Mercenary Black Mamba

Chapter 84 - Death is a Mercenarys Friend

Chapter 84: Chapter 12, Episode 4: Death is a Mercenary’s Friend

Having caught a large fish, Ombuti felt extremely happy.

It was Allah’s benevolence and Wakil’s protection.

“Allah hu ekbar, what is your rank?”

“...”

Ahmud refused to open his mouth.

His current situation, where he was under hostage by an old mercenary, left him in disbelief of his reality.

“You should reply when I ask. If you meet my master, you’ll see your skin and blood and brain be broken into pieces with your own eyes.”

“...”

“Hehe, you want to know who my master is? I’ll tell you without ripping you off of 500 francs. My master is the person you all call Kanma.”

Ombuti kept playing around.

“Ah, Ka-Kanma!”

Shocked, Ahmud began to scream. Ahmud’s mouth, which had refused to open the entire time, let out a scream.

Ombuti felt proud of himself.

A person had to be well-off first. His Wakil had taught him a Korean saying that tigers left their hides and humans left their teeth behind when they died. A FROLINAT commander had nearly fainted at just the name of his master, so he felt proud. A servant was well-off when his master was well-off. That was the tradition of Tuaregs.

Blood drained from Ahmud’s face.

“Is it true?”

Ombuti lifted his chin and announced proudly, “You b*stard, why would I lie about this? I swear to Allah that I, Ombuti, am his servant.”

It was true. There was no reason for an old Tuareg warrior to lie to a hostage.

“Then are you a part of the Ratel special forces?”

Ahmud stared at Ombuti as though he was doubting him.

“Mmhm, were you raised as a fool? Who are you?”

Ahmud hesitated for a moment before sighing out loud.

“Haaa, I’m done for.”

It was over. The Tuareg Tribe was known for taking revenge. There were over tens of Tuareg Tribes he had wiped out, so there was no way the old Tuareg warrior would leave him alive. He was, after all, a commander. Since he was going to die anyway, he wanted to die a commander. He looked up at the sky, which was beginning to glow blue.

The past days had swept by over his head.

‘Is this the end of me, Colonel Halami Ahmud, who used to treat the entire Sahel like his living room?’

Regret passed through Ahmud’s eyes.

“I’m Ahmud.”

“What? You’re Halami Ahmud?”

Ombuti’s dark eyes widened. He couldn’t believe that Sahel’s rule-breaker, Ahmud, had been hiding underneath the ground like a cockroach. This wasn’t some large fish, this was THE fish.

Ahmud nodded without a word. He turned towards the corpse on the ground that’d had half of its neck cut through.

“He’s my subordinate. He was loyal, but he’s dead now.”

He spoke as though his dog he had been raising had died.

Ombuti felt disgusted.

He didn’t know what Ahmud looked like. He had heard many rumors that he was indifferent and opportunistic. Considering his tone and personality, it seemed that this truly was him.

“The nickname of the lawless one of Sahel is wasted on you. You’re a cockroach. I’ll let you meet my master who you must want to see.”

Ombuti dragged Ahmud to the camp. Torture was the mercenaries’ job. Even if he did resist, he wouldn’t last a minute the moment his Wakil picked up a stick.

“Wait, I don’t see Ombuti,” Jang Shin shouted.

Everyone’s minds had escaped them after the battle and the deaths of their comrades.

“Is he dead?” Mike commented rudely before flinching and turning to look at Black Mamba.

“Don’t worry. He’s dragging over a hostage.”

“Huh, hostage? Why’s he dragging it over? He should have just shot it dead,” Mike complained.

“There he is.”

Everyone’s heads turned around at Burimer’s words.

Ombuti was climbing over the dunes with a 40-year-old uniformed man at the forefront.

“Wakil, I’ve returned,” Ombuti reported as though he had only left to catch a hostage.

“Ombuti, you should be reporting to the captain.”

At Burimer’s words, the captain waved his hands.

“It’s fine. Ombuti isn’t my subordinate, but Black Mamba’s servant. Why did you drag a hostage over? They’re difficult to get rid of.”

Ombuti smiled meaningfully.

“If you knew who he was, captain, you wouldn’t be able to say that.”

