The air in Aden Port is filled with the acrid sll of burning tires, while the white smoke of tear gas rolls through the narrow streets.
The entire city is in chaos.
The protesters' shouts mingle with the shouts of military police, stones and rubber bullets are being shot back and forth in the chaotic crowd.
Song Heping crouched down, moving quickly along the base of the walls, with Nura and Antonov following closely behind.
The group covered their noses and mouths with damp scarves, barely withstanding the onslaught of tear gas.
"The fish market is by the third pier district, we need to head west."
Song Heping pointed west, speaking in a low voice while vigilantly scanning the surroundings.
"Damn this place!"
To reach the third pier district is actually not far, only about a kiloter away.
Normally, it would take just ten minutes on foot.
But at this mont, the roads outside the port are filled with protesters, and in the distance, military police armored vehicles can be vaguely seen parked on the roadside, soldiers holding shields and tear gas launchers continuously firing tear gas in this direction.
The shouts of the protesting crowd were deafening, the air was filled with the acrid sll of tear gas, and stones were raining towards the direction of the governnt army.
Being caught up in the turmoil was really unintentional.
The group could only carefully walk along the walls of the buildings by the roadside, trying not to draw anyone's attention.
As they turned a corner piled with burning tires, a group of masked ard n suddenly blocked their way.
"What are you doing here!? Hands up!"
Several gun barrels aid at Song Heping and the others.
Antonov instinctively dropped his hand, trying to reach for his gun.
The group had pistols hidden at their waists, and components and ammunition that could be assembled into assault rifles in their backpacks.
There were four of them.
If he wanted to, Song Heping could find an opportunity within three seconds to take out these guys who couldn't even hold a gun properly.
"Journalists! We're journalists!"
Song Heping threw a glance at Antonov while looking down at the press card hanging on his chest and the blue bulletproof vest with "Journalist" written on the upper body.
In a war zone, such a vest is indispensable.
Although so militants do not recognize it, so might still show rcy.
The leader stepped forward, using his AK-47 barrel to lift Song Heping's press card: "What country's journalists?"
"Independent investigative journalists, we don't belong to any TV station, we only capture the truth." Song Heping answered calmly while noting the red armbands wrapped around the arms of these n—these people did not seem to be with the governnt army.
This ans that the large-scale anti-epidemic demonstration had already taken a turn. Once non-governnt ard personnel appear, it indicates that the national situation is out of control.
This logic is simple: when you see one cockroach in your kitchen, there is surely a whole nest in the corners.
The militant leader suddenly pressed the gun against Song Heping's abdon: "What are you doing here?"
Song Heping's muscles tensed instantly.
"We want to know what happened here."
Song Heping suddenly switched to fluent Arabic: "We are neutral news dia."
In such a place, Song Heping did not dare to express any stance.
After all, there are too many conflicts of interest behind the chaos.
The people in front of them, they did not know what sort of background they had.
The unexpected reply caught the militant leader off guard.
Soon, his gaze fell on Nura.
Perhaps seeing Nura was a woman, as n here, seeing won showing up in public, especially with two foreign n, they felt sowhat uncomfortable, as if soone had fished out the fish from their own pond.
"You—"
He walked up to Nura.
"Your credentials!"
Nura took out her credentials from the pocket of the bulletproof vest in front and handed them over.
The man glanced at them and occasionally looked at Nura.
"Take off your veil."
It seed seeing the credentials wasn't enough, the leader ordered Nura to take off the veil covering her face.
Song Heping's peripheral vision noticed that Nura's fingers were quietly moving towards the knife hidden at her waist.
He knew that this leader had already touched Nura's reverse scale.
For a Bedouin woman who could beco a smuggling head, the Middle Eastern tradition of male supremacy is what she cannot tolerate the most.
And the leader seed to have a desire to stir up trouble.
For won showing up in public, and even being journalists, in the eyes of these extre conservative local militants, it is an unforgivable cri.
Song Heping imdiately realized that sothing might go wrong this ti...
At that mont, Antonov slowly took two steps back and "accidentally" knocked over a gasoline barrel on the side of the road.
With a booming sound, Song Heping swiftly drew his pistol, another hand snaked to grip the leader's neck, pulling him in front of himself.
All the movents were completed in a flash.
The three ard n about three to four ters away only reacted after 0.5 seconds, raising their guns.
But they had initially relaxed their guard, with their guns down, it took a process to raise their guns.
Military quality is reflected in every detail.
When Song Heping first saw these four, he already knew they were a group of local ard rabble.
Because every move they made had "amateur" written on their foreheads, telling everyone they were novices.
Just the 0.5-second ti wasted in this process already caused two of them to have bullet holes appear on their foreheads.
Thud thud—
Song Heping was renowned for his fast, accurate, and ruthless shooting.
Even before they understood what happened, the two went to et Allah.
And the last ard man did raise his gun, but it was aid at his boss.
While he hesitated whether to pull the trigger, Song Heping's last bullet arrived.
Thud—
Once again, a head exploded as he lay down motionless.
The leader, tightly choked by Song Heping, had already begun to roll his eyes back.
The force on Song Heping's arm made him feel like his neck was caught in a pair of hydraulic pliers, and the sudden brain blood shortage made him dizzy.
Song Heping released his grip, the leader slumped to the ground.
He did not hold back, directly aiming at his head with a bullet.
Bang—
The warhead shattered the skull and exited through the jaw.
His body tilted, falling to the ground lifeless.
"Run!"
Song Heping shouted in a low voice.
The three of them imdiately dashed into the nearby alley, ducking into a narrow lane piled with garbage.
Leaving the scene was a must, since ard elents were present, there would certainly be more around.
The alleys were tattered and complex.
Song Heping led the way.
His sense of direction was strong.
Running west was the correct choice.
The third pier district is in that direction.
If they kept going that way, they'd soon find the rendezvous point.
After five minutes, Song Heping suddenly stopped.
"Stop."
Song Heping carefully observed the surroundings.
It was a chaotic shantytown.
His gaze fell on the gantry crane not far away.
The towering crane stood in the southern twilight, like the arms of a giant.
"We're here, I'll lead, Anton watch the back, and Nura, you stay in the middle and watch both flanks."
He gestured and issued the command, then with a Glock 17 fitted with a silencer, he led the way.
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