Chapter 1520 - 1240: Breakthrough Point

One hour later, Hulmatu, Safehouse.

This place with a seemingly intimidating name is actually just an underground iron coffin—

It was once a grain storage of some wealthy local or an ammo storeroom for the military government. Now, Song Heping had repurposed it into a temporary jail and interrogation center.

Several meters underground, surrounded by thick concrete walls, with the latest signal jammers at maximum power, not even a ghost could find its way.

Dealing with these Delta soldiers requires caution. Even though they were searched upon capture, Song Heping knew these guys sometimes had tracking chips implanted in hidden places on their bodies to locate themselves.

Going against Americans requires caution, or it's at the cost of your life.

The air in the basement is indescribable.

Aged dust scent untouched by wind for decades mixed with the pungent chlorine smell of disinfectant, and worst of all, a hint of bloody rust.

The blend of these smells shoots straight to the head, quite overwhelming.

A few intimidatingly powerful incandescent lamps hang from the ceiling like small suns, casting harsh, blinding light down, leaving no place for shadows in the small compartments created by simple partitions.

This intense lighting is an interrogation method in itself, quickly depleting a person's spirit and disrupting their biological clock.

The five "treasures" just captured by Jiang Feng were separated and confined in these glaringly bright small cages.

Each person's arms and legs were tightly bound with military-grade nylon straps at a very professional angle to the cold steel chair legs, making even slight movement impossible.

The three Delta big shots—Captain "Tombstone," Vice-Captain, and the key figure JTAC "Guide," were indeed tough.

Even with injuries on their bodies, combat uniforms torn to rags by shellfire and rocks, their faces covered with blood scabs, sand, and sweat, their eyes were icy and fierce like wolves starving for three days in the wilderness, with a contemptuous look of superiority.

They knew clearly what they were worth and understood what information these "mercenaries" wanted to pry out of them.

Song Heping didn't enter the suffocating interrogation room, but stayed next door, observing the "actors"' performance calmly through one-way glass like a director.

Silence reigned on this side of the glass, while on the other side, a brutal mental battle had begun.

Jiang Feng personally maintained order, directing a few "professionals" handpicked from the camp to focus on Captain "Tombstone."

The backgrounds of these interrogators were exceptional.

They included veterans from Eastern European Special Forces who had fought against Chechen bandits, those who had hunted drug lords in South American jungles, and even a "retired" operative from an intelligence agency specializing in "wet work," all retrained in the hellish "Hunter" school run by Grey Wolf in Venezuela, mastering various "communication techniques" to make tough men speak.

Each of them was burly, with no trace of human emotion in their eyes, only the coldness of mission execution.

In the interrogation room, the air was so thick it was hard to breathe.

An Eastern European mercenary with a thick Slavic accent started slowly repeating the opening statement like a funeral prayer: "Name. Rank. Unit number. Mission details. Target location. Pickup method."

"Tombstone" had drooping eyelids and vacant eyes, as if his spirit had wandered off, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life.

An impatient stocky man with a bushy beard next to him picked up a sizzling high-voltage electric baton, with a blue arc jumping at the tip, making a nerve-wracking "crackle" sound.

Seeing "Tombstone" unresponsive, the bearded man wasted no words and pressed the electric tip hard on Tombstone's already lacerated and exposed forearm!

"Ugh—!"

"Tombstone's" body jolted as if hit by high voltage, only to be mercilessly strapped back into the chair by the binding.

His entire body spasmed uncontrollably, veins in his neck bulging like twisted worms, producing a beast-like groan of pain from deep in his throat.

Sweat poured from every pore on his body, soaking through his tattered combat uniform.

After a full thirty seconds, the current finally stopped abruptly.

"Tombstone" lay slumped in the chair, gasping heavily, cold sweat on his forehead, his lower lip bitten and bleeding, mixing with saliva and dripping down.

Yet his eyes remained vacant, seeing nothing, mouth locked tight, not uttering a word.

"Damn, these Delta guys really do have tight lips."

The Eastern European mercenary spat, giving a nod to the bearded man.

The bearded man grinned, setting down the electric baton and picking up a short wooden stick carefully wrapped in thick canvas nearby.

He moved to "Tombstone's" side and rear, eyes locking precisely on a grim wound on the ribs left by shrapnel, with a flick of the wrist, the stick tip pushed in precisely and twisted viciously!

"Cough… ugh…"

"Tombstone's" body curled into a shrimp shape, intense pain blacking him out momentarily, eyes almost popping out, saliva mixed with blood foaming uncontrollably from the mouth, dripping onto the filthy ground.

That was just the appetizer.

The subsequent period turned into a rotating showcase of torture.

Lights capable of blinding shone directly on faces; high-decibel noise roared next to ears, threatening to tear eardrums; the most torturous was the waterboarding—face covered with a towel, ice-cold water pouring down constantly, simulating extreme drowning fear…

Various means were employed one after the other, with a naked and clear purpose.

To exhaust the examinee's physical strength, break their will, and simultaneously collapse their physiological and psychological defenses.

