Mercenary Black Mamba

Chapter 77: Chapter 11, Episode 11: A Desperate Escape

‘Black, hurry over so you can kill me!’ The Captain shouted this in his head.

Ombuti had unintentionally become an excluded member of the fight.

The battle had occurred so suddenly as he was busy rubbing his butt between two soft sand-stones that he had used as a barrier.

Crash!

The explosion dropped without warning close by him.

“Ahh!”

Surprised, Ombuti landed on his butt. He climbed back in between the rocks without picking himself back up.

“Ugh, those tenacious bastards. I need to be carrying the grenades.”

The thought of helping Jang Shin swept through his mind.

“Eek!”

Ombuti had climbed out of the rocks and poked his head out, then immediately headed back in.

Pa! Pa! Pa!

Pieces of the rock fell apart loudly as bullets hit it.

With the grenade launcher signaling the start of the battle, the sounds of explosions and bullets began to fill the desert.

Bullets flew in from both sides.

The bullets that had passed by his ears made a chilling sound.

He couldn’t gather the courage to leave his cover.

He, a Tuareg warrior, couldn’t reveal himself as a coward to the others. The actions he had taken to handle his personal matters had led him away from camp and put him in a difficult situation. He had, unfortunately, landed himself in the line of fire between the two sides.

‘F*** being noble. What even is noble? I’ve already decided to serve a master. It’ll end soon when Wakil arrives.’

Ombuti decided to ease his mind.

He had once organized a private army to fight against the FROLINAT. That had been child’s play compared to now. The Ratel team were true warriors, and he was getting older. He wouldn’t be of any help, even if he stepped into the battle.

The mercenary group, which his Wakil protected, was undefeatable.

The FROLINAT, made of human soldiers, wouldn’t be able to do anything to his Wakil, who was anything but human. Therefore, Azrael and the mercenaries would be able to handle the battle without him.

The battle became more intense. The sounds of explosions and gunshots filled the sky and ground. The intense piercing smell of the gunpowder tickled his nose.

He began to cough and sneeze. Panicked, he shoved his head closer into the small crevice. He wasn’t scared of death, but he didn’t want to die before he had his revenge.

Musta had died, but Habib, who raped his wife and was a murderer, was still alive. If he died now, how was he supposed to face his wife and daughter?

“Allah, I cannot die yet. By your grace, my life has been extended. Please keep death away from me a little longer.”

Ombuti’s sounds of prayer, which had begun gently, started to increase in volume.

“All that is in the heavens and earth belongs to Allah. Whether you disclose whatever is in your hearts or conceal it, Allah will on call you to account for it; and will then forgive whom He wills, and will chastise whom He wills. Allah has power over everything. Allah is great! Allah is great!” (From Surah Al-Baqarah 2:284)

When the sounds of the battlefield’s gunshots and explosions grew greater, Ombuti prayed louder.

Although chaos reigned at the front of the battle, the rear wasn’t peaceful either.

‘Oh, this is useful!’

Mussang was pleased with the newly assigned night goggles.

The new provision AN/PVS-5 was incomparable to the previous version. Despite the dim moonlight, he could see the entire 400-meter front. The older version wouldn’t have been capable of this.

The new night goggles filtered out the crawling enemy in a clear green color. This was because the green vision shot the amplified electrons on the phosphor thin film to generate photons.

Meanwhile, Black Mamba tried to suppress his desperate mind.

Even if he was being rushed, there was a specific order of actions he had to follow.

The enemies who climbed over the dunes began to appear on his night goggles. Over the dune was nothing but open fields for 400 to 500 meters. The moment they climbed over the dunes, the enemies’ names on Black Mamba’s death list began to blur.

Black Mamba raised his Dragunov.

