Chapter 20: How Thrilling!

There was no need to look for the ICDC soldiers.

They had returned.

As soon as the shelling ceased, they reappeared on the scene, driving their Humvees and clutching aging AK-47s, performing with a fervor that seemed more dedicated than anyone else’s. The Chef flew into a rage again, cursing them for being both cowards and unprofessional.

The ICDC commander, however, was righteous in his defense, arguing that when an air-raid siren sounded, one naturally had to find cover—what else could they do? Serve as human shields against bombs? His retort left the Chef speechless.

In truth, one could never expect much from a unit like the ICDC. Their full name was the Iraqi Civil Defense Corps, a ragtag army cobbled together from temporary recruits. This force consisted of a small number of defectors from the former government’s military, some reservists, and a majority of personnel drawn from tribal militias.

The situation in Iraq was as follows: Saddam had fallen, and in his wake, various armed factions, insurgent groups, tribal militias, and even common criminals had emerged onto the stage of history. As the locals put it, one Saddam had fallen, only for hundreds more to sprout up in his place.

Every local faction was a new political force, and each one wanted a seat at the table in the newly formed Governing Council. Having a seat meant a share of the reconstruction funds, but to secure a seat, one needed the leverage of armed force. Consequently, everyone scrambled to establish their own militias.

To balance and co-opt these various armed factions, the Americans doled out pieces of the pie to satisfy their appetites. The easiest way to distribute this cake was to offer them administrative posts in the Governing Council and positions in the newly formed Civil Defense Corps.

The current Iraqi local forces were riddled with factionalism. To grow their own strength and secure a larger slice of the American-allocated funds, faction leaders vied to cram their own people into units like the ICDC. After all, the Americans provided the guns and paid the military budget; it would be a fool’s game not to take it. Why not take it? What was there to lose?

Wasn't it sweet to plunder the wealthy? Weren't those crisp, colorful dollars beautiful? Democracy and freedom? Bullshit! They were nothing but a facade. Dollars! Only the dollars were real. Consequently, it was no surprise that a unit like the ICDC lacked any real combat effectiveness and would scatter like birds at the first sign of trouble.

Actually, what Song Heping envied most about the ICDC were their Humvees. Looking at his own Opel and the Patrol SUV, then at the Humvees they drove—even if they were second-hand—he couldn't help but feel that a low-level mercenary like himself was inferior even to these puppet soldiers.

The escort convoy consisted of four vehicles: two ICDC Humvees, one Opel, and one Patrol SUV. Song Heping had expected the Chef to arrange for the Humvees to take the lead and the rear, with the two civilian vehicles sandwiched in between. To his utter shock, the Chef ordered the two ICDC Humvees to take the lead.

"You two Humvees go first! We'll follow behind."

"Understood."

The ICDC captain didn't seem to find anything wrong with this; without a word of protest, he got into his vehicle and drove off. Watching the two Humvees pull away, Song Heping felt puzzled by the arrangement. According to standard highway escort protocols, the lead and rear positions should be held by the vehicles with the best protection. After all, the two civilian vehicles used by the "Musician" mercenary group had no bulletproof capabilities; if they were attacked from the rear, the casualties would be catastrophic.

Watching the two armored Humvees disappear into the distance while the Opel station wagon had yet to receive the order to move, he couldn't help but ask Gray Wolf, "What kind of arrangement is this? Putting all the Humvees in front?"

Gray Wolf sneered, "Heh, that's to let the ICDC serve as cannon fodder."

Song Heping froze, suddenly realizing the truth. He nearly broke into the lyrics of Jacky Cheung's "You Are So Poisonous" right then and there. Civilian vehicles weren't bulletproof, certainly, but they weren't as eye-catching as armored Humvees. In a place like Baghdad, driving an American military vehicle was the equivalent of wearing a sign that read: "I am the U.S. Military!" This made them the primary target for resistance groups or Saddam loyalists looking for an attack.

Civilian vehicles were different. There were plenty of civilian cars on the streets of Baghdad; as long as the windows were rolled up and the occupants didn't stop or open them, the risk was significantly lower. By placing the two civilian vehicles in the middle of the convoy, they were essentially putting themselves in a safer position. The Chef’s arrangement was designed to make the ICDC clear the path—to play the role of cannon fodder.

Song Heping had previously been baffled as to how someone like the Chef, who had never even served in the military, could keep several unruly guardsmen so submissive. Now, he vaguely understood: to be a leader, the most important thing wasn't superb combat skills, but a sharp and cunning mind.

