Song Heping's heart sank.
It was Milosh.
The tall figure of the Serbian was now hunched over, his face bearing visible bruises, his left eye swollen almost shut.
He was roughly dragged across the yard and thrown into a separate bungalow.
That was the interrogation room, where Song Heping had stayed for several days in the base and knew the function of every building.
Soon after, three more mercenaries were brought out, all members of Song Heping's "Desert Hound" company.
One of them walked unsteadily, his pants soaked with blood at the thigh. These men were also pushed into that bungalow.
The binoculars trembled slightly in Song Heping's hands.
Not because of fear, but anger.
The observation continued until two in the morning.
Song Heping noted down the patrol rotation times, camera blind spots, and the positions of peripheral sentries.
