Mercenary Black Mamba

"...!"

The atmosphere changed with Jang Shin's short comment. Their heightened excitement collapsed at once.

"Nigimi Ddugural!" The captain wrapped his arms around his head.

He had forgotten the fact that their pickup had fallen to pieces. A vehicle was used to drive, not to drag around.

Then the captain raised his head, confidence radiating off of his face. "No problem! It's less than 25 miles to Paya. Even the weaklings of the airborne brigade can run that far. We're the Deuxieme Rep."

The captain began to spout irresponsible claims as he chewed out the airborne brigade. He seemed to have truly lost a screw after the ordeal in Paya.

The mercenaries began to chatter.

"We can't lose to those b*tches who lick the soles of our feet, after all."

"Those Commando b*stards won't measure up to us."

"We've even run 60 miles before."

"Yeah, we can jump that 25 miles just fine."

"That's nothing compared to the objective of cutting off the leader's head."

"There might even be a young lady in a Ferrari going by. Who knows? The Deuxieme Rep could hitchhike with just a few words."

The dead atmosphere became lively once more. The most beloved special forces of the 11th airborne brigade was the Commando team. Their airborne forces and the Deuxieme Rep were on bad terms.

The Legion Etranger was established by Philip I's approval of LaCroix and his advisor's proposal. In that time, the enlisted members were 11,000 of France's illegal immigrants. The officers selected to train such people were a commander and his subordinate who had been last in their training regiment.

The Legion Etranger's progress was still at 30 percent. French people spoke of freedom and equality as their motto, but there was an underlying conscience of inequality. The airborne brigade considered the Legion Etranger similar to a servant who did the dirty work on their behalf.

The Deuxieme Rep was the Legion Etranger's best special force.

There was a fierce competitive spirit, but there was also a deep grudge between them for past discriminations. The captain had just pointed out their most sensitive topic.

Black Mamba looked at his teammates with a dumbfounded expression. There was a limit to bluffing. What faith did they have to shout such big words?!

Of course, the Deuxieme Rep's training regimen as tremendous. They were capable of withstanding a 60-mile march, but that was on their best days. Currently, it was impossible for them to march 60 miles, or even ten. By the time they reached Habib's mansion, none of them would be able to move. Had their judgements clouded to the point they couldn't consider their own health?

The captain looked at Black Mamba. A smile was covering his face. 'He did this on purpose. There's no slyer fox than him.'

Black Mamba clicked his tongue. The leader wasn't an easy position. A leader had to know when to lie sometimes.

He overheard Ombuti mumbling, "I heard that cats consider themselves lions if they're raised together. Do they consider themselves the Angels of Death after travelling with one for so long?"

"Ha!" Black Mamba smirked. Soldiers were all about morale anyways. If they took a break and increased their morale, their recovery speed would similarly increase.

"You soldiers should all take a rest. I'll keep watch until daybreak," Ombuti announced bravely.

Only himself and his Wakil were in better conditions anyways.

"Wow! Thank you, Ombuti." Emil lunged to capture Ombuti in a hug, as he had been appointed first watch.

Sahel's night temperatures between November to December plunged below 68 degrees. There wasn't much discomfort in sleeping as long as they hung a mosquito net first. The mercenaries lowered their burdens of keeping guard for the first time and slept. Of course, their trust was placed more heavily on Black Mamba's animalistic instincts rather than Ombuti keeping watch. The beast was half-awake and half-asleep.

The desert's night continued to grow darker.

Aside from the hyena's short calls cutting through the night, sleep hit them heavily. The milky way that winded through the night sky curled to the right.

- Beep beep.

The captain woke at the call of his headset, and he pressed the headset's communication switch in a flash.

- Captain, ten camels. Presuming they're a guerrilla scouting unit.

It was a transmission from Ombuti, who had volunteered to be on guard.

'Huh, camels?'

The captain shook off his sleep and looked at his watch. The needle, which was glowing in the dark, pointed to two. He had fallen asleep around seven in the evening, so he had been sleeping for seven hours. This was a length of sleep that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He drained some water from the tank and wiped his face with a towel while his loosened muscles regained their tenseness. The horrible headache, which felt as though a hammer was pounding at an inserted metal plate in his head, had also calmed down.

- What's up with you? You usually report to your Wakil first.

The captain brought up the slight annoyance he harbored.

- Wakil needs to sleep. It's not so dangerous a situation that it requires his attention.

'Damn, this b*stard!' Ombuti was someone who spoke frankly to the point that others sometimes felt hurt. This time, he had basically implied that his owner was like the roots of a Korean ginseng, while they were the roots of a common radish. The slight annoyance surged into anger that bubbled on the surface.

- It's not a caravan?

Travelers who were used to the terrain often travelled throughout the night to avoid the day's high temperature. The night was also more advantageous in avoiding the FROLINAT, who were scarier than robbers.

- No. They have guns.

- Damn, do those b*stards never sleep? What's the situation?

- If you leave them be, they're simply passerby.

- Current distance?

- Within two miles.

- Understood. Keep watching them.

The captain took a moment to organize his thoughts.

Even if they did return to Paya and crushed Habib, their escape was concerning. There was no certainty that they would be able to steal a vehicle. Trident Rock, which held their hidden supplies, was 220 miles away. It was too far to travel to without a vehicle.

There were two bikes on the pickup, but they were unbefitting for long-distance relays. They also didn't have extra fuel. Their current fuel could only last them 125 miles. Moreover, if they all hung off the bike while travelling, it was most likely that they'd be killed in an instant.

'A camel!' The captain's mouth twitched up. A camel could run up to 25 miles per hour, and it was no lesser than a vehicle on Sahel's crazy terrain. Those b*stards had brought them a form of mass transportation at the right time. He liked it.

