Mercenary Black Mamba

- Monster!

Jang Shin left his last complaint before shoving his head back in a safe place. Bullets rained down on the rock's surface. Jang Shin, who felt a chill running down his spine, lost all of his confidence to grab a gun.

To be able to read his movements from several hundred feet away in the midst of his sniping, the shooter truly had to be a monster. He recalled a scene from a trending martial arts novel in his country. There was a pointless joke in which a master spread a sensory vein around his body like a net to read the movements of his surroundings. He didn't know he would ever see it himself.

Black Mamba's sniping began from the front.

The Dragunov poured out clanging explosive noises. The FROLINAT's camp, which was exposed on its side, was immediately washed out. The place the captain had chosen to be their camp was in the midst of open grounds. Aside from the few rocks and withering grass, there was nowhere to hide. On top of that, there was only forward for the guerrillas who had inhaled Jenkem.

To Black Mamba, these were great conditions.

They jumped out, painting themselves as targets, making it easy to pick them off like picking up acorns during the fall. The three-in-a-row sniping continued. The advancing group which had passed the tripwire was swept away like falling autumn leaves.

Black Mamba usually targeted the middle of the head, because the sacrificed died without a chance to feel any pain. It was the only grace a sniper could give his enemy.

But now, he targeted the carotid artery and heart.

The carotid artery, the aorta in the thigh, and the heart were the places blood spilled the most. At first, thighs could be considered a non-lethal part of the body, but that was wrong. If that place was damaged there wouldn't be enough time to apply first aid.

The soldier who was leading the forefront had his neck blown off halfway. His blood sprayed into the air like a fountain. A second soldier who filled his place had his chest explode with blood.

Black Mamba was already on his thirtieth death from killing those who were at the front, purely by means of blowing up heads and exploding hearts. The guerrilla who had his thigh shot rolled on the ground with loud cries. The blood that flowed out of the aorta filled his vision.

A devastating, unspeakable scene unfolded under the bright moonlight. Pools of blood soaked the sand, and the sharp scent of blood floated around.

Even if they were rugged, their survival instincts were still alive.

The guerrillas, who hesitated, soon fell into chaos. The falling blood, blood, blood! And the cruel death scenes and the fear of being sniped pressed down on their impulsive desires brought about by the drug.

"Kanma, the Kanma is here!"

"Ahhh, Kanma!"

The guerrillas who were advancing began to hide their bodies in groups.

"Those f*cking b*stards, namuamitabul!"

Black Mamba, who had reached his objective, breathed out a sigh.

He had purposefully sniped people to create a sea of blood to instill fear, but he couldn't shake off his own discomfort.

For now, the advancement had been held back. His sniping was delayed, but his comrades' safety was first.

He began to pick out the concealed guerrillas in a more comfortable manner, like an assassin. There were two ways to hide from Black Mamba's sniping. One was to hide behind an obstacle that could stop a bullet with the momentum of a 3600J. The other was to increase the distance between them beyond 4,000 feet in instant transportation. Of course, neither were choices the guerrillas could make.

Clang—

Blood sprayed over the sand every time a bullet rang. The bullets from the supervising unit flew towards those who had turned their backs in fear.

The guerrillas who were unable to run here or there turned into stray dogs and began to dig trenches like crazy.

There were also brave guerrillas who grabbed their guns and concealed themselves quickly. On the battlefield, brave people were the first to die. They had their heads pierced and limbs broken without reservation.

The guerrillas who were advancing with high morals began to mess up their formation. They didn't dare use their deadly weapons. They were sniped the moment they dared to lift their guns. The power of a god sniper was displayed across the vast field.

Tides were hard to turn in games and war once they swayed heavily to one side. The FROLINAT side's atmosphere turned into one akin to the cornered side of a chess game.

"As expected of Black Mamba!"

The captain lowered his red hot Minimi gun.

It had been a dangerous moment. Black Mamba had caught all the enemy's supporting firearms the moment the enemy was about to surge forward.

