Mercenary Black Mamba

Emil threw the FN MAG like he was abandoning it. Samedi kicked the falling machine gun back up with his foot and caught it. A twisted facial expression was seen on Samedi. The cold grip of the gun, the carrying handle, and the double heat sink felt familiar. One side of his brain tickled as though his memory was resurfacing.

"Have you forgotten Legion Etranger's lesson? We learned how to look downright amazing in battle and how to survive."

"But what if he dies?" Emil frowned.

No matter how physically gifted Samedi was, he could still die from a couple of bullets. He worried Samedi might hold his friend back.

"Samedi won't die," Samedi suddenly interfered.

"Brat, your bros are talking. You don't just jump into a conversation, big lump-of-blood." Emil glared.

"But it's true," Samedi complained as though it was unfair.

"Pfft!" Black Mamba laughed.

It seemed like he wanted to slap the back of Emil's head and was only holding back because he was his master's friend. Emil was unaware of Samedi's identity. Lump of blood! Samedi was at least over 50. Once he learned about Samedi's age and past, Emil would probably froth at the mouth and pass out.

"He's someone born with battle abilities. He won't die easily."

"He must be better than lackey if he gained your approval. Damn it. I should go with you… Go get your vaccination. I'll prepare your weapons," Emil grumbled.

Black Mamba didn't plan on bringing lackey, the warrior on his heels. Emil himself would be nothing but a burden.

"It's nice to have you here. You used to be the best machine gunner, and now, you're the best weapons provisioner." Black Mamba released an ad balloon in an attempt to make Emil feel better.

"Of course. Once a partner, forever a partner. You saved my life several times, but I can't do anything for you. Should I give you my other leg?"

"If I eat a human's leg, I'll get beaten up a lot. What's the point of having a leg that I can't even eat?"

"Brat, don't make such horrible jokes!" Black Mamba, who was surprised by Samedi's innocent words, shouted.

"Oh, he knows how to make jokes, unlike what he appears to be." Emil smiled as though he enjoyed it.

"Emil, take this guy with you and teach him how to shoot. You just need to teach the basics like gun handling, aiming, firing point, crawling, and simple concealment skills."

"God, how can I teach a guy who has not been trained on foot drills? I can't. Send him to Castelnau bridge!" Emil exclaimed.

"Where's the time for that? You're the best at machine guns, aren't you? Stop crying and turn him into a human."

When Black Mamba complimented him, Emil's mouth split open.

"You want me to turn this lump-of-blood into a human in two hours? That's terrifying, terrifying! Come on, dude. I'll show you what it takes to be a proper one."

Black Mamba suffered more than Samedi. Doctors and well-built male nurses rushed to poke him endlessly with needles. The several vaccinations he received before entering the Sahel were like a bird's foot.

Unlike the desert, there were 1,000,000s of diseases and parasites in the forest. The types of vaccines were endless—Yellow fever, Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, Typhoid, Meningococcus, Polio, Rabies, Measles, Tetanus-diphtheria, and Vibrio Cholerae. For the first time, he grew jealous of zombie Samedi. What kind of zombie could contract diseases and viruses!

The number of vaccinations any regular person would have received over three to four days rushed at him at once. The Ebola virus and HIV vaccines, which had yet to be developed, were substituted with warnings instead. Black Mamba shivered at the various types of pus and bacteria residues injected into his body. The Epidium antibodies were enough to suppress the Botulinum toxin. It seemed 100 times better to trust the Epidium antibodies and go into battle.

Black Mamba appeared at the shooting range, looking tired. He saw Samedi, who was shooting in a standing position. Even the 10.5-kilogram MAG was nothing but a stick to Samedi. Like a bird on water, he moved around the shooting range with several magazines wrapped around his shoulder.

"Oi, friend of mine, what's with the face? Did you visit all the red-light districts in Ajaccio? Hm? Kekekeke!" Emil chuckled.

The sight of Black Mamba with dark circles under his eyes was unfamiliar and funny.

"Don't even mention it. They injected a bucket of pus crawling with germs into me. I'm at the point where I would die simply by looking at gowns and needles."

"Kekeke, life's worth living knowing that nurses are your nemesis. I'll give you a gift, so cheer up."

