Mercenary Black Mamba

Black Mamba and Bonipas' calculations differed in range and starting point. The ANO was secretive b*stards, like snakes and poisonous, like scorpions. Their budget for the past 13 years had gone over 300,000,000 francs. Including the social expenses that they had spent, the number was astronomical.

Compared to the millions of francs they'd have to keep spending, Black Mamba's 10,000,000 francs were nothing. They were in a situation where they had to give 100,000,000 francs if Black Mamba had requested it. A mutual relationship where both sides gained their interests formed the greatest partnership. Between Bonipas, who was logical and giving and Black Mamba, who had a formidable battle strength that was comparable to a warship, they formed a good harmony.

Bonipas reached out his hand.

"I thank you for your cooperation. Syria is considered as our enemy, but at the same time, as France's important economic partner. This mission is a sensitive matter. The government won't comment if you succeed or fail."

"Of course." Black Mamba smiled bitterly and shook his hand.

Black Mamba would normally be summoned through major general Philip. He'd already guessed their intentions when they smuggled him into the country in a personal plane without Philip's involvement. The French government was planning to erase the ANO's terrorist training center and pretended as if they didn't know.

They would act the same if he had died during the mission. The French government would turn, saying they hadn't known. A living Black Mamba was valued over Clemenceau, but a deceased Black Mamba was nothing, like the corpses of the homeless in Paris' backstreets.

"I personally think it's an impossible mission too. I'm sorry."

"It's surprising that the serpent's apologizing to my face. Just prepare a lot of money."

Wrinkles stacked on Bonipas' forehead. To address him by a nickname that not even the department's head minister had used, was the b*stard. Black Mamba only smiled.

A wise man served another who recognized his talents and helped him grow. He didn't know whether he was the smart bird or if France was a sinking ship. At the very least, as long as there was a necessity for each other, a good relationship would continue. In fact, it was a clearer relationship than something wrapped in loyalty and debt.

The Ruman mission wasn't easy at all. The leaders and cooperators were a larger threat than Allah's warriors. Aleppo was a large city with over 1,000,000 residents. According to Bellman's information, most of the north-eastern locals favored the ANO, who had sought the restoration of Levant Syria. At least one percent of them were devoted followers. Clashing against a local? That was the worst thing that could happen.

However, it wasn't something to be scared of either. When the target was unclear, the one carrying out the mission was bound to go mad, like what had happened during mission Raccoon. This mission was clear. The target was Ruman, and the goal was annihilation.

Beyond that, this was pure hunting that forwent humanity. There was no additional burden to protect anyone as it was a solo mission. The less mental load, the more he could concentrate on the mission. His specialty was assassinating. If the opponent's strength was unaccountable, he could simply kill them one by one.

"Advisor, we've prepared your stay at Hotel Muguet."

"There's no need. Is there an indoor training hall?"

"There are three gyms and two shooting ranges."

"I'll revamp my body while waiting for the gears then."

"The Victoire training gym on the fifth basement is the largest. Is there any equipment or rooms that you need?"

Claude immediately understood Black Mamba's requests.

"I just need an outdoor field bed."

Black Mamba refused the special suite room that the DGSE had prepared and entered the basement's training gym. He needed time to raise his battle instincts, which had scattered due to his meditations and services, and he had to get used to the whip.

Three days later, Bonipas appeared in the training gym. He looked at the training floor, which had been completely trashed and shook his head. The 2,000 square meters room had turned into ruins. Countless numbers of gym exercise machines had broken down into metal pieces.

The metal pipes were broken, and the metal sheets had been ripped as though it were paper. All the wire ropes had been cut and scrunched into a ball. Several dumbbells were embedded into the concrete wall while the entire floor was scratched as though some monster had visited, cracked, and shattered it. It was the scene of at least 10 Tyrannosaurus' rampages.

"Wow, did an alien monster go mad in here?"

Black Mamba, who had been meditating in the middle of the ruins, opened his eyes.

"What is it? I said I needed a week."

It was a definite negative response. Whips were soft weapons. He'd begun to feel the weapon's resonance more clearly after learning its techniques using the five combined movements. A softness had wrapped around. Drawing a greater power out of smaller power, the weight of air—

Bonipas had interrupted him when he was on the brink of realization.

