Chapter 222: Episode 16: The Syria-Ruman Plan

“Should we leave Mohammad’s corpse here?”

“There’s no need to waste our efforts on moving him. This place is cold, eerie, and empty. This is the perfect place as a mortuary. I’ll call some of my brothers over in the evening and throw them in front of their office. You can prepare a prayer.”

“Brother, I’m a deacon, at least by title. So, of course, I should pray.”

Bakri smiled and started to say a funeral prayer.

“Merciful God, pitiful souls are headed your way. They might have been evil, but I do not want them tortured. I pray that You forgive their souls and reincarnate them as kind people who love others,” Bakri said a short line of prayer and closed their eyes with his hands.

“My brother, Bakri, you’ve always been too kind. They’re the b*stards who killed Ahmad and raped Bassel. They need to suffer from a burning heart by Hell’s flames.”

Bakri smiled bitterly at his cousin’s berating. If Mohammad had heard Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s words, he wouldn’t have said such evil words.

“Mohammad, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa said a soul is the purest thing in the universe. There is no good or evil soul. When a soul gains a body, nothingness is created at the same time. A good person gains kindness, while a bad person gains wickedness in nothingness. When a life ends, all the gathered nothingness spreads across the world, and the soul returns to the universe. A human with a scattered will is considered a different being. How can you love those who are alive, if you can’t accept the dead? As per Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa, I want their soul to be at peace and to be reborn as kind people.”

Surprised, Mohammad blinked. Bakri’s words felt foreign. It was a very different perspective from his usual beliefs. At the same time, it sounded right. Still, evil was evil. He thought it was unfair for an evil person to return as a pure soul after death.

“I see, I see.”

Mohammad shoved the corpse roughly into the potato sack.

Black Mamba was deep in other thoughts. Arabians regarded a woman’s virginity as a serious matter. Mohammad’s younger sister, Bassel, would have a hard time marrying due to the rumors.

Ombuti, who was a member of the Tuareg tribe, held women with great importance. There was a huge age gap, but Ombuti could take good care of Bassel for the rest of their lives. For someone who wasn’t even married, he dared to imagine the unimaginable.

“Bakri, did you find the b*stard who killed Amad?”

“Yes, according to Jawadi’s confession, the b*stard who killed Ahmad is a Shabiha member called Aksur. Azar and Adiv were taken care of by Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa. If you just handled Aksur, the spies, and the traitor, Ahmad can finally rest in peace. May Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa be praised. One who’s come in God’s name, may you be hailed! All praise, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa!”

“Mohammad, do you feel avenged?”

“Thank you. I feel as though I’ll have a good night’s sleep from today onwards. One who’s come in God’s name, may you be hailed! All praise, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa!”

“Hahaha, still, you won’t be able to sleep well tonight. I need your help with something.”

“It’ll be an honor.”

Mohammad held the communications guard position in the Syrian Orthodox Church. He’d experienced many horrible things while trying to protect the security of his people and the Orthodox Church’s Christians. More than anyone, Mohammad was someone who desired power.

Compared to Bakri, Mohammad was impressed by Black Mamba for a completely different reason. If Bakri admired Black Mamba’s humane nature, Mohammad admired his inhumane nature. Often, humans would choose to see what they wanted to see and believed what they wanted to believe.

Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa was a calamity for his enemies with his endless skills, firm decisions, and unforgivable method of using corpses. He found the Mukhabarat and the Muslim Brotherhood pitiful for becoming Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s targets.

The next dawn, a piercing scream rang behind the office of the Mukhabarat’s Third Division. It was the scream of a passerby who had opened the potato sacks that were abandoned on their back door. Sharran’s Mukhabarat Third Division raised an emergency.

Abdul and Jawadi’s corpses, which were in the potato sacks, were immediately moved to Aleppo’s headquarters. Aleppo’s headquarters had concluded that it was the act of terrorists. From the way their fingers were broken, skin ripped off their arms and legs, and injuries all over their bodies—it was the traditional torture techniques of a terrorist.

Syria favored terrorist organizations. The only organization capable of doing so was the Muslim Brotherhood. On top of that, the letter written on the potato sack had angered them.

[Get rid of Allah’s enemy, Assad. Assad’s dogs will be cursed until their seeds die out].

The Mukhabarat became the target of a series of terrorism acts following Azar and Diav’s deaths. It was a concentrated effort from the Muslim Brotherhood. A state of emergency fell upon Aleppo’s headquarters.

