Mercenaries, I Will Be King

That night, Song Heping did not sleep well.

Just as he entered the land of dreams, a pair of eyes appeared in his mind, as if staring at him in the darkness, eerie and familiar, making his skin crawl.

He woke up in shock.

He looked around—everything was pitch black.

Old Demon asked from the room inside, "Heping, what's wrong with you?"

Soaked in sweat, Song Heping touched his bedsheets, which were completely drenched.

Those eyes...

He remembered.

They seemed to be those of the woman he had killed today, or perhaps of the armed militant who was crushed under the door.

He couldn't tell, nor did he want to.

His heartbeat started to speed up again, sweat pouring down.

All of it was cold sweat.

"It's nothing, just had a nightmare."

Old Demon was silent for a moment in the room, lying on the bed and listening attentively.

In the tranquil darkness, Song Heping's heavy breathing could be heard.

Old Demon quickly rolled out of bed and ran to the outer room to turn on the light.

The scene before him gave him a start.

Song Heping was sitting on the edge of the bed, his body drenched in sweat that soaked through his clothes, his complexion somewhat pale, staring vacantly at the floor in front of him, silent as a clay statue.

"What's wrong with you?"

Old Demon couldn't help but ask again.

"Bleh—"

Suddenly, Song Heping opened his mouth and began to vomit violently.

Old Demon left early the next morning.

He took a US Army transport vehicle, part of a convoy heading back to the base in Kuwait to pick up supplies.

Commercial flights at Baghdad Airport had all stopped, with only military aircraft taking off and landing. To fly back home, one would have to first go to Kuwait or some other nearby country.

After Old Demon left, Song Heping felt somewhat empty inside.

Now, it was as if he was all alone.

He planned to go to the supermarket in the Green Zone to call his sister back home, tell her he would send money on time, and after taking care of personal business, go to District 11 to find Yevgeny.

The communication networks in Baghdad were all damaged due to the war, making it impossible to communicate. The network commonly used in the Green Zone was provided by MCI, a US microwave communications company, but this company's network currently had many problems, mostly being congested and slow as a turtle.

Where there's demand, there's supply. Just as there's a need for people to do various legitimate or dirty jobs, which brought many mercenaries here.

With the demand for network services, naturally, international network operators came in to take a piece of the market.

The most reliable means of communication was the Thuraya system, a satellite communication network consisting of 3 geosynchronous satellites designed for a 15-year lifespan, covering Europe, North Africa, Central Africa, South Asia, and other areas totaling 110 countries. A supermarket run by the US AAFES company in the Green Zone provided this satellite telephone service.

Best of all, they even offered wire transfer services with a reasonable fee.

No sooner had he got his luggage and stepped out the door, an Opel station wagon rushed to the front, raising a cloud of dust after a shrill screech of brakes.

The car window rolled down, and a guy who looked like a Mongolian waved at him, "Song! Get in!"

Song Heping looked at the person, feeling a bit familiar, yet couldn't immediately remember who it was.

"It's 'Chef' who sent me to pick you up!"

"Chef?"

"Yevgeny!"

Upon hearing this name, Song Heping finally understood.

It was the bald Yevgeny from last night, only he hadn't expected him to have such a nickname.

It seemed his plans were about to be disrupted.

District 11 was even further away from the Republic Palace, located at the furthest northeastern corner, near the blast walls.

It was filled with containers and tents.

Everyone living here was an employee of PMC or some US National Guard workers.

B-12 consisted of three containers joined together.

When he saw Yevgeny, the guy was eating breakfast next to a makeshift table in front of the container.

Seeing Song Heping, Chef called him over, "Come quick and have breakfast. After we're done, we'll head to the company's mission center. We've got work today."

As Song Heping took a seat, Yevgeny cut two pieces of bread for him and then pointed to a pot on the table, "I made this, try it out, authentic Russian cuisine."

Song Heping glanced at the pot. The soup was a bright red, resembling overcooked tomatoes, and it seemed to have other ingredients, but it was hard to make out what they were.

He couldn't help but frown.

Chef, however, was very enthusiastic. Pushing the wooden spoon forward, he repeated his earlier invitation, "Try it!"

Although Song Heping had little interest in the pig food-like concoction, he reluctantly took the spoon, thinking it couldn't be worse than eating live bugs during his previous survival training in the wild.

He took a little sip with caution, and Song Heping's eyes lit up.

"Tastes good! What's this soup called?"

The question came from the heart, not an attempt at flattery.

The soup wasn't as bad as imagined; its sour and sweet flavor was pleasantly refreshing and appetizing.

"Red vegetable soup." The chef, pleased with the compliment, flashed a bright white smile and said, "Let's talk about you joining the team while we're having breakfast."

As he spoke, he checked his watch like a busy man with a day full of tasks.

"Let's first introduce ourselves."

The chef pointed to the few people sitting around the table.

"Everyone, introduce yourselves. From now on we'll be comrades-in-arms, watching each other's backs."

