Mercenaries, I Will Be King

Song Heping didn't have time to declare his identity, because the armed militant pinned under the door was already fighting back.

He struggled desperately, flipping over abruptly and knocking Song Heping to the ground.

Song Heping didn't have time to think, his Beretta pistol repeatedly pulling the trigger.

The advantage of the pistol was fully demonstrated at this moment—short barrel, nimble aiming, quick to fire.

Before the opponent could aim at Song Heping, the latter's Beretta pistol spat out tongues of flame first,

the 9mm Parabellum bullets easily drilled several holes in the chest of the militant, blooming a few sprays of blood.

The warhead pierced straight through the enemy's chest, hitting a vital spot, his heart was penetrated, and blood gushed out like a fountain.

That person collapsed onto Song Heping, twitching weakly a few times, and soon, there was an exhale but no inhale.

The two rolled together, and Song Heping could even feel the other's last breath.

He pushed the body away, the militant's eyes bulgingly staring at Song Heping, the expression in those eyes rapidly fading away, like a water-filled balloon that was punctured, quickly running out.

Song Heping felt himself trembling.

Not the hands, but the heart pounding violently.

The feeling of killing was far from pleasant.

Such memories would instantly brand themselves into one's mind, scarring it with the shape of a person.

"Hey! Brother! Don't just sit there, come over!"

Big Beard, not far away, was waving at Song Heping.

The barrel of his M4A1 carbine had already drooped down, it was obvious that he harbored no hostility toward Song Heping, having confirmed through his eyes that he was not the enemy.

Song Heping didn't have time to think more.

Although he was completely reluctant to mix with these Country M soldiers, the pressing situation left him no choice but to board the same boat.

Alone, he couldn't possibly escape alive from here.

As he got up and was about to approach, he seemed to remember something, turned back to pick up the AKM assault rifle on the ground, and took all the magazines with him.

He had always been reluctant to pick up guns before, because he never wanted to get involved in this affair.

Running around with an assault rifle clearly meant telling everyone he was an enemy; even combatants on both sides would shoot at him.

Having done this, he quickly moved with Big Beard and the others to a building next door.

This building was larger than any they had previously seen, apparently the home of a wealthy family.

After entering, Big Beard and Hansen efficiently searched all the rooms.

There was nobody inside, completely empty.

Perhaps the owner had already fled.

"We'll go through the back door!"

Big Beard, who was obviously the leader, issued the command without discussion.

Hansen led the way upfront, searching for a way out through the back door.

The back door wasn't hard to find. They quickly located the exit, Hansen stood by the door and peered left and right through the small window, not seeming to notice anything out of the ordinary, so he reached for the door.

The door had hardly opened two inches when trouble occurred.

Pop pop pop—

Pop pop pop—

Gunfire erupted outside, like crackling beans.

Bullets rained down on the back door like droplets.

"People! Oh! Damn—"

Hansen was screaming, cursing, and backing away all at the same time.

Next to the back door was the kitchen, into which he tumbled.

Big Beard quickly shielded a civilian behind him, pushing him into a room next to the hallway.

Song Heping hurriedly took cover in the dining room next to the kitchen.

The barrage continued, with the opposing side seeming determined to empty their magazines.

They conducted a concentrated barrage on the back door, and from the direction of the gunfire, it was evident there was more than one militant outside.

Bullets pierced the wooden door and hit the walls and ceiling inside the house; some embedded directly into the walls, while others ricocheted, whizzing around the hallway with fragments of debris continuously falling, filling the interior with dust.

Song Heping crouched in the room, inwardly lamenting his situation.

It seemed there was no escaping this time.

The front door was crowded with people, and if there were even people at the back door, it meant they had been trapped and encircled.

"Hansen, are you okay?!"

Big Beard shouted across the hallway in the room opposite.

"FK, those sons of bitches hit my leg! I'm trying to stop the bleeding!"

Hansen moaned in the kitchen, and Song Heping could hear him clearly through the wall between them.

There was another door from the dining room leading to the kitchen, so Song Heping crept to the door and peeked in the kitchen for a moment.

Hansen leaned against a wall in the kitchen, his hands covered in blood, and large bloodstains had also appeared on his pants.

