"What were those big-headed ghosts thinking? They want to go to the Golden Crescent with a rcenary? Have they lost their minds?! I'm not a nanny..."
Mist grumbled as he carried his large backpack, heading toward the C-17 transport plane.
The lieutenant colonel, Rogers, commander of the Seal Team in Iraq, also couldn't understand why such a dangerous mission to Afghan required a rcenary to play the lead role while his own top soldiers, reportedly, were just responsible for the rcenary's security...
But he was a soldier and naturally had to follow orders.
General Peter had tasked him with selecting his most elite subordinate to send on a protection mission to Afghan.
The protection target was a rcenary.
As for what the mission was about? That wasn't disclosed.
And who exactly they were escorting? That wasn't disclosed either.
Among Rogers' subordinates, Mist was currently the best fighter.
A seasoned veteran, he had served in the Marine Corps' Reconnaissance units before being selected to join the Seal Team two years ago.
Mist was an excellent professional soldier.
Dedicated and upright, he considered the military his ho, a true model worker of the new era.
If he had any flaw, it was his playboy nature, often unable to control his lower half.
Back when he went through the rigorous and challenging selection for the Seal Team, where he barely had enough ti to sleep, he managed to sleep with every woman from the waitress to the owner at a bar called "Heat" next to the base.
The revelation led to a brawl among the won over jealousy. Several local n present at the bar, despising Mist for his promiscuity and jealous of his 'feasts' in their 'famine', started a huge fight, causing a big ruckus.
The incident almost thwarted Mist's chances of joining the Seal Team.
Considering his romantic escapades, everyone gave him a rather poetic nickna—"The Great Stud."
And yet, such a Casanova never accidentally shot his gun off, he had no wife, no kids, and hardly any relatives to contact.
He could really be considered as bare as one can be, the type who could be buried in a public cetery upon death without anyone asking questions.
Besides, he was also sowhat of an oddity across military branches. His desire to serve in the military was pure—just for kicks.
From day one of his enlistnt, he had set his sights on the Special Forces, vowing to experience every possible unit.
Of course, his goal was sowhat unrealistic.
But that didn't stop him from trying.
This was what annoyed Rogers the most.
"What are you yelling about?! Who asked you to apply for Delta Force? Who asked you to show off? You think you're so great? Then I'm assigning you to the most dangerous mission, isn't that a test for you?"
Rogers nearly spat out these words in disdain toward Mist.
The reason was that this guy had barely been under his command for two years and had already submitted an application to go to Delta.
Although Delta belonged to the T1 tier within the US Special Forces operations, the Seals were not inferior, so why couldn't he just be content serving under his command?
Mist was certainly aware of why Rogers was so upset, and said with a grin, "Lieutenant, you know . I have nothing personal against you; I just like to try out different units. Don't be mad, alright? When I co back, I'll take you to a bar in the Green Zone for so drinks and a striptease, my treat."
Rogers sneered, "Great Stud, cut the crap. If you were willing to serve well in one unit, you wouldn't still be a lieutenant at over thirty. Aren't you thinking about promotions or anything? What's the point of risking your life everywhere?"
Mist, walking toward the apron, replied, "So birds are not ant to be caged, their feathers are just too bright. Lieutenant, you household n will never understand ."
Here, he quoted a classic line from "The Shawshank Redemption" to explain his actions.
"Get lost! Don't show off in front of !"
As they talked, they reached the apron, and the rear cargo door of the C-17 was already open.
Rogers stopped, turned to Mist solemnly, and said, "Great Stud, make sure you co back alive."
"YES SIR!" Mist stood at attention and slowly saluted, "Lieutenant, don't worry, I won't go to hell owing you a strip show. Hahaha!"
Mist was such a character, always able to turn a solemn mont into sothing greasy and ludicrous.
"Go away!"
Rogers roared, lifting his leg to kick Mist.
Mist, already anticipating, darted a few ters away and boarded the transport with his backpack on his back.