'Steal their camels. Disguise ourselves as merchants. Enter Paya. Crush Habib's mansion. Steal the mansion's vehicles. Black Mamba stops the enemy's attacks.' The plan to run all the way to their supply station ran through his mind.

The crux of the matter was getting rid of those b*stards without startling the camels. Camels were incredibly sensitive animals compared to their appearances. If they killed a camel with a misfire or scared them away, nothing could be gained from the situation.

He had already thought of a solution for that: Black Mamba. If Black Mamba did it, he could take care of those ten people quietly without startling their camels.

The captain searched for Black Mamba.

"Does that guy never sleep?"

Black Mamba's resting place was empty. The captain began to climb a dune without hesitation. If Black Mamba was missing during sleeping hours, he was most likely on the highest dune in the region.

As expected, Black Mamba was staring at the night sky on top of a dune, as was Black Mamba's hobby. He usually snuck out while his comrades were sleeping to look at the night sky. Of course, his comrades tended to sleep better when he was staring at the stars.

"Black Mamba, are you imitating the nomadic herders again?"

"Captain, have you already turned into a sleepless old man?" Black Mamba returned sharply without turning around.

"Hmph, you salty b*stard. Why don't you take a look at yourself first?"

"Me? I'm young. Look at the sky."

The captain's eyes turned to the sky. "There are too many stars."

"The solemn beauty… Can't you feel God's arrogant gaze?"

"The Angel of Death, the Devil of Sahel, lost in emotions?"

"The one reassurance I had in Sahel was the night sky."

"Reassurance? What reassurance?"

"My hometown. The home where my father's buried, where my mother resides. I left it because I hated it, but I still miss it. Sahel's night sky is my hometown's night sky."

The captain stared at Black Mamba's silhouette.

His strong shoulders that could hold up mountains were sagging. He recalled Black Mamba's old self in that helplessness, waiting for his mother's return from the grape farm out on the big street. The undefeatable special mercenary, code name Black Mamba, Sahel's Azrael of a Thousand Deaths, was still human.

"Black Mamba, don't you need sleep?" It was an admonishment based in worry.

"I slept well. I only woke up because of the camel's footsteps."

"Then you should already know that there are scouts on the camels."

"I smell a mix of blood and gunpowder. Ten camels."

The captain was lost for words. Did this b*stard have some kind of refined listening device? He had better hearing than a submarine's sonar. He knew of the ability but was always surprised whenever it came into play.

"That's it. Let's gift ourselves some camels, although Habib might disagree. You can take care of it without scaring the camels, right?"

The captain ordered ten immediate deaths as easily as ordering sliced cucumbers.

"Bien, no problem." Black Mamba took out his Pamus from his backpack.

The Dragunov emitted loud noises despite its silencer. A Pamus' shot was 100 decibels. With a silencer, it could be lowered to 60 decibels. Sixty decibels was the sound of day-to-day conversations. It wouldn't even be heard 650 feet away.

He saw Ombuti when he climbed up the rock and sand hill.

Ombuti, who was looking through his night goggles, smiled, which indicated that he had been expecting Black Mamba.

"Ombuti, how good is a camel's hearing?"

Ombuti glanced at the thick silencer that was on the Pamus' barrel. "A camel is stupid. It's sensitive and calm, but fierce in temper. It's sensitive to sounds and vibrations, while stunned before lights and movements. Its hearing is far better than a human's, but it wouldn't move at the sound of a silenced Pamus 650 feet away."

"Good. Wouldn't they be surprised if the people riding them fell or started spouting blood everywhere?"

"It will be surprised if said person shouts. It wouldn't be surprised at some falling or bleeding. With your skills, Wakil, wouldn't you be able to finish them all off in three seconds?"

"If I crush their occipital brains and cerebellums, they won't be able to shout. I need to prepare."

The young Korean and old Tuareg warrior talked of murder as though they were talking about the weather. This was the land of savages, the Sahel of Africa.

His front view was an open desert.

The camel scouts moved in a line arrogantly. It was a simple row from Black Mamba's position in front of them. They were arranged efficiently to be shot consecutively.

Cling— Cling—

He pressed on the inserted magazine with his thumb to check the condensed force. He pressed several times with his fingers before taking out two bullets.

Click—

The magazine clicked into place with a small sound.

A 30-bullet Pamus magazine was sometimes given with messed-up springs. If the spring didn't push up the bullets with precision, a misfire was bound to happen.

It was a rare occurrence, but small details in sniping could come back as critical mistakes. It was one of the reasons why snipers favored stability more than performance.

When he pulled on the loading handle, the clunk of metal retreated, causing the bullet to fall into place softly.

Clack—

The chunk of metal fell back, and the chamber opened. It was ready to kill.

A first-rate sniper was someone who prepared. Such snipers searched, checked, and confirmed one's conditions, including weather, environment, and the target's movements. An able sniper didn't have words like luck or coincidence in their dictionary.

Black Mamba, who was pulling the camouflage over his gun barrel, twitched. A black scorpion climbed slowly out of its hiding place. It had raised its front claws and was raising its tail. A sense of challenge and blood lust radiated off of the little guy.

The scorpion spun around in front of his nose with its tail in the air. These were the exact movements scorpions made before attacking. It was small, but it was poisonous. Black Mamba slowly pulled out a hand dart.

However, the scorpion had had no interest in Black Mamba.

It had been aiming for a large beetle that was climbing out of the ground. Losing interest in interfering with a battle of survival, he pushed his dart back into its pouch. An animal hunted for its own survival, and humans hunted their own in case others interfered with their comfort. Humans simply had to hunt humans, while scorpions hunted scorpions.