Chapter 1179 - 1041: Another Kind of War_2

The sun remained scorching, the sea breeze still carried a salty tang, but the atmosphere on the terrace had frozen.

Henry stood beside Song Heping, aware of the significance of the situation, yet unable to solve it. He could only hold his breath and await orders.

"Henry."

"Boss."

"A few tasks."

Song Heping's voice returned to absolute calm: "First, inform all our people in Sudan, Sena, and Libya to immediately raise the alert level and enter a state of readiness. Even though our relations with these governments seem good, never trust anyone, not even so-called friends."

"Understood!"

Henry seemed to catch the implication in Song Heping's words and nodded repeatedly.

"Second, contact some of the insiders we've bought within these countries and through the safest channel, 'unintentionally' reveal the core content summary of the U.S. sanctions draft, especially the punitive clauses against uncooperative countries, to key government officials close to us. Let them know whose throat the American knife will cut. Do this cleanly, leave no trace, as Shire intentionally leaked this to me, I can't let him get dragged down."

"Yes! I'll do it immediately!"

Henry first responded readily but soon a trace of doubt crept onto his face.

"Why are the French revealing this to us?"

"Interests," Song Heping replied, "Can't you see? He doesn't want me to die at the hands of the Americans so soon. With me around, I can significantly curb the Americans' expansion in Africa, especially the Sahel region. Don't be fooled into thinking the French are friends of the Americans; these Gauls have their own plans. They don't want the Americans' claws stretching too far into their backyard."

"Understood..."

"Third."

Song Heping turned around, his gaze sharp as lightning, "Tell White Bear and Jiang Feng to prepare the car immediately. I want to meet Haftar in person."

"Understood!"

"That's all for now."

"OK, I'll arrange it right away."

With that, Henry quickly turned and left.

Song Heping stood up, alone at the edge of the terrace, gazing once more at the sea.

The distant sky suddenly darkened as clouds appeared on the horizon.

A strange phenomenon appeared over the sea—a far-off overcast sky juxtaposed against nearby bright sunshine, creating a surreal scene.

Washington's noose had already been cast, its intent to tighten around his neck.

But to drive him out of Africa?

He picked up the glass of ice water on the table, pouring the remaining ice chunks and water into his mouth, chewing forcefully.

The cold shards crunched crisply between his teeth.

Not that easy!

Ten minutes later, Song Heping was seated in a car heading for Haftar's command post.

The SUV's engine tore through the Mediterranean coast's afternoon tranquility.

Song Heping sat in the back seat, the car's windows shielding him from the glaring sun and the ravaged streets outside—collapsed walls, charred remains.

A group of hungry children chased the vehicle, reaching out and shouting for scraps of food.

The air reeked of dust, smoke, and salty sea breeze.

Watching all this from the window, Song Heping fell into deep thought.

For the past ten years, he had been constantly fighting, fighting, and fighting again.

From a mercenary to a defense company boss, he had never stopped battling his way through.

His thoughts were once simple—make money.

Now his thinking had somewhat changed.

Money, he had plenty now.

So money was not the issue.

The issue was survival.

Indeed.

Survival.

In the game of life and death, there's no turning back once on the table.

To retire would mean losing one's life first.

But he had never contemplated some of the things he was now—for example, the children's eyes outside the car, eyes tinged with fear yet full of longing.

They had chased his car for a stretch.

But soon, they were left mercilessly behind by the speeding SUV.

Some emotions he had never felt before suddenly struck him, making his chest feel inexplicably stifled.

The problems he was about to face were ones he had never encountered before.

Problems that couldn't be solved by leading a group of elite mercenaries to take down a special forces team or to fight a battle with an armed organization.

This was a war with no smoke, requiring a different kind of wisdom to resolve.

He closed his eyes, plunging into contemplation.

Haftar's command post was located within a relatively intact large building complex in the city center.

It was cordoned off by sandbags, barbed wire, and pick-up trucks mounted with heavy machine guns.

The vehicle stopped at a shaded entrance.

Under the escort of guards, Song Heping, along with White Bear and Jiang Feng, passed through corridors reinforced with steel plates until they reached a heavy bulletproof door.

The door opened to a spacious but simply furnished office.

Thick bulletproof curtains blocked half of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the room dimly lit by emergency and desk lamps.

General Khalifa Haftar of the Libyan National Army (LNA) stood facing the wall with a massive military situation map.

Hearing footsteps, he turned around, his face flushed with a mix of excitement and pride that could hardly be concealed.

"Song!"

Haftar's voice was booming as he strode forward, firmly slapping Song Heping on the shoulder, "You came just in time! Look at this!"

He skipped any small talk, grabbing the exquisitely crafted invitation on his desk and waving it in front of Song Heping.

"African Union Headquarters! Addis Ababa!"

Haftar's eyes gleamed, "They've officially invited me to represent the legitimate government of Libya at next week's African Security Special Summit! Shire from France just left, and besides discussing oil, he also brought confirmation from the African Union! This is so damn significant, Song! The international community, especially our African brothers, they acknowledge us! Historical!"

But Song Heping did not smile; instead, he slightly nodded, "Congratulations, General. This is indeed a major breakthrough."

His voice held no trace of joy.

Haftar, immersed in ecstasy, did not notice the gravity in Song Heping's eyes.

He went to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of whiskey for Song Heping: "Come! To our victory, cheers!"

Song Heping took the glass but did not drink.

He stared at the liquid in silence.

The brief silence slightly dampened Haftar's high spirits. He noticed Song Heping's odd demeanor, and his smile faded: "Song? Is something on your mind?"

Song Heping lifted his gaze, staring directly at Haftar, that calm gaze inexplicably making the latter feel tense.

Song Heping set down the glass, slowly reached into his jacket, pulled out a tablet, and placed it on the desk, pulling up some files.

"General," Song Heping's voice was deep and clear, "While I'm happy for you, I've received some... messed up news. About another side of this summit."

Haftar's smile froze completely, his brows knitting tightly: "Another side?"

Song Heping pushed the tablet over, the screen's light reflecting on Haftar's suddenly clouded face.