Chapter 177: Episode 11: Black Mamba's Three Tap Shoots Hope

“Emil, was your transfer decided?”

“Who’d complain when Black Mamba recommended me? Major general Philip’s decision came through yesterday. I’ll be in the equipment supplies management department as soon as my vacation ends.”

Emil’s right thumb and middle finger had been paralyzed for some unknown reason. It could have been hit by a metal flint during the battle, or it could be a mental disconnection following his PTSD.

Now that the sniper had lost the sensory of both fingers to pull the trigger, it became a cause for discharge. Emil had grown up as an orphan. He wasted his youth throwing fists around. Shooting guns were all he knew.

He was in a position that would require him to work as a nature preservation guard in Corsica upon discharge from Legion Etranger. Black Mamba had requested a transfer of departments for Emil, out of pity.

“Good. Take a good rest before you return. I’m only going to warn you about one thing. Be careful of women.”

“What’s there to life? You eat, you fight, and you release,” Emil said confidently, as though he was right.

“Ha, you simple, idiotic b*stard. How old is that woman named Jeanne?”

“We…well, I didn’t ask.”

Ah, f***, this b*stard’s sick in the head.

Black Mamba grabbed the back of his head.

“Look here, friend, a woman in her right mind, wouldn’t take a one month trip with a man she’d only seen for a few days.”

“But, that’s my charm.”

“Ugh, I shouldn’t even try. I’m going to hold on to the 400,000 francs out of your 460,000 francs in allowance.”

“What? That doesn’t even make sense. This is tyranny even if you’re the chairman of Black culture! I’m the owner of my account!” Emil was infuriated.

“Hehe, no. Your pay is in my secondary account because I requested it. I’ll give you the rest when you return from your trip, so you know.”

“Ahh, f***. Jeanne asked me to buy her a diamond ring as a representation of our love.”

“Give her a one-carat ring then. 60,000 francs is more than enough to use in a month.”

“Ohhhh, I can’t even fight him on this. What am I going to do?”

Black Mamba didn’t even pretend to hear Emil’s mumblings. Edel, who’d been listening in, hid her mouth and giggled. Everyone around Black was humorous. Of course, that was only on the conditions of humor as she’d never regarded Emil as a man.

Bellman and Jang Shin entered the hospital room.

“What’s up with all these people today? Are you planning to leave too, Bellman?”

Black Mamba looked at Bellman with a surprised expression. Everyone was trying to leave as though they’d promised on it.

“Yes. I don’t have the confidence to run with an emergency rucksack on my back, around the battlefield anymore. I’ve worn a cape noir that I’m not fated with, thanks to you, so I’m going to leave without regrets.”

“Are you trying to start a business?”

“My head hurts when it comes down to anything blood-related. I don’t even want to touch a human’s body. I can still see the rivers of blood in front of my eyes. Isn’t it funny for a doctor to have PTSD?”

“It’s not funny. Isn’t it even more strange to be normal after being covered in that much blood?”

“You’re right. Hahaha!”

Bellman laughed emptily. He’d returned alive, but his consciousness was still floating around the battlefield.

“It’s a pity about your doctor’s license. You should do something in order to eat and live.”

“I’ve already applied for a discharge. I’m planning to return to my hometown and begin a weapons shop. I’ve enough money to fund this thanks to you, friend.”

“Emil’s going to the headquarter’s equipment supplies management. He’ll be pulling weapons out of his back for sure.”

“Hehehe, he should obviously help out with his brother’s livelihood.”

“There are enough funds for sure, but there should be some problems with your status?”

Black Mamba’s concern wasn’t uncalled for. Bellman was a nickname. Not revealing his true name, meant there were problems.

“That’s why I need your help. I’m about to be a sans papier[1].”

“Isn’t it solved with a French citizenship?”

“The problem’s a little complicated.”

Bellman dragged Black Mamba to the reception room. He talked with Black Mamba for a long time.

“No problem.”

Bellman’s face grew bright at Black Mamba’s final words. He immediately started packing his things into his carrier bag.

“You’re planning to get discharged, too, right?”

Jang Shin nodded. His dysentery had been fixed, but he wasn’t free from PTSD. He showed signs of vomiting whenever he saw red, and his left wrist started trembling.

