Farming Life Starting in Africa

Lone Wolf looked up and saw Rosen, and said, "Honey Badger, it's not safe in town right now. Park the car on the side of the road and wait until we've dealt with this mess before we leave."

Rosen looked at the two men and couldn't help but chuckle, secretly marveling at how small the world truly was. These veteran mercenaries, who had roamed the underworld and traveled the borders, were all old acquaintances.

He obediently parked the car and walked over to ask, "What big thing happened here? Why is the whole town under martial law?"

"I heard a group of fugitives are passing through this town and will most likely try to break out here," Zhan You said in a low voice, looking at the Asian man.

Rosen's heart skipped a beat, instantly recalling the heavily armed group of gunmen he had just wiped out on the way out of town. Could it be? Could those be the fugitives the sheriff had mentioned?

Knowing full well what was going on, he decisively chose to keep the shooting incident in town a secret. There were police officers around right now; the more he said, the more mistakes he would make. It was safest to just keep quiet and watch the show; there was no need to cause trouble for himself.

"Alright, I'll go find Jackie and meet up," Rosen said casually.

"No!" Lone Wolf quickly pleaded, his eyes sincere. "You should stay and lend a hand. I'm worried that there will be too many attackers later, and our small force might not be able to hold them off. More people mean more strength."

Rosen rolled his eyes in exasperation. There was no way to avoid it, so he had no choice but to compromise: "Fine, I'll help. But afterwards, you have to teach me how to fly a helicopter after your flight lessons."

The soldier in the nearby trench was taken aback and curiously interjected, "Are you learning to fly a plane with Booker?"

"Yeah, what's wrong?" Rosen looked at the town sheriff, who was planning to run for governor, with a puzzled expression.

"It's nothing," Trench chuckled, "Booker's flying skills are quite good, much more reliable than the Murdoch I know."

"Murdoch?" Rosen murmured the name to himself, feeling that it sounded strangely familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place it.

Just as he was pondering this, his personal cell phone, with its unique alias number, suddenly vibrated in his pocket, breaking the atmosphere. Rosen saw the caller ID, stepped aside to a quiet corner, and pressed the answer button.

On the other end of the phone came a male voice, groaning in pain and breathing unsteadily. He said weakly and hoarsely, "Honey Badger said you can help me."

Rosen instantly realized that this was the beginning of a scene from "Sniper"? He deliberately lowered his voice and replied in a deep tone, "It's me. Are you in trouble? What can I do for you?"

"I was framed and falsely accused of assassinating the president, a capital offense." Swagger's voice was full of exhaustion and despair, still tinged with the pain of being shot. "I'm wounded and desperately need a safe house to hide in. I also need to find out the truth and clear my name."

Rosen understood; the trap in Philadelphia was over, and Swagger's worst-case scenario had unfolded as predicted. He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Where are you exactly now?"

Swagger hesitated for a few seconds on the other end of the phone. He was now wanted throughout the United States and had nowhere else to turn. He could only gamble on Rosen's character and ability. He gritted his teeth and replied, "I'm on my way to the countryside in northern Kentucky..."

Rosen quickly calculated the distance and time, and calmly instructed, "You rest here and recover from your injuries. Call me again in fifteen hours."

After saying that, he hung up the phone, turned around and walked back to Lone Wolf's side, took out the Odyssey's car keys and handed them over: "I suddenly have some urgent personal business to attend to, so I have to go first. You can use this car; just park it at my farm when you're done."

Lone Wolf took the car keys, nodded slightly, and didn't ask any further questions.

These mercenaries always had their own secrets and urgent matters, and he didn't need to pry into them. He simply replied, "Okay, be careful on the road."

Philadelphia was in complete chaos, with sirens blaring and police searching for wanted criminals everywhere.

Today is definitely the unluckiest day of Swage's life, except for the day he ran into his comrade Donnie in Africa.

The gunshot wounds to my shoulder and abdomen burned with pain, and warm blood kept gushing out, soaking my clothes. Every breath felt like a piercing tearing pain.

But with his veteran's incredible willpower, he managed to take down the rookie FBI agent.

They directly stole the other party's Ford field service vehicle, stepped on the gas, and sped into a fully automatic self-service car wash on the side of the road, intending to use this inconspicuous place to temporarily hide from the city-wide manhunt.

He started the automatic car wash program, and the next second, the high-pressure water guns on both sides roared to life, and a white mist instantly enveloped the entire car.

The sunlight, the street, and the shadows of patrol cars outside were all completely blocked by the mist. Not only could you not see what was happening inside the cars, but even the outlines of the cars were blurred.

The roaring noise of the machine's rollers rubbing together and the high-pressure water jets washing over the car completely drowned out all the subtle sounds inside, creating a perfect hiding environment that concealed his subsequent self-rescue actions.

Swagger didn't dare waste a second. He endured the excruciating pain, rolled over, and moved to the back seat, reaching out to pull out a spare SOG folding knife.

With a flick of his wrist, he cleanly pierced the fabric of the back seat, creating a large tear.

The backrest of the rear seat directly connects to the trunk space. Enduring the excruciating pain from his wound, he strained his arm to reach inside, and after groping for a long time, he finally pulled out the tactical first aid kit, a standard item in FBI vehicles, from deep within the trunk.

He only had this small first-aid kit in his hand, and the bandages and hemostatic agents inside were his only life-saving trump card.

He quickly unpacked the package, hastily treated his gunshot wound, pressed hard on the bleeding opening, and barely managed to stop the continuous loss of blood.

Without that package of life-saving supplies, he probably wouldn't have made it to the destination, even before the long journey to Kentucky; he would have collapsed from blood loss on the way.

After quickly applying basic first aid and stopping the bleeding, I felt a little better, and the car wash process was just finished.

The machine stopped, the water mist dissipated, and the car body was washed clean.

Swagger had no time for rules; he was wanted by the entire city and driven to the brink of despair. Who cared about paying for a car wash?

Without hesitation, he skipped out on the bill, started the engine, and drove the cleaned-up official car back onto the road.

Unfortunately, good luck was not on his side. Just two minutes after he started driving, a police helicopter in the sky locked onto his location, and a large number of police cars on the ground also came to surround him, closing in from both sides.

Forced into a corner, Swagger had no choice but to switch to reckless driving mode, rampaging through city traffic, changing lanes wildly, and dodging maneuvers, pushing his driving skills to the limit.

However, they couldn't withstand the sheer number of police officers on the other side, with checkpoints surrounding them from all sides.