Chapter 41: Cheap and Effective

As Joja and his team found themselves on the village's flank, a dirt slope stretched from the village's southern entrance to the northeast. The southern exit of the village intersected with the slope, a spot that Nis could single-handedly guard. The four remaining enemies were hiding between the buildings, making it difficult for either Joja or Nis to find a good shooting angle.

Now that Kaman was circling around, if he could force them out of their hiding spots and into the main road of the village, Joja was confident he could take them out.

Kaman, although not a formally trained soldier, had fought in wars his whole life and knew better than anyone how to fight. The situation had reached a stalemate, and about ten minutes later, Dorian, the Italian squeezed between two trucks, was the first to lose patience. Being a loner, he was particularly worried that Joja and his team might abandon him, which would spell his doom.

He quickly peeked out but pulled back when no bullets came his way. Dorian quickly peeked again—still no bullets. On the third attempt, he threw his shirt out, and this time, a few bullets hit the shirt, warning him not to try to escape.

But just as the shirt hit the ground, Dorian crouched low and dashed out, firing his AK-74 wildly behind him, surprisingly suppressing the enemy shooters. As he escaped their line of fire and dashed into a building, a rocket hit the narrow gap where the four enemies were hiding.

The explosion from the rocket's shrapnel created intense heat and destruction, killing two gunmen instantly, while the other two scrambled out of the alley. As soon as they exposed themselves, two bullets hit them. Joja's SVD aimed for the head, while Nis's TAC-50 was far more brutal.

The bullet struck the last unlucky guy in the shoulder, causing half of his body to explode, leaving a trail of blood and entrails.

Seeing the battle was over, Kaman fired the remaining rocket into the spot where the enemies had been hiding, just to finish the job. Then the old man easily climbed down from the roof. Passing by Dorian, he glanced up and down at the "white ghost," shaking his head with a bit of disdain, seemingly unimpressed with Dorian's earlier impatience.

If Dorian hadn't moved, those four guys would likely have stayed grouped together, allowing the first rocket to wipe them all out. Instead, Dorian's movement made them think Joja's team was about to attack, prompting them to spread out and reducing the rocket's effectiveness.

Seeing that the battle was truly over, Joja began descending while pressing the mic at his throat, saying, "Devil Bird, stay behind to keep watch. Dragon Lizard, check on that photographer—make sure he doesn't die."

Joja did his best to avoid looking at the bullet-riddled corpses as he quickly crossed the blood-soaked battlefield at the foot of the slope. In a few minutes, Joja reached the small house where the photographer had been hiding.

When Joja arrived, Kaman had already taken control of the guy. Surprisingly, the photographer was a white man. His right forearm was completely destroyed by a 7.62mm sniper round, leaving a large gap in the middle of his forearm. The bone was undoubtedly shattered, with only a bit of skin holding it together.

As Joja entered the room, he was greeted by a piercing scream. He watched as Kaman used a hunting knife to completely sever the man's useless forearm, then tied off the upper arm with a shoelace. Joja walked over, bent down, picked up the camera, and began examining it.

After seeing the photos inside, Joja walked over to the photographer, squatted down, and asked sternly, "Who are you? What were you planning to do with these photos?"

The photographer, a bearded man, responded in pain, "I'm a reporter for AFP. I got a tip that this was going to be a weapons deal between Chinese and terrorists, so I came here."

Joja flipped through the photos, which clearly focused on Boss Huang. After closing his eyes in thought, he pulled out his phone, opened the camera, and asked, "What were you planning to report? That the Chinese were supporting Darfur terrorists? How much were you paid? Who contacted you? Don't give me any bullshit—you should know those Chinese were here to negotiate a hostage exchange, and you're trying to create fake news."

As he spoke, Joja drew his pistol and pressed it against the bearded man's forehead, coldly saying, "Give me one reason not to kill you. Five, four, three, two, one..."

"I'll talk! I'll talk! It was a Brit! I don't know who he is, but I could tell from his accent. He paid me £50,000 in cash to come here and take photos of the Chinese making deals with terrorists, then publish them in the papers. We met at the Wess Hotel in Khamou—he approached me. That's all, that's all..."

"Bang!"

Joja fired a shot, blowing the bearded reporter's brains out. Then he stood up and said to Kaman, "Dispose of all the bodies. We'll head out tonight and pay a visit to the Kindewick camp. I'm suddenly very interested in that pretentious black man from before."

As Joja spoke, he noticed Dorian standing at the door. He forced a smile and patted Dorian on the shoulder, saying, "Help clean up the bodies, and I'll give you a thousand bucks."

Dorian's eyes lit up at the mention of money, and he said, "Give me fifty grand, and I'll go with you to hit the Kindewick camp. And, of course, I'll help clean up the bodies."

Joja looked at Dorian like he was an idiot, shaking his head. "You wish! If money were that easy to make, I'd be rich by now. Just a thousand bucks, take it or leave it!"

Seeing Joja's serious expression, Dorian quickly said, "Alright, five grand then. I'm a damn good commando, skilled with the MP-5 and MP-7 in infiltration missions. You're planning to rescue the hostages, right? There are at least 300 people at the Kindewick camp—my skills will definitely come in handy."

Joja was amused by Dorian's greed and, after some thought, nodded. "Alright, five grand. First, help clean up the bodies, then we'll move out."

After dealing with Dorian, Joja walked over to the pickup trucks, called Nis over, and together they drove both pickups into the village. As Dorian was busy disposing of the bodies, he noticed the exaggerated B-8 rocket pod mounted on the bed of one of the pickups. He looked at Joja in disbelief and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

Joja spread his hands and smiled, saying, "I'm an arms dealer. They call me 'The Jackal.'"