God of Blackfield

“Captain.”

Kang Chan shot awake from his power nap at Seok Kang-Ho’s sudden call. Instead of verbally communicating, Seok Kang-Ho gestured with his chin to his left, where a cloud of dust was rising in the distance.

“We’ve got an unidentified vehicle approaching from our left,” an agent radioed in at the same time as Kang Chan looked over.

As Kang Chan stood up, the army interpreter relayed the agent’s words in Korean. Kang Chan raised his hand to his helmet.

“I want all snipers on standby. Those who are currently on break, head to our left,” Kang Chan commanded in French. The army interpreter immediately interpreted his orders in Korean.

“Guard this place,” Kang Chan ordered. “I’ll go take a look.”

“Got it,” Seok Kang-Ho replied.

Since predicting what would happen was impossible in situations like this, it wasn’t ideal to assign inexperienced men to important positions. Hence, he left Seok Kang-Ho in charge.

Kang Chan made his way to the area that the Foreign Legion’s special forces team was watching over.

The other soldiers were already on their way up the mountain.

The cloud of dust was about five kilometers away from the mountain. They were already so close that they should have already radioed in their affiliation and purpose. However, the special forces’ frequency remained dead silent.

Kang Chan quickly dashed up to a good vantage point and then looked back down.

Seeing three trails of dust, he assumed that the unidentified guests brought three vehicles with them. Considering there were two special forces holed up in this mountain, they were practically begging to be killed.

Kang Chan strode next to Choi Jong-Il and checked how many bullets were left in his gun’s magazine. He wouldn’t refuse the opportunity to eliminate idiots who were so desperate to die.

Those who would attempt to take the life of another should be prepared to put their own lives on the line in the process. In such battles, those who were stronger usually won. It was simply the natural order of things.

As Kang Chan checked his magazine, he heard clicking from all around him as the others examined their weapons as well.

“The vehicles have the Somalian flag and the Red Cross sign on them.”

The army interpreter quickly interpreted the French agent’s words into Korean.

Somalia was the most prominent anarchic country in Africa, yet the Somalian government was trying to make them believe that they had the power to protect these people? Even a passing hyena would burst out laughing if it heard about this bullshit.

Moreover, it was far too random for the Red Cross to appear out of nowhere and head to the special forces’ location. Although international organizations had a presence in this area, Kang Chan had never seen the Red Cross foolishly go out in the open with their flag waving behind them.ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ Noᴠᴇꜰɪre.nᴇt

Kang Chan raised his hand to his helmet.

“Roberre, head to the top and remain on standby when those people get close,” Kang Chan briskly ordered the army interpreter who could speak Somali. He had to be prepared for the off-chance that the approaching group only spoke that language.

“Yes, sir,” Roberre replied.

The vehicles had narrowed the distance between them and the mountain by two more kilometers. He still couldn’t do anything, though. He could protect hostages from insurgents all he wanted, but shooting government and Red Cross vehicles would be going too far.

‘No wonder I’ve been getting a bad feeling since this morning. Even though it’s still so early that I haven’t even had my first meal yet, I already have a pain in the ass to deal with.’

Kang Chan kept his eyes on the approaching group, which had reached the one-kilometer mark. They soon narrowed their distance from the mountain to less than a hundred meters.

Kang Chan raised his gun and aimed at the ground just a few feet ahead of the group. He had been in many situations where vehicles loaded with unimaginable amounts of explosives had rushed toward them the same way. Carrying the flag of a government alone didn’t make anyone trustworthy. If he or any of his men let their guard down and walked right up to those people, they would end up as proof of the mighty power of a suicide bomber.

This was Africa, where fake IDs that were incredibly hard to distinguish were produced right inside a literal dump. In this goddamn land, trusting any proof of identity was impossible.

If someone’s uniform fooled them enough to let the bastards get close, they would be ripped to shreds before they could even check if it was real or not.

He kept the muzzle of his gun pointed in front of the cars, firing a couple of warning shots only when they reached the bottom of the mountain.

The vehicles swiftly skidded to a halt when the bullets made the dirt around them spatter. The doors opened to reveal three white people and about a dozen black people in military uniforms. The black soldier from the car at the very front of their convoy raised his arms high and waved them in an intercrossed motion. He was telling them not to shoot.

