Chapter 66: A Mad Dog in Sheep’s Clothing

Now the wealthy Madam Su was right in front of him—if he walked less than five hundred meters further into the village, he could save her. Xing Xiaolong couldn’t bring himself to give up this one and only chance.

It wasn’t just a vague sense of worry that weighed on him, but also a profound guilt. Madam Su had already purchased her plane ticket out of the country; it was only because she waited for Xing Xiaolong to get his visa that she canceled her flight so they could leave together. If Su Dayu hadn’t canceled her flight, she would have arrived at the southern farm more than half a month ago, would have avoided the crash, and never would have ended up in the hands of armed militants. Xing Xiaolong had always felt that it was his involvement that had led to her misfortune.

If he couldn’t rescue Su Dayu, if he let fear get the better of him and simply ran away, he knew he would regret it for the rest of his days—his life would be haunted by remorse and repression.

One must know gratitude and repay kindness—

This was what his grandfather, the old village chief—learned, generous, and deeply respected—had taught him since he was a boy. Twenty years later, the lesson was etched into Xing Xiaolong’s heart, a line he had never once crossed, not for a moment.

At the very instant when the main character was about to give up, perhaps it was the crushing psychological pressure that sparked a miracle. Inspiration flashed through Xing Xiaolong’s mind, and he found the one sliver of hope in a desperate situation.

“We can wait. There’s no need to rush out of here. The anti-government guerrillas might actually help us, if only we seize the right moment.”

All the PMCs present were elite, their minds sharp as razors. Xing Xiaolong’s brief suggestion was all they needed to grasp his idea.

Yes—wait!

The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind; let others fight, and swoop in to reap the reward—this was their last, slim chance to turn the tables.

“If the anti-government fighters do show up, that’s our opportunity. When the shooting starts, we use our small, elite squad’s strengths—slip in during the chaos, get inside, and extract our person.”

Tiger, who looked like a rampaging bear, was in fact sharp as a tack. With Xing Xiaolong’s prompt, he immediately mapped out the whole process.

“Ura! Ura!”

Having decided to risk everything, Tiger let out a deep, guttural cheer in Russian, rousing the squad’s spirits, then issued new orders.

The squad scattered, each member seeking concealment as required by the mission.

...

From the only road leading into the village, the sudden roar of a monstrous engine forced Tiger’s PMC group to halt, abandon their second rescue plan, and hide in the village to enact a third, improvised one.

The three armed groups that until now had maintained a fragile peace—while secretly keeping each other in check—were all startled by the commotion.

—

A metallic screech, then a bang!

On the outer perimeter, two peacekeeping armored vehicles popped open their hatches, and white-helmeted soldiers began to emerge, faces grim, hands tight on their rifles as they watched the bend in the highway a few hundred meters away.

The engine of the “Rattlesnake” armored reconnaissance vehicle at the village entrance coughed to life, howling as if calling out to its approaching companions.

The government troops’ armored vehicles sprang to action, and the rising din from the distance roused the local Kaso tribal fighters inside the village—some drowsing, some sprawled in the grass-roofed shelter—bringing them stumbling to their feet. But these Kaso militiamen hadn’t even wiped the sleep from their eyes...

Suddenly, without warning, the Rattlesnake’s 90mm H90 turret snapped around and fired at the large grass shelter to the right.

A deafening explosion. Flames shot skyward. There wasn’t even time for screams.

The shelter on the right—gone.

The six Kaso fighters inside it were blown away with the building, leaving only a crater several meters wide.

And that was just the beginning.

The fighters in the left shelter, watching their comrades across the road vanish in an instant, erupted in panic and rage, screaming in terror. But before they could even raise their weapons, the Rattlesnake’s 12.7mm heavy machine gun unleashed a torrent of fire.

A meter-long tongue of flame spat from the barrel; heavy rounds thudded into the shelter like a rain of death.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump...

The machine gun roared, the large-caliber rounds tore through flesh and bone, mangled limbs flew through the air, blood mixed with the dying screams and soaked the dawn.

A single clear drop of dew, formed on the branches at the village entrance, fell to the ground, shattering into a delicate spray—like a sprite ushering in the dawn.

At that very moment, the heavy machine gun fell silent, leaving only a curl of smoke drifting from the muzzle.

—

Compared to the right-side shelter, which had simply ceased to exist, the left was turned into a vision of hell—shreds of flesh and splattered blood clung for meters in every direction, the stench of death thickening the air.

Such was the terror of overwhelming firepower—utter devastation.

Stunned by the government forces’ sudden violence, the peacekeepers snapped to combat readiness, shifting their focus from the incoming convoy back to the Rattlesnake at the entrance, wary of being ambushed next.

Fortunately, their fears were unfounded.

The government troops, having abruptly wiped out the twelve Kaso tribal fighters at the village gate, made no further move—only trained their guns on the awakening village, where the first villagers were beginning to appear.

They waited for the rest of their convoy to arrive before taking the next step.

Tiger, Black Fox, and the other PMCs watched with grave faces, inwardly scorning such slaughter of their own people. It defied the very reason soldiers existed. They had once been the best soldiers themselves—and now were among the best PMCs.

Still, their scorn was all they felt—there was no sympathy, and certainly no urge to intervene.

After so long in the private military world, they had seen every kind of evil, witnessed darkness in all its forms, and their capacity for compassion had grown numb. Only a final thread of “love and perseverance” kept their hearts anchored.

Take, for instance, the bald-headed African sniper—he risked his life with every mission, not for glory, but so his wife and daughter might have a better life. That was a man’s duty—the pillar of the family.

“A pack of mad dogs in sheep’s clothing!”

For Xing Xiaolong, experiencing the chaos of a real battlefield for the first time, it was shocking to see the government forces—supposedly the people’s protectors—slaughtering their own citizens without trial or justification.

They killed as they pleased, no explanations given.

As a former soldier, Xing Xiaolong simply couldn’t comprehend it. He could not fathom that such lawless brutes were the nation’s official army.

But this was only the beginning.

What followed in the Kaso tribe—the gruesome brutality that shattered every convention—would forever change Xing Xiaolong’s understanding of the world.