Mercenary Black Mamba

What if he ran with Jamal?

The OTO-Melara Mod 56 howitzer had a caliber of 105 millimeters. It could also be used as a direct fire weapon by lowering its elevation. If he jumped out from his hiding place, he would end up being directly hit.

The further he ran, the more advantageous it was for the field mortar. Around Kaparja Valley, there were open fields without a single thriving tree. The moment he reached 1,000 meters, the chances of him entering the explosion field of 30 meters in diameter would increase exponentially. He couldn't escape the howitzer's range even if he ran 20 li.

The 105 millimeters howitzer was incomparable to the RPG. While the explosive yield of an RPG's warhead was 200,000 Joules, a 105 millimeters howitzer's impact was 6,000,000 J. Anyone who jokingly swept past its range would end up dead. His conclusion was that he couldn't retreat. Even before he could take 10 steps, he'd become prey to the machine guns or turned into shreds by the howitzer.

Light flashed above the castle walls. The shell moved 416 meters per second and landed the moment light flashed.

Boom—

Boom—

The sound of explosions and launches rang at the same time. A boulder, which had been standing 30 meters to his right, shattered. Dirt and rock fragments poured down like rain. The impact was strong.

Bang—

A shell landed near them, 20 meters to the left. The ground shook, but Jamal was calm. He'd curled around the camera in case it broke. He didn't blink even when the large caliber shell covered in dirt landed beside them.

Black Mamba smiled. He recalled how Ombuti had prayed to live with his head stuck underneath a rock. The guy acted rash, but he was daring and had a strong sense of responsibility.

The mortar was too close and couldn't aim well with a negative elevation. The shooter and the observer were using their brains to gain zero-point focus like a rifle. It was a good idea, but the weapon wasn't living up to their expectations. Despite knowing his location, it couldn't land a hit and was causing a scene.

An OTO-Melara could fire three rounds in a minute. Currently, its interval between rounds was 10 seconds. Two howitzers were currently aiming at him. If all five field artillery started shooting at once, he'd have to withstand 12 kilograms of high-explosive shells every four to five seconds. He didn't want to, ever.

"Hehe, this is it. That's the end of getting pushed around. I'm going to show you what the bat bombs feel like. It's something I brought over with much effort."

Black Mamba's eyes radiated blue light. Field artillery was a great target for his anti-tank grenades. The anti-tank grenade had been formulated correctly, but it hadn't performed well during WWII.

That was because its throwing range was within 15 meters due to its weight of 1.2 kilograms. If a tank was right before a person's eyes, how many could throw a grenade calmly and efficiently?

For Black Mamba, it was a grenade made just for him. He had an iron heart that wouldn't budge even when faced with a landslide, nonetheless a tank. And even then, he had a superior physique and martial arts abilities.

The resonance whirled once around his body.

There were several anatomical planes to a moving body. When moving back and forth, the body would divide into the left and right sections. It was called the sagittal plane. When moving left to right, the body would divide into the front and back sections. It was called the coronal plane. When twisting the body, it would divide into the upper and lower sections. That was the transverse plane.

The bones, muscles, and veins moved in harmony with those planes to gain strength. Martial arts was an advanced study of human anatomy, which demonstrated the maximum harmony of the body when it corresponded to those planes.

Black Mamba's body shifted from the coronal plane, the sagittal plane, to the transverse plane. Energy started gathering from the nerves of his toes and traveled up to his calves, thighs, pelvis, and shoulder. The accumulated energy would later spread throughout his entire body.

Woosh—

The grenade that left his fingertips soared through the air at 150 meters per second.

Babababa—

Bullets poured out from machine guns, but Black Mamba had long hidden himself.

His dimensional sight wrapped around its trajectory. The trajectory of the grenade and the people moving around its landing point was drawn in his head like a picture.

Two seconds later, it landed three meters away from its landing point. Soon, another one followed. This time, its trajectory altered two meters. There was no explosion. It was a practice grenade that he'd thrown without pulling the safety pin. He was approximating the landing point of his soy grenades.

"I think I have it."

Woosh—

An intense airwave sounded. The battle of death had arrived, but the gunners were too busy recharging the mortar and altering the elevation.

Click—

A small parachute, which reached five meters above the ground, protruded from the RKG-3 anti-tank grenade.

Whistle—

The grenade fell with its parachute in tow. It was a comical scene, but the results weren't hilarious at all.

