0114 The Situation Worsens

The next morning, Hou Rui woke up with a splitting headache. Only after sitting up did he realize he had spent the night sleeping in his own vomit, which only worsened his nausea. Guided by two unfamiliar soldiers, he stumbled to a nearby well to wash himself thoroughly. He discarded his soiled clothes and donned a fresh green uniform of the Liberation Front.

When a groomed Hou Rui returned to Captain Mulu’s fortress, the participants of the previous night’s wild party—those officers of the Front—had already departed. While most had been carried away by their own subordinates, the scene was much quieter, save for a few girls serving Captain Mulu who were cleaning the chaotic room.

As the headache-stricken Hou Rui sat on the sofa, he watched the door to Captain Mulu’s bedroom swing open. Two soldiers hauled out a corpse. The girl chosen by the Captain the night before still had her lifeless eyes wide open, and the skin on her chest looked as if it had been savaged by wolves; the torn flesh and adipose tissue formed a horrific, gaping wound. As the body was carried past the serving girls, those who dared to steal a glance could not help but tremble.

"Sergeant Douglas, did you have a good time last night? Are our black girls not exquisite and pleasurable?" Captain Mulu emerged from the bedroom, looking refreshed and wearing a light green uniform. It was clear he was in high spirits.

"I don't remember anything from last night. Now, I only have a splitting headache," Hou Rui replied truthfully, frowning.

"Hahaha, Sergeant Douglas, you are a funny fellow. You'll get used to it soon enough. You must understand that last night’s party is an event envied by many warriors in the Front. Only officers with distinguished combat records are eligible to attend. I hope you, too, will soon become a cornerstone of the Front." As he spoke, Captain Mulu beckoned to a maid, and a hearty breakfast was immediately set before them.

Looking at the cans, roasted meat, fried eggs, and camel milk on the table, Hou Rui had no appetite. Every muscle in his body was screaming in pain—he knew this was his body’s rejection of the alcohol and pills. If he chose the coward’s path and continued to consume them to mask the reaction, he would soon become a degenerate addict.

"Why aren't you eating? Is it not to your taste?" Captain Mulu asked, sitting opposite him.

"No, no, it’s just that my head hurts too much to have an appetite." Hou Rui forced himself to pick up a fork, put a piece of fried egg into his mouth, and swallowed it with great effort.

The breakfast lasted about twenty minutes. When the remaining food was cleared and replaced with two cups of coffee, Captain Mulu ordered his men to bring a tray covered with a handkerchief to Hou Rui.

"This is?" Hou Rui could not imagine what this bloodthirsty, cruel, and perverted Captain would give him.

"The thing you asked for yesterday has been found. Take a look!" Captain Mulu grinned, his tone dismissive yet proud.

Hou Rui mustered the courage to lift the cloth and saw a Kodak 3800 digital camera beneath it. Although it was an antique from over a decade ago, it appeared to be well-maintained. Seeing something so familiar, Hou Rui couldn't help but feel a spark of joy as he picked it up to examine it. After powering it on, he found the battery was fully charged and the memory card had plenty of space left—enough to last him a while.

"Do you like it, Sergeant?" Captain Mulu sipped his coffee slowly. He now looked like a cultured African gentleman, a far cry from the skirt-wearing, hand-chopping monster of the night before.

"I like it very much. Thank you, Captain, for this gift. Now I can capture images of more of the Front’s warriors." Hou Rui practiced framing a shot of a nearby maid. She smiled at the lens, and Hou Rui pressed the shutter, capturing the moment forever.

"It is nothing. Sergeant Douglas, use this camera to record the true face of the Liberation Front. Photograph our soldiers in battle, photograph our farmers tilling the fields, and then tell those in the world who misunderstand us—tell the Americans, the French, and the British—that we are free and we are brave." Captain Mulu continued to weave his unrealistic dreams.

"Right, I..." Hou Rui was about to offer a perfunctory agreement while checking the photo he had just taken. But as he browsed the memory card, he accidentally discovered many group photos of a family. The well-dressed family in the pictures was likely the original owner of the camera.