“What, is he Commander Ahmud of the third army or something?”

“Yes. He is that very Ahmud. This is Colonel Halami Ahmud of the FROLINAT’s best army, the third army’s commander,” Ombuti boasted.

“What?!”

All the mercenaries drew in sharp breaths.

“He’s the b*stard who ran away like a cockroach every single time. I see you’ve managed to survive the battle of Coromunga’s command post,” Black Mamba said chillingly.

Ahmud’s gaze was pinned on Black Mamba.

The one who had mentioned Coromunga was the Kanma. Fear overwhelmed his grudge. He couldn’t see his face very well due to the head wrap, but aside from his built body, he couldn’t find anything different from an average person. He sucked in his lower belly. He had nothing to fear since he was going to die anyway.

Burimer immediately took out a photo from his chest pocket.

With deep eyes and a high nose bridge, thick horizontal brows and high protruding cheekbones, even though there was sand sticking to his face from the sweat, it was enough to confirm his status.

“His is Halami Ahmud.”

“He’s perfect as the sacrifice for Chartres’ funeral.”

Ahmud’s face creased heavily. He understood French. The blood lust carried across each word pressed his heart down. As expected of Kanma. A chill ran across his entire body, his skin prickling as though it was being poked by needles.

“I didn’t lose to you guys. I lost to the Kanma.”

Ombuti translated Ahmud’s words.

“Dude, we all know that. Tie him up. We’ll interrogate him after we finish our comrades’ funeral.”

At the captain’s words, Jang Shin immediately tied him up into a cocoon and shoved him in a corner.

“He might try to off himself.”

At Mike’s suggestion, Jang Shin shoved an M60 bullet in his mouth and sealed it closed with rounds of tape.

Ahmud glared at Mike with dissatisfaction in his eyes, earning strong kicks. This time, no one stopped Mike.

“Burimer, let’s say our farewells to our comrades who have headed home ahead of us.”

“Yes, let’s. The priest is unique, and the prayer even more so, but it would be hard to find a priest better than him in the Sahel.”

“Of course. And the Angel of Death, Black Mamba, is perfect to host the wake.”

Three more graves were added to the rough and desolate desert for Chartres, Miguel, and Mouris. Six mercenary survivors and one old Tuareg warrior surrounded the graves.

The fake priest, Black Mamba, began to sing a prayer in front of the graves.

For a human who had killed thousands to sing a prayer for the dead, it was a lame joke, but what else could they do? There was no one closer to a priest than Black Mamba.

“....Namussangjusibangbul namussangjusibangbub namussangjusibangseung—”

The song, which dragged on as if to no end, finally ended.

Black Mamba said the farewells for the team as the representative.

“Chartres, Miguel, Mouris, rest in peace. I will not forget those who have pushed you into your unfortunate deaths. I will swear on my name as Black Mamba to ensure your families are fine. May there be protection on your corpses, and may there be peace on your souls.”

Next, the captain stepped up.

“My close comrades, Chartres, Miguel, and Mouris, I promise you the same thing Black Mamba did. I will ensure that the rest of the team returns alive. I will shatter the chins of those who sold you. Salute!”

Jang Shin and Emil raised their guns.

“Fire!”

Bang— Bang—

“Salute, Fire!”

Bang— Bang—

Crash—

A large rock fell in front of the graves and caused the ground to shake.

Black Mamba lowered the rock then shook his hands off.

“What-what are you doing?” Mike shouted as he leaped up from his seat.

It was a long rock that weighed around a ton.

“It’s a tombstone.”

Fourteen lost eyes looked between Black Mamba and the rock.

“A tombstone?”

“Don’t you know what a tombstone is? Zeolite, ze-o-lite!”

Mike’s question was regarding the stone itself, as Black Mamba had only revealed its purpose. Jang Shin and Emil choked on their laughter. Mike was far from forgiven by Black Mamba.

A high-rank master in a martial arts novel would have sliced the rock in two with his palm, but that was an impossible story in reality. Instead, Black Mamba pulled out his Kukri and activated his inner wavelength. The knife’s blade began to tremble ominously.

He abandoned all of his complicated thoughts.

