Northern Saudi Arabia.
An overseas wholly-owned refinery base of a certain Japanese multinational petrochemical conglomerate.
The towering refining towers and intricate pipelines radiated scorching metallic heat under the baking sun, yet not a single roar of operating machinery could be heard.
Inside the administrative building of the plant.
Inside the dust-covered plant manager's office, the air was foul and stifling. Several Japanese executives and senior engineers in short-sleeved uniforms huddled behind desks and in corners.
Some curled up behind desks, backs against the wall and knees pulled to their chests. Others sat slumped in corners, clutching phones that had long since lost their signals, thumbs unconsciously pressing the side buttons every few seconds. The screens lighting up and dying, dying and lighting up again.
The expensive satellite phone on the desk had a red no signal indicator flashing rhythmically, appearing to be the only thing in the room that was still breathing.
No one spoke. Everything that could be said had been exhausted over the past forty-eight hours.
From the distant northern horizon came the faint, dull thuds of heavy Iraqi artillery bombardment.
Boom—
With every blast, the floor of the entire building trembled slightly. Dust from the ceiling fell in flurries, landing on the heads and shoulders of these pampered executives.
Suddenly.
The heavy and dense roar of engines approached on the road outside the plant and came to a stop. The low-frequency rumble of heavy truck diesels interlaced with large-displacement off-road engines made the ground vibrate slightly.
Next came the metallic crack of hydraulic shears forcibly cutting through iron chains.
Clack!
The executives in the office looked up in terror.
This was a war zone. Those who could still come here now were likely…
After a few seconds of vacuum-like silence, the plant manager was the first to move. He scrambled to the window on all fours, cautiously poking half his head out to peer through the slats of the blinds. The others crowded in behind him, lowering their bodies to look out from either side of his shoulders.
Four heavy black bulletproof SUVs and eight heavy tactical trucks with desert camouflage tarps crushed the open chain-link gate and drove directly into the plant.
The car doors pushed open.
Dojima Gen stepped out of the vehicle. Several special service members wearing sand-colored tactical gear and holding automatic rifles followed closely behind, quickly fanning out around the vehicles to form a security perimeter. Their tactical vests and armbands were clearly printed with the Red Cross emblem representing medical and rescue services.
The plant manager's gaze moved away from the firearms and fell upon those Asian faces and the Red Cross armbands.
He froze for two full seconds. Then, his entire body began to tremble violently.
He suddenly threw open the office door and sprinted down the stairs. Several executives followed close behind, stumbling out of the administrative building's glass doors.
"Are you from the embassy?! Has the embassy finally sent people to evacuate us?!"
The plant manager's eyes filled with tears as he stumbled toward Dojima Gen, his voice cracking from extreme agitation.
Dojima Gen stood by the hood of the SUV. He looked at these disheveled Japanese executives.
"Embassy vehicles can't enter the combat zone at all."
Dojima Gen's tone was steady.
"We are a commercial rescue team dispatched by the S.A. Group."
The wild joy on the plant manager's face froze instantly.
"Com... commercial rescue team?"
Dojima Gen did not answer his confusion. He turned around and pulled a slightly crumpled satellite fax from a waterproof briefcase on the passenger seat.
He handed the fax to the plant manager.
"Due to the loan-cutting order issued by the Ministry of Finance and the comprehensive surge in crude oil prices," Dojima Gen said, looking directly at the plant manager as he read the contents of the paper, "your parent company's primary accounts in Tokyo have been frozen by the court."
The plant manager's hand, reaching for the fax, stopped in mid-air.
"Your company currently cannot produce the precious foreign exchange needed to pay the high mercenary fees for a multinational evacuation."
The fax shook slightly in the plant manager's hand. He looked down, his eyes scanning the blurred printed Japanese characters, his pupils dilating bit by bit.
"To save your lives," Dojima Gen continued, "the S.A. Group has provided funding to take over the parent company's domestic debts. We have also paid in full for all the costs of this aircraft and security evacuation."
"In exchange, the parent company has already, in a conference room in Tokyo, transferred all equity in this refinery to S.A. Overseas Trust at a discount."
Dojima Gen reached into the briefcase again and took out an On-site Physical Asset Transfer and Abandonment Confirmation and several boarding passes printed with US military evacuation flight numbers.
"The legal transfer of equity has been completed."
He spread the confirmation form flat on the scorching hood of the SUV and laid a black sign pen beside it.
"Now, I need you to sign this confirmation to complete the physical handover of the on-site equipment."
Dojima Gen pointed at the boarding passes.
"Once you sign, the convoy will immediately escort you to the safe zone at Dhahran Base."
The plant manager stared down at the end of the fax.
He recognized that signature.
The old president he had followed for fifteen years had a habit of dragging out the last stroke of his surname. That familiar brushwork was now printed on this cheap fax paper, next to the bright red corporate seal.
The parent company was bankrupt. To save themselves and for debt restructuring plans that might never come to fruition, the board of directors in Tokyo had packaged those of them risking their lives overseas along with this multi-billion dollar refinery and sold them to this whatever group. The bargaining chip in return was nothing more than a few plane tickets to escape the war zone.
