Humanity Forbidden Island [Full Text] - 20

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

Chapter 271: Evading the Green Truck

A dilapidated green truck, billowing thick black smoke, drove towards Dumo and my right flank. They had begun their patrol early in the morning, indicating the unusually tense situation in the area. Dumo pulled the bolt, and I quickly turned to stop him.

"Don't rush! They haven't spotted you and me yet; they might drive somewhere else." Dumo mumbled a grunt and continued aiming intently. On the grassland near the African coast, it was only eight or nine o'clock, but the sun was already so intense that one unconsciously licked their lips.

The engine of the green truck, as if suffering from asthma, jolted and lurched forward. Through the sniper scope, I could see that the driver was a black boy of about seventeen or eighteen.

He was shirtless, his hair sticking back like a hedgehog's spine, and beneath his shriveled pectoral muscles, apart from the faint outline of his ribcage, there was no muscle or fat to be seen.

Their dark, tanned bodies, a testament to hunger, would have been easily felled with a single slap if this were an era of cold weapons. Yet their rulers had precisely controlled their food supply, keeping it just enough to barely keep them from pulling the trigger.

In the passenger seat sat a dark-skinned boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. His thin, bony arms held an AK rifle with a sling, and he grinned, revealing his pale teeth.

These little boys seemed to be hoping to find something in the grass so they could fire a few shots, much like children setting off firecrackers during the Spring Festival. They seemed quite interested in this.

"Mr. Zhui Ma, they're probably out hunting mongooses for breakfast. If they know we're carrying two large bundles of cured meat and sweet fruit, these kids will chase us like madmen,"

Du Mo said. He was right. Whenever they saw strangers passing by, their first thought was to kill their target and rummage through their luggage for food or shillings. It's not hard to imagine what a rifle in the hands of these hungry little black children means to outsiders.

"Mr. Chase, there are only eight of them. Before they get too close, we'd better kill these guys and get a truck to drive on." Dumo, after observing for a while, suddenly raised his face and said seriously.

"Wait a bit longer. If they don't notice us, there's no need to alert them. You and I are just passing through; they're not the mission targets. That beat-up truck is used for patrolling the designated area. If we drive it across the grass, we'll be exposed instantly if we accidentally wander into another area. You should know that the probability of a rocket hitting a truck is much higher than yours or mine."

Dumo paused, a slight smirk appearing on his thick, dark lips, and lowered his head, seemingly wanting to say something but

stopping himself. "Just say what you have to say. This isn't a jungle, after all. You know more about the African continent than I do." Although Dumo was his partner in the mission, I couldn't be too dictatorial between them. Besides, Jason Jody assigned Dumo as his escort for this mission because he grew up in Africa and was familiar with the surrounding environment.

“Alright, I’ll be blunt, but please don’t be offended.” Dumo sniffed, glancing at me sideways. “Okay! Go ahead.” I kept my eyes fixed on the approaching truck, my finger on the trigger gradually increasing the pull.

“We’re on the African continent now. Tactically, you should consider my advice more. This truck must be taken down, and those armed teenagers must not be left alive. This is the poorest and most war-torn land in Africa; you must put aside your morality.”

I was startled, a sense of unease rising within me. Why was Dumo acting this way? Did he care so much about the success of this mission, fearing that my impulsive actions would ruin everything for both of us?

“These are just hungry children. They’re armed for food. They look like demons, but they aren’t. When you were their age, you didn’t understand anything either.” I said stubbornly, somewhat annoyed.

“Mr. Zhui Ma, please don’t be angry. They are indeed children, but when they plundered the poor tribe, burning, killing,

and looting were like child’s play. If we encounter the enemy ahead, these guys will also be shot for their negligence in patrolling.” Dumo’s words made me understand something. Everyone here wanted to escape poverty, to escape the oppression and ridicule of others. Having gotten their hands on guns, they became even more bloodthirsty than others. Especially the outsiders; they blamed their misfortunes on intruders like Dumo and me.

Through the sniper scope, the old green truck with the missing windshield drew closer. The T-shaped crosshairs were now aligned with the temple of the sixteen-year-old black boy in the passenger seat.

The boy on the crosshairs was still laughing and talking. They were too young, too hungry, to see their own innocent smiles; they were only focused on the rifle they held.

“Clang!” A bright white line streaked across my sniper scope like a meteor. The boy, who had been laughing and showing his white teeth, suddenly had a spurt of black fluid erupt from the corner of his left eye.

The Black boy driving the truck had blood gushing from the left side of his head, slumped over the blood-stained steering wheel. The green truck, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, spun wildly across the soft, muddy grass.

Chapter 272: The Bloodstained Green Grass

"Clang, clang, bang, bang, bang, bang!" Several armed boys standing in the back of the truck, not seeing what was happening inside the cab, had their shriveled chests exposed as the truck spun out of control. In just fifteen seconds, six Black lives fell one after another.

They knew nothing of defense, unable to jump off the vehicle and avoid the sniper's bursts of fire like proper soldiers. Dumo killed two Black boys in the back of the truck, and I quickly killed four more, even though their equipment was extremely outdated, lacking any communication devices.

"Quick, keep up." I slung my pack over my shoulder, grabbed my long Barrett rifle, and ran towards the green truck 800 meters away. Dumo followed closely behind, without the slightest hesitation.

Reaching the scene, the soft, damp grass was covered with circular tire tracks. The truck had stalled, and a thin, dark-skinned boy had fallen from the front. His withered, wrinkled hands covered his eyes, screaming and kicking hysterically, his back twisting and turning like a millstone. The tender, yellow grass beside him, stained with dark red blood, bent low, looking particularly strained.

"Bang!" I pulled out the pistol from my backside, and a bullet pierced his shiny forehead. The boy, his eyes shattered by the bullet, fell silent.

Dumo, carrying a sniper rifle, circled the truck, checking for dead bodies before rushing over.

"Hey! Mr. Zhuima, we haven't even interrogated him yet, how did this happen..." Dumo wanted to ask the boy about the road ahead; he might know a little Arabic or Somali, but this little boy at his feet certainly didn't understand English.

"From now on, let me take on these targets." Dumo didn't speak, sensing my heavy unease.

I didn't blame Dumo. The green truck was clearly heading to the right, but suddenly veered towards us. The avoidable shooting still happened.

If I had fired the first shot, the black boy, not yet sixteen, sitting in the passenger seat wouldn't have suffered so much. They weren't evil; the harsh environment simply left them with no choice.

I knew very well that if we let them get close, using the back of the truck to engage in a standoff with Dumo and me, it would inevitably buy precious time. The food in Dumo and my backpacks couldn't, and wouldn't, send these armed boys home, saving them from hunger and gunfire.

The green truck had no broken glass, but its body was covered in white dents, showing it had served as a human shield during the shootout. Dumo removed the rifle bullets from the boys and we split them evenly. This small spoils left me with a bitter taste.

"Bang!" Du Mo pulled the bloodied corpse off the steering wheel, grabbed the boy by the belt with his left hand, and shoved him into the back of the car. He then picked up the boy with two broken eyeballs and shoved him into the back of the car with the same bang.

The two sixteen or seventeen-year-old Black boys were as light as two bundles of straw, swung around by Dumo with such ease. If Dumo hadn't been trafficked, even if he were alive today, let alone with his strong arms, a backpack in front of him would probably break his spine.

"Mr. Chase, let's push the truck to the right. That patch of grass is more uneven, and the binoculars on the horizon won't show most of the truck body, so we can take the opportunity to rush in." Dumo finished speaking and took the lead, gripping the truck's steering wheel and pulling it at an angle.

I went around to the back of the truck to help push. The grooves on the undercarriage were saturated with thick, dark red blood, soaking my hands. Six emaciated boys of similar age were still bleeding from their chests and heads, the strong, pungent smell gradually attracting mosquitoes and flies from the grass.

"Dumo, hurry up and advance." I crouched down, wiped the sticky blood from my hands on the grass, then slung my luggage over my shoulder, grabbed my sniper rifle, and urged them on.

“This beat-up truck, you can’t even find half a pack of cigarettes.” Dumo jumped off the seat, complaining casually, and quickly caught up with me.

“Mr. Chase, don’t worry about it. There are many more roadblocks like this ahead. If you and I die, they’ll be the ones searching our bags. They might never even taste sausage in their lives!” Dumo kept grumbling as he ran. His fatigue and hunger were temporarily masked by the bloody scene just now.

I gradually understood why Dumo was so interested in food. In the poor villages of Africa, a hot, fragrant meat pizza could win over countless young and beautiful girls. Dumo craved recognition and attention from others; perhaps this was one of the reasons he became a pirate.

But there was one thing I disliked about him: a bad habit he had, like rummaging through the truck, even though he was well-fed and clothed at the moment. It was like a scavenger who had suddenly become wealthy; even after becoming a millionaire and walking down the street in a suit, he still couldn’t resist picking up discarded cans.

As we continued running, I rarely spoke to Dumo, hoping that forests or thickets would appear soon so I could hide and avoid being shot like before.

The crows should have also come ashore and were heading in this direction, so I continued to move quickly. Otherwise, if I saw the crows following me on the flat, damp grassy slopes and didn't shoot them, Dumo would definitely suspect me.

Chapter 273: Concealing the Hunger of Life

Kicking the soft green grass, Dumo and I chose uneven ground, running stealthily for twelve kilometers. The sun rose to eleven o'clock, the air became scorching, and each breath felt like swallowing a flame.

"Mr. Chase Horse, look, look!" Dumo, panting behind me, suddenly shouted. I could see that the terrain ahead was quite undulating, and the grass and trees underfoot were gradually getting taller.

“Yes, after we cross that lush green hillside, there will most likely be forests or mountains ahead. We need to rest for three hours, well past the hottest part of the equatorial sun.” I encouraged Dumo and myself, unconsciously pushing off with even more effort.

Dumo was thirsty and hungry, and hearing that we could rest after running a little longer, he immediately picked up his energy and kept up. The gentle, green hillside stretched for a long time, and only when we got closer did we realize it was at least twenty or thirty meters high.

I gave Dumo a signal, and we both slowed down, like cats pouncing on their prey, bending over and pushing towards the top. At the highest point, there were a few sparse clumps of dense bushes. Dumo quickly lay down behind them and peered through the sniper scope.