If Black Mamba had joined even 30 seconds later, they would have been decimated. But an enemy not doing their best was no longer threatening. They weren't Black Mamba, so they didn't have the ability to thwart an advancing army and snipe concealed enemies.

He felt a strong urge to relieve himself as he lowered his guard.

Finding some time, he unbuckled his pants and took out his junk.

"Ha, I'd been scared."

The strong thing had recoiled in like a turtle into its shell.

Mike put down the night viewer and watched Black Mamba's sniping with a vacant expression. He unknowingly took his finger off the Dragunov's trigger.

They were 820 feet from him, but it was a 1,600-foot distance from Black Mamba. He couldn't consider the man who erased unseen enemies without rest a human. Even while he watched, ten or so guerrillas who attempted to rush forward rolled to the ground.

'I've been done in by that monster!'

Suddenly, he was proud of his bravery.

He had looked down on that Asian yellow-skinned guy at Calvi and ended up broken. He had always been frightened when looking at him but still had some lingering woes. For a sergeant to be beaten up by a private, that was an impossible rule. The only reason he had forced himself on the Ratel team was in order to maybe put a blade on Black Mamba.

But instead of getting close to him with a blade, he was beaten to a pulp for leaving his partner Mark alone. The Black Mamba he had known was the real deal. He was fear, in a word.

Korean Park was human, but Black Mamba on the battlefield was a devil.

He was a devil when met as a foe and a guardian angel when met as a friend.

"Yeah, he's my comrade."

Now that he had acknowledged the fact, his heart settled. He felt the last of his ill feelings disappear without a trace.

The captain raised a thumb at Mike.

Mike also raised a thumb. A bright smile was on his dirty, greasy face.

Black Mamba had emptied ten magazines of 20 bullets. It had been ten minutes since he had started sniping. He had wasted over half of his bullets on warning shots. Preventing them from gaining forward ground was as important as killing. His gun barrel had moved over 330 feet trying to snipe and suppress advancements at the same time. He felt as though his eyes would pop out.

Fifty minutes into the battle, both sides had long stopped hearing explosions. Even the gunshots that rang through the desert began to die down. Only the Dragunov puked out dry shots in five to ten-second intervals.

Ahmud was drenched in cold sweat.

His left cheek tickled. When he rubbed over it with his hand, blood splattered off. It was then that the pain reached his nerves.

One ear kept ringing.

His ear had flown off with his snipe. The moment he pushed his face out once more to check the battlefield, he had been sniped. The enemy's shooting speed was more fearsome than his chilling accuracy.

He had rolled in battlefields for over 20 years. He filtered out the b*stard's gunshots in the midst of the desert's silence. Even a high-ranking sniper needed at least three seconds to mark and shoot a target. The targeting time took longer the further the shooting distance was.

The Kanma's shooting distance was 1,600 feet, and he had pressed his face out one second after the sound. Logic didn't work here. A bullet had immediately flown at him. He had marked and shot a target smaller than half a palm in 0.5 seconds.

Ahmud clenched the remaining half of his left ear and shivered. If he had poked his face out even half an inch more he would have immediately taken a camel to heaven. That b*stard wasn't someone like Kanma, but the Kanma himself.

He had lost his will to fight.

'I need to retreat. I'll die even if I do retreat.'

It was time to retreat, but Habib's cold face made it impossible for him to turn his back.

The battlefield's tide changed once more.

The guerrillas who had been in hiding popped out. They had been unable to bear the soundless deaths, but it was the last stretch.

"Warriors, conceal yourselves. Do not advance. Drag the battle out."

The vanguards, who received Ahmud's instructions, repeated, "Don't advance. Conceal."

The FROLINAT army weren't idiots.

They dug a deep trench and hid, like humans who had lived in the Sahel as their hometown. The broken armored vehicle and sparsely scattered rocks also provided a hiding place.

Forty minutes had passed since the battle began.

The captain began to contemplate. Black Mamba had shoved the enemy's morale into the ground, but those who were alive rebelled tenaciously. It was a reenactment of the trench warfare during World War I. His concern was whether to attack around the right and left sides or maintain their formation. Of course, Black Mamba would resolve everything after time passed, but time was the problem.

