Chapter 42: Reinforcements

It seemed that Song Heping was not destined to die just yet. Just as he was desperately trying to figure out a way to escape, reinforcements arrived.

Thump-thump-thump—
Thump-thump-thump—

A fierce, heavy, and rhythmic sound of a heavy machine gun erupted.

Song Heping was startled at first, but upon listening closely, he realized it was not the Soviet-made weapons the enemy had been using, but the distinct sound of an M2HB heavy machine gun.

Cautiously peering from beneath the car tires toward the enemy's position, he saw that they had fallen into complete chaos. A Humvee had appeared behind the enemy’s line of attack, throwing their formation into utter disarray.

"Samir!" Song Heping vaguely recognized the man.

Samir’s thick beard and his bald head shone like a giant lightbulb under the moonlight. His appearance caught the militants completely off guard; being flanked in such a manner resulted in a wanton slaughter. Samir, manning the machine gun atop the vehicle, began by unleashing a barrage on two armed pickup trucks, literally shredding the men aboard them into pieces.

The enemy had been entirely focused on Song Heping and his team in front, never expecting an attack from the rear, thus exposing their backs to Samir. This thrilled Samir; it was like a hunter suddenly stumbling into a rabbit warren, and the militants were thrown into a frenzy.

Once morale broke, the ranks disintegrated. Everyone abandoned their attempt to attack the "Musician" mercenary group and scrambled to run. Some, in their panic, leaped blindly into the swamp by the roadside, where they became stuck in the mire, left only to howl for help. The battle, which had previously been one-sided, instantly reversed into a lopsided massacre.

Song Heping had thought the ISF forces were long gone. He hadn't expected them to reappear suddenly. This was a godsend!

Taking advantage of the enemy's chaos, Song Heping immediately began to return fire. The MK18 assault rifle in his hands felt remarkably smooth; with its lower recoil compared to the AKM, it was a weapon that hit exactly where it was aimed.

Within five minutes, the entire road had fallen silent. Song Heping and his men stood up, weapons raised, and began to slowly advance along the road toward Samir. The road was littered with the corpses of militants. Song Heping put a finishing shot into any that were still breathing.

"Don't... don't kill... don't kill me..."

A middle-aged man lay on the ground, his weapon thrown aside. A 12.7mm bullet had struck his lower left abdomen, tearing a massive hole that had gutted his insides, with blood pooling on the ground. Whether from pain or terror, he kept shaking his head and waving his hands, begging Song Heping to spare him.

Grey Wolf walked over, glanced at the half-dead man, and said in a low voice, "Want to cure your PTSD? Look at him, stare him down, and then finish him."

With that, he shifted his muzzle and fired a finishing shot at another enemy who was still wailing a few meters away. The bullet cleanly pierced the man’s forehead, shattering his brain nerves; the poor wretch died instantly, without even a struggle. Grey Wolf said nothing and continued forward to clear the battlefield.

Song Heping looked at the man before him. He saw the terror in his eyes. As a human, Song Heping felt a sense of pity. But as an operative on the opposing side, he knew he had to finish the job. His training had taught him this. He kept the principles of combat etched in his mind: never go soft on the battlefield, show no mercy, and ensure those who need to be sent away are sent away. You never know if the enemy will use their final breath to pull a pistol and take you with them...

*Puff-puff—*

The sound of the suppressed MK18 was pleasant, almost melodic, yet it was the scythe of the Grim Reaper.

"Lost! Pack up and move! Don't linger here!"

It was Chef’s voice that broke Song Heping's trance.

When they returned to the car, Song Heping suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of relief. The Lincoln was in tatters. After being raked by the heavy machine gun, it was riddled with bullet holes. The B7-rated armored vehicle was now no different from an ordinary car, and Song Heping doubted it would even start.

As it turned out, it did. It seemed the quality was solid; there was a reason for the high price tag.

Chef signaled on the radio for everyone to withdraw quickly, leaving via the western road. But they were soon stopped by Samir.

"The western exit isn't safe. It's guarded by many former government soldiers loyal to Saddam. Don't go that way."

"What about the east?"

"The eastern exit is no good either. Faisal and his men tried to get out that way earlier and were ambushed."

Faisal was the commander of the ISF escort platoon. Hearing his name, Song Heping couldn't help but ask, "What about Faisal? Why isn't he with you?"

Samir hesitated for a moment before revealing the truth.

"They wanted to run. After being ambushed in the east, they turned west. I heard on the radio that they were ambushed in the west too. I can't reach them anymore; it's likely they’re doomed... We rushed over to link up with you after we were ambushed, so we didn't stay with them."

"Why didn't I hear them getting attacked on the channel?" Chef was very confused.

Samir’s tone dropped even lower. "We had a backup channel... a different frequency from yours..."

Song Heping was stunned. Chef began to curse under his breath.

By intentionally keeping a backup channel, it was clear that Faisal had been harboring his own secret agenda from the start. They had likely been planning all along to run if things went south, never intending to fight to the death with them.

However, this move was both surprising and yet entirely expected. All the troops belonging to the Iraqi Interim Government were propped up and organized by the U.S. military. Their ranks were complex and filled with people harboring ulterior motives; they were no different from the puppet armies of the past. While their equipment was decent, their fighting spirit was absolutely non-existent—often even worse than local militias like the PMU. For an army, weapons can be bought or begged for, but combat spirit and cohesion cannot be bolstered by gear alone.

"Can't go east, can't go west," Chef said, agitated. "If we stay in the town, they'll find us soon. Are we just going to be trapped here to die?"

Song Heping said, "Chef, don't rush. I believe the U.S. military reinforcements will arrive soon. Let's find a place to hide. I estimate that in an hour or two, the Victory Camp stationed near Haditha will arrive. Mr. J’s men will have to retreat, or they’ll die too."

Chef considered this and realized he was right. He had already reported the situation to Blackwater headquarters. Besides sending other mercenary groups to rescue them, headquarters would likely coordinate with the Coalition Command to demand military assistance. Even if Blackwater didn't contact the Coalition, those sniping at them in the shadows would surely contact the U.S. military for help, or they would be in trouble themselves.

"Lost, your brain is the sharpest. We'll find a place nearby to hide and wait for rescue."

"I know a good spot that can serve as a temporary hideout."

At the critical moment, Samir once again proved the advantage of being a local. "There’s an abandoned oil refinery about seven kilometers from here. We can go there. The site is deserted, and the structures are thick; even if we’re discovered, we can hold them off for a while."

"Good! Let's go there!" Chef made the call.

The group immediately changed course and headed toward the oil refinery at full speed.