When Song Heping entered, Hansen instinctively reached for the gun beside him.

He relaxed only after seeing it was Song Heping, and continued to fiddle with his tourniquet.

Apparently having trouble both pressing on the wound and undoing the tourniquet, he called out to Song Heping, "Kid, come over and give me a hand."

Song Heping squatted down next to him.

By this time, Hansen was already sweating profusely, the pain twisting his features into something grim.

"How can I help?"

"Hold this down... this spot.. yes... oh—"

Hansen had been shot about 10 centimeters above his knee, the tactical pants had been cut open, but the wound was so bloody that it was impossible to see.

The first step in dealing with battlefield gunshot wounds is to locate the wound, the bleeding point, and then to stop the bleeding.

But with Hansen's situation, he could only be given emergency treatment; it wasn't possible to treat the gunshot wound meticulously. If they could stop the bleeding, ensure he didn't lose too much blood and go meet God, and hold out until help arrived, it would be a success.

Song Heping pressed down on the spot above the wound, where the artery was located; pressing it could slow down the bleeding, buying Hansen time to manage the tourniquet.

However, when Song Heping applied pressure, it nearly made Hansen pass out from the pain.

"Too hard?" Song Heping quickly asked, "Should I go lighter?"

"No! I can handle it!" Hansen immediately refused.

Because he was unsure which blood vessel the warhead had severed; if a major blood vessel was truly broken, without sufficient pressure to stop it, it would become a little fountain.

He clenched his teeth against the pain as he loosened the tourniquet and wrapped it around his thigh.

Applying a tourniquet has its techniques; it must be within the top third of the thigh, close to the heart, otherwise, it won't successfully compress the artery to stop the blood.

Hansen was using a twist-type tourniquet that needed to be pulled tight over the thigh and then twisted using a small iron rod to constrict the tourniquet to the smallest diameter, tightly binding the leg to stop the bleeding.

Afterward, it must be loosened every hour or so for 1-3 minutes, to prevent tissue necrosis.

After he finished with the tourniquet, he let out a breath, already drenched in sweat. He turned his head to Song Heping and said, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it!" Song Heping couldn't help but ask Hansen, "When is your backup expected to arrive?"

Hansen said, "Very soon, just have to hold out a few more minutes. They'll definitely be here; they're already on the way."

Hearing this from Hansen relieved Song Heping somewhat.

"Hey, kid, don't stick around by the back door. Find a place near the front door to hunker down. I'll take care of the back door!"

Big Beard was again barking orders.

Song Heping didn't like Big Beard's commanding tone.

But now everyone was in the same boat and had to cooperate.

Song Heping returned to the original dining room and chose to hide on one side of the doorway against the wall. From this angle, he could observe the lobby and the front door through the hallway.

Big Beard was right across from him, similarly taking cover behind the door on the wall.

From his position, he could watch both the front and the back door, ready to provide support at any moment.

Song Heping also noticed the bespectacled civilian.

He was almost certain this man wasn't a soldier; it reminded him of the civilian staffers common in the administrative district near Republic Palace in the Green Zone.

The bespectacled man hid at the farthest end of the room, by a desk, his pale face showing he was quite nervous.

There was silence outside, and Big Beard took the opportunity to ask Song Heping about his situation, "What's your name?"

"Song Heping."

"What?"

"Just call me Song."

"Sang?"

"No, it's Song, SONG, Song!"

"SANG?"

After correcting him twice, Song Heping gave up.

Forget it, "Sang" it is then; "Sang" had enough of a fierce ring to it, like "Sangbiao," a tough guy in Hong Kong dramas. Anyone with that nickname was not to be messed with.

"I'm Thomas," Big Beard introduced himself, "but they all call me 'Jesus.'"

He even reached up to touch his own beard, as if explaining the origin of the nickname to Song Heping.

"Jesus..."

Song Heping felt this nickname was quite to the man's advantage.

Big Beard must be tough to dare use that nickname.

"Boss, it's too quiet! I've got a bad feeling! Could they possibly—"

Hansen suddenly issued a warning from inside the kitchen.

Crack—

Before he could finish, Song Heping heard the sound of breaking glass, something had been smashed into the room.