Persian Cat

Suddenly, two battered minibuses appeared on the distant makeshift road, their headlights glaring as they sped straight toward the checkpoint. Instantly, the searchlights atop the checkpoint flared to life, thick beams focused directly on the lead minibus. The four border guards immediately scattered into defensive positions; one jumped onto the pickup truck, manning the machine gun and aiming it at the approaching vehicle.

Hou Rui watched as the soldiers halted the minibuses. A man, evidently an officer, engaged in fierce argument with the lead driver, while the other guards circled the vehicles cautiously, weapons at the ready. From Hou Rui’s vantage point, the passengers seemed to be ordinary border residents and small traders, but knowing Africa’s ever-shifting landscape, he dared not trust his own observations too much.

A gunshot rang out, abruptly shattering the tense negotiation. Hou Rui realized he had misread the situation entirely—the minibus driver, who moments before had been bargaining, now drew a pistol and shot the officer dead. The supposedly honest farmer pulled an Uzi submachine gun from his bundle, and the mother cradling her child revealed a .38 revolver from the baby’s blankets. In the blink of an eye, three of the four guards were gunned down.

The last guard, perched on the pickup, was just about to fire when a flash of gunfire erupted from among the huge bundles atop the second minibus. A hidden sniper's bullet pierced the guard's throat; he clutched his wound in vain before collapsing.

The formerly meek minibus driver leaned out the window, shouting angrily at the second vehicle behind him, waving his .33 pistol, both anxious and furious. Several men sprang out from the second bus, quickly collecting weapons from the fallen guards, and both minibuses barreled through the border, breaking through the checkpoint.

Seizing the opportunity, Hou Rui moved swiftly, slipping behind the minibuses, crossing over the bodies of the guards and through the checkpoint. Yet as he neared the Libyan side of the border, he saw that the group from the minibuses had already engaged in a firefight with the Libyan border guards.

This time, deprived of the advantage of surprise, the dozen armed men from the minibuses were no match for the Libyan soldiers. Under fire from two machine guns and a squad of troops, they were slain one after another, doomed to total annihilation within moments.

Watching quietly in the darkness, Hou Rui sensed something was wrong. It struck him suddenly—the sniper who had taken out the machine gunner earlier was nowhere to be seen in the battle. If he had acted, twelve precise shots could have eliminated the machine gunners, giving the armed passengers a fighting chance.

While Hou Rui pondered the mysterious absence of the sniper, the Libyan guards finished the fight. A dozen soldiers forced the survivors from the minibuses, then hauled out several enormous crates. Despite the distance, Hou Rui could just make out packets of white powder filling the boxes.

After finding the contraband, the Libyan soldiers executed the remaining survivors—children as young as six or seven were not spared. They dragged the corpses aside, grinning as they carried the crates into their guard post.

Hou Rui watched from afar. As he prepared to cross the Libyan border during the guards’ relaxed aftermath, a sudden, invisible sense of danger swept over him. He spun around instantly, only to find a gun aimed squarely at his brow.

Though Hou Rui had survived several battles, this was the first time someone had held a firearm to his head at such close range. He wanted desperately to stand tall and think of escape or counterattack, but his mind was utterly blank, his gaze fixed on the yawning black barrel before him.

He was done for. Falling into the hands of Libyan guards meant not the slightest chance of survival. In despair, he debated whether to attempt bribing his captor, but the gun was abruptly lowered. The armed figure pulled back their veil, revealing a face both familiar and strange.

"Elf!" Hou Rui's heart soared—he was spared!

"Shh," Elf gestured for silence, and together they crawled into a shallow pit nearby.

"Elf, are you on this mission too?" Hou Rui asked eagerly. Cradling her rifle, Elf lay flat in the pit and finally answered, "I didn’t expect you’d be here, let alone that we’d run into each other."

"How’s your eye?" he asked.

"I had the eyeball removed and replaced with an electronic prosthesis." Elf spoke as if describing someone else’s misfortune.

Hou Rui was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Since we've met, let’s stick together. We’ll talk after we clear the checkpoint," Elf said, already turning over to observe from the edge of the pit. After a moment’s surveillance, she crawled forward across the open ground, and Hou Rui hurried to follow.

For half an hour, they crawled steadily, finally leaving the patrol range of the border post. After drinking a little water, the two set off roughly in the direction of Sirte.

As dawn broke, Hou Rui noticed that Elf’s once-beautiful green eyes were now mismatched—one a dazzling gold, the other green. The contrast made her look like a strange, alluring humanoid Persian cat.

Hou Rui wanted to ask, but feared annoying her; he managed only a syllable before falling silent.

"This is top-grade equipment from the organization. It transmits visual signals to my brain and aids my sniping. The only problem is, there was no green option, so I ended up like this." Now safely across the border, Elf relaxed, speaking more freely.

"It’s actually quite beautiful," Hou Rui said, stepping ahead and turning to face her. Unexpectedly, Elf’s expression changed abruptly; she seized his collar fiercely.

"I meant nothing by it," Hou Rui protested, raising his hands to show he was harmless.

"Don’t move, don’t talk!" Elf snapped, pointing behind Hou Rui. Puzzled, he turned—and realized they had wandered into the ruins of a battlefield. Scattered across dozens of square kilometers were blackened, broken tanks and armored vehicles, painting a scene of desolate, weighty sorrow.

"What’s with these wrecks?" Hou Rui asked.

"It’s beneath your feet!" Elf, exasperated by his cluelessness, shouted, pointing at the ground.

Hou Rui looked carefully and, after three seconds, finally spotted a piece of silver-black metal half-buried in the sand.

"American-made cluster bomb. Mostly engineering plastic, simple structure, undetectable by mine-sweepers." Seeing Hou Rui had finally recognized the danger, Elf relaxed her grip and crouched to examine the bomb.

"Does that mean this area is impassable?" Hou Rui asked, suppressing his gratitude and anxiety, trying to sound calm.

"Better to play it safe and go around," Elf replied, moving sideways to skirt the former battlefield.

A hundred meters later, Elf suddenly turned and crouched, firing a shot that detonated the buried cluster bomb with a sharp explosion.

"Why did you do that?" Hou Rui asked.

"There are still plenty of herders around here," Elf replied, hoisting her rifle again, her meaning clear. She turned her attention back to their journey. Hou Rui was surprised—in their previous encounters, Elf had always been fierce and bloodthirsty; it was unexpected to see her display kindness and empathy.

Just as Hou Rui, lost in thought, prepared to catch up, a tiny black dot appeared in the distant sky. Due to her position, Elf hadn’t noticed, but Hou Rui saw clearly—it was a drone.

There was no time for anything else; Hou Rui turned and ran, sprinting 230 meters in a straight line before tackling Elf to the ground. He pulled a huge camouflage net from his pack, covering them both.

The whirring of the drone’s rotors grew steadily louder—it was now directly overhead.

"Was it drawn by the explosion? No, it arrived too quickly. Could there be US forces nearby?" Hou Rui whispered, analyzing the situation.

"What did you say?" Elf didn’t understand Chinese. Hou Rui had to quickly repeat his thoughts in English. Elf considered for a moment, then assessed their situation: "It’s not necessarily the Americans. The US operates with immediate strike tactics—they use high-altitude reconnaissance drones or missile-carrying Predators. Quad-rotor drones like this are rare, usually deployed only in base assaults."

"If not the Americans, who else? Libyan government troops?"

"Ha! Libyan government troops are just uniformed militia. Even if they had such equipment, they wouldn’t know how to use it. I suspect it's a foreign power—or maybe a mercenary team."