At the same time, Black Mamba was headed for Hraytan with the moonlight as his companion. Hraytan, which was located south of Maydanki Lake, was 47 kilometers from Gobelaka. The high road, which Assad had built to earn the northern Sunni faction’s trust, connected Sharran to Aleppo. Thanks to the road, the bike arrived in Hraytan in less than 30 minutes.

“It’s there.”

Mohammad pointed at the declined masjid[1].

“Just go past it. Wait outside and stand 500 meters away.”

“Yes, sir!”

Black Mamba, who had been sitting behind him just moments before, disappeared. Mohammad’s run-down bike disappeared, exuding black fumes.

The mosque had a large white dome in its center, inspired by Iranian infrastructure. The circular Syrian mosque had tall white pillars cloistering a large garden.

The smell of brimstone, heavy oil, weapons, and the thick scent of gunpowder stung his nose. Mohammad’s information wasn’t wrong. In other words, Hraytan’s masjid wasn’t a place of worship led by an Imam, but it had been a terrorist’s hideout instead.

Boom—

His dimensional sight activated. Around 300 people were seen inside the building.

“Hm, there shouldn’t be any commoner performing the salat at three in the morning. Should I shake them awake?”

Those b*stards should be nervous since Mohammad had leaked some information about them. He pulled out five more grenades from his backpack.

Woosh—

His first target was the most important area in the masjid, the mihrab.

Woosh—

Woosh—

Woosh—

Grenades flew in a row. Two of them were soy grenades. Once Black Mamba shoved four grenades down the Minaret and Sahn, he ran away without looking back.

Boom—

Boom—

Grenade explosions followed.

“Go. Leave for the outskirts and find a building that is under construction.”

When Mohammad felt the bike suddenly sway, he freaked out.

“Huh, Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa!”

“Go!”

Voo-oo-om—

A bike sped down in the dark. The bike stopped 900 meters away from the masjid. They were in front of a five-story building that was left with just its external skeleton.

Mohammad didn’t understand Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s actions. What was he planning, standing far away from the place where he had thrown the grenades? On the other hand, he had high expectations. His cousin, Bakri, had told him to just trust the man. The joy from Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s contribution to their holy war caused a surge of adrenaline.

Black Mamba took out the Dragunov from his backpack once he settled on the fifth floor’s stone slab. It had been seven months. He was glad to greet the shining gun again.

It was called a Dragunov, but it wasn’t actually one. The DGSE’s Technical Design Division had replaced its gun barrel, recoil pad, and scope. The accuracy had slightly improved from a two MOA to a one-and-a-half MOA while the construction, sequence firing speed, and scope had been significantly enhanced.

Mohammad’s eyes widened. He knew how to handle guns for someone who spent a decade as a communications guard at the Orthodox Church. They were very far from the mosque to the point that it couldn’t be seen. It wasn’t a distance that a Dragunov could overcome.

“Mohammad, you slipped the information to those b*stards too, right?”

“Yes, I revealed that Assad’s dogs were going to move at dawn.”

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“Good, let’s raise some vengeful spirits among the Muslim Brotherhood.”

He finished assembling the gun and turned the silencer on. As Claude had reassured, the new silencer was light and compact. It was incomparable to the previous one. The 12x variable scope gave him a clear sight compared to the fixed 4x scope.

“Hmm, did those slow frogs gain their heads back? Those DGSE b*stards have some use after all.”

If the DGSE had heard his comment, they would have regretfully vomited blood since they had invested 10,000,000 francs on Black Mamba’s new equipment. A 20-bullet magazine was slid in smoothly.

Click—

The magazine holder clicked cheerfully.

He adjusted the scope’s visibility. He could see the masjid burning brightly through the scope. His sight was filled with people shouting in the chaos.

Tap—

A person had fallen from trying to douse the flames.

Tap—

Tap—

Black Mamba initiated his specialization, the double-tap fast-sniping. It took 10 seconds for him to use up all 20 bullets.

Mohammad’s jaw hung as he looked on at the masjid through a pair of binoculars. Uncountable humans jumped out from within the building, which was in flames. Most of them were carrying guns. Some had moved to stop the fire while others spread across the outskirts. They were a well-trained organization.

The armed people, who were running toward the outskirts, fell to the ground in rows like leaves swaying in the wind. A few group leaders who conducted the fire suppression fell to the ground too. Mohammad didn’t realize that he was drooling from the corner of his mouth.

