Chapter 1907 - 1411: Empire Bureaucrats

As the arms inspection at Taji Camp concluded, the setting sun dyed the Iraq Desert a blood-red hue.

Song Heping stood atop the watchtower in the warehouse area, gazing at the sprawling military base that stretched for several square kilometers.

Hundreds of containers were neatly arranged, with the hangar doors partially open in the distance, revealing the outlines of armored vehicles.

The wind swept across the desert, lifting sand and dust, which struck the corrugated steel panels with a light, fragmented sound.

"Old squad leader, the checklist is done."

Jiang Feng climbed up, holding a tablet, his expression a mix of exhaustion and awe.

"Just the small arms alone triple the total we've handled over the past five years."

Song Heping took the tablet, swiping his fingers across the screen.

The data shimmered with a cold light in the dim twilight.

He once considered himself a big shot.

He had trafficked AK-47s in Africa, dealt in Soviet memorabilia in Eastern Europe, and built his arms sales network in the Middle East.

Deals worth tens of millions of US Dollars were closed with a casual conversation, and leaders of armed factions from various countries politely addressed him as "Mr. Song."

But today, standing before this sea of arms left behind by the US Army, he realized for the first time just how narrow his vision was.

"Do you know what it reminds me of?"

Song Heping suddenly said.

Jiang Feng shook his head.

"When I was a kid at home, my first trip to the big city with my father. Standing beneath the skyscrapers, looking up, made my neck ache."

Song Heping flicked the ash from his cigarette.

"That's when I realized the world was so big, and the town I lived in didn't even count as a dot on the map."

"Is that how it feels now?"

"More intense." Song Heping popped a piece of gum into his mouth, remarking: "National-level arms deals... what we played with before was like child's play."

The distant roar of engines broke the silence.

The convoy they brought was loading the first batch of goods.

Even at full capacity, fifty vehicles could only transport twenty percent of Taji Camp's stockpile at a time.

"Let's go." Song Heping turned and descended the stairs: "We've still got four more bases to hit tomorrow. Tell the brothers to rest well tonight because no one's getting a good night's sleep for the next three weeks."

As the jeep departed Taji Camp, Song Heping glanced back.

The floodlights had already lit up, illuminating the entire base as if it were daylight.

Barbed wire, watchtowers, concrete bunkers.

This vast and intricate war machine was being slowly dismantled, and he was to become just a part of the logistics.

An absurd thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

Many of these weapons may never have been fired.

They were manufactured in US factories, shipped across the sea to Iraq, stored in climate-controlled warehouses, eventually marked as "surplus" in some inventory check, and finally landed on his procurement list.

Taxpayers' money transformed into profits for arms dealers, with each intermediary taking a cut.

Song Heping leaned back in the rear seat, closing his eyes.

His phone buzzed; it was a transfer notification from his Swiss Bank account.

It was the "coordination fee" for the Taji Camp's commanding officer, two hundred thousand US Dollars.

Handling these "excess goods" was like passing a juicy steak; everyone involved got their share of the grease.

He pressed delete, as if it was merely a junk message.

By four the next afternoon, the convoy reached another military base, eighty kilometers north of Baghdad.

Unlike the desolation of Taji Camp, this location retained some degree of operation.

At the checkpoint, the sentry meticulously verified everyone's documents, drones hovered at low altitudes, and cameras swiveled with the movement of vehicles.

Lieutenant Colonel Swift, responsible for the handover, was already waiting at the main entrance.

He was a typical American officer, around forty, with standard military-style cropped blond hair, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and his slightly paunchy waistline revealed the toll of overseas service.

"Mr. Song, you're punctual."

Swift extended his hand.

The handshake was firm but brief.

"Allow me to introduce today's team."

He stepped aside, showcasing the lineup behind him.

A Major, two civilian officials, and three men in "KBR" contractor uniforms.

This lineup was more official and more complex than Taji Camp's.

"Major Walker, head of base security."

Swift pointed to the Major.

Walker was about fifty, hair graying, with eyes as sharp as an eagle's.

He didn't shake hands; he just nodded, his fingers lightly tapping the M9 holster at his waist.

"These are civilian specialists from the Ministry of Defense Logistics Command, handling the administrative process of this transfer."

The two civilians stepped forward, one bald wearing glasses, the other younger holding a folder.

Both were in khaki pants and polo shirts, starkly contrasting with the surrounding military camouflage.

"These are representatives from the contractors managing the base's daily operations."

Swift finally pointed to the three men.

"They handle the base's daily maintenance and storage management. Per the contract, they must validate and sign off on equipment condition assessments during the transfer process."

Song Heping nodded in greeting, quickly analyzing the power structure in his mind.

Major Walker wielded actual military power, the civilian specialists controlled the administrative process, the contractors were responsible for technical details, and Lieutenant Colonel Swift was the apparent coordinator, actually a potential intermediary for various interests.

"What's the procedure?" Song Heping asked.

Swift checked his watch: "It's already late today. We can start by looking at the main warehouse area. Tomorrow morning at eight, we'll begin the official inventory, which is expected to take three to four days. According to standard procedure, we need to perform a hundred percent verification of the stock, input all data into the system, and generate seven separate reports to be sent to—"