It was time for their blood to be spilled across the Sahel. However, it was uncomfortable. He had met his enemy for the first time, and there was no bad blood between them. Thinking about the higher-ups who created this messy situation made his teeth clench

“I’m a mercenary, and they see me as an enemy, so now what? I need to do my job and work for my food. There’s no such thing as free food in this world, and there’s nothing worse than taking something you didn’t pay for.”

“Black, are you casting a spell on yourself again? Teach me.”

When Black Mamba spoke in Korean, Emil began to complain.

“I need to pay for my food first.”

Thirty-five soldiers climbed over the 10-meter dune, and beyond it was the 400-meter mark Black Mamba had decided would be his sniping area. He couldn’t have requested anything better for a sniping environment. The dune would be an obstacle for the enemies if they tried to escape. On the other hand, the targets were small. The enemies’ heads, which were low to the ground, were his targets.

Black Mamba’s specialty, the several-in-a-row sniping, began.

Ta! Ta! Ta!

The 7.62 mm bullet shot through three supervising soldiers’ heads. The bullet sustained its momentum as it pierced through their cerebrums, cerebellums, and brain-stems before finally coming out of through their chins.

It was a horrible death, but it didn’t look that bad.

The targets died without a sound and plopped lifelessly to the ground.

After the supervisors’ deaths, Black Mamba’s Dragunov began to fire at the enemies without rest.

He brought death to them without a sound. Even Emil began to wonder whether Black Mamba had shot his gun at all. Once the invaders realized a sniper was responsible for their fellow soldier’s deaths, over half of them had shoved their heads into the sand.

“It’s the Kanma!”

“Kanma!”

The shouts of the enemies stricken with fear began to trickle in.

They began to scatter like ants.

While some began to dig into the sand like madmen, others turned their backs and started running up the dune.

Tap, tap, tap! Tap, tap, tap!

With two three-in-a-row shots, the six who were climbing up the dune collapsed.

Emil, who was staring at the scene through his night goggles, shook his head. Six had collapsed instantly. Black Mamba was a good sniper. The skill he had for controlling the gun’s recoil was a mystery.

“Wow! Those bastards are fast. They’re like moles.”

Emil was surprised by how fast the enemies had hidden underneath the sand.

Emil sent a silent regard to those poor soldiers. Even if they were hiding, there was no avoiding Black Mamba’s sniping. If Black Mamba began to use his dimensional sight, concealment was of no use.

A cruel fate was already decided for the enemies who entered the open field. The possibility of living after walking into a lion’s den was higher than living while exposed to Black Mamba’s gun. A layer of sand didn’t serve as an obstacle for a bullet that had the momentum of 3600J.

Tap!

Every time the low and heavy shot rang out, the sand was filled with blood. The soundless deaths, combined with human imaginations, only increased the enemies’ fear. They choked in terror and were unable to shoot a bullet in retaliation. Their deaths were meaningless. If Ahmud had also given his direct subordinates a Jenkem, they would have retaliated without fear.

The sandstorm died down.

When the dust that roamed the air settled, stars filled the skies. Black Mamba silently looked out at what he had done.

It had taken three minutes for the rear invaders, all thirty-five of them, to be scratched off his list. In the desert, where Dragunov’s firing had stopped, the splattered brains were revealed under the moonlight and shone with a glint of blue. It was a grotesque scene.

‘Damn, he looks like the main character of the Cannes movie festival’s winner.’

Emil thought he looked amazing, with his gun lowered underneath the white moonlight, staring out into the battlefield. No, he looked lonely and tormented. Burdens weighed down on his broad shoulders. Black Mamba was two years younger than him. He was at the age where he had a heroic mind, had strengthened his shoulders, and would hold his neck up high.

He was a sniper who didn’t like killing, a cool guy who threw his life on the line for his comrade’s, a pure lover who didn’t hold other women except for his true love, a guy who turned into a devil when a gun was in his hands, and someone who turned into a monk when the weapon left his hands. Emil was that guy’s friend and partner. He suddenly felt very happy.

And he was a bit annoyed.

