Farming Life Starting in Africa

I found two handguns, one a classic M1911A1 and the other a Desert Eagle, both well-maintained and shiny, clearly cherished by their owner.

There were also two Colt M4A1 rifles fully equipped with attachments, similar to the one Leng Feng was using, just a different color. The rest were some odds and ends from the female mercenary, and the Red Scarf Army's standard-issue AK rifle.

Rosen also found an identity card on the woman, which had the words "Athena" written on it, with a long string of eye-catching English text below.

He handed the business card to Leng Feng. Leng Feng took it and glanced at it; his eyes instantly turned cold—"Dane Military Resources Co., Ltd." His knuckles, gripping the business card, gradually turned white, as if he were clutching a sworn enemy.

"Looks like they've come to Uller too." Rosen put the guns back in the car. "Once they've been seen off, I'll ask someone where they are."

Soon, the hostages found several cars parked outside the hospital. But only a portion of them were willing to go to Uller—the locals still wanted to stay home; they had become accustomed to the chaos there.

Just as Leng Feng was about to pull open Rosen's car door, Rosen gestured towards an all-terrain vehicle next to him, "Could you help me drive that one back? I really like the weapons in it."

Zhuo Weixi had already nimbly climbed into the passenger seat of Rosen's car. To avoid being subjected to a constant stream of PDA, Leng Feng decisively chose the all-terrain vehicle with the keys still in the ignition.

It wasn't that Rosen particularly liked the all-terrain vehicle; what Rosen really liked was the M134 Gatling gun mounted on the roof.

With this, Mom will no longer worry about his lack of energy.

Before the car started, Rachel, holding the little black girl, and a man wearing glasses also got into the car.

Rosen glanced at the rearview mirror but said nothing.

After getting on the bus, the group introduced themselves and quickly thanked Rosen.

The man with glasses is Dr. Chen—the virus expert who went to Africa for aid. He has developed a vaccine for the Ramanla virus, and this vaccine... is a living one—the little girl in Rachel's arms, who is staring wide-eyed at the strange SUV with curiosity.

Along the way, Rachel and the little girl stared at Zhuo Weixi and Lawson in the front row, making Zhuo Weixi a little embarrassed.

After a while, when everyone's attention had shifted away from her, she stared intently at Rosen, her gaze so intense that Rosen found it somewhat amusing.

Just then, the phone in the back row rang—it was Dr. Chen's Transsion Tektronix phone, a high-end device in Africa. He answered the call, continuously replying to the caller's questions.

After hanging up the phone, Dr. Chen said somewhat apologetically, "Comrade Luo, I just received a notification from the consulate that the evacuation of Chinese citizens from Uller has begun. Chinese warships and ships have already docked. Could we go directly to the port of Santa Matasava?"

"So fast?" Rosen raised an eyebrow. Uller had only been in chaos for a few days, and domestic warships could already dock directly? This speed was clearly abnormal.

"I'm not entirely sure either; it seems the country's intelligence agencies received advance notice."

"Alright." Rosen turned the steering wheel at the next fork in the road and steadily steered towards the port.

Once the car was on the road, the group started chatting.

Rachel works at this Chinese-owned hospital in St. Francis as Dr. Chen's assistant. Zhuo Weixi came to see her specifically and brought a bag of food from China.

Zhuo Weixi had just stepped into the hospital when she heard a series of gunshots outside.

The Red Turban Army's convoy was already blocking the entrance, firing at anyone they saw. The government army sentries at the entrance had already fallen to the ground, motionless, as she walked in.

Helpless, they could only hide in the hospital. After the Red Turban Army entered, they made a scene in the lobby, saying they were looking for someone named Dr. Chen. The white leader questioned the hostages in the lobby.

"Does anyone know Dr. Chen? Tell me, there's a reward." As he spoke, he pointed the gun at the foreheads of the hostages one by one.

But no one said a word. These people weren't in a hurry and started searching floor by floor. The building wasn't tall, but fortunately there were many rooms, and some doors were locked.

It was precisely because they searched slowly that Rosen and Leng Feng were able to catch up.

After listening, Rosen glanced at Zhuo Weixi in the passenger seat and said with a smile, "Well, you're lucky. Go back and buy a lottery ticket."

Zhuo Weixi glared at him, "I was so scared and you were still joking."

"Look at you, you're perfectly fine now. You survived a close call, so you're bound to have spicy snacks."

Less than half an hour after the convoy left the St. Francis Chinese Hospital, another group arrived.

The leader was a muscular, middle-aged white man with a slicked-back hairstyle that shone brightly. He jumped out of a modified jeep, his eyes filled with impatience.

He exuded an aura of menace. Just then, the two escaped mercenaries who had been hiding in some obscure corner emerged.

The burly man with the injured arm had simple bandages wrapped around both arms, with blood seeping through the gauze. The Asian man following behind also looked unwell and quite disheveled.

The burly man with the injured arm forced himself to avoid looking at the old man's eyes and said somewhat fearfully, "Old man, the mission failed. Dr. Chen has been taken away by them."

The old man waved to someone behind him, and a man who looked like a military doctor jogged over, carrying a canvas medical kit on his back.

The medic removed the gauze from the strong man's arm, revealing the gunshot wound that Rosen had inflicted. The bullet had passed through the outer layer of the muscles in both arms; it looked serious, but the impact on the arms wasn't significant.

The person poured a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide directly onto the wound, and instantly dense white bubbles appeared on the wound.

The pain instantly caused water to drip from the burly man's forehead. He endured the agony of the hydrogen peroxide oxidizing the wound cells, his face twitching, the veins on his temples bulging, and his teeth grinding together. But he still forced himself to continue, saying, "Athena... is dead too."

The medic took a curved needle out of the box, threaded it, took out a lighter from his pocket, heated the needle tip over the flame twice to disinfect it, and that was it.

Without even applying anesthesia, the still-warm curved needle pierced two patches of skin near his wound, and with a lift and a pull, the wound closed up to almost halfway in an instant.

The old man didn't speak, just stared at the wound being stitched up on his arm with his eyelids lowered. After a while, he finally spoke, his voice icy: "Do you know who did this?"

"I don't know," the burly man said through gritted teeth, "but they just left not long ago."

At this moment, the Asian man stepped forward and whispered, "Big Daddy, I overheard them talking. They said they were going towards Uller."