'Should I ask Black Mamba to get rid of them all in close combat?'

He was swayed by the temptation, but the captain shook his head. He remembered the nightmare at Er Ekdim Valley. Black Mamba had battled desperately against the main army with firearms all on his own. It was his heart's debt, and he didn't want to weigh it down once more.

Their largest handicap was time. Time was on the enemy's side. Black Mamba kept catching those moles, but it took time. If any reinforcements appeared...

Just thinking about it was horrendous.

"Ah, right, rifle grenades," shouted the captain suddenly.

The enemy's firepower was suppressed by Black Mamba. They could now pour it in relatively relaxed.

Until now, the rifle grenades had been a burden taking up space.

They were uncomfortable to use and lacked accuracy. The rifle grenade was one of the dead children of France's weapons manufacturers, a dinosaur.

- Everyone, use your rifle grenades.

- Oh!

Instead of agreement, exclamations poured in. The rifle grenades lacked so much presence that the team members had forgotten their existence.

- Jang Shin, distribute the rifle grenades.

- Yes, sir.

Jang Shin rolled towards the distribution point like a spinning top himself.

A rifle grenade was different from a grenade. Common citizens recognized grenades, but not rifle grenades. Rifle grenades first appeared in World War I.

Examining the launching process, a rifle grenade required a separate blank and adapter.

First, the adapter had to be inserted into the muzzle in order to insert the blanks. Then, the grenade was inserted at the front of the adapter. When the trigger was pulled, the blank exploded, sending the grenade off through gas pressure.

Here, there were two cons.

A separate adapter and blank were needed. It meant that a day would pass trying to insert a blank and grenade in the middle of a battle. Even if there were several rifle grenades, if the adapter didn't work, the whole thing was rubbish.

The next problem was accuracy. Its recoil was just as frightening, since it was launched by gas pressure. The accuracy fell accordingly. Not even Explosions Devil Jang Shin surpassed a 70 percent accuracy on making it land where he wanted it to land.

On the other hand, it's destructive power surpassed a one and a half-inch grenade. A one and a half-inch grenade's destructive power was two-thirds of a hand grenade's. A rifle grenade was two times more powerful than that. This was the only positive the French Defence Administration had pointed out.

Several countries favored the grenade launchers, but France's Defence Administration, in its useless stubbornness, insisted on producing rifle grenades. It was unquestionable that the dinosaur GIAT company had lobbied for it.

In short, the captain, Burimer, Mike, Jang Shin, and Bell Man all started shooting bullets at once. The sniper team's rifle shots showed considerable precision.

Bang— Bang— Bang—

The rifle grenade was famed for its loud launching sound and recoil. Every time they shot the thing, their backs bent backward.

The guerrillas who were hiding from Black Mamba's sniping suddenly fell under fire. An air-launched grande was impossible to avoid.

"Ack!"

"Aaaaah!"

The guerrillas' screams after having their bodies ripped apart by the scattering fragments rang around the desert.

Bang, bang, bang, clang, bang, bang, clang—

The rifle grenades' sounds and the Dragunov's shots strummed a chord. The guerrillas who attempted to fight back against the rifle grenades were exposed and shot without fail. The launching of rifle grenades and sniping created a wonderful harmony.

Ahmud plastered himself like a sticky rice cake to the armored vehicle, the suspension of which had crashed, in order to avoid Black Mamba's sniping. Another ten plastered themselves in a row to his front and back. There were another ten pressed against another tank's outer wall like gum. It was a miserable sight.

The guerrillas whose drugs had worn off shivered with chattering teeth.

Chills and nausea were Jenkem's side effects, but the fear was more effective. Their comrades were being ripped apart by rifle grenades' fragments, their necks ripped off and chests pouring blood after being sniped. It was a scene from hell recreated under the moonlight. Night increased the fear and spread it. The rebelling soldiers who were woken from their drugs were in panic attacks.

Crash—

Finally, a rifle grenade fell on the tank.

"Aaagh!"

A sad scream resounded.