His job was to prevent enemies from running forward. He was Black Mamba’s guard. But the enemies had died before they could even rush forward. All he had done was watch a boring movie through his night goggles. However, even that had finished in an instant.

“Ugh, blast!”

Emil, who hadn’t been able to shoot even once, rapped on his faultless Minimi. The new series’ original Minimi from Belgium’s FN company was a spicy pepper that could shoot 1000 rounds per minute. But what use was it, even if it was spicy?! There was no-one he could use it on.

“Black, leave some for me.”

“Emil, don’t speak up this late. I’ll kick your a**.”

Black Mamba smiled at his partner’s harmless whining. Emil had a bright personality, which made him a blessing. If he had gained a strange partner like Mike, he would have buried him long ago or would have considered transferring.

“Those bastards don’t have any imagination. They always attack the rear and advance forward. I’m growing tired of it.”

“Emil, the front’s situation is bad.”

“Damn, you should go. The Captain must be spitting fire by now.”

“What about the rear?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Black Mamba shot out, even before Emil finished his reply.

“Fast as always.”

Black Mamba ran as though he was flying off the ground. The flying sand covered him and made him practically invisible.

His body wavered left and right underneath the blurry moonlight. He was using shadow steps as he considered the FROLINAT snipers.

His speed didn’t catch up with his hurried mind.

Shadow steps put an enormous strain on his ankles. The injured lower half of his leg began to throb. Even if he had a supernatural healing ability, a deep wound couldn’t recover perfectly within three days.

“Ha, look at him.”

It was Ombuti. It seemed as though the old Tuareg warrior had forgotten entirely about the Captain’s request for him to help Jang Shin. The sight of his head underneath a rock with his butt sticking out was comical. It was deja vu of what happened at Cheonseongsa Temple. Laughter spilled out of his mouth.

A rooster, who was chased by a goshawk, had flown into the temple during late fall. The panicked creature had shoved its head underneath the Buddha’s feet. He thought if he couldn’t see the goshawk, it wouldn’t see him either. The Master and disciple had laughed so hard, they forgot about the service.

‘This old man wouldn’t die, I suppose.’

Black Mamba ran through the dried Wadi like a leopard. He could hear that his comrades were being pushed back by the sound of the guns. His comrades were skilled, but they were nothing against the enemy with greater numbers. The enemies,

which had flooded the front, consisted of over 200 soldiers. He didn’t want to lose any more comrades.

“No, Miguel!”

Black Mamba screamed amid his sprint.

He witnessed the moment the bullet ran into Miguel’s head like a paused scene in a movie. The bullet slowly dug into the helmet.

The sight of Miguel collapsing had registered unrealistically in Black’s head. The Minimi, which stood on a tripod, rolled into the trench.

“Those f****** bastards!”

Curses poured out of his mouth.

In a rushed heat, he pushed his bold steps to the max. He jumped into the trench, crossing 50 meters in one breath. He hurriedly adjusted Miguel’s head and took off his helmet.

“F****** s***, Namuamitabul!”

A sad sigh escaped his mouth.

A hole, the size of a coin, had appeared on the left side of his fallen friend’s skull. It was an immediate death, without a need to confirm it.

Miguel’s body began to tremble.

It was a process that began when the muscles refused to accept the electrical stimulation from the brain, repeating its last contraction and relaxation.

He picked up the bulletproof helmet he had thrown.

He took out the bullet that was lodged in the other side of the helmet. The 7.62 mm bullet, which shot through the Kevlar bulletproof helmet, had pierced through Miguel’s brain and came out of the other side.

He could tell what kind of bullet it was, even if it was crushed. It was a bullet that had been shot from a Degtyarev, used in WWI. It was an old weapon, but its power was comparable to the current machine guns.

“S***!”

A piece of 14g metal had ended the life of a human who had lived for 31 years. Black Mamba threw the bullet onto the ground in rage.