Chapter 68: The Merciless AK

The tiger immediately noticed Xing Xiaolong’s agitation and pressed a firm hand on his shoulder, sternly admonishing him in a low voice, “Keep your voice down! Do you want to get us killed? Stay put and don’t cause any trouble.”

“Damn it!”

Xing Xiaolong burned with the urge to save those people, yet the remnants of his reason managed to restrain his impulse. The agony of seeing those in need of rescue just within reach, but being forced to hide helplessly, tormented him. His hands gripped his weapon so tightly that the veins bulged from the strain.

Tiger, Black Fox, and the other PMC operatives were no less frustrated than Xing Xiaolong, but years of professional training and hardened willpower allowed them to maintain control over their emotions. They understood that no matter how desperate the situation seemed, they had to remain patient and composed, waiting for the one chance that might present itself.

Was there still a possibility that the rebel forces would show up under such dire circumstances? The odds were vanishingly slim. Yet, with no other options left, Tiger’s PMC team and Xing Xiaolong could only persist, clinging to hope as long as they remained undiscovered.

While Xing Xiaolong and his companions waited, a new massacre began in the village. The government troops, unmoved by the chieftain’s “goodwill,” refused all offers of negotiation and continued their ruthless, cold-blooded advance through the village.

A dozen hostages were dragged out and herded aside like livestock, guarded by two armed soldiers. There was no hint of compassion in their rescuers; the government troops treated the hostages as mere commodities for some grim exchange. As long as the captives were alive, the rest of the soldiers cared not at all.

The remaining government troops split into two groups. The first, numbering over a hundred, broke off into teams of two or three, fanning out into the village to hunt down any survivors in hiding. The second group, less than thirty infantrymen, remained stationed with armored vehicles and tanks on the open ground outside the church.

Except for the chieftain and Ganliya, all surrendered tribal fighters and the Kaso villagers who had fled into the church—now with nowhere left to run—were subjected to violence.

There came the sharp crack of slaps, the heavy thud of rifle butts, kicks, and a barrage of curses and abuse. More than sixty Kaso people in total were stripped of their shirts and trousers, their hands and feet bound, heads forced to the ground as they knelt.

They were being treated no differently from condemned criminals awaiting execution.

“Silence, you worthless scum! Shut your filthy mouths!”

A government officer, sporting pretentious sunglasses and swaggering with an AK-74 slung over his right shoulder, strode over to the man kneeling at the far left of the Kaso line. He pressed the muzzle of his rifle to the man’s head, his face devoid of expression. “Which faction do you support?” he demanded.

“I have no affiliation, I’m not a fighter—I’m just a villager,” the young Kaso man stammered, sweat pouring from his brow in terror.

Clearly, to these villagers, the government troops—who killed so readily—were even more frightening than demons.

The officer’s face remained stony as he shifted the rifle to the next man, a black man in a shirt, and asked coldly, “You were armed before. Are you part of the local defense force?”

“No, no, no!” The man in the shirt shook his head frantically, pleading, “I only had a weapon to stop looters, to protect my shop, that’s all.”

“Heh.” The officer let out a chilling laugh. “So you’re saying we’re the looters? Very well…”

“No, that’s not what I meant! Sir, you must have misunderstood…” The man tried desperately to explain, but the officer waved him off and issued a brisk order: “This lot thinks we’re looters—they must all be rebels. Take them out.”

In truth, the officer had never intended to spare anyone; he was merely searching for an excuse to eliminate everyone present. The only reason for his questioning was the presence of a few outsiders, which prompted a slight show of procedure.

At his command, three government soldiers approached.

A burst of automatic fire erupted as three AKs spat flame, the 7.26mm rounds mercilessly mowing down over a dozen Kaso people in front of them. Blood and shattered flesh spattered the ground.

Killing came as easily as slaughtering livestock; not a flicker of emotion crossed their faces.

That such a country should be ruled by soldiers so cold-blooded, so contemptuous of their own people, was a thing to mourn.

The Kaso chieftain watched the slaughter, his already pallid face turning even whiter. Ganliya, as the leader of the Kaso’s local militia, should have protected his village. Now, watching his kin massacred before his eyes, he trembled in rage and grief, veins bulging, eyes bloodshot.

Witnessing the massacre of his own people filled him with bitter regret for his earlier cruelty and greed.

But it was all too late.

As the saying goes, “He who brings trouble on himself cannot escape death.”

It had all begun with Ganliya’s greed and his attempt to profiteer from disaster. Certain his blackmail scheme was flawless, he never imagined that the international community would unite in pressure and even threaten sanctions, leaving the Hippopotamus River government with no choice but to abolish the local militia system.

Ganliya had not foreseen things spiraling out of control. In a desperate bid to save himself, he failed to reach a timely compromise with the government and instead, believing himself clever, conspired with the rebels.

So long as the rebels provided protection, he would hand over seventy percent of the ransom extorted from the plane crash survivors.

The prospect of millions of dollars falling into their laps prompted the rebel leader to agree without hesitation.

With the rebels as their backers, the chieftain and Ganliya decided not to retreat before the government advance, but to stay and confront the army head on.

Yet the rebels never showed, while the government forces arrived earlier than expected—bringing tanks and armored vehicles.

It was clear they intended to wipe out the Kaso in one swift blow, leaving them no chance to escape.

Events spiraled out of control toward inevitable disaster. Ganliya was consumed with remorse, but the outcome was now beyond redemption. Regret had come too late.

——

…

Recently, some readers have asked about a fan group, and our top supporters have had the same idea. So, in my spare time, I hurriedly set up a QQ group.

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Anyone interested in chatting, sharing stories, or connecting with me is welcome to join. Also, we’re in urgent need of group moderators.