The Middle East: From War Correspondent to Middle Eastern Influencer

Two of his men lost contact within half a minute, and the commander of the armed squad at the rear also realized something was wrong.

The commander reacted quickly, he rested his rifle on his shoulder, and tried to create distance and find cover.

Instead of firing blindly, he prepared to roar in order to call out to any other companions who might be wandering the nearby streets.

Just as he was about to speak!

A dark shadow surged out of the thick smoke like a ghost!

Wu Hen covered the eight-meter distance in less than a second and a half.

The commander felt a blur before his eyes, and then a strong smell of blood hit him.

He tried to pull the trigger in horror, but before his finger could exert force, Wu Hen had already crashed into his arms.

Wu Hen's left arm swept out, locking the commander's throat tightly.

The commander struggled frantically, trying to smash Wu Hen's arm with the butt of his rifle and stomp on Wu Hen's feet with his tactical boots, but with roughly equal force, the first strike gave him an absolute advantage.

Wu Hen's eyes showed no pity. He gripped the M9 bayonet, which was already stained with the blood of the two men, and aimed it at the commander's lower back, where his kidneys were located. He stabbed him three times without mercy.

"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!"

The sound of a blade cutting into flesh is somewhat pleasant.

The kidney was repeatedly punctured, causing unimaginable pain and extremely rapid internal bleeding.

The commander's struggle quickly subsided within seconds; his eyes bulged and eventually lost focus completely.

Wu Hen slowly released his left arm, letting the last enemy's corpse slide to the ground.

He stood there, his chest rising and falling slightly, greedily inhaling the air, his adrenaline slowly fading.

This is the law of survival on the battlefield: it's either you die or I die.

Kindness and hesitation are the greatest desecration of one's own life.

Wu Hen crouched down and began quickly looting the spoils.

This squad's equipment was indeed surprisingly abundant.

In addition to the AK-47s they were each holding, Wu Hen also found two more AK-47s tied with cloth strips on the backs of the commander and the scouts.

Judging from the appearance, the squad had already done some looting before entering the neighborhood, and these two extra rifles were clearly their spoils.

He skillfully removed the tactical chest rig from the corpse and pulled out the magazines one by one.

Wu Hen slung five rifles across his back, stuffed the magazines into his backpack and the pockets of his tactical vest, and walked toward Muhammad.

When Wuhen reappeared before Muhammad, Muhammad was so frightened that he almost pulled the trigger.

"O God..." Muhammad's eyes widened, "You killed them all?"

Wu Hen did not answer his pointless question.

He took the rifle off his back, threw two of them to Muhammad, and kicked them, along with three magazines, to his feet.

"Load the magazine and release the safety." Wu Hen skillfully inspected the newly captured rifle in his hand while looking up at the clearing in front of him where the thick smoke was gradually dissipating.

Night had fallen, but it was still possible to see a pickup truck parked in the distance. That must be the squad's vehicle, since he had just found a car key on the commander.

"Grab your guns and stand up," Wu Hen said, brushing the dust off his clothes. "We have a means of transportation now. Their squad's pickup truck is parked not far away."

With trembling hands, Muhammad gripped the two AK-47s.

He looked at the Chinese student who was nearly twenty years younger than him, and his eyes showed not only shock but also awe.

Wu Hen's calmness was chilling; he had just killed three people with his bare hands, yet he remained so composed.

"Listen, Muhammad." Wu Hen stuffed five magazines full of bullets into his tactical backpack and vest pockets, turned around and stared at him. "Although the gunfire outside is chaotic, this patrol team has lost contact and will be detected within ten minutes at most. That pickup truck is our only chance to leave this firefight zone alive. I'll be responsible for clearing out the remaining guards and providing cover fire. Your only task is to use this key to start the vehicle."

Wu Hen pulled a car key from his pocket; it was a trophy he had just taken from the commander whose kidney he had stabbed.

Muhammad took the key, his palms sweating, but he nodded vigorously: "I understand, Wu."

"Very good." Wu Hen raised the AK-47 in his hand. "Stay close to me, keep your footing light, and if you encounter enemies, hide."

The two walked out of the ruins, one after the other, under the cover of night.

After crossing two narrow alleys riddled with craters, the view ahead suddenly opened up.

It was a small square that had been half destroyed by bombing. On the other side of the square, there was a Toyota Hilux pickup truck with a desert camouflage paint job.

On the back of this pickup truck, which is hailed as a legendary vehicle on the Middle Eastern battlefield, is a DShK heavy machine gun welded in.

Wu Hen quickly leaned against a half-brick wall and peeked out to observe.

There were two armed men left behind next to the pickup truck.

One of them was leaning against the driver's side door with a cigarette in his mouth; the other was sitting on the back panel of the vehicle, holding an AKS-74U short assault rifle and fiddling with something.

"Two people, neither wearing heavy bulletproof vests, about forty meters apart," Wu Hen estimated in his mind.

He turned to Muhammad, who was barely daring to breathe, and said in a low voice, "I'll take care of the one by the door first. Once the gun goes off, the guy sitting in the cab will definitely try to find cover and fight back. I'll suppress him with fire. You take the opportunity to rush into the driver's cab as fast as you can and start the fire. Remember, don't hesitate!"

Muhammad gripped the car keys, swallowed hard, and nodded emphatically.

Wu Hen took a deep breath and rested the butt of his AK-47 against his right shoulder.

Slowly press the trigger with your finger.

"Bang!"

A crisp gunshot rang out in the square.

A burst of orange-red fire shot from the muzzle as the bullet precisely pierced the temple of the smoking gunman.

The man's head was as clear as a watermelon; the bullet pierced through it, and blood instantly stained the ground red.

"Enemy attack!"

Another armed man sitting at the back of the carriage reacted very quickly.

The moment his companion fell, he let out a terrified roar, tumbling off the truck bed and using the pickup truck as cover. He then unleashed a flurry of blind fire with his AKS-74U short assault rifle in the direction of the gunfire.

"Da da da da da!"

A hail of bullets pounded against the brick wall in front of Wu Hen, sending rubble and brick fragments flying everywhere.

"Run! Get in the car!" Wu Hen shouted.

At that moment, Muhammad displayed an astonishing will to survive. Like a mad boar, he leaped out from behind the cover, crouched low, and raced toward the driver's seat of the pickup truck.

To buy time for Muhammad, Wu Hen leaned out from the corner of the wall and pulled the trigger to suppress the enemy fire behind the pickup truck.

"Bang bang bang bang!"

Bullets struck the pickup truck's steel plates and the ground, sending sparks flying and forcing the guard to keep his head down.

Muhammad successfully rushed to the car door, pulled open the driver's side door, and scrambled inside. Trembling, he inserted the key into the ignition and turned it hard.

"Click! Click!" The starter motor emitted a hopeless, aimless whirring sound.

"Damn it! This junk car won't start!"