"Tell me, where are the Dahmars?"
In the grove, Song Heping stepped on the face of a rebel officer with his shoe sole.
The guy was sniffling and crying, pleading continuously, "Please, don't kill me."
"You're not worth killing. It's the Dahmars I want to kill. Just tell me, and I won't kill you."
Song Heping spoke coldly, applying more pressure with his foot.
The person beneath his shoe began to wail again.
"He ran west, about five hundred meters. That's the parking spot."
Suddenly, the sound of helicopter blades thundered across the sky.
Song Heping looked up and saw the MI-17 helicopter.
Hmm...
The three million US Dollars spent on the Ferrari was pretty worth it. At least the aircraft was painted white, and it seemed to bear UN markings upon closer inspection.
Money can make the devil grind the mill.
This old saying popped into Song Heping's mind once again.
He lifted his foot and released the rebel officer lying on the ground.
The opponent took a deep breath, as if seeing hope.
Song Heping turned and left, throwing a glance at Jiang Feng as he departed.
Jiang Feng understood and fired a shot at the man's head.
Bang—
The officer, just about to climb up from the ground, fell and lay down forever.
"You said you wouldn't kill him!"
Antonov, unfamiliar with Song Heping's style, was shocked to see him going back on his word.
"I did say I wouldn't kill him."
After speaking, he glanced at Jiang Feng and then turned to Antonov: "I said the Dahmar troops would perish tonight, so perish they will; none shall remain."
Then he said to Ferrari, "Get them to land, we'll board the helicopter and hunt down the Dahmars."
"Okay."
Ferrari immediately started contacting the Egyptian Army informant in the helicopter, instructing them to land at once.
Once Song Heping had left, Jiang Feng went to Antonov and patted him on the shoulder: "Remember, promises must be kept. If we say they'll perish, they will perish."
Ten minutes later, up in the sky.
The sky had begun to lighten up gradually.
In the east, the horizon started to glow with dawn, with the twilight visible at the junction of the distant clouds and the ground.
It's nearly daylight.
The MI-17 helicopter cabin was filled with the pungent smell of aviation fuel.
Song Heping unhooked the fixed shooting seat from the cabin wall, with brass bullet chains coiling snake-like on the metal floor.
Through the open cabin door, he could see plumes of dust rising from the western road—four armed pickups were escorting Dahmar's bullet-proof Land Rover in a frantic escape.
"Altitude 600, speed 220."
The pilot's voice mixed with the roar of the engine was heard.
"Southeast wind, turbulence level three."
Song Heping pressed his cheek against the PKM's stock, his pupils dancing with the sighting reticle.
Within the reticle's field of view were scattered vehicles and Dahmar's troops.
Some already noticed the helicopter and stopped their vehicles, beginning to flee in disarray.
This was actually a good idea; the target of the vehicle was too large, dispersing to run might save them.
These people were not dumb.
Just foolish.
They provoked someone they shouldn't have.
Song Heping suddenly yanked the bolt violently, chambering a round, then aimed at the vehicles below and pulled the trigger.
The copper-colored body of the 7.62×54mmR bullet gleamed with a deadly golden light in the morning sun.
"Hunter, you take care of nailing their vehicles to the road for me."
"No problem!"
The Eastern European man in the rear cabin unveiled the fabric covering the weapon slot, exposing the cold gleam of the AGS-17 grenade launcher.
"Begin the dive!"