The Mongolian-looking guy who had brought Song Heping over smiled and introduced himself first: "My name is Uzair Sultan, but you can call me 'Grey Wolf.'"

Having said that, he extended his hand to shake Song Heping's.

Song Heping also introduced himself: "My name is Song Heping, you can call me Song."

"Sang," Grey Wolf nodded.

Song Heping felt a bit distressed.

It seemed his surname was quite challenging for foreigners to pronounce correctly.

But it was a minor issue, not worth fussing over.

When it was Andre's turn, he first rubbed his chin.

After a whole night and three ice packs, his chin was still sore.

He was reluctant to accept his defeat from the previous night, but had to admit Song Heping was skilled, so he extended his hand and introduced himself: "My name is Andre, just call me 'White Bear.'"

When Song Heping reached out to shake his hand, Andre suddenly grasped it and pulled Song Heping toward himself.

"Kid, I was too careless last night, or else I wouldn't have lost. Let's have another go when we've got the time."

Song Heping asked, "Odds still 1:10?"

Andre was taken aback by Song Heping's response, then said after a moment, "Sure, 1:10."

Song Heping said, "I'm busy today, we'll talk about it when I have time."

"Deal!" Andre was delighted, thinking he'd get his revenge. Losing to Song Heping at Forbidden Land Bar the previous night was a blow to his pride: "It's a promise!"

The last to introduce herself was the only woman in the team—the blonde chick.

"My name is Yuliy, you can call me 'Queen.'"

"Queen?"

Song Heping thought the name was quite domineering, but then agian it seemed normal considering that any woman who could handle this job had to be tough.

Even if Yuliy was feisty, she at least looked very sexy.

It wasn't that Song Heping had any ideas about the blonde chick; it was just that any man would appreciate a pleasant sight. Yuliy was good-looking and had a fiery figure, working together in a war zone with her would at least offer a refreshing break from the rugged men's company, a red dot amid the sea of green -- a rather comfortable consideration.

Yevgeny said to Song Heping, "My name is Yevgeny, you can call me 'Boss,' some also like to call me 'Chef.'"

He gestured towards the others and continued, "As you can see, I'm indeed short-handed here. Including you, we've only got five people, barely a combat squad. There's plenty of work in Baghdad, I'll take care of getting the jobs, you don't have to worry about not making money, just worry about being alive to get it."

At this point, a touch of sadness flashed in the chef's eyes.

"A few days ago, I had seven men under me. An IED took out three of them. Our line of work is risky. You still have the choice. If you don't want to do this, you can turn around and walk away; I won't hold you back. But if you choose to stay and work with me, once you're in on a job, you've got to give it your all. If during a mission you get frightened, I'll deal with you following military rules and take you out myself. Understand?"

"Understood," Song Heping said. "Risking life for money, fair and square."

His composure once again surprised Yevgeny, who then smiled and said, "Sang, I like a straightforward guy like you."

Then he added, "Hurry up with breakfast. Once you're done, follow me to the black market. By the way, you've got money on you, right? If not, I can lend you some, and deduct it from your pay later."

Song Heping had heard of the black market in Baghdad but had never been there, since he was previously engaged in legitimate business, and goods in the black market were somewhat illegal.

Actually, whenever there's a war zone, a black market is inevitable.

Because wartime commodities are strictly controlled, and the currency of most war-torn countries collapses, normal transactions become impossible, making underground trading essential.

"I've got a little," Song Heping said. "Why? Do I need to pay a deposit to work with you guys?"

Yevgeny said, "It's not a deposit, it's about procuring some personal gear, like guns and bulletproof vests. You can't rely solely on that Beretta pistol to work with us, can you?"

Song Heping hadn't expected that he would need to buy guns himself.

He had assumed that such equipment would be provided. It turned out he had to cover the cost on his own!

He couldn't help asking, "I have to procure guns and such myself?"

Yevgeny explained, "You're new, so naturally you don't know the rules. Not just my small team—any mercenary here buys their own equipment. Even the big companies are no exception. The company only takes care of paying your salary; you're responsible for your own equipment. Otherwise, if you don't survive the probation period and your gear gets lost, I'm at a loss."

Song Heping was both amused and shocked, realizing that the deeper he got into this circle, the more he needed to observe and learn.

After breakfast, Yevgeny led the few of them to the parking lot to fetch the car.

Along the way, he began boasting about how formidable his team was and praising Andre and the others for their toughness.

Song Heping gained a basic understanding of this small mercenary team.

Everyone, including Yevgeny, hailed from Russia, and except for her, the rest were in their thirties—mostly former scouts from the 76th Guards Air Assault Division of the Soviet Union. Queen Julia was even more special; she had been a member of one of the first female special forces companies in the Soviet paratrooper troops and was in a relationship with Andre.

After the Soviet Union collapsed and the economy was wrecked by shock therapy, even the soldiers couldn't ensure their subsistence. So they left the army to follow the Chef and dabbled in arms and controlled goods trafficking before venturing into the mercenary business.

As for the Chef himself, surprisingly, he had no military experience, yet he was the boss of these men, which startled Song Heping.