Chapter 1904 - 1410: Legacy of War

Baghdad Green Zone.

The convoy entering the checkpoint extended as far as the eye could see.

A lineup of fifty various vehicles stretched out half a kilometer outside the Green Zone, drawing curious yet wary glances from the civilians along the roadside.

Among the convoy were modified civilian trucks, seized military vehicles, and even a few BTR armored vehicles borrowed from the Tenth Division.

"This display is too grand." Jiang Feng watched the winding convoy through the rearview mirror, his expression slightly tense: "Isn't it too conspicuous?"

"Being conspicuous is inevitable." Song Heping eyed the high walls gradually approaching outside the window, "We're receiving military goods worth two and a half billion, not twenty-five boxes of canned goods; you can't help but be conspicuous."

The convoy slowly halted before the checkpoint.

The US Army soldiers on duty today were visibly increased, and two additional officers were present, overseeing the scene.

The inspection process was much stricter than usual; every vehicle had to open its cargo for inspection, and everyone's documents had to be repeatedly verified.

"Song, quite a lineup this time." A familiar voice emerged.

Song Heping turned his head and saw Lemont emerging from a building beside the checkpoint.

"Lemont." Song Heping opened the car door and stepped out: "I thought you had returned to Washington."

"The task hasn't been completely finished yet." Lemont walked over, his gaze scanning the massive convoy: "I heard you're receiving that batch of 'scrap metal.' Need any help?"

"Help?" Song Heping smiled: "Is the CIA providing transportation services now?"

"Providing oversight services." Lemont also smiled, but there was no laughter in his eyes: "Some folks in Washington are uneasy, so much equipment being transferred all at once... prone to 'accidents.'

The two exchanged glances for a moment.

Around the checkpoint, the US Army soldiers appeared busy, but Song Heping noticed that at least three of them kept their focus here.

"Then let them supervise," Song Heping said generously: "After all, we're both executing the agreement, aren't we?"

After the final convoy inspection yielded no issues, they were allowed through.

The scene at the Taji Camp was awe-inspiring, a physical sense of oppression, making one's breath catch.

This was Song Heping's first time entering a large ammunition warehouse at a US Military Base, the first time witnessing firsthand what lay inside the overseas military warehouses of this global superpower.

Before coming, those massive military equipment were akin to problems that needed solving in Song Heping's eyes: transport, storage, allocation, disposal.

But when these "problems" presented themselves in such a concrete form, the abstract numbers instantly collapsed into physical reality, pressing down to the point of suffocation.

"This way, Mr. Song."

The voice of the US Army liaison officer, Captain James, pulled him out of his brief daze.

He turned sideways to make a guiding gesture, behind him, the massive warehouse doors stood wide open, revealing another world within.

Song Heping took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold.

The first assault was the pervasive smell.

A complex scent of mixed gun oil, metal, rust-preventive agents, dust, and a special military packaging material filled the air.

Next was the temperature; the air inside the warehouse was at least five degrees cooler than outside, a brisk chill brushing across the cheeks, carrying the cold of an underground space.

Then came the sounds.

Their footsteps generated echoes in the vast, empty expanse, each step accompanied by clear reverberations, as though the warehouse had its own heartbeat.

From afar came the hum of forklifts, the clang of metal collisions, and the succinct commands of US Army soldiers. These sounds twisted and amplified within the maze of steel and concrete, forming a strange industrial symphony.

Finally, it was the visual.

Song Heping paused.

Before him unfolded a four-football-field-sized underground warehouse with over fifteen meters of height clearance, the entire space segmented into alternating blocks of light and shadow by a meticulously planned lighting system.

And within this enormous space lay mountains.

Mountains of steel, mountains of killing tools, mountains of industrial warfare artifacts.

The nearest area had neatly stacked wooden crates, each the size of a small container, marked in black spray paint with "M4 CARBINE - 200 UNIT" and "M249 SAW - 50 UNIT."

The crates were piled six high, ten rows deep, forming a wall over a hundred meters long.

Behind the wooden wall were more and larger accumulations.

"Zone A contains light weapons and individual equipment."

Captain Miller's voice was exceptionally clear in the emptiness, as he began to describe like a museum docent.

"Here, stored are about eight thousand M4 series rifles, twelve hundred squad automatic weapons, along with matching sights, gun lights, and grips. All weapons underwent basic maintenance before storage, but after long-term storage, they still require re-lubrication and functional checks."

Song Heping didn't respond.

His gaze moved past the light weaponry zone, into the depths of the warehouse.

Standing there was an even more alarming sight.

Dozens of M-ATV Mine-Resistant Ambush-Protected vehicles were neatly aligned, each painted in desert camouflage, their tires full, the bodies reflecting matte under the lights.

They weren't in the battlefield style of being covered in dust and bullet marks but were in a clean, intact, ready-to-start state, only all weapon stations were empty, and the turrets quietly pointed toward the ground.

These steel behemoths stood silently, like a legion of machines ready to awaken at any moment.

Further in the distance, through the gaps between stacked containers, the outlines of Stryker Armored Vehicles could be seen, and even a few M1A2 tank chassis in disassembled states, their massive tracks piled like prehistoric creatures' bones nearby.