The Middle East: From War Correspondent to Middle Eastern Influencer

Wu Hen quickly considered the possibilities of passing through the checkpoint in his mind.

If he were alone, he might have a 30% chance of making his way across the hillsides under the cover of darkness, but he was already exhausted.

"Looks like I still have to take the gamble." Wu Hen made up his mind.

The opposition forces are relatively friendly towards Western and Arab media because they need international public opinion to justify their legitimacy and to appeal to multinational forces for assistance.

Just as Wu Hen was about to get up and move closer to the checkpoint, something unexpected happened.

"Click!"

A crisp sound rang out from less than thirty meters behind Wu Hen.

Immediately afterwards, a blinding beam of light from a tactical flashlight shone directly into his face.

"Don't move! Put your hands where I can see you! Put down your weapons!" a voice with a heavy Libyan accent rang out.

TMD.

It was a hidden sentry stationed outside the checkpoint! He had been so focused on the main position in the middle of the road that he had overlooked the fact that the enemy would have sentries patrolling the perimeter of the sand dunes.

The bright light blinded Wu Hen, but he didn't panic. In this highly tense war zone, any unnecessary movement would invite a hail of bullets.

Wu Hen slowly stood up, pointed to his shoulder, then pinched the sling of the captured AK-47 automatic rifle with two fingers, took it off his shoulder, and threw it onto the sand in front of him.

He then raised his hands, palms facing outwards, to indicate that he posed no threat.

"Don't shoot! Brother! We're on the same side! I'm a reporter! A reporter from Al Jazeera!" Wu Hen shouted in Arabic.

"Turn around! Put your hands behind your head! Kneel down!" The sentry did not let his guard down. Two soldiers, guns at the ready, flanked him from the left and right.

Wu Hen turned around, knelt down, and put his hands behind his head in one smooth motion.

Battlefield survival rule: Never provoke someone who has a gun pointed at your head.

One soldier roughly pushed Wu Hen down onto the sand, while another soldier quickly picked up an AK-47 from the ground and began searching Wu Hen's body.

In addition to the tactical backpack filled with first aid supplies, compressed rations, and bottled water, the soldier also found an M9 multi-purpose military bayonet on the outside of his thigh.

"Sir, we've captured one alive! He's armed!" a soldier reported over the walkie-talkie.

Soon, a series of chaotic footsteps came from the direction of the checkpoint.

Five or six soldiers escorted a middle-aged man with a full beard as he walked over. The man was wearing a desert camouflage uniform, had a noticeable scar on his face, and carried an AKS-74U short assault rifle on his shoulder. Clearly, he was the commander of this outpost.

The scarred-faced commander walked up to Wu Hen, waved his hand, and signaled his men to help Wu Hen up.

"You say you're a reporter from Al Jazeera?" The commander looked Wu Hen up and down. "What proof do you have?"

"Sir," Wu Hen looked directly into the other man's eyes, "my identification has been taken by your soldiers. You can take a look."

The commander gestured with his chin toward a soldier next to him, who immediately stepped forward and produced a media pass.

The commander took the identification and carefully examined it by the light of his flashlight.

"Wu Hen, intern reporter for Al Arabiya's Libya bureau..."

"I'll be a full-fledged journalist soon, but I haven't had time to change my credentials."

The commander ignored him. "A Chinese? An intern reporter? What are you doing in the heart of the war zone all by yourself? And since you're a reporter, why are you carrying an AK rifle issued by the government forces? Don't tell me you're using it to film the news!"

The atmosphere, which had been relatively mild, instantly became tense because of the commander's words.

Several soldiers around him already had their fingers on the trigger, ready to riddle Wu Hen with bullets without hesitation at the commander's command.

Wu Hen knew that this was a moment that would determine life or death.

He took a deep breath, his face showing anger.

"Sir, I know I look suspicious right now, but if you were in my shoes, after the fighting in Tripoli, you would have taken up arms to protect yourself too!"

"Tripoli?"

Wu Hen didn't pause: "Yes! Just yesterday, Gaddafi's lackeys, those inhuman thugs, ransacked our neighborhood! They drove armored vehicles and opened fire on civilians! Our Arab TV branch building was bombed to ruins by them with RPGs! All my colleagues are missing or dead in that chaos!"

Wu Hen grew increasingly agitated: "I barely managed to crawl out of a pile of corpses. To escape that hellhole alive, I had to pry this gun off the body of a government soldier! On the run, if it weren't for this gun, I would have been devoured by wolves in the Gobi Desert long ago! Sir, as a journalist, don't I even have the right to defend myself when faced with slaughter and wild beasts?!"

This passionate and tearful accusation struck a chord with the opposition soldiers.

They had risen up in rebellion against the bloody suppression of the Gaddafi regime, and their hatred for the government army was already deeply ingrained. Wu Hen's description of the government army's atrocities not only perfectly matched their perception of the government army, but also aroused their strong sense of shared hatred.

The hostility in the eyes of the soldiers who had been holding guns around them noticeably lessened, replaced by anger and sympathy.

The scarred commander's expression softened. He shoved the blood-stained press pass back into Wu Hen's hand and patted him on the shoulder: "God bless you, young journalist brother. Those lackeys of Colonel Gaddafi are indeed a bunch of unscrupulous beasts. You managed to escape from Hollywood and make it all the way here. You are a true warrior."

Wu Hen breathed a sigh of relief, still somewhat dissatisfied with his performance. It would have been even better if he had shed some tears.

Just then, the sound of a car engine came from the west side of the road, and a car was rapidly approaching the checkpoint.

"Alert!" the commander immediately turned around and shouted the order.

The soldiers quickly dispersed, each seeking cover, while the machine gunners on the two pickup trucks immediately pulled the bolts, pointing their dark gun barrels at the car.

Wu Hen was pushed behind a sandbag by two soldiers, and he also peeked out to observe.

As the vehicle entered the range of the firelight, Wu Hen saw the true face of the newcomer.

It was a dusty Toyota Land Cruiser SUV, with the word "PRESS" prominently displayed on the hood and both sides of the doors using black tape.

"Don't shoot! It's a media vehicle!" The commander saw the markings and immediately raised his hand to signal his men to release the safety.

The SUV slowly stopped ten meters from the roadblock. The driver's side window rolled down, and a white man wearing a bulletproof helmet and tactical glasses leaned out.

The commander, accompanied by two soldiers, immediately approached: "Who are you? Where are you going?"

"We are the special reporting team from the Qatar Evening News!" the white man said, taking off his glasses and responding in accented Arabic, while handing over several media credentials. "We are heading to Benghazi."

"Qatar Evening Post?" The commander took the credentials and looked at them. Qatar had always been an important force supporting the Libyan opposition, so they naturally welcomed media from Qatar.

"Welcome to the land of freedom, friends. It's safe ahead. You may proceed." The commander handed the documents back and then waved for the soldiers to move the roadblocks.

Just as the off-road vehicle was about to restart, the commander suddenly seemed to remember something and turned to look at Wu Hen, who was walking in this direction.

"Wait a minute!" The commander walked to the car window and pointed in Wu Hen's direction. "Are there any empty seats in the car?"

The reporter paused, then asked, "There's another one in the back seat, sir. Is there something you need?"

"Perfect timing," the commander turned around and waved to Wu Hen, "Hey, brother from Al Arabiya, come over here!"