Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 403
No matter the excuse, the way the Pygmies ignored the raped women was nothing short of cowardly. They abandoned the conditions of humanity. Did they have no empathy or a single bit of affection towards one another?
The reason why he jumped into the Ituri Jungle wasn’t just for the money. It was for the greater cause of saving lives and out of pity for the hostages’ families. It wasn’t just because of money. The dark shadows of the Hwa Nyang overlapped with the Pygmy girls’ fainted forms. His mouth grew dry like a picrasma leaf, as though he had drunk a bowl of sour herb medicine.
“I don’t understand. Why don’t they pick up the gun?” Black Mamba shook his head.
The Pygmy tribe had betrayed his expectations once again. The Damballahs remaining in the village had died. While some picked up their arrows and spears, they possessed over ten rifles.
He knew the Pygmies knew how to use rifles. He thought they would have left on a revenge journey towards Apadombe in herds. When Kidamba had refused to kill Wallabi and refused the gun, he attributed most of it to his young age and cowardice.
None of the Pygmies touched the abandoned rifle. The Damballahs were people who had invaded their village, unwanted guests. They kidnapped their parents and brothers, boiled their children, and raped their sisters, the enemy of mankind. Did the Pygmies have no sense of self-defense? Were they kind people who taught themselves ridiculous things like embracing archenemies? Were they Buddhas?
Black Mamba only felt pity for them. Peace and freedom weren’t earned freely. It was the result of fights. Peace and freedom which were not earned by one’s blood and sweat were nothing more than a glass bowl rolling around a pebbled path.
The world isn’t kind to the weak. It’s a cruel cycle where the strong survive and the weak are ignored. An old chicken that lays too many eggs ends up with a loose anus that pokes out of place. Other chickens would stab the loose anus. When one begins, others would do so too. In the end, the chicken with the loose anus dies from the other chickens’ terrorism. The African cows who’re chased by lions also leave their weak behind.
Barbaric nature and wildlife leave the weak, different, and problematic behind. The reason some are bullied and socially crippled is the animalistic nature humans still have within them.
The reason the Pygmies live in Ituri Jungle wasn’t that they liked Ituri Jungle. It was because they were pushed back from the competition of survival. Ituri Jungle would not always be the jungle from the beginning of time. Its outer regions where the diamonds were discovered had already turned into chaos.
Where would they go if the locals started burning the forest down and people pushed in with safari trucks with tourists inside? The Pygmies weren’t those who would claim the jungle but hide deeper within. Their future was obvious.
“All humans have a life they need to be responsible for – their own,” Black Mamba mumbled.
No one could live for another person. Life was a circle of choices and the entropy of opportunities. He chose the life of a mercenary and gave up the life of a scholar. He exchanged his mother’s rescue for the hostages’ rescue. Aside from right and wrong, the endless consequences of choices and opportunities taken were his life.
In the same vein, it wasn’t his concern whether the Pygmies were pacifists or cowards. They had their own lives, and the choice was theirs. He was just a passing person and had no rights or responsibility to interfere. The Syrian Orthodox Christians and Kurd tribe members, he helped because they had a strong will.
Samedi appeared with a black man wearing a green uniform at the end of his gun. A thin line of smoke drifted up from the MAG that continued to poke the prisoner. It seemed like he’d fired quite the warning shots. Ulumbo, Olonge, and Kidamba followed Samedi like ducklings from behind.
“Wakil, I have beaten up 20 creatures and caught one that seemed like their leader.” Samedi was very confident.
“Good job. Huh? You were shot.”
Black Mamba’s gaze flicked to Samedi’s side. Samedi flinched. He’d changed into his spare uniform to not get in trouble, but his master had noticed anyways.
“I got shot twice because I fooled around. Wakil’s a ghost.” Samedi scratched the back of his head.
“Brat, you’re the ghost for acting like nothing happened when two bullets are in your body. You’ll grow dumb if you leave those metal pieces in your muscles.”
“It’s a little uncomfortable, but my defense system will wrap around them and melt them. Samedi’s fine.”
Samedi proved it by shaking his limbs. He wasn’t the kind of person who’d be poisoned by lead because of a few bullets and have impairments to his movement.
“Samedi, the best brand objects are made from a finished touch, and a big accident comes from a small accident. If you fight with a strong person, better than you in terms of combat, those bullets in your body will cause more trouble.”
Black Mamba’s expression grew stern.
“Samedi’s sorry. Should I bang my head?”
