Chapter Twenty-Seven: Heavy Casualties

Qin Shi moved forward cautiously, his hand gripping the 4A1 rifle tightly. He felt as though he had been transported back into the midst of those countless past missions—at the frozen northern tip, across the Middle East, through the jungles of Southeast Asia, and into the vast deserts of Africa. Memories of those experiences surged forth, each one vivid and intense.

Resolutely tightening his hold on the rifle, Qin Shi fixed his gaze ahead, listening intently for any sound in the surroundings.

He circled down the mountain from the other side. Thanks to the gunfire from Zhu Lan and Zhai Bang, the enemies who had been searching this side had already converged elsewhere, allowing Qin Shi to descend the mountain with ease.

Reaching the rear of the enemy, Qin Shi did not launch an immediate attack from behind, but instead carefully surveyed the area.

Battlefield experience was crucial—Qin Shi had learned that lesson the hard way. He once assumed there was no one behind him, only to be surrounded himself after trying to encircle the enemy, falling prey to a classic pincer maneuver.

He knew that the longer he delayed, the greater the danger for Zhu Lan and the others. None of them were truly a match for the enemy. He had to check the area thoroughly to ensure the highest possible degree of safety.

Only after confirming there were no hidden threats did Qin Shi allow himself a moment of relief, though he couldn't help but feel exasperated by these opponents—how could they not leave one or two men to guard the rear?

But then, it made sense. The four of them had originally been unarmed, posing virtually no threat. This operation was highly secretive, and with Zhu Lan's importance, they needed to strike fast and decisively.

He crept up to within three hundred meters of the group. There, Qin Shi halted. Gunfire rattled ahead, punctuated by the occasional explosion—grenades, as he recognized with a frown. The situation was clearly more complicated than he had anticipated.

Concealed behind a boulder, Qin Shi peeked out. He saw more than a dozen men scattered among rocks two hundred and eighty meters away, laying down suppressive fire toward the platform higher up the mountain.

Observing the enemy was a vital prelude to combat for Qin Shi.

The longer he watched, the deeper his frown became. Their tactics were abysmal—like raw recruits on their first mission. Pinned down by Zhu Lan and Zhai Bang, they didn't even attempt a charge. Two guns were holding back over a dozen men. Under normal circumstances, it might be understandable, but here, it made no sense.

Qin Shi had thought his pursuers would be seasoned veterans; now, he saw they were nothing but greenhorns.

Relieved, he pulled back and checked his weapon. Then, peering out once more, he aimed the rifle at the cluster of enemies two hundred and eighty meters away.

The 4A1 spat fire, bullets streaking across the distance.

The sudden hail of gunfire left the enemy dazed and confused. They were already under fire from the front, and now, suppressed from the rear, they scrambled in panic, unsure where to seek cover.

Though it had been a long time since he'd handled a weapon, his skills remained. Qin Shi was well-versed with the 4A1—any special forces soldier needed to be familiar with enemy arms. With America as China's greatest adversary, their weapons were common enough, even if large-scale equipment was hard to obtain. Standard infantry weapons could be found globally, and the American arms trade was measured in trillions each year.

From the highest levels of government down to local arms dealers, wherever weapons were sold, American-made gear was present. American and Russian weapons dominated the high, middle, and low ends of the global market.

A single magazine held thirty rounds; seven or eight bullets found their mark, wounding five men—not fatal shots, but enough to take them out of the fight.

Despite the shock of the ambush, the enemy quickly found safer positions to shelter from fire from both directions. When life is at stake, no one wants to die.

Swapping magazines in a flash, Qin Shi sneered. He didn’t fire again from the same spot—only a fool would do so. Instead, he crouched and moved to a new position. Although he looked down on these opponents, he spared no effort—one must always give their all, even against a rabbit, if one is a lion. He was determined to guarantee his own safety and that of Zhu Lan.

“Damn it, damn it!” Jimu roared, clutching his blood-soaked shoulder. Though the blood had already seeped through his clothes, it wasn’t immediately visible.

“Jimu, are you all right?”

“Captain, I’m fine. My arm is just temporarily useless!”

“Janst, what’s the situation?”

Janst’s face was so dark you might have mistaken him for an African; he gripped a semi-automatic rifle, peered out to observe, and ducked back in, shaking his head in frustration. “Captain, the situation isn’t good.”

Pumanfan was the team leader. At first, he hadn’t taken this mission seriously, especially after making contact with the target. If he hadn’t sensed something was off, and if another group hadn’t intervened with weapons as powerful as theirs, he would’ve captured the target long ago—never expecting things to become so dire.

After coordinating with the other team, Pumanfan thought the mission was complete. But then the unexpected happened—the target escaped.

Escape? No problem, or so he thought. Could they really outrun him?

