Song Heping kept his right hand on the Glock 17 at his waist as he stepped onto the shaky stairway of the apartment building.
The concrete steps were littered with cigarette butts and dried phlegm stains. The air was filled with the spice aroma commonly found in the streets and alleys of Cairo. The door at the end of the third-floor corridor was ajar, and a sliver of dim yellow light seeped through the crack.
"Utekin?"
Song Heping pressed against the wall, knocked on the door, and whispered in Russian, signaling Jiang Feng and another teammate behind him to spread out.
A few seconds later, the old wooden door made a creaky sound as a bald Slavic man appeared at the door, a faint scar at the corner of his left eye looking especially menacing in the dim light.
"Song, you're seven minutes late."
Utekin looked at his watch and then peeked down the hallway.
Seeing that Song Heping's men had secured the corridor and staircase entrance, he stepped aside, making way: "Come in, there's no time."
The apartment was permeated with the mixed scent of vodka and gun oil.
The dining table was scattered with a few satellite photos and a laptop playing surveillance footage.
Song Heping noticed a tactical backpack piled in the corner, and — two corpses covered with sheets.
"Your people?" Song Heping raised an eyebrow.
"No."
Utekin took a large swig of the drink, his Adam's apple rolling fiercely: "GRU's 'cleaners', found this place two hours ago, sneakily watching below my building."
He lifted the sheet, revealing two bodies in civilian clothes. The neat bullet holes at their temples showed expert execution methods.
"I had to deal with them in advance."
Song Heping crouched to inspect the bodies, pulling out an officer's ID from one of their pockets — Sergei Petrov, GRU Third Special Operations Group.
His pupils slightly contracted; Zhaoyi Valley had sent their elite assassination team.
"If they found this place, it means this meeting point is not safe either. We don't have much time."
Utekin pulled the tactical backpack from the corner, placing it beside himself, and said: "If I wasn't worried that changing the location would make you suspicious, I'd have already run."
"What's the situation with the cook?" Song Heping went straight to the point.
Utekin pulled up the map on the computer; the satellite images of Ashala Town were covered in red markings.
"Three days ago, we received a direct order from the Ministry of Defense, demanding Wagner cooperate with Silia Government Army to reclaim the oil fields near Ashala Town."
His fingers tapped on the keyboard, the screen switched to the battle plan.
Zhaoyi Valley personally promised to provide Su-34 air cover and S-400 air defense systems to deter NATO air forces in the northern regions, preventing them from carrying out large-scale bombings on Wagner and Silia coalition forces.
The screen suddenly displayed a blurry video: dozens of Wagner soldiers fleeing in the desert, NATO jets screaming overhead, napalm turning a whole sand area into a sea of fire.
The scene on the screen was brutal, the screams even surpassed the sound of explosions.
"No air support, no air defense system."
Utekin's voice trembled with anger.
"The cook led a hundred and fifty men into the oil field area near the town, engaging with rebel forces, then NATO's F-15s arrived. They slaughtered our people like target practice, but our country's military turned a blind eye. The cook made multiple emergency calls with no response..."
Song Heping's heart suddenly sank.
Leaving Moscow immediately was the right choice.
Russia is just a big swamp.
The upper echelons are rotten to the core.
The Silia war involves Russia's outports and naval bases in the Middle East, as well as power projection and radiation, geopolitical interests earned through years of the Former Soviet Union's management. Yet people like Zhaoyi Valley ignore national interests for personal gain...
Dealing with people like this...
Song Heping wouldn't even say he's unwilling a thousand times but genuinely despises such garbage from the bottom of his heart.
At least he hasn't done anything overseas to harm the interests of his own country for years; that is the bottom line.
One must have a homeland; the homeland is one's root.
"How many people are left now?"
Song Heping asked Utekin, suppressing his anger.
"Thirty-seven Wagner, plus over a hundred Silia Government Army remnants."
Utekin pulled up the latest thermal imaging, the faint light spots flashing on buildings in the town center.
"This is intelligence I got from the Russian Army's intel department through my connections. Zhaoyi Valley knows Wagner's people aren't all dead yet, but stubbornly refuses to send troops, claiming rescue cost is too high. Now the cook and others are hiding in the underground oil depot and school basement, surviving on previous stockpiles, but NATO bombards three times a day—"
Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering came from downstairs.
Song Heping and Utekin simultaneously dashed to the window — three unmarked black off-road vehicles screeched to a halt in front of the apartment building. Over a dozen fully armed shadows quickly dispersed.
"Damn!"
Outside, Jiang Feng's voice shouted through the radio.
"Old squad leader, it's GRU! They—"
The communication was abruptly cut off by fierce gunfire.