Mercenary Black Mamba

Ahmud smiled, satisfied.

His smile didn't last long.

"Tha-that, commander, look to your right!"

At his subordinate's panicked shout, Ahmus turned his head.

Something was sprinting viciously toward them in a curve.

"Is it a bike?" Ahmud murmured, looking through his night goggles.

"No. It's a person."

"What? A human!"

Surprised, Ahmud took off his night goggles, rubbed his eyes, and put them back on. The Soviet Confederation's night goggles were rather rough and heavy equipment. If worn for too long, they pressed down on the eyes and created optical illusions.

The figure reflected on the night goggles was, as his subordinate said, a human. It was impossible to say a human could run like a bike, but it was definitely a human.

Ahmud's face hardened.

It was the same b*stard who had crushed the command post, the b*stard who had sent bullets flying around the camp. That b*stard was that fast.

"It's-it's him. That person! That b*stard!"

"Huh?"

Confused, the subordinate began to enter a more focused mode. Him, that person, and that b*stard. No one had the ability to understand the difference between these similar nouns.

Thump—

Ahmud kicked his subordinate's shin repeatedly.

"You piece of sh*t, shoot him, shoot him to death!" Ahmus shouted as though he had lost his mind.

The fear and hatred towards that b*stard had frozen his logic. He didn't even know what he was saying.

"He's not in shooting range."

The subordinate looked down at his gun. He was being logical. Any person who asked him to shoot an enemy that was 15 to 1,500 feet away was the crazy one.

At his subordinate's surprising action, Ahmud's consciousness, which had taken leave, returned.

Blood rushed to Ahmud's temple.

"You idiot, shoot before I make a hole in your skull! Shoot with the machine gun—no, go throw a cannon. That b*stard is the Kanma!"

"Ah, Kanma!"

Now realizing the identity of him, the person, and b*stard was the same, the subordinate sucked in his breath. Without time to even finish hearing his commander's instructions, he blew hard on the recorder, which was the length of three finger widths.

Beep beep beep— Beeeep beep— Beeeeep—

The piercing sound waves broke through the sound of gunshots. It was a rule that women's high pitched voices stayed staccato while a man's voice rumbled. The rear supervising unit heard the sound and blew their recorders in the same manner.

Three short sounds referred to a mortar, one long sound noted the distance, and the long sound that was dragged out meant first priority. It was the FROLINAT's unique signaling method, as they didn't have steel powder.

Black Mamba ran at his highest speed despite the wound in his left calf. There were 1,000 feet left until he reached his marked concealment object. Because shadow steps required him to run in a zig-zag, he was, in fact, running 1,500 feet, which meant that he was left vulnerable for 40 seconds.

Black Mamba didn't care. A first rated sniper took three seconds to mark a moving target and 0.5 seconds to shoot. Within 3.5 seconds, he moved 130 to 165 feet, and his direction changed twice. This meant that he was impossible to snipe. If they wanted to catch him, they would have to use a shell.

Ahmud felt as though he was on fire.

A human who ran across the desert at the speed of a horse, it was stunning to the point that he lost his words. That single moment of exclamation was all it took for him to reach the rocky surface.

"What are you doing?! Shoot, shoot!" Ahmud shouted.

Beep— Beeep—

There was the sound of a moving mortar shell.

A mortar had a lengthy flight time and slow speed due to its high degree of launch and fuel charged descent. It wasn't a weapon that could target one point, either. In Black Mamba's point of view, it was annoying, but not a threat. Of course, if several mortars were joined to launch a larger explosion, then he wouldn't have been able to escape.

Black Mamba was in a condition with all of his senses unleashed. The shell that had approached him at 1,000 feet was caught directly on his radar. He immediately calculated the degree and distance. He swiveled to the right and jumped 50 feet.

Bang—

The first shell landed at a 100 feet in front of him and dug a useless hole. The second shell fell someplace closer to where he had turned and created a pillar of sand.

"Those damned f*ckers!"

Black Mamba spewed profanities as he leaped out of the explosions' range with his Four Paced Movement. Fireworks fell on the place he had just been standing.

