Novel Name : Mercenary Black Mamba

Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 135

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The French Direction générale de l’armement (DGA) was a place that oversaw the conduction of ground weapons, shipbuilding, aviation weapons, development of missiles, and information of technology. They were often criticized as a group that didn’t know what efficiency meant and was slow as a snail. However, the DGA had been unresponsive.

It was easy to gain a high-speed grenade launcher, even if one wasn’t in the organization. There were 100 sleeping MK19 high-speed grenade launchers imported from the US in the 11th Airborne brigade’s weapons shed. It was an import used for research development. The MK19 was weaker than the AGS17, but it wasn’t comparable to a rifle grenade.

“That f****** b*stard Bernoulli, I’ll kick his rear.”

What wasn’t there would not appear even if his hand was about to crawl out of his mouth. The Captain relieved his rage by cursing at Major Bernoulli, the command’s supply administrator.

The administrator would’ve had a lot to say, feeling unjust.

Bernoulli had applied for an MK19 from the 11th Airborne brigade, but all he’d received in return was a reply that it was unavailable, as they were using it for comparability testing.

The United States and the Soviet Union began developing high-speed grenade launchers from the 1960s. NATO, on the other hand, had been uninterested. In fact, there were no registered high-speed grenade launchers in NATO’s appointed system. As of now, only England and Germany had supplied them in real battles.

The Captain’s complaints were the French army’s complaints.

France, one of the major powers of Europe, had many weapon companies that boasted a long history. They had countless companies ahead of the UK and America in price competitiveness and technology.

France’s defense deficiency was due to the leftist government’s nationalization policy.

France had been controlled by the Left party’s Paul Doumer, Albert Lebrun, and Vincent Auriol since 1930. The leftists pursued a unified policy that bound all the private defense companies to the government in 1936.

Large defense companies such as Dewoitine, Blériot, Marcel, Bloch, and Potez were united and nationalized. Nationalization and state governance weren’t familiar with words like efficiency, innovation, and development. That went both ways for democracy and communism. It was also the same for Korea.

There was one positive aspect of nationalization that interested the public.

A defense industry that produced lethal weapons weren’t directly involved with the lives of the citizens. Naturally, it was far from the public interest. Since it wasn’t connected to their interests, the public’s eyes moved away from the industry.

There were always humans worth less than a cockroach, who gained their peas in places the public eyes didn’t reach. They were mostly politicians and officials. France was no different from Korea.

Vincent Auriol, who became the president as the key player of France’s popular front, always used to say:

“I’d rather give up my brioche[1] than fill those capitalist’s bellies.”

The after-effects of those words were critical.

The state-operated defense company became a useless dinosaur with a large body. Its senses slowed helplessly, and its actions similarly lagged. It lost the flow of the market, and became stingy to the user’s demand.

While the Soviet Union, the UK, and the US’s defense grew remarkably during WWII, France sat sucking on its fingers. A defense company’s business operated on the market’s demand and the user’s request. The French defense company, which lost both of its business points, were pushed relentlessly behind the US and UK.

The French defense industry lost the momentum of post-war growth and collapsed, causing its weapons development to fall significantly. They pressed for the privatization of defense companies in late 1987, but the after-effect was profound. A weapon system that should suit the battlefield began to suit the desks instead. The user’s needs were reflected more slowly than snails due to the bureaucratic system.

GIAT, who made their rifle grenades, was also the dinosaur defense product of nine defense companies and GIAT coming together.

GIAT continued to push back the development of automatic grenade launchers despite the military’s requests. They gave the excuse that its demand had been too little, but it was because most of their development researchers had been disappointed and left for other countries.

The French army wasn’t even able to secure a normal, high-speed vehicle. The United States beat them to it and operated tactical, high-speed vehicles such as the M151 Mutt Jeep in 1961 and the M715 Kaiser Jeep in 1967.

At the time of the creation of mission Raccoon, the Defense Chiefs fretted over the lack of off-road vehicles that could withstand the rugged terrain and volatile weather.