“Your wrists have to be strong for you to cook. Won’t there be a problem?”

“It’ll get better over time, I suppose. Chinese food has to be shaken in the first place, hehehe!”

Jang Shin glanced at Edel and laughed humorlessly.

“You’ll be fine.”

“My life has been a continuation of failure and anger. My first fortune was meeting you, peng you[2]. That meeting changed my life. Thank you. Peng you saved my life. You can take my life any time that you need it. I’ll go running with a mortar for you, friend.”

“Crazy s***, don’t say things like mortars and make your dumplings well. Doesn’t Hou Ing need a second surgery? Do you need additional funds for your business?”

“No problem! I’ve received 52,000 francs. It’s money that can’t be gathered by a Chinese laborer in several 100 years. There’s enough money, and I’ve enough talent. I’m planning to admit Hou Ing to a hospital in Singapore and open a dumpling oriented restaurant there.”

“You’ve decided. Customers will swarm until your restaurant bursts from your hand skills. You should serve them scorpion skewers and beetle crisps, sometimes. It’ll be the famed dish of Singapore.”

“Peng you, tell me anytime that you need my life. All the members of Black Culture have entrusted their lives to you.”

“B*stard, stop saying nonsense and go. It’s a fight against time for Hou Ing.”

Jang Shin left for Anhui with his belongings.

“Paul, where are you sent to?”

“I’ve been transferred to Djibouti’s 13th regiment as its company commander. I’m leaving too.”

“Why is everyone leaving like their backs on fire?”

Black Mamba tilted his head. Those people who had been playing around yesterday were rushing out like meat falling from broken containers.

“Hm, it’s the specialty of the Ratel team, isn’t it, to run after eating? We’ve been drunk and feasting for the past few days, so we need to run before the invoices come.”

“Where are you planning to go for your vacation?”

“I’m going to a beach in Nice. I’ve three months of vacation, so I’ve already discussed with my wife about trying for a child with this opportunity.”

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“That’s good. The place is important when trying for a child. The product’s quality becomes better when you passionately make it in a secure location, you see. Hahaha!”

“Dude, say that for yourself. You’re a bachelor, and I’m a husband with 10 years of experience. Don’t make wrinkles before a maggot. Puhahahaha!”

Paul laughed cheekily at the fact that he’d gained one up against Black Mamba. It was a broken look compared to his first impression.

“You have to make that child with your best efforts. I’m going to be its godfather.”

“I’m jealous that my unborn child will have Black Mamba as its godfather. I’ll gift you my Pamus.”

“Thanks.”

Gifting a gun that a mercenary had used as his weapon, meant entrusting his life in the other person’s hands.

The four mercenaries separated like the tides. They had long forgotten about the promise to tumble for three nights and four days at the Meridian hotel in N’Djamena.

Black Mamba simply considered it a coincidence. He didn’t see Ombuti’s strange smile rising on his face. He also didn’t witness the moment when Edel’s eyes had met with Ombuti’s eyes.

The old rat, Ombuti, pulled Paul into a warm embrace. Ombuti whispered into Paul’s ears.

“Captain, how are you so witless at such an old age? You need to create the atmosphere for master and Miss Edel to do that, don’t you see? The vibe is about to be in ruins because of that witless Emil b*stard.”

Sun WooHyun gazed reverently at his senior, who roasted the mercenaries with skilled hands. If he was going to act as a servant, he’d have to do it in the underlord’s house.

Ombuti’s power climbed towards the sky. Even Paul, who’d been the Captain, was unable to budge before him.

“Sorry. I don’t know how time passes when I spend it with Black. Take care of everything.”

Paul returned to the room.

“Miss Edel, there’s a Korean saying that goes, there’s no tree which doesn’t fall after 10 nicks. Drag him to the beaches in Nice.”

Bang—

All the people who were planning on leaving had already left.

More people were about to leave. It was the military department and government official’s leave, who Black Mamba had referred to as the Oecophylla smaragdina.

Over the l’université street that the Ministère de la Défense possessed, crossing the Seine river, was the Concord square. A festival was going on in the square. The general of the Department of Defense, Jermain, was continuing a speech before all the reporters from both outside and within France.

