Chapter 1813 - 1379: Stationing at the Joint Special Operations Task Force

The sandstorm is coming.

The sky over the Mosul Region isn't blue.

It's a color somewhere between earth yellow and rust red, as if the entire sky is infected by the wounds of this city.

The sandstorm strikes from the west, carrying with it the soil from the banks of the Tigris River and black particles from burning oil, creating a strange halo under the afternoon sun.

Visibility is less than 500 meters, the entire world looks as though it's viewed through dirty amber.

Inside the middle bulletproof vehicle, Song Heping presses the talk key: "All vehicles, maintain distance, turn on fog lights."

His voice is as steady as usual, his fingers sliding on the tactical tablet, eyes fixed on the screen.

On the screen, 34 green dots representing the convoy are passing through the industrial ruins of Mosul's East Suburb, like a group of cautious beetles.

"300 meters ahead, on the right side, third-floor window has a reflection." The voice of the head vehicle's scout comes through the headset: "Duty weapon marked."

Song Heping enlarges the image.

Thermal imaging shows two human silhouettes, holding long weapons.

He switches to optical lens.

Behind a broken window, two Illigo soldiers are smoking, one of them with the AK-47 barrel flashing occasionally in the sunlight piercing through the dust.

"Friendly." Song Heping sees the flag emblem of Iligo Country on their arm: "Continue moving forward."

But his hand doesn't leave the Glock 19 at his waist.

In Mosul, sometimes the line between friend and foe is just a single thought.

Three months ago, in this area, a former "Levant Country" militia platoon defected suddenly after being absorbed, causing a tragedy with 2 US Special Forces dead and five wounded.

"Musician Battalion, this is 'Sentry One,' confirmed your position."

A new voice joins the channel, carrying the nasal tone unique to American English.

"Proceed 800 meters on the current route, you'll see a five-story concrete building with an M2 heavy machine gun position on the roof. That's the Joint Operations Center."

"Received, Sentry One." Song Heping responds: "ETA in five minutes."

He turns off the microphone and looks at Milosh in the passenger seat: "We're almost there, make sure the brothers are ready."

Milosh grins, showing teeth stained yellow by nicotine.

"The Americans won't greet us at the door with coffee and donuts, right?"

"They'll use the safety switches of their rifles to greet us," Song Heping says: "Tell all vehicles, after entering the alert zone, no one gets out unless I order. All weapons stay safe, but fingers don't leave the guard ring."

The order is transmitted through vehicle communication systems.

The atmosphere of the entire convoy changes.

Engine revolutions lower, distances between vehicles widen.

Machine gunners adjust their postures, shifting from relaxed seating to tense combat stance.

These subtle adjustments are instincts accumulated from years of actual combat, better reflecting the professionalism of a unit than any slogan.

The head vehicle turns the last corner, the target building appears in the dust.

The building used to be the office of some textile factory, built during the peak of Sadam era.

Five-story concrete structure, square like a tombstone, each floor with twelve windows, now less than half have glass remaining.

The outer walls are covered with bullet holes, judging by caliber, gone through the baptism of weapons ranging from AK-47 to 12.7mm heavy machine guns.

The third floor has obvious marks of rocket impact, rebars exposed like twisted ribs.

But the Americans have turned this place into a temporary operations command center.

Not only are there two M2s on the rooftop, Song Heping also sees at least three sniper positions—bunkers built with sandbags and armored steel plates, openings facing different directions.

In one of the bunkers, a spotter in ghillie suit is watching the convoy with a high-power telescope.

Eyes sweeping over the sniper for an instant, Song Heping accurately gauges the position and weapon model, that's the M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle, its power is enormous, effective range 1200 meters.

"Rooftop, eleven o'clock direction, sniper team." He warns on the internal channel.

"Seen it." Milosh squints his eyes: "The second and third-floor windows have activity, at least six shooting points. They've also arranged concealed firing positions in the ruins on both sides—see those piles of concrete rubble? Too neat, artificially stacked."

Song Heping nods.

This is the style of Delta Special Forces.

Seemingly casual, but actually every angle is calculated.

The bunkers made of concrete rubble can accommodate a three-man fire team, able to blockade the main road leading to the building and provide crossfire support when under attack.

Though having fought before and defeated them, Song Heping admits the combat power of these bastards is absolutely top-notch.

The convoy halts 50 meters from the building.

A US Army soldier in Multicam camouflage comes out from the building's entrance.

Captain rank, but the emblem is not of regular troops.

Black delta wings, with a dagger in the middle.

Sure enough, it's Delta Force.

He's not wearing a helmet, only a tactical baseball cap, which in this region is an absolute display of confidence.

Right hand naturally hangs by the leg side, but Song Heping notices his left shoulder slightly leaning forward, ready to quickly draw the handgun from the thigh holster if necessary.

"Mr. Song?" Captain Walker's voice cuts through the dust: "I'm Captain Walker, General Duke's aide. Welcome to the Joint Operations Center."

Song Heping pushes open the vehicle door, both feet land simultaneously, body maintaining a half-crouched stance.

This is a subtle but important detail.