Persian Plateau, 7 PM.
On a bare hillside, several soldiers of the Revolutionary Brigade sat in a circle.
They had just finished praying, a fire nearby had been lit, flatbread was set out, and jerky had been brought out.
In the high-altitude area at night, the temperature was low, so lighting a fire, warming the flatbread, and boiling some hot water for tea warmed their bodies.
In such a desolate place, lighting a fire was not something to worry about being detected, as no one would willingly come to such a godforsaken place at this time.
They chatted and laughed, sharing the food among them.
The water boiled, and someone took the tin kettle off the stand, going around pouring hot water for tea.
Pup—Pup—
The person standing with the kettle suddenly had his head burst open in a spray of blood.
Bits of red and white splattered onto the bodies of those nearby.
"Enemy!"
One of the veterans screamed, reaching for his gun which was placed to the side.
They had been about to eat, so everyone had carelessly laid their guns on the ground nearby, some piled together three meters away.
After all, they had lost the initiative, the gates of hell had already opened to them.
Bullets flew from different directions, the air filled with the sound of the warheads slicing through.
Pup—Pup—
Pup—Pup—Pup—
The sound of the gunfire was very muted.
Clearly, the attackers were using assault rifles fitted with silencers.
Within less than ten seconds, only one of the six men remained.
And that man lay on the ground, his hand nearly touching one of the guns on the ground when a foot wearing Salomon tactical boots stomped harshly on the back of his hand.
"Ah—"
He let out a cry of pain.
A silenced M4A1 assault rifle was pressed against the top of his head.
"Scream again and I will finish you!"
Although he couldn't understand, the Revolutionary Brigade soldier on the ground shut his mouth, not daring to scream again.
The cook came to the front of the soldier, squatted down, and asked in Arabic, "Do you speak Arabic?"
The man nodded.
The cook breathed a sigh of relief.
While Persian and Arabic shared some grammatical similarities, they were not the same language, making communication very difficult.
Fortunately, the members of the Revolutionary Brigade active in this area were a mixed group, including both Persians and Arabs, so it was not surprising that some understood Arabic.
"What's your name?"
"Bandak."
"Bandak, listen, you have two choices now, one is to honestly answer all of my questions and then I will let you go, the second is you refuse to answer my questions, fail to give me satisfactory answers, and I will slowly cut off your head with a knife. Which one do you choose?"
Bandak's face went pale, and he nodded repeatedly, "The first one, the first one!"
"You're a smart guy."
The cook smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up.
"I ask you, are you guys searching for two people here?"
Bandak hesitated for a second, then said, "Not two, three."
The cook frowned and then said, "Among these three, is there a person from China?"
"Yes." Bandak was very honest.
The cook nodded in satisfaction and continued, "Have you captured them or have you killed any of them?"
Bandak shook his head, "No, these people are tough. We have lost many brothers these past few days; the higher-ups have informed us to be cautious upon seeing them, kill on sight, and not hesitate."
The cook and several team members around him breathed a sigh of relief.
Song Heping was not dead.
White Bear said to Julia, "Baby, I told you, Song He isn't so easy to kill."
The cook asked, "When was the last time you heard about their location?"
As he spoke, he took a map out of his pocket and spread it in front of Bandak.
"Point it out to me on here."
Bandak looked at the map, scratching his head, "I don't understand English."