Chapter 1906 - 1410: War Legacy_3

He shrugged, "You know the actual situation."

Of course Song Heping knew.

Taji Camp is located approximately thirty kilometers north of Baghdad, on the edge of a Sunni Sect gathering area, with at least four different armed factions active around it.

This pile of weapons is like bloody bait thrown into a group of sharks; everyone has caught the scent.

"We have our own security plans," Song Heping said, "but we need the US Army to maintain basic vigilance at the base during the handover."

"This has been included in Appendix C of the agreement." Miller nodded, "We will maintain passive defense and surveillance capabilities at the base until the last batch of supplies is shipped out, but we will not intervene in any external conflicts. This is the red line, Mr. Song. The US Army will not shed another drop of blood for these equipment."

The words were spoken plainly, yet carried heavy weight.

Song Heping understood the subtext: these equipments are now yours, along with all the troubles and dangers they bring.

They continued to walk through the warehouse, passing rows of night vision goggles packaging boxes (each box was labeled "AN/PVS-14 - 20 UNITS"), towering stacks of Interceptor bulletproof vests, entire boxes of military radios and satellite phones.

In the deepest part of the warehouse, they arrived at Area E.

The scene here was different: not finished products but components in disassembled states. Tank gun barrels were individually packaged, armor plates were sorted and stored, engines were wrapped in waterproof fabrics, fire control system components were stored in specialized containers with temperature and humidity control.

"The most sensitive parts." Miller lightly tapped the side of a container, "These are the fire control computer and stabilizing system modules for the M1A2 tanks. Without them, the tanks are nothing but moving iron coffins. According to a direct order from Washington, these components are not on the transfer list and will be flown back to the United States within seventy-two hours."

Song Heping gazed at those containers.

They were not large, only two or three cubic meters each, but the technology inside represents the US Army's thirty-year advantage in armored operations.

Leave the chassis and armor behind, take away the brain and nerves.

This is precise control, a transfer with the final veto right reserved.

"Wise decision," he said flatly.

Miller glanced at him, seemingly trying to assess whether it was sincere agreement or veiled sarcasm, but Song Heping's face revealed no expression.

The entire inspection took nearly an hour.

When they finally walked back to the warehouse entrance, Song Heping felt his legs a bit sore, not just from physical fatigue but also the mental burden.

This space holds not only steel and gunpowder, but also countless lives, consequences of decisions, heritage of war.

Standing before the enormous warehouse door, looking back at the mountains of steel, Song Heping suddenly clearly realized what he had taken on.

This isn't a simple logistics task; it's a dangerous balancing act on a ruin, a reallocation of tools of violence.

Each of these weapons could in the future kill or protect someone; each bullet could end or prolong a life.

"The list and database access has been sent to your designated secure server." Miller's voice interrupted his contemplation, "Starting now, seventy-two hours countdown. Good luck, Mr. Song. You will truly need it."

Song Heping turned, shaking hands with the US Army captain.

Both of their palms were dry, their grips firm but brief.

"Thank you, Captain," he said, "We will complete the transfer on time."

Exiting the warehouse, the afternoon sunlight made him squint.

Outside world was still Iraq's typical ocher and gray-brown; the dry wind stirred up dust, and in the distance on the watchtower, the figure of a US Army sentry shimmered in the heat waves.

Jiang Feng and Milosh came up to him, their faces carried with the same question.

"How was it?" Jiang Feng finally asked.

Song Heping deeply inhaled the scorching air outside, turning to his companions.

"Inform all units," he wasted no time, "Start the planned operations immediately. We have seventy hours to start moving a mountain."

He looked at the distant horizon, where dust was rising, heralding the upcoming convoy carrying these weapons and all the challenges, dangers, and decisions that came with them.

The ammunition warehouse at the Taji Camp stood silently behind them like a gigantic treasure chest full of secrets and power, and now, the key had been handed to them.