He filled up his empty headspace with nothing but the desire to cut the rock.

‘Slice! Slice!”

Schink—

The Kukri slid across the rock’s surface in an indisputable second.

“Wow!”

The mercenaries, who were watching with bated breath, exclaimed. The rock had been sliced open as though a reaper had sawed through a wheat stalk. It was a magical scene that couldn’t be seen anywhere else. With a few more strokes of the knife, an even surface was made.

“Ugh, this isn’t something to play around with.”

Black Mamba sat on the floor after his muscles lost their strength.

His strength had left him after a few strokes of the knife. His muscles, unable to stand a pressure higher than their average output, flopped out powerlessly.

Even a horse’s muscles would have had a hard time withstanding the wavelengths.

His determination to write a lengthy memorial epitaph disappeared like expelled gas. He barely managed to write the following with the remaining wavelengths in his blade: ”H. Chartres. Mouris. Miguel rests here. -B.F. Mussang-”

He had shortened the number of letters as much as possible, to the point that he shortened the H for Hakam and Huang, with an “H.” He was out of strength.

It was a rock he had placed for a bit of fun. He would have never anticipated the catastrophe the rock would bring about in the future.

“Captain, the b*stard is Colonel Ahmud. The situation isn’t good,” Burimer reported to the Captain after interrogating Ahmud.

“There’s no situation to worsen. All we have to find out is where they’re stationed and what Habib is thinking.”

“The FROLINAT is currently having an inner conflict between the doves and hawks. The hawk faction that had been in power is apparently breaking apart. Goukouni had gone into hiding, and Habib has suffered great losses from us, causing a decrease in lead.”

“Then isn’t that good news?”

“The pride of the upper FROLINAT echelon has suffered, so council member Tombye ordered a full-force mobilization. They have blocked the southern route with three thousand additional reinforcements who are stationed down in Tibesti. Tombye and Romu’s combined forces of a thousand are after us.”

The mercenaries who had been listening in felt their expressions become devastated.

The fact that three thousand had been added to the Kanem and Borkou provinces meant that the FROLINAT had mobilized their entire force.

“Damn, did we act up too much?”

The captain’s gaze swung towards Black Mamba.

“We killed the b*stards who come. So we’ll also kill the b*stards who block our path.”

“Ha, good to know it’s that simple.”

A smile rose on the captain’s face. It was something only the undefeatable Black Mamba would say.

“Ombuti, figure out Habib’s location from him,” Black Mamba said suddenly.

He was determined to see to Habib himself. He was someone who was harmful in existence, even before being the culprit of his comrades’ deaths.

Joy bloomed on Ombuti’s face.

This was it. This was the reason why he had dragged Ahmud, to find the location of Habib. His Wakil hadn’t forgotten what he had said in passing.

“I’ve already checked. He lives in a mansion in Paya. I’ve also figured out the location of his mansion.”

“Good!”

“And how did they gain our information?”

“Ahmud received his information from Habib. He doesn’t know anything else aside from the reports he received from his sentry units.”

“He’s no use then.”

Mike pulled out his firearm.

“Captain, should I kill him?”

“No, treat me like a prisoner!” Ahmud screamed, noticing the intent.

“Ombuti, what is he saying?” asked the captain.

“He’s asking to be treated like a prisoner.”

“Hahahaha!”

The mercenaries laughed. For the very person who had killed four of their own to request to be treated like a prisoner, it was a funny joke. There wasn’t a clause regarding the treatment of prisoners, even in the Geneva Agreement.

“Wait, he’s the one who annoyed us and ate up four of our own, isn’t he? Then I’ll use him as a sacrifice.”

When Black Mamba stood up, Mike placed his gun back inside its holder without a word. When Black Mamba approached, Ahmud’s face turned blue. It was the Kanma who was rumored to rip skin apart with his bare hands and drink brain fluid. Even if he died, he didn’t want to die like that.

“Wakil, why would an honorable one like you dirty your hands with a cockroach? Please, let your servant catch such things.”

Ombuti looked at Black Mamba with pleading eyes.

Ahmud wasn’t Ombuti’s direct target of revenge, but his army had destroyed tens of villages and killed their people. He was the enemy of his tribe.