To shoot a sniping gun like a machine gun without a single misfire? That was a killing machine instead of a human. No, the god of death. Mohammad wanted to know Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s identity badly, to the point that he felt sick.

Tap—

Tap—

Black Mamba instantly wasted another 20 bullets from a new magazine.

“This should be enough to get the angry badger to attack the wolf.”

Black Mamba smiled and separated the Dragunov to store in his backpack. Mohammad felt chills running through his entire body.

“Mohammad, let’s head to the ammunition factory.”

“Yes? Yes, of course.”

Mohammad went down the railless stairs. He was so surprised that his legs started shaking.

“Ah!”

Mohammad fell down the stairs in a single slip.

“Be careful!”

A strong hand pulled Mohammad back up after he had lost his balance and fell.

“Tha…thank you.”

Sweat beaded on Mohammad’s forehead at the thought of his likely fate when he fell off the fourth floor.

“Are you going to eradicate the ammunition factory, sir?”

“I plan to touch it a little. It’s only fair for me to provoke the Syrian army since I’ve just done the same to the Muslim Brotherhood. Allah said to leave a lot of profits from bargaining and pour oil over fights.”

“Kekeke!”

Mohammad choked on his laughter at the impossible words. He relaxed at Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s nonsense. Mohammad relentlessly pulled on the throttle in excitement. Mohammad was someone who’d lived and avoided the wolf with a wringing heart. With a tiger on his back, he felt alive.

There was a forest three kilometers south of Sharran before reaching Cema. The bike turned east, leaving the forest on its right. Mohammad, who was riding the bike, pointed at the valley within as he passed the forest.

“There’s a factory in there.”

“Mohammad, hide somewhere proper. I’ll return in 10 minutes.”

Pat—

Black Mamba disappeared instantly.

“He’s ruthless. Bakri was right. He isn’t an apostle but an existing incarnate of God.”

Mohammad didn’t dare offer his help. He had a presence that was beyond the heavens of a different dimension. Offering to help Black Mamba would only get in his way.

Boom—

He activated his dimensional sight at the valley’s entrance. 600 meters was a rather close distance. He activated his external sight. There weren’t many buildings on the surface aside from a long road, neat barricades, and a stone wall that blocked all three sides. He could see a few dome-like figures all over the place. That wasn’t a factory but a ammunition storage facility.

That wasn’t Mohammad’s fault, but a mistake on Black Mamba’s part for failing to distinguish a storage facility and a factory.

“Great. I’ve wasted my time carrying these heavy explosives along,” Black Mamba complained.

Black Mamba swerved around the valley and approached the ammunition storage facility from the back. A cliff that was almost 100 meters in height appeared. He went down the steep cliff without hesitation. He used alternating wall around wall, which swayed half of his body left and right.

The guards hadn’t set up any posts around the 100 meters cliff, trusting its steepness. It was a form of reassurance. When a human trusted a situation too much, they would ignore the hypothetical dangers of a situation.

He cleared the cliff in a minute. All the buildings looked similar externally, but it was easy to find the ammunition storage. It had a strong gunpowder smell, while the building with a heavier oil scent was the weapons storage.

People’s guards were usually down at three in the morning.

Tap—

Tap—

Black Mamba rushed into the guard post and slapped the head of a surprised guard with his hand. It was the quickest killing method without inflicting outer injury.

A guard couldn’t keep the keys to the ammunition storage room anyway. He had to be quick and decisive. Ammunition storage rooms were mostly built underground. Black Mamba wondered if he should dig with his resonance or crack the locks open.

Digging underground was confidential, but it took up time and energy. The internal concrete walls were also a pain. Using a timed explosive would be easier, but it could raise the alarms.

“Well, since chaos was my main aim, let’s see how fast the Syrian five-minute contingency unit moves,” he leisurely spoke as he grabbed a safe the size of a child’s head. When he used his muscles to open the safe, its door ripped, but its shape was still intact.

Creaak—

The moment he opened the iron doors, which was the width of his hand, a loud siren went off. Black Mamba ignored it and ran into the ammunition storage room. The bullet boxes, which had been stored in rows, were thrown about without a care. Most of them were rifle and machine-gun bullets.

“Hm? What is this?”

It was a box filled with American double backs. The US had labeled Syria as evil. There was no way they’d be supplying Syria with military equipment. He felt as though something was misleading.

[1] It is the Arabic term for “mosque.” It is a place of worship for Muslims.

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