Emil handed him an aluminum case as small as his palm.

"Friend, this is the special item I borrowed under your name from the DGSE Technology Design Division. Ituri Rainforest is mountainous terrain. You'll need it for sure."

"Friends are nice to have, after all."

Black Mamba opened the lid. There was a grey rope rolled up like a fishing line and small rhombus-shaped darts the size of two fingers. The rope, which was 1.5 millimeters in diameter, was as thin as a thread.

"Hm!"

He grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled it. The thread-like rope withstood his strength. That meant its tensile strength exceeded five tons.

"Wow, what's this made out of?"

"They pulled ultra-fine strands of Dyneema out of the leftovers from making the Rakshasa before chemically treating and pressing them together. It's 1.5 millimeters in diameter and 200 meters in length. Its surface is coated with titanium so that it doesn't twist."

"Huh, it's like silk from the luna moths."

That was an aspect he didn't consider. Ituri Rainforest was a horrible place from what he heard. Ropes were a necessity in rugged mountainous terrain. 200 meters was more than enough to cross ravines or climb cliffs.

"Is there anything left from the material I gave you?"

"I managed to take back a nail-sized amount of leftovers. The team leader of the DGSE Technology Design Division was upset. You see, I had a subordinate of mine stay in the laboratory since that guy was determined to take it."

"Good job."

The Boss-saurus' tendon was a fossil that didn't exist in the real world. There would be chaos if it's released to the research sector. Troublemaker Emil was more detail-oriented than he thought.

He saw a small hole at the end of the darts. He could tell what it was. He secured the dart to the rope in a jade knot.

"Let's test this out."

The dart left Black Mamba's hand.

Whoosh—

The rope was released endlessly.

Bang—

The dart landed on a Himalayan cedar tree 150 meters away.

Flip—

Black Mamba's hand swung at an invisible speed. The dart gently landed on his palm, and the rope was rolled up neatly.

"Wow!" Emil whistled at the incredible sight.

"Is it useful?"

"It's the best. I'm going to name this one Ami[1]."

"Hehehe, that's an honor."

"What about Samedi? How's the teaching going?"

"I don't know where to start. He's a monster just like you. He has great adaptability, and his vision and body movements aren't like that of a human. There was no need to go over positions or skills twice. What is his identity? Is he of the same kind as Ocelot?"

"No. Samedi's a normal human."

Emil glared at Samedi, who was crawling on the floor quickly. His small movements were on the same level as his running.

"Tsk, if he's a normal human, then I'm a Lou Gehrig patient. That guy needs more practice on his fire-and-move and crawling. Let's go grab your things in the storage room."

Black Mamba's exclusive weapons were stored in the Aubagne Headquarters' storage center and the DGSE Technology Design Division's research lab. Emil's main job was to manage Black Mamba's weapons. The remodeled Dragunov, MP5SD3, Glock, Kukri, and darts were always available in Emil's collection.

Black Mamba carefully checked the equipment prepared by Emil and organized them in his backpack. Bulletproof and waterproof backpack, bulletproof vest and skirt, bulletproof guards to protect his upper body and thighs, a two-pound satellite phone, a military map of northeastern Zaire, an insect repellent spray, hammock with insect repellent treated nets, water bottles, and powerful purifiers. In addition to the weapons, the supplies Emil prepared were never-ending.

He managed to stop his partner from pulling out the missiles. He also rejected the rails and dot sights that Emil prepared. Those were items he didn't need. He only took the MP5SD3 and MAG in case the continuous firing tired him out.

1985, June 1st, De Gaulle Airport,

Jeeps lined the apron in the ink-like darkness. Black Mamba, who was carrying a backpack, and Samedi got off the first Jeep. Other Jeeps arrived one after another. The doctors and informants who got out of their cars gathered their belongings in a hurry. Their job was to support Black Mamba from the rear. The soldiers and equipment from the 13th Airborne Brigade had already left Djibouti and arrived at Bukavu airfield.

"I don't see Advisor Peron."

Black Mamba turned to Manager Ariba.

"The advisor handed in his resignation last evening and left for Provence," Ariba forced out words that he didn't want to say.