The DGA was slower than slugs, but its pride was the best in the world. The rooster’s pride didn’t allow it to acknowledge the Yankee’s Mutt or Kaiser. Instead, they asked Renault to remodel Toyota’s long-haul pick-up truck for tactical operations as a remedy.

France’s arms acquisition business was of its own making.

That ensured the independence of the weapons system while sacrificing diversity and suitability. It was the complete opposite of Korea.

A weapon’s life depended on its efficiency.

Weapons had been constantly evolving since history, with a single proposition of efficiency. Rifles, cannons, tanks, traps, jets—all weapons pursued efficiency. There was none who didn’t know the difference between efficiency of independence and efficiency of diversity and fitness.

Independence had little meaning in the modern general-purpose weapons market. Securing independence was sufficient with strategic weapons such as nuclear bombs, submarines, aircraft carriers, and the Aegis combat system.

Even high-nosed Americans purchased grenade launchers from South Africa and sub-machine guns from Israel, for their use. France was a country that could only be satisfied with their own production of bullets, grenades, and magazines.

The possibilities of the Captain receiving a high-speed grenade launcher as a supply was none, since the beginning. It was fortunate that they were able to gain supplies at all, thanks to Black Mamba.

“Jang Shin.”


“Take care of the supplies and throw all those polar bear trash away.”


Jang Shin dug a hole and pushed in AK47’s, Degtyarevs, RPG7s, and mountains of bullets.

“What a waste!”

Black Mamba found the waste of iron unfortunate. He recalled the memories of his childhood where he searched the mountains and plains for a scrap of old metal to earn some money. That had been a time when one FAP’s PPSh-41 could earn him five bars of soap. He recalled his monk friends who were swept alongside the explosion. Memories he didn’t wish to recall began to float in his mind.

“Maxim, put an M60 on the Alpha. Bellman, put the patient in the Beta. Everyone, put your headsets on.”

The Captain paused amid his orders and glared at Sun WooHyun.

North Korea was an organization noted as their enemy. That human had been someone who led the FROLINAT not a moment before. He trusted Black Mamba, but the suspicion in his mind didn’t fade.

“Black, we can trust him, right?”

“There’s not enough combat members. He’s a useful guy.”

Black Mamba glanced at Sun WooHyun.

“Lackey, if you want to drink meat soup on this rice for the rest of your life, act well. One wrong move and I’ll beat you up again.”

The scent of blood wafted at the word of violence.

Sun WooHyun’s neck burrowed in.

The mention of a beating was scarier than a warning of getting his neck cut. Saying shocking things to others while emotionless, would be called a talent if it was one. Sun WooHyun preferred torture that involved ripping his skin off rather than being beaten up by Black Mamba.

“Fu***** hell, what did I do to deserve those threats! Do I need to be a servant?”

Sun WooHyun slacked determinedly. The old man, Ombuti, was right. Being a servant was better than being a lackey.

“Ssun, grab the machine gun.”

The Captain gave Sun WooHyun the M60 instead of the Maxime without hesitation.

“Why is a private and first Lieutenant bossing a Major around?” Sun WooHyun grumbled in Korean as he grabbed the M60 on the pickup.

Their ranking systems were different, but there was still a difference between a lieutenant and a major.

He didn’t dare express himself in front of Black Mamba, but Sun WooHyun was a stubborn person who was talented and prideful. He wasn’t someone the Captain could handle so easily.

“Captain, one of the pickups is broken.”

“Fix it!” the Captain shouted at Jang Shin’s report.

“There was a problem with the engine’s head gasket, causing sand to enter. It’s possible to fix, but it takes two hours to detach the engine and clean it out.”

“Damn it. All those island b*stards produce faulty things.” The Captain frowned.

They were in trouble. Three vehicles were needed in order to move two patients. Their weapons stock could be another problem if one became absent.

“Renault remodeled them, though.”

“Shut up. They’re the same b*stards.”

The Captain looked at the eastern skies, which were turning red.

