Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 224
Chapter 224: Chapter 26, Episode 18: The Syria-Ruman Plan
The helicopters and even the tanks stationed in the border were dispatched. He felt as though the world would flip. The situation had escalated unpredictably. Bakri was slightly scared. His family’s safety depended on his decisions.
“God, please save our poor souls. Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa, please lead us to the land of peace.”
Boom—
Boooom—
Explosions and light beamed from far away even before he could finish his prayer. It was in the direction of Aleppo. The nightmare that had occurred three years ago was repeating itself.
Back then, Assad had decimated all the buildings suspected to be under the Muslim Brotherhood’s possession with tanks and planes. Back then, it was internationally known that there were 30,000 deaths. Truthfully, however, there had been over 100,000 deaths. Most of those that had been killed were innocent citizens. Just the Orthodox Christians’ sacrifice alone had exceeded 10,000.
The fight between Assad and the Muslim Brotherhood had begun once more. Even if it was an organization of terrorists, Assad was a mad b*stard who shot cannons into his citizens’ homes.
What if Assad decided to annihilate the Orthodox Church? Just thinking about it made him tremble. Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa had said that a life of submission would never gain freedom. He was right. Bakri’s attachment to Syria faded. The promised land that Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa had talked about was their only hope.
“Bakri Jadir, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa said the location is unsuitable, the leader has to leave. A life filled with anxiety and fear has to end in my generation. I need to go where the tiger takes me once I’m on its back, right?”
Bakri gritted his teeth again.
Black Mamba was in a deep sleep, unconcerned. He even snored loudly. A herbivore always slept with its senses on guard. It also slept lightly. A predator rested when it could. That way, it could move properly when awake.
“Aw, why’s Mister Dubi sleeping all the time?”
Six-years-old Wael was bored. Wael liked the mister. He had fixed her limping leg and healed her aching head. She also liked playing with the doll that mister had made and given her. She liked playing with mister, but she was growing bored since he slept all the time.
Wael grabbed a strand of wild alfalfa and tip-toed near the bedroom. She had long forgotten her father’s stern orders of not waking Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa. Wael held back the curtains and tip-toed into the room.
Black Mamba’s mouth slowly tilted up. Wael shoved the soft alfalfa flowers into his nose and gently turned it around.
Zzzzz—
His snores became louder instead.
“Aw, damn it! What do I do?”
Wael shoved a finger into her mouth and thought. Black Mamba opened his eyes slightly and examined Wael. She was so cute that he wanted to squeeze her.
After contemplating, Wael struggled until she had climbed the top of the bed’s headboard. She jumped from it and landed on Black Mamba’s chest.
“Ma-da Hoo-na-ka? Del-la-toon![1]” Black Mamba shouted in exaggeration.
“Ehehehe! Mister Dubi’s a sleepyhead!”
“Ugh, why is a princess so heavy?”
Black Mamba’s hand fell back down limply when he tried to lift Wael into the air. Wael swung her small fists around like a windmill.
“Save me!” Black Mamba shouted while his face was being attacked.
They couldn’t communicate, but neither had cared. Even Wael’s brothers had snuck in and joined them. They pulled on Black Mamba’s ears, stuck themselves onto his back, and pulled on his hair.
Black Mamba complained jokingly, “Ya Il-la-ha, Ootl-lubu Alii-suaph.”[2]
“An Al-il-ha-hi!”[3]
Surprised, Bakri’s wife ran into the room. Black Mamba raised his hand and stopped her. She didn’t know what to do and rolled her feet.
“That’s his true self.”
Bakri smiled widely as he lightly jolted his wife’s shoulder. Like a small fortune, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa had filled the somber house with the boastful smiles of his children. If he wasn’t the apostle, then who was!
“Bakri, how do you say surrender?”
“It’s tel-litti-sil-lan, sir.”
Black Mamba raised both of his hands up high and shouted, “tel-litti-sil-lan.” Bakri’s wife ended up laughing. Even the old couple, who came and tried to stop the children, laughed at the ridiculous sight.
“I can’t believe it.”
“He is the one we need to follow. He has a pure and great soul, despite his presence and lion-like strength. I have decided to serve Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa as my master.”
“I’ll respect your decision.” Bakri’s wife smiled happily.
While he was playing around with the children, Black Mamba’s eyes flickered. Someone was approaching the castle remains. The person had a purpose and moved carefully with a restricted breath. His rescue transmitter was activated at the remains. He’d set it up after returning from exploding the ammunition storage room.
