007 Wounded

"When are you leaving, then?" Liu Bo suddenly asked after a moment of silence.

Li Changjiang hesitated.

"I have to go right away, or it'll be too late. Listen, you take Meng Yao and follow the coastline east, avoid the crowds. When you reach Tripoli, show your passports from China. No matter how reckless Gaddafi's troops are, they wouldn't dare to openly stop Chinese citizens."

He paused again.

Then Li Changjiang pulled out the money and a few gold rings he had, shoving them into Liu Bo's hands.

"You've seen these things, all taken from the dead. They might save your lives if necessary. If I manage to return home, remember to find me for a drink."

He left Liu Bo with an address from their village.

Without hesitation, Li Changjiang slung his sniper rifle and a sidearm over his shoulder, packed all the bullets into his pouch, and turned to leave without looking back. But suddenly he spun around, untied a red string from his neck—with a pierced silver coin attached—and pressed it into Liu Bo's hand.

"When she wakes up, give this to her. Tell her it's my apology. My mother always told me that bullying people, especially women, brings bad luck."

Without waiting for Liu Bo to respond, he turned and vanished into the night.

Behind him, Liu Bo gazed long and silently in the direction Li Changjiang had gone. After a while, he lifted Meng Yao in his arms and rushed toward the coastline.

Benghazi inner city.

Near the eastern part of town, the airport in the outskirts occasionally thundered with explosions.

It was late at night, but the rebel firepower remained fierce!

Though they were a ragtag bunch, the rebels had clearly prepared well, catching the government forces off guard and driving them into a rout.

The Chinese embassy had already gathered all Chinese nationals at the border days ago, awaiting evacuation. If nothing unexpected happened, the evacuation should already be complete.

Yet now, in a dilapidated building, a dozen men with East Asian faces had gathered.

"Captain, let's break out!"

"Yes, Captain, if we wait any longer and they capture the airport, it'll be too late!"

A few men in civilian clothes crowded around a tactical map, visibly agitated, while several well-dressed Chinese men in suits stood nearby.

Lin Jianyong stroked his chin without speaking, his eyes fixed on the map's routes. His knobby fingers tapped the surface before he fell silent again.

"Major Lin, what are the odds of success if we break out now?" a middle-aged man in a suit suddenly asked.

This time, Lin Jianyong didn't hesitate.

"Less than thirty percent. Director Hao, come here and look—this is Benghazi. This area has already fallen to the rebels, but it's our only way out.

The east side, all the way to the Egyptian border, is sealed off. The rebels are intensifying their assault on the airport. If the government troops can hold out a bit longer, we might gain some time.

But judging by the Libyan army's fighting capacity, it'll be impressive if they last until dawn. So we have to break out before sunrise."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Director Hao's expression was grim, but Lin Jianyong, wearing the insignia of a major, showed no anger. Instead, he gestured toward the exhaust vent.

Director Hao approached with suspicion, peered through a sliver of light outside, and returned to his place in silence.

It turned out that, behind the exhaust vent—at the rear door—a group of rebels were having a barbecue, about thirty in all. Director Hao wasn't an idiot; he knew perfectly well that breaking through with their few men would be nearly impossible.

If they tried to rush out now, they'd be riddled with bullets. There was no alternative outcome.

Moreover, the building's front entrance had been blasted and collapsed, leaving only the back door as an exit.

"Captain, reporting!"

"Speak!"

"I checked—the rebels are three to five meters from the back door. Less than two meters to the left is a corner. If someone moves fast enough, it's possible to break out before they're noticed and draw their fire away. I request permission to go out and distract them."

"Captain, let me go!"

"Captain, I'll do it!"

"Let me go, Captain!"

"Silence!"

The noisy voices were instantly quiet.

Lin Jianyong's expression grew grave. Sending his soldiers to die was not his style, nor the way of a Chinese soldier.

He had anticipated, upon accepting the mission, that they might be trapped in this situation, but hadn't expected things to turn so dire.

Outside the window, the night deepened.

If nothing unexpected happened, by dawn the city would be under rebel control.

In the darkness, a figure darted through the ruined buildings, ghost-like.

Prone.

Aim.

Pull the trigger.

Bang!

At the sound of the shot, a figure ten meters away fell. Li Changjiang quickly withdrew his rifle.

He rose.

The entire sequence was seamless; he'd already repeated it more than five times in just an hour.

He'd fought his way from the west side of the city, and the journey was anything but peaceful. Yet his guess had been right—there were at least hundreds of rebels still combing the city for remnants of the government forces.

Those he shot were mostly lone rebels guarding key intersections.

Approaching a building about five stories high on the east side, its front half collapsed and the main entrance blocked.

Hmm?

Suddenly.

The commotion made him stop at once.

Li Changjiang immediately crouched and edged along the wall to the corner, every nerve taut.

Thirty-one!

A full thirty-one rebels!

This time he was truly at a loss; this place was clearly a rebel gathering point, and he needed to find a way around.

He stowed his rifle.

Keeping his body as low as possible, Li Changjiang made no unnecessary stops, slipping past the downed signs and lamp posts at the street corner, toward a relatively intact building across the way. Hidden in the darkness, the rebels never noticed that death had brushed past them.

But despite every precaution, Li Changjiang stepped on an empty tin can.

With a loud clang, it echoed through the night.

In that instant, Li Changjiang didn't hesitate—he dashed straight for the building's entrance.

Bang!

Rat-tat-tat.

Bang!

Bang bang bang.

Gunfire and shouts erupted.

Li Changjiang's face changed dramatically, his steps nearly at their limit, bullets whizzing past his scalp, flames flashing everywhere.

Damn!

It hurts!

Sweat burst from his pores, he dove to the ground, agony washing over him, his body nearly limp as he crashed from the force.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself into the building, ducked low at the entrance, and reached out—a handful of sticky, bloody mess.

Luckily, the bullet had only grazed his abdomen. Even so, Li Changjiang nearly cried out in pain. Less than ten hours ago, he had been just an ordinary man, clueless about what war was like. Who could have imagined that taking a bullet would hurt this much?

He lifted his shirt, grabbed a handful of dust from the ground, crushed it, and pressed it onto the wound to stop the bleeding. Li Changjiang didn't care about infection; he only remembered this folk remedy from village elders. When all else fails, even a dead horse must be treated as if it were alive.

Ah.

As the dust hit the wound, a sharp, piercing pain shot through his nerves, making his whole body twitch. It hurt like hell.

But thankfully, within moments, the bleeding stopped.

On the other side.

As soon as the gunshots rang out, Lin Jianyong rushed to the exhaust vent.

He caught a glimpse of a shadow darting into the building across the way, while the rebels outside sprang into action.

Sir, one recommendation ticket, please!