A Glimmer of Hope
Li Changjiang truly was someone you could trust.
If even a man’s will to survive could not be relied upon, then perhaps there was nothing in this world left worth trusting.
Bang!
Bang, bang, bang!
He emptied the magazine in one breath, without a moment's hesitation, quickly slamming in a fresh one and returning to his firing stance.
If you strike at the snake and fail to kill it, the danger lingers.
Li Changjiang didn’t know anything about tactics, nor about so-called rules of engagement. He only knew that, on the battlefield, the only way to stay alive was to kill your enemy by any means necessary.
Cold-blooded?
He was no saint—just an ordinary man trying to survive.
“I’m still young, I haven’t lived enough, I haven’t found my father. I’m not going to die here!”
Li Changjiang seemed almost possessed.
His left hand, gripping the gun, trembled slightly. It was hard to keep the weapon steady as he raised it again to shoot. Frustrated, he lowered it, turned his back to the dune, and caught his breath before lifting the gun once more.
Aim.
Fire.
His finger squeezed the trigger—bang! The bullet shot out, but only struck the cover, kicking up a cloud of dust and hitting nothing else.
Rat-tat-tat!
Thud, thud, thud!
The Nightingale operatives quickly zeroed in on Li Changjiang’s position. A barrage of bullets struck the cover in front of him, sending sand spraying everywhere and leaving him grimy and dazed.
He rolled from behind the cover to one side.
Clutching his weapon, he gasped desperately for air.
This level of combat was far too intense for Li Changjiang, who had never received formal military training. Even after the baptism by fire in Benghazi, those opponents could not compare to the elite force he faced now.
Behind his cover.
His ragged breathing gradually eased.
Li Changjiang swallowed hard. His right hand, still holding the gun, continued to tremble slightly, but the situation left no room for delay—every minute lost increased the risk.
In fact, the moment his gunfire ceased, the pressure on the Americans eased considerably; at least, no more casualties were being inflicted.
But even so, the quick reaction squad of over twenty men was now reduced to less than ten effective fighters.
And there were almost no wounded—those struck by Li Changjiang had no survivors.
War was too cruel. No one hesitated when life and death hung in the balance. If you became the enemy, you had to be ready to be killed—whether you were American, Chinese, or Libyan.
Bang!
“Fuck!”
“Medic!!”
“Medic! Wolf! Wolf!”
On the far side of the left dune, Captain Hobbs, the commander of the operation, crawled over. The ground was a scene of chaos—seven or eight dead American soldiers piled together in a gruesome heap.
“What?”
“Wolf’s gone! Damn it! Damn these Libyans!”
“Wolf!”
“Wolf! Medic, come here!”
“Captain, what’s going on?”
The squad medic, a young white man, already had blood smeared across his face and hands, his eyes wide with panic.
This was his first operation. For a new recruit who had never seen combat, everything was happening far too quickly, overwhelming him.
The blood and carnage before him left him at a loss.
“Hughes! Calm down, okay? Wolf needs help now! Understand?”
“Yes! Captain, I understand, yes!”
“Okay!”
Hobbs only glanced once at Wolf, who lay on the ground, his entire left arm severed by gunfire. He already knew the answer.
He shook his head.
The young medic shook his head too.
“Too much blood lost, Captain. Wolf can’t be saved!”
Bang!
Hobbs slammed a fist savagely into the sand.
His voice soon echoed over the comms.
“Wolf is dead! Confirm: Wolf is dead! Over!”
“Shit!”
Inside the operations command room of the U.S. military base in North Africa, within Egyptian territory, everyone who heard Hobbs’ voice was overcome by anger, soon replaced by a suffocating sense of despair.
Everyone could hear the helplessness in Hobbs’ tone.
This was a total failure.
An utter disgrace.
There was no worse outcome than this.
It was impossible not to think of that war twenty years ago.
History always repeats itself, eerily similar. Only then it was Somalia; now it was Libya.
Sloane Allen felt a chill of helplessness seep into his very bones.
“Where are the Rangers now?”
“Colonel, half an hour out!”
“Tell them to hurry into Libya. If not, all they’ll find will be corpses—understand? I want Hobbs’ men brought out alive.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Marcos!”
“Marcos!”
“What?”
On the battlefield.
To the right of the highway, once the remaining Libyans charged out, the pressure on Marcos and his men eased considerably.
And that Chinese man had taken out the enemy sniper, making it hard for the Americans to land any more precise shots. But as the gunfire suddenly died down, they immediately felt the brunt of enemy fire.
“He’s gone!”
“Who?”
Boom!
A high-explosive round struck the troop carrier on the road, and Marcos watched as two Libyans inside, trying to retrieve a rocket launcher, were blown to pieces, their cries lost in the blast.
“Li! That Chinese guy, Li!”
He paused, sensing something was off.
That rapid, urgent gunfire from Li Changjiang could no longer be heard.
Damn it!
He cursed under his breath.
“Hold this position. I’m going to check it out!”
He had barely risen to slip through the rubble when—
A sharp crack.
The force of the bullet hurled Marcos away.
“Damn!”
“Marcos!”
“Marcos!”
He’d been hit!
Bang, bang, bang!
Boom!
Gunfire erupted all around. The other members of Caesar’s group, seeing Marcos struck and lying motionless in the open like a dead dog, went wild.
Bullets rained furiously toward the enemy positions. Two rockets streaked across the sky, exploding with a roar. They missed, but still caused chaos for the Americans.
During a lull as they reloaded—
A crisp burst of gunfire sounded again.
Thud, thud!
Two more members were hit—one in the neck, blood spurting in gruesome gouts, clearly beyond saving; the other taking a bullet to the left shoulder.
Marcos slowly forced his eyes open, tore open his shirt with a rip, and realized with a start that the round had struck his body armor.
Damn!
He’d survived, but the agony in his chest made him curse inwardly.
Not far away.
The renewed gunfire from the Americans helped Li Changjiang, now recovered, relocate their firing point.
Through his scope, he could clearly see the source of their fire, though the shooters themselves remained elusive. And the SVD’s penetration was nowhere near that of a heavy anti-materiel rifle.
Just as Li Changjiang tried to line up another shot, a few black shapes suddenly appeared against the distant sky, followed by a deep, rumbling roar.
Across the field.
The Nightingale squad members, hearing that familiar sound, immediately looked up toward the horizon behind them.
For them,
Those tiny black dots were nothing less than a lifeline.
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