"What! Resignation? A person assigned as the operational advisor fled amid a national crisis? Does he think that after scattering the blood of countless young men, the responsibility of a government official ends with a resignation? France's noblesse oblige has crawled into a grave," Black Mamba complained as though he was shocked.

"Advisor Peron lost 50 percent of his pension for failing to comply with orders. Peron thinks he exchanged 50 percent of his pension for his coffin. Your purpose is to chase that Oecophylla smaragdina out, right? Just let that old man go. He doesn't have long to live, after all."

Black Mamba smirked at Bonipas' cynical words.

"There's no reason for me to think about an old man when I've got so much to do, I suppose. Let's go!"

He already expected Peron to hand in his resignation. One grew greedier with age, and many grew attached to what remained of their worthless life. Many old men clung to power at an age where they should be wrapping up their lives, and even in Korea, old men claimed that they raped young women because they adored them like their own daughter.

"Ddu-bai-buru-pa, I wish you the best of luck. Show them what the Fist of Justice means," Philip said and shook his fist.

F*** the Fist of Justice, that sly old man.

Black Mamba soullessly waved back with one foot on the trap.

"Chairman Javere promised to transfer the technology yesterday. The government has no reason to deny," Bonipas whispered closely into Black Mamba's ear.

"Thanks."

"Don't worry about them threatening to get rid of the hostages after 10 days. Those b*stards who need weapons and money won't kill those hostages so easily. Special advisor, I think you're more important than those 22 hostages. Don't push yourself."

"Woah, can an official at the rank of a minister say things like that?"

"Of course not. I'm only saying it because there are no b*stards here to record me and sell me out to the press."

"I feel like our hands and feet align, director."

"Perhaps, we used to be archenemies in our past lives." Bonipas smiled.

Black Mamba also smiled. No matter one's age, aligning interests brought about familiarity.

Hercules raced down the runway. Its huge body shot up into the air with the daybreak as its backdrop.

"Major General Philip, you're not at Bonipas' level yet," Black Mamba complained as he looked out the window.

Whether it was human or animal, either had to fill their stomach to work hard. People who held high positions thought their words could bring about magic or something.

It was 9,200 kilometers from De Gaulle Airport to Bukavu airfield. If the Hercules flew without rest, it would take 15 hours. The flight's maximum range was calculated considering the payload[2]. Extra fuel wasn't calculated in this case. In other words, the weight of the fuel and payload were inversely proportional.

The actual range depended on speed, altitude, wind direction, and wind speed. Flying in a jet stream could increase the range by 20 to 30 percent. If the payload was reduced as much as the fuel's weight was increased, the range of the Hercules would increase from 5,250 kilometers to 8,300 kilometers. After intermediate refueling at Cairo Airport, the C-130 headed for Zaire's Bukavu airfield via the Red Sea.

Black Mamba, who didn't get proper rest for a week, slept through the entire flight using Samedi's thigh as his pillow. There wasn't a hint of tension seen on him.

Is he a great person as rumored, or is he just insensitive?

Agent Guido of the intelligence agency was amazed. The Asian man snoring before him was someone who secured a ticket to hell. The Ituri Rainforest already swallowed their best special forces thrice. The DGSE had long associated the Ituri Rainforest with a guaranteed ticket to hell.

The large black man was also great. He didn't move for over 10 hours. Guido and his friends couldn't say a thing because he would glare at every little noise they made. He looked just like a hen protecting its chick.

The fuselage shook due to the violent turbulence. Black Mamba woke up.

"Where are we?"

"We're passing the skies of Kinshasa, the capital of Zaire," Guido answered immediately.

"Ughhhh, we've arrived, then?" Black Mamba said, stretching out his limbs and dabbing at the teardrops lingering in the corner of his eyes.

"You can rest more, sir. We still have three more hours to go."

"You said we're in Zaire?" Black Mamba repeated, staring at Guido with his eyes wide open.

"There's still 1,700 kilometers to Bukavu."

"Damn it!"

Black Mamba looked out the window as the sun rose. His whole body was traveling around the world, but his mind still lingered in Korea's small lands.

"We should prepare. Map!"

Guido immediately handed him a 1:7,000 military map.

[1] Friend.

[2] The weight of passengers and cargo combined.