Task Force 0047 (Part One)

Seeing this, Hou Rui had no choice but to follow suit, awkwardly arching a ring of sand around himself with great effort, just barely managing to conceal his figure. In the center of the camp, the flames had died down to just over a meter high. The Blackwater mercenaries were about to board their vehicles with the spoils when the leader, the one wearing red gloves, suddenly stopped them. “My friends, don’t be hasty. These desert rats are very cunning—don’t let them fool you. Call everyone around to gather at the center, release the drones, and search the area thoroughly once more. No witnesses can be allowed.”

At his command, several Humvees that had been lying in ambush around the camp began converging toward the center, checking along the way to ensure no survivors could slip through the encirclement. Then, one of the mercenaries pulled a mini drone from his backpack and tossed it into the air. Once the drone stabilized and hovered, the mercenary began to study the images relayed to his wireless tablet.

“It’s too dark to see anything—activate the infrared scan,” instructed the man with the red gloves, standing beside the mercenary holding the tablet.

With a few taps on the screen, the black images immediately shifted to pale green, and all high-temperature heat sources within the drone’s reconnaissance range were marked. The largest heat source on the tablet was the burning pile of corpses, followed by the Humvee engines and the still-hot gun barrels. Next came the small red dots representing the mercenaries themselves. The rest of the camp appeared as a pale, uniform green, indicating no other heat sources.

Seeing this, the man with the red gloves finally relaxed. He barked at his team to mount up, and they quickly departed the ruins.

Only when the Humvee convoy had driven far off did Hou Rui suddenly sit up from the sand, spitting out mouthfuls of grit. When he finished, he glanced at the Humvee tire tracks just seventy-eight centimeters from where he lay, and said with lingering fear, “They didn’t find us. That’s a miracle.”

“That’s not a miracle—it’s science,” the elf replied, emerging from the sand herself.

“How so?”

“At night, the desert gets very cold. When we buried ourselves, the sand absorbed and masked our body heat. That’s why the drone’s thermal sensors couldn’t detect us.” The elf carefully emptied the last grains of sand from her gun barrel before slinging her rifle over her back. “Come on! The night is still long.”

After leaving that ill-fated camp, Hou Rui and the elf came across another nomad encampment before dawn. The scene there was much the same: nothing but a smoldering pile of corpses and a few scattered goods.

On the open ground amid the ruins, the elf casually picked up a spent shell casing half-buried in the sand, glanced at it, and said, “NATO standard 5.26 mm ammo. I’d wager this is the handiwork of those Blackwater mercenaries again.”

“If there’s nothing left, what’s the point in looking? Let’s move!” Hou Rui’s tone was a bit harsh, frustrated by his own helplessness. But the elf seemed unfazed. She suddenly pointed into the distance. “Not everything is gone. At least they left us that.”

“That?” Hou Rui turned to look, puzzled, and immediately saw a pair of large, liquid eyes, long lashes, and a mouth endlessly chewing. The elf had meant a camel!

A few hours later, the elf rode the camel while Hou Rui led it along in silence. Hou Rui wore a sour expression, because for some reason, the damned beast refused to let him ride—whenever he tried to mount, the camel would drop to the sand and play dead. But with the elf astride, it would plod forward unhurriedly. After several failed attempts, Hou Rui resigned himself to being the camel’s handler.

Fortunately, after a full day’s journey, they finally left the barren desert behind and began to see crude roads, scattered villages, and the occasional traveler. The elf dismounted, wrapped her belongings in a tattered blanket and slung it over the camel’s back, then walked alongside Hou Rui.

By dusk, they reached the first small town of their journey. They kept a low profile, avoiding attention, and found shelter in a half-collapsed, bombed-out house. The elf, using her old tricks, bartered for some food at the market, and after a quick meal, they rested.

