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.