074 A Fateful Confrontation (Third Update!)
This chapter was written in a rush of passion, completed in one go, but when I looked back, I was startled: What if it gets banned! Helpless, I spent nearly half an hour revising it. Please comfort me with some recommendation votes and rewards.
“Get down!”
“Captain, they’re Americans!”
Bang!
Bang, bang, bang—bang bang!
Bang!
In an instant, bullets tore through the mere thickness of a curtain, the hail of gunfire so dense it was terrifying. In less than a few dozen seconds, Guan Hu and the others had emptied their magazines completely. Bullets flew, ripping through flesh after piercing the chemically treated protective suits, spraying blood that was still warm, glistening, and scalding.
Boom!
An RPG, trailing a long tail of fire, blasted through the wall, the explosion and thick smoke instantly separating the two sides locked in desperate combat. Both the Americans on the other side and Guan Hu’s strike team immediately took the chance to withdraw.
“Machine gun!”
“Machine gun!”
“Damn! You bastards, I’ll fight you to the end!”
“Machine gun! Machine gun!”
“Captain, the machine gun’s gone!”
“I’ll kill them all!”
Click!
With a crash, several men behind surged forward, pinning down the man who had leapt up.
“Bastard! Calm down! Calm down!”
With a heavy punch to the chest of the soldier before him, only then did Guan Hu let go, though his arm was trembling violently. He crouched down at once, picking up the machine gunner who was slipping into unconsciousness.
He spat out a mouthful of bloody froth.
“Cap—Captain! I—I’m really going to die on the battlefield, I—I—”
“Machine gunner, stop talking!”
This man, eight feet tall, couldn’t help but have tears fill his eyes. Hot liquid slid down his cheeks, while his bloodstained hand slowly rose, as though it took several centuries, until at last, with the last of his strength, he pressed it to Guan Hu’s face, trying to wipe away that tear.
And then, his hand fell limply, leaving only a trail of bright red across Guan Hu’s face.
“Machine gunner!”
“Machine gunner!”
No one knew that in this moment, what weighed on their hearts was not death or honor, but a deep bond of brotherhood. Yet at the instant that hand touched the ground, for Guan Hu and everyone else, the world they had built inside collapsed, and in its place, another tower rose.
Fury!
Resolve!
Honor!
And responsibility!
This is war: it can bring a man through the transformation of life and death. Only a battle-hardened soldier can become elite.
“Captain! Let’s do it!”
“Let’s go!”
“Machine gunner can’t have died in vain!”
Their intense fighting spirit swiftly swept away the darkness in their hearts, replaced by a burning will to fight. Guan Hu’s fierce eyes gleamed as his broad hand slowly closed the fallen machine gunner’s eyes.
On the other side.
A dozen or so U.S. Marines, after the rocket exploded, had taken the chance to dive into the buildings along the alley, looking battered and disorganized.
Damn it! How could they be Chinese!
“Fuck!”
“My God, how could they be Chinese!”
“Damn Chinese, what are they doing here!”
“Peter! Peter!” “Mason!” “Mason!”
“Fuck, Peter and Mason are dead!”
“Eagle, Eagle, calling Eagle!”
“Eagle here, Eagle copies!”
“We’ve engaged with Chinese forces! Repeat: we’ve engaged with the Chinese!”
“Fuck! What?”
Inside Egypt.
At the U.S. North Africa Command Center.
Sloane Allen, whose face had been calm and collected, was stunned the moment he heard those words.
What? Chinese? Damn it, how could there be Chinese in Libya?
He grabbed the receiver straight from the signals officer’s hands.
“This is Eagle, confirm your report!”
“Eagle, Eagle, confirming: we have engaged the Chinese. Their numbers are about twenty, fully armed. Repeat: we are in combat with an unidentified Chinese armed group!”
For this mission, Guan Hu and his men had also entered Misrata as mercenaries, so the Americans couldn’t confirm their true identities. But the Americans weren’t fools—the Chinese cover was rather obvious. Yet, though both sides were aware, no one would expose it outright; no one was willing to take such a risk.
But the very presence of Chinese in Misrata still filled him with rage.
Bang!
A fist smashed down hard on the metal table, which, already dented from previous blows, was further warped by the impact.
“Fuck! How could Chinese troops be in Misrata?”
“What’s the situation now?”
“Peter and Mason are dead! Repeat, Peter and Mason are dead!”
Sloane Allen’s expression grew grave.
Meanwhile, onboard the Jiangzhou.
The oppressive atmosphere, upon receiving the news, was enough to suffocate everyone. Lu Qian and Luo Yaocheng exchanged glances, each seeing a flash of shock in the other’s eyes.
Their worst fears had come true, and sooner than expected.
“Flying Tiger, Flying Tiger, report your current situation immediately.”
Guan Hu took a deep breath, glanced at the now-closed eyes of the machine gunner on the ground, his chest tight, as if a fire was burning inside him.
“Machine gunner is down! Repeat: machine gunner is down! Report complete!”
Boom!
Onboard the Jiangzhou.
Inside the command room, every naval officer, including Lu Qian and Luo Yaocheng, was stunned, their minds ringing.
But Lu Qian quickly recovered.
He understood that war never spares anyone. Having chosen war, one must always be ready for loss.
Yet in his heart, this hurdle—
“Flying Tiger, right now, you’re on your own. No one can help you. Remember, more than half a century ago, we defeated the Americans. That honor was won by our martyrs with their blood and lives. Even if you die, you must guard that honor. Understood?”
“Understood!”
Guan Hu cut off communications at once, leaving only the hiss of static in the radio channel.
After setting down the receiver, Lu Qian’s arm trembled slightly.
War!
It is the soldier’s destined calling.
And sacrifice is the soldier’s promise to the flag and honor above his head.
“Old Lu, engaging the Americans may trigger a chain of problems.”
Bang!
“What problems? I, Lu Qian, am not afraid. They’re our men! Our backbone! If the Americans want to fight, then fight! I’ll take responsibility.”
Lu Qian’s voice suddenly turned fierce.
“Then let’s fight!” Luo Yaocheng, too, was a soldier, as passionate as any, but clear-headed all the same.
Almost simultaneously.
After reviewing the intelligence sent back by the U.S. action team in Misrata, Sloane Allen was left speechless with shock. Chinese mercenary groups existed, that was nothing unusual; in America, such a profession was even more commonplace.
But encountering Chinese now was an ominous sign.
Yet this was a destined contest of fate—one that could not be avoided, no matter how much he wished.