Farming Life Starting in Africa

As they approached Uller, the road conditions improved. Rosen held the steering wheel with one hand, while his other hand rummaged under the seat for a while before pulling out half a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, put it in his mouth, but didn't light it.

He glanced at Swagger in the passenger seat; the guy had been staring out the window ever since he got in, seemingly looking at nothing in particular. All around was yellow earth and dry grass; not even a tree was a rare sight. What was there to see?

"Hey," Rosen tossed the cigarette pack at Swagger and casually asked, "what are your plans for the future?"

Swagger tossed the cigarette pack back. "Thanks, I don't smoke." After a long pause, he gritted his teeth and managed to squeeze out, "I have to go to the US military base to the south to find someone."

Rosen put away his cigarette case, glanced at him sideways, and immediately understood. That expression, that tone—it was either revenge or settling scores; it certainly wasn't some casual chat over tea.

"Go get revenge?"

Swagger turned around, his eyes slightly wary. "Why do you think I'm here for revenge?"

Rosen chuckled, took the cigarette from his lips, and twirled it between his fingers. "I saw that plane fly over from that US military base to the south. Who else but the US military would have armed helicopters around here? The Uller government forces?"

He scoffed. "They can't compare to those guys from Ivia next door. The best these poor bastards can get is a 'pickup truck machine gunner.' If they're feeling extravagant, they can add a couple of mortars and that'll be top-tier firepower."

Swag's eyes flickered slightly after hearing this, as if he had remembered something.

After a long pause, he spoke, his voice a little dry, "I'll stay in Ullr for a couple of days to gather some information. Could you... help me find a place to stay?"

Rosen asked directly, "Do you have money?"

Swag shook his head. He thought this trip was just a simple peacekeeping mission, and he planned to go straight back to the camp that night. They only had thirty dollars on them, which had been soaked in water and rubbed to pieces.

Rosen was speechless at his impoverished state. A top American sniper, reduced to such a miserable state—that was truly unfortunate. He sighed, "Alright, here's what we'll do. You stay at my place. These next few days you teach me how to be a precision marksman; consider it payment for your living expenses."

Sniper rifles aren't something you can master just by pulling the trigger—range finding, windage calculation, mil adjustment, and the Coriolis effect of Earth's rotation all require systematic learning. Online tutorials can never compare to the personal instruction of a top marksman.

With his current shooting skills, he can basically hit any moving target within 300 meters with pinpoint accuracy, but beyond that distance, he resorts to burst fire. Any further, it comes down to luck.

Swagger looked at him and nodded. "Okay."

The car continued driving forward, kicking up a trail of yellow dust. Rosen lit his cigarette, took a drag, and the smell of smoke mixed with the dust filled his nostrils, making him cough twice.

When we arrived at the garbage station, we could hear people arguing from afar. The noise was like a buzzing hornet's nest.

When Rosen drove in, he found Patrick surrounded by a group of people, arguing with them.

The people there were men and women, young and old, all pushing wheelbarrows piled high with bundles of black cables.

Rosen honked the horn—beep—and the crowd parted a little. A black man, half a head taller than Patrick, squeezed through from the other end. He was burly, with arms as thick as other people's thighs, a face full of menace, and walked with a swagger.

"Honey Badger!" The burly man's voice boomed like thunder, drowning out all other sounds. "You said one pound of cable for one pound of grain! We brought three thousand pounds of cable, so you should give us three thousand pounds of grain, right!"

Rosen ignored him. He stood up from the car, braced himself against the roll cage, and glanced toward Patrick.

The quick-witted young man slipped through the crowd, approached the car, and whispered, "Boss, I checked those cables. They have Chinese markings on them. They must have been dug out from under the cell tower."

Rosen nodded, his face expressionless, but he knew perfectly well what was going on. He knew all too well that the infrastructure in this wretched place was all built with domestic aid.

These parasites who harm their own country are more prevalent in poorer areas. If it weren't for the fact that the cell tower was so heavy and would have been too noisy to move, these people wouldn't have left a single screw behind.

He looked down at the burly man. "Ah Kun, all you remember is the price. Have you forgotten what I said? If the cable was stolen, the price is halved!"

The burly man named Ah Kun slapped the hood of the car. The slap made a loud thud as it hit the scorching metal. "It wasn't stolen!" The veins on Ah Kun's neck bulged, but his face remained impassive.

"This was brought over from the signal tower over Djerba. It was blown up by the Iron Army this morning! It's just a pile of rubble! We scavenged it! You understand?"

Rosen narrowed his eyes, staring at Ah Kun for several seconds. This big, dark guy was usually a bit rough around the edges, but he wasn't good at lying; his eyes couldn't hide anything. And the look in his eyes right now certainly gave him a rather self-righteous air.

"Djerba? Are you sure you're not lying to me? If I find out you're lying, you can only take a thousand catties of grain at most today."

Ah Kun patted his chest, the sound like a drumbeat, his pectoral muscles even twitching twice. "I swear to my ancestors! These cables are what we picked up from Djerba, which is now a ruin! You can see for yourself, I, Ah Kun, never lie!"

Rosen didn't respond to him. He took out his phone, glanced at it, then gestured with his chin toward Patrick and pointed to Swagger beside him, "You take him inside first."

He then turned to Swagnu and gestured with his chin, "I'll take care of this first."

Swagger nodded, picked up his gun bag, and jumped out of the car. He glanced at the group of people around him, then at Rosen. He considered for a moment; this was Rosen's territory, and he could handle it.

Swagger was now covered in a pungent mixture of sweat and the fishy smell of the river, which made him feel nauseous. So he followed Patrick into the house.

Rosen dialed Miao Feng's number. It rang a few times before he answered.

Rosen finished his cigarette in one gulp. "Hey, Miao. What happened at your company today?"

Miao Feng sounded a little tired. "You're pretty well-informed, aren't you? We got a message this morning that two signal towers were malfunctioning. The one next to Beziba village has been confirmed; it was blown up. A few colleagues and I are heading to Djerba to see what's going on."