Chapter 1903 - 1409: Hot Potato (Part 3)

He asked again, "Convoy formation plan?"

"Lead group: Two armored Hummers equipped with heavy machine guns and anti-tank missiles; Main convoy: Divided into five teams, each with ten vehicles, keeping a distance of five hundred meters between teams; Command group: Located in the middle of the third team; Medical and maintenance group: Located in the fourth team; Rear guard: Two armored vehicles, also equipped with heavy firepower."

Milosh answered smoothly.

"Maintain air surveillance throughout the journey. We've borrowed two helicopters from Samir, which can alternately provide aerial reconnaissance and guard duty."

"Communication discipline must be strictly enforced," Jiang Feng added. "All units use encrypted channels and report their status every fifteen minutes. Any abnormal situation must be reported immediately. Silence will be considered a signal of a problem."

Outside the window, the light has completely brightened, the morning mist is dissipating, revealing a clear blue sky.

Such sunny weather is favorable for air surveillance, but it also means they will be in the open, easily observed and tracked.

Song Heping took one last look at the clock on the wall: 6:20 AM.

"Let everyone eat and check personal equipment," he ordered. "I want to see all vehicles in position at the parking lot by 6:50. The convoy departs promptly at 7:00."

After the personnel dispersed, Song Heping remained alone in front of the map.

His finger gently brushed over Baghdad on the map, then moved towards the other five bases.

These US Army facilities scattered across Illiguo, like six chests full of weapons, await him to unlock.

Each presents different challenges.

Taji Base is near the Sunni Sect militant activity zone; Fallujah's surroundings are a hotbed for various militia groups; Basra Port involves complex shipping and customs procedures...

"Mr. Song." A gentle voice interrupted his musings.

He turned around and saw Abbas.

This was an old teacher from Illiguo, now serving as their local culture consultant and translator.

Enlisting local people is always inevitable here, even though Song Heping himself has no language barriers, many times his mercenary camp needs translators.

Abbas stood at the doorway in a neat yet old robe, holding a Quran.

"May Allah bless your journey with peace," the elderly man said, with a deep concern in his eyes. "I heard the soldiers talking, I know what you are going to do. This city has already borne too much weight of weapons."

Song Heping nodded respectfully. "We are precisely ensuring that these weapons do not add to the city's burdens, Mr. Abbas."

"Weapons themselves have no good or evil, just as rain has no direction," the old man said slowly. "Falling on fertile soil, it nourishes life; falling in the desert, it will only vanish instantly, leaving no trace. The key lies in those who wield the weapons, where they guide them."

"Thank you for your warning, Mr. Abbas," Song Heping said sincerely. "I am not a Demon, my name translated into Chinese means 'Peace'."

The old man nodded, leaving a small amulet.

A silver pendant of Fatima's Hand: "It's my daughter's, she... in last year's explosion. Please take it, may it guide you safely."

Song Heping took the amulet, feeling the metal slightly warm in his palm.

He checked it, finding no abnormalities.

It really is just an amulet.

In this land woven with beliefs, such symbols often carry meanings beyond material.

He intended to say thank you, but upon looking up, he found the old man had already left.

6:50 AM, parking lot.

Fifty vehicles of various models arranged in an orderly formation.

Armored Hummers, modified trucks, armed pickups, command vehicles, ambulances, tanker trucks, maintenance vehicles...

The engines were already running, the low rumble gathering into a continuous background noise.

More than two hundred soldiers and staff were already in place.

Song Heping boarded the command vehicle, the interior space cramped yet orderly, displaying the real-time status of various units, the drone footage from both ends of the convoy on three rows of screens.

Jiang Feng sat in the position of the communication officer, already with his headset on.

Milosh, as the lead commander of the entire convoy, was in the armored Hummer at the forefront.

"All units, conduct the final checks."

Song Heping spoke into the microphone.

Responses steadily came through the headset, each team commander reporting readiness status in sequence.

No omissions, no abnormalities.

Song Heping glanced at the time: 6:58 AM.

"Command vehicle calling all units."

Song Heping took a deep breath. "Start the engines, depart according to the planned sequence."

The command was transmitted to each vehicle through encrypted channels.

The lead vehicles began to move slowly, exiting the factory gate and turning onto the southbound highway.

Then the second vehicle, the third...

The entire convoy, like a giant metal Centipede, began to wind forward in the morning light.

Song Heping leaned back in his seat, feeling the slight vibration as the vehicle moved.

His hand subconsciously touched the pocket inside his tactical vest, where the list lay, twenty-seven pages, 2.5 billion dollars in weaponry, six military bases scattered across a land where warfare still smolders.

The convoy accelerated, leaving the ruins of Mosul behind.