Chapter 44: Iron-Blooded Battle Chess (Part 2)

Looking at the guiding signs left on the birch tree, the highest commander of the Chechen guerrillas was still hesitating. About two kilometers ahead, two more gunshots rang out, and the direction of the shots matched exactly the direction indicated by the arrows on the birch tree.
This kid really wants to die!
More than twenty Chechen guerrillas relentlessly pursued them, relying on the arrows and gunfire left by the war hero's song, but no matter how hard they tried, they could not cross the two-kilometer-long distance between the two sides. At some point, the provocative gunfire ahead had disappeared, but the guiding arrow remained.
The Chechen guerrillas followed the last directional arrow for a considerable distance, but when they saw no more directional arrows, they finally hesitated and stopped. Suddenly, the Chechen partisan commander's face changed dramatically, and he shouted hoarsely, "This is bad, we've been tricked!" Go back immediately! ”
When these more than twenty Chechen guerrillas hurried back to where dozens of wounded comrades had been left behind, they were stunned by what they saw.
After they left, it was clear that another brief but fierce battle had taken place. Looking at the group of comrades lying quietly on the ground with weapons, no more groans or cries of pain, the Chechen guerrilla commander felt a chill run through his body. He shouted in a trembling voice, "Are there any survivors? If you are, speak up for me!" ”
No one answered.
Some comrades holding weapons had fatal bullet holes on their foreheads, but those who threw away their weapons after being wounded were left with scars from combat sabers. From their wide-open eyes, one could see the absolute fear and panic they felt as death drew near.
Suddenly, a guerrilla fighter shouted, "Captain, there's still one alive here!" ”
The only survivor was curled up behind a withered tree stump. He was clearly terrified, like a sandgrouse, tightly covering his head with his clothes and refusing to show his head even in death. He just lay there, trembling uncontrollably. The Chechen partisan commander frowned and grabbed him. After a few slaps, he threw him to the ground. The survivor, clearly overfrightened, his face covered in tears and snot, took a deep breath and shouted, "He's coming, he's coming again!" He's so ruthless, really ruthless! ”
Pointing at the corpses scattered everywhere, the survivor cried out, "Dead! All my brothers except me are dead!" Just as we were helping each other heal, they suddenly appeared again. Before we could figure out what was happening, the brother still holding a weapon was shot dead by them. After clearing away all obstacles that threatened them, they swaggered before us! ”
"The person at the front of them isn't even human!" He held a bloody military knife in his hand, smiling endlessly at us, making our hearts chill. We had already raised our hands to them, surrendered, but he stabbed his brothers who had no weapons and could no longer resist. Each time he killed a brother, he smeared a bloody mark on a large white flag. That damn bastard—he killed him with one strike after another, and he managed to stain half of the white flag red! ”
This survivor still cannot forget the terrifying pressure when the man covered in bright red strode up to him, staring at him with those reddened eyes. At that moment, the blood on his whole body was still hot, still steaming hot. It looked as if his entire body was shrouded in burning red flames—red people, red blades, eyes glowing red. Behind him was a pure red scene of a bloody slaughterhouse, and those corpses died horribly in horror were the best testimony to his achievements.
This isn't even a person at all—he's just a war machine born for killing, without any emotion or mercy!
The survivor thought he was doomed. He wanted to beg for mercy, but he didn't understand Chinese at all. When he opened his mouth, he found that besides trembling, he had lost the ability to speak from fear. He wanted to stay calm even if it meant death, but his tears, sweat, and snot kept pouring out of control, making him look indescribably pitiful.
The man looked down at him, the pitiful creature crawling at his feet, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes. This was the only human emotional fluctuation he saw in this man. Finally, the man slowly put away the knife, which seemed to have spiritual power and murderous intent. He tore off a piece of white cloth from a corpse that hadn't been soaked with blood, then used his fingers and pen to write a blood letter using the pool of blood around him as ink, and threw it directly into the survivor's arms.
All the members of the "Assassin Organization" had already died at Zhanxiage's hands. No one could understand what he was actually saying in this blood-written letter written in Chinese. This blood letter was returned to the base by the Chechen guerrilla commander. After a Chinese-speaking "assassin organization" member identified it, it was confirmed to be a letter from a Chinese soldier to their third leader, Amirali.
The letter was eventually handed over to Amirali, the member of the "assassin organization" who had delivered the blood letter to him. With Amirali's permission, he immediately fled Amirali's room without looking back.
Amirali opened the blood-written letter. Worried that the Chechen guerrillas might return at any moment, the war heroic song was written in a rushed manner, truly a stroke of effort. In this bold article, he truly elevated China's wild cursive art to its peak. Moreover, blood is not real ink; when it melts on white cloth, each character often becomes a mass of red circles that make it impossible to tell what kind of game it is. Amira Li had to work hard and carefully to recognize every character on it.
