071 The Russian
(Transitional chapter—please vote for me! I didn’t write much today; I spent time rethinking the outline, so the update is a bit slow.)
Hu Dayou waited until the old man had left the conference room and got into his car before turning around, face darkened.
“So, Old Hu, you got a good scolding, I reckon? But you pulled off that double act well. The old chief’s temper hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Mm!”
Hu Dayou was rendered both exasperated and amused by Xiang Guofang. This old fox—
“But this time the old chief actually came down himself. I’m telling you, this isn’t as simple as it seems. That rascal Li Changjiang, when he gets back, I’m going to make him explain exactly what colossal mess he made with the Americans in Libya.”
The two exchanged a knowing smile.
Within Libya.
On the outskirts of Misrata.
Upon receiving the latest orders, Guan Hu immediately gathered all his team members. There were twenty-three participants in this operation. After withdrawing from Labraq last night, they’d made a wide detour and infiltrated a small market town near Misrata’s suburbs.
“Tiger Squad? Is there a new mission?” asked Machine Gun, ever quick with words—the very reason for his nickname.
“New orders. From now on, we must spare no effort to locate a Chinese national named Li Changjiang. Here’s his dossier. Machine Gun, show it to everyone.”
Soon enough, Machine Gun pulled up Li Changjiang’s file on the tactical tablet for the whole team. The atmosphere turned strangely tense.
Not a single person spoke up.
“What’s wrong? Why the long faces?”
“Tiger, this—this Li Huanghe—”
“Li Changjiang!”
“Oh, right, Li Changjiang. Who exactly is this guy? For us to be ordered to find him at all costs, he must be a big shot, right?”
As Machine Gun finished, the twenty-odd team members all looked at Guan Hu, waiting for his answer.
“What are you all staring at me for? If you don’t know, how would I? Just follow orders!”
“Heh heh! Tiger, speak quietly, it’s fine. I promise I won’t let it slip.”
“Really won’t slip?”
Guan Hu wore a mysterious look.
“Really!”
“That’s right, Tiger, won’t slip, not a chance!”
“Tiger, spill it, I’ll cover for you!”
“You’ll cover for me? If things go south, you’ll be the one in trouble!”
Guan Hu ignored their bravado and instead glanced at his watch. It was a little after 4 a.m. local time.
“Machine Gun, take your men and infiltrate from the left. Nightingale, lead your squad over from the other side. Stay sharp, everyone—this is our first cross-border operation. We need to be swift and decisive.
According to intel, Li Changjiang and the previous mission targets are likely inside Misrata, so be meticulous. Any questions?”
“Alright, if not, we’ll set out immediately!”
“Tiger!”
Seeing Guan Hu ignore his raised hand, Machine Gun couldn’t help himself.
“You have five seconds. Spit it out.”
Guan Hu’s face was cold as steel. It wasn’t that he was unfeeling, but as the commander of this mission, he was the only one with real combat experience. He knew better than anyone that there was no room for hesitation on the battlefield—life or death, nothing in between.
“Tiger, none of us know what Li Changjiang looks like. How are we supposed to find him?”
Guan Hu: ——
“Just look at yourself—you’ll know what he looks like! Move out!”
No sooner had he spoken than Guan Hu was already leading his team toward Misrata.
“Machine Gun, you’re hopeless!”
“I told you you’re slow, but you never believe me!”
“Talking fast is useless if you don’t use your brain!”
As the teammates brushed past Machine Gun, they each threw in a jab. Only when just five were left did he finally realize, with a bewildered look—
“Hey—this is weird. Did I ask the wrong question? Was I out of line? Are they all mad?”
“Are you stupid? Is Li Changjiang Chinese?”
Machine Gun: “Of course!”
“And Libyans are white, aren’t they?”
Machine Gun: ——
He was utterly speechless.
A Chinese man among a crowd of white faces—unless you’re an idiot, you’d spot him instantly. He’d wasted five precious seconds on that question.
“I warn you, never mention today’s incident again!”
With that, he headed toward Misrata, leaving his five companions dumbstruck.
Day broke swiftly.
As Guan Hu led his men infiltrating the rebel-held sections of Misrata, Li Changjiang was also searching for an opportunity to enter the city.
Without Elisa as his guide, moving around became infinitely more difficult. He could barely maintain his cover and, after a simple disguise, had to pose as a mercenary once again.
On the battlefield—especially in Libya—there was never a shortage of mercenaries.
Walking brazenly through the checkpoint into the city, Li Changjiang quickly realized Misrata was not nearly as devastated as he’d imagined. This surprised him somewhat.
Following other mercenaries to what seemed like a mercenary camp, he soon lost his bearings.
“Hey, which mercenary group are you with?”
The speaker was a white man with a thick beard.
“I’m—”
Bang!
Before Li Changjiang could finish, a gunshot shattered the camp’s uneasy peace.
With the shot ringing in his ears, whatever Li Changjiang had been about to say was swallowed back down.
After the shot, a squad of Libyans quickly emerged through the entrance and into the camp.
“Everyone, come register your mercenary group, its size, and your occupation. Those who don’t register will get paid as freelancers, no exceptions.”
“Fuck!”
“What kind of bullshit rule is this?”
“My mercenary group is just me—what’s there to register?”
A chorus of complaints arose; many were clearly displeased with the odd demand.
Li Changjiang glanced at the bearded man who’d addressed him. The man seemed to notice, turned, and met his eyes with a smile.
A master!
Li Changjiang couldn’t judge a person’s skill with certainty, but he’d felt this kind of pressure from three others before.
Williams.
Barty Sanchez, and the Marine, Yang Jianyong.
Yang was actually the weakest, but the bearded hulk before him felt even more dangerous than Barty Sanchez.
Li Changjiang instantly became wary. He suspected this man’s mercenary identity was just a cover—his true background was likely far more complicated.
“Hey, you’re Chinese, aren’t you?”
On hearing the man’s voice again, Li Changjiang noticed a Russian accent beneath the English.
“I am. You’re Russian?”
“Yes, I’m Russian. You can call me Nicholas—Nicholas Svorovich.”
Hearing the name, Li Changjiang was momentarily stunned.
Nicholas Svorovich?
If he remembered correctly, he’d heard that name somewhere before.