We should be in another armed separatist area ahead, but what I saw through the binoculars was completely unexpected. In the distance, another hillside appeared, about three or four kilometers from Dumo and me. The hillside, nestled in a depression, was covered with varying shades of grass. Several power lines, supported by coconut palm poles, stretched low across the fields and into the distance.

"Look," Dumo said, glancing in my direction, seeking my opinion. "The hillside ahead is higher, and the vegetation is much denser." I continued to lie prone behind a low shrub, my binoculars raised high.

On the eastern side, several dark dots flickered in the glaring sunlight. Six or seven dark-skinned girls, each carrying a small basket woven from thorns, were making their way uphill like boatmen on a stream.

"Dumo, what are those people doing at the eleven o'clock position on the left flank?" Hearing my command, Dumo quickly turned his gun and looked towards the group of young black girls in the distance.

After scouting the flanks, I turned my attention to the distant hillside, just in case any enemy was lying there seeking respite from the heat. Because of its higher elevation, the two large, moving green dots would be quite conspicuous as Dumo and I ran towards it, making us easy targets for enemy fire.

"Oh! A few hungry girls, probably here to dig up grass roots to

stave off hunger," Dumo reported. I then looked east through my binoculars. These thin, dark-skinned girls each held a short, small, rusty sickle, occasionally crouching down to dig and scrape at the ground. Their trousers, once worn, were now tattered and torn down to their knees, resembling shorts, offering some relief from the scorching heat but revealing their thin, dark legs.

The tattered shorts varied in material and size; the remaining swoosh labels and Adidas lettering clearly indicated they were discarded clothing from Europe and America. Foreign waste, smuggled into this place, had become a gift from God. Cleanliness and self-respect had been erased from these children's personalities from the moment they were born on this unfortunate, hot land.

Even this discarded foreign trash, worn by their parents or siblings for who knows how long, had become as tattered as scraps of paper by the time it reached them. The

thin, dark-skinned girls, around thirteen or fourteen years old, had short, fluffy hair on their small, round, jet-black heads, but their developing breasts still spoke volumes about their physical characteristics. However, their trousers were almost completely worn away; where could they find clothing to cover their private parts?

Putting away my binoculars, I gritted my teeth and prepared to continue my advance, carrying my luggage. "Sigh! Poor little girls, risking their lives to fill their stomachs," Dumo sighed as we slung our luggage over our shoulders. "

Grass roots can fill your stomach; only an empty stomach would risk your life," I replied coldly, then grabbed my gun and ran down the hillside. Dumo followed closely behind, swaying like a tail, using clumps of bushes and lush green grass for cover, racing against time to reach the next hillside.

“No, Mr. Chase, those kids came in to steal food because of the heat,” Dumo, running alongside the right wing, tried to break the silence and start a conversation. But I was startled by what I heard.

“What? They even steal grass roots?” Seeing my surprise, Dumo knew this topic would allow us to talk more, so he quickly added, “Yes! Rabbits and field mice can be eaten and dug up as they please, but not these girls.” Dumo was being a bit cryptic, so I sped up again, afraid that a bullet might whistle out from some green bush on the hillside ahead.

Seeing my silence, he took the initiative to continue, “For example, if the green pickup truck we shot down saw them coming in to dig for food, those girls would be shot dead by rifles like mongooses and badgers. Of course, they could also be assaulted first and then killed; since they were going to be killed anyway, playing around with them before killing them wouldn't bother anyone.”

After Dumo explained, I began to understand his actions, and at the same time, I also understood the poverty and war in this area. If these starving people could eat grass roots to fill their stomachs and no longer resort to gun violence for half a bowl of rice, how could Dio-Hant strengthen his armed forces and force innocent civilians to kill each other for their own selfish desires?

During this mission, on the same planet, we witnessed different worlds. Southeast Asia, though poor and chaotic, was like a prison compared to Somalia—one in prison, the other in hell. In a largely unregulated prison, as long as you work hard, you can avoid starvation; but hell only accepts those willing to sell their lives.

"Ah, finally we can cool off for a while, Mr. Zhuima. Your chest and back are completely soaked. Quickly, get some fresh water. Looks like there's a river ahead; we won't be short of water. Hehe, now I'm going to have a feast!"

After showing off his bright white teeth, Dumo rubbed his hands together happily and began to loosen his backpack. He pulled out a greasy sausage and started chewing it.

"Don't take off your clothes to cool off, and don't unzip or button them," I said sternly as Dumo leaned against a short, stubby palm tree, his lips glistening with sweat from eating. He was about to take off his shirt when I said this. He smiled sheepishly and continued eating and drinking.

I tore open a bag of biscuits, chewed on a sweet mango, finished a bottle of water, and then picked up my binoculars to look around. Dumo and I took turns scouting; while one slept, the other kept watch, keeping an eye on any enemies patrolling the slope below.

Chapter 274: A Group of Dark-Haired Girls

Finally, the undulating mountain ridges appeared in the distance. Although the altitude was only a little over a hundred meters, the lush vegetation covering the mountains was enough for Dumo and me to hide well.

Dumo was already snoring heavily. We had been traveling all night, and it wasn't until midday that we finally ate and drank our fill, exhausted and resting. So, Dumo, who rested first, fell into a weary sleep in less than three minutes, even though he was drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging to his skin, but he didn't care.

Thinking of this, I couldn't help but glance at the few Black girls on the eastern slope, to see if they had filled their small baskets with grass roots to take home and cook to survive this seemingly endless day of famine.

Several young Black girls, shirtless, were exposed to the scorching sun, searching and digging very earnestly, as if searching for treasure beneath the grass. But from their frequent glances back, it was easy to see the fear instilled in them by the patrol truck.

I sat for another five or six minutes, then raised my binoculars to scout again. The Black girls on the east side began digging due north. They probably knew their dark skin would stand out starkly against the green grass of the higher ground, but their desire to find enough food unconsciously drew them up from the hollows.

Dumo's words were no exaggeration; I couldn't help but worry for the little girls. My binoculars darted westward, hoping the armed men were somewhere seeking refuge in the shade or splashing in the stream.

But what I saw startled me. In a ditch in the western grass, a green armored vehicle was swaying and crawling up, like a bloated beetle swaggering across its territory.

Looking further east, the little black girls were already squatting on the ground, engrossed in digging for roots, completely oblivious to the west. I quickly turned, scanning the grassy area ahead with my binoculars to prevent similar patrols.

In about five or six minutes, the machine gunner on top of the green armored vehicle would be able to spot the small black dots scattered on the hillside ahead. This patrol vehicle wasn't composed of sixteen or seventeen-year-old Black boys; otherwise, they would have been assigned a dilapidated truck and positioned on the outermost edge as cannon fodder. Through

the swaying roof window of the armored vehicle, a Black man with a buzz cut, probably around twenty-four or twenty-five years old, appeared. From his small head and round features, it was easy to see he was also a skinny soldier, likely a militant for a meager meal.

Dumo was still fast asleep, his mouth, still chewing sausage, was drooling as he rested his head on his fat arm. I grabbed the Barrett rifle lying beside my backpack, poked it along the thin branches at the base of a clump of green bushes, and discreetly opened the scope with my right index finger.

The moment this armored vehicle spotted the girls on the eastern grassy slope and opened fire on them with its machine gun, I would make that tough, green-shelled beetle bleed from the neck.

The black man with the bluish-gray scalp, swaying atop the armored vehicle, had already raised his binoculars, peering down the hilltops on either side. His patrol skills were those of a budding conventional marine, completely different from the eight black boys I'd seen before.

I knew he must have been carrying a gun since he was sixteen or seventeen, and surviving eight or nine years of war must have given him considerable combat experience.

"Dumo, whoosh, Dumo, whoosh." To avoid startling Dumo awake with a loud scream, I called out to him softly before pulling the trigger, using a low whistle to rouse him. Jungle combat team members are very sensitive to this kind of hissing and can immediately understand what's happening.

"Hmm, hum, hmm? Hmm?" Dumo opened his thick, dark eyelids, his face showing a panicked and bewildered expression. "Quickly check if that lone armored vehicle is a regular army unit. They might be about to attack those girls who sneaked in to dig for grass roots,"

I whispered to Dumo. He rolled over, grabbed the sniper rifle beside him, and rolled behind another clump of bushes, looking towards the two green armored vehicles crawling to the west.

"Mr. Zhuima, this looks like the regular armed forces of the Hante warlords. Don't be fooled by the thinness of those little boys and girls into thinking the armed forces along the way are backward and outdated. The more the people are exploited, the more money the Hante have to buy high-end weapons. Otherwise, how can they stand in the warlord wars, and how can they fight the pirates?"

Dumo's words made a lot of sense. After shooting down the green truck, I did think the obstacles on the road were just a group of starving people who had gotten their hands on guns, but now it seemed that the Hante's separatist armed forces in Lower Juba Prefecture were a glimpse into their true nature.

On the journey ahead, we didn't know what formidable enemies and advanced weapons we would encounter. Although they were composed of starving people and not comparable to the well-equipped regular armies of sovereign nations, they were at least Somali guards. For Dumo and me, alone, passing right under their noses wouldn't be as difficult as I had initially imagined.

"Mr. Chase, are you planning to rescue those little girls?" Dumo turned to me and asked. "Yes! Just think of your own sister among those girls." I said coldly. Dumo fell silent and began to aim seriously.

"I'll fire the first shot. The Barrett can penetrate armor, Dumo, don't worry. Don't be fooled by the fact that it's an armored vehicle; the windshield in front of the driver's seat is nowhere near as large as the windshield of the car the US president rides in during a parade." I reassured Dumo as I adjusted the scope; his earlier silence pleased me.

“Hmm, I know. Western arms dealers won’t sell their best stuff to these warlords who are all about fame and profit. The fact that they’re willing to sell a shield means they already have spears that can pierce it. Besides, your Barrett can penetrate armor.”

Dumo muttered under his breath as he adjusted the focus. I couldn’t help but smile and replied casually, “Looks like the arms dealers have been ripping you pirates off quite a bit!”

