046 Intimate Contact

I managed to write a chapter during dinner; please bear with me and give me a recommendation vote!

Libya lies in the north of Africa, bordering the Mediterranean Sea. Although part of its territory enjoys a Mediterranean climate, most of it is dominated by the arid, tropical desert—scorching heat and scant rainfall. Even at the end of March, the sun overhead blazes mercilessly.

Three off-road vehicles burst through the sandstorm, coming to a steady halt on the barren wasteland. The swirling dust lingered, refusing to settle.

The doors were flung open.

Several white men stepped out, their movements wary as they scrutinized their surroundings for signs of an ambush. Only when they were satisfied that the coast was clear did they gather around a massive sand pit.

The pit, dark and scorched, was clearly subjected to intense heat. The stench was nauseating; even seasoned mercenaries like Cock Levens and Ivanka couldn’t help but retch.

“Damn!”

There was no doubt—the bodies in the pit had been burned.

Barty Sanchez frowned, circling the area. Apart from a few wrecked vehicles, he found no clues, but he stooped to pick something up from the ground.

In the desert, the wind is enough to erase all traces.

“Back to the car. We’re leaving.”

“Did you find anything?” Cock asked, uncertain.

“Death.”

The word that slipped from Barty’s lips was chilling. Cock didn’t press further; it seemed those damned Libyans had failed their mission.

Benghazi.

After a night of fierce combat, the city’s outskirts were battered and broken. Although the government forces hadn’t deployed large-scale weapons—at most, a few old Soviet tanks—the essence of war isn’t hospitality or ceremony, but a struggle of life and death.

“General Halide, your men are dead. Their bodies have been incinerated. This is all I could find.”

In the rebel camp in Benghazi, Barty placed a crudely made silver eagle badge onto Halide’s desk.

The house that once served as the frontline command post now bore the flag of the rebel headquarters.

During last night’s chaos, General Abler had disappeared, but few realized that Barty’s Caesar Mercenary Corps had more than one life in their hands.

The new general’s uniform was far more impressive than a colonel’s.

Halide was a pure Libyan warlord.

Ruthless.

Greedy.

Brutal, and ****.

But clever.

He stroked the cold, sharp edges of the silver eagle badge, his expression sending a chill down the spine.

“Silver Eagle Guard?”

Bang! He slammed the badge onto the table.

“Barty, I think you know better than I do—Hamis has been rescued. We’re about to face an even fiercer assault. Or perhaps you Americans should give me more support, not just damned arms deals.”

“More support? No, General, that’s not what we agreed upon. I helped you deal with Abler’s trouble, but you’re supposed to do business with me, not talk politics. I’m a mercenary, not a politician.”

Barty Sanchez hadn’t expected the Libyans to change their minds so quickly.

He took a deep drag of his cigar.

Halide’s gaze suddenly sharpened.

“Then let Mr. Sloan come negotiate with me.”

At those words, Barty’s face darkened.

He left Halide’s stronghold, and as soon as he stepped outside, he punched the iron bar beside him. The clang echoed sharply.

“Boss, what happened?”

“Those damned Libyans broke their promise. His target isn’t us, but the damned American government.”

“So what do we do?”

“We go to Tripoli.”

“What?”

“****!”

“Are you sure? The Eagle Lion’s people will—”

“Shut up! If you don’t want to die, we go to Tripoli. Do you think those damned American politicians will let us live to return home?”

The answer was obvious.

If Halide and Colonel Sloan at the US North Africa Command reached an agreement, they could cut Barty out as the middleman for arms or even political deals.

Then, the Caesar Mercenary Corps would be the only witnesses to such a transaction; death was the only outcome.

Silence fell among the group.

As for facing the Eagle Lion’s men—

Barty laughed.

Libya’s government forces desperately lacked elite combat squads. Rumor had it they were recruiting mercenaries to form new regiments, offering a daily wage of $500 each.

If he took his men to enlist, he believed the government wouldn’t refuse. After all, a mercenary’s purpose is profit; if the price is right, it’s possible to serve the government in the morning and the rebels by the afternoon.

The allure of money is always hard to measure.

Tripoli.

After a night of bitter fighting, though Benghazi wasn’t secured, the government’s morale seemed much improved, and the city’s atmosphere was grim and foreboding.

The war had finally escalated.

Just days ago, the Western nations led by the United States launched limited air strikes on Libya, but Hamis’s return swiftly dispelled the rumors of his assassination.

At a camp less than ten kilometers west of Tripoli, Libyan government troops, armed to the teeth, were everywhere.

Inside one of the rooms, Li Changjiang strained to turn his head, trying to avert his gaze from the figure before him, but the pain tugging at his back and waist forced a gasp from his lips.

“Hiss—”

“What’s wrong? Did you pull your wound? Don’t move!”

The speaker was a woman—a beautiful one at that. Li Changjiang didn’t dare look at her for more than a moment.

“Elisa, could you please put your clothes on first?”

“What’s wrong? Don’t men like to see women in bikinis?”

Elisa smiled, her expression mischievous.

Hearing Li Changjiang’s words, she lazily draped a cloth over her body, but this only made him smile bitterly.

A beauty can bring disaster; it’s no lie.

Libyans might not have pure white ancestry, but mixed-blood women like Elisa combined the advantages of both Western and Eastern beauty, their figures so alluring they were hard to look at directly.

She draped a piece of silk barely covering her knees—a live enactment of seductive attire.

He had lost track of how many days had passed.

Since he fainted that day, when he awoke, Li Changjiang found himself here.

According to Elisa, they were now in Libya’s most secretive Silver Eagle Guard camp, sharing a room and forbidden to step outside.

But Hamis likely hadn’t died, or they would not simply be imprisoned.

Li Changjiang was embarrassed, his face flushed. He was a proper young man, barely having held a girl’s hand, so how could he withstand such teasing?

Compared to Elisa, who was worldly and experienced, he was a novice.

Elisa sat right next to Li Changjiang’s narrow cot, her presence exuding an irresistible charm. He tried to scoot further in, but the bed was so narrow he couldn’t move, not even by squeezing.

When Elisa’s supple thigh pressed against him, Li Changjiang’s mind went blank.

His waist and legs burned with a feverish heat that swept through his body.