It would soon be sunrise. Muslims conducted their salat with the sunrise, then headed out. There wasn’t enough time. His mind was in a rush, but the vehicles weren’t working. They couldn’t even abandon their car due to the added lumps.

“Lackey, is there a possibility for Hadad to change his route?” Black Mamba asked Sun WooHyun.

“There’s no way to tell. The messenger said two companies were breaking off to Koro Taro through here. Hadad is a very prideful person.”

Black Mamba picked up the bike attached to the pickup and put it down.

“Then, there’s a 100 percent chance that they’ll head this way. Jang Shin, load a box of grenades on the bike.”

“Why don’t you take an RPG7?”

“It takes time to load, and it’s inaccurate. Make it so that it’ll be able to launch an M24 shell instead.”

Jang Shin’s eyes widened, before he dissolved into laughter.

“Hehehe, you want to use mortar-based high-speed explosives as grenades? It’s only something Black Mamba will be able to do. I’ll make a separate detonator on the end of those grenades.”

“Make the fuse slightly longer than the grenade, to increase the time to five seconds.”

“I get it, you crazy b*stard.”

Jang Shin instantly made a 1.84 kilograms worth of large grenade by remodeling the mortar grenade, expected of the Explosions Devil.

“What are you planning to do?”

“I need to earn some time to fix the pickup. I’m going to lead them to Koromunga after creating a scene,” Black Mamba replied shortly to the Captain’s worry and pulled on the throttle.

The desert-use motorbike was an order-based creation from BMW.

It was a monster that emitted a massive output of 1,200 cubic centimeters and boasted a maximum speed of 260 kilometers. Black Mamba stepped on the accelerator and opened the throttle slightly before releasing the clutch.


The bike shot out with an explosion, sending red sand into the air.

“Ugh, wait, Black!”

The Captain, who was about to give him the rundown, was covered in sand.

“Black, tap the red dot on the end of the grenade with your Kukri before throwing them!” Jang Shin shouted.

The bike disappeared into the savannah without a reply, leaving dust in its place.

“S***, that’s cool!”

Sun WooHyun’s face was flooded with desire.

The bike twisted in its place, unable to control its overflowing power.

Black Mamba was impressed.

“This really is something. I should have used it a long time ago. From now on, your name is snakehead.”

The feeling of riding felt just like the twisting of a two and a half meter monster—northern snakehead—he had caught in Nakdong river underneath the bridge.

The snakehead pushed against the rough terrain with pure strength. It was possible due to the great width of its tire, wider than the average car’s. The wide tire and strong power was enough to move off-road. He was immersed with the snakehead. Any 20-years-old fresh-blooded man would’ve been enraptured with the romance of a motorbike, at least once in their lifetime.

The snakehead ran through the sparse grass around the savannah and the lower, upturned layer of the wadi. Black Mamba aimed for their back, going widely around Hadad’s camp.

“Around two to three hours of playtime should do.”

On top of a slope which showed Hadad’s entire camp, Black Mamba leisurely watched the slow movements of Hadad’s battalion from 1,000 meters away.

Half of Hadad’s battalion were getting ready to move out.

Three BTRs and a truck was fuming smoke. Even the bikes and camels were ready.

The sun poked out from the horizon.

“The sunrise salat has started.”

The spread-out soldiers began to gather towards the central tent.

Black Mamba slung the shoulder-back on his neck with the cloth Jang Shin gave him. He opened the grenade box and shoved 20 hand grenades into the bag.

A French-made E07 hand grenade was 850 grams. With 20 slung around his neck, it felt heavy. He gathered two smokescreen grenades and two soy grenades into the chest rig.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hadad, I’m sorry for spreading ashes over your holy outing. Allah will give you additional points if you die during your prayer, so be reassured.”


He released the clutch and pulled the throttle tighter. The snakehead jumped out like a bullet.

The sound of a bike’s engine was combined with the murmured prayers.

Black Mamba ran straight towards them, but no one in the camp cared. It was obvious. No madman had moved their bike head-first into a FAP camp in the Sahel.

[1] A type of light sweet yeast bread, typically in the form of a small round roll.
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