Song Heping stood silently behind the one-way glass for nearly half an hour, his brows furrowed into a tight crease.

"Jiang Feng, come out for a moment."

Suddenly, he picked up the internal communicator and called Jiang Feng out.

"See them? These are Delta's top aces, interrogation training is ingrained in their DNA. Grind away at this intensity, and you won't hear a useful word in two or three days."

When Jiang Feng came over, Song Heping spoke in a low voice: "We don't have that much time to waste on them."

He raised his wrist and pointed at the dial, signaling Jiang Feng to watch the time.

"Americans aren't fools; their satellites, drones, and electronic listening devices aren't for show. A complete Delta Squad goes missing on our turf, and they'd quickly pinpoint that it's us. Going at loggerheads with the US Army, with swords drawn, isn't the outcome we want; the cost is too great."

His tone shifted, eyes glinting calculatingly: "But we have a better play. One where they swallow their broken teeth with blood. The key is—fast! We must counter their speed with speed! Before the Americans find irrefutable evidence and decide to act, we'll strike first, land a resounding slap that knocks their war-starting thoughts right back into their bellies!"

"If only Klein were here..."

Jiang Feng couldn't help but sigh, his tone full of regret.

Klein is recognized as an interrogation master in "Musician" defense, his methods are elusive and unpredictable—even top special soldiers can't last an hour before him.

However, distant water can't quench immediate thirst.

"Can't count on him now."

Song Heping's tone was resolute, "Interrogating these hard bones has too low a cost-benefit ratio. Immediately switch targets! Bring those two ISOF guys over! They're sure to have something if they tagged along with Delta, but as for willpower? Compared to those killers inside, it's kindergarten level! They, are our fastest breakthrough point!"

"Understood!"

Jiang Feng's eyes lit up, instantly grasping Song Heping's intent, and turned to make arrangements.

Within a few minutes, the two Iraq ISOF soldiers were separately dragged into other interrogation rooms.

Among them, a guy who looked at most in his early twenties, his eyes filled with terror and confusion, was "lucky" enough to be chosen for special attention.

Dealing with such inexperienced rookies was far more cost-effective than tackling those old-timers.

The interrogation process was much the same, but its effects were immediate, forming a stark contrast.

The electric baton had just touched his skin, and before the current was fully released, the young man emitted a terrifying scream that hardly sounded human, his whole body convulsing like shock and trembling in the chair like a leaf in the autumn wind.

Experienced interrogators precisely targeted the body's most densely packed pain nerve areas like finger joints, underarms, and the back side of the neck.

A few precise hits and shocks drove him to complete breakdown, crying heart-wrenchingly, snot and tears covering his face, incoherently pleading in Arabic.

Finally, after the interrogator used a wet towel and plastic bucket for two rounds of waterboarding, the young man's psychological defenses completely crumbled.

The primal fear of asphyxiation overwhelmed everything.

"I'll talk! I'll say anything! Please... let me go... don't... don't do that again... I'll talk..."

After yet another round of waterboarding, he was nearly collapsed, like a puddle of mud slumped on the chair, with a heavy crying tone, begging in stammering English.

"Speak! Sneaking into Hulmatu, what's the real mission?!"

The bushy beard grilled, relentlessly pressing for answers.

"It's... reconnaissance... positioning..."

The young man sobbed, confessing haltingly, his voice trembling incessantly with fear, "The officer... the officer ordered us… to cooperate… to cooperate with the Americans… sneak to outside Hulmatu… use… use their advanced observation equipment… find… find your boss… Song Heping… see if... if he's in the city… exactly… exactly which house he's hiding in..."

"And then?! What are you planning to do?!"

The bushy beard pushed without respite.

"Then... then wait for orders… that… that 'guide' with the big antenna on his back… he'll... he'll call the aircraft… for… precision bombing… take out… take out him…"

The young man's voice was filled with despair and fear, starting to spill the beans.

"Time... they said... must complete positioning within 48 hours..."

"Who's giving the orders?! Where from?!"

"It's… through the top-secret channel... directly… directly from the Allied Special Operations Command… we're… we're just assisting the Delta masters… guiding… the specific… specific communication and coordination… is handled by Colonel Kote's people..."

Got it!

The most crucial confession in hand!

Jiang Feng immediately sent the organized interrogation records and the video recording the ISOF soldier's collapse process to Song Heping.

Looking at the crooked signature on the record paper, and the distorted face in the video from extreme fear, Song Heping's lips curled into a cold smile.

"Perfect! This is just what we need, 'nailing' them down with ironclad evidence!"

Song Heping forcefully slapped Jiang Feng's shoulder: "Old America wants to play dirty; we'll join them for a big match, and stand with reason, leaving them speechless in misery!"

His eyes were aglow with the light of controlling everything, immediately starting to issue a series of clear, decisive orders:

"All interrogation records, especially this guy's confession and collapse video, make the highest quality backups for me, audio, video, text records, all three complete, ensuring the evidence chain is flawless!"

Afterward, smiling: "Looks like I'll have a good chat with those old guys at the Pentagon, make them take some multiple-choice questions."