Mercenary Black Mamba

The Minimi was a light machine gun developed by the FN company in 1980. At 7 kilograms, it had great mobility. It could pour out 1000 shots at 1000 meters with 5.56-millimeter Nato ammunition. It was a monster complementary to the Black Mamba's strengths. Emil abandoned his Epal and took up the Minimi to support Black Mamba.

Emil's decision was sound. When he took up the Minimi, the sniper's lack of gunfire became sufficient. The machine gun and sniper's combined attack would bring about the greatest results.

"Sniper here. We're approaching the hiding place. Machine gunner at the 7th line, 12 o'clock."

Pahali's directions were heard clearly. Black Mamba was impressed. They were truly keen opponents.

The guerrillas were initially the first targets, but they disappeared from the scope's frame like water through sand. It was a surprising reaction.

Crash— Bang— Tatataata— Bullets were imbedded in obscured spots as the sound of a machine gun rang out in the area.

"Ping!"

Emil lowered his head in a hurry. He had only managed to hit two people before the enemy could see the smoke from firing his weapon. His plan to clean up outside of the range of gunfire was now useless.

"Black, be careful. They have a machine gun."

"Stop worrying about me and hide in your shell."

Blue shadows flashed in his scope's view continuously. He made fast movements to avoid being a sniper's target.

"As expected of Black Mamba!" Emil murmured.

Despite their clever hiding spots, his targets disappeared one by one. It was their misfortune to have met Black Mamba. He had an instinct for marking his opponent's position in 0.3 seconds and using his impressive sight. There was no way to hide from him.

"What an opponent!" Pahali exclaimed.

His subordinates were exposed and had been shot down without a misfire. They had been specially trained by a North Korean instructor for a year. His insides burned at the misfortune.

"Machine guns! Cover the range and close the distance!"

They had to get near the Black Mamba to catch him. The guerrillas received the command and approached him under the protection of the machine guns.

Black Mamba changed his position in response to their approach on both sides. While Pahila got 200 meters closer, eight of his men succumbed to sniper's shots. The angered guerrillas poured a barrage of bullets from their Minimi machine guns.

Their battleground was now 300 meters. Black Mamba got rid of his scope because it limited his view. His opponent's actions were sly. He changed tactics. He planned to use well-placed shots to threaten his opponents into revealing their positions.

Uldi Hamarl was a dry valley without trees. Although there were plenty of crevices to hide one's body, it had mostly smooth terrain. The guerrillas climbed over those crevices like monkeys. It was as if lizards had gained claws.

Clang clang— A broken piece of stone tore his cheek. Black Mamba didn't move. He focused on the movements of the guerrillas. Two, three seconds passed. He could see one guerrilla taking the roundabout route to the right.

"You're dead!"

Black Mamba waited with his sight to the left of the rock. Bam— the face of the guerrilla, who had been leveling his gun barrel, exploded. This was the most fearsome part of spatial perception. An opponent that had been in Black Mama's sight had no way of escaping from death.

The moment the guerrillas moved from their positions to shoot, they were hit by bullets and fell to the ground. It was their fate to never understand why they fell.

Mustafa Pahali gritted his teeth.

"Why is that crazy bastard down here?"

He was frustrated to think that a special sniper would be at such a terrain where there was no cover.

Over half of the 22 soldiers, who had entrusted their lives to their god, were dead. He could not approximate how many snipers remained undercover. That was because Black Mamba had been moving his position now and then. When the distance between the first shooting point and the second shooting point was several meters apart, no one would think both shots were fired from the same person.

To Pahali, this place was like his backyard, as he was born and raised here. He had even found a secret tunnel, when he was little, after chasing after a goat that allowed him to cross the valley. He had been certain of his victory. Until he met that damned sniper.

Thirteen of his comrades had been shot by that sniper. His subordinates were scattered, pierced by fear. They couldn't attack together because there was a machine gunner on the seventh line, too.

"Conceal yourselves!"

Pahali shouted. Their attack on the rear had failed. He had lost subordinates needlessly. He had attempted to create a free-for-all, but that was thwarted because of that devil-like sniper. It made his teeth chatter.

Pahali chose to wage a perpetual war. Simply holding the snipers in place was enough to aid their main attack forces.

The gunfire that had been continuously ringing stopped. As if they had been waiting, loud sounds of gunfire and explosions tore through the night air from the front lines. Black Mamba felt impatient. They couldn't withstand a mass attack. When the grand guerrilla forces swarmed in, enhanced by adrenaline, his teammates were going to be in danger.

"Emil, how many have you caught?"

"Barely two. They're faster than the squirrels at Mt. Cinto."

"I've caught twelve. They're well-trained. They've gone into hiding."

"What are you going to do?"

"Hide. I'm going groundhog hunting."

"That's not a good decision."

"I'm worried about the front lines. They need reinforcements, fast."

"Be careful of friends."

Emil couldn't stop Black Mamba. He trusted his friends' battle strength, but they weren't enough to stop a larger army. Without Black Mamba, it was going to be hard to stop the onslaught.

Black Mamba hid his Dragunov between the rocks and pulled out Famas from his backpack. At close-range, the Famas was the best choice with its compact shape and better firing rate. Along with four Famas magazines and three Glocks, he checked his kukri and dagger.

Black Mamba slid down from his rock like a snake. Emil's night-vision device tracked Black Mamba's movements. He could see his partner sliding down a steep surface in a zig-zag pattern.

"Turns out he's a sidewinder, not Black Mamba," Emil chuckled.

He grasped his Minimi again. It was time to watch Black Mamba's back.

