Farming Life Starting in Africa

Upon hearing this, a hint of disappointment flashed across Gao Yun's face.

He didn't believe that a few domestic "businessmen" could obtain any useful intelligence in this war-torn country. Could scrap dealers and wig sellers possibly know more about intelligence gathering than professional soldiers and intelligence agents?

He turned to Political Commissar Zhao Haiguang: "It seems we still need to continue locating Xia Nan's cell phone signal. This is currently the most reliable lead."

Rosen and Leng Feng walked out of the bridge and were led onto the deck by the guards.

The sea breeze carried a salty, fishy smell, a mixture of diesel fuel and seawater. In the distance, apart from the lights of the harbor and ships, only the flickering flames still burning in the city ruins resembled eyes that refused to be extinguished.

There were already quite a few expatriates on the aft deck. Most of them had a relaxed look on their faces, as if they were finally safe, but a few people kept looking towards the shore, as if they were waiting for someone who hadn't arrived yet.

The crew quarters, mess hall, and all other habitable spaces were given to the overseas Chinese. The officers and soldiers gave up their beds and slept on the floor or sat on stools to rest.

"Coo coo coo—"

Miao Feng's stomach growled.

Then came Leng Feng's stomach, echoing the previous image.

Rosen looked down at his stomach, confirming that it had no intention of speaking for the time being.

"Comrade," Rosen patted the guard in front of him on the shoulder, "where are you going to eat? You're starving."

The guard suppressed his urge to complain and led the three of them into the ship's mess hall.

The restaurant was quite crowded.

Rows of metal tables and chairs were fixed to the floor, their surfaces polished to a gleaming shine. The head chef of the canteen, a round-faced sergeant major, was smiling as he served meals to the overseas Chinese who came to eat.

Rosen and his group lined up. A dozen or so people were ahead of them, carrying their trays one by one. When it was their turn, Rosen peeked out and saw that it was eight dishes and a soup.

Braised pork belly, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, scrambled eggs with tomatoes, garlic broccoli, beef stew with potatoes, a fish of unknown species, a cucumber salad, and hot and sour shredded potatoes. The soup was seaweed and egg drop soup, with dried shrimp visible in it.

The food is quite good, with both meat and vegetables.

There was also a small cart next to it, with several large buckets of drinks on it, including orange juice, cola, and Sprite, with condensation droplets hanging on the walls of the buckets.

"This food is really good!" Rosen carried his tray and found a less crowded table to sit down. The dishes on the plate were piled high, and the chef's hands, when serving the food, were steady as if he had been holding a spatula for twenty years.

Without saying a word, Leng Feng started eating.

He was really hungry; he hadn't had a proper meal in the past few days.

Moreover, he hadn't eaten military food for a very long time. That familiar taste was unique to the communal cooking, and when it melted on his tongue, his nose even felt a little sore.

Miao Feng was the first to finish eating. He had a small appetite and didn't order much. After finishing, he put down his chopsticks and began to look around the restaurant.

Dozens of people were eating in the restaurant, their voices buzzing and somewhat noisy. Some were chatting in dialects, and a few children were crawling under the tables, only to be pulled out and scolded by their parents.

"I wish I had joined the army back then," Miao Feng said, his tone carrying a sense of regret that "life cannot be undone." "Alas, what a pity. Perhaps I could have been a member of the navy, wearing a white uniform, standing on the deck, with the sea breeze blowing..."

Leng Feng looked up from his rice bowl and glanced at him.

"Being in the army is great," Leng Feng said, a grain of rice still clinging to his lips. "You don't have to be at sea every day. Do you know what it's like to be at sea for a month? The bed is shaking, you walk crookedly, and you have to hold onto the wall to go to the toilet."

"The army isn't cool enough!" Miao Feng said confidently. "Look at the navy's uniforms, they're white and look so clean. The army's camouflage looks like work clothes."

Rosen interjected, still chewing on a piece of braised pork: "But they're even darker. Look at this ship, how many fair-skinned people are there? They're out at sea every day, the sun beats down on them, and the sunlight reflects off the sea, baking them from both sides. They're much darker than the army. White clothes against dark skin, what's that called... what's it called again?"

"Panda?" Miao Feng asked tentatively.

"roll."

Just then, Rosen's satellite phone vibrated in his pocket. He thought to himself, "Old Zhou got the intelligence so quickly? That's really impressive!"

When Rosen took it out, he was surprised to find that it wasn't Zhou Weijie's number; the screen displayed "Old Lin."

"Feed?" Rosen answered.

The voice on the other end of the phone wasn't Lin Zhixiong's familiar voice. It was someone speaking English, "Ratel?"

Rosen paused for a moment. "Who are you?" His tone became wary, and his chopsticks stopped in mid-air.

"Who I am is unimportant," the voice said slowly. "Your partner is in my hands. If you want him alive, come find me in Basem."

"Are you crazy?" Rosen's tone was inexplicable. "If you want to find your father, come to Oharfa Port. I'm on a warship now. Come over, I'll be waiting for you."

He suspected that Lin Zhixiong's satellite phone had been picked up by someone else and was being called by people involved in telecom fraud. Africa is also a major base for telecom fraud, especially in nearby countries such as Nigeria, South Africa, and Kenya.

After receiving "formal training" from domestic telecom fraud companies, this group of people became even more unruly.

However, unlike others, they have also begun to take an international approach, scamming people all over the world, not just China. They are proficient in English, French, and Arabic scams, and their business coverage is even wider than that of many multinational corporations.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then--

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out.

Immediately following was a series of piercing screams. The voice finally sounded familiar to Rosen; it was Lin Zhixiong's. Old Lin's voice was already a bit shrill, and his screams were incredibly penetrating, sending chills down one's spine even through the microphone.

"Honey badger..." Lin Zhixiong's voice was broken and intermittent, as if he was enduring excruciating pain, "Save me...please save me..."

Upon hearing this voice, Rosen finally began to believe something: at least Lin Zhixiong was indeed in their hands. However, Rosen was somewhat confused. Why would they kidnap Lin Zhixiong and bring him here? He wasn't Lin Zhixiong's father.

"He's just a business partner, not a relative. You could shoot him full of holes and it wouldn't concern me. Okay, you've kept me from eating."

After saying that, he hung up the phone.

Inside the restaurant, the overseas Chinese at the next table secretly glanced over, their eyes clearly saying, "What are these people talking about?"

Rosen put the phone back in his pocket and continued eating.

But he wasn't indifferent.

He knew Lin Zhixiong. He spent most of his time at Hanbang Steel Plant, rarely went out, and lived a life as regular as a retired cadre.

If they managed to catch him, and he even dared to call and threaten them, then his target was either money or Rosen.