Farming Life Starting in Africa

Once in the car, Rosen started the engine and tried to strike up a conversation while driving, asking, "Which unit are you from?"

"Marine Corps".

"Oh? How's the training intensity? What kinds of exercises do you practice?"

Swagger glanced at him. "What, you're interested?"

"Well, I've never been in the military. Actually, I really wanted to enlist, but unfortunately, I had health problems and missed the opportunity," Rosen said in a rather calm tone.

"Heh, it's best not to join the army." Swagger's voice was a little hoarse. "Soldiers always see more bloodshed and the truth."

"I'm not interested in that," Rosen chuckled. "Just tell me what you train for, besides shooting. I always train alone, and I don't know how far I am from the top soldiers."

Swagger glanced at him again. Rosen's hands, calloused from use on the steering wheel, were muscular, giving him a rather dangerous air. He paused. "Judging by your attire, I thought you were a soldier from Asia. Where are you from?"

"From China. Coming to Africa to do some small business."

Swage said, "Yeah, Chinese people are smart. I have a Chinese family next door, and their child is an excellent student, but he's just not very lucky." He seemed reluctant to talk about the unfortunate child anymore and continued the previous topic, "Our high-intensity training mainly focuses on improving physical strength and unleashing potential. In the final stage, it's about learning to control our state."

"I understand what happened before." Rosen turned the steering wheel, navigating around a pothole. "What do you mean by this 'control state'?"

"Maintaining a calm mindset, body control, and unwavering will during combat."

Rosen suddenly asked, "So, did you complete all that training?"

Swagger blushed slightly and shook his head. That was referring to the training of elite special forces; if he could pass that, he'd be a SEAL by now. Those guys were truly monsters with both off-the-charts physical and mental prowess.

After hearing this, Rosen thought of someone—Leng Feng, whose physical abilities were among the best in the Wolf Warriors. There was probably another reason why that guy was imprisoned in the first place.

He protected the families of martyrs and punished the bullies. He should at least receive a third-class merit award when he returns home. There is no way he will be put in prison.

The military has always been protective of its own, especially the elite units.

Before long, the two arrived at a low-lying meadow. The place looked unremarkable, the grass neither too tall nor too short, just past their knees. But Swagger was clearly very nervous, picking up a dry twig from the side and cautiously probing the path ahead.

Rosen looked at Swagger with a look of utter alarm, but said nothing. Swagger had just crawled back from the brink of death; it was normal for him to be cautious.

He followed behind casually, glancing around as he went. He knew what Swag was wary of. In this run-down place, right next to the river, no one would be foolish enough to plant landmines.

But the grass is teeming with venomous snakes year-round; horned vipers and tree cobras are common sights. He wouldn't even be surprised if a black mamba suddenly appeared in his path. This wretched place in Africa lacks everything, but it doesn't lack deadly creatures.

He carried a pouch of witchcraft, which would scare away the snakes.

Swag led him through several turns in the grass, finally stopping in front of a crack in the ground.

It was covered with dry grass and withered leaves, making it almost invisible unless you crouched down and looked closely. Swagger first poked around with a stick to make sure there was nothing alive before crouching down and lifting the dry grass. Underneath, a gun pouch was revealed, wrapped tightly in two bloodstained ghillie suits; the bloodstains had turned black.

The zipper of Swagra's gun bag revealed three rifles and two pistols neatly arranged inside. Rosen leaned closer for a look, and his eyes immediately lit up—they were all high-end stuff!

The topmost weapon is an M4A1 carbine with a 37mm M203 grenade launcher mounted under the barrel, and an AN/PVS-14 night vision device attached to it. This thing is not cheap.

The second one is even more outrageous: the American-made M82A1M anti-materiel sniper rifle, also known as the infamous Barrett sniper rifle.

There's also an M40A3 sniper rifle, covered in accessories: scope, bipod, cheek rest—none of which are cheap.

The most inconspicuous items were the two Poletta 92FS pistols, also known as the US Army M92 pistol.

Rosen squatted there, his hands itching to touch them. "These are all good stuff. Let me tell you, I'm the best gunsmith around here. I can make some minor modifications for you, I guarantee you'll be satisfied."

Swagger sighed noncommittally, picked up the gun bag, and tossed it onto the back seat of the car with a swift and decisive motion. "Let's go." Swagger dusted off his hands, bent down, and got into the car.

The two continued towards Uller. The road was terribly damaged, full of potholes, but strangely, the ride inside the car wasn't too bumpy. Swagger looked down at the car's structure, growing increasingly curious. "What kind of business are you in?"

"Me?" Rosen rested one hand on the steering wheel and gestured with the other. "I do all sorts of business, mainly collecting scrap metal, and then I tinker with some minor modifications myself."

"Oh? You modified this car yourself too?"

"Yeah, I borrowed some ideas from others and made do with them. It works pretty well here," Rosen said, pointing to the wasteland by the roadside. "Look at this terrain, a regular car would have broken down long ago."

Swagger nodded, his tone quite serious. "The chassis tuning is indeed excellent, and the suspension system is top-notch. It's just that the convertible top... is a bit inconvenient; you can't install air conditioning."

Rosen chuckled. "Heh, I was just out delivering goods today. Then I saw that the riverbank looked nice, so I thought I'd find a shady spot to take a nap. I never expected to catch you like that." He turned to look at Swagger. "That's what you call catching fish even with a straight hook."

"Consider it a life I owe you." Swagger stared at the road ahead.

"It's not that bad, it's not that bad." Rosen waved his hand. "You can come up alive without me. It's just that your brother might not be able to stay with you in the river for long. There are crocodiles in that river. He's been drifting with you for so long and hasn't encountered any crocodiles. He's really lucky." After saying that, he realized that what he said was a bit inappropriate, but the words were already out and couldn't be taken back.

Sure enough, Swagger's face darkened at the mention of Donnie. He remained silent for a while, and that melancholy returned to his eyes. Rosen didn't say anything more, focusing on driving, the tires crunching over the gravel.

Swagger recalled that before he left today, Donnie had talked to him about Sarah starting to make her own clothes.

He didn't understand what it meant at the time, but now that he thinks about it, the girl must have really reached her breaking point. Donnie's income in the army wasn't enough to cover her household expenses, and Sarah started budgeting for small expenses in order to attend nursing school.

Downey smiled happily as she said these things, saying she knew how to manage her finances. But now that I think about it, it wasn't about knowing how to manage her finances; it was about not having enough money.