Dumo chuckled, but inwardly he said with a hint of resentment, “Exactly! Take that Cang Gui, for example. He’s squeezed so much pirate wealth out of the Sea Demon. That’s why we had to resort to force during the last transaction, to take back the malicious profits we’d swindled him out of. Jason Yodi’s been a pirate on his fishing boat for twenty or thirty years. How much money did Cang Gui take from him? The Pirate King had to turn against him.”

After hearing this, my previous confusion cleared up considerably, but Cang Gui and his thugs were already dead. It was all just insignificant information; I’d just listen to it as a bit of spice. But Du Mo didn't know that Cang Gui had extracted a vast amount of wealth from the Sea Demon, which I had hidden deep within the rocky cliffs of the deserted island.

This illicit wealth was known only to me, and as long as I lived, it would belong to me. Therefore, I had to live. Not only did Du Mo want to accumulate wealth and live a life of luxury in city hotels, but I also needed to rely on this wealth to cultivate my own will.

Chapter 275: The Cruel Warlord Guards

After hearing these words, my previous confusion cleared up considerably, but Cang Gui and his thugs were already dead, so this insignificant information was useless; I could only listen to it as a side dish.

The complaining Du Mo didn't know that Cang Gui had extracted a vast amount of wealth from the Sea Demon, which I had hidden deep within the rocky cliffs of the deserted island. This illicit wealth was known only to me, and as long as I lived, it would belong to me.

Therefore, I had to live. Not only did Du Mo want to accumulate wealth and live a life of luxury in city hotels, but I also needed to rely on this wealth to cultivate my own will.

God imbues every fortune with danger. Though only I know of the pirates' plundered treasure, it doesn't truly belong to me yet. The journey is fraught with peril; the legendary assassins will inevitably clash with me. Like Dumo, my survival is paramount—it's the prerequisite for everything else.

Through the sniper scope, the large green beetle is clumsily climbing the slope. Dumo pulls the bolt, waiting for me to hit the driver so he can quickly eliminate the exposed machine gunner.

The little girls seem to have spotted the patrol car. Like a flock of startled sparrows, they leap from their withered little bodies and run desperately up the slope, trying to escape into the lush vegetation.

"Rat-a-tat, tat-tat-tat, tat-tat-tat-tat..." Several bright white streaks of fire erupt from the green armored vehicle, swooping down the verdant hillside like startled swallows, rushing towards the few black girls who resembled tiny black moths.

A cacophony of screams erupted from the eastern hillside, ear-piercing and agonizing, terrifying the hungry children. The armored vehicle below quickly ceased firing, and the black machine gunner who had poked his head out suddenly emerged from beneath, standing on the roof, laughing and jumping.

"What's that guy doing?" I asked Dumo, my eyes still glued to the sniper scope. "He discovered they were all girls and is excitedly yelling for his teammates to speed up, trying to catch them up the hill,"

Dumo said reluctantly. He wasn't a perfect hearing machine and couldn't hear exactly what the target on the roof was shouting; he could only guess.

"Whoosh!" A bullet, almost sparking from the scorching air, shot out from under the bushes, hurtling down the green slope. With a long, straight trajectory, it made a loud thud, instantly creating a snow-crystal-like hole in the windshield of the green armored vehicle.

Inside, a blurry figure shuddered violently and collapsed, crimson blood splattered across the entire glass pane, beginning to trickle and flow in conspicuous red lines.

"Clang." Less than two seconds later, the gaunt black man who had been gesticulating wildly on the armored vehicle's roof was pierced through the neck by another blazing white line, his thin body tumbling backward off the vehicle. In an instant, two warlord soldiers were dead.

The wheeled armored vehicle immediately broke down on the grass, motionless. "Mr. Zhui Ma, are there any survivors inside? We need to go and inspect the compartment," Dumo said with a pleased expression.

I knew he enjoyed doing things like this, but this time we had to check the wheeled armored vehicle. If we missed any survivors, it would alert the armed personnel in the surrounding area, who would inevitably rush in from all directions to surround Dumo and me. Just as

Dumo was about to get up and raise his gun, I quickly stopped him, simultaneously firing four blazing bolts of fire, striking the four wheels on one side of the wheeled armored vehicle. The beetle lying on the grass instantly slumped to one side, looking even more pathetic.

"Hehe! Good, it'll definitely veer off course if it tries to escape by car now!" Dumo's excitement grew. "I'll cover you, you slip down into the bushes on the left, make sure there's no writhing heart inside."

Upon hearing my order, Dumo, like a cunning rabbit, swiftly raised his gun, crouched low, and scurried towards the target. The scorching equatorial sun baked the entire grassland, sweat dripping from my forehead, my sweat-soaked back like roasted meat, then smeared with oil to continue roasting.

Dumo quickly approached the tilted armored vehicle, crawling in the grass near it like a dark, fat lizard, carefully making his way to the flat tire. "Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!" I fired three more bullets, and two small, white holes appeared in each of the two windshields facing forward on the armored vehicle.

Seeing my cover, Dumo, who was lying on the ground, suddenly crouched up and crouched down to the back of the vehicle. I silently scanned the armored beetle, wary of any survivors who might jump out to fight back.

Dumo darted up to the roof of the armored vehicle, grabbed a grenade in his right hand, and smashed it into the machine gunner's sunroof with a bang. The fat kodo beast, now like a hornbill perched on a giant beast, clung tightly to the vehicle with all its might. With a loud bang, the beetle shook violently a few times and then lay still.

In this way, there would be no more life inside the vehicle except for blood and bits of flesh. White smoke billowed from the sunroof of the armored vehicle like a chimney. Before the smoke cleared, Dumo grabbed the AK-47 rifle slung over his back, thrust it into the barrel, and fired a few shots before sticking his big, round black head out of the vehicle, only to be choked and cough violently, shrinking back his neck.

"Clang!" Dumo was kneeling on the roof of the vehicle, panting heavily, when a whistling bullet struck the metal cover in front of his head, scattering countless tiny sparks. Dumo's dark, round face instantly turned deathly pale, and he hurriedly opened his terrified eyes to look at me.

I quickly gestured, pointing to the sky, and he realized what was happening. He hurriedly covered the sunroof of the armored vehicle, coughing as he ran back the way he came. The black machine gunner, whose neck had been pierced, had four grenades hanging from his chest. Dumo took one from his body and threw it into the armored vehicle. While this ensured his own safety, he was most afraid of the vehicle catching fire and emitting smoke. Dumo hadn't fully considered this.

If there really was a third warlord guard inside, he would be trembling with fear in the cramped space. No matter how he tried to cover himself, he would still be killed. The randomly scattering shrapnel would leave him no chance to survive.

These green pickup trucks and wheeled armored vehicles might be formidable hunters chasing small animals in the grass or those frail little girls digging for roots with baskets. However, their fate was inevitable when they encountered me and Dumo.

"Wow! That was so exciting! If you hadn't reminded me, I almost set off the signal fire, and the consequences would have been unimaginable!" Dumo, sweating profusely, lay down in the shade, patting his chest and panting.

"What's in the armored vehicle?" I removed the magazine from my sniper rifle to replenish the bullets I had just fired. Dumo took two more deep breaths before grimacing and saying, "I didn't see anything, just gunpowder smoke, it made my eyes water." He finished quickly and continued panting.

After resting for ten minutes, Dumo hurriedly packed his bags. I pulled out my dagger, dug a hole under a clump of bushes nearby, and buried all the food scraps and paper bags inside. Dumo gulped down several mouthfuls of water, slung his luggage over his shoulder, and squatted behind me, waiting for my command.

"Boom, thud!" A violent explosion rang out from the east side of the hillside. Dumo and I exchanged a startled glance, knowing it wasn't just a sudden rumble of thunder. "Let's go, it's hopeless." I said coldly to Dumo, then took the lead and started running.

"Look, these guys are nothing but beasts. They used machine guns and rocket launchers on a few skinny little girls. These aren't guards; they're just indiscriminately killing innocent people for fun." Dumo panted as he followed behind, muttering to himself.

I gradually understood that these starving people, taken in by the warlords, had completely given up hope. They were desperate, so no one else could escape despair.

"We've done our best, and we have a clear conscience." After saying this coldly, I increased my running speed again.

Chapter 276: Passing Through an African Village

Dumo quickly caught up with me. The wheeled armored vehicle that had broken down on the grass would probably be spotted by other patrol vehicles by evening. Therefore, we had to run far away before this could happen, hiding in the dense, thick forests, to have any chance of survival.

As dusk approached, we crossed three increasingly steep mountain ranges, finally climbing the last high mountain. Dumo drew his dagger again, leading the way by cutting through the vines and grass.

The forest we traversed was overgrown with knee-high thick weeds, the strong scent of sun-baked grass rising and wafting into our nostrils. Various small insects and birds darted about, and occasionally a strangely colored, brightly colored little creature would startle Dumo and me.

We had to hurry, as darkness was approaching. Dumo complained about spending the night on the mountain. Like him, I didn't want to become mosquito food and longed to see a village soon. Even if it was poor, there was always a place where we could dismantle a door and build a wooden bed.

Having passed the highest point of the forest, I adjusted the heavy luggage on my shoulders and began my descent. Dumo grinned, "Look, God is finally looking out for us! Five or six kilometers more, and we'll find a village where we can stay for the night."

I didn't reply, only letting out a muffled groan, and quickened my pace. We still had to cross several small hills before reaching the flatter terrain and heading straight for that secluded African village bathed in the setting sun.

"Wow!" Dumo exclaimed in surprise, quickly turning back to me with a wide grin, revealing his white teeth. "Haha." Five tall, slender giraffes were leisurely passing by. When they saw Dumo and me, they merely blinked their long, thick, black eyelashes, seemingly unperturbed and unconcerned. I chuckled softly. The trek had been so monotonous; the sight of these large, beautiful African animals instantly brightened my mood.

“Mr. Zhui Ma, you’ve never seen deer with such long necks in Southeast Asia, have you? They don’t seem afraid of people at all.” Dumo seized the opportunity to chat, easing their weariness and gloom.

