Chapter 11: The Gunslinger’s Misfire
Yang Jianyong was truly stunned.
In his mind, the war in Libya should have been a chaotic melee, with bullets flying everywhere—local families, a group of peasants turned bandits wielding weapons. But now, a tank had appeared, blasting away as if swatting flies with a cannon; the Libyans really knew how to play.
In reality, Yang Jianyong had underestimated the psychological pressure Li Changjiang had exerted on the Libyan fighters. Just as they were about to break through, those rebels had already contacted the Eastern City military headquarters and reported the situation. Meanwhile, the bodies of those previously killed by Li Changjiang had been discovered. This intelligence led the leaders at military headquarters to mistakenly believe there was one, perhaps several, top-tier government snipers operating within Benghazi.
On such a battlefield, a precision sniper could inflict casualties equal to that of an entire unit—a threat that simply could not be ignored. The tank had been dispatched with one mission: to kill the sniper at any cost.
Yang Jianyong, in effect, suffered for Li Changjiang, bearing the brunt of the misfortune.
There was no time to think. The sudden appearance of the tank had completely disrupted the tactical plan he and Li Changjiang had agreed upon. Now, they needed to regroup as quickly as possible, and also find Tian Weiliang. Otherwise, they would be defeated one by one.
Glancing at the two remaining magazines in his hand, Yang Jianyong dashed out.
Bang!
Rat-tat-tat!
Bang!
On the other side, Li Changjiang had guessed Yang Jianyong’s predicament. With that thunderous shelling, any stray hit could mean a chunk of flesh torn away—even if not fatal, it would surely be disastrous.
Now was not the time to conserve ammunition. He fired a burst, then another, swiftly swapped in a fresh magazine, and changed position to shoot again.
Bang, bang, bang!
Though Li Changjiang was a rookie, repeated practice had helped him gradually discover a rhythm for optimal shooting.
Thud!
A shot to the head.
His luck was good—a rebel who had just peeked out was promptly taken down by Li Changjiang.
Rat-tat-tat!
A burst of bullets immediately followed.
Boom!
The tank kept shelling the building, determined not to stop until everyone inside was reduced to rubble.
Yang Jianyong’s situation remained unclear.
Bang!
Bang, bang, bang!
As if sensing Li Changjiang’s thoughts, a flash of fire erupted at the three o’clock position ahead, catching the rebels off guard.
It was Yang Jianyong.
Rat-tat-tat!
And then, from Tian Weiliang’s direction, gunfire erupted as well.
Suddenly, it was three against one. The rebels grew restless, began to shift positions, but this was precisely the effect Li Changjiang wanted.
Click!
Magazine inserted.
Weapon raised.
Sight aligned.
Through the display screen, in the effective shooting range section, all numbers except ten had previously been dim—but now, both ten and thirty lit up.
This meant Li Changjiang’s effective range had increased from ten to thirty. The battlefield truly was the best whetstone.
But, tense and focused, he failed to notice this change at the bottom of the display.
Sweat soaked his palm.
His gaze was sharp, tracking the rebels’ movements.
Bang!
He squeezed the trigger.
The bullet spun at high speed, sinking into the skull with a dull thud.
One down!
Bang!
Another shot.
The bullet pierced the target’s left brow. That made two.
Li Changjiang continued to aim.
But he didn’t realize he was committing a grave error—an alert sniper rarely fires three times from the same spot.
On the other side, watching Li Changjiang take out two men in quick succession, Yang Jianyong was not only impressed, he began to suspect this Changjiang fellow was some sort of special forces operative. If not, he almost wanted to recruit him.
Yet, what followed puzzled him.
A third shot?
Sure enough.
Bang!
The third gunshot rang out, but Li Changjiang still hadn’t changed position.
This was not the awareness expected of a precision shooter.
After three shots, Li Changjiang seemed entranced, unmoving, finger tight on the trigger, tempted to fire a fourth.
But subconsciously, he sensed something was wrong.
Seeing Li Changjiang frozen in place, Yang Jianyong was truly dumbfounded.
“Change position!”
“Hurry, change position!”
Rat-tat-tat!
Yang Jianyong was stunned!
A burst of bullets came his way.
Clang, clang, clang!
Sparks flew—he barely avoided a headshot.
But he was genuinely alarmed.
Had Li Changjiang been hit?
Impossible.
Before Li Changjiang could react—
Whoosh!
A rocket, trailing a long red tail, hurtled toward him.
“Run!”
“Run now!”
Boom!
But there was no time; it exploded right beside Li Changjiang.
With a thunderous blast, everything went dark.
He lost consciousness instantly.
Yang Jianyong didn’t know that Li Changjiang’s face had turned deathly pale. In fact, he wasn’t entranced—he was in shock.
That explosion had torn open the wound on his abdomen. Li Changjiang had thought the bullet hadn’t struck a blood vessel, but in reality, it had hit a moderate artery in his lower abdomen. It wasn’t fatal, but prolonged bleeding and intense exertion had caused his brain to shut down temporarily.
On the other side, Yang Jianyong saw the fireball from the explosion, then nothing stirred from Li Changjiang’s position for a long while. His heart tightened—he knew the situation had turned dire.
He grabbed his gun and fired a burst.
Bang bang bang!
Bang!
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
He slung his weapon.
He rushed toward Li Changjiang’s position.
When he reached the spot, he found Li Changjiang collapsed face down, limp and motionless. He was stunned.
He reached for Li Changjiang’s neck—fortunately, there was still a pulse.
He rolled Li Changjiang over, tore open his shirt, and saw blood everywhere from his lower abdomen down to his trousers—a large, wet, sticky patch, and the smell was unpleasant.
Yang Jianyong searched himself for anything to staunch the bleeding, but found nothing. Frowning, he spotted a piece of silk fabric nearby—some kind of advertising banner. He couldn’t care about cleanliness; infection was better than bleeding out.
He tore it off, slipped it under Li Changjiang, then ripped a piece from his own shirt to press against the wound and wrap it up.
“No matter who you are, I’ve given you back a life.”
Muttering under his breath, Yang Jianyong looked outside—the gunfire continued, Tian Weiliang was still shooting.
He’d noticed earlier: there were probably fewer than twelve rebels left outside.
But his real concern now wasn’t those twelve men, but the tank that could appear at any moment. The earlier shelling had pierced and collapsed the entire building, blocking the narrow street, forcing the tank to find another route.
Time was running out.
He glanced at the unconscious Li Changjiang on the ground and felt a headache coming on.
After a moment’s thought, Yang Jianyong had no other option. He hoisted Li Changjiang onto his shoulder and withdrew from the rear. With Tian Weiliang pinning the enemy, the terrified rebels dared not pursue.
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