Farming Life Starting in Africa

The wind in the desert was dry and fierce, whipping up fine yellow sand and scattering broken car windows that rattled across the ground.

Having just finished their chase through the tunnel, Don and Brian collapsed onto the scorching sand, covered in dust, thankful for their near-death experience.

They had barely caught their breath when a deep, heavy engine roar suddenly came from the dark mountain tunnel behind them.

The sound was completely different from the crisp roar of a regular sports car; it was deep, rough, and carried a heavy vibration that crushed everything, traveling along the ground.

The two men instantly tensed up, their hair standing on end, instinctively thinking that the remaining pursuers from Braga had arrived.

This drug trafficker gang is notorious for its relentless pursuit; ruthless extermination is their norm.

The two men exchanged a glance. Brian, injured in the car accident, was no longer able to fight, while Tang rushed towards the modified M1911A1 at Phoenix's feet. He picked up the gun, not even bothering to check the magazine, and quickly hid it behind his back. His knuckles turned white, and his muscles were tense, ready to draw his gun and confront Phoenix at any moment.

The light flickered at the dark tunnel entrance, and the next second, an extremely exaggerated steel behemoth rushed out of the dark tunnel.

The moment Tang and Brian saw what it was, their hair stood on end, their pupils contracted slightly, and their hearts skipped a beat.

This was not the modified pickup truck or off-road pursuer they had envisioned at all, but a real heavy armored vehicle.

A giant wedge-shaped impact wall-breaking shovel was firmly fixed to the front of the vehicle. Its surface was thickly covered with a layer of yellow soil and mud, and covered with gravel scratches. It was clearly the result of its rampage through the tunnel.

The entire vehicle is both battered and imposing, with countless bullet holes covering the steel plate at the rear, and scratches of varying depths crisscrossing it, clearly indicating that it has been through a fierce battle.

The most eye-catching thing is the three-barreled Gatling gun on the roof. The gun is tilted and looks a bit broken, but it still exudes a suffocating sense of oppression. It stands abruptly on the roof, its murderous aura undiminished.

This massive, battle-damaged steel behemoth slowly drove toward the two of them, its heavy and domineering presence causing the ground to tremble slightly, exuding an overwhelming sense of oppression.

Tang had lost all desire to draw his gun. Could his little pistol even scratch someone? Someone could just run him over and crush him.

Brian swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. "Honestly, I'm starting to regret taking this damn mission. Tell me... if we release Braga now and just give up, do we even have a chance to survive?"

Tang glanced at him, his eyes looking at him like he was an idiot. He raised his hand and gestured with his chin, pointing to the crooked three-barreled Gatling gun on the roof of the car.

"Can't you use your brain for once? This can't possibly be someone from Braga."

He said with a hint of sarcasm, "If Braga had heavy armored vehicles of this caliber, would he need to recruit street racers to deliver goods? He'd be driving like a madman, crushing border patrols, military helicopters, and drug enforcement convoys. Who could stop him?"

As Tang had predicted, things did indeed turn out as he had expected.

The Paramount Marauder completely ignored the two people on the roadside, showing no intention of slowing down at all. Its engine roared incessantly, and covered in smoke and dust, it steadily sped past them, heading straight into the depths of the desert, soon becoming a small black dot.

Only when the armored vehicle completely disappeared from sight did the two dare to slowly breathe a sigh of relief, their tense bodies gradually relaxing.

Before the two could fully calm down, another burst of intense engine roar came from the depths of the tunnel behind them.

This time, the sound was clearly not from a four-wheeled car; it sounded more like the roar of an off-road motorcycle.

Sure enough, just a few seconds later, four dark figures rushed out of the dark tunnel one after another.

There were four off-road motorcycles, which were lightweight, agile, and extremely fast.

Each vehicle was ridden by two people, with gunmen on the back each carrying long guns on their backs, their eyes fierce, clearly well-trained armed personnel.

As soon as they emerged from the tunnel, they immediately spotted Tang and Brian at the intersection, quickly scanning their entire bodies before cautiously surveying their surroundings.

The next second, the distant roar of helicopter rotors came from the horizon, deep and piercing.

On the ground, the sound of sirens rose and fell, piercing the desert wind, growing louder as a dense array of red and blue police lights flashed on the distant horizon, and a large number of police cars were rapidly closing in.

The wilderness was instantly shrouded in a grim atmosphere, clearly the formation of an official force besieging and suppressing the enemy.

The four motorcyclists instantly began communicating rapidly in Spanish, their speech quick, urgent, and tense.

Don and Brian couldn't understand what they were saying at all, but they could guess the gist of it—things were out of control, and the situation was completely wrong.

Braga, who had been lying on the ground with his hands tied behind his back, had been pretending to be dead and silent. But now he suddenly became anxious, as if he had grasped at the last straw, and struggled desperately to raise his head and roar.

"Take me away! I'm Braga from north of Nogales! Boss Diaz knows me! Take me back to Mexico, and I'll pay you whatever it takes!"

His shout of self-introduction immediately caught the attention of the riders on two of the motorcycles, who instantly began to make their plans.

Their daring expedition out of the tunnel was primarily aimed at rescuing the group's leader, Fausto Alarcón.

The situation is clear: this is a crackdown on the Sonora Group, most likely a precision operation led by the US. Otherwise, it would be impossible for them to be precisely surrounded by police cars and helicopters as soon as they emerged from the tunnel. This is no coincidence.

The name Braga is known to some in border drug trafficking circles.

He also had some minor collaborations with the Sonora Cartel, but he wasn't very well-known in the Mexican drug cartel circle. After all, he had always worked incognito, and for the Sonora Cartel, he was at most a long-term affiliated peripheral distributor.

In reality, Braga mainly gets his drugs from Colombian drug lords. He only occasionally uses the Sonora tunnels to ship his drugs, and when he does, he takes some goods from them as a form of protection money.

Now that their leader, Fausto, is missing and his fate is unknown, if they can take Braga away, they can at least gain a considerable profit.

Instead of following the other vehicles back into the tunnel, the two motorcycles slowly turned around, ready to pick up passengers.

But just as they were about to act—

"Bang!"

A crisp, clear gunshot suddenly rang out, shattering the silence of the desert.

Tang had already pulled out the M1911A1 from behind him, the muzzle coldly pointed at the motorcyclist in front of him, his eyes fierce and without the slightest ripple. "He's one of my men, you can't take him away."

The drug dealers' expressions changed instantly. They had originally planned to make a quick buck and catch a big fish to supplement their family income, but now the other party was holding a gun and had a tough stance.

Looking up again, the helicopter in the sky was getting closer and closer, and the sound of police sirens on the ground was almost right next to their ears. The encirclement would be completely closed in the blink of an eye.

Weighing the pros and cons, they had no time to argue and could only grit their teeth and give up the opportunity they had gained. They twisted the throttle hard, and the remaining two motorcycles turned around and sped back into the dark depths of the tunnel, disappearing quickly from sight.