“No, the Southeast Asian jungles are full of pythons and tigers; deer can’t run in the rainforest.” Dumo laughed after hearing this, then said with a hint of resentment, “Elephants, you must have seen many elephants. I also like those gentle, communicative big guys.” Dumo seemed to have forgotten his fatigue and hunger, engaging in conversation with great interest.

“Yes, elephants are very friendly to humans, but unfortunately their tusks are used as display ornaments by vain and powerful people, and elephant herds suffer at the hands of poachers.” Dumo listened without speaking for a long time before saying with concern,

“Poaching is also rampant in Africa. Those rich people have cotton, hemp, and supplements and medicines; why do they have to hunt lives and take the bodies of animals?” Dumo’s tone was filled with a faint sigh.

"That's because they themselves have distanced themselves from the possibility of being hunted, so they've become so reckless in hunting others." Dumo suddenly burst into laughter, then turned back again, beaming. "Looks like joining the pirates didn't lead me astray. They hunt and sell our people and animals, and we rob their cargo ships. The market becomes a veneer of hypocrisy for those seeking profit, while we, taking back what's ours, are labeled pirates, hahaha..."

Dumo laughed ventingly. I said coldly, "Well, but my life and those women's lives don't belong to Jason Jody." Dumo's face froze instantly. He raised his hand to touch the back of his head, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"So, I hope you'll become a true pirate king someday, a Robin Hood-like thief who robs the rich to help the poor, assisting those who are starving." Dumo had already walked onto a path, and we began to run forward.

“Mr. Chase, the people on the Sea Demon look down on me and won’t listen to me. I want to buy a fishing boat and start slowly when I have money. You see, I’m only 22.” Dumo was silent for a while. It turned out he had been holding onto what I had just said. He spoke very seriously, as if it were the truth.

“Heh, you don’t need to buy a fishing boat to start. Whoever looks down on you, just kill them, twist their heads off and feed them to the sharks. In less than a month, you’ll be the Pirate King.” Dumo thought for a while and then fell silent again. As the last rays of twilight were swallowed by darkness, the small village came into view.

The scene before us left Dumo and me stunned for a long time. This impoverished African village was like a garbage dump on the edge of a city. Rows of small, open-air shacks, made of rags and plastic sheets of various colors, looked like dirty spider eggs.

A red and white cloud remained on the black western horizon; it looked like it might rain. A light, cool breeze made the strips of cloth and rope tied to the shacks tremble. Through the blurry vision, the crowded shacks resembled bandaged heads without wounds.

"Mr. Chase, look!" Following Du Mo's thick, dark finger, a thin girl, less than half a meter tall, was carrying a small basket as she walked through the center of the crowded shack.

This little black girl, about six or seven years old, wore a red plaid skirt that covered her knees and a white long-sleeved blouse. The bright red skirt, worn and dirty, appeared dark and heavy, almost matching the color of her calves.

Her long, curly hair, pulled back from her head, fluttered in the wind along with the strips of cloth on the surrounding shacks. The little girl's cheeks were thin, revealing a pointed chin, making her look like a little black monkey, but her eyes were bright and pitiful.

The wind picked up, swirling grass and plastic scraps through the makeshift village. Dumo yawned and said lazily, "Let's spend the night here. Warlords won't raid villages like this; it's just a place for starving people."

I remained crouched under a tree beside the village, observing quietly for a while before saying, "I wonder how much rain there will be on the African mainland. We need to find a sturdy shack to sleep in for the night. Leave the guns and bags here and go ask that thin, dark-skinned girl; many of these shacks look empty."

Dumo quickly took off his backpack, tucking only a pistol and dagger behind his back, and stealthily ran towards the girl swaying in the wind. "Whoosh, whoosh..." Evening had completely fallen into darkness. While quietly crouching and waiting for Dumo, I covered my nose to prevent inhaling the impurities carried by the wind.

"Mr. Zhui Ma, Mr. Zhui Ma..." Dumo came running back excitedly. I couldn't see his expression clearly anymore, only vaguely making out his white teeth. "That little girl is an orphan. Her parents were killed by the warlords, leaving only her and her sister living in a shack. Her sister isn't back yet, and the little girl agreed to let us stay there. Hehehe..."

Du Mo was overjoyed, eager to find a place to eat and drink his fill and then lie down for a good night's sleep. "She's at most seven years old. What did you say to that child? She probably didn't even understand what you meant. Maybe she was just nodding in fear."

Chapter 277: The Orphan Girl in the Shack

Although I mocked Du Mo, I packed my bags, preparing to slip into the small shack Du Mo had specified under the cover of darkness to prevent others from seeing our luggage and weapons.

"Hehe, look at you, how could someone as big as me bully a child! I just asked her if she had a place to sleep, and she hesitated for a while before pointing to the surrounding shacks, saying she could sleep in any of them. I saw that all the shacks around were full of holes, so I smiled and asked if I could stay with her. I had some good food, much sweeter than the grass roots she dug up. She nodded at me with surprise, though she seemed a little confused. It was that simple, all settled, hahaha." Dumo finished his rambling and we had already run to the door of the shack.

The shack of the little black girl was thickly covered, with pieces of black tarpaulin spread out on it, clearly taken from those empty shacks that no one lived in, and used to build the little sisters' own nest.

"What's your name?" Dumo and I bent down and went inside. He smiled first and asked the girl kindly. The shack was very dry inside, and the tattered pieces of tarpaulin hanging outside flapped loudly in the wind.

The little girl huddled in a corner, her eyes rolling wildly in fear. Dumo glanced at me, then smiled sheepishly. "Here, eat!" I opened my backpack, took out a sausage about the thickness of my index finger, and handed it to the trembling Black girl.

The food was too tempting for her; the fear in her young heart was instantly overshadowed. Although she didn't understand my language, she subconsciously guessed that what she held was food. The little girl didn't know how to eat it, hesitated for a few moments, then stuffed it into her mouth, packaging and all.

Dumo quickly mumbled a few words, then knelt down in front of the little girl with a grin, brandishing a sharp dagger. The girl's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in terror, but as the aroma of the meat wafted out from under the packaging, her fear vanished again, and she began to devour it without hesitation.

"Hehehe, hehehe, isn't it delicious? This is from a big city in Madagascar, hehehe!" Dumo watched the little girl's greedy eating, feeling an indescribable joy.

This shiny black kodo beast had clearly tricked me into the shack without the little girl's consent, and she was genuinely frightened, thinking she'd encountered an armed robber.

"Dumo, tell her to eat slowly, or she'll choke and stop moving, which would be terrible," Dumo translated my words to the little girl who was frantically swallowing, and then asked her some other questions.

“Mr. Zhui Ma, she said she was waiting for her sister. Could her sister be one of the girls who were shot dead by machine gun fire on the grassy slope today?” Dumo asked with some concern.

I thought for a moment and replied, “No, it’s such a long way. Those are probably children from another poor village.”

Dumo nodded in relief. I pulled over the basket the little girl had been carrying. It was stuffed with grass roots that smelled of mud. She must have been out all day to dig up this little bit.

“Crack! Rumble…” Outside, the night sky was filled with thick, inky clouds. Accompanied by a flash of lightning, a deep, clear rumble of thunder came from afar into the shack. Large raindrops began to fall, pounding and cratering the vast, dry African land.

Dumo began to eat and drink, chewing greedily, occasionally offering scraps of food scattered in his hands to the little girl huddled beside him. The thin, dark-skinned girl, like a pitiful, docile little pet, nestled against the stout Dumo, her expectant eyes no longer showing her previous fear.

Tonight, besides hoping for her sister's safe return, she could finally sleep comfortably and well-fed. With Dumo and I, two large human shields, the cramped shack managed to retain some warmth.

In the latter half of the night, a thirteen or fourteen-year-old Black girl, covered in mud and rainwater, rushed into the shack. She startled Dumo and me, letting out a piercing scream.

Dumo pulled her into his arms and covered her shrill mouth. The little girl, who had been fast asleep, suddenly sat up and cried out. The Black girl who had rushed in immediately stopped struggling and desperately whimpered.

“Mr. Zhui Ma, this is the girl’s older sister. She mistook us for warlord guards.” After hearing Du Mo’s words, I hurriedly asked, “Let her speak, ask her if she’s in trouble, if there are any pursuers behind her.”

Du Mo nodded decisively, quickly released the girl’s older sister’s mouth, and chattered on and on with her for a while. “She begged us not to touch her sister, saying that if we wanted to bully a woman, we should go for her.”

At this moment, I had already taken out my pocket flashlight and carefully shone it on the girl

’s older sister’s face. She had thick eyebrows and big eyes, a short and sunken nose, and thick, upturned lips that were almost curled up. Although her withered limbs looked like charcoal sticks, the girl’s belly was already slightly swollen. Her eyes were similar to her sister’s, but behind the bright eyes lay more bitterness of life.

“Du Mo, be careful, this girl is pregnant.” I promptly reminded the clumsy Du Mo. In this environment, childbirth was already a risk, let alone a girl with a deformed body or a weak body who might miscarry.

I handed the girl half a pack of biscuits. After some comforting words from Du Mo, she quickly calmed down and started sharing with her younger sister.

"Mr. Zhui Ma, this girl said that she and her sister went out to dig for wild vegetables and encountered the guards of the warlord Han Te. They were captured and abused." I then realized that her younger sister must have heard her sister's screams and run home with her basket to this dilapidated and lonely shack.

"Du Mo, this girl is probably pregnant from being raped. The warlord guards nearby must often come to bully her. Ask them for their approximate location, and when we pass by tomorrow morning, we can clean up the area."

After hearing my words, Du Mo was about to say something to the girl, but then hesitated and stopped. "Mr. Zhui Ma, if we kill those warlord guards, won't these two orphaned sisters be implicated?"

I considered for a while. Although Du Mo asked this, he meant to tell me that the two poor girls would most likely be implicated.

“If you want to be a pirate king, don’t hesitate. Look at her, she’s only thirteen or fourteen. At such a young age and with such a weak body, how can she endure the hardship of childbirth? She’ll most likely die.”

Du Mo hesitated for a long time, then asked tentatively, “Should we ask her or not?” I couldn’t help but smile, letting Du Mo decide for himself. In the end, he didn’t ask.

Du Mo considered the bigger picture, and I knew that killing a few warlord guards wouldn’t change the fate of these two girls.