But now that the camera was in Hou Rui’s hands, where were its original owners? Was it looted, scavenged, or stolen? As these thoughts crossed his mind, he noticed his fingers were stained with a black powder. Upon closer inspection, he realized they were dried blood particles. He must have picked them up while handling the camera. It didn't take much to guess the fate of the family in the photos.

Imagining the possible end of the camera’s original owners, Hou Rui instantly lost interest in photography. Just as he set the 3800 back on the table, a soldier from the Front walked in quickly. After saluting, the soldier whispered a few words into Captain Mulu’s ear and handed him a palm-sized piece of paper.

Captain Mulu stared at the paper, his relaxed expression vanishing. His face turned grave, and he stood up abruptly. "Sergeant, there are new orders. Follow me."

"Yes, Captain." Sensing that something major had occurred, Hou Rui grabbed the camera and followed him out of the fortress.

It was the same large jeep, still smelling of rotting flesh, but this time Captain Mulu led a massive convoy of eight pickup trucks out of the town. The column, consisting of nine vehicles and over fifty soldiers, drove northward, soon approaching the blockade of the Somali government forces.

The terrain here consisted of lush, rolling hills, none higher than 450 meters, stretching for dozens of kilometers. The defense lines of the government forces and the Liberation Front were intertwined. In the vast stretches of forest, either side could launch surprise attacks at any time. Much like the guerrilla skirmishes Hou Rui excelled at, once small units collided, it was a fight to the death.

Finally, on a hillside where sporadic gunfire could be heard, Captain Mulu ordered the convoy to halt. He disembarked with Hou Rui and Sergeant Kun, leading all the soldiers into the woods.

After forty minutes of walking, the group reached a small field dressing station. A dozen wounded soldiers were being treated, and next to them lay more than twenty corpses piled haphazardly. It was clear the Liberation Front had just suffered a defeat.

"Where is Sergeant Kulun? If you aren't dead, crawl over here and see me!" Captain Mulu bellowed at the demoralized troops.

Soon, an officer with a bandaged head and his arm in a sling scrambled over, trembling as he stood before the Captain.

"Speak. What is going on here?" Captain Mulu pointed at the wounded soldiers and demanded.

"Last night, government forces shelled my position. We fought bravely and repelled them, but we lost some men," the injured Sergeant Kulun replied hurriedly.

"How many, exactly?" Captain Mulu, having fought the government forces for years, was not easily fooled.

"Over forty!" Kulun whispered.

"And the heavy weapons and equipment?"

"The heavy machine gun was destroyed, and more than half of our ammunition was consumed, but we successfully repelled them." Sweat beaded on Kulun’s forehead as he scrambled to explain.

"Useless trash. You couldn't even hold the position. You have no value anymore." Captain Mulu reached for his sidearm.

Sensing danger, Kulun turned to run, but after only two steps, a gunshot rang out. Captain Mulu had executed him on the spot. The surrounding wounded soldiers shrank back, terrified of being the next target of his rage. The soldiers who had accompanied Mulu quickly dragged Kulun’s corpse away and tossed it onto the pile of dead.

Captain Mulu holstered his pistol and paced, likely calming his anger while contemplating a strategy. No one dared to make a sound; the low-ranking wounded soldiers didn't even dare to breathe heavily.

A minute later, Captain Mulu pointed at a sergeant. "You. You are now in charge of Kulun’s unit. Reinforce the position after dark. I will send you two more heavy machine guns. This time, you must not let the government forces catch us by surprise again."

"Yes, Captain, but..."

"But what? Do you lack confidence?" Hearing the sergeant's hesitant tone, Captain Mulu’s hand moved back to his pistol, the threat unmistakable.

"But I only have fifty men left. I need more soldiers." Knowing he was likely to die either way, the sergeant chosen to take the fall gritted his teeth and confessed his predicament. No one had told him what he was supposed to use to defend the line.