“The bodies of those loyal to our country, who’ve sacrificed for our country, are buried in the rough lands of the Sahel. France will not forget the sacrifices of their great souls, regardless of their nationalities. We love you, soldiers. Legion Etranger’s senior officer Al Burimer, senior officer Paul Mike, sergeant David Mark, sergeant Huang Mouris, sergeant Hakam Chartres, and sergeant Huang Miguel—they are those who’ve sacrificed their precious lives for their second country, France. As a reply, the commanders of each level and government officials are leaving for Africa today, to collect their remains. The army of honor, France, respects their name and will not forget your sacrifices. Hoorah, France!”

“Ooo! Hoorah, France!”

“For Legion Etrangere!”

“Yeah! For Legion Etranger!”

The crowd cheered.

Paul and the others hadn’t left yet. They looked at the parade from the corner of the square. Tears were pouring out of their eyes. Their comrades whose bodies had been long buried in the Sahel were being reincarnated. It was, in all, Black Mamba’s power.

“Black, you’ll be our Wakil forever.”

Paul wiped his tears with his sleeve. Bellman, Emil, and Jang Shin weren’t any different. They couldn’t hide their flowing tears.

“Now, we’ll introduce our personnel who will be collecting the remains. The general of Legion Etranger, lieutenant general Dimanche, major general Philip, major general Montagne of the 11th Airborne Brigade, the Head Strategist Advisor of the Department of Defense, Peron…”

“Woah!”

“Wow!”

Exclamations were heard every time a name was announced.

Edel looked at the cheering crowd and the haughty old men with disappointment. The operations manager Bonipas, who stood at the center of power, couldn’t raise his head before Black Mamba.

No power or position could use its power against an overwhelming violence. The violence was even more destructive when it had a justifiable clause.

Father!

The sight of her father, who’d bled on a cross, overlapped with the old men on stage. Who could call those men stupid?

The crowd was busy living their lives. They were too busy to even stare at the stage. They didn’t know what was going on behind the curtains. How would they react if they’re told that those generals and high ranking politicians were headed to Africa’s desert in fear of Black Mamba’s fist?

“As expected of those Oecophylla smaragdina!” Black Mamba exclaimed as he watched the crowd from a corner of the square.

The old men were using their supernatural abilities to change sad news into cheers.

“They’re amazing people!” Ombuti also exclaimed.

“I always wonder. Is it the person who sits on those high positions, or the high positions that makes the person special?”

“There’s no point in wondering. They’re people born with the ability to blind the crowd’s eyes. Although it’s unfortunate that I don’t get to see them being punched by Wakil’s fist, it’s a good enough occurrence for our past comrades. Wakil is a great person.”

“Ugh, don’t say cheesy things like that. They’d be going with strings of guards attached, wouldn’t they?”

“They’ll be bringing the Marine Airborne Corps with them.”

“I’ll shoot a hole in the back of their heads if you want.”

Sun WooHyun looked as though he’d immediately follow the procession of leaving cars.

“Follow them where? Aren’t you tired of those sandstorms? Let’s go eat now that we’ve confirmed they’ve left.”

“I’m not tired at all. This is 100 times more interesting than the 17 years I’ve been a scout. Let’s go.”

“Miss Edel, the Haute restaurant on Rue Hiboli is a Michelin rank. Let’s go.”

“Oh, Michelin! Won’t it be too expensive?”

“The Wakil is a millionaire, so why the worry?”

“Still, the price of that meal could relieve the 100s of people from hunger,” Edel whispered to Ombuti, so Black Mamba doesn’t hear.

“There’s 50,000,000 francs. Wakil may be disappointed.”

Edel’s mouth closed like a clam at Ombuti’s words.

“Are we eating snails this time too?”

“Lackey, you can’t fuss over those snails with your hands like last time, do you understand? My face was burning.”

Black Mamba began to speak with his accent, without any burden. It meant that his mind was relaxed.

“Now, let’s head over. Let’s see how expensive that Michelin restaurant is.”

Black Mamba walked ahead. The pride of a countryside boy from the bridge had swelled. Black Mamba had long forgotten his novice past, where he had to dine with Pieff.

[1] A person without proper documents to prove their identity.

[2] Buddy.

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