The rain pounded all night, only showing signs of easing near dawn. Lifting the tattered oilcloth blocking the shack door, the fresh, damp air instantly filled my nostrils, and the pre-dawn darkness descended outside.

Chapter 277: The Orphan Girl in the Shack

Although I mocked Du Mo, I packed my bags, preparing to use the darkness to slip into the small shack Du Mo had designated, to prevent others from seeing our luggage and weapons.

"Hehe, look at you, how could someone as big as me bully a child! I just asked her if she had a place to sleep, and she hesitated for a while before pointing to the surrounding shacks, saying she could sleep in any of them. I saw that all the shacks around were full of holes, so I smiled and asked if I could stay with her. I had some good food, much sweeter than the grass roots she dug up. She nodded at me with surprise, though she seemed a little confused. It was that simple, all settled, hahaha." Dumo finished his rambling and we had already run to the door of the shack.

The shack of the little black girl was thickly covered, with pieces of black tarpaulin spread out on it, clearly taken from those empty shacks that no one lived in, and used to build the little sisters' own nest.

"What's your name?" Dumo and I bent down and went inside. He smiled first and asked the girl kindly. The shack was very dry inside, and the tattered pieces of tarpaulin hanging outside flapped loudly in the wind.

The little girl huddled in a corner, her eyes rolling wildly in fear. Dumo glanced at me, then smiled sheepishly. "Here, eat!" I opened my backpack, took out a sausage about the thickness of my index finger, and handed it to the trembling Black girl.

The food was too tempting for her; the fear in her young heart was instantly overshadowed. Although she didn't understand my language, she subconsciously guessed that what she held was food. The little girl didn't know how to eat it, hesitated for a few moments, then stuffed it into her mouth, packaging and all.

Dumo quickly mumbled a few words, then knelt down in front of the little girl with a grin, brandishing a sharp dagger. The girl's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in terror, but as the aroma of the meat wafted out from under the packaging, her fear vanished again, and she began to devour it without hesitation.

"Hehehe, hehehe, isn't it delicious? This is from a big city in Madagascar, hehehe!" Dumo watched the little girl's greedy eating, feeling an indescribable joy.

This shiny black kodo beast had clearly tricked me into the shack without the little girl's consent, and she was genuinely frightened, thinking she'd encountered an armed robber.

"Dumo, tell her to eat slowly, or she'll choke and stop moving, which would be terrible," Dumo translated to the little girl who was frantically swallowing, and then asked about other things.

"Mr. Chase, she said she's waiting for her sister. Could her sister be one of the girls who were shot dead on the grassy slope today?" Dumo asked worriedly.

I thought for a moment and replied, "No, it's such a long way. Those were probably children from another poor village."

Dumo nodded reassured. I pulled the basket the little girl had been carrying; it was stuffed with earthy grass roots. She must have been out all day digging up this little bit.

"Crack! Rumble..." Thick, inky clouds churned in the night sky outside. A flash of lightning followed, and a muffled, jarring rumble of thunder echoed into the shack. Large raindrops began to fall, pounding and cratering the vast, dry African landscape.

Dumo began to eat and drink, chewing greedily, occasionally offering scraps of food to the little girl huddled beside him. The thin, dark-skinned girl, like a pitiful, docile little pet, nestled against the robust Dumo, her expectant eyes no longer filled with fear.

Tonight, besides hoping for her sister's safe return, she could finally sleep comfortably and well-fed. With Dumo and I, two large, fleshy shields, the cramped shack managed to retain some warmth.

In the dead of night, a Black girl of about thirteen or fourteen, covered in mud and rainwater, rushed into the shack. She startled Dumo and me, letting out a piercing scream.

Dumo pulled her into his arms and covered her shrill mouth. The little girl, who had been fast asleep, suddenly sat up and cried out. The Black girl who had rushed in immediately stopped struggling and began to whimper.

"Mr. Zhui Ma, this is the girl's older sister. She mistook us for warlord guards." After hearing Dumo's words, I hurriedly asked, "Let her speak, ask her if she's in trouble, if there are any pursuers."

Dumo decisively nodded, quickly releasing the older girl's mouth and speaking to her in a string of gibberish. "She begged us not to touch her sister, saying if we wanted to bully a woman, we should go for her."

By this time, I had already taken out my small flashlight and carefully shone it on the older girl's face. She had thick eyebrows, large eyes, a short, sunken nose, and thick, upturned lips that were almost curled up.

Although her withered limbs resembled charcoal sticks, the girl's belly was already slightly protruding. Her eyes were similar to her sister's, but behind their brightness lay more bitterness of life.

"Dumo, be careful, this girl is pregnant." I promptly reminded the clumsy Dumo. In this environment, even childbirth was a risk, let alone the possibility of a healthy, deformed, or weak girl miscarrying.

I handed the girl half a pack of biscuits, and after some comforting words from Dumo, she quickly calmed down and started sharing with her sister.

"Mr. Zhuima, this girl said that she and her sister went out to dig for wild vegetables and encountered the guards of the warlord Hante, who captured them and abused them." I then understood that her sister must have heard her sister's exclamation and run home with her basket, back to this dilapidated and lonely shack.

“Dumo, this girl is probably pregnant from being raped. The warlord guards nearby must often bully her. Ask them where they are, and we can clean up the area when we pass by tomorrow morning.”

Dumo was about to say something to the girl after hearing my words, but then hesitated and stopped. “Mr. Zhuima, if we kill those warlord guards, won’t these two orphaned girls be implicated?”

I considered for a while. Although Dumo asked this, he meant to tell me that the two poor girls would most likely be implicated.

“If you want to be a pirate king, don’t hesitate. Look at her, she’s only thirteen or fourteen years old. At such a young age and with such a weak body, how can she withstand the hardship of childbirth? She’ll most likely die.”

Dumo hesitated for a long time, then asked hesitantly, “Should we ask her or not?” I couldn’t help but smile, letting Dumo decide for himself. In the end, he didn’t ask.

Dumo considered the bigger picture, and I knew that killing a few warlord guards wouldn’t change the fate of these two girls.

The rain pounded all night, only showing signs of easing near dawn. Lifting the tattered tarpaulin blocking the shack's entrance, a rush of fresh, damp air instantly filled the air, bringing with it the pre-dawn darkness.

Chapter 278: The damp,
cool breeze blowing into the shack woke two young Black girls who had been sleeping huddled together. Their bright, yet bewildered eyes watched as Dumo and I packed our bags. We had to get out of this area before daybreak.

The two patrol cars that had been shot at in the grass were probably spotted by now. Dumo's dark eyelids were slightly puffy from sleep as he groggily packed his backpack and weapons.

"Dumo, give the two girls a sausage and a pack of biscuits. After all, we've stayed here all night without getting wet." Dumo responded with an "oh," and this time, he wasn't stingy with food. He turned and unzipped his backpack, pulling out a small ham and a pack of long-packed biscuits, placing them in the two little girls' arms.

I opened my backpack and took out two mangoes and a pack of biscuits, placing them on the straw mat in the center of the shack. The two thin, dark-skinned little girls blinked at Dumo and me, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing.

"Take these. If you need help, run to another village and use them to ask for help." I pulled a five-euro note from my back pocket. Dumo translated my words to the two girls, telling them that this was euros, which could be exchanged for 25,000 shillings. Don't use this money to buy bread; use it to ask nearby villagers for help when your sister gives birth.

Before leaving, Dumo and I pulled two pieces of oilcloth from the roof of the little girls' shack and tied them to our backpacks to protect our necessities from getting wet. Stepping out of the shack, the cool raindrops seeped into our scalps, the chill penetrating to our very core. The oilcloth behind us pattered loudly.

The youngest sister peeked out from behind the shack's curtain, her timid gaze mixed with a strange longing. I looked up at the sky, where the rain was pouring down. The wind, like a child's hand after stirring cold water, brushed against my neck, crept up my collar, and into my chest. Dumo shivered and stood slightly huddled behind me.

"Mr. Zhuima, let's get going." Hearing Dumo's urging, I snapped out of my distant worries and responded with a faint "Ah."

The two thin sisters were still hiding behind the oilcloth curtain, which gleamed from the rain, peering out. I smiled slightly at them and then started walking.

I didn't understand Somali, but at least I could smile and say goodbye to the two little ones, hoping they would survive bravely and safely. Dumo clutched his sniper rifle, his neck hunched, looking like a fat turtle afraid of the cold.

On the distant horizon, a few acacia trees grew sparsely, their pale green leaves trembling as they absorbed the rain all night, seemingly beckoning to Dumo and me, urging us to hurry on our way.

We walked for about ten minutes in the light drizzle, warming up our bodies. "Let's run," I said to Dumo without turning back. His heavy boots splattered through the mud, and I could hear the still-sleepy kodo beast following behind.

The village behind us gradually thinned and lowered until it was almost on the horizon before disappearing from our sight. The sky remained cold and dark, the raindrops falling intermittently like a string of pearls. Ahead

, the terrain became flat; Dumo guessed we might be crossing a desert, or, if we were lucky, a damp grassland.

Sparse bougainvillea trees stretched out ahead, welcoming the strangers. "Haha, Mr. Chase, I'll treat you to the fruit next time we eat! Look at those baobab trees, right? The fruit is huge, like a football, sweet and juicy—a favorite delicacy of monkeys, gorillas, elephants, and other animals." Du Mo regained his usual composure, running forward with great enthusiasm.

"When I was little, during droughts or famines, I often climbed up to pick them and eat them. The inside of the shell is just as good as a coconut, and it can hold a lot of water during the dry season. The newly sprouted leaves can also be eaten as vegetables, and they taste pretty good too."

Du Mo became more and more excited as he spoke, his pace quickening. “Oh, I’ve heard of this plant. When crossing the desert, if you’re thirsty and can’t find water, you can use a dagger to dig a hole in the belly of a baobab tree, and a spring will gush out. Just stand under the tree and you can open your mouth and drink freely. Moreover, its fruit, leaves, and bark have anti-inflammatory properties, and it’s also good for reducing fever in cases of malaria.”

