The Mosul operation achieved unprecedented success.
Having fought here for the better part of a year, this operation achieved a breakthrough unlike any before.
That evening, Warrior Camp held a celebration party.
Major Lonnie was finished, but Brigadier General Yue Ke transferred another major from another unit, even younger than Lonnie, named Stephen.
Major Lonnie's body had been brought to the camp and then transported away by helicopter along with other fallen soldiers. Soon, they would be laid in simple coffins, draped with the national flag, and flown back to the United States in C-130 or C-17 transport planes to be buried in their war hero cemeteries.
After taking over command of Warrior Camp, Stephen organized a celebration banquet and gave an impassioned speech in front of everyone.
Song Heping had to admit that being an officer in the US Army required a certain eloquence, after all, they did not have political commissars. The task of stirring morale fell upon the military commanders and as for the priests attached to the units, they were there for the soldiers to confess to.
After all, most American soldiers were Protestants who needed to confess after taking lives and receive some kind of spiritual cleansing from a priest.
After finishing his speech, Stephen called Song Heping into his command tent and placed a document on the table.
"This is an evaluation report on your performance these past few days. Take it with you, and after you return to the Green Zone, you can submit it to the operations department at Headquarters. After that, someone will settle the payment with you."
Song Heping's gaze swept across everything in the tent.
It had changed.
All the furnishings had changed.
Many things had been replaced.
The bed, the table, and the placement of items had all been changed.
It was different from when Major Lonnie had been in charge.
New person, new style.
Song Heping picked up the report and glanced over it.
It was a very official document, devoid of any detailed records, just a brief one-page summary with generic phrases like "Musician" defense contractors assisted the coalition forces during the Mosul operation, fulfilling their duties with utmost dedication and successfully completing the mission.
As for the details, none were mentioned.
Song Heping felt somewhat uncomfortable inside.
But he soon came to terms with it.
If the team's role or their achievements were described as too important, then in the future when Stephen would write a summary of the Warrior Camp's operations, his narrative might be constrained.
As for the credit,
Could others claim it for themselves?
"Thank you, Major,"
Song Heping also responded politely.
"I've made arrangements already," Stephen added, "Tomorrow a helicopter will take you back to Baghdad. Eight o'clock in the morning. Prepare yourselves tonight, pack up your things."
"No need, we have our own vehicle," said Song Heping. "But there is a favor I'd like to ask the Major for."
Song Heping understood that Major Stephen was feigning ignorance, giving the subtlety of an eviction notice.
The operation was over.
There was naturally no need for mercenaries to stay any longer.
He surely knew "Musician" defense had their own off-road vehicle, mentioning the use of a helicopter was just a courteous offer.
Song Heping was not foolish; he knew what to do.
Stephen probably did not expect Song Heping to have a request and so he asked cautiously, "What favor? If it's within my authority, no problem."
He emphasized "within my authority" as if to say, I need to see what favor you're asking for.
If it's too troublesome, you might as well not bring it up.
Song Heping said, "Actually, it's a simple favor. It's an SVD sniper rifle I captured during the operation, a spoils of war. I hope the Major can provide a certificate for me, so I can handle the necessary gun ownership procedures back in the Green Zone."
Stephen was slightly taken aback, uttering an instinctive "Oh."
In Illiguo, ordinary people cannot carry guns casually, although various weapons can be bought on the black market here. Nonetheless, the temporary government and military are quite strict about weapon control.
All firearms must be registered with the temporary government and have the appropriate gun ownership procedures, even guns in civilian homes must comply. Many people possess guns, but not legally; you can keep one hidden at home, but if it's found upon inspection it can be confiscated, and the person may even be detained.
For a small PMC company like Song Heping's, which needs to carry guns legally for long-term operations, it's best to get proper authorization to avoid all kinds of trouble.
"Sure, I'll write you a certificate. Come get it from me tomorrow morning before you leave,"
"Thank you, Major," Song Heping thanked him with a smile.
The two shook hands in a very official manner, then, discerningly, Song Heping took his leave.
After enjoying the victory celebration, early the next morning, Song Heping and his company's personnel promptly loaded their luggage into the vehicle. As the rising sun painted the edge of the sky, they had everything ready to go.
Warrior Camp was also bustling at this time.
For they too had received orders; today they would strike camp and move to Sector 5 in Mosul, where they would be stationed and responsible for routine patrols.
"Ah, we're leaving, and these guys won't even come out to send us off, not even a ceremony."
The cook stretched and complained about the indifference of human relationships.
Song Heping said, "Do you want me to custom-make a one-ton medal to hang around your neck? We're mercenaries, let's not bother with those useless things."
He took out the document from his pocket, held it in his hand, and waved it around.
