Chapter 1472 - 1218: Without Me, You Can't Succeed!

Far away in Dagula, the night was as dark as ink.

Song Heping stood at the window on the second floor of the command center, gazing at the dead silent town outside. Compared to the clamor and carnage coming from the directions of Ozham and Agra through the radio inside, it was as quiet as a corner forgotten by the world.

The night was still long.

For many, it was destined to be a sleepless night.

But for himself, time was currently the most abundant resource.

He could wait.

And he could afford to wait.

Returning to the room, he approached the huge military map of Northwest Illinois, picked up a cup of strong tea from the table and took a sip.

On the map, red and blue arrows representing enemy and friendly forces interlocked, making the situation clear at a glance.

He put down the tea cup, picked up a red and blue pencil and at that decisive hub—Hulmatu, lightly, but with immense force, drew a full and firm red circle.

A single circle to determine the outcome.

Everything was under control.

Americans?

They always thought they could control everything, weaving a vast global web with US Dollars and aircraft carriers.

But they forgot, the stronger they are, the more they resemble the elephant in a game of Beast Chess, also afraid of the mouse.

Just as Song Heping put down the pencil, ready to scrutinize the decisive red circle on the map more thoroughly, the satellite phone on the table persistently vibrated, emitting a continuous buzz, breaking the silence of the command center.

He did not immediately answer.

He did not even glance at the flashing indicator light.

His gaze slowly swept over the map again.

All the clues, all the variables, were playing out according to his script, even smoother than expected.

Americans, after all, couldn't sit still...

The phone kept ringing stubbornly, one ring after another, sounding particularly harsh in the empty room.

He knew who it was.

The number of people who knew this direct line could be counted on one hand, and at this moment, the only one anxious to contact him could be the Central Intelligence Agency Director—Simon, who had just endured immense pressure in the White House Situation Room.

He deliberately let the phone ring for a full seven or eight times, savoring the pleasure of letting the other side simmer in wait, before slowly picking up the phone.

He did not speak first, merely waited in silence.

After a brief silence filled with radio static, Simon's voice came through the receiver.

"Song."

Simon skipped all unnecessary pleasantries and formalities, directly calling Song Heping by his last name, which further indicated the urgency of the matter.

"Ah, Director Simon, so late, what instructions do you have?"

Song Heping's response was very calm, as if he were just picking up a routine call from an insurance salesman or a weather inquiry, with no surprise in his tone, yet with a silent mockery.

"The situation is urgent, let's skip the formalities."

Simon said, "First I must state that Colonel Kote's recklessness and stupidity have nothing to do with me, but undeniably his rashness has caused unnecessary trouble and... losses for both of us. I think it is time to end this... misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?"

Song Heping sneered, "Director Simon, in my dictionary, deliberately concealing critical intelligence, exploiting the information gap, leading my people into an ambush, and almost facing annihilation, that seems to be more than just a 'misunderstanding,' right? That sounds more like a betrayal, or, using the more grandiose terms favored by your Washington, a 'necessary sacrifice based on strategic considerations'? Unfortunately, I, Song Heping, do not like being sacrificed."

There was about a two-second silence on the other end of the line.

"...I admit, there was a serious... communication error in previous intelligence sharing. The responsible parties will certainly face severe punishment."

He tried to place the blame on a scapegoat or several, but then shifted tone, attempting to seize the moral high ground, "But right now, the situation in Ozham and Agra is rapidly collapsing, thousands of innocent lives, and our common anti-terrorism goals, are on the brink of a cliff. We must focus on the bigger picture..."

Song Heping did not reply, nor did he make any sound in response.

He simply picked up that red and blue pencil again, rhythmically and gently tapping the recently drawn red circle on Hulmatu on the map with the end of the pencil.

Tap, tap, tap...

The clear and rhythmic tapping sound was transmitted seamlessly across the ocean to Simon's ears through a high-sensitivity microphone.

The sound was not loud, yet like a heavy hammer, beating on Simon's heart.

Simon seemed to be able to clearly imagine Song Heping's calm demeanor under control at this moment through the sound, which made him feel a burst of inexplicable annoyance and helplessness.

He had to speed up his speech, injecting a slight tone of indisputable finality, trying to regain some initiative: "For past events, we can offer new, more sincere terms as compensation. But now, time waits for no one! We need the Musician Defense Company to immediately resume military operations, to exert substantial pressure on Hulmatu, to alleviate the crisis in the direction of Ozham and Agra, this is the priority! For this purpose, I will personally go to Dagula to have a face-to-face meeting with you."

Finally, it came.

Song Heping's eyes flickered imperceptibly.

The CIA Director, the head of the vast American intelligence empire, was actually coming to the frontlines, deep into the "territory" controlled by Song Heping, a gesture that in itself was unprecedented, and a silent acknowledgment.