In this way, Hou Rui and the elf passed through seven towns, witnessing rotting corpses abandoned in the streets, burned-out villages, and toppled statues of Gaddafi. All signs pointed to a nation engulfed in chaos and conflict.

On July 26th, Hou Rui and the elf finally reached their destination—Sirte, one of Libya’s major cities, firmly held by government forces. Though the country was still in turmoil, the city’s streets were relatively secure: armed soldiers did not harass passersby or shops, and there was at least a semblance of normal life.

On the city’s outskirts, in a residential district, the elf led Hou Rui to a safe house disguised as a hookah lounge, where the other members of their operation had already gathered.

For this mission, the organization had dispatched a team of ten. After brief introductions, Hou Rui met Misha, an expert armored vehicle driver; Ironman, a demolitions specialist; Flower Snake, another sniper like the elf; and the assault team—Wild Hair, Emma, Shell, Aize, and Mark.

“Mission briefing: This operation is codenamed ‘Boy.’ The objectives are: first, assassinate Sophie Raven, Vice President of the French Direven Oil Company; second, eliminate the Blackwater security team hired by Direven Oil.” After the introductions, the elf quickly began the briefing, her tone brisk as she looked around at the assembled team.

“What kind of personal security does Sophie Raven have?” Flower Snake was the first to ask.

“She typically travels with eight armed bodyguards in three armored vehicles. But take note: if Raven’s convoy sends a distress signal, Direven Oil’s armed Little Bird helicopter will arrive within three minutes,” the elf replied after glancing at her tablet.

“No need to worry—I’ll handle the helicopter,” said Wild Hair, his nickname earned by his unruly locks. As he spoke, he scratched his head, then patted the rocket launcher beside him with a confident grin.

“The assassination itself is straightforward—the real problem is dealing with Blackwater’s security team. I’ve crossed paths with them before—their individual skills are on par with ours. What intel do we have on them?” Emma asked, her girlish nickname belying her muscular frame.

The elf gave Emma an appreciative look before reading from the tablet, “Blackwater Company’s 77th Overseas Advisory Squad: thirty-four members in total—twenty-nine frontline combatants, five support, medical, and logistics staff. The commander is Major Kleismann. Their equipment includes 164 assault rifles, seven rocket launchers, 203 grenade launchers, Humvees mounted with Gatling guns, Grizzly armored vehicles armed with Avenger guided missiles, and Little Bird attack helicopters.”

“Are there any restrictions from the organization regarding this mission?” Ironman asked, frowning in thought.

“None,” the elf replied, tossing aside the tablet. According to protocol, the mission data would soon auto-delete and leave no trace, so after the briefing, the tablet was as good as scrap.

“I’ll need a few hours to draft the operation plan. In the meantime, feel free to move around the room—but remember, don’t do anything that could jeopardize the mission.” With her customary warning, the elf turned to study the map with Flower Snake and several others. Hou Rui, intending to join in, quickly realized his own tactical knowledge was lacking and sensibly retreated.

On the other side of the room, Wild Hair, Emma, Shell, and the others were checking their weapons. In Libya, these assault rifles were as essential as house keys or wallets; everyone had acquired them with ease along the way. By comparison, Hou Rui was the only one still empty-handed.

“Hey, Stray Dog, how’s this for you?” Sensing his discomfort, the short man Shell called out as Hou Rui approached.

“It’ll do!” Hou Rui replied, thinking that for the short to medium-range suppressive fire he was most familiar with, he’d manage just fine.

“Here you go.” Shell tossed him a rifle, which Hou Rui barely managed to catch.

He quickly worked the bolt, tested the trigger, and checked the chamber. In seconds, Hou Rui could tell it was an old but well-maintained AK-47—perfectly serviceable for combat.

“Thanks, but if you give me your gun, what will you use?” Hou Rui asked, sitting cross-legged like the others as he began to oil and clean the rifle.

“I’ve got this,” Shell replied, drawing from his back a massive, gleaming, two-foot-long recurve blade.