“A-na a-siph. Ana mashukul-run assai-ut ala-na kal-lil-lan.”[4]
He picked the children off of himself and called for Bakri.
“Bakri!”
“Yes, Bakri is here.”
“I have a guest. I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll prepare your dinner, sir.”
“Okay.”
Bakri didn’t ask why. His actions down to his personality were just like Ombuti. He was a useful person. Black Mamba wore a tobe and pressed the keffiyeh down on his head.
“They’re running pretty fast.”
Vroom—
Vroom—
Tanks were moving in rows, two kilometers away. 10s of trucks filled with armed soldiers followed its rear. The road was filled with dust. The locals had rushed out of their homes to watch them.
“Oh, damn!”
The boy he had seen at dawn was crossing the road with a herd of sheep. The tanks didn’t slow down. The boy waved his stick around desperately and shoved the sheep off the road.
“Damn b*stards!”
In the end, two sheep were crushed underneath the tanks’ wheels. The rows of tanks went by without a care. The crying boy looked miserable.
He recalled his childhood friend, Jang Suk, who had gotten into a car accident with an American Jeep while running downhill. Jang Suk had passed away, but there wasn’t any compensation. The police, who had come to investigate, had berated Jang Shin’s father about the accident instead. Another dirty world had appeared before him.
“Seems like the tanks have moved out from the borders. Well, his head should have exploded since the ammunition storage blew up. Try fighting to the best of your abilities.” Black Mamba smiled.
The fiercer they fought each other, the more advantageous it was for him.
The remains were barely three to 400 meters away from Bakri’s house. When the wind blew, an eerie sound echoed. There were no houses around the remains because there were rumors of ghosts haunting its surroundings.
The castle’s foundations were magnificent, but there were only remains of its walls. That was because the locals had taken the castle’s bricks.
The sunset settled over the eerie castle remains. The red sunset covering the yellow-brown remains was a ritual that had continued for 3,000-years. Everything that the old people had attempted to protect was buried over time. Like an ice-cream melting in the sunlight, it melted in time. Every gain and loss had turned into a handful of sand.
The passing sunset became even more colorful. Even the few pieces of cloud turned red.
“It’s good!”
Inexplicable feelings rushed over him. It was an ensemble of fragments of his past and nature. Whether humans fought or killed each other, nature remained in its place, and time passed without change. The winner and loser remained buried over time, like the castle’s remains.
He’d shoved the rescue transmitter between the cliff’s overhang, where it was unapproachable. He saw a man walking around the area where the rescue transmitter was. In the end, the man had given up and hidden since he couldn’t find the transmitter. He was a smart person.
The man was dressed similarly to him. He had on a tobe, but instead of a keffiyeh, he was wearing a wide-brimmed hunting hat. He was a person who didn’t want to reveal his face. Black Mamba slowly crept up behind him and said the secret code.
“How’s your olive farm this year?”
“Hic!”
Surprised, the man flew to his feet and shouted. Black Mamba fixed his initial impression of the man. This was a timid man. Ombuti had been calm even when he was threatened.
“How is your olive farm this year?” he asked again.
“The…the drought made it sweeter and reduced its bitterness.”
“The drought’s severe. Did the Euphrates River’s water level go down?”
“It went down to 45 percent. By next month, it’ll go down to two percent.”
The man’s eyes were darting around anxiously. Black Mamba stifled a smile at what looked to be a parody of Charlie Chaplin. 45 percent meant that his destination was 45 kilometers away. Two percent meant that the guide was alone.
“Did you not get the signal yesterday at dawn?”
“I did. I already arrived here yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
Black Mamba’s eyes flashed. His glare looked like that of a stabbing knife. The guide flinched and stepped back.
This b*stard’s strange.
Black Mamba’s brows twitched. Everyone got scared when they met his glare even if he didn’t exude bloodlust on purpose. The b*stard acted like an idiot, but his gaze was unwavering.
“Why appear now?”
The guide hesitated before answering.
“Your actions were very suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“Yesterday, I started from our meeting point, the Ennedi plains, and arrived at Gobelaka Village at 6:00 in the morning. You didn’t turn on the rescue transmitter. I searched the surrounding area in the harsh, cold winds. The rescue transmitter started signaling again in 22 hours.”
“So, you’re suspicious of me?”