Bang—

The power of a 1.2 kilograms anti-tank grenade was definite. The 1.3 tons howitzer, which was ready to launch, flashed and fell outside of its field. Jamal, who'd been watching with binoculars, shivered.

"Aaaaagh!"

The gunmen's shouts shook the air. They were thrown off the castle's walls as a result of the explosion.

"Félicitations. Je vous souhait bonne chance la ou vous s'hait![1]" Black Mamba muttered a soulless farewell and started throwing grenades at full force.

Pheeeee—

Pheee—

The cute parachutes, which looked like toys, continuously appeared above the castle.

Bang—

Bang—

Bang—

A grand fireworks display began.

The field artillery fell right under the walls while the gunners, aiders, and observers who were swept away by the explosions bounced out. Chaos occurred.

Jamal's mouth hung open. Apart from covering a great distance, Black Mamba accurately aimed at his targets like a mouse entering its mouse hole. Five OTO-Melara field artillery was destroyed by eight anti-tank grenades.

"Oh, Allah, the God of Wars has arrived! May all be done in Allah's will! Ennumul hart[2], ennumul hart!" Jamal automatically shouted in surprise.

It was too early for him to be surprised. Black Mamba wiped out the howitzers and shifted his target to the machine guns.

Click—

Pheeee—

An anti-tank grenade landed without a single mistake on the left side of the machine gun field, spreading its parachute.

Bang—

The machine gun and gunner jumped into the air at the same time.

Woosh—

Woosh—

Grenades kept flying by. A parade of fireworks happened along the area. Screams echoed in the night sky, where the explosions and fireworks occurred. The castle's outer walls, which had withstood 1,000s of years, suffered.

Luckily, a grenade landed on a pile of OTO-Melara shells that were preparing for reload. The shells spewed out a fire as though it had found the situation unjust, like the duck eggs by Nakdong River.

Ba-ang—

A heavy explosion erupted. The entire Kaparja Valley lit up.

Boooom—

Chained explosives had the most beautiful explosions. All the gunners who'd been attacking were swept away.

Craaaash—

The castle's walls groaned as it twisted its body.

Crack—

In the end, a side of its wall collapsed.

"Aaaagh!"

A group of recoilless mortar gunners and RPG launchers, who were rushing up the side, fell to the ground along with the collapsing wall.

"Ehehehehe!"

Click—

Click—

Jamal peculiarly laughed while pressing on the shutter several times

Bang—

Bang—

Crash—

Boom—

RPG-7s and bullets poured into the rocky fields from Ruman. The camera's flash had revealed their location.

"Jamal, press the red button. It's the anti-glare device!" Black Mamba shouted.

While it had been his fault for not telling him earlier, Jamal was unstoppable. He'd told the guy to take pictures, and he'd risked his life for it. If he was an attention-seeker, he was a strange one.

In the far future, Black Mamba would complain that Korean women were worse than Jamal. After all, they would only eat after saving pictures of all the food that they had on their phones.

Woosh—

Woosh—

Woosh—

Every 0.2 seconds, grenades flew in a row. Their target was the searchlight on the watchtower. He hadn't been able to pinpoint their exact locations, but the lights were directing the bullets that were flying around their hiding space. It was annoying.

Bang—

Bang—

Four watchtowers exploded in a row. The searchlights, which had annoyed him, disappeared at once. Ruman burned brightly in the darkness.

Black Mamba, who was now relaxed, wiped the sweat off his forehead. He hadn't known that the b*stards would use field artillery. He'd almost gotten himself exploded. The watchtowers outside of his throwing range couldn't reach the rocky fields with their searchlights.

"Abwar, Abwar!" Captain Jarkawi shouted into the radio.

Ever since the explosion, their communication had stopped. There was no way for the head of the artillery to answer when he was greeting Allah. Suddenly, he felt nervous. If the field artillery and machine guns around the castle walls were destroyed, it would be like fighting without an arm.

"Messenger, go check the castle's outer walls."

"Yes, sir!"

Jarkawi was shaken. He couldn't tell what the unknown enemy was aiming for. To keep attacking even after inflicting monstrous blows? Perhaps?

Chills ran down his spine. It was a speculation, an extremely unreasonable speculation, but the enemy was attacking on a level that would not only affect Aloadin but wipe them out entirely. They were persistent b*stards. Jarkawi shuddered.

"Sir Bansiri, Sir Bansiri!" He shouted into the walkie-talkie.

"What is it?"

An indifferent voice cracked. It was a weak voice. Jarkawi tilted his head. Major Bansiri wasn't the kind of person to lose his strength even if he had starved for 10 days. Jarkawi didn't know the reason behind his boss's loss of rationality.

