Chapter 46: Tiger of the Dense Forest (Part 1)

The veteran looked at the struggling John Mitchell, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He tapped his pipe in the expensive helicopter cabin, knocked off the dried cow dung that had turned to ash, put away the small cloth bag containing the dried cow dung "tobacco leaves," then took a second bag from his pocket, took out some white strips of "tobacco fibers," and stuffed them into the pipe. Amid the light clinking of the lighter, pale blue smoke slowly rose again.
Facing John Mitchell's puzzled gaze, the veteran raised a pipe carved from wood in his hand and said, "Corncob actually doesn't taste as good as dried cow dung, and it has to be cut into thin strips with a knife, making it much more troublesome to inhale." ”
John Mitchell was stunned again. The photographer behind him took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and prepared to hand it to the veteran. After a brief thought, the photographer put the cigarette back and handed the whole pack directly to the veteran.
The veteran laughed, took out a cigarette, carefully crushed it, removed all the tobacco leaves, mixed them into his corncob "tobacco leaves," then casually cracked off the original stuff from the pipe and refilled it with mixed tobacco leaves. He raised his pipe to signal the photographer and smiled, "I like American cigarettes!" ”
The photographer's gaze fell on the rifle the veteran was wiping—an AK47 automatic rifle that had been used for an unknown length and had to be taped together to keep it from falling apart. If you looked closely, you'd notice the rifling was almost completely worn down. The photographer curiously asked, "What do you use to wipe the gun?" ”
"Milk spread!" The veteran sipped a corn cob mixed with tobacco leaves, clearly warming up toward the two reporters in front of him. He raised the bottle with hair cream beside him and said, "We still have gun oil for polishing, but I prefer this brand of hair cream instead of gun oil." This brand of hair cream protects my gun from the humidity of the jungle. In winter, when the Siberian cold snap, which can freeze bones to the bone, arrives here, the gun is affected by temperature to some extent. Using this kind of hair cream ensures my gun can always function normally in the freezing cold. I'm now used to using it instead of polishing gun oil. ”
John Mitchell pointed to the two rows of crosses carved with a saber on the butt of the rifle and asked, "What are these?" ”
"I like to record how many people I kill on the battlefield." The veteran said nonchalantly, "Whenever I'm sure I've killed an enemy with this rifle, I carve a cross mark on it." ”
Secretly counting the cross marks on that rifle, John Mitchell and the photographer gasped together. If they hadn't miscalculated, this veteran had already killed at least twenty-three enemies on the battlefield!
"Don't show such a surprised expression." The veteran pointed at a soldier who, as soon as he boarded the helicopter, was dozing against the bulkhead with a rifle and said, "He's the sniper in our squad, nicknamed Poison Arrow. He's killed more than fifty enemies by him." The guy with the heavy machine gun, nicknamed 'Blood Groove,' once snuck behind the enemy lines alone in one battle, and in that one fight alone, he wiped out two squads of enemies. ”
The photographer pointed to a young soldier who was also leaning against the cabin with his eyes closed, looking only about twenty years old, and asked in a low voice, "Then why didn't he bring any weapons?!" ”
"His name is Assassin, and he's also a veteran who fought in two wars. His weapons were knives, ropes, and bombs he had concocted himself. He grew up alone in the deep mountains, purely an uncivilized wild kid. In the jungle, he was a born killer; no one knew better how to cover himself in the bushes. He usually doesn't talk much and likes to keep things to himself. This time, after we got off the helicopter, he also acted on his own. I've never seen him use a gun. In his own words, he hates the ear-tingling sound and the smoke of gunfire when firing—he's ninety percent like a beast! ”
The veteran shrugged and said, "Assassins are the ones who kill the fewest among us, but when we all add up, none of us are worth as much as he killed." ”
The veteran switched to a new "tobacco leaf" again. After filling it tightly, he handed the wooden pipe to John Mitchell and said, "Want to try a puff?" ”
A Russian willing to hand you the cigarette he smokes shows he has started to regard you as a friend. John Mitchell took the rough pipe carved from raw wood, probably a work the veteran casually carved with his own saber, carrying a primal rugged charm, with deep marks left by the saber. With the lighter the veteran had lit, John Mitchell took a deep drag, a wave of spicy energy rushing straight into his stomach, making his face immediately flush red. Seeing John Mitchell's embarrassed expression, the veteran smiled and took back his pipe.
In return, John Mitchell pulled out a bag of half-eaten chocolate chips from his pocket and handed them to the veteran. The veteran didn't hold back. After carefully counting the remaining chocolate beans in the plastic bag, he carefully put them into his pocket.
At that moment, Amirali and his bodyguard captain Ma Kai-shek arrived. Under Ma's skillful control, the helicopter's propellers began to spin slowly, and the veteran, like his companions, leaned against the cabin wall and closed his eyes to rest. Veterans like them, with rich combat experience, no longer fear or excitement before battle; through repeated bloody training, they have long understood the importance of rest.
Amid the roar of helicopter engines and propellers, Amirali's third pursuit of the Battle Hero Song began.
Guided by the ground pursuit units, the helicopter quickly caught up with Zhan Xiage and his group, but this time it didn't straf-fire directly with heavy machine guns. About two thousand meters away, the helicopter found a suitable spot for airborne landing, and a rope was lowered from the open cabin door.
The veteran took out the cigarette the photographer had given him from his pocket, took out one and handed it to the assassin, saying, "American stuff, one please." ”
The assassin shook his head, staring at the pipe the veteran almost never left behind. He finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, making John Mitchell involuntarily think of the Cobra warning the enemy invading his territory! He seemed not very comfortable using words to communicate with others, so he said each word deliberately, "Smoking, you'll expose yourself!" ”
"If I were going to die, I'd have died dozens of times already!"
The veteran casually tossed the cigarette he had drawn from his box to Poison Arrow, then took out the chocolate chips John Mitchell had given him from his pocket and said, "Exactly nine. Take it yourself." ”
The assassin took a chocolate chip out of the plastic bag and popped it into his mouth. A trace of satisfaction appeared on his young face. The veteran then took another chocolate chip from the bag and stuffed it into the assassin's hand, patting his shoulder and saying, "Take care!" ”
Everyone watched as the assassin and poisoned arrows slid swiftly down the rope, disappearing into the depths of the forest in an instant. The veteran explained to John Mitchell and the photographer: "The Chinese soldiers are two people, and our superiors mean it's best if we can take them out with just two people." The best combination is an assassin raised in the jungle with beast-like sharp senses and intuition, and a poison arrow that can snipe on any terrain with every shot. Assassins can lock onto their targets before Chinese soldiers notice them, then launch a fatal blow with poisoned arrows. Those two Chinese soldiers excelled at coordinating operations; once one of them died, the other would never stir up any more trouble. ”