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At this moment, down by the roadside at the foot of the mountain, Colonel Hank Han—his arm wrapped in bandages—was standing with over fifty fully armed members of the Dragonsquad Battalion. He addressed them: "Listen up, everyone—right now, we are the strong bullying the weak! We have more than fifty operatives, hundreds of armed police cooperating with us, plus armored vehicles and attack helicopters for support. This battle is totally lopsided. But don’t think that means we’re guaranteed to win. The enemy isn’t to be underestimated! They may only have twenty or so people, but every single one is a battle-hardened mercenary, elite among elites. If I sent you in to fight any one of them solo, to be honest, I wouldn’t be optimistic. These mercenaries are all ruthless killers, veterans of countless battles, and mountain jungle combat is their specialty! You are Dragonsquad—you are the Republic’s first and last line of defense! Can you defeat them? Are you ready?"
"Ready!" Over a hundred Dragonsquad members roared in unison.
"Good. Now move out—get up that hillside, fast! Remember, this time our enemies are mercenaries, and they're the best of the best—veterans and even instructors from elite special forces around the world. For us, this is a rare test, a life-or-death trial! The armed police are just here to sweep the mountain and flush them out; we're the real tip of the spear, the ones going head-to-head with them for real! Don't let Dragonsquad lose face! Let's go!" With that, Colonel Hank Han hefted an SDV sniper rifle and led the hundred-plus Dragonsquad members charging up the hillside.
It was already past three in the morning, pitch black all around. The Nightshade Mercenary Corps used the cover of darkness and clever tactics to punch a hole through the encirclement of hundreds of armed police, managing to slip through the forested mountain slope for more than ten kilometers.
Black Fox, small and wiry, was an intelligence hacker at heart. After such a brutal sprint, his stamina was shot. He’d taken a stray bullet to the chest during the breakout—patched up quickly, but the wound reopened as he rushed onward, leaving a trail of blood and a pale, grim face. Frank Falk kept supporting him, covering the rear, while the barking of search dogs echoed from afar.
Black Fox gave a bitter smile, suddenly shrugged off Frank Falk’s support, and sat down, gasping: "Boss… I can’t go on. I’m dragging you and the guys down. Let me stay behind and cover the retreat!"
"No way! Black Fox, don’t talk nonsense. Just hold on a few more hours and we’ll reach the coast!" Frank Falk grabbed Black Fox’s hand urgently.
But Black Fox just shook his head, forcing a wry smile: "Boss, you know it—the wound on me is enough for those dogs to sniff us out easily. And in a few hours, it’ll be daylight. Moving undercover will be almost impossible; the authorities will definitely send helicopters to search the route. So we have to reach the coast before sunrise!"
Frank Falk fell silent. Black Fox was right. While he hesitated, the barking of the search dogs was getting closer. The twenty-plus Nightshade mercenaries crowded around, their experienced eyes instantly grasping the situation. They watched Frank Falk and Black Fox with complicated expressions.
"Boss, you guys need to go! If you don’t leave now, none of you will make it! I’ve got nothing holding me back... I’ve already decided to stay!" Black Fox shouted.
"Black Fox... I—" Frank Falk, usually cold as ice, felt waves of sorrow welling up. Black Fox had followed him through life-and-death battles for over a decade, from Kosovo to Iraq, then from Iraq to the chaos of Africa—hundreds of brutal fights. Now, they faced a final, fatal separation. Frank Falk was tough and ruthless, but he always treated his men well.
Bang! Bang! Black Fox suddenly fired his pistol into the sky a few times, then yelled at Frank Falk: "Boss, get everyone moving! I’ve fired to draw them over here!"
Frank Falk gritted his teeth and said to the others, "Give Black Fox more ammo! Then everyone, fall back!"
The twenty-some mercenaries looked at Black Fox with complicated expressions. Only now did they realize that this sly, skinny guy was actually a real hero—a stand-up guy if ever there was one. Each of them handed Black Fox extra bullets.
Black Fox suddenly said to Frank Falk, "Boss, I’m a mercenary—I don’t want to be captured!"
Frank Falk froze for a moment, then understood. He nodded, "I know what to do."
Black Fox gave a bitter smile, murmuring, "That’s good. I’ve seen what I needed to see, lived through what I needed to live through, even had my fun with women all over the world—no regrets... I’m a mercenary, born for battle! Let this be my final battlefield, the best ending for a warrior!"
Frank Falk and the dozen-plus mercenaries felt a wave of deep, bittersweet sorrow. They gave Black Fox one last look, then saluted him together. The salutes were a hilarious mess—a motley crew of mismatched moves, some stiff and military, others wild and slapdash, a few clearly improvised on the spot. But every salute was heartfelt, overflowing with respect. That’s the soul of a mercenary!
After the salute, Frank Falk’s cold expression returned. He told the mercenaries, "Move! Keep your distance. We have to reach the coast before sunrise!"
Frank Falk had just led the crew a short distance away when—ratatatatat—the sound of gunfire exploded behind them. Black Fox, holding the line at the rear, was already trading shots with the armed police combing the mountain.
Black Fox whipped up his P5 submachine gun and fired at a police dog barreling straight at him—bang bang—a burst of bullets dropped the crazed mutt.
But more armed police and dogs swarmed in, and Black Fox kept spraying bullets—ratatat. His P5 ran dry in no time, so he switched to his pistol, firing wildly and tossing grenades left and right. A bunch of police officers charging in got caught by his crazy barrage.
"Woof woof!" A pack of police dogs suddenly lunged from the side, chomping down on Black Fox’s hands and yanking hard. Black Fox cursed up a storm, still firing his pistol any which way. Soon, a bunch of police officers rushed up and surrounded him. One officer charged in, kicked the P5 out of his hands, and knocked him flat!
The police officers piled on top of Black Fox, pinning him down as he struggled like mad, screaming, "Boss—"
Frank Falk heard him from far away and tensed up, whipping around to look through the night vision scope of his SVD Sniper Rifle. He saw Black Fox pinned down, about to be cuffed. Frank Falk raised his SVD, took aim at Black Fox’s head, and silently thought, 'Goodbye, Black Fox.' Then he pulled the trigger.
Bang—
Black Fox’s head jerked aside and split open—brain matter splattered everywhere as he collapsed, dead on the spot.