"Major General, those b*stards seem to be plotting the annihilation of our organization. The castle's defense guards were taken out by their attacks."

"What? The castle walls' mortars and machine guns were destroyed?"

A surprised voice was heard over the radio.

"I lost contact with the head of the artillery, sir. I've sent a messenger. It's a monstrous loss. We'll become a laughing-stock if we lose to those b*stards. We must catch them and peel their skin off."

"Hehehe, that's a good idea. They're the b*stards who soiled the holy land of a 1,000 years. I've lost pride in watching over Aloadin. Kill all those b*stards, and then we'll kill ourselves. I'll lead. Group our entire forces into units of five and be on standby. Make sure to conceal them and prepare for close combat."

"Yes, sir. I'll prepare them. Won't there be reinforcements?"

"Hehe, the strategic division and the chemical explosives division are 10 times more valuable than us. There's no reason for them to aid us."

Jarkawi tilted his head. Somehow, the major general sounded dejected.

"Sir Bansiri, we must catch and execute them. We'll become a laughing-stock to all if we lose the b*stards who provoked us. We must punish those frogs."

"Execute!"

Bansiri's consciousness returned. Headless corpses came into his sight. One of the dead subordinates had been his younger cousin. Since the association with the CIA required a high level of secrecy, he'd asked his younger cousin to keep an eye. A Syrian's love for their family was known worldwide. He had no choice but to be responsible for the death of his cousin.

"Yes, I need to take the gold back and hang their heads on the castle's walls."

With his returned senses, Bansiri kicked the broken door away and ran up the stairs.

"Jarkawi, do you have those b*stards' location?"

"Yes, sir, it's the Kindall B-zone."

"The rocky hill in the east?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many more snipers do we have left?"

"We have three sniper officers and 10 special snipers."

"Prepare them immediately."

"Yes, sir!"

His subordinate ran like a dog with its hind on fire.

"It must be those b*stards sent by the DGSE. F****** heathens, taste some fire."

Bansiri caressed the Barrett that CIA agent Dyson had given him. It was a new sniping gun which had been developed two years ago. Although it was a semi-automatic rifle, it had an accuracy of one MOA.

The power of the Barrette's 12.7 millimeters medium machine gun bullet was devilish. It could pierce through concrete and cars. It could shatter most concealments and kill the enemy. Bansiri had been completely charmed by the Barrett's power. If there were any cons, it was that he couldn't buy more, and it was too heavy.

He had to use snipers to catch those b*stards. He was completely advantageous in a fight. Snipers could get their opportunity as long as the advancing warriors diverted their attention.

Bansiri gathered his surviving subordinates. He had to raise their morals for them to desire revenge.

"Hear, Allah's warriors. Those b*stards are the heathens of France. They've killed our brothers by evil means. Those b*stards have infiltrated like rats and used explosive terror against us. Look at the burning corpses of your brothers. Your brothers who'd been burned in the hands of the heathens won't be able to enter Allah's world. Those b*stards are stranded in Kindall B-zone. We must kill those b*stards to send our sacrificed brothers into Allah's world! Brothers, let us avenge our brothers by taking those heathens' necks!"

"Whooo! May there be Allah's judgment!"

"Kill them! Let's cut those heathens' necks!" the members raged.

It hurt a man's honor to leave their friends behind in hell.

"All brothers in training, team up in twos. I will only receive up to 10 teams as the shock troop. Jarkawi, concentrate on the backup firearms. Allah's wand, concentrate your fire on Kindall B-zone. Recoilless artillery and machine guns should suppress the surrounding region. Brothers, if we die in the midst of attacking the heathens, we'll be buried in Aloadin's lands. Aloadin will greet you all with angels!"

"Yes! Kill those heathens!"

"Yeah, kill them!"

The potential terrorist trainees fought each other for a spot.

Black Mamba shook his head. Those guys were tenacious. A storm of fire had gone by, but most terrorists had survived. He could clearly see people running about. Some guy with a thick mustache was giving a passionate speech, but he couldn't understand. From what it seemed, they were preparing to attack.

Bababa—

Bang—

Bang—

RPG, recoilless artillery, and machine-gun bullets poured out of Ruman. It was a force shooting instead of a target shooting. Several rocks around the hill shattered, and dirt danced around.

"Jamal, bring the grenade bag over."

Black Mamba smiled coldly.

[1] Congratulations, I hope you have better luck next time!

[2] God of war.