Mercenary Black Mamba

Chapter 104: Chapter 14, Episode 2: Counterattack

The greatest piece of knowledge that Black Mamba had gained at sniper training was his logical and critical point of view. Black Mamba already had a strong mentality. He had learned the necessity of maintaining his cold judgement, therefore applying that point of view with patience to dissect a situation by logical means.

There was a sniper, too, in a herd of lions. The sniper in hiding waited until its friends herded their prey into its range. When the prey entered its range of target, it ended the prey’s life cleanly, at once.

The hunter queen, the female lion who made the kill, was the true commander of the group.

The male lions were simply the doormen who created the atmosphere, a necessary son-in-law necessary to spread sperm. The hunter queen of a lion herd wasn’t someone who was large and fierce, but someone who could wait.

Black Mamba waited until the sacrifice’s full front was revealed. Getting rid of ten moving targets on a camel was as easy as eating ten pieces of chicken off of a skewer at once. The only problem was getting rid of them secretly so that the camels weren’t startled.

The first camel came to the targeting point his brain had memorized. It was barely 650 feet away. As if in a trance, he pulled the trigger without a moment’s hesitation.

His advanced sight registered the bullet’s shooting mechanism in real time.

The back of the casing casket, which was detonated by suppression, exploded. The charge inside the shell ignited with the shock, and a massive gas pressure of 1,700 joules pushed the bullet out. The bullet, which rotated two and a half rounds following the third line’s groove, escaped the barrel.

The notion of shooting a human had long disappeared. The consciousness of murder itself had disappeared. It was as the captain had said: there was simply a target and an enemy.

The pressure of having to make a clean shot, the intent to kill, the guilt of killing, everything had disappeared. He became the gun, the wind, and the target.

Black Mamba had entered the mindless level of a sniper, which was said to be a sniper’s final evolution. No, it was the mindless stage of becoming one with nature. He had simply ridden himself of the last of his distaste. Mindless peace also meant mindless murder. How horrible was it for the murderer to not even register the murder!

Bang—

A weak sonic boom exploded.

The head of the soldier on the rear camel swung back. The bullet had dug accurately through the pressure point located at the back of his ears. The bullet, which went through the medulla and diencephalon, flipped once inside the cerebrum. The corpse, whose soul had left for the other world the moment the bullet entered its brain, collapsed onto the camel. It was a silent kill, to the letter. The camel didn’t even blink. The 0.21-inch NATO bullet was an enhanced piercing bullet in exchange for its impact technicalities. The impact the sacrificed received was as small as its width.

The damage of impacting and piercing bullets depended on the situation. On average, bullets with a larger width caused more severe damage at close range, while bullets with a smaller width caused more severe damage in long-range attacks. This was also an important reason behind the large bullet sizes of close-range weapons.

Bang, bang, bang—

The camel-riding soldiers fell in a row, from back to front. Camel caravans moved in a line following the head. The intention of this formation was to avoid sandstorms.

In Black Mamba’s point of view, they were ten targets lined up in equal distances. It had taken three seconds for the first camel soldier to collapse silently. Seven had collapsed on the camels, while three had fallen from their camels’ backs.

The Habib scouting team left for Allah’s side without knowing the reason, side by side. Not one out of the ten had been able to shout. The camels, as Ombuti had explained, didn’t care about the humans’ deaths. Nodding, they walked as they had before.

“Wow! That was perfect,” Ombuti shouted before running down the dune.

The black scorpion similarly finished its hunt.

The beetle, which was clasped between the scorpion’s front claws, resisted until its wings buzzed and tore. The end of the scorpion’s tail dug deeply into the beetle’s exposed back.

The beetle, which had been rather lively in its resistance, immediately cowed. The scorpion ate the still beetle raw. The six legs that had been kicking in the air lost their strength and fell limp.

The survival of the fittest happened anywhere as long as life existed.

Whether it involved animals or plants, living things fought for their lives. They pushed away their competitors, gained their own territory, and were unable to escape the fate of killing other living things or being killed by others.

The creation of order between living beings was an extremely natural phenomenon. The debate of cruelty and pity were only pieces of emotion that a being’s central consciousness created.

It was the same for humans. Human race and organizations evolved through survival. Their structure evolved while they were struggling to survive.

Black Mamba looked down at his Pamus, which was still smoking. He had inherited it from Chartres. He grabbed its butt and shoved the barrel into the ground. The Pamus dug deeply into the sand.

Tap—

He punched the last length of the gun, forcing it to disappear deep into the ground.

“I’m sorry for straining you. Rest well. Namuamitabul!” He recited the Buddhist scripture as though he was praying for Chartres in the gun’s funeral.

The magazine he had just used had been the last Pamus magazine.

There was no pickup. Their situation wasn’t advantageous to carrying around a gun they couldn’t use immediately.

“Wakil, I’ve finished polishing it.”

Ombuti pushed an AK47 forward. The scratched gun glinted and shone. He had even removed the dust that had filled its cracks with a needle. Black Mamba, who had been looking at the gun, raised his thumb. Ombuti giggled, revealing his teeth.

“There’s no difference between an AK or Pamus, but having no silencer’s going to be a problem.”

He had said there was nothing different, but an AK47’s precision was 5MOA. The gun was extremely lacking from a sniper’s standpoint.

The AK47, which the Soviet Union had created and released in masses, had become a bestseller among communist countries, Africa’s third world countries, and guerrilla armies. The AK, which only had eight separating parts, was well-constructed and had less need for minor fixtures.

An AK47 was much better suited for a desert environment than a Pamus.

