128 The Devil’s Voice (Third Update!)
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They actually managed to make contact!
Li Changjiang smoothly took the communicator from the keyboard operator.
"I'm the Duke! We are mercenaries. Please confirm your identity."
Click.
The communicator seemed to have been turned off.
But Li Changjiang remained patient. He believed that if the leader on the other side wasn’t an idiot, they would keep in touch.
Inside the underground command center.
"Damn it, mercenaries. What do they want? These damn mercenaries rushed in so fast—are the Libyans all pigs?" Clark’s temper flared.
They had originally thought the evacuation time was sufficient.
But now, trouble loomed.
“Mr. Clark, you can continue negotiations with them.”
The communicator was switched on.
“We are British, have no ties to the rebels. Order your men to cease fire immediately.”
Hearing Clark’s voice, Li Changjiang said nothing but let out a cold sneer.
This was the typical Western imperialist way of thinking.
“Order your men to stop shooting and surrender your weapons, and we will let you leave!”
Without a doubt, Li Changjiang’s tone was even more aggressive.
Everyone knew the initiative was now in their hands. That bastard Hamis might not be impressive, but the chances of successfully attacking Misurata this time were high.
If the British wanted to get out, they had to do it before the whole operation ended. The longer they delayed, the slimmer their chances of escape.
He certainly didn’t think Hamis would treat the British who bombed them kindly.
“Fuck! That’s impossible, you damn bastards!”
A curse came through the communicator.
But Li Changjiang was unfazed; he was in no rush and had plenty of time.
He glanced at the communicator, saw a volume control button on the right, and turned it all the way up.
Then, with a devilish grin on the faces of those around him, he said something that was hard not to chuckle at.
“Bart! Bart! I am the Duke! You stop firing first!”
Clark and Will’s faces lit up when they heard the sudden silence from the other side, followed by Li Changjiang’s call.
Looks like the other side was about to back down.
Sure enough, those mercenaries were a bunch of cowards afraid to die.
“Stop firing? Hell no! Those damn Brits, I want to kill them! Duke, I need your support!”
“Bart, you can stop firing; let me finish off those Brits!”
The voice from the communicator became chilling, leaving everyone dumbfounded and disbelieving.
Click.
The communication channel with Bart was cut off.
“Well? Gentlemen of the British Empire? If you don’t want your men wiped out, tell me who you are, what you’re doing here, why you attacked us, and lay down your weapons and come answer my questions. You have three minutes to decide.
“Guys, prepare for battle! You there, and you, take the high ground on the left! You come with me.”
Li Changjiang didn’t turn off the communicator, but the rapid footsteps around him became a steady beat.
Once in position, he placed the communicator on the ground beside him and raised his gun to aim, while Nicholas stood by as his spotter.
“Distance: 56 meters!”
“Wind—”
“Direction—”
Inside the British command center.
Hearing the tense sounds over the communicator, Clark was stunned, as were everyone else nearby.
Oh my!
My God!
Is this some kind of joke?
Damn mercenaries, what are they trying to do? Threaten us live?
Bastards!
When have British soldiers ever been threatened like this?
Bang!
“Fuck! Fuck! Cole! Cole! Damn it, Cole was hit! Repeat, Cole was hit!”
Inside the fortification.
The man named Cole was shot by Li Changjiang with no hesitation. However, Li Changjiang’s shot didn’t aim to kill; it was meant to knock him unconscious.
No one would believe anyone but a freak like Li Changjiang would bring rubber bullets to the battlefield.
In truth, Li Changjiang didn’t carry many rubber bullets; it was just a precaution. Who would have guessed they’d actually be used?
“Adjust your aim!”
“Distance 58 meters!”
“Wind—”
“Direction slightly high!”
The echoes of gunfire continued like a death curse.
Clark grew anxious, and Will became restless as well.
“Fuck, take cover! Everyone, stay hidden! Don’t give those damn mercenaries a chance!”
“Damn it! Cease fire! I told you to cease fire!”
But there was no response from the communicator, only dead silence.
Damn!
They were all soldiers and knew exactly what this meant—the enemy was preparing to take careful aim before shooting.
Bang!
Bang bang!
Sure enough, the gunfire erupted, and the command center fell into grim silence.
“Fuck!”
“Fuckyou!”
Three consecutive shots—sniper fire!
God! A sniper!
“Ah—!”
“Damn it, I’m hit!”
“Merlin! Merlin! Damn it, Merlin’s been hit! Repeat, Merlin’s been hit!”
Even with his men in cover, three shots with two hits was the mark of a true expert marksman.
God, had they encountered an ace sniper?
This was a nightmare.
Meanwhile, on the rooftop, Li Changjiang and Nicholas opened the communication channel but muted the other side’s voice—they couldn’t hear the British.
“Boss, should we open comms and listen to whether they’ve made up their minds?”
Nicholas was a great actor—Oscar-worthy.
At this moment, Li Changjiang thought the British would probably be spitting blood hearing that.
But he had no intention of stopping. These damned Westerners—especially British, French, and American—each one arrogant and cocky, thinking they ruled the world.
If he didn’t show them some real color, it wouldn’t be Li Changjiang’s style.
“Has the three minutes passed?”
“No, one more minute left.”
“Okay! Then let’s keep scanning for targets. I figure their reinforcements are limited, so I don’t mind reducing their rescue numbers a bit. That’ll increase the chance their leader will agree to our terms soon.”
They didn’t care what kind of terror this conversation caused the British and MI5 Misurata staff.
Hearing Li Changjiang’s voice, Clark’s face twisted.
Bastard!
This was a threat! A naked threat!
What was scarier was that Clark had become the leader refusing to accept the other side’s conditions despite their need to survive.
A terrifying opponent!
He was a demon.
Though the British knew it was psychological warfare, desperate survival instincts often cause many to lose reason.
Bang!
Another shot!
It seemed to miss!
No cries of pain or calls for help came through the communicator, easing their nerves slightly.
But soon, the outcome chilled them to the bone.
“Fuck! Will! Will! Timmons has been killed! Repeat, Timmons has been killed!”
It was over!
Timmons was the guy maintaining communication, meaning the previous shot wasn’t a miss—it was a kill.
Damn!
Damn mercenaries!
Everyone grew restless, including Clark.
“Mr. Clark, what should we do?”
“Sir, agree to their demands!” (To be continued.)