Chapter 119: The Duke

Two million dollars—and in US currency, at that!

What could one possibly do with two million dollars? Li Changjiang’s imagination felt a bit inadequate. A large seaside villa? A high-end sports car?

The Russian’s answer, however, was far more direct: weapons—a massive cache of Russian-made armaments. The brand-new AK-47M assault rifles were so fresh that the foam packaging still clung to them, and the sharp, distinct scent of gun oil permeated the air.

He also provided SVD sniper rifles equipped with standard PSO-series optical sights and infrared night-vision scopes. These rifles boasted an effective range of 1,300 meters with a maximum margin of error of no more than one meter. They used the same 7.62x54mm universal machine gun ammunition found all over the Libyan battlefield. However, to maximize their performance, Li Changjiang had the Russian specifically order a batch of custom-made sniper and high-explosive rounds.

These bullets were undeniably more powerful and accurate, maintaining lethal force even beyond 1,000 meters, though Li Changjiang did not personally consider his own effective range to be quite that far.

Judging by this, the Russian clearly had deep connections with that arms dealer named Pol (Polikar Povich). Otherwise, Li Changjiang doubted anyone could easily get their hands on such pristine gear from the Russians.

Once the equipment was secured, the Russian moved quickly. In less than two days, he had assembled the team they needed. They were all free-roaming mercenaries with no ties, and unsurprisingly, the men he brought in were mostly loners or eccentrics.

The Israeli, codenamed "Killer," was Garcia, a fire-assault specialist and a veteran of an Israeli mountain warfare special forces unit. His reason for discharge was formidable: during one operation, he had eliminated every living target, including the hostages.

The Swede, codenamed "Angel," was Abra, also a fire-assault specialist but an expert in demolition, having served in four different Swedish military units.

The German, codenamed "Tank," was Marcus, a machine gunner standing nearly 1.9 meters tall. His bulging, muscular arms reminded Li Changjiang of Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movies—if his memory served him right, Schwarzenegger’s own roots were in Germany.

Then there was the Brit, codenamed "Doctor," named Lean. He was a combat medic retired from a British field hospital. The Russian had whispered to Li that this was a codename few dared to use in the mercenary world, for a simple reason: if you didn’t have the genuine skills to back it up, nobody would trust you.

Finally, there was the man Li Changjiang found hard to believe was a mercenary rather than a street punk: the intelligence expert codenamed "Keyboard," named Kane. He possessed an IQ slightly lower than Einstein’s and was a master of computers and various intelligence-gathering techniques.

Since the mission details were obtained directly from Khamis, Li Changjiang’s job was to lead this ragtag mercenary squad to Misrata and infiltrate the heavily guarded prison to rescue the target. For the sake of secrecy, he decided not to act alone but to shadow a larger legion of mercenaries.

But before that, he had to do one thing: assert his leadership over this squad. For a temporary team of mercenaries who were previously strangers, a competent leader was the deciding factor in their chances of survival.

So, when Nicholas introduced the somewhat delicate-looking Chinese man as their leader, the expressions on the five new recruits turned playful.

"Boss, hello?"

"Boss!"

Clearly, not everyone was buying it.

"Hey, pal, you should be nursing at your mother’s breast, not in this godforsaken Libya!"

Hahahaha!

The group erupted in laughter. Li Changjiang’s face darkened, but he quickly regained his composure. He simply stared at the man leaning lazily against the wall—the one codenamed "Keyboard." It was clearly he who had spoken. Perhaps he didn’t know that loose lips sink ships, but Li Changjiang would make sure he learned.

*Swish.*

Before anyone could react, the sound of gunfire filled the air.

*Bang! Bang-bang-bang!*

The shots came and went in a heartbeat. Even the Russian stared at the gun held in Li Changjiang’s hands, his expression a complex mix of shock, anxiety, anger, and even fear. He had never expected Li Changjiang to react so violently. Yet, there was no doubt: the Chinese man had proven that he possessed not just courage, but the ability to conquer everyone present.

Everyone stood in stunned silence, staring at a trembling Kane.

"Oh! My God! What kind of marksmanship is that?"

"Is this Chinese Kung Fu? That’s incredible!"

The Israeli, Killer, and the Swedish, Angel, stared at the bullet-riddled silhouette on the wall with haunted looks, jabbering in amazement.

Li Changjiang’s marksmanship was indeed terrifying. In that split second, he had aimed, pulled the trigger, shifted his aim, aimed again, and pulled the trigger a second and third time. The AK-47M magazine held thirty rounds. Even if he hadn't emptied it, he knew he had fired over twenty rounds in less than a minute.

Timing. Accuracy. Force. Even the arc of his movement had reached a peak state. Even he was astonished; he was certain that if he tried it again, he wouldn't be able to replicate the feat.

It required more than just courage; it required a specific kind of drive. It was just unfortunate for the guy named Keyboard that he had been chosen as the target for this demonstration. There are no weaklings on the battlefield, only the strong. As a group of undisciplined mercenaries, they only respected power. Li Changjiang had no choice but to crush them with his strength.

The rest was silence. From that moment on, everyone, including Nicholas, implicitly accepted the Chinese man’s temporary leadership.

Li Changjiang didn't mind. True skill would only be proven on the battlefield. All he needed now was time and a record of success.

Soon, less than a day after Li Changjiang secured his leadership, the Libyan government forces issued orders to attack Misrata. Khamis was a cautious man, so there would be no blitzkrieg under his command. Days earlier, an advance force had already conducted probing attacks. The Russian’s guess was correct: the local African mercenaries, paid less than 200 dollars a day, were indeed cannon fodder. Their purpose, aside from consuming the enemy’s ammunition, was simply to test their defenses.

"We launch the attack tonight. Your task is to cross the front line and open a path for entry. As for how you fight, we won't interfere."

The lead Libyan officer seemed to understand that the mercenary groups under his command wouldn't listen to him anyway, so he took the easy route, dumping the mission on them and washing his hands of it.

Li Changjiang looked at the expressions on the faces of the other unit leaders and understood their mindset. Mercenaries were like unruly wild horses; once the fighting started, who would care about some irrelevant Libyan officer? This was the best approach.

There were five mercenary groups in their combat unit. Aside from his own, the other four teams had about twenty men each, totaling nearly a hundred. Their numerical disadvantage meant Li Changjiang had less leverage, especially with a Chinese man in command.

Chinese people were rare on the North African battlefield. Li Changjiang’s presence was naturally conspicuous, but the other mercenaries knew this wasn't the time to cause trouble. Despite the look of disdain on their faces, no one brought it up.

Instead, a mature-looking black man approached them.

"Hey, partner, what’s your name?"

"Duke!"

"You can call me Duke!"

Li Changjiang spat out the new codename coldly. The skin on his camouflaged face was tight, his gaze chillingly stern.