"This is what's most important, one million dollars."
"Boss, should we have some time off when we get back? Our last break was interrupted before it was over,"
White Bear obviously had lingering thoughts about their last trip to the Maldives.
Song Heping said, "Taking a break is no problem, but after we get back we'll need to look at the schedule. From now on, we should take holidays in shifts. If everyone is gone at once, who will watch over the oil fields? That's our main source of income."
White Bear sighed, "Boss, we need to recruit more people, otherwise a few of us will be worked to death sooner or later."
He made a good point. After all, "Musician" defense, including Ferrari, only had 8 official employees. The rest were temporary contract workers. Even Samir was part of the temp staff, simply valued for his participation in some key operations.
The real combatants were still these eight people; for the execution of some important actions, Song Heping remained uneasy.
"Didn't Ferrari recruit some people last time? How come so much time has passed and he's hardly recruited anyone?" the cook complained: "Isn't that guy just picking up chicks in the Green Zone all day? Did he forget all about the real business?"
A few people finished packing up, closed the car doors, and prepared to leave, just then, Mist came over.
"Song!"
He called out Song Heping's name from a distance.
The group turned around and saw Mist walking toward them with a few Seal Team members.
"You guys are leaving?"
"Yes, we've finished all our paperwork, and the operations here are over; we need to head back to the Green Zone."
Song Heping looked at the few Seal Team members and asked with curiosity, "Lao Mi, do you need something?"
Mist turned to look at his team members, then spread his hands and said, "Actually, we have no other intentions; we just came to see you off. We hope to have the opportunity to work with you again; we really enjoyed this cooperation."
His tone was very polite.
It was completely different from the tension and deep disdain he had shown at their first meeting.
The battlefield is like that; strength speaks for everything.
Beasts only walk with their own kind.
The men who come down from the battlefield only respect those who are tough like themselves.
"I really don't want to work with you guys again," Song Heping said bluntly with a comment that could choke someone with laughter.
Then everyone was stunned.
After all, it's a sign of respect when people from the Seal Teams come to bid you farewell.
It's like giving you a toast and you slap the wine glass they offer down to the floor.
Seeing the astonished expressions on Mist and Chris, Song Heping grinned and said, "The missions you carry out are too dangerous, not worth it for us mercenaries. I prefer guarding oil fields."
The added comment made everyone laugh again.
His words were full of self-deprecation and indirectly praised the Seals.
Blatant flattery never goes out of fashion.
Mist and his team really enjoyed the compliment, laughing heartily.
After a round of manly goodbyes with hugs, Song Heping got in the vehicle and, along with his team, drove off.
The Mosul operation was concluded.
The contract was completed satisfactorily.
One million dollars—earned not without difficulty, but the money was in hand.
By the time they got back to the Green Zone, it was already the afternoon. Song Heping gave Stephen's evaluation report to Ferrari to handle the remaining procedures. After all, he was quite familiar with the process and operations and dealing with the Temporary Management Committee and Alliance Headquarters was something best left to him as an administrative officer.
Unexpectedly, when Ferrari came back, he brought back surprising news.
"Boss, Vice Commander Peter wants to invite you to dinner."
"What?"
Song Heping was in the company's small garden, wiping and studying the captured SVD sniper rifle when Ferrari reported the news to him.
Hearing that Peter wanted to invite him for dinner, he had the feeling that something was wrong.
Their relationship had only just begun with this cooperation.
Even if this mission was a stepping stone into the Illiguo military circle, it didn't justify such a grand invitation for dinner, did it?
It seemed very urgent.
Could it be another trap?
"Fuck!"
He cursed explicitly.
"This old guy inviting me to dinner can't be a good thing."
"I guess so," said Ferrari as he dragged a chair over to sit beside him. He picked up a can of Coke from the ice bucket, popped it open with a fizz, took a gulp, and then said, "Probably another tough nut to crack, wanting us to risk our lives again."
While reassembling the parts of the SVD, Song Heping pondered how to deal with it.
He was definitely going to the dinner.
After all, Peter was the Deputy Commander in Iraq.
No need to make an enemy of him.
Thinking from the perspective of a mercenary leader, the first thing that came to Song Heping's mind was the reward.
What kind of offer could Peter make?
He really didn't care about one million dollars anymore.
Ever since doing that deal in gold with Avanti, his appetite had grown and ordinary compensation was not satisfying.
The Mosul operation was a matter of courtesy.
Now that it was completed, it was time to cash in the favor; he couldn't always trade favors without talking business.
That wasn't his style.
There were rumors that Illiguo's reconstruction fund had already allocated over a hundred billion, and from that amount, he surely needed a share.
Otherwise?
No interest!