"Advisor, we have a problem. An explosive went off in Aéroport de Paris-Orly. Those b*stards had installed an explosive in a trash can outside the airport. It's been done by a professional. The person who did it had managed to perfectly time the trajectory of substances and explosion time. Two have died, and thirty were injured."

"Is it the ANO again?"

"We have received information from the 22nd department of the German Democratic Republic. They're the Black September Organization. It's a separate terrorist organization led by Abrahim Samrin, the second in rank at ANO."

"What trash. Now, they're walking around in broad daylight," Black Mamba judged coldly.

From the information passed on by Bellman, he'd already learned that the Black September Organization and the ANO were part of a bigger organization. ANO's leader was Abu Nidal. The leader of the Black September Organization had been hidden behind a veil, until now. Apart from the ANO, Samrin also led the Black September Organization. For decades, the Southern Intelligence Departments had basically been fooled by Abu Nidal.

"Mitterrand and Pione are causing a ruckus, I suppose?"

"I'm sorry we didn't give you enough time to prepare."

"There's nothing we can do about it. I understand Abu Nidal's religious beliefs and griefs, but he's knocking on the wrong door. Indiscriminate terrorism against an unspecified crowd isn't something that can be forgiven. If they're trying to assassinate Mitterrand like a jackal, we can only assume that they've abandoned the identity of a human. There's only the path of an animal for those who have refused the humans' wheel of life."

"There's another bad news."

"There is plenty of bad news today! Hehe!" Black Mamba laughed, expressionless.

Bonipas also laughed bitterly. An Intelligence Department was created to identify and get rid of problems. There wasn't a single "good" Intelligence Department on earth that delivered good news.

"An S-75 was confirmed to be seen at Kaparja Valley. According to Mossad's information, the downgraded version that had been transported to the Middle East in 1963 was given to Syria and Egypt a year ago."

"That's certainly not welcomed news. High-altitude missiles are made in masses. With the radar and defense units under consideration, a regiment of army should have been deployed, at least."

Black Mamba didn't feel anything. Instead, he was recalculating his next move based on the worst case scenario.

"S-75s are launched by three launching units and one radar unit. One unit is made of three companies. There are 180 members each. The total members are predicted to be around 700, including the guarding unit."

Black Mamba couldn't ignore the possibility of clashing against the Syrian soldiers based around Kaparja Valley. No one knew what would happen in an invasive search and destroy mission. Information was always lacking, no matter how many times it was revised.

"Did you figure out the specifications?"

"It's the initial V750V system. Three rounds are considered one set. The range is 25 kilometers, and the altitude is 11,000 meters. If one fails to launch, the system will automatically launch the other two in sequence."

"The impact altitude will be close. My butt's going to tingle the entire time. Are we ready to go?"

"The Hercules is awaiting you at Aéroport de Paris-Orly. Advisor, all the equipment that you need is on it."

"Ugh, my luck!"

Black Mamba walked out of the gym with an unfortunate expression. Was it called Murphy's law? When there was something to gain, something would block his path from getting it.

The strictly sealed underground gym on the fifth basement floor was reopened. The facility manager was called by Claude to sign a document. It stated that he had to forget everything he saw in the Victoire training gym during its reconstruction.

"Did they have a violent sex party or something?"

The manager tilted his head as he went down to the fifth basement floor before his eyes widened in shock.

"Ah, what the hell!"

His scream echoed across the entire basement. The manager called the waste van first.

Bonipas whispered to Black Mamba as he sent him off to Aéroport de Paris-Orly.

"Special military advisor, consul Dijolle Baylout was kidnapped by those b*stards 10 days ago. We've already given up on him. It'd be nice if you help him escape, but if you can't, it doesn't matter. If you do manage to rescue him, the government won't ignore your accomplishment."

"That's a scarier request than asking me to save him." Black Mamba smiled.

In the seventh sector of Aéroport de Paris-Orly, a tactical carrier Hercules lifted its heavy body into the air. The Hercules swerved largely to its right and turned its head towards the Mediterranean. It did so to avoid the countries involved in the Warsaw Pact.

There were only four people with 130 kilograms of equipment in the large 80-ton cabin. There was only one human, who seemed non-human at the same time, sitting silently in the large passenger's cabin. It looked as though he was sleeping.

It was 3,300 kilometers from Paris to Aleppo and 3,600 kilometers in flight distance. The distance was ideal for a Hercules without any weight to bear, which could even travel 8,000 kilometers without rest. Due to the light load, much of the fuel had been conserved.