“Hehe, Mr. Zhui Ma knows Africa very well. As long as there are baobab trees along the way, we don’t have to worry about crossing the desert. It’s a tree of life!” After Du Mo finished speaking, his eyes widened even more, as if he wanted to pounce on those trees and take a bite.

“Since there’s delicious food on the trees, they’ve probably been picked clean by now.” I reminded him, and Du Mo immediately slowed down, lowered his center of gravity, and looked to the left and right. Enemy patrol vehicles were likely nearby, otherwise these fruits would have been snatched up by the starving people in the surrounding villages.

And these armed warlord guards could stop their vehicles at any time, climb the trees, and pick a few to eat. Therefore, they would care a lot about their territory and would not hesitate to shoot at the invaders.

“Dumo, don’t think about eating plants first. Pay more attention to your camouflage. Be like a chameleon, adapting or changing to your surroundings. More than tasting the fruit, we need to cut some branches and leaves to wear in our hair or on our clothes.”

After hearing my words, he smiled sheepishly, drew his sharp dagger, and prepared to cut some plants. Reaching a clump of slightly tall grass, we quickly squatted down, glancing in each other’s directions to make sure everything was alright before taking off our backpacks and starting to modify our camouflage.

The baobab tree in front of us resembled a giant radish emerging from the soil, topped with a cauliflower-like crown of green branches and leaves. It rose more than ten meters from the ground, appearing thick and short from afar, but revealing its true stature up close.

I bent over and hunched over the tree trunk. Dumo, a few steps behind me, leaped forward with a shout, using my back as leverage to climb up. When he landed on my shoulder, I gritted my teeth, my bones cracking, and then struggled to stand up straight. The fat kodo beast used this as leverage to climb up.

"Gather some long, thin branches with lush leaves to cut," I said, then pulled out my dagger, cut some grass from the ground, and wiped the mud off my shoulder for Dumo to step on.

"Ugh, I can't find that feeling anymore. Climbing this kind of tree now feels like a hippopotamus climbing a pole."

Dumo must have been very thin when he was young. Back then, when he was starving, he probably climbed faster than monkeys and baboons, competing with them for fruit. But now, he looked exactly like a Mexican bullfrog clinging to a tree trunk. Although his fat legs gripped the branches tightly, his crotch was still chafing loudly, climbing up three inches and sliding down two inches.

Chapter 279: Walking in the Desert Rain

"Hmph, with your looks, you dare to dream of being a pirate king." I crouched on the grass, looking at Dumo above, feeling both angry and amused.

"My pants! They're really ruined today, it hurts!" Dumo clung to the tree, his plump buttocks pulling him down as he complained and worried.

"Come down, I'll climb up." Dumo ultimately couldn't climb up; he was now covered in thick layers of grease, far from the little black boy who risked his life for food back then. I took a few running steps, stepping on Dumo's round back, and leaped up. The daggers I gripped tightly in both hands plunged into the bark with a sharp cracking sound.

"Ha, your mantis technique is really impressive." Dumo slumped to the ground, letting out a relaxed sigh.

Water droplets from the leaves above kept falling onto the back of my neck, flowing down my spine to my buttocks. As I chopped at the branches, I glanced ahead at the road. The horizon stretched endlessly, dotted with the faint outlines of baobab trees. Thankfully, it was raining; otherwise, we would have truly endured the hardships of traversing the desert.

Sliding down from the tree, Dumo picked up the fallen branches and began weaving them into his backpack. I quickly modified my camouflage, using the grass on the ground to connect the branches. "Dumo, put on your sniper camouflage, especially your back and head. If we spot an enemy, we just need to crouch down, resembling a half-meter-tall tree canopy."

After finishing our camouflage, we shouldered our gear and continued on. The overcast and rainy weather seemed to freeze the dawn. The vast, semi-desert grassland stretched as far as the eye could see, with nothing moving except for the fine, straight lines of rain.

Dumo deliberately ran ahead of me, shaking the vegetation on his body a few times, and asked how my camouflage was going. I chuckled and said he looked like a plump, green porcupine. He chuckled for a while, saying he felt the same way – a pair of porcupines roaming the African grasslands.

"Can we reach Soya before dark?" Dumo, running alongside, asked. I thought for a moment and told him, "If we keep running smoothly like this, we should be fine. The problem is we might encounter patrols. If we engage in a firefight, it's hard to predict how much time we'll waste. Haven't you noticed that the deeper we go, the more advanced the military equipment of the guards?" Dumo

nodded, looking slightly worried. "I'm afraid of encountering a large group of guards. How long will it take us then!" I smiled coldly, feeling compelled to add, "If it's just a large group of guards in those trucks and armored vehicles, that's not so bad. The real problem is encountering unknown elite troops. Even if the enemy is just one person, we might both be killed on the grasslands."

These words sent a chill down Dumo's spine. His thick, dark lips murmured a few words in an African dialect, seemingly in prayer, begging not to encounter such an enemy. "How terrifying it would be to encounter an opponent like Mr. Chase Horse! With Dumo's skills, he would definitely be the first to suffer." He

made a playful remark, like a child. "Well, hopefully not. If I'm that unlucky, I'll do my best to protect you and prevent him from easily killing you." After saying that, I chuckled to myself.

"No, that sounds scary." Dumo replied with a smile. "Being called a killing machine, how many people must he have killed? Back when I was on the first mate's submarine, I always felt particularly uneasy whenever I boarded the Sea Demon with him. The people around Jason Jody always glared at me with fierce eyes. The first mate said they all had backgrounds, and each one was highly skilled in tactics, extraordinary indeed." "

After Du Mo finished speaking, he unconsciously swallowed. I didn't say anything and continued running forward. He thought he had aroused my concern, and hurriedly said jokingly, "Haha, but you easily took down most of those tough guys. Ever since that day, I've slept soundly at night, and I'm no longer scared awake by those guys in my dreams."

I snorted coldly, and with a half-smile, I increased my speed again. Since Du Mo had the energy to talk, he certainly wouldn't mind speeding up again. "Mr. Chase Horse, your killing actions are very subtle, but the destructive power is terrifying. Last time, that Iron-Faced Demon, I thought he was injured, but I only realized he had a shattered eyeball and a crippled wrist when he was about to fall. If I had your skills, hehe, the Sea Demon and the nuclear submarine would only have a hundred or so people. Two hundred sniper bullets would be enough to wipe them out. Hehehe..."

Du Mo laughed lewdly, immersed in his ideal of success. "Do you really want to be the Pirate King? If you have an idea, just say it. No need to beat around the bush." "I held my sniper rifle, the rain whistling past my ears. Dumo's words today were unusual; he seemed to want to tell me something.

'I do want to, I dream about it. Otherwise, how long would it take to become a lowly pirate under him before I could leave and live my own life?'" "Dumo's words stirred something within me. It seemed his intention to help me get back Luya and the others wasn't just about survival.

The rain was pouring down, the surrounding light was dimmer than before, and the dark sky stretched overhead, visually pressing down as if on my heaving chest, making it hard to breathe.

Chapter 280: Pursuers on the Sand

We ran forward, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, across the damp, semi-desert grassland, using the sparse baobab trees for cover. The heaviness in my heart seemed to lessen considerably. Dumo wasn't a simple little pirate; he had his own ideas and ambitions.

But one thing I couldn't be sure of was the sincerity of his intentions. Perhaps he just wanted to draw a clear line between himself and Jason Jody, to lessen his ulterior motives of killing him later.

"Mr. Chase, it seems the warlord guards haven't set up patrols in the desert area. Could we slow down a little?" "

Dumo, following behind, was panting heavily. He couldn't keep up with my pace after running for over two hours straight. 'Running at high speed is exhausting. Don't stop suddenly, otherwise the pressure on your heart will be too great, making you dizzy, or even nauseous and vomiting.' I gradually slowed down.

I had to take care of Dumo, even though I was constantly worried about the warlord guards chasing us on the horizon. On the desertified grassland, the vegetation was becoming increasingly sparse. The baobab trees, growing upside down like onions, resembled bus stop signs near the city's outskirts, with only a few visible here and there.

The soft, wet sand underfoot felt sticky and extremely tiring. After running for more than ten minutes after slowing down, Dumo and I crouched down in a hollow where a few clumps of licorice root were growing.

Dumo was panting heavily, and I took out my binoculars to look behind us. The desertification of the grassland ahead was gradually worsening, resembling a barren desert. We shouldn't see many warlord guard patrol vehicles anymore."

What I feared most was that the enemy, launching a surprise attack from behind, would use their mechanized vehicles to force us into the depths of the desert. If we got lost and couldn't find our way out, we would perish along the way.

Through the binoculars, all I could see was a vast expanse of barren grassland. Fine raindrops pattered down, blurring my vision. I looked around, but the effect wasn't good. I squeezed my eyes shut, then snapped them open and blinked a few times, then looked again, just in case something happened.

"Chase, chase Mr. Ma! Look at one o'clock! There seem to be a few blurry black dots moving on the horizon!" Du Mo exclaimed in alarm. I also noticed the moving black dots.

Because of the distance, the flickering shadows looked like several antelopes butting heads and munching on each other. Du Mo and I had run all this way without seeing any similar animals in the surrounding desert.

I continued to watch for the anomaly, my mouth silent, but my heart pounding. A minute passed, and the scene I feared finally appeared. "Phew! The pursuers have really found us." I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't want to waste any more time, but without shaking off these guys behind me, it was impossible to continue safely.

"Mr. Chase, there are six armored vehicles! The wheels are spinning fast on the grass. They don't look like they're on patrol. What do we do?" Dumo turned his head and said anxiously.

The warlord guards of Hante had already noticed the intruders. They must have split into several groups and were chasing in different directions. The group approaching in front of us should be one of them.

I continued to observe the armored vehicles that were chasing us in a long serpentine formation. They had seen the guards who had died in the armored vehicles earlier and knew that the front windows were easily penetrated by sniper rifles, so they were using the vehicles in front to shield the vehicles behind them and protect the drivers from being shot.

The sand below my knees was relatively loose. Dumo and I dug a large hole as quickly as possible and buried our two large backpacks in it. The surrounding environment was terrible. There were no rocks to hold onto or vegetation to hide under. Once the two sides clashed, it would be dangerous to get up and run on flat ground. A single burst of machine gun bullets could easily hit a target.