TNT and RDX were usually used in high explosives. Those b*stards had filled it with a paraffin-coated cyan compound. The fireworks which exploded everywhere burned the sand, sizzling.

With a series of popping noises, the Degtyarev poured out bullets as best as it could, but it only raised some dust to the left and right of Black Mamba. It was impossible for a shooter who relied on moonlight to catch up to Black Mamba's speed of light.

Three high explosives, and three-inch recoilless cannons were launched, but they lacked the capability to catch Black Mamba, who was sprinting at an uneven pace. There was nothing more to say about the old machine gun, which used a 47 bullet magazine.

He had passed 1,000 feet in 40 seconds. Two large rocks the size of wardrobes were laid against each other ahead of him. This was his targeted resting place. Black Mamba, who jumped against the ground, threw his arms open and rolled once in the air as though he was tumbling before going back down. It was a method of Flying Display. His large build burrowed into the small hole as though he had measured it.

"You damn b*stards, I've had enough of shells at Er Ekdim. Now it's your turn to taste them."

Black Mamba was incensed with anger. He was tired of shells. On top of that, those b*stards had shot incendiary bombs, too. He shouted and began to search for the guy who had blown the recorder. He was the b*stard who had been caught on his anger radar.

'Ha!'

He had disappeared like a ghost. He was a b*stard with an amazing sense for danger.

Bang— Bang—

Two shells landed on his obstacle in a row, but they couldn't do anything to the large rocks.

Black Mamba immediately began sniping.

He had sprinted 1,600 feet, but not a single breath was out of place. It was due to his increasingly high oxygen intake ability.

Any Korean man who chose to be conscripted knew for a fact that breathing controlled 90 percent of a sniper's accuracy. Of course, this was the same for the spawn of darkness.

In the past, if the Korean army didn't like recruits, so they tortured them with PT training fearfully and made them go up the shooting range afterward. Their scores were obviously bad. The next was obvious. With their scores as an excuse, the pick-ax began to dance around and cut people.

The distance to the annoying mortar was 3,000 feet, and outside of the Dragunov's shooting range, but he wasn't concerned at all. He activated his inner eye for the first time in a long time. The three-inch mortar manning team drew closer before his eyes, as though he was watching through a large telescope's lens.

His inner eye was different from his sensory eye. If he raised his wavelengths and used his sensory eye, he could feel emotions. It was, to the word, his brain looking out. On the other hand, the inner eye used the actual eye to capture objects. It was the difference between retrospection and realism.

The FROLINAT soldiers didn't have any defense against snipers.

There was no tension. He could even see them smiling with their teeth exposed.

"Did they drug themselves?"

It was long-distance, but an open target was no problem at all.

Clang—

The one loading the mortar who had been about to place the shell fell onto the ground.

Clang, clang, clang—

The confused gunner, observer, and powder loader simultaneously spewed blood. Who would have imagined they would be sniped from 3,000 feet?

The two-inch mortar's shooter, who was a similar distance away, also gained a hole in his head. Following that, blood spurted out of the loader's chest.

The recoilless gun shooter and his assistant 2,800 feet away also had their heads blown up immediately after. He was putting the inner eye he had gained through the rough beating on his superior physique to the best use.

"Mouris, Miguel, I've avenged you, although the real people I should be dealing with aren't them. Now, shall we begin for real?"

Black Mamba, who had just wiped out the rear long-range shooting team, began his vanguard clean-up. Infantries could never be looked down on. All wars ended with infantries.

"Now, dear FROLINAT ground dogs, it's showtime."

Clang— Clang— Clang—

The Dragunov vomited out its dry bullets in a line. The two guerrillas who were hiding behind a sparse mound of grass felt their heads explode. They were the panzerfaust duo who had troubled the mercenaries the most.

Clang— Clang— Clang—

The two guerrillas who had been launching grenades behind a rock's crevice faceplanted. Following them, the RPG snipers were sniped down.

Black Mamba's first target while sniping was always the supporting firearms.

