Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 236
“Hehehe, those DGSE idiots aren’t that useless, I suppose.”
Black Mamba laughed in satisfaction. The DGSE’s Technical Design Division had maintained the Dragunov’s battering capacity instead of improving its durability and sound reduction. Despite its name, it was an entirely different kind of gun from the Dragunov.
The titanium-molybdenum mixed barrel’s heat dissipation performance and internal durability had improved. They’d even paid attention to the details by coating the muzzle with diamonds. The muzzle had to be precise for a stable trajectory.
The silencer and scope performed excellently. The explosion sound and sonic boom had decreased by 50 percent. Its fire had also decreased significantly. The 200 millimeters fire, which had exploded, decreased to a spark near the barrel. The flash suppressor was the first requirement that guaranteed a sniper’s secrecy when sniping at night. A scope’s variable 10x resolution was unmatched to a fixed 4x scope of the past. He could see his target’s features 400 meters ahead. Wings had been given to the god-level sniper.
The advance group spread left and right the moment his sniping began. They were trying to disperse his focus. They were definitely well-trained. Black Mamba immediately retracted his scope and increased the width of his sight. 300 to 400 meters was just right ahead. There was no need for a scope.
His sniping turned into a double-tap fast-sniping. Charging towards Black Mamba’s gun barrel was pointless confidence. They were just like bumblebees attacking a hornet. The pomegranate seeds popping out of Ruman were crushed ruthlessly.
“Al-mawt wahid, al-mawt ithnan, al-mawt thalatha, al-mawt arba’a!”
As he observed Ruman through the binoculars, Jamal started shouting frantically. Jamal’s kill counter increased rapidly. In the end, his jaw tightened. The count was meaningless.
In less than 30 seconds, 24 terrorists had jumped out of Ruman and rolled on the ground. The moon, which leaned to the west, looked down silently on the mortifying scene.
Black Mamba, who had wiped out the entire advance unit, started clearing out the remaining support firearms from within Ruman.
The cheerful explosions rang without rest.
Part of the body had to be exposed during an attack. The exposed body parts were shot without rest. If they revealed their arms, their arms would fall off, and if they revealed their nose, their nose would be blown off.
The bullet, which bounced off the howitzer, crushed the gunner’s face. It was a one-cushion snipe. The recoilless mortar gunner had his neck pierced by the bullet after it went through the howitzer. A sniper’s hand was blown off after it had revealed itself. An ammunition transporter’s head exploded while he was running around with an RPG shell box.
After 30 seconds of sniping, Black Mamba moved from his location like the wind. A b*stard with good instinct gave his position away with a flare bullet. He’d be covered in explosions if he had given them time to target.
A grenade flew. An ANO member, who was shooting a machine gun from the trench, flew into the air.
Bansiri wasn’t an easy opponent. He was both a sniper and an officer with sharp instincts. Every time Black Mamba sniped, he caught the minor barrel flare and shot a leading flare. Snipes and explosions followed the flare. Those were sensitive reactions, but they didn’t produce anything. Every single time, the sniping position was destroyed a moment too late.
“Jarkawi, send out the advance unit! Protect the mortars!”
Frustrated, Bansiri started shouting. Three surviving 82 millimeters Karachi mortars joined the fray.
The ground caved in under the impact of the 3.1 kilograms anti-tank grenades. The advance group jumped out again.
The mortars were completely covered by the heap of crumpled concrete, but that couldn’t fool Black Mamba’s dimensional sight.
An anti-tank grenade crossed the sky.
The grenade fell on a parachute.
“Ah, what is that?”
A gunner, who had found the falling grenade by pure luck, shouted. The gunner should have run instead of shouting.
A loud explosion swallowed his scream. Four mortar gunmen turned into a mass of blood by a single grenade.
The following grenades shattered the two mortars without fail.
Black Mamba raised his Dragunov after taking out the mortars. Advance soldiers in units of 10, who were no longer protected by the firearms, were crushed instantly.
“S…scary b*stard! Is that b*stard even human?”
Bansiri took his eyes off the scope. The mortar and advance units had been wiped out instantly. The snipers he’d raised with effort for the past three years were also killed. The loss of the two sniper units with 20 people in total, which was rumored to go up against a company per person, was painful. There weren’t enough members.
