Mercenaries, I Will Be King

Old Demon sat down, and Song Heping sat next to him.

Donald took a Marlboro from the cigarette box on the table and lit it up, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Old buddy, what brings you here?"

Old Demon didn't want to waste any time and got straight to the point, "This morning, my business ran into some trouble and got involved in an attack. Six generators were completely wrecked, and I've lost everything..."

"You want to borrow money?"

"No, I'm just looking to find some work, maybe in transportation..."

Old Demon detailed his ideas clearly, but as soon as he finished, everyone at the table laughed.

Their laughter was full of contempt.

Perhaps, in their view, everything Old Demon said seemed naive and ridiculous.

But the good thing about Old Demon was that he had thick skin and could adapt to any situation. When Donald and the others laughed, Old Demon just kept smiling apologetically.

Song Heping was upset.

But even though he was upset, he had to endure.

When asking for help, one must have the right attitude.

Finally, after they had laughed themselves out, Donald said, "Old buddy, you don't really think that with your capabilities, you can take on the transportation business here, do you? Do you know how many defense companies are currently fighting for contracts here in Illiguo? There's the famous Blackwater International, AAFES, and the British Spartans Security Company, not to mention countless smaller ones. There are thousands of mercenary soldiers wanting to make money here, all retired Special Forces, paratroopers, Marine Corps, or at least combat veterans. And what are you all? And on what basis do you think you can take on contracts? How many people and guns do you have?"

Old Demon was left speechless by the barrage of questions.

It is well known that Illiguo is now under the control of the US Army. The provisional government of Illiguo is based in the Green Zone and, with support from the US Army, has begun rebuilding the regime. Recently, the US Congress passed a post-war rebuilding plan totaling eighty-seven billion US dollars, with thirty percent of that money allocated to security projects.

As they say, money talks.

With this large amount of money, the provisional government and the US Army stationed in Illiguo have started their spending spree, buying everything.

They brought various new cars, air conditioners, and computers from Kuwait here, and even during the project to rebuild the internet, this included influxes of adult websites to meet the needs of every man here.

Though bullets fly everywhere in Illiguo, for mercenary organizations and various national defense companies, it is a gleaming goldmine.

Without a doubt, everyone wants a piece of this lucrative mine.

But to get a share of this money, one must first have the capabilities and connections.

For novices like Song Heping and Old Demon, dreaming of taking on such business is utterly delusional.

The atmosphere grew awkward.

The surrounding mercenaries and American soldiers looked at these two ignorant Chinese as if they were watching monkeys at a zoo.

Indeed.

What makes you think you can compete?

Not to mention companies like Blackwater International, which was founded by retired high-ranking US Army officers, or AAFES with its century-long history in security, even Spartan Defense Company from Britain, founded by retired senior British military officers, has intricate connections with the coalition's high command.

Do you two Chinese really think you can compare?

"Yevgeny, didn't your team lose three guys just a few days ago? I heard you are recruiting?"

Just when the situation became awkward, Thomas, who had been silent, suddenly spoke up, looking at the bald man beside him.

The bald man finally reacted.

His gaze shifted to Thomas, waiting for him to continue.

Thomas pointed at Song Heping, "This young man is a skilled worker, I think you could try recruiting him."

Song Heping figured it out – this bald man was the leader of some small group.

Thomas had been through life and death situations with him and Song Heping had helped him out once, so this was him returning the favor.

The bald man didn't seem to appreciate Thomas's recommendation, but he couldn't just reject it outright.

Thomas was a minor head of GRS, and his own business collaborations with GRS meant that they often sent some good jobs his way, not something to offend a financial backer over.

The GRS, an agency under the CIA, stands for Global Response Staff, also a mercenary subdivision. Most of its members are former special forces members of the US Army, providing security services worldwide for CIA personnel, generally in confidential and cost-effective "contractor" roles that can be easily dismissed.

"Thomas, my team indeed lacks people, but not cannon fodder."

