Regarding these discussions and doubts, Song Heping seemed to turn a deaf ear.
He occasionally appeared at the position, sometimes inspecting the fortifications, sometimes observing the distant Hulmatu City through binoculars.
More often, like now, he sat on a folding chair in the command post, with a set of simple tea tools in front of him, leisurely brewing the remaining green tea.
The sunlight shone on his slightly dark face, he squinted slightly, his expression calm, even with a hint of comfort, completely out of place with the surrounding atmosphere of anxiety and tension.
Only his most well-acquainted subordinates, like Jiang Feng, knew what kind of stormy waves were hidden beneath this calm surface.
They saw that although Song Heping seemed to be leisurely drinking tea, his eyes occasionally swept over the watch on his wrist or glanced in the direction of Mosul to the northwest.
He was waiting.