The two backpacks couldn't slow down our movement during combat, nor could they be dropped and picked up by the enemy. Our food and camouflage were inside; if the enemy took those, it would be the end of us.

"Dumo, calm down. Let's deal with this calmly. Hmm… sling your sniper rifle and small green canvas bag on your back, and quickly crawl to the left. Crawl as far as you can before the enemy vehicles come within range." Dumo nodded vigorously after hearing my words, but fear still lingered in his eyes.

"Listen to me, although the formation of six armored vehicles is intimidating, they're just carrying starving civilians. They're used to frontal fire, and most haven't received rigorous or formal training. They're far from the battle-hardened soldiers you might imagine." "Remember, don't fire unless absolutely necessary. If you expose yourself prematurely, we'll waste a lot of time."

Dumo kept responding as he crawled towards the left flank. His stout body, covered in lush green branches, made him difficult for the guards on the armored vehicles in the distance to spot as long as he didn't get up and run.

After giving Dumo his instructions, I quickly slung my sniper rifle over my shoulder and crawled towards the left flank. The damp sand underneath still retained the sweltering heat of the sun. I felt like I was swimming in a sea of sand, my elbows and knees twisting and turning as my body, covered in green branches, slid forward like a hungry lizard chasing a juicy, delicious spider.

I had to race against time. The enemy's mobile team was moving quickly. I had to safely flank to the side and get camouflaged before they could see the prone targets on the ground. In the current environment, I needed to use two sniper rifles to eliminate six more vehicles. Wheeled armored vehicles are difficult to maneuver, especially when the enemy is well-prepared.

The dense rain continued to fall, the gloomy sky obscuring the entire desert, like the last rays of sunset. Looking back at Dumo, he had already climbed quite far, appearing at first glance like a clump of bare trees growing in the sand.

I thought he felt the same way when he looked at me; enemy armored vehicles raced across the Gobi Desert, their eyes mostly fixed ahead, hoping to spot a figure walking upright with a pack on their back. This was precisely where they differed from regular troops; even so, I dared not engage them directly, especially not carelessly. I

raised my binoculars again to observe the enemy; the previously moving, swaying shadows had grown larger, the outline of a vehicle beginning to appear. To better conceal myself… Hiding, I strained my limbs, digging deeper into the sand to enhance concealment and reduce the chance of being hit by machine gun fire.

Once everything was ready, I grabbed the sniper rifle from my back, pulled back the small bipod at the barrel, and slowly opened the scope cap to prevent raindrops from blurring the sight.

The dark red T-shaped crosshair instantly filled my left eye. I slowly pulled the butt of the rifle to the right, and the gloomy desert horizon moved rapidly horizontally. Six armored vehicles bounced up and down, their rear wheels kicking up clouds of sand as they sped forward.

As I clearly saw the side of the pursuing group, a smile involuntarily crept onto my lips. The reticle indicated a target distance of 2200 meters. My right index finger lightly hooked on the trigger, waiting… As the six frantically running beetles approached again.

Chapter 281: Severing the Legs of the Pursuer

"Bang!" A bullet shot out, drawing a blazing line of fire, skimming low to the desert surface, heading straight for the enemy's armored vehicle. The last vehicle in the convoy had one of its four rapidly spinning wheels on the left side instantly blown out.

Before the enemy could react, three more lines of fire flew along the ground, and the armored vehicle at the rear of the convoy had all four of its left tires blown out, veering off course for dozens of meters before breaking down in the desert.

The driver of the armored vehicle at the front of the convoy had already seen the four blazing lines of fire through the front window. Although he couldn't see my exact location, he judged the general direction, so he sharply turned the front wheel to the left, speeding over with the machine gunner.

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh..." Countless machine gun bullets, like candle flames leaping in the dim light, streaked towards me with flashes of lightning, each line of fire fierce and menacing. But I knew they were firing randomly, estimating the target's location, suppressing the ambush fire through this chaotic attack, and forcing their way in.

Thirty or forty meters ahead, bullets embedded in the sand ricocheted off, and through the sniper scope, the lead beetle, like a lit firecracker, swayed from side to side, spewing sparks.

They were interfering with the sniper rifle's focus lock; the black driver inside must have been frantically swerving the steering wheel like a race car driver swerving at a bend.

Dim... In the gloomy rain, five wheeled armored vehicles, like dragons swaying their tails, swayed in an S-shape to adjust their direction, quickly keeping themselves straight to avoid me blowing up the wheels of the vehicles behind.

I maintained steady breathing, and began to aim my T-shaped sights at the forward observation window of the lead vehicle, trying to pinpoint the heart of the mechanical beetle inside. "Bang!" My right hand pulled the trigger again, and a bullet flew out of the barrel, its trajectory flashing intermittently, like the index finger of death, instantly piercing the forward observation window of the armored vehicle.

The lead armored vehicle was traveling at extremely high speed; the death of the driver caused the front wheel to twist sideways, almost causing it to be thrown off its back and overturned. As the vehicle swerved sharply to the side, the second armored vehicle, which had been hiding behind it, appeared in an instant.

"Bang, bang, bang, bang!" Taking advantage of the moment the convoy slowed down, I quickly fired four bullets, blowing off the tires on one side of the second armored vehicle. The machine gunners on the roofs returned fire even more frantically in the direction from which the fire was coming.

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh..." In the blink of an eye, even denser bursts of light, like splashes of scorching lava, blasted the sand in front of the ditch, sending it flying. Even the damp particles exploded into a light mist.

I quickly pressed my head down to avoid being hit by stray enemy bullets. The drizzling raindrops fell in a chaotic pattern, as if fueled by the dense bullets.

I had to suppress them as soon as possible. The enemy was clearly using a rotation tactic. Although they were constantly losing vehicles, as long as one vehicle made it to the front line and entered the range of the machine gun's sweeping fire, the snipers would riddle it with bullets.

Dumo remained silent. His sniper rifle had an effective range of less than a kilometer, making it impossible for him to coordinate with me in our figure-eight ambush formation to blow out the other tire of the armored vehicle.

The armored vehicle, leaning precariously on the sand, couldn't move an inch, while its machine gunner relentlessly fired in my direction to cover the remaining three armored vehicles as they desperately advanced towards me.

Now, I truly hated these guys. Their bullets sent countless grains of sand flying at me; even a slightly larger grain hitting my ear or cheek would cause a sharp, throbbing pain.

Braving the swirling dust in front of the ditch, I swung the barrel again, focusing the scope on the front of the third, leading armored vehicle.

I traced the T-shaped crosshairs across the vehicle's dimly lit front window, adjusted the lead, and with a muffled thud, a small white hole appeared in the center of the small glass window, splattering black, sticky fluid onto the back of the glass.

The third speeding wheeled armored vehicle also veered sharply, veering sideways into a sandpit. It lurched weakly a few times before coming to a stop. The driver inside must have had his internal organs shattered by the powerful sniper bullet.

The markings on the scope indicated that the last two armored vehicles had closed to within 1300 meters. The machine gunners' fire, like countless tiny lights on a stage roof, enveloped the sandpit where I lay prone, slowly receding. In another minute or so, the dense barrage of bullets aimed at me would hit me almost without fail, like a handful of wheat being scattered on me.

My eyes remained fixed on the scope, and my right hand swiftly removed the magazine and replaced it with a pre-placed, fully loaded one. A crisp "click" sounded, and I refocused on the leading armored vehicle. The driver inside had lowered himself considerably; I could no longer shoot him from a prone position at an upward angle.

The closer the distance, the less likely it was to hit the window from a prone position. The driver inside began a straight-line charge to protect the side wheels. "Bang, bang, bang, bang..." I pulled the trigger repeatedly, several lines of fire like red-hot cables extending straight towards the bottom of the armored vehicle.

The target's two front wheels immediately hissed and deflated, the front of the vehicle lurching lower and lower with each step, accompanied by violent shaking, its speed instantly reduced. The uncontrolled swaying exposed the side wheels again, "Bang, bang, bang!" I fired three more bullets, blasting the remaining tires. The armored vehicle, like a propeller-struck airplane, veered to one side due to inertia, and was brought to a stop by the driver inside in the desert.

The last armored vehicle was very close, a few scorching hot bullets flying past my sides and even overhead, their heat almost scalding my skin. I quickly ducked my head, using my knees and elbows to push my body backward. Behind me, I kicked out an even deeper sand pit, while more sand flew into my collar.

I couldn't stand up and run backward; I had to use the dent in my body to create distance between us and the enemy. The last armored vehicle hesitated, but the machine gunner on its roof fired like a flamethrower.

"Whoosh whoosh whoosh, puff puff puff, whoosh whoosh..." The sound of bullets whizzing overhead was truly chilling; just hearing the friction of the air against the bullets was enough to imagine the impact on my skull.

I stopped firing because at close range, the enemy machine gunner could see my exact location through the trajectory of the incoming bullets. Machine gun fire on snipers lurking in a small area was extremely dangerous; although they were hungry and untrained, they had a bit of luck.

Furthermore, the tires of the last armored vehicle had unknowingly entered Dumo's firing range, completely revealing one side of its tires as it relentlessly pursued its target, drawing my attention.

Chapter 282: Turning Towards Gilib

In the drizzling rain, several flashing red lines of fire finally appeared on the desert surface to the left. The armored vehicle, which had been speeding along, changed from bouncing up and down to swaying left and right, its body shaking more and more violently.

The machine gunner, who was firing wildly, also lost his bearings as he swayed, and several blazing bullet trajectories were like the ends of braids whipping in mid-air. I lay low in the sand pit, my eyes, slightly above the edge, squinting, and saw the enemy appear with a momentary opening. In an instant, I flipped my long sniper rifle with my left hand, my pupils refocusing on the T-shaped crosshair.

"Bang!" A gunshot rang out, and a flashing white line of fire tore through the dull rain curtain and fired at the machine gunner. The black man with the bowl-cut hair was trying to maintain his balance on the violently shaking armored vehicle. In his frantic attempts to adjust his firing stance, much of his skull was exposed.

The armored vehicle he was carrying slowed down, the shaking gradually subsided, and the wheels finally came to a stop.

