"Satan, the ones in the small building are mercenaries—about twenty of them. There are two snipers on the rooftop, covered in camouflage. Take them out as soon as possible, and make sure to leave two alive for me."
Martin's voice came through the earpiece once more. This time, Satan had no doubts about the accuracy of his intel.
There were snipers, yet they had refrained from shooting even when Big Dog and the others launched their assault.
The only explanation was that they were fishing for a bigger catch—themselves. And the big fish they wanted was clearly him, the commander of their side.
Satan sneered and spoke into the earpiece, "Goat, you heard the boss. Three minutes to take out the snipers."
Goat, ever nonchalant, replied lazily, "Three minutes? Satan, you're underestimating me. The boss basically spelled it out for us—twenty seconds is plenty."
Not even twenty seconds later, two gunshots rang out.
"Done!" Goat's voice came through the earpiece.
Upon hearing that, Satan immediately began assigning attack tasks. "Big Dog, lead the charge and draw their fire."
"Goat, have your men ready to pick them off—anyone who sticks their head out, shoot them."
"Frye, where's your team at?"
Big Dog and Goat went about their tasks without hesitation.
Meanwhile, there was no response from Frye. Just as Satan was beginning to wonder if he had been taken out, Frye's voice finally came through.
"Boss, I spotted two vehicles heading for the northeast exit. I hijacked one and am in pursuit with my team."
"Okay, handle it as you see fit. Who's in command of the rest of your men?"
"It's me, Aviator, Satan."
"Aviator?"
Two voices answered simultaneously in the earpiece.
"Aviator, where's your team at now?" Satan asked.
"Almost at the town center. We just took out a small squad of Black mercenaries."
"Any casualties?"
"Two unlucky bastards got hit, but nothing fatal. One of them might have to retire, though."
"Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets a generous retirement package. He won't have to worry about life after service," Martin's voice chimed in.
"Thanks, boss!"
"Appreciate it, boss!"
"Boss, you're the best!"
"Wow, I love a generous employer."
A chorus of gratitude filled the earpiece. Even Big Dog and Goat, in the middle of their assault, joined in. It was clear that morale was sky-high.
"Alright, guys, that small building ahead should be the enemy's final stronghold. Take it down, and this fight is over..."
As Satan rallied the troops, he led his squad in a skirmish formation, advancing towards the building.
Goat's snipers and marksmen were elite forces. It was almost unheard of for a small mercenary group like Martin's to have nearly ten of them.
With their suppressive fire, the enemies in the building barely had a chance to lift their heads.
All Satan and Big Dog had to do was clear the rooms one by one.
By this time, Martin had left the hillside and had climbed to the rooftop of a building at the town's entrance. From there, he overlooked the battle at the town center.
Then, he spoke. "Gordon, don't you think it's time we set up a proper mercenary company? We could base it in Guinea, Africa. Our guys are already handling the training for the Guinean National Defense Forces—we could easily plant some of our own men in the military... And those mines in Guinea, since their government can't exploit them properly, why not cooperate with them ourselves?"
Gordon was taken aback. "Right now, we have ten mercenary units operating in Guinea, including Satan's. That's around five hundred men. If we want to control all the mines, we'll need to recruit more."
"Then recruit more. In a place as poor as Guinea, there's no shortage of people who can't even afford food. Manpower isn't a problem. I'll have James Hendrix send over some FBI experts to handle indoctrination, and I'll check in personally from time to time. That'll take care of any loyalty issues. A place as rich as Guinea shouldn't be left in the hands of illiterate warlords."
Guinea was one of the least developed countries, but its land was a treasure trove of natural resources, often referred to as a "geological miracle."
It had massive deposits of bauxite and iron ore, with some of the highest-grade reserves in the world. Guinea held the largest confirmed bauxite reserves on the planet.
Additionally, it had diamonds, gold, copper, uranium, cobalt, lead, and zinc.
Its abundant water resources made it the source of three of West Africa's major rivers, earning it the nickname "Water Tower of West Africa."
"If we can secure those mining resources, forget a few thousand troops—we could easily support tens of thousands, even a hundred thousand soldiers."
However, the African warlords were inherently undisciplined, free-spirited, and rebellious by nature. Martin figured he'd need to go to Guinea personally to handle their government officials and, while he was at it...
He did a quick mental check. His magic reserves were sufficient. The "Soul Capture Formation" could be deployed—at least three of them.
At some point, the gunfire in the town had ceased.
"They're coming," Gordon suddenly said.
Looking down, Martin saw Satan's men escorting two dejected white captives toward him. He waved his hand. "Over here! Take them to a room on the first floor—I'll be right down."
"Boss, these mercenaries aren't ordinary. I just interrogated them a little, and their loyalty runs deep. Whoever's behind them has a strong grip on them," Satan reported seriously as Martin arrived.
Martin chuckled. "Leave it to me."
He entered the room where the captives were being held, with Gordon following close behind.
Satan was reminded of how Martin had interrogated those Kurdish prisoners before—every single one of them had spilled their guts.
Looks like the boss really has some magic tricks up his sleeve!
As if to confirm Satan's suspicions—
Inside the room, Martin's voice rang out with questions, followed by the captives' answers.
Ten minutes later, Martin and Gordon emerged, both looking bewildered.
Satan frowned. "Did they refuse to talk?"
Gordon shook his head. "No, they talked. But the mastermind behind this... is way more shocking than we expected!"
Martin's expression shifted unpredictably, clearly unsettled.
He had considered many possibilities—maybe it was Little Bush, the Texas oil cartel, the military, the new Iraqi government, or even the British Petroleum Group.
But never in his wildest dreams did he expect the one stirring up trouble to be an African warlord!
What the f***?!
I don't remember crossing that guy!
Martin combed through his past memories but found no reason why this warlord would have a grudge against him.
His expression quickly turned cold.
A incubus does not take a hit without striking back.
"Gaddafi, huh? You brought this on yourself!"