If even a single part of their bodies were revealed, their lives were forfeit, or their limbs were thrown far away. There was even a guerrilla who had the tip of his nose blown off from exposure.

Ahmud had hidden behind the armored vehicle the moment Black Mamba hid behind his obstacle. The only northern commander who had experienced Black Mamba's fearsome actions several times was Ahmud. He hid his body without a second of hesitation.

'Huh, what's happening. No way?!'

Ahmud suddenly felt as though the tide of the battle had changed. The supporting firearms had started to die down. Beginning with the mortar, the grenade launchers, Allah wand, and even the machine guns began to die down. It was the curse of Kanma that his subordinates had talked of.

'Scary b*stard!'

Ahmud slowly raised his mirror from behind the armored vehicle.

Clink—

The mirror shattered the moment he attempted to check the front.

"Ack!"

Frightened, Ahmud immediately crouched down. The bullet had flown at the moment the mirror was pushed out. The mirror's diameter was but one inch, and his distance from the b*stard was at least 1,300 feet. This was the fearsome sniping of Kanma, who had destroyed his unit at Toko Toom and erased the command post of Coromunga. Ahmud didn't even dare to raise his head.

The threatening explosions began to decrease suddenly. The grenades and RPGs also silenced their breaths.

Black Mamba joining the fray appeared as a blessing to the Ratel team and a nightmare to the FROLINATs. With the mortar, recoilless rifle, and RPG silenced, the firepower of the Ratel team regenerated.

Burimer, who was out of grenades, picked up his M60 machine gun.

Burimer's machine gun covered Miguel's absence. Mike, who was also relieved of his burden of returning bullets, began to snipe easily as though he was picking out weeds.

"As expected of our big brother."

Black Mamba had captured the mortar he had failed to. Jang Shin raised his head, which had been shoved between rocks, and started his mortar once more. The vanguards who had passed the tripwire were his targets.

Bang— Bang— Bang—

Jang Shin began to throw high explosives at a speed of one per every two seconds. By 30 seconds, he had used four boxes of bullets. The result was devastating. The 30 or so guerrillas who had gained the advance path inward had died.

"Jang Shin, there's only one box of shells left."

"Damn, and they said you'd be ill if the battle dragged out!"

An explosions devil without any shells was like a woman who met her lover on her period.

"Sergeant Bell Man, you should go act as Black Mamba's servant."

Jang Shin acted as though he was a protective husband handing off his lover to a guest.

"Got it. Be careful."

Bell Man ran through the bullet-raining battlefield without looking back.

His main profession was doctor, but Bell Man was a mercenary. He ran through the battlefield steadfastly.

"Black Mamba, hah, haaa!"

"Bell Man, why are you here? This isn't a hotel. It's dangerous."

Black Mamba looked at Bell Man, who was panting as though his breath would end with displeased eyes.

"Haa, ha, there's no place safe on the battlefield. The safest place is right next to you."

Black Mamba checked his ammunition. He had used three rounds while cleaning out the guerrillas who were aiming for a rear attack and two for suppressing the rear firearms support. All he had was one prepared ammunition. There were over 100 guerrillas left.

"If you're here, work for your food."

Black Mamba threw five empty cartridges at Bell Man. The fact that a sniper possessed six cartridges of twenty bullets itself was an absolutely unquestionable mystery.

"And the bullets?" Bell Man shouted as though he had to scream.

If Black Mamba ran out of ammunition? He didn't even want to think about it.

Black Mamba took out 600 rounds of bullets wrapped in paper from his backpack. There was no need for words.

"Damn, why am I always slaving for the lower ranks? At least it's better than being a warhead shuttle."

Bell Man began to fill up the Dragunov's cartridges with a frightening speed while complaining.

It was something his partner Emil should have been doing, but Emil was currently watching the rear. Sniping was Black Mamba's job, and bullet shuttling was his. Bell Man used the hands that normally treated bullet wounds to fill in cartridges that would cause bullet wounds. This was a battlefield after all.

Jang Shin, who had finished using his remaining five high explosives, looked at his Pamus communication device.

- Jang, shove your head back in.

Black Mamba's warning rang out across the headset.