Farming Life Starting in Africa

Rosen took off his coat and threw it on the sofa, then plopped down and crossed his legs. "Yes. And this is news that I doubt you'll find easy to accept."

Swag's expression darkened upon hearing this. Having been around here for so long, he had a deep understanding of the meaning of "unacceptable".

"The force you intercepted today was the local government army," Rosen said slowly, lighting a cigarette. "They were tracking a group of people who had just committed a massacre. And the helicopter you shot down—it was indeed American."

Swag was completely stunned, his expression shifting from shock to bewilderment, and then from bewilderment to anger.

They were clearly out on a simple peacekeeping mission today, following orders from above the entire time. And what happened? They inexplicably became black gloves (meaning they were used and then discarded without a second thought).

Seeing his dazed expression, Rosen didn't urge him. He took a couple of puffs of his cigarette before speaking, "Alright, stop spacing out. Any ideas?"

Swagger took a deep breath, his voice a little strained: "I need to catch that commander from today. I want to ask him why he sent us on this mission, why he abandoned us."

Rosen couldn't help but chuckle. "Isn't it obvious?"

He flicked the ash from his cigarette. "They wanted to massacre a few villages to intimidate the locals and make them obediently move away from that oil pipeline. But once this operation attracted attention, someone had to clean up their mess and cover their retreat. You two were the unlucky ones chosen. That last helicopter was there to silence you."

Swagger clenched his fists so tightly they cracked, and gritted his teeth as he said, "Then he deserves to pay for his crimes in blood."

Rosen leaned back on the sofa, swinging his legs: "Then why don't you just go back to your camp and shoot him?"

Swagger returning to the US military camp alone wouldn't be a big problem. Although the mission they carried out today was almost impossible to record, he hadn't made any mistakes; at most, it would be considered desertion, and he'd be put in solitary confinement for a few days.

His comrade-in-arms, Donnie, was simply unlucky; he died unexpectedly and didn't even receive any compensation.

The problem is—it's almost impossible for Swagger to catch that bastard in the military camp.

That commander also has a group of soldiers under his command, and they're definitely on guard now. With so many men, Swag has no chance of succeeding. Besides, that man might already have left the camp.

Seeing his silence, Rosen added, "Then grab your gun, stand guard over at your camp, and give him a bullet. Settle the score, it's that simple."

Swage fell silent.

It wouldn't be difficult for him to lie in wait near the military camp, but the camp was located in a basin, which was quite large. Finding that person with just a pair of binoculars was like finding a needle in a haystack.

After a long while, he finally looked up at Rosen and asked, "I can't find him by myself. Can you help me find him and catch him?"

Rosen's smile was quite friendly, but his words were anything but polite: "Brother, I sympathize with you. But I'm a businessman. Finding that person isn't difficult for me, the question is, what reward are you willing to offer?"

Swag paused, then began to rack his brains, trying to figure out what he still had left.

The gun was still in Rosen's hands, and he didn't have much money in his pocket. With his meager retirement salary, he'd still have to support Donnie's wife, sending her living expenses every month. Sarah definitely wouldn't get any compensation; Donnie's situation couldn't even be considered death in action.

The U.S. military's criteria for being killed in action are extremely stringent. The victim must be performing an endorsed mission and die on the battlefield without receiving any medical assistance. If any one of these criteria is not met, the victim is not considered killed in action, and the compensation is meager or nonexistent.

Without a doubt, the mission we were out to carry out today was not recorded.

Swagger hesitated for a long time, then finally gritted his teeth and said, "You can have all my guns. As for the rest of the money, consider it a debt I owe you, and I'll definitely pay you back when I get back home."

Rosen rolled his eyes: "I don't lend money here." He completely forgot that Patrick still owed him a huge debt.

Swagger thought for a moment: "I'm one of the U.S. Army's most elite snipers. I can hit a soda can from two kilometers away. I can teach you professional sniping skills and special training methods."

Rosen scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed: "Actually... I don't really need to aim at someone from a distance and smash something. I have more effective methods."

"Precision shooting is a skill." Swagger stared at him. "Judging from what you collected today, it's probably not legal, is it? In this godforsaken place, having another skill is never a bad thing. Besides, I can find you the most suitable training ground."

Rosen found his words somewhat amusing: "My business, you know, has a bit of a gray-market aspect. But I don't need to go that far to target them. My competitors and enemies aren't worth long-range shooting; I just need to walk up to them and fire a shot."

He watched Swagger's eyes dim, then thought for a moment and slowly said, "To be honest, you lost a bit on this deal. But I think you don't necessarily need to catch him and find out who's behind him. Isn't killing him enough? Most of the people behind him are probably not people you can afford to mess with—unless you don't want to go back home."

This kind of work is obviously a collaboration between high-ranking military officials and those oil companies. If Swag goes back and kills a high-ranking military official, he'll be a wanted criminal for life and can forget about ever going back.

After listening, Swagger hesitated for a long time before finally nodding. Revenge was enough; the people behind him were indeed beyond his reach.

Rosen stood up, dusted off his pants, and went upstairs: "I can check out how difficult that mission is tomorrow. If it's too hard, the deal is off—I also need to think about my own life."

This task was actually quite simple for him; it didn't require much effort. As long as that person was still in that military camp, and he had enough patience to search, the mission would end immediately once he found them.

Swagger watched his retreating figure and suddenly asked, "Could you give me back my gun?"

Rosen didn't even turn his head, just waved his hand, his voice coming from the stairwell: "We don't need that. Go to sleep, we'll leave early tomorrow morning."

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking.

After having a simple breakfast, Rosen and Swagger tossed a bulging backpack under the back seat and drove the all-terrain vehicle straight to the US military camp.