Chapter 46: Encountering the Blackwater

“Mercenaries? So, are we caught up in some kind of incident?” Hou Rui asked instinctively. After a brief silence, the elf finally spoke again, “It doesn’t matter if I tell you a little early. This time, our mission target is a Blackwater team. We need to assassinate someone and destroy a facility while under their protection.”

“Blackwater!” The moment Hou Rui heard the name, his mind raced, recalling information about that leading private security company in the mercenary world. The more he thought about it, the more nervous he became. After all, dealing with a team composed entirely of ex-special forces was far more daunting than fighting ragtag guerrillas or militias.

While Hou Rui was still deep in anxious thought, the drone continued to circle overhead. Only after thirty-four minutes, when it seemed to have found nothing of value on the ground, did it begin to ascend and slowly head back the way it came. When the buzzing in the sky finally faded, Hou Rui and the elf crawled out from under their camouflage.

“Should we go after it and take a look?” Hou Rui’s face was covered in sweat, but he didn’t even have time to wipe it away.

“Forget it, regrouping with the team is more important,” the elf said, then set off once again.

At dusk, the elf shot a wild rabbit, which became their dinner. After a simple meal, they pressed on, finally reaching a nomadic family’s camp of about 230 people around midnight.

Hou Rui watched as the elf conversed fluently in Arabic with the camp leader, then traded a package from her satchel for a generous meal and a small tent for the night.

As they enjoyed fragrant flatbread and roast lamb, Hou Rui, his mouth full, mumbled, “Is this another caravan from the organization?”

“Of course not, this is just an ordinary nomadic family.”

“Then how did you get this food and the tent?”

“Trade, obviously.”

“With that package just now?”

“Smart.”

“What was inside? Bundles of dinars?”

“In these African countries, the official currencies are about as good as waste paper. If you want to trade, you need hard currency.”

“What kind of hard currency? Gold or dollars?”

“Opium bricks,” the elf replied, then ignored Hou Rui’s barrage of questions, crawling into the tent to rest after she was full. But just as Hou Rui finished eating and was about to crawl in himself, the roar of a powerful jeep engine suddenly tore through the night.

The small camp was thrown into instant chaos. Amidst a flurry of shouting, the eighty-nine adult men in the family grabbed their weapons and followed the leader into prepared shelters, while the women, elders, and children all huddled inside the largest tent.

“Bandits again?” Hou Rui asked gloomily, staring at the distant glimmer of headlights. After a whole day’s march, he was just about to get some proper sleep and now this.

“It’s the military. Bandits wouldn’t make such a racket before attacking, and besides, desert bandits usually ride horses. Only Western forces have so many vehicles,” the elf replied, having already slipped out of the tent and set up her rifle, aiming toward the approaching jeep convoy.

A minute later, a group of armored Humvees with bear paw insignias and lettering on the hoods charged into the camp. Around twenty heavily armed Western soldiers jumped out and quickly formed a ring, illuminating the small camp with their roof-mounted floodlights, turning night into day.

Seeing the Gatling gun on top of the Humvee and the M16s in the mercenaries’ hands, the elf said decisively, “There’s no way the two of us can take these guys on. We need to retreat!”

“But what about the herders?” Hou Rui asked, watching the camp leader negotiating in the distance. He thought the elf would at least consider staying to help these people if necessary.

But he was mistaken. The elf’s heterochromatic eyes—one green, one gold—showed nothing but indifference and numbness. “When there’s leisure, I don’t mind firing a few shots. But in danger, my first priority is always my own survival. As for you, if you want to stay, I won’t stop you.” With that, the elf melted into the shadow cast by their tent and quietly slipped out the back of the camp.

After some hesitation, Hou Rui finally followed the elf, the two of them slipping away toward a nearby dune. As they retreated, Hou Rui, being downwind, could just make out the conversation between the Blackwater mercenaries and the camp leader.

“I warned you. No one—and I mean no one—is allowed in this area,” a burly man with a New York accent shouted.

“This land is a gift from God, this is our country—why shouldn’t we be allowed to pass through or camp here?” the leader protested.