There was silence.
Black Mamba’s eyes darkened. Some b*stards didn’t realize their position and overacted. The b*stard had misunderstood his position as the DGSE’s chief of strategies.
He didn’t suit the world of SPY. This type of person would build up many complaints within a period and were easily lured by the opposition’s deals. Either the DGSE had selected the wrong slipper, or he could be someone who was specifically trained to be a double agent.
Boom—
His dimensional sight activated. A cold feeling swept past the guide’s brain. His brain’s wavelengths were stable. His teacher would have been able to read the man’s thoughts with his sight of thoughts, but Black Mamba was at the level of reading wavelengths and physical abnormalities.
Well, I suppose he’s trustworthy since the DGSE has selected him through a lie detector test.
Black Mamba cleared his doubts. Once doubt started kicking in, there weren’t any limits. Human brains were imaginative. When doubt crossed a certain limit, it would start to create its own stories. In other words, he could become delusional.
“Foolish b*stard, you just need to complete the job that has been assigned. Since when did slippers interfere in a consultant’s main activities?”
Black Mamba’s rebuke was valid. A spy could be categorized into three types: An officer(Head of operations), agent(spy), or cut-offs(the connecting link between an officer and an agent).
Spies who specialized in destruction and murder like Black Mamba would be classified as consultants. Consultants had total control over their operations as they made the decisions. Slippers and moles were local spies. They were basically temporary workers. The man’s actions were like a temporary worker going against his boss.
“Th…that’s,” the man mumbled at Black Mamba’s words.
“Take off your hat.”
The man quietly took off his hat. He was a middle-aged Arab who had very dark skin.
“Do you have a vehicle?”
“No. We walk.”
“Ce mauvais!”
If he moved alone, never mind 45 kilometers, 450 kilometers wouldn’t even be a problem. However, if he moved with a b*stard who looked a little lacking, 45 kilometers would take the entire day.
Syria was France’s courtyard. Even if their relationship was bad, France had regulated it as a half-colony for a long time. Even Korea, which was in the same position, was overflowing with smart pro-Japan members. He exhaled a sigh at the thought of having such a stupid person as his guide. The guide looked around and asked Black Mamba.
“Are you alone?”
“Is there a problem?”
That wasn’t the type of question a slipper should be asking. Black Mamba found Bonipas pathetic for assigning him such a slipper. Well, the actual selection could have been reviewed by someone below a manager’s position.
When Black Mamba answered his question with another question, the guide’s face crumpled.
“I see!”
Black Mamba had no idea what he saw. He was getting more annoyed. Black Mamba seriously considered shoving the guy’s remains under the castle and getting Mohammad to be his guide.
“Your nickname?”
“Zaitun!”
“An olive? Ha!”
Zaitun meant olives. The guide had protruded cheekbones, a narrow forehead, and a pointed jaw. He was basically an olive.
Although an olive had many uses as a healthy ingredient and oil, it was treated lower than its branch and leaves, which was a symbol for victory and peace. The man looked like an olive, but his presence was like an olive too. Without realizing, Black Mamba laughed silently.
If Korea ever sends military aid to the Arab world, it should be named zaitun. It would symbolize power.
“There is no time,” Zaitun rushed him.
“Zaitun. How does a b*stard who doesn’t have time come without a bike? I already wasted a day waiting for you.”
“I had no choice since I had to avoid the Mukhabarat’s eyes.”
The b*stard became even more annoying the more they talked.
“Wait here.”
Black Mamba went down to Bakri’s house.
“Mohammad, can you get a bike?”
“There won’t be a problem, but there are more well-made bikes in the third division’s office,” Mohammad added his personal opinion.
“You’re just going to blame the Muslim Brotherhood for thefts like these?”
“Of course. That’s how the environment is. Their security is also a mess. Should I steal it?” Mohammad smiled.
The Muslim Sunni faction and the Orthodox Church had their roles reversed within a day. The Sunnis were currently unable to breathe and were laying flat on the ground. Mohammad’s liver had swelled since he last met Black Mamba.
“I can’t wait until nighttime. There’s not enough time.”
“Then use my bike, sir, even if it’s a bit old.”
Black Mamba pulled out a bunch of francs from his pocket.
[1] What? It’s the enemy!
[2] Aigoo, call the ambulance.
[3] “Stop that!”
[4] “Sorry, mister has to go somewhere.”
