Chapter 010: The Ultimate Weapon
"Who are you? Mercenary?"
He grabbed the gun.
Yang Jianyong naturally understood that the other man wasn't an enemy, but his curiosity was piqued—who exactly was this Chinese man, already turned and prone at the shooting position? When did Benghazi ever have such a formidable compatriot?
Before coming here, he had meticulously reviewed the embassy's entire registry of Chinese nationals, but there was absolutely no sharpshooter among them.
Could he be a mercenary?
"Same as you—a Chinese," Li Changjiang replied, unwilling to reveal more. After all, the man's background was unclear, and even if they shared the same nationality, the time and place were not right for confidences.
He handed over a Beretta 92 and a spare, then fell silent.
"My name is Yang Jianyong. Thanks for saving me."
"You're welcome. Call me Changjiang. Was that your friend who rushed into the alley just now?"
"Yes."
Changjiang? What next, Yellow River? Yang Jianyong didn't dwell on it; he sensed the man didn't want to divulge his true identity. In truth, he realized he was being overly suspicious.
"I counted—there are still eighteen rebels below. It's too dark to get clean shots. Your friend must be hiding somewhere in the alley."
"He's got a walkie-talkie."
"No—if you call him now, he'll be dead for sure."
Yang Jianyong abandoned the idea, understanding the situation was too dangerous for communication; otherwise, Tian Weiliang would have reached out by now. He was astonished, though: there were no lights outside, yet this Changjiang could see how many enemies there were.
Was he using an infrared scope?
He glanced at Li Changjiang’s sniper rifle.
But that was definitely not an infrared scope. As a Marine Major, Yang Jianyong recognized the weapon at a glance.
"What do we do now?"
"Are you afraid of dying?"
A faint smile curved Li Changjiang's lips as he posed a question that nearly drove Yang Jianyong crazy.
He was being underestimated!
If it weren't for the darkness, Li Changjiang would have seen the furious widening of the man's eyes beside him.
"If I feared death, I wouldn't be a Chinese soldier."
He spoke through gritted teeth, his frustration obvious—a lifetime of honor, now dismissed by a stranger.
"You're military?"
The question tightened the air between them, plunging it into silence.
He was from the Chinese military!
But recalling Yang Jianyong's earlier words—"It's confidential"—Li Changjiang found peace, and let the matter drop.
"No matter who you are, you have to follow my lead now, or we’ll both die. I'll flank the rebels from behind; you draw their fire from the front. You can handle a sniper rifle, right?"
One trick, used everywhere.
Li Changjiang decided to repeat the tactic he'd used with Liu Bo previously: Yang Jianyong would attract fire from the front while he struck from behind.
With the targeting screen as his aid, Li Changjiang had no fear of missing his mark, but to confuse the enemy below, the sniper rifle had to be in Yang Jianyong’s hands.
Yang Jianyong hesitated.
Damn it, today was truly unlucky—he'd been underestimated again and again by a young upstart. And the man's arrogance!
Flank from behind? Yang Jianyong understood Li Changjiang's plan immediately. Yet, having witnessed his marksmanship, he couldn’t deny the sense. Especially now, sheltering under the eaves, he knew only those who’d served in combat understood the relief of having a sniper's support.
It was worth more than one life.
"Fine. I'll use the sniper rifle to cover you alternately."
He took one, slung another on his back, stuffed magazines into his pockets, and Li Changjiang slipped away into the night. Moments later, gunfire erupted behind him.
Whizz! Whizz! Whizz!
A burst of bullets peppered the darkness, sparks flying everywhere.
"Damn, go easy! That's a sniper rifle, not a Gatling gun!"
Li Changjiang had no doubt Yang Jianyong had emptied an entire magazine in a single breath.
And so it was.
He reloaded.
Gunfire erupted again.
Whizz! Whizz!
Li Changjiang could only shake his head.
On the battlefield, the arrival of death was always accompanied by a stirring symphony.
The rebels' fire immediately retaliated.
Boom!
A blazing tail streaked up to the building, and Li Changjiang felt the whole structure tremble.
Seizing the opportunity, he flanked from the rear, circled a long distance, and arrived at the rebels' backside, near where Yang Jianyong and his team had previously been, slightly to the left.
From here, the rebels' rear positions were fully exposed.
As gunshots rang out, Tian Weiliang, close to the left, opened fire as well—an exhilarating salvo.
Whizz!
Whizz, whizz!
Two rapid shots. Li Changjiang smiled; Yang Jianyong wasn’t bad—he hadn’t killed anyone, but at least he drew enemy fire.
Trouble!
He rolled on the ground.
Bang!
Thud!
He drew a sharp breath. There was no time to check the freshly torn wound—he raised his gun and fired.
Bang!
The target fled.
Bang, bang!
Two shots in quick succession, still missing.
Another roll, a swift change of position.
Just moved.
Thud! Thud!
Two cold shots pierced the spot he’d just occupied.
Damn it! Someone had spotted him!
He reached for his abdomen—sure enough, the wound had torn open, blood pouring out and chilling his heart.
Damn! Now it was dangerous.
His left arm burned, sleeve slashed open by fragments kicked up by a bullet, blood streaming, nerves taut.
He calmed himself, fighting the boiling emotions. Li Changjiang chose not the best hiding spot in view, but the rear of a wrecked car.
He adjusted the scope, ready to fire.
Suddenly, a mechanical rattling echoed from across the street—a jarring, rigid sound that made his scalp tingle.
Li Changjiang shuddered, a sense of dread surging.
Through his scope, within a hundred meters' range, he caught a sight that made his heart leap.
It was over!
Over, over!
Damn it, the Libyans had guts.
It was a tank! A tank!
"Run—there's a tank!"
"Run!"
No time to hide.
Li Changjiang tore his throat shouting up to Yang Jianyong, who was still shooting from the building.
Rat-a-tat-tat—
A burst of bullets rained down.
What?
Tank?
Yang Jianyong was bewildered—how could there be a tank here?
But before he could react, the mechanical grinding sounded in his ears.
He cursed, "Damn!" and immediately packed up his gun, grabbed a few magazines, and dashed downstairs.
Boom!
A sudden explosion—fire, smoke, and debris soared skyward.
Boom!
Another shell.
Half the building collapsed.
Ptooey, ptooey!
"Son of a bitch, using a tank against me!"
In the rubble, Yang Jianyong spat twice, his whole body covered in dust, heart pounding in fear. If Li Changjiang hadn't shouted, those two shells would have torn him to pieces.