Bo Highway 334, roadside.
"Take it easy, King, don't hang up before you get the done."
The poet reclined in a ditch on the side of the road, watched the king with an explosive device on the road in the distance, put his head to the barrel of the X214 Nimigang machine gun, and lit the cigarette in his mouth.
As soon as he took a puff of smoke, the poet coughed violently, and coughed up blood in his mouth.
He wiped a handful of blood from the corner of his mouth and smiled.
"All right," said the king, stumbling back into the ditch, gasping for breath, and looking down at the wound in his abdomen, where the man had bandaged it, was bleeding again, and the wound was evidently split again.
"Fuck it hurts me," the king gasped, removing a ball of hemostatic cotton from his medical bag and stuffing it into a bandage.
"Ahh "Duke, give me half a morphine."
He tossed his medical kit to the Duke next to him, "Don't shoot too much, I'll be unable to shoot later." ” The Duke dragged his crippled leg to the king's side, took out a morphine needle from the medical kit, pinched off the vacuum tube, and gently stuck it on the king's thigh.
He carefully pushed the small half, and looked up at the king: "How is it enough" morphine This kind of thing, overdose will cause central nervous system paralysis, respiratory arrest and death, although the dose of this branch will not be fatal, but for people like the king with large wounds on his body, too much morphine injection can easily cause blood pressure to drop sharply, and the wound will bleed heavily and die.
"What the are you hurting" He put away the half of the morphine and carefully moved his leg, the slightest movement made him feel heartbreaking, and he couldn't help but bared his teeth.
"I don't know if it's because the entrails are finished, but I'm just inside and it's as bad as a garbage dump," the king took a few deep breaths of air, his expression relaxed, and the morphine obviously made him feel a lot less pain.
More than 30 meters away from the highway, several armed pickup trucks emitting black smoke and blazing were lying in the middle of the road, and a few charred corpses fell on the board of the pickup truck, which was burned into black charcoal.
This convoy was just ambushed by three people, and it was taken by surprise, all five pickup trucks were scrap metal, and none of the dozens of rebel soldiers on it survived, and now they are all roast pigs in the fire.
The air was filled with the smell of diesel fuel and the strange smell of barbecued meat.
"Ahem, have you made the explosive device?"
the poet was still coughing up blood, coughing, and asked the king, "we don't have much time" The king nodded weakly: "This is probably the last time I planted a bomb, and it is probably the best I have ever installed."
He pointed to the corpses and supplies strewn across the road, "Each corpse has a mine under it, and C4 is installed on the side of the road and in the middle of the road, which is enough to cover this 20-meter-long section." ” The Duke raised his head and glanced over there, and teased, "You're going to blow us up together."
The king glanced at the wound that was still bleeding, looked indifferent, and lowered his head to suppress the bullet: "In the situation of you and me, the poet, even if we don't die here, we won't survive the hospital and die." ” The poet coughed a few times, moved his waist, changed to a more comfortable position, and then glanced at his crotch, and said: "When I was fighting with those black-clothed soldiers in the woods, I thought my own little brother was also blown up, damn, this is the thing I am most proud of, but it's okay, at least I'm still intact now, and I'm going to go to hell."
The three of them fell silent, the cool morning breeze rustling through the treetops.
As the rainy season in Sierra Leone draws to a close, three months of heavy rains have filled the arid land with groundwater, and plant sprouts are stubbornly emerging from the roadside soil to embark on a new journey of life.
"Have you found the chief?"
asked the duke suddenly.
The king shook his head and continued to press the bullet, but his voice was much lower: "I can't find the truck burned to scrap iron, and the corpses are probably burned."
The poet looked at the Ural truck, which had been burned white in the distance, bowed his head and was silent for a moment, and suddenly said: "The best fate for a soldier is to be killed by the last bullet in the last battle" The duke was stunned for a moment, and suddenly laughed: "You're dying, you're still in such a mood to recite poetry."
The poet laughed along, his lungs pierced, and when he did, there was a hissing sound like pulling a bellows.
Laughing, he said seriously, "This is not poetry, this is what Barton said."
If we become mercenaries, sooner or later this will end up, and the best is this end."
After the king finished pressing the bullet, he looked up and said, "But this boy is still young, and I don't want him to die in this wilderness like us."
He pulled open one of his tactical packets, which was full of yellow chunky C4s, and he skillfully inserted detonators into these bombs, and made a double safe, connecting two detonators in different positions, so that no matter what happened, the explosion was ensured.
After picking up the detonator, he put the small bag aside, picked up the remote control in his hand and shook it: "Brothers, whoever survives to the end will be handed over to whoever this matter is."
Since we can't die in our own bed, we don't want to end up in the wilderness of dead bodies and being used as food by wild dogs. ” syllable The Duke stretched out his hand to grasp the King's remote control, and then the poet propped himself up and reached over.
The three hands were clasped together and shook vigorously.
Suddenly in the distance there was the sound of car wheels and the clatter of truck boards, and a new rebel convoy was coming along the road.
"Brothers, do it" the Duke let go of his hand and expertly picked up the 249 light machine gun. 214 Nimigang, this is a good machine gun, he used to laugh at the polar bear for spending more than 20,000 dollars to buy a guy that is so heavy that it can tire people to death, but today's battle made him realize the power of this perverted machine gun.
"Come on, you African Scouts" He spat out his burnt cigarette butt and muttered to himself, reciting a death hymn: The work of the world you have done Get paid and go home Talented and beautiful women, return to Huangquan together Princely scholars, thousands of industries Reduced to dust, there is no escape There is no need to worry about the enemy's criticism Thou hast read all thy joys, sorrows, and sorrows Infatuated men and women in the world and all shall return to dust as you are rumble A huge fire rose into the sky, and in the convoy, a huge fire rose into the sky.
The stumps of the rebel soldiers fell on the dusty road with screams, and the impact of the blast wave of explosives caused a landslide on the hillside next to the road, and the rolling stones and earth buried alive some of the soldiers who wanted to flee into the ditch.
"To hell with it," the three of them let out their final roar
.
: