Chapter 1944 - 1424: Suicide_3

Song Heping nodded, checked his Glock 19 pistol, confirmed the magazine was full, then reinserted it into the holster under his armpit.

"Weather conditions?"

"There might be a sandstorm at noon, visibility will decrease. It's both a challenge and an opportunity for us." Jiang Feng brought up the weather radar image: "The storm front is expected to reach the Amadiye area around 2 PM, which is just when we are passing through."

"Walker won't miss this chance," Song Heping said. "The sandstorm will interfere with drone surveillance, reduce visibility, and be a perfect cover for launching an attack."

"Unless the CIA has cleared the battlefield in advance," Jiang Feng lowered his voice. "Do you really believe Simon would do that?"

"He has to," Song Heping looked at the rapidly passing cityscape outside the car window. "As long as I'm alive, they benefit."

The convoy exited the Baghdad city area and entered the desert road leading to Mosul.

The road was in bad condition, full of craters and damaged surfaces left by the war.

The driver had to frequently slow down to navigate.

"Car No. 1 reports everything is normal ahead, passed the first checkpoint," came the report over the driver's radio.

Jiang Feng looked at his watch: "At this speed, we will reach the planned ambush zone by two-thirty."

"Tell the lead vehicle to stop at the last gas station before entering the mountain area, everyone check their gear," Song Heping commanded. "If 'Frost Raven' is lying in ambush there, they'll wait until we are fully into the kill zone before they act. Until then, we still have a chance to adjust."

"Do you think they'll choose Highway 7?"

"That's their best chance, and our greatest test," Song Heping closed his eyes and began simulating various possible scenarios in his mind. "If Simon truly cleared the threat, we'll pass through calmly. If not..."

At that point, he couldn't help but laugh.

"The support troops and us should be sufficient."

Three PM, Alpha Joint Military Base.

Colonel Walker sat in his office, the ashtray before him piled high with cigarette butts.

He's tried to contact the "Frost Raven" squad dozens of times without any response.

The last communication was at eleven fifteen in the morning, Scarface reported, "Arrived at the ambush area, deploying."

After that, the radio fell silent.

At first, Walker thought it was just a communication failure or radio silence.

But as time passed, an ominous feeling grew stronger.

Two PM, he received news.

Song Heping's convoy had left Baghdad for Mosul as planned in the morning.

Three PM, the news was confirmed.

The convoy safely passed through the Amadiye Mountain Area without encountering any attack.

At three-thirty, Walker saw that news on the CNN website — "Iraqi Army seized a large quantity of US-made weapons in the Amadiye Mountain Area...".

The report listed an inventory of seized items.

These weapons were originally "normal losses," recorded in the handover list.

Now, they all appeared in the Amadiye Mountain Area, seized by the Iraqi Army.

A perfect script, only the actors and director have changed.

Walker knew he was finished.

With trembling hands, he tried calling those familiar numbers once again.

The umbrella in the Pentagon, those big figures who promised "everything was under control."

Same as before.

The first number went directly to voicemail.

The second number, a polite assistant answered, "The General is in a meeting, may I ask who is calling?"

When he stated his name, there was silence for a few seconds, then the response: "The General is currently unavailable to take your call."

The third number had no answer at all.

Disconnected.

Like discarding a dirty shirt, he was completely cut off.

Walker slumped in his chair, looking at the view of Alpha Base outside the window.

In the distance, a C-130 transport plane was landing, soldiers were drilling on the training ground, everything was normal.

This world won't stop turning because of one person's destruction.

He opened the drawer and took out the M9 pistol that had accompanied him for years.

The gun was well maintained, shimmering with a cold blue light under the lamp.

He removed the magazine and checked the bullets.

Full magazine, fifteen 9mm Parabellum rounds.

He then began wiping the pistol. A slow and focused movement, as if completing some kind of ritual.

He wiped away nonexistent dust from the gun, checked the hammer and trigger, finally reinserting the magazine.

On the office desk, the computer screen auto-refreshed the news website.

A new headline popped up: "Pentagon initiates an internal investigation, to thoroughly examine the weapons loss incident."

The accompanying picture was of a General he knew, stern-faced stating at a press conference: "Any individual violating military regulations and laws will be severely punished, with no leniency."

Severance completed.

He was the abandoned pawn, the scapegoat.

Walker pressed the gun barrel against his uppers.

This angle ensures the bullet passes through the brain, resulting in instant death.

He had been an officer for many years, witnessed too many deaths, knew how to quickly end it all.

He closed his eyes, fragments of a lifetime flashed through his mind: West Point Military Academy graduation ceremony, first deployment to Iraq, promotion to Colonel's joy, secret meetings with the big wigs, the hesitation and eventual compromise when first accepting "special commissions"...

Greed and ambition dragged him step by step into the abyss.

Now, it's time to pay back.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he heard urgent footsteps and voices outside the office.

"Walker, are you in there? Open the door!"

It was Swift's voice.

From the sounds of footsteps, there were others, not just one.

Walker did not respond. He took a deep breath, his fingers gently pressed down on the trigger—

"Bang!"

The gunshot sounded particularly loud within the closed office.

Almost simultaneously, the office door was flung open forcefully.

Major Swift charged in with four fully armed MPs, holding an official order document: "Walker—"

His words abruptly stopped.

In the office, Walker sat in the high-backed chair, head tilted back. The pistol had fallen to the carpet, the barrel still emitting a wisp of smoke.

There was a neat entry bullet hole in the back of his head, blood and brain matter sprayed on the chair back and wall behind, forming an abstract and terrifying pattern.

Swift was stunned for a few seconds, then signaled the MPs to secure the scene.

He walked to the desk, saw the news on the computer screen, the cigarette butts in the ashtray, and the prepared suicide note.

Ink still wet.

The entire note contained only a brief line:

"I take full responsibility."

No apologies, no excuses, no accusations of others.

This was Walker's last pride, or perhaps his final irony.

Swift picked up the phone on the desk and dialed his superior's number.

"This is Alpha Base Security Chief Swift. Major Walker has... taken his own life. Yes, just a few seconds before we arrived. Should the scene be preserved? Understood. Yes, we'll deal with it."

After hanging up, he looked at Walker's corpse, then looked out the window again.

In the base, everything was as before. Soldiers continued training, planes kept landing and taking off, the war still went on.

One person's life or death, in the face of this massive war machine, was insignificant.

Swift took one last look at Walker's body, turned, and left the office.

The MPs began to cordon off the area, securing the scene, awaiting the arrival of the investigation team.

Outside in the hallway, sunlight streamed through the windows, casting bright spots on the floor.

In the distance, the sound of soldiers' drill chants could be heard, loud and full of energy.

Life and death, light and shadow, seemed to reach some temporary balance on this afternoon.

And Song Heping's convoy had now reached the outskirts of Mosul.

Dusk fell, the sandstorm had completely dissipated, the sky restored to a clear deep blue.

As if nothing had ever happened.