Fellow Villagers Reunite
One! Two! There were nine people in total. Counting the one who had escaped into the alley before and the one who had been shot dead, that made nine altogether.
Through the scope, Li Changjiang could clearly count the number of Chinese below, but to his disappointment, his father, Li Lin, was not among them.
“Dad, where are you?”
Had he already left the city?
Impossible! There was no way out to the east; could he have gone west?
Li Changjiang could only hope for the best.
Coming to Libya to work had been a last resort. The Li family’s circumstances were ordinary—not destitute, but still considered poor by village standards. After failing the college entrance exam last year, the pressure mounted. A son needed to settle down and start a family, but Li Lin and Li Changjiang’s mother, Liu Fen, were both poorly educated—one had only finished junior high and could only do masonry, the other a lifelong farmer with just primary schooling, unskilled in any other trade.
It so happened that a contractor from the neighboring village was hiring for overseas work during the Spring Festival—room and board included, airfare reimbursed, and nearly three hundred yuan a day in wages. Such a considerable sum tempted both father and son, and after a bit of discussion, they came at the start of the year—never expecting to be caught up in the sudden upheaval in Libya.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
Li Changjiang forced his attention back to the present.
After taking out several men in succession, no one below dared show their heads now.
But what astonished Li Changjiang was that the Chinese down there didn’t move at all. He almost wanted to curse—such a perfect chance, if not now, then when? Were they all pigs?
Whoosh!
Clang!
A bullet struck a metal pipe not far away, ringing out sharply.
Unable to help himself, he fired another shot at them.
This time, Yang Jianyong was certain.
A sniper.
“Everyone, down!” With a wave of his hand, those behind him immediately crouched against the wall.
In fact, a curious misunderstanding had formed between Li Changjiang and Yang Jianyong.
With two successive shots, Yang Jianyong couldn’t tell if the shooter was friend or foe, while Li Changjiang, for his part, assumed the others recognized him as a fellow Chinese and would boldly make a run for it.
But reality was quite the opposite.
Yang Jianyong, unable to distinguish friend from enemy, chose to stay low.
The building they were in was a dead-end at the edge of the street, and the rebels had all run into the alley to the left, where they were pinned down by Li Xiang’s fire. Thus, Yang Jianyong and his group were, for the moment, in a relatively safe position.
But the sudden appearance of two shots left Yang Jianyong confused.
“Captain, it’s him!”
“Don’t make any rash moves. We can’t tell friend from foe yet. Let’s be careful.”
After a while, the gunfire seemed to die down completely.
Li Changjiang stopped shooting, and neither the rebels nor Tian Weiliang in the left alley fired either. The various parties ended up at a stalemate, the tension thickening with every passing moment.
If things went as expected, once this tension reached its breaking point, it would erupt into a life-and-death struggle.
Li Changjiang was already growing restless. After all, he’d never been in the military; his nerves were starting to fray.
Whoosh!
Another shot.
This time, the bullet struck the shell of a burnt-out car not far from Yang Jianyong. Before he could react, a fourth shot rang out.
He glanced toward the impact point, a suspicion forming in his mind.
Four shots.
But none had hit—not only that, each one had strayed farther than the last. What was the shooter doing?
Suddenly, Yang Jianyong’s eyes lit up. He realized something.
No! The shooter wasn’t an enemy!
The thought hit him like lightning.
Was the shooter trying to help him find a path?
He scrutinized the places where Li Changjiang had fired.
Now Yang Jianyong was certain.
The shooter was guiding them.
He had almost made a grave mistake.
Damn!
Through the scope, Li Changjiang saw the leader of the Chinese group suddenly give him a thumbs-up. Only then did he breathe a deep sigh of relief. They weren’t as hopeless as he’d feared—they’d finally caught on to his intention.
Li Changjiang’s aim was simple: he wanted them to come over. No matter how good he was, he couldn’t possibly gun down the remaining twenty-odd rebels alone. Time was running out, and he’d noticed the rebels had communications equipment.
If they didn’t move soon, more rebels would arrive, and then all hope would be gone.
Meanwhile, Yang Jianyong didn’t hesitate anymore.
“Li Xiaomao, you go with Teng Fei and Yang Sheng. Take everyone and circle around from the right to link up with Tian Weiliang. Once you’re together, head straight for the west side of the city. Right now, only the Tripoli direction is still open.”
Yang Jianyong had come to almost the same judgment as Li Changjiang. The three behind him responded without hesitation, leading the rest of the Chinese in a careful retreat, even taking the body of their fallen comrade with them.
Once they had all left, Yang Jianyong got up and checked the area. Seeing that the rebels still didn’t dare show themselves, he took a deep breath and dashed out.
But before he’d gone more than a few steps, gunfire erupted.
Bang! Bang!
Rat-a-tat-tat!
A submachine gun!
Boom!
“Son of a bitch, just you wait.”
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
In the darkness, the distinctive crack of a sniper rifle sent chills down the spine. A few shots, and the rebels’ fire was silenced again.
Yang Jianyong knew it was the sniper covering him. Every muscle tensed, and as the gunfire faded, he shot out like an arrow, dashing across to the opposite building, sprinting straight through the intersection, and diving headlong into the building where Li Changjiang was.
He raced up to the second floor.
Suddenly, a gun barrel pressed coldly against his head, and a sheen of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
A master!
To get this close without a sound—definitely a master. But the moment Li Changjiang spoke, Yang Jianyong was stunned, then overjoyed.
“Who are you?”
The language!
Damn!
He was Chinese.
“You’re from China?” Yang Jianyong asked, flustered.
Now Li Changjiang was thoroughly embarrassed—the other man’s Mandarin was flawless.
“Yes, I’m Chinese. And you? What are you doing here?”
Li Changjiang replied with a question of his own, not lowering his guard. The click of his finger on the trigger was sharp in the darkness. If the other man said anything off, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
“That’s classified. I can’t tell you.”
Click!
In the darkness, the sound of a bullet being chambered was unmistakable. Yang Jianyong could even hear his own heart pounding.
He knew exactly what kind of person he was facing.
A master!
And a marksman-level sniper at that!
Most importantly, the man was Chinese.
But right now, he had no choice but to entrust his life to the stranger. Yang Jianyong had no doubt the man would shoot.
But he was a soldier.
A soldier’s duty outweighed life and death. Even if the other was Chinese, he could not divulge any information about the mission.
The atmosphere was suddenly stifling.
After a long silence, Yang Jianyong felt the gun at the back of his head move away. Then he heard words that made him break out in a cold sweat.
“I’ll trust you this once. Here, take the bullets. Whether we make it out of here depends on you now.”
Before he could react, the cold steel of a gun was pressed into his hand.
An AK-47!
Yang Jianyong didn’t even have to look down to recognize the familiar feel.
(The contract has already been sent out and is about to be signed. I’m asking for a round of recommendations. Also, thanks to the readers who sent red envelopes, but please, during the launch period, don’t send any more—I want to see if this book has potential. Let’s go all out and aim for the top ranking, for a brighter tomorrow! Hahaha!)