The cabin was bustling.
This plane wasn't just for transporting the two of them; it was transporting supplies from a port in Kuwait to Afghan.
With the plane ready to take off, ground staff and the crew were constantly loading and securing the cargo bases into the cabin.
Mist maneuvered past several busy figures toward the deeper part of the cabin.
Suddenly, he spotted a familiar figure sitting on a seat on the right side of the cabin.
"FUCK!"
He cursed.
"Yo, yo, yo! Who do I see here?"
He grinned, his eyes gradually lighting up.
"Song!"
He strode forward, dropping his backpack, and then spread his arms wide.
"Why is it you?"
"Why is it you?"
Both were surprised.
Song Heping looked up to see Mist and was montarily stunned, then he too smiled.
He got up and embraced Mist briefly.
It wasn't overly sentintal.
After all, the two had shared life and death experiences in Mosul, forming a bond forged through fire.
"Wait a minute!"
Mist suddenly rembered sothing.
"You're going to Afghan?"
"Yes."
Song Heping also realized sothing.
"You're going to Afghan too?"
"You're the rcenary?" Mist hastily added, "The one going on the mission to the Golden Crescent?"
"You're the elite US Special Forces agent posing as my bodyguard?"
Song Heping exclaid in surprise.
"Exactly!" Mist spread his arms wide, exaggeratedly looking around as he raised his voice, "In Illiguo, who else but I, Mist, fits the description of 'elite' better?"
Song Heping burst into hearty laughter, tickled by Mist's antics.
Mist was an amusing guy.
One of the few people Song Heping could genuinely have fun with.
In Song Heping's view, he naturally felt a barrier towards Aricans in general, simply not liking them.
But this guy was an exception.
"Lao Mi, you really have so thick skin."
Mist carelessly threw his backpack on the floor and sat down next to Song Heping.
"I was just cursing on the road, wondering which clueless higher-up decided I should bodyguard a rcenary. Turns out it's you, kid!"
He paused, then shifted the topic.
"By the way, how did they find you?"
"Don't you know what you're going to do in Afghan?" Song Heping asked.
Mist shook his head, "No clue. My superiors were all secretive when they assigned the task, I asked too, but Lieutenant Colonel Rogers said he didn't know, only that the destination was the Golden Crescent."
"Hmm," said Song Heping, "I know a bit more than you. This ti our venture into the Golden Crescent is an undercover operation, primarily to coordinate airstrikes to eliminate a few targets."
As he spoke, he mulled over in his mind how Mist also seed clueless, not even knowing that one of the targets he was to eliminate was a CIA Black Group agent.
But Song Heping didn't plan on divulging any of that information.
In the past few days in Persia, he had already made a deal with Avanti, even scouting the area near the highlands of Salha close to the Golden Crescent.
With the help of the Revolutionary Guard Special Brigade, Song Heping had gathered a plethora of local intelligence, thoroughly preparing for the mission.
After the mission, it would be impractical to retreat back either to Pakistan's territory or directly to the US military's defense zone in Afghan.
In tis of danger, escaping via the Persia route would be the easiest for him.
Avanti agreed to dispatch an elite Special Forces team at Salhad Plateau for reinforcents and would also mobilize air and helicopter forces.
As for how to explain all of this later, Song Heping already had plans.
"Venturing deep into the Golden Crescent area? Coordinating airstrikes?" Mist's face showed exhilaration, "Sounds thrilling?"
Song Heping chuckled, "Yeah, it's quite thrilling."
In his mind, he thought, "If you knew one of the guys you're supposed to take out is a CIA Black Group agent, it would be even more thrilling."
The repercussions of this affair were hard to predict.
But what did it really matter?
He dealt with the military, not intelligence agencies like the CIA.
Eliminate their agent? Just do it!
He had been dragged by Simon and those jerks to a secret warehouse and tortured all night long.
This was his chance for a asure of revenge!
To hell with Black Group agents.
Finish them off first and worry later.
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