Chapter 915: Entering the Aircraft Carrier Warehouse

He Yuzhu hung up on Secretary Liu, not wasting a single second; his fingertips tapped a flurry on the keyboard, and an email flew directly to Sadake, far away in Babylon.

He did not expect the reply to come so quickly, so fast that it was as if the person on the other end had been waiting for him the whole time.

After reading the email, He Yuzhu curled the corner of his mouth into a smile, then sent a second email to arrange a meeting place.

Three days later, in the magnificent lobby of the Burj Al Arab in Dubai, He Yuzhu spotted Sadake at a single glance.

Good heavens, it had been a few years, and the man had put on at least two circles of weight; his white robe was stretched round by his belly, and he even brought a gust of wind when he walked, looking just like a ship with its sails fully billowed.

As soon as Sadake saw He Yuzhu, he was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up; he rushed over in two or three strides and pulled He Yuzhu into his arms, hugging him tight.

"Ali! My brother! You haven't changed a bit! I thought I'd never see you again in this lifetime! Where have you been all these years? Are you doing well?"

He Yuzhu raised his hand and patted his thick back, smiling with indifference: "I'm doing just fine. I heard you were about to make a big move here, and I was afraid you might suffer a loss, so I contacted you immediately."

Upon hearing this, Sadake's nose suddenly felt sour; he sniffled, his eyes turned red, and his voice went hoarse: "Brother Ali... thank you for still thinking of us. But... but those people who were with us back then are all gone; I'm the only one left..."

He Yuzhu's heart also sank; the faces of the brothers he had fought side-by-side with seven or eight years ago emerged from his memory, and the scent of gunpowder, gunfire, and sweat seemed to rush into his nostrils once again.

His throat moved, but he said nothing more, only patting Sadake's shoulder heavily as the two walked into the hotel side-by-side.

Inside the room, Sadake closed the door and lowered his voice: "Brother, I won't hide it from you. This time we are going to fight the Kurds, who are backed by M Country. But we have no confidence in our hearts, fearing that the M Country people will retaliate against us with everything they have. Those military bases are like nails driven into our throats; we can neither swallow them nor spit them out. We've been studying them for over half a year, wanting to pull them out, but the more we study, the less certain we feel."

After listening, He Yuzhu picked up his cup, took a sip of water, and smiled: "Now that I'm here, things will be different. I'll blow up the bases for you. The old rules apply: don't mention a word of me to the outside world."

Sadake's eyes lit up, but the light flickered and dimmed again; he rubbed his hands and hesitated: "But internally... we are arguing fiercely. Many people are afraid to offend the M Country people, fearing they won't be able to withstand the retaliation. According to the rules, before doing something this big, we must first consult the leader's wishes..."

"I am not one of your people," He Yuzhu interrupted him. "I will act on my own and take out the bases directly. When the time comes, if you insist on denying it, what can they do to you?"

Sadake lowered his head, tapping his fingers on the table a dozen times. A few seconds later, he slapped his thigh hard, looked up, and his gaze became firm: "Good! This method is brilliant! Brother, tell me, how do you want us to cooperate? Just name your price for the money!"

He Yuzhu waved his hand: "I don't lack money. If you really want to help, just prepare enough explosives for me, store them well, and tell me the address."

Sadake gritted his teeth, his voice growing gruff: "Brother Ali, if I, Sadake, frown even once when it comes to money or explosives, then I'm not a man!"

He Yuzhu smiled, drained his cup in one gulp, and stood up to take his leave.

Over the next month, the fires of war broke out everywhere.

M Country's military bases were taken out one after another; the Pentagon was in an uproar, the officers were howling in anxiety, and the battle damage reports alone piled up on a desk, too many to flip through.

Batch after batch of high-level spies were sent out, yet they didn't even catch a glimpse of a single person.

In less than a month, over two hundred fighter jets and transport planes were lost, and more than a dozen naval vessels of various types were written off.

The M Country fleet, which had originally been stationed in the Taiwan Strait, eyeing the great Eastern power with hostility, had to divert forces to reinforce the Middle East.

On the other side, without the backing of M Country, the Babylonian troops were sweeping through the Kurdish region like a hot knife through butter.

Tanks rolled over the desert, their tracks kicking up clouds of yellow sand, advancing triumphantly; they swallowed the entire Kurdish area along the Babylonian border without much effort.

M Country lost face, and in order to recover it, they dumped the blame for the base bombings entirely on Babylon and formally declared war.

Three aircraft carriers were urgently transferred from East Asia to the Middle East waters.

The Washington and the Truman, two behemoths, sailed one after another into Souda Bay on the island of Crete in Greece.

They didn't dare to dock, instead drifting far out in the waters outside the port like isolated islands. Only supply ships traveled back and forth to transport goods. This was a decision made by the Pentagon after repeated simulations—Souda Bay had dangerous terrain, surrounded by coastal defense cannons and mountains, neither too close nor too far from the front line, stuck in an excellent position to both attack and defend.

From top to bottom, the M Country military knew clearly in their hearts—Shadow was not dead; that guy had come out again.

The lesson of the three aircraft carriers sinking in 1991 was still carved into their bones; no one dared to forget.

This time, everyone was exceptionally cautious; the two words "Shadow" floated around in every operations room like a ghost, and anyone who mentioned them felt a chill down the back of their neck.

Every captain carried a heavy sense of "no return" in their heart, ordering soldiers to keep their guns in hand even while sleeping.

The defense of the carrier strike group was even more airtight—on the sea surface, destroyers and frigates patrolled in shifts, sonar was running at full power, and the buzzing sound waves rippled out in circles; let alone a submarine, even a big fish would find it hard to slip through unnoticed.

In the air, early warning aircraft and fighter jets took off in turns, radar waves sweeping the sky and sea over and over, weaving a pervasive warning net.

On the docks, there were guards every three steps and sentries every five; the fully armed soldiers had eyes like hawks, and the military dogs pricked up their ears, low growls rolling in their throats—even a fly passing by had to be interrogated three times.

But an aircraft carrier, no matter how fierce, is a money-guzzling beast. Ammunition, fuel, food, and fresh water—none could be cut off.

Once the supply day arrived, the docks became busy. Forklifts roared, transporting mountains of cargo containers to the berths; workers shuttled back and forth under the scorching sun, the smell of sweat, machine oil, and sea salt mixing together, choking people until they frowned.

No one noticed that one wooden crate was a little heavier than the others.

Even fewer people noticed that inside that crate, there was a person.

The crate containing He Yuzhu was lifted by a forklift, swayed onto the supply ship, and then drifted on the sea with the ship for several days.

On this day, the waves were small, the sun was shining brightly on the sea surface, and seagulls circled the masts, looking very calm.

The supply ship finally docked at the aircraft carrier, the cranes roared, and the wooden crate was hoisted, swaying into mid-air, landing steadily on the deck, and then sent deep into the warehouse by a forklift.

In the middle of the night, everything was silent, save for the sound of waves gently lapping against the hull.

In the aircraft carrier's warehouse, the lid of an inconspicuous wooden crate silently pried open a crack.

He Yuzhu slid out like a loach, stretched his muscles the moment he landed, and squinted his eyes in comfort.

His gaze swept around quickly—good heavens, it was all supplies.

He Yuzhu didn't say a word, directly collecting the items into his space; once this warehouse was cleared, he rushed to the next one.

One after another, he emptied them all.

Finally, he fixed his gaze in the direction of the ammunition depot, and the corners of his mouth slowly curled up—those were the real treasures.