Samedi began to pick out a nice area on the ground with his boots. Even the strongest skull would hurt when banged on a sharp piece of rock. He’d banged his head too many times on the floor in the temple that it became his automatic response.
“Brat, that’s a play we do when we’re alone.”
Black Mamba shielded the high-level abusive actions into a kind of play. Samedi sat, twisting his legs into a fold. Black Mamba raised his palm against the bullet wound and rolled his Inhalation Wave to the max. The Billion’s Water Armor increased the effect of his Inhalation Wave. The bullets which had been in Samedi’s tightknit muscles crawled out slowly.
The crushed bullets tore through Samedi’s healing muscles and the scab above as they were dragged out. Samedi stared down at the wound as though he was looking at another person’s wound and didn’t even blink.
“Your body’s abilities are amazing,” Black Mamba exclaimed.
The bullets he extracted had been crushed, as though they had been smashed between a rock. He truly had impressive muscles. He wouldn’t dare go against Samedi in pure muscle brawls.
“Great master, I don’t need my wage. Please give me the bullets instead,” Ulumbo requested out of the blue.
He understood what Ulumbo intended. The guy had been completely cowed by Ituri’s harsh environment. Controlling spells existed anywhere in the world. The guy wanted the bullets as his protective charm.
“Ulumbo, don’t worry about your wage and bring that guy over here,” Black Mamba smiled as he handed him the crushed bullets.
Excited, Ulumbo ran towards a tree and dragged into the clearing the Damballah soldier who had fortunately survived.
“Ulumbo, where are they from? They have a different kind of air from Wallabi.”
“Wallabi is from Congo, and these bastards are of the Hutu tribe from Rwanda.”
“Hutu tribe from Rwanda? Why are Rwandan bastards in Zaire? Or is that Wallabi bastard a traitor to his country?”
“As great master knows, Africa has a weak sense of nationality. Africans consider their tribes more important than the country, and organizations more important than their tribes. Wallabi is from Congo but is of the Hutu tribe. His identity as a Hutu tribe member is more important than the fact that he’s from Congo. Moreover, he believes in Voodoo. Kamuge’s position as Head Priest is unmovable. President Mobutu’s nothing but a liar.”
“I get it. That’s why they’re always in civil wars and fights. Are these bastards from the Bantu Tribe, too?”
Samedi tapped the two Damballah bastards with his foot.
They screamed. Samedi wasn’t any normal human after all. He had kicked them as though he was tapping, but Karungo and the soldier went through excruciating pain, the kind where bones shattered, causing them to tremble.
“Yes, they use the Bantu language. A part of the Hutu tribe started to live in Rwanda, near Bunia, after driving out the Pygmies there before Rwanda became Belgium’s colony.”
The Bantu tribe didn’t refer to a specific tribe. It simply referred to those who spoke the Bantu language. Tribes that used the Bantu language were around Africa’s eastern highlands, like Tangani Lake, Edward Lake, Albert Lake, and Kiv Lake. Rwanda and Burundi’s Hutu tribes were also part of the Bantu tribe. Ulumbo who was from the Basi tribe was also a Bantu tribe member.
“Ulumbo, interrogate those bastards from now on. Separate the two, ask the same questions twice, and cross-examine their answers. That Wallabi bastard must have set up some kind of trap by leaking false information.”
The Damballahs were crazy cultists who couldn’t be defined by common sense. They didn’t cow under pain. Believing in some greyed-out information could ruin the plan, and himself, too.
“Give them two choices. Tell them to choose between an easy death and a hard death. If they choose the first option, they’ll get a bullet to their head. If they choose the second option, all of their bones will be broken one by one until they die. Humans don’t die even if 206 of their bones are broken, half of what one owns.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”
“But that means they’ll die either way,” Ulumbo thought in fear.
He didn’t know how Ulumbo had scared the prisoners, but the prisoners’ faces as they stared at Black Mamba seemed haunted. They seemed prepared enough to recall even the details of breakfast they ate a decade ago.
To be frank, Ulumbo didn’t threaten them much. The Asian with the yellow skin was the reincarnate of Mahaduraka. The giant with the black face seemed to be the Mahaduraka’s servant, the Bodun. The Bodun killed the large Snake that God Houngan Kran ordered around, his avatar, and even the Houngan. Wallabi died due to a curse by the Mahaduraka. He just told the truth of what he witnessed.
Karungo was swarmed in fear and shock. Black Mamba and Samedi’s abilities that they had experienced personally added a chance of truth to Ulumbo’s words. Of course they would believe the man’s words about the Bodun who hauled them around like children with the physical abilities five times of a normal human’s.