The bald man spread his hands, scrutinizing Song Heping.

His first impression of this Chinese man was quite ordinary.

Everyone in his small team was exceptionally capable—tall, strong, fierce, ruthless, with abundant combat experience.

Song Heping, in contrast, seemed utterly unremarkable.

Thomas said, "This morning, the VIP I was escorting was attacked. He helped me a lot. Without his assistance in holding off those from the Resistance Organization, I guess I wouldn't have the chance to sit here and drink with you tonight."

"Really?"

Thomas's words seemed to have piqued Yevgeny's interest. He had heard about the GRS squad being attacked outside the city in the morning. Almost the entire platoon of the Army that escorted them was killed, with two GRS dead and one injured. Thomas was the only one completely unharmed, which spoke volumes of the fierceness of the battle.

Only those who survived that battle truly had the credentials to join.

He couldn't help but size up Song Heping again, then suddenly pointed towards Old Demon.

"Does that include him?"

Thomas shook his head, "No, I don't know that other guy."

Old Demon quickly explained, "It doesn't include me, of course, it doesn't include me."

After a moment, Yevgeny turned to Song Heping and said, "My team is in urgent need of people. We lost three brothers three days ago. I would welcome you to join us, but you must prove your strength first."

Song Heping countered, "What are your salaries like?"

Yevgeny was taken aback.

The surrounding people were also taken aback.

No one expected Song Heping to ask that.

Many thought he must be crazy.

Asking about salary right off the bat, without even discussing his abilities.

Yevgeny quickly recovered and held out a hand, "Our team rule is that a newbie earns only one hundred US dollars a day. You can become a regular member after proving your abilities in combat over a month, earning three hundred US dollars a day. There are also additional commissions and bonuses for special tasks."

Song Heping thought it over to himself.

One hundred US dollars a day was definitely a high salary for ordinary work, but considering this was life-risking work, it wasn't much.

But three hundred US dollars a day, that's nine thousand US dollars a month. That wasn't a small amount.

A few months of work, and he could pay off his debts.

"Okay, I accept."

"Wait a minute."

Yevgeny said, "You accept, but I haven't accepted yet. To join, you must prove yourself."

Song Heping asked, "How do I prove it?"

Yevgeny pointed to his right, towards a ring.

"Defeat Andre."

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone was in an uproar.

Thomas's face looked somewhat displeased as he coldly said, "Yevgeny, if you want to reject my suggestion, you don't need to find such a poor excuse."

Song Heping looked and saw that the one named Andre was the same large man who had earlier brutally beaten someone who claimed to have fought in underground boxing. Judging by his name, he seemed to be from the same country as Yevgeny.

No wonder everyone was shocked. Just looking at Andre's figure, his arms were about as thick as Song Heping's thighs. As for height, Song Heping was only one hundred seventy-six centimeters, but the opponent seemed to be well over one hundred ninety, quite a bit taller.

The absolute overpowering of strength was bound to play a critical role in combat.

Donald said, "Song, don't be foolish, Andre could bench press three hundred kilograms, and each dumbbell he lifts weighs ninety kilograms, heavier than you. Fighting him? That's suicide!"

No one at the scene thought Song Heping stood a chance.

Andre stood beside the ring, hugging a short, blond-haired woman, sizing up Song Heping with the look an adult gives a kindergartner.

"Kid! I don't want to fight you. I get paid to kill, you're not worth my effort."

Song Heping sized up Andre and then turned to ask Donald, "What are the odds if I fight him?"

"What?"

This time, it was Donald's turn to be stunned.

"What did you say?"

Song Heping said, "When I came in, I saw you were betting. What are the odds?"

He pointed to himself.

Not believing he heard correctly, Donald turned and asked the bartender.

"Lars, this guy wants to fight Andre, what are the odds?"

At the bar, the AAFES company staff member in charge of Forbidden Land Bar, Lars, sized up Song Heping then shouted, "1 to 10!"