The b*stard wasn’t human. He was someone who rolled around the battlefields like he had played with a knife’s edge for 20 years. He received unimaginable attacks, but there was only one attacker. He could tell from the pattern of the enemy’s sniping and grenade attacks. Once he guided a focused attack after confirming the b*stard’s barrel flash, another sniping followed from a different location within one to two seconds. A human couldn’t move that fast or attack in rows. How could such a person exist? It was an unimaginable reality, a nightmare. That was an enemy he couldn’t fight against. The destructive anger that had overwhelmed him flooded out like tides.
“Jarkawi, did you request for reinforcements from the strategic guard division?”
“Yes, they’re coming to support us, sir.”
Bansiri’s expression didn’t brighten up much. The guard unit was just guards. They were incomparable to the members of his organization. That wasn’t an enemy that they could defeat with a few guards’ personal weapons. Bansiri’s sigh deepened.
Black Mamba drew a large arc and returned to his initial hiding place. A shadow covered Jamal’s back while he was filming with an infrared camera behind the rock.
“Jamal, fill in the magazines.”
Surprised, Jamal drew out his gun like lightning. An iron clasp immediately grasped his wrist. Empty magazines and ammunition packs fell to the ground.
“It’s me. Fill the magazines.”
Still surprised, Jamal started filling the Dragunov magazines in a rush. In the next few hours, he was greeted by a lifetime full of surprises. Going forward, he felt as though nothing would surprise him anymore.
Ruman, which was on the brink of destruction, didn’t stop resisting. Bullets kept flying randomly. A normal commander would have surrendered or retreated. He didn’t feel like clapping for their strong mentality. Instead, their tenacity was making him more annoyed.
He recalled the DGSE files that Claude had shown him. The ANO were b*stards who cut the heads of captives whose ransom weren’t paid for, b*stards who threw bombs at civilians, and b*stards who raped young girls and pregnant women ruthlessly. Whatever their goal was, they were creatures estranged from the circle of humanity. Creatures should be treated like creatures.
“I’ll root all of you out.”
The Dragunov started spewing fire again. Its target was the guards in military uniforms climbing out of the valley.
The commander holding a rifle had his head blown off.
Black Mamba’s consciousness was concentrated on a single thing. His consciousness disappeared. His awareness of using a gun dissipated. Thoughts of killing his enemies also vanished. He was entirely focused on the repetitive action of finding a target and pulling the trigger.
Clang clang clang—
Clang clang clang—
His double-tap evolved into a triple-tap. The soldiers fell like dominoes. Frightened soldiers rushed to find cover. Their order collapsed instantly. There was no point in hiding. Grenades followed them without missing its target.
“Sir Bansiri, we must retreat. We need to escape while the guards are distracting them!” Jarkawi shouted.
His screams were heard from underneath a 30 millimeters iron plate, which looked to be the backboard of their shooting range. There were countless bullet marks on the plate. Jarkawi wasn’t in his right mind either.
“Hh, I, I Bansiri, defeated by a heathen…ha!” Bansiri sobbed, unable to complete his sentence.
“He’s undefeatable, sir. We need to at least maintain the surviving officers and security personnel. 60 minutes left before sunrise. Reinforcements will come when the day arrives!”
“Of course. We should prepare for tomorrow. Retreat to the shelter!”
The ANO survivors moved like tidewater while the guards fought. There was no such thing as loyalty in the terrorists’ dictionary.
Their resistance suddenly ended. Silence descended on Ruman. He couldn’t see any more targets. Even the unit that was climbing down the valley retreated in a rush after being shot several times.
Black Mamba lowered his Dragunov, whose barrel had turned a burning red. The grass that was pressed against the barrel started fuming and turned yellow. He’d gone through 20 magazines in a row.
The first round of cockroach eradication had ended. Black Mamba deconstructed his Dragunov and shoved it into his backpack. He took out a hip flask, sipped on Sciaccarello, and lit a cigarette.
How many did he kill? He estimated around 600 to 700 people. He’d wiped out half of them with explosions and erased 300 people with grenades and snipings. He’d sniped around 30 unknown, weak soldiers. The numbers were similar to the number of people he had erased at Dombrey forest.
