Opponent Like a God
I started writing right after work without eating! Here’s the second update! Please vote for recommendations—your support keeps the updates coming! Young readers, let your recommendation votes turn raw rice into cooked!
Pfft!
After taking down another enemy attempting to approach, Li Changjiang quickly ducked back.
“Shit!”
“Beckins is down! Repeat: Beckins is down.”
“What? Damn it!”
“Eagle, this is Eagle, the enemy has a sharpshooter!”
Fuck!
In the command room, Sloan Allen couldn't help but curse, snapping the pencil in his hand with his thumb.
A sharpshooter!
Damn it, how could there be a sniper of this caliber in Libya?
“Are you sure?”
He repeated the question again, still unwilling to believe it. How could Libya possibly have a sharpshooter?
“Repeat: Confirm the target!”
Pressed for time, Hobbs’ answer was somewhat off-topic, but everyone in the command room was already certain—a sharpshooter was among the assault team’s adversaries.
The thought of such a person sent chills down the spines of those who had experienced war.
Though no one said it out loud, most understood: the “sharpshooter” Hobbs referred to was nothing less than an ace sniper.
Li Changjiang had no idea the Americans already considered him a sharpshooter.
Given his current composite sniping skills, he hadn’t even crossed the threshold into the marksman class, let alone reached ace status.
But within one hundred meters, with no major obstacles and the added benefit of an automatic targeting system, he could indeed achieve this level. Yet not every battlefield target would give you a hundred-meter shot.
The sniper he’d just killed was simply too close; within that range, Li Changjiang could quickly spot his silhouette behind the sand dune. His system functioned much like an infrared sight.
The difference between a master and an ordinary shooter lies in knowing how to find the best firing angle, simultaneously penetrating cover and eliminating the opponent.
Although the SDV’s sniper rifle didn’t match the stopping power of a large-caliber anti-materiel rifle, finding the right angle meant hitting a target within a hundred meters was possible.
“Li, you’re incredible!”
“You actually hit him!”
On the other side—
The members of the Caesar Mercenary Group were stunned by Li Changjiang’s marksmanship. All were retired soldiers from various countries—some even experts—so they knew just how difficult it was to land a shot in this situation.
“Hey, Marcus, Ryan, I think we need to coordinate this time!”
Li Changjiang caught his breath, then immediately gathered with the others.
Ryan and Marcus exchanged glances and nodded. After witnessing Li Changjiang’s shooting, they naturally acknowledged his skill.
No matter the grudges, they were all in the same trench now—cooperation was their only option.
“Okay!”
“Look, the enemy is now all concentrated on the left side of the road. We were caught off guard, but actually our situation is now the same as theirs, except they have the positional advantage.
I need you to go here and pin down their fire, understand?”
Li Changjiang lay on the sand and drew a simple map, pointing to the other side of a pile of rocks—clearly, he intended to use the same trick again: a feint coupled with a sneak attack, relying on his close-range sniping.
The white mercenaries exchanged wary looks.
“What about those damn Libyans?” Marcus suddenly asked.
Li Changjiang could only force a bitter smile.
So the question had finally come up.
In fact, he’d thought about it earlier but hadn’t mentioned it, purposefully ignoring them.
It wasn’t out of cold-bloodedness, but under these circumstances, he couldn’t afford to mind both fronts. He had no idea what those Libyans were doing, stubbornly clinging to their vehicle and refusing to move, nor did the enemy seem intent on killing them immediately—instead, they were feeding them ammunition.
This was a textbook case of wounding but not killing, using a siege to lure in reinforcements and eliminate any living forces.
Since when did these guys become so merciful?
“So, do any of you have a better idea?”
Seeing them shake their heads—
“No?”
“Then fine! If there’s no other way, do as I say. I assume none of you want to die—and neither do I. You must have noticed, the group across from us isn’t the rebels but a highly trained special forces unit. Whether they’re Americans or British, I don’t care if any of you are British or American.
If we want to get out alive, we have to kill them. Otherwise, we’re the ones who’ll die—do you understand?”
The members of Caesar looked at each other in silence.
They weren’t fools and had long since realized the opposition couldn't be mere rebels; they just didn’t want to admit it. Li Changjiang’s guess was spot on.
Some were British, some American—they themselves had once been among that group. Now, being asked to turn their guns on their former comrades felt unbearable.
But in this moment, the alternative to fighting was death. There was no choice.
“Will there be reinforcements?”
Marcus’s naïveté took Li Changjiang by surprise.
Damn it, who’s the real veteran here?
“Marcus, I hope you realize—this is war!”
With that, Li Changjiang didn’t hesitate. He slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder and crawled leftward across the gravel.
“Let’s move!”
Bang!
Rat-tat-tat!
A deafening blast.
Not far away, another SUV on the highway exploded into flames. The remaining Libyans still stubbornly held their ground, making Li Changjiang curse them for fools.
To the right, as Marcus and the others reached the designated spot, they immediately opened fire. With the abrupt gunshots, the attention of the enemy was indeed drawn.
Pfft!
A bullet struck down a white man beside Marcus, blood spraying across his face.
“Fuck!”
He was about to return fire when someone beat him to it.
Whoosh!
Pfft!
Barely visible, a conical metal bullet, propelled with immense force, punched through the cover atop the sand dune, bursting into a cloud of blood—the firing point went silent.
On the other side, among the Nightingale Squad of the U.S. military—
The impact of losing their last sniper was unimaginable.
Shit!
“Hobbs!”
“Hobbs!”
“Medic, medic—Michelle’s been hit!”
“Fuck! Medic!”
“Repeat, Michelle’s been hit! Michelle’s been hit!”
A medic immediately crawled from behind the sand dune, but half of Michelle’s face was gone. He took one look and shook his head.
“Bastard!”
“Damn it! Hobbs, Michelle is dead!”
Over the comms,
Hobbs’ voice quickly followed.
“Michelle is KIA! Repeat: Michelle is KIA!”
In the command room,
Sloan Allen clenched his fist so hard his arm shook violently.
Bang!
His fist slammed against the metal table with a loud clang; the coffee cup toppled, smashing to the floor.
“Colonel, what now?”
“Request backup!”
“Eagle, request backup!”
Bang, bang, bang!
Crack!
Bang bang!
Gunfire echoed faintly, but Sloan Allen still hesitated.
“Damn it, medic! Medic!”
And again, through the comms,
The call for a medic echoed once more.