Indeed, Avanti's efficiency in handling matters was unlike the procrastination Song Heping had seen from other Persians.
By noon the next day, the promised weapons from Persia arrived punctually.
A convoy of twenty heavy trucks majestically drove into the temporary square beside the Bayji Refinery.
Samir and several of his commanders had been waiting for some time. When the canvas covering the trucks was lifted, these battle-hardened militia couldn't help but exclaim.
"Oh my..." Samir murmured.
In the sunlight, the brand-new weapons glistened with cold metallic luster.
There were Russian-made PKM general-purpose machine guns, RPG-7 rocket launchers, Persian replicas of the "Thunder" anti-tank missiles, and even ten 120mm mortars with accompanying ammunition.
Song Heping and Avanti walked side by side.
Avanti signaled to the soldiers to start unloading: "The first batch is enough to arm two infantry battalions. There are armored vehicles in the subsequent shipments, but it will take time to arrange."
Samir quickly walked to one of the trucks, gently stroking a PKM machine gun as if caressing a lover: "These... all for us?"
"All yours," Song Heping said, "to replenish your losses this time."
"Good! That's great! Absolutely wonderful!"
Samir seemed somewhat excited.
In the pursuit battle three days ago, his "Liberation Forces" suffered nearly two thousand casualties.
Those were veterans who had followed him for years through bloody battles, many of whom couldn't even have their bodies retrieved.
"Song... I don't know what to say." Samir's voice choked a little, "My brothers won't die in vain."
"They certainly won't," Song Heping said calmly, "but these weapons aren't given for free. Mosul is now yours, and I want you to turn it into a fortress within two months, making anyone who tries to play with it break a few teeth."
"I swear!" Samir straightened up, "As long as I still breathe, Mosul won't fall!"
Song Heping nodded, gesturing for him to continue inspecting the weapons.
The soldiers began the orderly unloading, tallying, and registering.
Soon, the square was piled with small "mountains of munitions."
Avanti handed Song Heping a list: "As per your request, light weapons are predominantly Russian, with highly compatible ammunition for easy resupply. Additionally, we're providing five hundred sets of individual communication equipment and twenty sets of field radios."
"Very thoughtful." Song Heping glanced at the list, "And the training? They need to familiarize themselves with these new equipment."
"We will send instructors to assist, but the duration won't be long," Avanti said. "Tehran hopes you'll quickly form a fighting force. Intelligence indicates that 1515 is mobilizing reinforcements from Siria; they won't easily give up the Northwest Region, especially since Ozham and Titrick in the east also need support."
During their conversation, Samir had already personally tested several weapons.
He lifted an RPG-7, assumed a shooting posture, then put it down to examine the sight and firing mechanism.
"They're all good stuff." Samir walked over with a smile finally appearing on his face, "Much better than those antiques I used before."
"There's even better news," Song Heping said, "the twenty million US Dollars in aid from the Persian side will be transferred to you in a week. Use this money to recruit new soldiers, replenish losses. Remember, it's better to have quality over quantity. I want soldiers who can fight, not just make up numbers."
Samir's lips quivered slightly.
Twenty million US Dollars is enough to arm a force of tens of thousands in Northwest Illinois.
Of course, he couldn't recruit that many—couldn't afford it.
But with this money, he could at least restore the "Liberation Forces" to a scale of eight thousand, with better equipment and training.
"Boss, you're the most..." Samir tried to find the right word, "outstanding person I've ever met. Others try to siphon off money from their subordinates, but you're giving it away."
"Because I know what long-term investment is," Song Heping said, "Samir, you're not my subordinate, you're my ally. When my ally becomes powerful, I can become stronger."
Listening from the side, Avanti's eyes flashed with a hint of admiration.
This Lord Dong truly knew how to survive on the land of Northwest Illinois—not through brute force, but by weaving networks and establishing common interests.
The weapons distribution lasted the entire afternoon.
Samir's commanders received equipments according to their respective losses, each person grinning with excitement.
These weapons meant that they could survive longer in the upcoming battles.
By dusk, most of the weapons had been loaded onto Samir's troops' trucks, ready to be transported to Mosul.
Before departing, Samir found Song Heping, and the two stood under the tallest cracking tower of the refinery, watching the sunset slowly sink into the desert.
"Boss, there's something I've wanted to ask for a while," Samir said, "What's your ultimate goal? To control the entire Northwest Illinois? Or..."
Song Heping didn't answer immediately.
The wind blew, bringing the coolness of the desert night.
"Samir, why have you been fighting all these years?" He asked in return.
"Initially, it was to resist the Americans, but now it's to prevent the 1515 lunatics from ruling my hometown," Samir said simply. "I want my children to grow up in a peaceful country, without worrying about bombs and bullets every day."
"That's a very good goal."
Song Heping nodded, "My goal isn't that noble. This is your homeland, not mine. I'm just a defense company's boss, wanting to establish a stronghold. Everything I'm doing here is for profit, yet..."
He reached out and patted the other's shoulder.
"Admittedly, I still have a bit of a connection with you, and a deep friendship."