Claude and two Strategic Division agents, who had boarded as the support team, had nothing to say. The VIP, whom they should have been taking orders from, hadn't been talking for hours since boarding time. For the past two hours, he'd been tapping with his wrist and fingers and nodding.

The agents who knew nothing about the mission had heaps of questions piled up like Mont Blanc but had no way of asking. Their job was to support the special military advisor's high-altitude fall. They still had six hours left before reaching Aleppo. The VIP had asked them not to make a single sound. The two agents, who had to communicate by hand, nearly fell sick from boredom.

Claude elbowed an agent's side and pointed at Black Mamba. His head was leaning to the side. He'd finally fallen asleep. The three stared at Black Mamba, who was snoring away, with incredulous expressions. He was about to face a 13,000 kilometers high-altitude fall without any safety gears but was sleeping and snoring away. He must have had the nerves of steel.

[1984 August 6th, 02:00.]

The Hercules, which crossed the entire Mediterranean, entered the land.

"Advisor, we're 20 minutes away."

Black Mamba opened his eyes.

"Current location?"

"We will be approaching Turkey's Osmaniye mountain ranges in 10 minutes."

"It's the time of Asura!"

He gently clenched his teeth. His peaceful time was now over. It was time for Azrael's return.

"Advisor, aren't you scared?"

"I'm human. If I wasn't scared, I wouldn't be human. Humans have their reasons for being human. What's the seed that characterizes humans? It's the self-constraint of not intruding in another's happiness to gain your own. If you can't stand someone else's happiness, you shouldn't shatter it. I, Asura, am the world's cleaner," Black Mamba mumbled to himself as he slowly prepared for his fall.

He slung the parachute container over his shoulder and fixed the spare canopy over his chest.

He secured the gunpowder bag and backpack on his hip. He wore the helmet, the ceramic-made mask which covered his entire face, and the carp gloves before checking the altitude on his watch to wrap up the preparations.

Vrrrm—

The helicopter shook once. The Osmaniye mountain ranges had the low-lands Turkey to its west and the high-lands Syria to its east. It was a mountain range of barely 2,000 meters high, but it was the border that separated the East and West.

The mountains' atmosphere always moved unstably with the hot air of the west and the cold air of the east. Sometimes, there were 100s of lightning strikes, and sometimes, it rained cats and dogs. The helicopter trembled as it crossed over the mountain range.

Whoosh—

His dimensional sight was automatically activated. A pressure, which felt like it was pressing onto his left temple with a stick, dug into his head. Black Mamba, who had been ready and waiting, shouted at Claude.

"Claude, connect me to the pilot now!"

Claude turned on the intercom connected to the cockpit.

"Pilot, this is the advisor. I need you to report the current location and altitude."

"We're 80 kilometers north-west of Aleppo at Rajo Mountain, and the current altitude is at 9,700 meters. I've lowered the altitude to avoid turbulence."

"Raise the altitude to 13,000 meters."

"Roger."

Voooom—

A heavy vibration reverberated throughout the cabin. The Hercules raised its head and rapidly rose in altitude. There were no friendly stewardesses on a military carrier.

"Putain, what's wrong!"

At the sudden movement, one of the agents fell out of the chair and rolled on the floor. Claude grew nervous. It had only been three days since he had met Black Mamba, but for the past three days, he'd been surprised by many things compared to the past 45 years. There had to be a suitable reason for Black Mamba's nervousness.

Claude attached himself closely to the view window and looked down. Just as expected, a major threat awaited when a military carrier passed an enemy's territory.

He saw a small spark below before it suddenly expanded into a black-red flare.

"Aaah! A missile!"

Orange flashes lighted around the Hercules' tail even before Claude could finish speaking. The cartridge, which was hanging on the pylon, vomited several flares. The V750V warhead jumped into the flare. Yellow light spewed across the orange flame. A waterfall of light poured down by the observatory window.

"Damn b*stards, it wasn't Kaparja Valley but Rajo Mountain."

Black Mamba gritted his teeth. The German Democratic Republic had given them the wrong information. Syria had constructed a missile base in Rajo mountain instead of Kaparja Valley. He'd been told that they gathered intelligence beyond the East and West, but it had all been a lie.

"Pilot, raise the altitude!"

"Aaaaah, raise the height, raise it!" Claude shouted as though he was about to bite through the intercom. The two agents whose faces had turned pale also screamed along.