But as they entered the mountains, Pumanfan’s frustration grew. First, he nearly lost the target’s trail several times, then discovered the target had weapons.

When the first shots rang out, Pumanfan assumed it was the target’s reinforcements. But upon realizing it was the target himself wielding the firearm, he was stunned. He recognized the 4A1’s distinctive crack, and knew the other weapon as well—it was one of his own. Someone had been killed and their weapon seized.

Though surprised that the target had acquired weapons, Pumanfan wasn’t anxious. The opposition was only four men; his own force numbered over twenty, all well-trained—more than enough to crush the enemy.

Yet events took an unexpected turn. First, they were pinned down by two guns from above, then a third gun opened fire from the rear, completely reversing the situation.

Pumanfan realized why they were pinned: the terrain was so steep, even he couldn’t advance quickly as on level ground. And the enemy had grenades—something he hadn’t anticipated. His own team carried a few, but not many.

The suppressive power of the grenades made Pumanfan hesitate. He could push forward, but at what cost? That brief hesitation allowed the enemy in the rear to circle around and attack, turning the battle into a pincer movement.

“Captain, things are bad. Several of us have been hit. We…” Jimu looked at his captain, but hesitated to finish.

Pumanfan frowned, knowing what Jimu wanted to say.

“Order: fall back. We need to reassess the target’s capabilities.”

As Pumanfan and his men retreated, Zhu Lan immediately noticed. Fearing a feint, Zhu Lan stayed low, watching through a gap in the rocks. His face was pale, sweat pouring down his brow.

His thigh was soaked in blood, the pain in his leg nearly unbearable. He clenched his teeth.

Thinking back on the situation, Zhu Lan couldn’t help but shudder.

“Boss! Boss!” Suddenly, Wang Sheng’s shout broke the silence.

Startled, Zhu Lan struggled to his feet and staggered toward Wang Sheng.

When he reached him, Zhu Lan was shocked: Zhai Bang was covered in blood, wounds visible all over his body.

He started to speak, but stopped himself.

“Boss…” Wang Sheng looked up at Zhu Lan, noticing the blood flowing from Zhu Lan’s own foot, leaving a trail behind him.

“How is he?” Zhu Lan ignored his own injury and knelt beside Zhai Bang to check.

Wang Sheng shook his head. “It’s not good. He’s been hit six times. None are fatal, but he’s lost too much blood—he’s already in shock. If…”

Wang Sheng trailed off. Zhu Lan’s frown deepened; he hadn’t expected Zhai Bang’s condition to be so dire. Clearly, the enemy on his side outnumbered theirs, and Zhai Bang lacked his own ability to pull out weapons at will. Relying solely on an AK-47 was not enough to hold back so many; stray bullets had found their mark.

At that moment, Qin Shi returned. Seeing Zhai Bang, he stopped as well.

Without looking at Zhu Lan, he moved forward to examine Zhai Bang, his brows knitting in concern.

Suddenly, a phone began to ring.

Pulled from their reverie, Qin Shi and Zhu Lan reacted. Qin Shi searched Zhai Bang and found the phone.

“Hello?”

A pause. “Who is this? Where’s Zhai Bang?”

“My name is Qin Shi. Zhai Bang’s been shot and is in shock.”

“What?”

“When is backup arriving? He can’t hold on much longer, and we can’t escape.”

A pause on the other end. “Understood. I’ll tell them to hurry.”

No one asked further about the condition of Zhu Lan’s team; knowing or not wouldn’t change anything. There was no way to help them. Both Qin Shi and the person on the line understood just how dire the situation was.

After hanging up, Qin Shi glanced at Zhu Lan and gave a bitter smile. He’d thought retirement would mean leaving his old life behind, but fate had other plans.

“Regrets?” Zhu Lan asked with a strained smile. After all the running, the firefight, and now his wounds, Zhu Lan was on the verge of collapse. That he’d held out this long was impressive.

Qin Shi shook his head. “It’s fate, boss. None of this is your fault.”

“Brother Qin is right. It’s all on me. If only…”

“Enough,” Zhu Lan cut in. “Qin Shi, keep watch. We may…”

Qin Shi fell silent, picking up his weapon.

“Catch!” Something flew through the air. Instinctively, Qin Shi caught it—a magazine. He looked up at Zhu Lan.

Despite his pallor, Zhu Lan managed a smile. “It’s up to you now.”

Qin Shi nodded. “Don’t worry, boss. If they want you, they’ll have to go through me first.” He knew there was no turning back now. He could abandon Zhu Lan and the others, and likely survive on his own, but he would never choose such a cowardly path. That would be a betrayal of his identity as a Chinese soldier.

A true soldier of China would rather die standing than live on his knees. To die on the battlefield was an honor; to survive by treachery was the mark of a scoundrel.

Reloading his weapon, Qin Shi set out with resolve.