The Middle East: From War Correspondent to Middle Eastern Influencer

Wu Hen didn't rush to grab the gun; instead, a bulky object placed on a stand caught his attention.

It was a sturdy cylinder painted in dark green, with a rectangular instrument box attached to the back, covered with various optical lenses and buttons.

Victor grinned. "What? You've got your eye on it?"

Wu Hen slowly approached, his eyes gleaming with an undisguised fervor.

Although he had only seen it in military magazines and games before, he recognized the killing machine at a glance.

FGM-148 anti-tank missile!

This is a true weapon of mass destruction on the battlefield, a nightmare for modern armored vehicles.

"A CLU (Command Launch Unit) with thermal imaging, a tandem shaped charge warhead, and a fire-and-forget top-attack mode." Wu Hen muttered to himself, his fingers tracing the cold edge of the launch tube. "Once this thing locks onto you, even a Russian T-72 main battle tank would have to be careful. You guys actually managed to get your hands on a strategic weapon of this caliber?"

"The conglomerate's strength is far greater than you imagine," Viktor said with a hint of self-assurance. "However, kid, you can only look at this thing. Not to mention that it's so heavy that you can't carry it fast, the cost of just this one missile is equivalent to the $80,000 intelligence fee you negotiated today. This is not within the scope of your advance payment."

Wu Hen nodded, reluctantly turning his gaze away. He knew, of course, that White Wolf couldn't possibly hand over such a powerful weapon to him, but at least he now knew just how formidable Gray Wolf's trump card was.

He turned around and walked towards the row of assault rifles. The AK was good, but he still wanted a more reliable weapon.

Ultimately, Wu Hen skipped the flashy SCARs and chose an M4A1 carbine.

The gun has a desert camouflage finish, is equipped with a PEQ-15 laser pointer and a tactical flashlight, has a holographic sight on the top of the receiver, and a KAC quick-release suppressor screwed onto the muzzle.

Wu Hen skillfully removed the magazine, pulled the bolt, checked the ejection port, and listened to the crisp sound of the recoil spring returning to its original position. He nodded in satisfaction. This gun had excellent balance and was very suitable for short to medium-range combat.

He then took four full magazines, several M67 fragmentation grenades, and two stun grenades from the shelf and stuffed them into the pocket of his tactical vest. Finally, he chose a SIG P226 pistol as his secondary weapon and tucked it into the holster on his outside thigh.

"Where are the night vision goggles?" Wu Hen, fully armed, turned to look at Viktor.

Victor tossed over a black, waterproof, shockproof Perricone case.

Wu Hen caught it steadily and opened the buckle.

The box contained three AN/PVS-14 monocular night vision goggles, along with helmet tipping frames.

The technology of third-generation micro-light tubes is sufficient for this era.

"Not bad equipment," Wu Hen closed the box, picked it up, and was wearing an M4A1 slung across his body, a P226 pistol tucked into his thigh, grenades in his pocket, and a tactical vest around his waist. He had certainly made a good haul.

Viktor whistled: "Not bad, but this outfit makes you a walking target in Benghazi. Listen, kid, if you walk out the door in this, even the opposition patrol will try to snipe you from behind for this M4. Either you're strong enough that no one dares to touch you, or you're bad enough that no one wants to deal with you. You're in the most dangerous and awkward middle ground right now."

"Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Victor." Wu Hen pushed open the door and came out.

He certainly knew the principle of not flaunting one's wealth.

By the time they returned to the pickup truck's hiding place, night had completely engulfed Benghazi.

The diesel engine had long since cooled down, and Muhammad, like a startled quail, huddled under the passenger seat, clutching his AK-47 tightly.

Hearing the noise, he pushed open the car door, and the muzzle of the gun almost poked Wu Hen's nose.

"It's me." Wu Hen pressed the barrel of the gun and then got into the driver's seat.

"God bless you, Wu, you're finally back!" Muhammad breathed a sigh of relief. "They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"We made a deal." Wu Hen didn't go into details, but simply started the engine.

The pickup truck drove back to the temporary base, and a series of dark figures emerged from the shadows.

"It's me, Uncle Muhammad!"

It's Alibaba's voice.

Wu Hen turned off the engine and opened the car door.

Ali was sweating profusely. He looked around to make sure there were no tails, then walked up to Wu Hen, took out a heavy package from his pocket, and stuffed it into Wu Hen's hand.

"Mr. Wu, the three guns, each priced at $1,100, totaling $3,300, are all here!"

Wu Hen took the package; it was quite heavy. He opened one corner and found it filled with bright green Franklin.

"The chief of that small tribe is called Suleiman. They just had several camels, a batch of hay, and a batch of guns stolen by crows, and they're eager to get revenge," Ali rubbed his hands together and chuckled. "Suleiman took a liking to your three weapons at first sight. He originally wanted to haggle, but I told him that scrap metal on the black market is now worth 1,200, so he gritted his teeth and gave me 1,100. He also asked me to tell you that as long as the goods are good, he wants more, as many as he can get."

Wu Hen nodded, took out three hundred-dollar bills from the package, and handed them to Ali.

"This is your commission."

Ali was stunned.

Three hundred dollars! He had thought that Wu Hen would be generous if he gave fifty dollars.

"This...this is too much," Ali said somewhat awkwardly.

"Take it. I'll make some money, and you'll make some money too," Wu Hen stuffed the banknotes into Ali's pocket. "In Libya, gold is not as valuable as bullets, but bullets are not as valuable as loyalty."

Ali swallowed hard. At that moment, the young man's eyes changed, transforming from a simple helper into a somewhat fanatical expression.

"Oh, right, sir, there's one more thing." Ali's expression suddenly changed. "I've also heard some bad news."

Ali was still considering whether to tell this news, but now he has told it without hesitation.

“There’s a fat arms dealer named Salim, a distant cousin of Hassan, the leader of the Ravens,” Ali said anxiously. “He spread rumors in the black market that some reckless Asian stole his business and crippled his hands. Hassan has ordered his men to search the whole city. They’ve threatened to chop off this man’s hands and feed them to the wolves.”

"Crows! They're a bunch of lunatics! Wu, let's run! Under the cover of night, let's go to the Egyptian border, or to Tunisia!" Muhammad said hurriedly.

Wu Hen did not answer. He just stood there quietly, and in the darkness, he lit a cigarette, the red sparks flickering.

"Run?" Wu Hen exhaled a puff of smoke. "There's an old Chinese saying: 'You can run from the first day of the month, but you can't run from the fifteenth.' In Libya, if you show even the slightest weakness, those hyenas will swarm you and tear you to pieces."

He knew very well that if he backed down now, he would not only lose the White Wolf's trust, but also sever the newly established friendly channels with the Gray Wolf. In Benghazi, reputation was sometimes more useful than bullets.

Salim is nothing but a clown, but the crow is a real nuisance.

Since the White Wolf's mission objective is that chemical plant, and the system has marked that location, he cannot back down.

Instead of passively waiting for the other party to come to you, it's better to face the challenge head-on.

"That idiot Salim still doesn't understand who he's dealing with." Wu Hen stubbed out his cigarette and looked at Ali.

"Ali, how many people in that small tribe you just mentioned are capable of carrying guns?"

Ali paused for a moment: "About forty. Although they lack heavy weapons, they are all tough guys who grew up in the wasteland with Suleiman."

"Very good." Wu Hen turned to look at the DShK heavy machine gun covered by a tarpaulin in the back of the pickup truck.

"Since they want my hand, let them take it themselves. But before that, I need to go and have a chat with Suleiman."

"Since we can't avoid it, let's take the initiative. Ali, take me to meet your buyer tomorrow."