Chapter 69: The Opening Move – An Anti-Tank Missile

“These people have colluded with the rebel forces. Get rid of them immediately.”

“Sir, there are women and children among them.”

“Are you questioning my orders? Who told you that women and children can’t collaborate with rebels? Haven’t you learned your lesson from that damned rebel youth army?”

“Understood, sir.”

The staccato of rifle fire followed the officer’s barrage of accusations. One group of the Kasuo people after another was gunned down in a hail of bullets, their bodies falling in a tangled, tragic heap.

After several rounds, of more than sixty Kasuo, fewer than ten remained. Among them were the tribal chief and his family, the local militia leader Ganliya, and a little boy about eight or nine years old—someone who had previously caught Xing Xiaolong’s eye. This was the clever, bold child who had performed with other kids for food.

At first, the boy was petrified. But when he saw his parents and little sister gunned down in the penultimate group, something inside him snapped.

“I must get out of here. I don’t want to die. I have to escape.”

Driven by this single thought, and always braver than most, the boy overcame his terror of the soldiers. Seizing the brief moment when a guard turned away, he bolted toward a nearby building.

Faced with death, a person’s potential knows no bounds. Since his hands and feet hadn’t been tied, the boy slipped away like an eel. By the time the government soldiers noticed, he’d already dashed across a stretch of open ground and disappeared into an empty concrete-brick house.

A sharp slap resounded. The officer in sunglasses was furious that so many soldiers couldn’t control a single child. He strode over and struck one of the guards hard across the face.

“Useless fools! You can’t even keep an eye on a child? You two—go get him back. Not a single traitor colluding with the rebels is allowed to escape.”

“Yes, sir!”

The two soldiers snapped a salute and set off in pursuit, rifles at the ready.

But just as they took their first steps, something streaked out of the wooded hillside four or five hundred meters away, trailing a plume of fire.

A thunderous blast shook the air. Flames shot skyward.

Parked in the middle of the road outside the church, the Czech-made M77 “Dana” self-propelled howitzer—the government’s heavy firepower—had its turret blown clean off.

Such force, and the fact that it was launched from dense forest, could only mean one thing: a man-portable anti-tank missile.

Perhaps it was simply the government troops’ bad luck, for the missile struck the vehicle’s ammunition storage, setting off a chain reaction of detonations.

With a deafening roar, a mushroom cloud of flame soared upward. The ground trembled as though from an earthquake. The shockwave blasted dust and smoke in all directions, sweeping across dozens of meters in an instant.

Through the thick, swirling haze, one could just make out government soldiers flung through the air, their screams mingling with the twisted shrapnel of metal.

The explosion’s power was staggering, and the cloud of dust and smoke so dense that for a time, nothing could be seen. But the agonized cries from within bore witness to the destruction.

The government troops had not expected such a turn and descended into chaos, all pretense of discipline lost.

“What the hell is going on?”

The blast was so tremendous that even Xing Xiaolong, watching from the village’s edge a hundred meters away, felt the house shake violently. He had never witnessed such carnage; his heart raced uncontrollably.

He was both terrified and exhilarated.

But while Xing Xiaolong appeared every bit the greenhorn, wide-eyed and untested, the battle-hardened PMC operators—Tiger, Black Fox, and the rest—read the situation instantly. Their attention snapped to the right, focusing on the wooded hillside from where the missile had come.

At that moment, the sniper codenamed Baldhead, who was stationed at the vantage point on the hill, relayed crucial information to the team.

“Tiger, this is Sniper Point. Between nine and five o’clock, I see large numbers of unidentified armed personnel moving through the woods toward the village. Limited visibility, can’t estimate their numbers. Heavy weapons unit identified—two-man team, both white. Should I preemptively clear them out?”

“They’ve finally arrived!”

After hearing Baldhead’s report, hope surged in Xing Xiaolong’s chest; at last, there was a chance for success. Even Tiger, who had been under tremendous pressure as team leader, felt his long-held tension release. His spirits lifted.

“Tiger copies. Sniper, hold your fire for now. Maintain surveillance and control of the area. Everyone else, stay sharp, keep hidden, wait for my orders, and get ready for the main event.”

The impoverished rebel forces had not only arrived in time, but had even managed to take out the most dangerous threat—the self-propelled howitzer—with a man-portable anti-tank missile.

Once the two sides began fighting in earnest, the ensuing chaos would be the perfect opportunity for Tiger’s PMC team to act.

While Xing Xiaolong, Tiger, and the others were visibly excited at the rebel forces’ appearance, Black Fox, ever the cautious one, sensed something unusual from Baldhead’s brief report.

“Captain, according to our current intel, the rebels received a large shipment of arms less than a week ago. For them to become proficient with anti-tank weapons in such a short time, and to score a direct hit on their first try—that’s no simple feat. And they’re white.”

“You mean…”

Tiger, catching the drift from Black Fox’s hint, drew on his own experience and said in surprise, “Are you suggesting the missile team are mercenaries hired by the rebels?”

“Very likely mercenaries. Or, possibly, our own kind,” Black Fox added wryly.

PMC stands for “Private Military Contractor,” known in the industry as “Contractors.” In English, “mercenary” is a different term altogether.

Many military enthusiasts and online commentators back home are quick to label any foreign armed personnel as “mercenaries” the moment they appear in another country. But this is a fundamental mistake.

Those who are openly, fully armed and visible on television news are legitimate professional soldiers—PMCs—hired for government or corporate security contracts. Internationally, the standard term is “Contractor,” and it has nothing to do with mercenaries.

Mercenaries have been declared illegal by the United Nations—anyone caught is arrested on sight. They hide as much as possible and would never dare show themselves to the public.

However, in war-torn countries, there are always mercenaries eager to make quick money, as well as PMCs willing to take on “wet work”—covert missions that must never appear in news reports. In the industry, these are called “Shoot job” contracts.

If the missile team were indeed mercenaries or PMCs, as Black Fox suspected, this would pose an unpredictable threat to the rescue operation.

Seasoned mercenaries who have survived years of combat, or PMCs with professional special forces training, are a world apart from ordinary rebels or government soldiers.

A flock of sheep is not dangerous—but if there are two wolves in sheep’s clothing among them, that’s terrifying. You never know when those wolves might bare their fangs.

Yet at this point, Xing Xiaolong and the seven PMCs had no choice but to press on with the mission, no matter the risk.

“Baldhead, plans have changed. We don’t need fire support for our current operation. Lock onto those two bastards and take them out.”

“Copy that. Switching targets now.”

Receiving Tiger’s new orders, Baldhead adjusted his suppressed McMillan Tac-50 sniper rifle, zeroing in on the targets in the woods over eight hundred meters away.