"Hey, that loser who only knows how to hide behind others and tremble! Yes, Amirali, I'm talking about you! Do you know your brother died at my hands? At that moment, I shot him right on the head. With a loud 'bang,' his head shattered like a broken watermelon, shattering into seventeen or eighteen pieces. His headless body had blood shooting two or three feet high from his neck. The sight was absolutely stunning! What I regret most now is one thing: why didn't I have a camera to record this beautiful eruption scene at the time? Watching it often and savoring that beautiful pleasure—wouldn't that be one of life's greatest pleasures?! ”
Amirali trembled all over for a long time, but when he bit his lip, he gradually calmed down again.
"Bang!" Bang! Bang......"
Suddenly, a self-defense pistol shot out from Amirali's room. Several bodyguards protecting Amirali pushed open the door, but before they could figure out what was happening, a bullet that hit the corner and bounced back violently landed on one of the bodyguards. The bodyguard let out a miserable scream, blood suddenly spurting from his head. Just as the war hero song had said, it looked truly beautiful.
Amirali put down the self-defense pistol in his hand, which was now empty and still smoking faintly. He reached out and slowly tore the blood letter into thin strips of cloth, whispering, "I don't care who you are. I will kill you!" Don't you like photography? Don't you love reminiscing about life? I will make sure you shoot your fill in front of the camera, and I will make sure you experience the thrill of life in the last few dozen hours of your life! This is my reply to you, and what I can do to my brother, who once died for me! ”
Several bodyguards, still unaware of what was happening, looked at each other in confusion. At that moment, the member of the "assassin organization" who had quickly fled this troubled place as soon as he handed in the blood letter returned timidly. He tried to hide behind the tallest bodyguard, carefully handed over a piece of tree bark to the increasingly grim Amirali, and said, "Report: Several Chechen brothers have encountered them again on the mountain. Four dead and one wounded. He has sent back another letter." ”
"Amirali, you received my first letter, didn't you? I wonder how you're feeling right now—want to cry, want to scream, want to shout, want to shoot me with one shot, right? Even if you're not a hobbyist, even if you like terrorist activities, even if you like to have people plant bombs on buses, think about throwing Molotov cocktails into residential areas every day, or have even started to develop into international, biologically terrorist acts, when your loved ones die, you still feel sad and will drop a few drops of horse urine, right?! If you're not convinced, if you grit your teeth, then come on, come on, come hunt me down! I'll leave you a space on this battle flag on my body. Without your Amira power's blood, this flag doesn't look red enough no matter how you look at it. ”
Amira Li gently flicked his fingers. In this situation, he was still able to barely suppress his anger, trying to analyze the reasons and possible reasons for the war hero song's actions. Although he had imagined in his mind that the war hero song was deliberately drawing everyone's attention to cover for an injured comrade, he quickly brushed over that possibility.
In his eyes, such actions were not only foolish but hopelessly foolish. The opponent he faced was clever, cunning, and cruel, and would never do something so unwise.
Precisely because Amira Li wasn't a war hero song, he let go of the judgment that it might truly exploit the song's weakness.
After thinking for a long time, Amirali finally made a judgment in his mind that even he felt uncomfortable. Although he always felt something was off, he couldn't think of a better explanation. His judgment was: "This kid is just tired of living and wants to die!" ”
"Bang!" Bang! Bang......! ”
Suddenly, a burst of urgent gunfire rang out outside, mixed with angry shouts. Amirali cast his questioning gaze on his personal bodyguard captain.
Tall and burly, having joined French mercenaries, once active on the international mercenary battlefield, the bodyguard captain who finally responded to Allah's call to return home and join the "assassin organization" shrugged his shoulders and said, "The guerrilla team chasing those two Chinese soldiers has just brought back over a hundred bodies. No wonder they're so furious. Those two Chinese soldiers were really ruthless." ”
Amirali raised an eyebrow and said, "Oh?" ”
His bodyguard captain was not a Boy Scout on the battlefield; this captain had a Han Chinese name, Ma Shijie. He had spent seven years on mercenary battlefields, licking his blade and killing without blinking. Under his hands, he had at least dozens of lives taken, and he had even fired on civilians more than once. It was the first time Ma Shijie had described Amirali as being "really" too ruthless.
The top leaders of Chechen anti-government militants and the spokespersons endorsed by the Afghan guerrillas all stared gloomily at the neatly arranged corpses before them. Just hours ago, these corpses were a group of young people who could talk and laugh, comrades fighting for the same ideals. But now, they were just cold, unconscious corpses.
On the battlefield, fighting for life and death was understandable. Being stabbed to death with a combat saber was a relatively satisfying way for soldiers and guerrillas to die. But looking at the corpses scattered everywhere, Amirali finally understood what Ma Shijie meant by being a bit too harsh.
It's easy to kill one person with a saber, and easy to kill two people, but what if you kill ten people in a row? Watching blood spurt continuously from his body, hearing the terrifying sounds of the knife scraping against his ribs, he was neither holding back nor panicking—surely there were very few who didn't hold back or panic. Even Japanese executioners who fought massacres against the Chinese people during World War II would need several days to kill dozens of people wielding a longer katana with less blood.