Farming Life Starting in Africa

The rocket hit the bow of their own speedboat at just the right distance to trigger the fuse on the warhead.

"boom!!!"

A fireball exploded from the speedboat, orange flames mixed with thick black smoke, sending debris and seawater flying everywhere. The four pirates didn't even have time to scream before the shockwave from the explosion threw them into the sea, where they remained motionless.

Leng Feng looked at the mangled state of the speedboat and clicked his tongue. He had a feeling of being blessed by a chosen one.

He turned to look at the sea. The pirates he had just fought were helping each other up from the water. They all looked unwell, and if it weren't for Blackie, they would probably be pale.

Leng Feng let out a long breath, put down the sniper rifle, and sat down in the boat. His adrenaline subsided, and he felt as if all his strength had been drained.

Only then did he feel a sharp pain in his waist. He looked down and saw a shallow cut on his side, but it was nearly 10 centimeters long. The salt from the seawater soaked the wound, and the sensation was incredibly unpleasant.

"Hiss—" He gasped, pressed his hand against the wound, and wiped away the blood.

He looked around—the sea was gradually calming down. The cargo ship in the distance remained motionless, smoke still billowing from its smokestack. The American helicopters hadn't arrived yet; they were probably still on their way.

If the captain had said earlier that there was a helicopter on the way, he wouldn't have come down to show off.

"Damn it, this ticket was a complete waste," Leng Feng muttered, then couldn't help but laugh.

On the territory of the Steel Army, outside a mine belonging to a Middle Eastern mining company, the perimeter wall was made of sheet metal with barbed wire strung on top, and it was covered in rust.

A dozen or so armed pickup trucks were parked at the entrance, with heavy machine guns welded into their beds and cloths wrapped around the barrels to prevent dust from getting in. A military armored vehicle was parked at the very front.

Dozens of Arab militants armed with rifles stood in front of the convoy. They were dressed in all sorts of clothes, but all their guns were AK series. They all had turbans wrapped around their heads and cloths covering their faces, leaving only their eyes visible, and their eyes were not friendly.

The door of the armored vehicle was kicked open from the inside, and a black man in military uniform jumped out, his boots kicking up dust. He was very tall and greeted people with a smile, "Hassud, my friend!" he said, opening his arms wide and speaking in a loud voice.

The middle-aged man called Hasud stood opposite, his face twitching, but he didn't go forward to hug him.

Hassud was an Arab, thin, with a beard and narrow eyes, who looked quite fierce.

Does a Black person even deserve to be called "friend"? In his eyes, Black people are only fit to do the hardest work, eat rotten food, and sleep on the dirtiest floors.

Hassud forced a smile, barely controlling his expression. "General Odu, we are ready. In the past few days, we have dismantled many communication towers around Uller."

"I saw it." General Odu nodded, not minding that Hassud wouldn't accept his embrace; in fact, his smile deepened. "Well done. Starting next week, we'll launch probing attacks on valuable locations in the surrounding area. Once Uller's troops are diverted, we can concentrate our firepower and storm in." He paused, his eyes turning fierce. "I want to capture that traitor alive."

"Heh." Hasud chuckled, his voice a little cold. "When they hold their elections in a couple of days, I'll send men in to launch an attack. Qassam will be blown up along with them, so there'll be no need to bother capturing him separately."

General Audu frowned, his smile vanishing, and his tone clearly displeased: "This will alert them. I don't want any complications. Besides, my feud with Kassan is purely personal; he must die by my hand, do you understand?"

Hassud glared fiercely at Audu, his chin slightly raised. "What difference does it make who dies? And what are you afraid of? If we put our men together, we could overwhelm Uller's garrison. How many of them are there? How many of us are there?"

"I don't want such heavy casualties." Odu's voice turned serious as he spoke slowly and deliberately. "We agreed that everything north of Pamanto would be mine, and the two thousand square kilometers to the south would be yours. That was a promise, don't forget it."

"Then you have to compensate me." Hasud took half a step forward, poking his chest with his finger. "This land is mostly mine now. And what about you? Still cowering on the border of Ivia like turtles. Why should you get so much?"

Hearing this, General Audu's face seemed to darken even more, and his voice suddenly rose, "Compensation? What compensation do you want? Your firepower is simply no match for the government forces. Only with my men and my equipment at the front can you win this conflict! Don't you have any sense of this?"

Hassud looked at the enraged black man before him with a mocking smile, a hint of contempt on his lips: "Heh, your equipment? Don't think I don't know you hired those white people. Those people are unreliable. The chaos in this land is brought about by them and your Ban tribe."

These words were like a needle, piercing directly into Audu's lungs.

General Audu was furious, his facial muscles trembling. He bent down abruptly, drew his pistol from its holster with a "click," and pointed it directly at Hasud's forehead. "What did you say? Do you dare say it again? This has been our Ban people's land for thousands of years! You Tuo people are the invaders! You came down from the north, killed our people, occupied our land, and stole our water—what the hell gives you the right to talk to me about history?"

Almost simultaneously, both sides raised their guns. The clicking of bolts being pulled back filled the air, the muzzles of the AKs gleaming coldly in the sunlight. The militants on both sides stared at each other, fingers on triggers, not daring to blink.

If even one person's finger cramps and the gun goes off accidentally, it can immediately turn into a gunfight, with twenty or thirty people falling within ten seconds.

Hassud stared at the dark muzzle of the gun in front of him, his heart pounding, but his mind suddenly cleared. He knew this was his territory, but the heavy machine guns mounted on those pickup trucks were no mere decorations.

Once they open fire, they could wipe out these dozens of men in an instant. He can't afford to turn against them now.

"Alright, Audu." Hassud raised his hands, palms outward, his tone softening. "We don't need to argue about these things. What's past is past, and no one can change it. Once we drive out the government troops, that's when it'll be time for us to settle things. Then you can fight however you want, I'm ready."