Chapter 1722 - 1350: Infiltration Operation

3 PM, airspace over Buckswest.

UH-60 "Black Hawk" helicopter speeds southeast towards the Baghdad Green Zone, against the heatwave at an altitude of 600 meters.

Beneath the fuselage, the desert baked by the scorching sun all day releases warped halos, with occasional flashes of resilient camel thorns in the view.

The cabin is filled with a pungent mixture of disinfectant, blood, and scorched human flesh.

The medical monitor emits regular and monotonous "beep-beep" sounds, every slight fluctuation on the screen pulling everyone's nerves inside the cabin.

Song Heping's gaze falls on the bandaged figure on the stretcher.

Old Masood's condition is more perilous than when he was found two hours ago by the roadside in the desert.

Typical flame burns, accompanied by the cyanosis characteristic of inhalation injuries.

Each labored and strenuous breath by the old man brings forth an ominous wheeze from his chest, like a badly damaged antique bellows.

"Blood oxygen saturation has dropped to 85 and is still falling."

The accompanying "Musician" defense physician's voice is tense as he carefully adjusts the ventilator's settings, his forehead covered with fine beads of sweat.

"Signs of pulmonary edema are evident. Has Baghdad confirmed burn and trauma specialists on standby?"

"Duke has mobilized the best medical evacuation team in the theater."

Song Heping looks out through the porthole at the gradually emerging cityscape, the Baghdad Green Zone's fortifications gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

He holds up a finger to the military doctor.

"At most ten minutes, there should be hope!"

Old Masood miraculously survived.

In the bulletproof car, though engulfed in flames, he wasn't completely consumed.

When Abu You and the assault team extinguished the residual fires on him with a fire blanket, the old man was already unconscious, with weak vital signs, severely burnt airways, and extensive surface burns.

No professional equipment, no sterile environment.

The only thing possible was using a field knife for cricothyrotomy, establishing a lifesaving passage to maintain minimal ventilation for the elderly with a rigid airway tube found in the emergency kit.

The process was crude, but there was no alternative.

Now, that makeshift life-support tube has been replaced by a formal endotracheal tube, connected to a portable ventilator.

But whether Old Masood can survive the impending infection and organ failure remains an unknown.

"Old Squad Leader."

Beside him, Jiang Feng suddenly speaks up, breaking the silence in the cabin: "This coup… can we really press it down?"

Song Heping gives him a glance, then shifts his gaze back to the fast-retreating desolate land outside the window.

"A coup in itself is often just the beginning."

He says coldly, "Rashid has control over officials within the autonomous council, but that doesn't mean he's secured the entire Kold Autonomous Region. Internally, they aren't monolithic; the other influential families are all watching. It's still uncertain whose victory it will be..."

Suddenly, the pilot's announcement comes through: "The Green Zone landing site is cleared, ready for landing."

Baghdad, Green Zone, Alliance Army Tactical Command Center.

The massive electronic screen wall is split into over a dozen live feeds.

Images of armed convoys speeding down the streets of Erbil, soldiers digging fortifications on the outskirts of Kirkuk, drone footage of 1515 armed personnel gathering in Mosul direction, the faint smoke rising from mechanized units at the Turkey border.

Major General Duke stands before the screen, a cup of coffee in hand long gone cold.

The door slides open, Song Heping walks in.

"He's still alive." Duke doesn't turn, his gaze stays fixed on the screen: "The medical team is in surgery, dealing with burn and lung injuries. But the situation is very bleak, even if he gets through this, the next seventy-two hours are critical. In the short term, he can't fulfill any responsibilities."

"What's Little Masoud's whereabouts?"

Song Heping steps up to the screen, focusing on the satellite thermal imaging of Erbil.

"The signal was last seen at the entrance of the girls' vocational school in the southern old town, then disappeared."

Duke finally turns around, picking up a freshly printed brief from the console.

"Seems he's found a perfect hiding place..."

"As long as he's not dead."

Song Heping smiles, grabs a bottle of mineral water, twists open the cap, and takes a large gulp.

"Even if caught, he won't die. Barzani will use him as leverage to secretly threaten Old Masood—if he isn't dead, then force him to 'voluntarily' hand over part of the power."

Duke moves towards the large theater sand table, the precise red light dot of a laser pen lands:

"The current situation is very complex, it seems the coup news has spread rapidly. Now, Rashid basically controls the city and outskirts of Erbil, directly commanding about eight thousand from his security forces and Internal Guard Brigade. But notice, many of these troops' loyalty is based on chain-of-command rather than political alignment."

Song Heping responds: "Can't you just speak plain human words? Many soldiers and officers are simply following orders without knowing the specifics of what happened, much less aware Masood was assassinated by Barzani."

Mocked by Song Heping, Duke looks helpless.

Even though he is a US Army Major General, now he needs this man in front of him.

He moves the dot towards Kirkuk: "Barzani is currently here with three brigades, still actively rallying forces from various locations. Rashid has pinned the blame for assassinating the president on Abu You through controlled media. By the latest, dawn tomorrow, these forces will launch an attack against the Abu You Brigade."

The dot moves south: "Mosul direction, the activities of 1515 armed forces have significantly increased. At least two regiment-level combat groups are cruising between Mosul and Bayji, waiting for an opportunity, likely wanting to fish for benefits in troubled waters."