It rarely broke, as it had large attaching parts and simple constructions. The 0.3-inch bullet similarly had a good firing rate. On the other hand, its recoil was severe, and its accuracy was lacking.

In detail, its mechanics were 1MOA, or Minute of Angle, referring to the mechanic precision of creating one-inch visibility of a target within 100 yards, which was 300 feet.

This meant that an AK47 could make a five-inch object visible within 300 feet. The MOA was a unit of measurement.

An AK47 appeared as 15MOA in 1,000 feet. That meant, in a 1,000-foot shooting, the target was 381mm. It also meant that there was no use in targeting a target beyond 300 meters.

An MOA represented the mechanical precision of shooting when all conditions were perfect. If there was even a 15-inch misjudgment in the MOA, it meant a 3.2-foot to 6.5-foot inaccuracy with even the most trained sniper.

This also meant that when a trained sniper targeted a chest 1,000 feet out of range, the bullet either went over the target’s head or landed on the ground.

It was, in a word, a gun bought for cheap pleasures, but this wasn’t the time to be picky about cold or hot meals. There were many armies who bore grudges and wished to drink the mercenaries’ blood. Their magazine supply kept decreasing, while their enemies increased. They were in a situation where they had to thank Allah for even the cheapest of AKs.

Ombuti’s previous work had been heading a camel caravan.

He took a sweep before finding the head camel. Ombuti grinned widely after they recovered the ten nostalgic ships of the desert.

There were two reasons behind the camels’ nickname being ships of the desert.

First, before cars were created, the sole transportation method of the desert was camels. Second, the camels swayed from side to side as they walked. Their manner of walking resembled the swaying of a boat as the rows were pulled from front to back.

Camels were animals adjusted to the desert’s climate. They could sustain themselves for a week without food or water using the water stored in their fat lumps and muscle pockets.

They could also decrease their water usage by altering the amount they sweat.

There was also a strange physical ability. While a camel’s body temperature could rise to 114 degrees, its brain temperature didn’t rise over 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit. This meant that it could move normally in high-temperature environments, unlike humans.

Humans’ brain temperatures rose with their body temperatures. This was the same for other animals. When a human’s body temperature reached 107 degrees, the protein that made up the brain became roasted like tofu, then a fatal situation, a loss of brain function, caused immediate death.

Most hospitals’ indoor temperatures were limited at 107 degrees. Any temperature above that was useless for humans.

Another physical ability of the camels was their mouths. Their lips, which were as hard as rocks, allowed them to eat cacti with sharp thorns. They even crunched on acacia leaves. It was basically an equal-opportunity eater of the desert.

A grown camel could carry 440 pounds of weight and move over 37 miles. This was due to its special physical abilities and strong body that was adjusted to the desert. The Bedouin called camels Ata Allah, which meant God’s gift. Of course, they were only God’s gift to humans, not from the camel’s point of view.

In the camel’s point of view, humans wouldn’t be considered God’s gift as much as a devil’s curse. Humans were demon-like existences that made them work and peeled their skin to make tents after they died. On top of that, humans drank the blood from their main veins when they were in trouble.

Frankly, camels were much lazier and pickier than cows or horses.

When they were saddled with heavy loads, they caused a ruckus, and they didn’t like to move once they were kneeling. Ones with particularly fiery tempers spat saliva that smelled pungent. Of course, the critiques of their lazy and temperamental personalities were from humans.

It was different for the camels.

Humans weighed them down with heavy objects, then made them walk through the blazing heat of the sun with whips. They were obviously prone to anger, but then the humans complained that they had bad personalities or that they didn’t listen.

Ombuti grabbed the leash of the head camel.

“Eeeehng!”

Seven followed, while the other three didn’t. Ombuti, who looked carefully at the other three, shoved the barrel of a Pamus into the largest of the three’s temple and pulled the trigger.

Thud. The poor animal fell to the ground. Ombuti dragged the head camel as though nothing had happened. The other two meekly followed the group.

Ombuti lowered the sheepskin water pouch saddled on the camel’s back. When he opened the lid, the strong smell of alcohol wafted out. Ombuti whooped in delight.

“These b*stards, what a great gift you’ve given us! I’m so thankful. The FROLINATs are good guys once you get to know them.”

He was so overjoyed that he called his sworn enemies “good guys” in a flabbergasting comment.

Ombuti took out a wooden cup from his breast pocket. “Wakil, take a sip.”

“You go first. In Korea, the elder always goes first.” Black Mamba waved his hand.

He had lived in a society where age mattered the most in a social environment, so he found Ombuti’s politeness overbearing.

“Then I’ll check if its drinkable.” Ombuti considered it confirmation of the drink’s safety.

“Ah! It’s great.”

Ombuti drank roughly until his throat was filled before passing the alcohol pouch over. Black Mamba received the pouch and handed it to the captain. There was no such thing as the youngest drinking first in Korea.

“This isn’t the alcohol that those beggars drink, right?”

The captain tilted his head after a glug. “Maybe this is Arrack?”

“Ho!” Ombuti was slightly surprised at the captain’s conclusion. Arrack was the finest alcohol within the Sahel region. It was made from distilled alcohol of date palms, and not even the tribes of Sahel drank Arrack unless they were wealthy or of a higher rank.

“Right. This isn’t something those b*stards would drink. They probably attacked a caravan and looted it.”

Ombuti pointed at two camels who were similarly saddled with baggage.

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“Those two are from a different herd.”

“Hm, they killed a caravan and stole their camels and valuables.”

“Right. Caravans fear those b*stards more than robbers, but these are now our possessions, so have a sip.”

Ombuti filled the cup once more before offering it.