The plant manager's Adam's apple bobbed.
He turned his head and looked at the fully armed special service members around him.
He couldn't accuse them of taking advantage of the situation because, in this desert already covered by artillery fire, this private armed force belonging to the S.A. Group was indeed the only force currently capable of bringing them out alive.
Boom!!!
A heavy artillery shell exploded with a roar on a sand dune less than two kilometers from the plant.
The massive shockwave, carrying dust and sand, swept through, instantly shattering the glass windows of several floors of the administrative building. Countless sharp glass shards flew everywhere within the plant, clattering against the steel plates of the bulletproof SUVs in a dense barrage of impacts.
Several executives and senior engineers behind the plant manager were knocked to the ground by the blast wave.
The violent explosion left everyone's eardrums with temporary hearing loss and intense ringing.
"Ah!"
Terrified screams rang out in the plant. Several people clutched their heads tightly, curling up in pain on the ground covered in dust and glass fragments. Someone tried to stand up and run but fell heavily back into the dirt due to the intense physiological shock and weak legs.
After several seconds of chaos and panic, the instinct for survival completely overrode reason.
One executive, whose forehead had been slashed by broken glass, crawled through the mess on all fours and stumbled toward the SUV.
He grabbed the plant manager's trouser leg in a death grip, his voice completely breaking from extreme fear, his sentences becoming fragmented.
"Sign… Manager! Sign it quickly!"
His face covered in blood, he pointed at the billowing smoke rising in the distance and shrieked hysterically.
"Shells! The Iraqis are attacking… we'll die! We're all going to die here! Get in the car… please, we have to get in the car and run for our lives!"
The other engineers lying by the wheels also reacted, pleading loudly like madmen, some even starting to pound violently on the bulletproof SUV's doors.
Amidst this scene of extreme chaos and hysterical wailing.
The special service members fanned out on the perimeter merely lowered their centers of gravity quickly, hiding most of their bodies behind the heavy bulletproof vehicle frames. They reached up and pulled down the sand goggles on their tactical helmets, blocking out the flying glass shards and swirling dust.
The muzzles of their automatic rifles remained level in a defensive posture. The eyes of several members looked past the weeping Japanese executives on the ground, piercing through the thick smoke to lock onto various high points and road entrances outside the plant's wire fence.
Two squad leaders made several tactical hand signals in the swirling yellow sand.
The members immediately stepped out, completing the inward contraction of the defensive line and the redeployment of interlocking fields of fire within seconds, tightly enclosing the executives in the center of the defensive circle without the slightest disarray in their formation.
Dojima Gen watched his team's response with satisfaction. Without needing his orders, the members had automatically executed the optimal solution in this situation. Moreover, they hadn't forgotten their primary duty. The first priority was protecting high-value targets.
He turned his head again to look at the plant manager slumped by the car. Looking at the situation, he probably wouldn't hold out much longer.
Hmm, this shell made things much easier. Could it be that the bombardment around the plant was also the Young Lady's arrangement?
It was very likely. Although he didn't know how she did it, if it were the Young Lady, she could certainly manage it.
He silently praised the Young Lady's brilliant foresight in his heart, while pushing the black sign pen half an inch toward the plant manager along the hood.
Quickly fulfill your value. To be calculated into the Young Lady's plans is your honor.
The poor plant manager was still staring blankly at the ground, memories of the old president's kind treatment surfacing before his eyes. However, logic told him that if he didn't sign now, what surfaced would be more than just the president's kindness.
The collapsed wailing of his colleagues, the approaching artillery fire, and the only life-saving ticket before him became the final straw that broke his reason.
The plant manager completely broke down amidst the deafening echoes of the explosion and the screams around him.
He struggled to get up, leaning his upper body over the scorching hood and grabbing the sign pen with a trembling hand.
Though his handwriting was extremely distorted due to his shaking hand, he still finished writing in a crooked manner.
By signing his name on the physical asset transfer form, he completely surrendered control of this massive industrial fortress.
Dojima Gen picked up the paper, his gaze quickly scanning the signature and thumbprint at the bottom to confirm they were correct. He folded it and placed it neatly into a sealed, waterproof, and explosion-proof briefcase, clicking the metal latch shut.
"Withdraw, mount up."
Dojima Gen turned around and gave the signal to retreat.
The special service members on the perimeter immediately tightened the defensive line. They offered these former executives no extra business etiquette, directly grabbing the collars of the engineers whose legs were weak and who were still shivering on the ground, dragging and shoving them into the back seats of the bulletproof SUVs almost roughly.
The heavy bulletproof doors closed one after another, the dull thud of the metal latches engaging forcibly sealing out the roar of artillery and the wind-blown sand.
The convoy quickly turned around.
Engines roaring, they left this heavy industrial fortress—now bearing the name of the Saionji Family—temporarily sealed within the rumbling artillery fire and the heavy shadows of war.