Houngans existed in Voodoo as the absolute truth, yet at the same time, fear. Karungo knew Houngan Kran of the Mai Mais who was chasing after the Damballah. The Mahaduraka who ordered around the strong Bodun, who killed Kran, was right before their eyes. Karungo had lost his will to fight. Thanks to that, Ulumbo was able to gain the information easily.
“Great master, this bastard’s Karungo.”
“Hehehe, Samedi got a big one,” Black Mamba smiled.
The information DGSE had gained by losing 30 of their informants and losing hundreds involved in the Department of Defense was barely the tail of Karungo’s line of movement, Kamuge’s subordinate. Samedi had caught him with a few bullets instead. In terms of effectiveness, they were incomparable.
“A leader should know more than the subordinates. Did you check their headquarters and identity?”
“Yes, the Apadombe between Eflu and Ituri River is correct, sir. They’re currently breeding the hostages in Apadombe.”
“Breeding? I knew it!” Black Mamba nodded his head.
This was the reason the kidnappers didn’t kill the hostages despite France’s harsh reply. Kamuge was getting ready to itemize those white skins.
“Are you sure the bastards’ identities are the Hutu tribe’s Damballah?”
“I’m certain, sir. Rwanda’s currently a mess due to the Hutu tribe’s armed riots for having a smaller tribe, the Tuchi tribe ruling over them. Kamuge is also a part of the Hutu rebellion that has its headquarters east of Kiv Lake. It seems like other Catholic Warlords bullied Houngan Kamuge out of their circle. The reason Kamuge left Rwanda was to find a sphere of influence in Congo. You could call them a Mai Mai guerrilla of different roots.”
He could guess the cause of his actions. The Hutu tribe who was defeated in the Tuchi tribe’s genocide fled to the corners of Eastern Africa. Kamuge’s group also entered Zaire passing through Uganda. Kamuge, who allied with Ntaganda briefly, was pushed away from the power fight surrounding the diamond mine.
The core of voodooism is revenge. Angered, Kamuge had been sharpening his sword when he chanced on the Areva company’s expedition team. The kidnapping hadn’t been planned; it had been spontaneous, and the beginning of Areva’s misfortune.
Kamuge had been suffering from the lack of weapons and money. He must have seen the French expedition team with white women as nothing but flower pots waiting to be seeded. From what he had heard, the African warlords bought white babies at thousands of francs. Kamuge had nothing to lose. He could wait for the weapons and money with leisure while selling white children. Of course, he would never have realized an evil called Black Mamba would intervene between the flower pots.
“Hmph, we only need to wipe them out.”
There was joy in Samedi’s words. It didn’t matter whether they were Mai Mais, or guerillas, or Hutus, or Damballahs. The fact that they were kidnappers was important. This was his chance to use his MAG.
“Great master, there was something strange in Karungo’s description. He said there was a narrow-eyed man among the hostages.”
“There was an Asian?” Black Mamba asked again in surprise.
Narrow-eyed referred to Chinese or Koreans. All of the Areva expedition team members were French. There weren’t any Koreans.
“Yes, he said the person was a Korean kidnapped from Tanganika Lake.”
“Korean! Are you sure?”
“Yes, he said he saw the ID.”
“I can’t believe this.”
Black Mamba tilted his head. 95% of the Asians wandering around Africa were Chinese. The other 5% were Japanese. Korea didn’t have a company that was in Africa’s market or tourists. They only had a few forced embassies and consulates shoved in because of the diplomatic fight with North Korea. Why would Koreans wander around Zaire when the oil poured out of Nigeria, Ghana, and Libya?
“Aha!” Black Mamba exclaimed in realization.
He recalled the nuclear power plant development request he put in through Bonipas. At the time, France offered a beneficial offer to South Korea in the guise of sharing technology. Despite the overwhelming offer, the Korean government chose Canada, which had the United States’ backing.
He couldn’t do anything about it if one didn’t want to become a prime minister. Bonipas predicted the strategic sales of Uranium that the States would commit against Korea and found the situation unfortunate. Black Mamba had cursed the government out, of how they’d be the ones to sell rice for s*** instead.
Bonipas’ efforts were behind Korea’s efforts into swinging a leg towards Munana’s Uranium excavation plan. Bonipas would not take such good care of Korea as though he was donating without a reason. It was all to gain the nuclear bomb without a protective measure, the national treasure of France.