This dark-skinned young man suddenly realized he was a sitting duck. Just as he was about to duck, the machine gun handle sparked, and a white gash appeared on his dark forehead. As his body slammed back into the vehicle, blood gushed out, spurting down the white gash.

The powerful bullet had bounced off the metal and grazed his dark left forehead, scraping away a thick strip of flesh. If he hadn't been so lucky, his skull would likely have been ruptured.

All six wheeled armored vehicles were stranded in the desert. I whistled in Dumo's direction and then crawled towards the burial site. On the horizon 1,500 meters away, the machine gunners on the broken-down vehicles were still firing haphazardly, the fire streaking through the thick rain curtain, disappearing into the distance.

"Mr. Chasing Horse, this is so exciting, haha..." Du Mo's face, painted with camouflage, was covered in fine sand; he looked like a baby sea turtle just hatched from the beach, crawling over with a mixture of panic and excitement.

"Du Mo, quickly grab your gear and crawl forward as fast as you can. Don't stand up and run until you've gone more than a thousand meters." I lay prone on the sand, frantically digging with my hands, pulling out two large backpacks that were half-exposed.

I rolled over and lay down on the backpacks, which were spread out in the dents, slipped my arms through the straps, twisted my spine back up, and quickly crawled towards one o'clock. "Wow! I've never seen such speed before,"

Du Mo exclaimed in amazement as he watched me speed forward with my backpacks. "Stop babbling, or the machine gun will rip your back apart." I warned him sternly, then continued crawling without hesitation. Dumo sensed the severity in my tone and dared not slacken his pace any longer.

The damp sand creaked beneath us as Dumo huffed and puffed as he followed behind. "Are there still living enemies in the vehicle? What if they come after us with rifles?" I've always wondered why Dumo, whose childhood must have been so lonely, never seemed to have the energy to speak, no matter how fast I dragged him along.

Perhaps he hated being ignored, or perhaps he was deliberately conserving his strength for a crucial moment. "They may not have eaten sausages, but they still have the common sense that their heads aren't as hard as tires," I coldly explained, hoping he would stay calm and keep up with me.

"Heh heh, I wouldn't get off the armored vehicle either, that would just be letting the snipers shoot..." Dumo said sheepishly, trying to justify himself. After running and crawling for about a kilometer, I suddenly leaped up, turned, and sprinted in the two o'clock direction.

"Hey, hey, Mr. Chase, why are we running east? Aren't we heading to Soya? That direction leads to Jamaame." Dumo exclaimed, following along like a car wheel, unwilling but unable to resist.

"No, we're running towards Gilib. We'll turn back to Soya tomorrow. Taking this winding route is tiring and time-consuming, but compared to the time and risk of being entangled by the enemy, the cost-effectiveness is still worthwhile."

Dumo laughed heartily, the previous thrill completely gone. He was always happy to accept any tactic that could maximize his safety.

"Oh-yee, a-good-idea! If those few black soldiers gather a large force and follow that route, they probably won't catch us even if they reach the Gulf of Aden." The danger and excitement of the previous moment had now turned into a sense of security, and Dumo was completely absorbed in the feeling.

"No, Gilib doesn't belong to Lower Juba State. One warlord wouldn't tolerate their vehicles trespassing freely. There's a lot of mutual suspicion and heightened sensitivity. This gives us a chance to breathe, doesn't it?"

Dumo laughed again, seemingly mocking the warlord guards in the armored vehicles. "Don't be too happy. No matter how many sausages you eat, you can't beat a machine that drinks diesel. Hurry up and escape. We're still far from Gilib. Who knows what we'll encounter on the road ahead?"

My words were like a bucket of cold water, dousing Dumo's elation. He quickly ran a few steps, as if more armored vehicles were honking in pursuit.

Chapter 283: The Sea Demon's Affairs

Ahead lay an endless desert, with only occasional clumps of half-dead, damp, arid plants lying quietly on the sand. The rain was weakening, and most of the dark clouds overhead had drifted away; it looked like the sun would soon appear.

Dumo and I ran fifteen kilometers on the soft sand before finally stopping, exhausted. The two men, their chests heaving, gasped for breath. Rain and sweat mingled on their faces. Dumo, mouth agape, rolled his eyes at me as if about to faint, pleading, "Let's...let's rest a bit. Our lungs are going to explode if we keep running like this."

They squatted down, opened their backpacks, and pulled out bottles of water to soothe their parched throats. Dumo drank too quickly; the stream of water trickled down his dark, pale lips and down his neck. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, then leaned back against his backpack, completely slumped, and gasped for breath.

I raised my binoculars to check behind us for anything unusual. The vast expanse of pale yellow sand held no puddles; the ground appeared only damp with a thin layer of soil. Looking back at the distant road ahead, a few tenacious patches of green life trembled in the cool breeze on the bumpy surface.

"Dumo, tear off the branches you're wearing and change into the desert camouflage gear in your pack." Dumo, sprawled on his back like a turtle, was exhausted. He lazily grunted before struggling to turn over and reach into his arms for a change of clothes.

"Mr. Zhui Ma, let's rest a bit more. I really can't run anymore," Dumo muttered without looking at me. I buried the branches we'd taken from each other in the sand, changed into the desert camouflage, and then lay back against my backpack.

While running forward, we were also evading the enemy, so we couldn't just run blindly. We had to conserve our energy after advancing a certain distance to prevent our stamina from being low in an emergency.

"Ugh! It's tough!" Dumo said, letting out a long sigh after resting for more than ten minutes. "I really envy those pilots, sitting in the cockpit without moving their legs, soaring thousands of miles high in the blue sky in no time." Dumo's eyes shone with longing as he gazed at the sky.

"Hmph!" I responded coldly and briefly, knowing that he had regained his strength. "Mr. Chase, have you ever flown a plane?" Dumo suddenly sat up, asking excitedly.

"No." I answered Dumo coldly, then picked up my binoculars and surveyed the vast expanse. "We'll have to spend the night in the desert. We've strayed from the direction of Soya, missed our supplies, and ended up in this desolate wasteland. It's terrible."

Dumo, like a deflated balloon, lazily lay back down, his two fat arms supporting his round, black head. "At least you're still alive. Don't think about useless things; it's a problem with your mindset." I knelt on the sand and began to sling my sealed luggage over my shoulder.

"What! Leaving again so soon!" Dumo exclaimed in surprise, displeased. "If we run another fifteen kilometers, we can proceed at a leisurely pace. Are we waiting for Jason Jody's plane to pick us up?" I stood up, bent over, weighed my gear, and started jogging.

"Hey! Wait for me..." Dumo scrambled to his feet, grabbed his backpack, and staggered after me. We ran for several more miles, and Dumo was panting heavily, but even so, he couldn't suppress his desire to chat.

"If I had known we were crossing the desert, I would have brought the Walkman I left in the small submarine. I could have listened to some percussion with the headphones on, and maybe even run faster than Mr. Chase Horse. I bought that from a night market stall in South Africa; it's really good quality! It cost me thirty-five rand back then." Dumo grinned, showing his white teeth, and talked enthusiastically as he ran.

"Don't brag. There are plenty of wealthy passengers on the ferries that cross international waters. You might have snatched it from some kid." I hugged my sniper rifle, the yellow camouflage netting draped over me fluttering in the wind, and interrupted Dumo when he tried to start another conversation.

This guy didn't mind being exposed; as long as I was willing to talk to him, his interest would flow like a spring.

“Hehehe, Mr. Chase, look at what you’re saying! I was so embarrassed that time! When I first joined the pirates, I was assigned to the Sea Demon. The first passenger ship we hijacked was incredibly luxurious. The expensive watches, necklaces, and rings worn by those rich people were so dazzling I could hardly open my eyes. We pointed guns at them, shouted in English, and pulled out all our valuables and items, placing them in the middle of the deck, or else we’d kick them overboard to feed the sharks.”

Dumo’s dark lips spit as he spoke, his expressions and fingers gesturing wildly. “You stole a Walkman, didn’t you?” I said dismissively.

He shrank back, smiling somewhat shyly. “At the time, the rest of the pirates went to loot another cabin, leaving me and another armed pirate to guard the valuables and passengers on the ground. I saw a respectable Asian boy, about fifteen or sixteen years old, with a pair of black earphones in his ears, trembling and hiding behind his father. I threatened him, saying, ‘Throw the good stuff in your pocket over, or I’ll kill your father.’”

Hearing Dumo recount this vividly, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Although this guy was always talkative, his occasional comical antics added a touch of humor to my heavy mood.

Seeing that I was amused, Dumo paused and continued, “His father hurriedly pulled his son over, snatched the Walkman from the child’s pocket, and, bowing and smiling obsequiously, carefully tossed it over to me.”

I smiled slightly but remained silent. Dumo, a poor boy raised in an African village, must have thoroughly enjoyed this feeling.

"My God, I've never been treated like this before. I remember when I was a kid, I'd always just stare longingly at the good stuff other people had, only to get spat on and told to get lost." Du Mo said smugly, his thick,

dark eyebrows twitching upwards. "That little thing was so exquisite, thin and shiny in my hand, with several colorful flashing lights on the back. I couldn't put it down. I've always wanted a miniature radio, so I turned around and looked at my accomplice. That burly guy grinned lewdly at me and nodded. I was overjoyed and stuffed it into my pocket, instead of throwing it among the valuables piled on the floor."

"Hahaha..." I still clutched my sniper rifle tightly, my legs sprinting across the soft sand. Hearing Du Mo say this, I guessed his final fate.

"Your laugh makes me feel ashamed. How could I have been so naive? Yes, as soon as I got back to the Sea Demon mothership, that burly guy told Jason Jody that I had secretly taken a small Walkman, which resulted in me getting forty lashes on the back. I was almost beaten to death, damn it!"

Dumo's story gradually stirred up his deepest memories, and his voice became increasingly emotional. "Hahaha..." I couldn't help but laugh again, shaking my head helplessly, without slowing down at all.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/15134.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=15134&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : Humanity Forbidden Island [Full Text] - 19

Next Page : Humanity Forbidden Island [Full Text] - 21

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Humanity Forbidden Island [Full Text] - 20

comment Open a new window to view comments