Tutatatata— Emil began his warning shots. Black Mamba rushed down the edge on four limbs. Every time his muscles pounded the earth, white dust rose into the air.

"That's him. Catch him."

Pahali was astonished as he witnessed Black Mamba rush down. A sniper who rushed headfirst into enemy lines was unheard of. A sniper in hiding was more terrifying than a sniper in plain view. The guerrillas who were ready for revenge shot at once.

But Emil was not an average machine gunner. He was a sniping machine gunner. He located the most threatening attacks on Black Mamba and directed his shots there.

"Argh!"

The guerrilla who had been aiming at Black Mamba's back shouted. Blood ran down his clothes.

Having not seen that guerilla on his radar, Black Mamba, frightened, flung his body behind a rock. The guerrilla had been 100 meters ahead of his comrades. He, too, had special abilities. He had no life force in his body, just like a corpse, and had gone unnoticed.

If it had not been for Emil, Black Mamba would have been dead, being served meals only three times a year to his shrine. He felt like treating Emil to another bottle in gratitude once they returned to headquarters.

"Sh*t!" Black Mamba shouted.

In the armor was not a corpse but a bunch of dirt. The dead guerrilla had plastered sand all over himself aside from his eyes. He had held a mouthguard and had plastered mud all over that, too. Now he could understand why he felt no life force. These people were familiar with the terrain and had lots of battle experience. They were of a different caliber than the guerrillas he faced earlier that evening.

Totatatata— A machine gun exploded into action below the cliff. Emil's machine gunfire quelled. It had been subdued by the opponent's fire.

Black Mamba silently calmed his mind and released his senses. Whoosh— His heart resounded. His resonance scoured 30 meters, 50 meters, and 100 meters of land. It became more difficult to control his senses the more area he covered.

Living beings in a 100-meter vicinity appeared on his radar. He immediately dismissed the beings with a weak life force. The guerrillas in hiding appeared more clearly.

There were eight remaining members, and the nearest one in hiding was a machine gunner 12 meters ahead of him, under a rock. The Degtyarev was dangerous to Emil and therefore became his first target. The moment he attempted to move, the enemy opened fire once more.

Kakakaka—

Tutatatata—

The dry sound of an AK47 and its bullets resounded. Above the valley, Emil's Minimi started its counterattack with a heavy blast. He provided cover with the danger of being aimed at. They truly were formidable opponents.

Black Mamba threw a stone 10 meters ahead of him. It was a traditional method.

Kakaka—

The moment they opened fire on that spot, he threw his body, jumping across 12 meters at once.

"Ugk!"

The infantryman beside the gunner shouted when he saw Black Mamba attack them from the sky. The Famas opened fire in mid-air.

Bang—

Before the surprised look on their faces could disappear, he put holes in their foreheads. Black Mamba twisted his body like a cat and landed, immediately rolling behind a boulder. Gunfire opened on the place he was a second before.

'Ugh!'

What awaited Black Mamba between the boulder was a rattlesnake. The surprised snake shot forward like a dragon and attacked him. Similarly surprised, he shoved the barrel of his Famas in its mouth and pinned its head with the blade in his glove.

The rattlesnake twitched on the ground.

"You damned thing, you now have a horn. Think of yourself as a dragon and thank me in your afterlife."

If the rattlesnake had heard him, it would have been outraged. That was not something that an intruder in its home should say.

"And what is this?"

A scorpion approached slowly with its poisonous rear raised. He crushed the scorpion under his boots. It would have been even more aggravating for the rattlesnake whose prey had been that very scorpion. The rule of nature was the survival of the fittest.

Black Mamba wiped his cold sweat. This was a strange variable possible only in a real-life situation. A single mistake, and he would have been bitten by the rattlesnake. This was an empty land without a hospital or community. He didn't die from the scorpion's poison, but his skills lagged slightly.

His enemies were not only the guerrillas. This was not a scenic place nor a bedded ground, and it had a harsh climate with bloodthirsty animals and insects.

The gunfire and explosions from the front lines began to grow harsher in sound. Black Mamba felt impatient. He had to finish this and help his teammates.

He decided on close combat. He lowered his Famas and inserted a suppressor to the Glock. He held kukri in one hand and the Glock in the other.

This was the beginning of his attack. The kukri was a dagger that was curved about five degrees to its blade. There was a long sword variation, but it was mostly used as a dagger. When piercing or swinging it, the weight leaned towards the end of the blade's edge so that it held more power when swung. It was similar to the ax he had used in Bangtaesan.

He had found the kukri at a market in Saint-Ouen, Paris. An aura of bloodlust had been emanating from the dagger. It was not one of those copies. Black Mamba had purchased the dagger, without bargaining, for 4000 francs.

Before he had purchased the kukri, he had bought white gold steel at Ajaccio. Although it had looked nice, it was worthless in battle. There was no frame, and it was too light. A blade without a frame was bound to be stuck it the thing it strikes. It was for one-time use only. Something a noble of the Joseon Era would use as a trinket.

The kukri he bought was 1.2 kilograms, and the blade alone was at 30 centimeters long. An average sword was around 1 kilogram. The kukri was too extravagant to be called a dagger.

He had never used it after he bought it. The sensation of its heaviness and comfortable grip cooled down his overheated emotions.

He had not learned any weapons from his teacher, but the Krav Maga he had learned from Pief was enough. His built body and nature of his senses made the sword in his hands a deadly weapon. He used the 36 joint training as his sword technique.

A sword was different from a gun. When a sword was in his grip, he could feel the tension and the battle's bloodlust spreading around him. His head became clear like the autumn's skies. It was time to bathe in blood.