“We make the rules here. God has nothing to say about it.”

“You blasphemers! You damned infidels, God’s wrath will descend on you and burn you for eternity!”

“Maybe, but you’ll never live to see that day.”

“What are you going to do? I’m telling you, we will never give in. We will walk this trade route as our ancestors did. My sons, my grandsons—they will continue. None of us will give up God’s gift.”

The leader’s voice rang with righteousness, but the Blackwater mercenaries before him slowly backed toward the Humvees, talking quietly among themselves.

“This is the second time this week. We can’t stop them every time,” grumbled a burly man cradling an M16.

“If these camel herders won’t listen to warnings, then kill some of them. Once enough have died, the rest won’t dare come back,” snarled another man, arms folded, wearing red tactical gloves.

“Will this cause trouble?”

“Who cares? This country’s a mess. No one gives a damn about anyone else’s life.”

“All right then, make it quick.”

As soon as he finished, the man in red gloves stepped back in front of the camp leader. “This is your last chance. Take your camels and get out, and never come back.”

“That’s impossible!” the leader shouted, shaking his fist.

“Suit yourself.” With that, the man in gloves suddenly gripped the leader’s shoulder, yanked him close, and drove a knife brutally into his abdomen.

“Take them out!” Almost simultaneously, the burly man with the M16 shouted into his radio, then raised his gun and shot the leader’s bodyguard. Instantly, the Humvee’s Gatling gun and the mercenaries’ rifles opened up, unleashing a hail of bullets.

The camp’s men, caught completely off guard, were cut down by half in the first volley. The survivors scrambled back into cover, returning sporadic fire. But against these well-trained mercenaries, their resistance was pitiful. In the blink of an eye, the camp’s defenders were routed.

As Hou Rui fled, he heard the gunfire and glanced back just in time to see a line of Gatling bullets tearing through a camel kneeling in the sand, the beast’s massive body shredded in an instant, and the man hiding behind it sliced in half by the same deadly barrage.

In less than a minute, all the armed men in the camp had been slaughtered. As the little encampment fell silent, the Blackwater mercenaries drove into the center, searching for any remaining enemies. Soon, when they reached the largest tent, two strong women burst out wielding small curved blades, but the Humvee’s Gatling chattered and they fell as ruined corpses.

“Machine gun! Kill everyone inside!” the man in red gloves shouted to the gunner. As the Gatling raked the tent with bullets, the rest of the mercenaries spread out, looting the camp.

Ratatat—the Gatling, firing over three thousand rounds per minute, chewed countless holes in the tent. The fate of the women and children inside was tragically obvious.

After ten seconds, the Gatling fell silent. The tent’s main pole had been shattered and it collapsed, nothing left but a heap of tattered canvas piled atop the bodies of the women and children.

“Hey, you greedy bastards—loot later. First get the bodies together, we need to clean up,” the man in red gloves barked, pulling a flamethrower from the back of a Humvee. When a mercenary lit the nozzle with a metal lighter, the red-gloved man unleashed a roaring jet of fire, setting the heap of corpses ablaze.

Instantly, the tent fabric caught fire as well, flames leaping nearly ten meters high, forcing the man in red gloves to step back. The Blackwater mercenaries went on with their looting or simply stood and watched the burning pyre.

Before long, the sickening stench of burning flesh drifted to Hou Rui’s nose. As he wrestled with fury and debated whether to go back and avenge the innocent, the elf suddenly pulled him down and pointed ahead, signaling a warning—danger up ahead.

Suppressing his anger and steadying his nerves, Hou Rui looked forward. Only then did he see that a Humvee had long been lying in ambush atop a sand dune, blocking the only escape route for him and the elf.

“Let’s fight them!” Hou Rui blurted, desperation overcoming caution.

“What’s the rush? Survival comes first. Burrow into the sand,” the elf replied. She pulled up her scarf to cover her mouth and nose, spun her rifle so the muzzle pointed at her feet, then lay on her back and began to wriggle, working her hips and shoulders to burrow into the sand like a snake, inch by inch, disappearing underground.