Farming Life Starting in Africa

A man came down from above, completely covered from head to toe except for his eyes, with a well-worn AK slung across his back. He had a flatbread and a bottle of water tucked under his arm and nimbly climbed down the ladder.

Miao Feng's heart skipped a beat when he saw the man's attire. A long robe and a headscarf—this kind of clothing was all too common in this area. He tried speaking in Arabic: "I am a Chinese engineer. I have money and can pay the ransom. Please don't hurt me."

The man seemed not to have heard at all, not even lifting an eyelid. He took the AK off his shoulder, gently leaned it against the ladder, then squatted down and took out the pancake.

The flatbread was only about the size of a palm, and its surface was baked to a golden brown, making it look quite fresh. He broke the flatbread into several pieces and then threw them into the chipped earthenware bowl on the ground.

Then, the man unscrewed the mineral water bottle and poured about half a bowl of water into it. Only then did he place the bowl in front of him.

Miao Feng stared at the bowl of food, a gurgling sound coming from his throat. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious; his stomach felt as empty as if it had been washed, and it was cramping in waves. He estimated that he hadn't eaten for at least a day.

He quickly lowered his head and leaned closer, his chin almost touching the rim of the bowl, and began to nuzzle it. The softened flatbread mixed with water didn't taste very good, but it was enough to keep him alive. The ashes at the bottom of the bowl had been stirred up, making the water murky, but he couldn't care less about that at the moment.

The masked man looked at him for two or three seconds, then put his hand on the ladder and started climbing.

Miao Feng still had half a bite of biscuit in his mouth. Ignoring the unswallowed piece, he mumbled, "I need to use the restroom!"

The person climbing upwards paused noticeably for a moment, then continued climbing, as if he hadn't heard what Miao Feng said.

"Hey! I said I need to go to the toilet! I can't hold it anymore!" Miao Feng shouted anxiously again.

The man had already climbed up, and then the wooden lid was put back on, and the light dimmed again, leaving only a few thin beams of light shining obliquely through the cracks in the wooden planks onto the earthen wall, where dust could be seen slowly drifting in the beams of light.

"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, shifting his body from side to side. His stomach was indeed a little bloated. "Does this guy even understand human language? I'm going to pee my pants! Damn it!"

Now he only dared to eat the softened flatbread and dared not drink the water. He could only endure it for as long as possible. After finishing the flatbread, he slowly pushed the half bowl of murky water aside and began to rub the rope on his hands against the pillar even more vigorously.

The rope that seemed so easy to break in the movie was, in his case, as strong as his own life.

In the junkyard, Rosen took advantage of the little free time he had to give the monster truck a good cleaning, repairing all the problems and even attaching a layer of bulletproof cloth to the front and rear of the truck, as those were the most vulnerable spots.

Besides that, he was also thinking of installing a twin anti-aircraft gun in the truck bed. With this thing stuck in the truck bed, those guys from the Iron Army would have to lower their voices by at least three points when they talked to him, right?

Just as Rosen was working up a sweat, Leng Feng came over.

Patrick was operating the crane, carefully lowering the anti-aircraft gun mounted on the second-floor roof into the pickup truck bed.

Leng Feng stood at the edge of the field, glanced around, and couldn't help but twitch his lips.

He hadn't expected Rosen to be such a big place, and he certainly hadn't expected Rosen to have such a powerful weapon.

He recognized the weapon; it was a Soviet-made ZU-23-2, a twin-mounted 23mm gun. It could penetrate concrete walls like it was tofu. If someone was unlucky enough to be hit, their arms and legs would be gone on the spot. And if their torso was hit… well, never mind, thinking about it would ruin my appetite.

"Slow down, slow down—two centimeters to the left—okay, hold on—" Rosen craned his neck to give instructions. When the cannon landed steadily in the truck bed, the entire pickup truck suddenly sank down, and the suspension made a creaking sound.

Rosen dusted off his hands, quite pleased with his idea.

His all-powerful platform is currently operating at full capacity, with dozens of racing drones and a huge stockpile of Claymore mines. If his mobility is up to par, he feels he could single-handedly wipe out the Iron Army.

Leng Feng waited until he saw that Leng Feng had almost finished working before walking over, his eyes still fixed on the cannon. "Where did you get all this stuff?"

"Just some junk I collected," Rosen said without looking up, squatting there tightening screws. "You can find any kind of junk here if you have money. Stop watching, come and lend a hand."

He'd never tell the truth. Someone like Patrick, who doesn't know anything about this, can be fooled, but he can easily swindle people by spouting some random semi-automatic lathe.

Leng Feng is different; this guy served in the military, so his military knowledge is definitely not lacking. Some things are simply beyond the capabilities of ordinary people; even if you were given the blueprints, you still couldn't build them. This isn't a technical problem; it's a problem with the industrial system.

Leng Feng didn't press the matter further. He circled the pickup truck once, clicking his tongue twice. "How come I never noticed before? Africa is really crazy. Is this a Soviet-made ZU-23-2?" After saying that, he didn't even use the ladder. He took two steps back, sprinted, grabbed the edge of the truck bed, and with a burst of strength, flipped himself up.

Rosen chuckled, a smug grin on his face. "Haha, you know your stuff. I've modified this thing. The barrel's heat resistance is much better, and changing the barrel is simple—one person can do it. Each magazine holds 500 rounds, all high-explosive shells."

After hearing this, Leng Feng remained silent for two seconds, his expression somewhat complicated.

He was genuinely speechless. This thing was already far too powerful, and now they were using high-explosive shells? The kill radius of a single shell was at least ten meters. If a whole magazine of these were fired, the scene was too gruesome for him to bear.

He reached out and patted the two sturdy gun barrels, examining them for a while. "This is still a traditional optical aiming device, isn't it? Nowadays, they can replace it with electro-optical aiming equipment."

Rosen had actually thought about this. It wasn't that he couldn't move the fire control system from the tank, it was just too troublesome. Besides, he never really intended to confront the rebels head-on; he created this thing to protect his base.

"That's enough," he said. "I have drones for longer distances; blowing them up won't be a problem." He then pulled an adjustable wrench from the toolbox in the truck bed and tossed it to Leng Feng. "Alright, help me tighten the screws and get it in place first."

Leng Feng took the wrench and squatted down to work. As he worked, he suddenly remembered why he had originally asked Rosen for something. While tightening the wrench, he casually asked, "What's the background of that Dane Company?"