Eight of the group started to walk toward where Kang Chan was. At this distance, even if the vehicles were loaded with explosives, it wouldn’t be all that dangerous if they were to explode.

“Roberre, come to the front. I want all snipers aiming at the vehicles. You have my permission to shoot as soon as you deem them a threat,” Kang Chan swiftly ordered.

Kang Chan stood up and walked over toward the strangers as his men radioed in affirmative responses. Roberre caught up to him on his way down.

The two trudged down the crumbling dirt of the mountain. When they reached the bottom, one of the black men began to address them with an awkward smile.

“He says they’re from their people’s leadership,” Roberre relayed, interpreting the man’s words into French.

Afterward, one of the white people asked Kang Chan a question in perfect French.

“Are you the commander of the South Korean special forces team?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?” Kang Chan responded.

“My name is Mike. I work for the Red Cross. We came here at the request of the UN to return the hostages you rescued to where they used to live,” Mike diplomatically said.

He smiled awkwardly when Kang Chan glared at him.

“Got any IDs with you?” Kang Chan asked, blatantly displaying his suspicions.

In response, the white man took out an ID that resembled a driver’s license from his pocket. On the front was his picture and name, and on the back was a bunch of English sentences.

“Mike?” Kang Chan questioned, reading the name on the card.

“That’s right,” Mike replied.

When Kang Chan returned the ID, one of the black government officials handed over an ID card next. As large as the palm of Kang Chan’s hand, it had a photo and a large seal stamped at the bottom-right side.

Kang Chan compared the man’s face with the one in the ID before returning it to him.

“How will you get them there?” Kang Chan asked.

“Our only option is by feet. Fortunately, all the insurgents who attacked yesterday have retreated from the area,” Mike answered.

Kang Chan was staring at Mike when the radio crackled again.

“The vehicles that left for the base are returning,” a soldier radioed in.

“Well, our breakfast just arrived. I’m going to eat before I decide,” Kang Chan then said.

“But we’re here on the request of the government and the Red Cross,” Mike protested.

“Mike. I make the decisions here,” Kang Chan firmly warned.

The white man tilted his head, his expression becoming disgruntled. The government official behind him said something, to which he replied with a stiff and curt tone. It sounded as if he was informing the official of what Kang Chan just said.

“Wait here,” Kang Chan instructed.

“All right,” Mike replied, not having much of a choice.

Mike glanced at Kang Chan’s gun once before turning to the official and talking to him.

Kang Chan turned around and headed back up the mountain with Roberre. It was only a short climb, so it didn’t take him too long to reach Choi Jong-Il, who was waiting for them.

“Keep an eye on those people down there. If they try to come up without permission, fire a warning shot at them and let me know immediately,” Kang Chan commanded.

After getting an affirmation from Choi Jong-Il, he made his way to Seok Kang-Ho, who was still standing guard at the top.

“What did he say?” Seok Kang-Ho asked, curiosity in his voice.

“They claim that they’re government officials and Red Cross employees. They want to take the hostages back to where they used to live,” Kang Chan replied.

Seok Kang-Ho looked suspiciously at where the French team was keeping watch. As he did, Gérard and Cha Dong-Gyun walked up to them.

“Command has just informed me that they requested assistance. They want us to hand over the hostages to them,” Gérard said, speaking up first.

“Is that so? Well, the people they sent over are already right over there. I guess there’s no reason to keep doubting their identity, then,” Kang Chan mused.

“It seems the UN has chosen to put a nice end to things rather than lose face,” Gérard remarked.

While they were talking, the soldiers carrying food in their hands finally reached the top.

“Focus on distributing the food for now,” Kang Chan directed.

“Got it,” Gérard replied. He made a gesture with his head and went inside the cave with Roberre.

As they left, Kang Chan interpreted what Gérard had just told him in Korean, getting Seok Kang-Ho up to date with what was going on.

“What’s the plan, then?” Seok Kang-Ho asked.

“Well, with all the evidence we just got, it just seems logical to trust them now, doesn’t it?” Kang Chan responded.

Seok Kang-Ho nodded.