The Chef was absolutely black-hearted. That ICDC captain had insulted them as "Muscovites" earlier, and the Chef was clearly holding a grudge. He had seized the first opportunity to take revenge, without waiting even a day.

The convoy soon exited the airport and headed toward the city center in the northwest.

"BW0, BW0—this is BW55 calling, this is BW55 calling."

Song Heping heard the Chef’s call over the radio. It wasn't calling him or Gray Wolf, but the Blackwater International dispatch center. In Iraq, Blackwater International’s call sign was BW0. "BW" was the prefix and "0" was the index. There were at least sixty private mercenary detachments employed by Blackwater International, and these small contractors used indices from 1 to 6X to identify and communicate with one another. The small squad led by the Chef and Song Heping was coded BW55.

Every large PMC company had a complete command system here. As major international contractors, these wealthy players had sufficient funds to establish communication and command networks that rivaled those of a military.

"BW0 received, go ahead."

"BW55 reporting, mission number P23. VIP secured, currently returning to the Green Zone. Route has been sent. Please stand by. Over."

"BW55, this is BW0. Situation received. Maintain contact. Good luck! Over!"

After reporting the situation to Blackwater’s dispatch, the Chef began contacting the Opel station wagon driving ahead of the Patrol SUV.

"Gray Wolf, Gray Wolf, this is Chef. Mind the distance between us and the ICDC. Just keep their tail in sight."

"Gray Wolf understands. Maintaining a reasonable distance."

He then turned to Song Heping and asked, "Have you ever performed a PSD mission before?"

Song Heping shook his head. "This is my first time as a mercenary."

Gray Wolf said, "Then learn. You are now responsible for observing the road conditions and reporting to the Chef at any time. We can't rely on those idiots in the ICDC."

"Report?" Song Heping asked hurriedly, "How do I report?"

Gray Wolf said, "Look at the sides of the road, the terrain, and the facilities. Tell the Chef in the back whatever you think is necessary to report so he can be prepared. The VIP is in his car, so he is the priority."

Song Heping picked up the walkie-talkie and looked outside, feeling at a loss for where to begin.

"Have you studied reconnaissance?" Gray Wolf asked.

"Yes," Song Heping replied.

"Then it's easy," Gray Wolf said. "Just put yourself in the role of a point man, and you'll understand."

Song Heping caught on immediately. He picked up the radio and began to settle into his role.

"Abandoned vehicle, front left..."

"Trash pile one hundred meters ahead on the right, potential sniper hideout..."

"Broken overpass two hundred meters ahead, on the bridge..."

As Song Heping spoke, he squinted at the overpass. The Opel was heading west, and the sun was somewhat blinding. Before he could see clearly, a truck suddenly sped past them, zooming ahead at high speed.

"Are these people in a rush to reincarnate..."

In a place like this, driving that fast—if they weren't in a hurry to die, what were they doing? Song Heping couldn't help but mutter.

Before he finished speaking, the speeding truck passed them and continued to charge forward with the pedal to the metal, showing no signs of slowing down. A bad feeling welled up in Song Heping's heart. Seeing the truck continue to accelerate, closing in on the rear of the ICDC’s second Humvee, he pressed the radio button.

"Vehicle Two, pay attention! Vehicle Two, pay attention! A truck is approaching at high speed on the right—it looks like it's coming for you!"

Vehicle Two was the second ICDC Humvee in the convoy.

"What truck?" The ICDC soldier in Vehicle Two seemed confused.

In the few seconds of hesitation, the truck reached the rear of the Humvee. The driver shifted into the highest gear and slammed his foot on the accelerator...

"Vehicle Two, look out! Attack warning!"

Before he could finish, the speeding truck slammed into the rear of the Humvee.

*Bang!*

The cunning truck struck the left side of the Humvee's rear with its front right corner—a strike executed with practiced, devious precision. Although the Humvee was sturdy enough, it was caught off guard and thrown off balance. After swaying left and right, it flipped over onto the side of the road, wheels facing the sky.

Almost at the same moment, Song Heping saw figures appear on the overpass ahead. One of them seemed to have a weapon hoisted onto his shoulder.

*Whoosh—*

A burst of fire erupted. A rocket-propelled grenade, trailing a meter-long tail of fire, soared toward the lead Humvee with its signature, mesmerizing trajectory.

"RPG! RPG!" Song Heping roared into the radio.

But it seemed everything was already too late...