Farming Life Starting in Africa

After Rosen drove out of the Steel Army's territory, he found about a hundred sheep scattered on a small patch of grass. Two Arab herders, wrapped in rags and holding long sticks, leaned lazily against a tree. When they saw Rosen's car pass by, they looked up and gave him a look of respect.

Rosen slowed down, pulled over next to them, rolled down the window, and let the hot air rush in. He yelled at the herdsman, "Hey! Are you selling your sheep?"

The two herders exchanged a glance before slowly standing up and nodding.

Rosen got out of the car and glanced at the flock of sheep. The sheep were being raised quite well. So he took out three 100-yuan bills from his pocket and handed them to one of the herdsmen. With the herdsman smiling, Rosen grabbed a sheep of medium size from the flock and casually tossed it into the back of the truck.

The sheep rolled over in the truck bed, then got up; the truck bed was too high for it to jump down.

The car continued driving forward, and after a while, there was no sign of human habitation on either side; not even a bird could be seen.

Rosen found a low-lying spot, parked the car, and turned off the engine. The only sounds were the whistling of the wind through the stones and the sheep bleating anxiously in the truck bed.

Rosen took the sheep out of the truck bed, found a large rock, and tied it around the sheep's neck. He then took out a piece of bulletproof cloth from his capsule space. He wrapped the cloth around the sheep several times and tied it tightly with a rope.

At first, the sheep lowered its head and tore at the cloth on its body, but when it found that it couldn't bite through it, it gave up and buried its head in the crevices of the rocks to find grass roots to eat.

Rosen stood two or three meters away from the sheep, drew his pistol from his waist, aimed the gun at the sheep, and decisively pulled the trigger.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!..."

Gunshots rang out across the empty wilderness.

The sheep was stunned at first, its whole body stiffened, and then it bleated "baa-baa-baa" in a high-pitched and panicked voice, kicking its four legs wildly on the ground and digging a hole in the ground with its hooves.

But it didn't have a single bloody hole on its body, and it didn't even lose a few hairs, so it looked like it was really scared.

Rosen walked over, squatted down, and examined the fabric on the sheep. There were a few faint white marks, like fingernails pressed against it, without even a hole. He lifted a corner of the fabric to look at the wool underneath. The skin and flesh were intact, but there were three faint red marks under the wool.

Rosen patted the sheep's head, stood up, and decided he needed to try out a more powerful weapon.

He pulled an AK74 from the capsule, switched the fire selector to burst fire, and then took a few steps back.

The sheep has stopped bleating much now, but its legs are still shaking.

Without hesitation, Rosen pulled the trigger.

"Da da da—da da da—"

A few bursts of fire, the bullets hitting the cloth with muffled "thud, thud, thud." With each shot, the sheep's body shuddered violently, as if it had been shoved hard by an unseen hand. It bleated pitifully, its four legs buckling, and it collapsed to the ground, drooling and convulsing.

Rosen stopped firing and went over to take a look.

The sheep lay on its side, breathing rapidly, its belly heaving. He crouched down and lifted the bulletproof fabric.

There were several scorch marks on the surface of the fabric, similar to cigarette burns, but it wasn't torn. He then examined the sheep's wool. Underneath the wool, there were several small, round, coin-sized red bruises. He pressed the bruises with his fingers and then ran his fingers along the sheep's ribs; the bones weren't broken.

Rosen breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.

"Goodness, it can even withstand medium-powered rounds." He was quite satisfied, but it wasn't enough. He needed to know just how much this thing could withstand.

Rosen pulled a PKM general-purpose machine gun out of the capsule space and casually inserted a magazine with 100 rounds.

He held the machine gun in his hand, the butt against his shoulder, aimed the muzzle at the bulletproof cloth on the sheep's body, and then pulled the trigger.

"Da da da da da da da—"

The PKM had a high rate of fire; the gunshots exploded across the wilderness, making ears ring. The ejected spent cartridges rained down on the ground, clattering and rolling everywhere.

This time, the sheep wasn't so lucky.

The first few bullets hit the fabric, barely holding on, but the surface bulged, not yet penetrating. When the bullets repeatedly struck the same spot, the fabric finally gave way, tearing open. Subsequent bullets entered through that hole, striking the sheep directly. The sheep couldn't even bleat anymore; its body jerked violently, then remained motionless. Blood seeped from beneath the fabric, spreading a dark red stain.

Rosen released the trigger, pulled the bolt back, and ejected the remaining bullet.

He walked over and lifted the bulletproof fabric off the sheep. There were several tears in the fabric, the largest of which was about the size of a thumb, with charred edges and burnt fibers.

He looked at the sheep again. The sheep had several bloody holes in its body and was no longer moving.

Rosen pursed his lips, rolled up the cloth and put it into his capsule space, also draining the sheep's blood and stuffing it into the capsule space as well. This couldn't be wasted; they could roast a whole lamb when they got back.

"It can still block intermediate-power rounds, but it's a bit risky against full-power rounds," he thought to himself. "However, if I fold this fabric into two or three layers and use it to make a tactical body armor, then it should be fine."

I started the car and continued driving towards Uller.

As Rosen drove, he pondered the new car. All the upholstery inside was made of this fabric, with an extra layer inside the door panels, and the seat covers had been replaced. This made sitting in the car feel like wearing a giant bulletproof vest, instantly boosting his sense of security.

The sunlight was dazzling, and the heat waves from the desert rose from the ground, distorting the distant scenery.

Every year, tens of thousands of ships pass through the Gulf of Aden, traveling between Eurasia. However, these trading ships have not made the countries on the shore richer; instead, they have made them more and more chaotic and poorer, as if they were under a curse.

Especially Somalia, south of the Gulf of Aden.

That place has been in constant turmoil since the civil war broke out in the 1990s. The streets are full of militants carrying AKs, and even children can hold guns. "AKs for everyone" is no joke.

The "Black Hawk Down" incident occurred in Mogadishu, the capital of Somalia, and the entire city turned out to attack the American soldiers who had landed. This was because the Somalis knew why they suffered so much.

Somalia currently has only a provisional government, and its army is pitifully weak, only able to maintain a semblance of dignity by retreating to a few blocks in the capital, Mogadishu. Elsewhere, it's basically the domain of warlords, tribal militias, and pirates. Chaos and disorder are the norm here.