That had been an easy battle compared to the desperate fight back then. The more he had to protect someone, the more difficult the battles. He worried about Jamal, but he wasn’t a comrade that required his protection.
Disregarding the rights and wrongs of morals, he couldn’t simply ignore the massacre. He wasn’t a messenger of God, and he didn’t have any religious beliefs or interest in politics.
It was his job to kill and destroy, like a salaryman who tapped on his calculator after work to organize the day’s sales slip. The ANO who had received Azrael’s visit were simply unfortunate. Perhaps, like they’ve said, either Allah had forsaken them or Azrael had cursed them.
It took six minutes for him to burn a stick of Cohiba Siglo. He blew out the last stretch of smoke and threw the empty hip flask into his backpack. Smoke and alcohol were a sniper’s enemy. He didn’t enjoy it. He blew away the emptiness he had felt from the murder with a glass of alcohol and cigarette smoke.
Jamal stared blankly at Black Mamba. He’d been uncertain, but in the end, Aloadin was destroyed. The impregnable castle Aloadin, also known as the holy land of assassins with a 1,000 years of history, had been single-handedly erased by Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa. Jamal’s expression grew solemn. That was his chance to restart his wasted life.
Black Mamba’s eyes lingered on the heap of rocks that covered his bag. Now that his mind was calm, the reality that he had 400 kilograms of gold was starting to hit him. One baby stone ring was worth 50,000 won. He couldn’t calculate. There were also a few million dollars worth of cash in his backpack.
Eh, do I have to work when I have that much?
His worries piled. He couldn’t fight with 400 kilograms on his back. Rather, the bag’s straps would break.
“Well, no one would steal it anyways.”
An eerie laugh escaped him. In the past, unable to pay tuition fees worth 800 won, he had been beaten until his ribs broke. It was unusual for a countryside boy dressed in ragged clothes, who had shivered in the freezing cold, to leave a billion-dollar bag uncovered.
“Since I’ve swept with a broom, I should mop.”
He pulled out an MP5 from his backpack. The weight of his backpack was reduced. The number of lives lost was equivalent to the weight that his backpack had shed. Even the lives that had managed to survive would soon perish. Black Mamba—the nightmare of battlefields and the Angel of Death—was about to visit again. The disgusting, tenacious b*stard wasn’t the ANO but Black Mamba.
Black Mamba calmly checked his weapons. There was no such thing as being too prepared. Critical damage always came from a lack of preparation.
There were five 30-round MP5SD3 magazines, a Glock on his left hip holder, another Glock on his left ankle, the Kukri on his right side, 20 darts in his secret sleeve, four spare Glock magazines, and the Gorgon in the backpack’s bottom compartment.
He ended his preparation by wearing his special-made bulletproof helmet. The backpack made of bulletproof materials was also a bulletproof vest. Jamal carried his rifle and leaped to his feet.
“Jamal, wait here.”
“Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa, please retract that order. You told me to record the entire scene. I’m ready to die for the cause. No, I will never die until I finish carrying out my duty, sir.”
“Ha, f***, another weirdo’s attached himself to me,” Black Mamba groaned in Korean.
Just moving around allowed fleas to attach themselves to him. Wasn’t the blessing of human connections, which his master had mentioned, over yet?
“Fine, follow me.”
He disappeared even before he finished talking. The very person who had destroyed Ruman went through its front gates without hesitation. Not a single bullet came his way.
Black Mamba frowned slightly. The thick smell of burning proteins and blood poked at his nose. There was no other chaos like that. All the buildings, facilities, and constructed objects were burned and destroyed. Only thin strands of smoke rose from the destroyed buildings.
Behind him, Jamal was at a loss for words. There were countless burnt and torn corpses everywhere. The screams of humans who had lost their limbs, and the humans rolling on the ground with their bodies on fire, that was hell.
He’d conducted several destroy missions himself. However, compared to the scale of Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa, his was like a fight during playtime. His body automatically trembled. That wasn’t the arrival of an apostle, but Azrael!
But did it matter who he was? He was his master. Jamal shook his head and started taking pictures of the scene.
 “One death, two death, three death, four death!”