!"

"I agree!"

Another senior Pentagon official exclaimed sternly, "Immediately devise a 'punitive' action plan! Deploy the Army Task Force stationed in Iraq, and with Air Force and Apache clusters providing cover, launch a Thunderous Assault! They're merely a bunch of militias; in the face of absolute force, they'll be nothing but dust!"

"Dust?"

An assistant Secretary of State wearing rimless glasses questioned coldly, "General, according to our intelligence, the core members of the 'Liberation Forces' have undergone stringent training with 'Musician' Defense and Persian special forces, armed like regular light infantry, their tactical literacy far exceeds ordinary local forces. Their Commander Song Heping is an extremely dangerous expert in asymmetric warfare. Initiating a reckless attack, if trapped in brutal urban warfare or encountering fierce resistance leading to heavy casualties, who will bear the political responsibility and military risk? Don't forget, our ground forces in Illigo are already stretched thin, and the tone from the President and Congress is to withdraw, not open a new war!"

"Then let the Illigo Government Army take the lead! We provide air cover and intelligence support!" another proposed.

"Government Army?"

The earlier general sneered, "Their combat power and loyalty in the north are questionable! Facing 'Liberation Forces', such local strongmen, how much chance do they have? Even if they miraculously regain control, how long will it take? At what cost? Meanwhile, if the Kurd people in the north collapse due to supply cuts, allowing 1515 to gain momentum and occupy more northern oil fields, their funding will be abundant like never before. Will you shoulder that responsibility?!"

The argument fell into a vicious cycle.

The pro-war faction was restricted by troop levels, risk, and political consequences, while the cautious faction could not resolve the current strategic disaster.

The atmosphere in the conference room was suffocating to the extreme, the noise of disputes became more intense, yet no constructive plan emerged.

Advisor Brenan remained silent throughout, his fingers unconsciously tapping the table, his face gloomy.

What he needed was a breakthrough strategy, rather than endless blame and evasions.

Time was ticking by second after second.

Half an hour later, the debate still had no resolution, with no consensus on handling the sudden incident.

At this moment, Simon, who had been sitting silently like a shadow on the left side of the conference table, quietly took a deep breath, and stood up suddenly during another brief pause in the argument.

"Mr. Brenan, gentlemen."

His voice wasn't loud, yet it cut through the temporary silence like a knife slipping down that blurry curtain, instantly captivating everyone's attention in the room.

"Perhaps... beyond the various plans and opinions you just proposed, HIA has an... unconventional option."

"An unconventional solution?"

Brenan's eyes flickered for a moment, then immediately locked onto him.

"Simon? Let's hear it."