Chapter Forty-Two: Surface-to-Air Kill

"Don't stray too far from me!" After speaking, Chen Cao picked up a wooden stick from the ground, shooing away the vultures as he began to search through the corpses buried in the sea of sand.

Mosika stared at the bodies, dried out under the scorching sunlight and intense heat, unable to stop the contraction in his stomach. But the thought of food and water, the gnawing hunger since last night, made his stomach rumble and his mouth dry. He licked his lips, and driven by a fierce instinct to survive, followed Chen Cao, rummaging through the severed limbs and remains buried in the sand.

The vultures were deeply displeased by these intruders disturbing their meal, but under Chen Cao's forceful drive, they could do nothing but glare angrily, watching him rapidly inspect their food.

Soon, Chen Cao found a magazine, a canteen with half a bottle of water, a bottle of spirits, and half a pack of jerky that had been gnawed. Aside from these, there was nothing else. Luckily, Mosika also found a magazine and a small cloth bag that could still hold items.

These trainees had come for exercises; the base was short on supplies, and couldn't afford to waste much ammunition on training. Moreover, last night's events happened so suddenly—busy with the excitement of gathering spoils, no one would have carried food with them, certainly not inside a defensive structure. In such a poor country, simply having enough to eat was a blessing; most fought on empty stomachs, let alone spare food. Chen Cao knew well that the limited food supply was always delivered by base vehicles in measured amounts; the training base never stored extra food.

Still, their haul was decent: nearly a hundred rounds, and a Dog-Luger pistol. For someone like Chen Cao, a battlefield elite with special training, it was enough.

Chen Cao handed the Dog-Luger pistol to Mosika. "I suppose you know how to use a weapon."

Mosika nodded, took the pistol, and looked at Chen Cao in confusion. "Brother Matsumoto, what does this mean?"

Chen Cao didn't answer directly, instead asking, "Do you know which direction the organization's cave is?"

"The east," Mosika replied.

Without wasting words, Chen Cao loaded the magazine and said, "Stick close to me. Don't get separated. If anything happens, shoot."

He packed the food and magazines into the small cloth bag, slung it over his shoulder, and tightened it. Now, these were their lifelines.

The desert was utterly still, not a breath of wind. The humid heat made one drowsy, but you couldn't collapse—if you did, you'd never rise again, swallowed by the sea of sand, reduced to dust, or picked clean by vultures.

"Brother Matsumoto, how much longer to the cave? Last time, it wasn't this far," Mosika croaked, his throat burning.

"Thirsty? We're almost there. Just hold on a little longer, then we'll have water," Chen Cao coaxed Mosika. It was the only way to keep the teenager's will strong.

Mosika seemed to understand, fell silent, and followed Chen Cao closely.

"By the way, how did you get to the cave last time?" Chen Cao asked.

"By car. It only took half a day," Mosika replied earnestly.

Chen Cao was speechless.

"Half a day by car. If we're headed in the right direction, it might take us two days on foot. Without food or water, I might hold out, but Mosika—who knows?" Chen Cao thought, gazing at the vast sea of sand.

They trudged silently across the desert, their mouths parched, their stomachs hollow, when suddenly the distant roar of airplanes broke the silence.

"Damn, it's the Justice Alliance's planes. If we're caught, it's all over!" Chen Cao grabbed Mosika, trying to hide, but there was nowhere to hide in the endless desert.

Chen Cao chambered his weapon. Even if he died, he wouldn't be taken prisoner.

The planes flew low. The Justice Alliance pilots knew the Holy War Alliance had no aircraft, so they acted as if they were gods in the sky. The two planes flew ostentatiously, almost skimming the ground—it was just a performance to these arrogant pilots.

"Yesterday's revenge operation was exhilarating!" one pilot said through the radio to his comrade.

"Indeed. I saw that guerrilla blasted to pieces by my shell—finally avenged my brother!" the other pilot answered mournfully.

"Take heart, Dean. Tom was a hero, an outstanding soldier. The Federation will always remember his name. Don't worry, the Federation's revenge has begun; the war will end soon," the first pilot comforted gently.

"Wait, look—two more, and they're armed!"

"Then they're not civilians. Take them out," Dean replied coldly.

"Dean, it feels a bit like an eagle hunting a chick, haha!"

"Brother Matsumoto, they're coming for us!" Mosika shouted in terror, seeing the planes circling back, almost scraping the ground.

Chen Cao saw it too. Clearly, the planes intended to kill them. Against aircraft and their bombs and heavy weapons, his own firepower was no match.

As the fighters swooped closer, Chen Cao frowned, extended his thumb, measured the distance with his arm, chambered a round, and said to Mosika, "Mosika, are you afraid?"

Mosika didn't understand, instinctively nodded, but seeing Chen Cao's resolute expression, courage surged within him and he shook his head.

"Then listen to me: run, run for your life, quick!" As he spoke, Chen Cao raised his gun to aim.

Mosika didn't grasp his meaning, but his words carried irresistible force; he ran desperately.

Chen Cao steadied his breathing, watching as the leading fighter dove toward him. With extraordinary eyesight, he saw the cockpit slowly open.

"Trouble, he's about to shoot!" Chen Cao acted instinctively, firing a burst.

He held a JB submachine gun—not the most accurate, but effective to over a hundred meters. Having inherited the skills of firearms expert Li Jiali, and with his own talents and training, Chen Cao could shoot accurately at two hundred meters without issue.

The plane was recklessly flying straight at him, almost touching the sand. Meanwhile, Mosika was pursued by the other aircraft, reducing its combat effectiveness.

Hearing gunfire, the pilot sneered to himself, "Does he think he can shoot me down with a gun? This is the most advanced armored fighter—unless he hits the fuel tank, but that's nearly impossible. Go to hell, terrorist!" He activated the automatic targeting system and pressed the button.

Boom! The bullets struck the fuel tank, causing a leak. With the friction of the rounds, the tail quickly caught fire.

Startled, the pilot released the firing button—his plane was finished. "Today, a blind cat caught a dead mouse!" Furious, he pressed the ejection button.

With a roar, the parachute deployed, blossoming like a mushroom cloud in the sky.

"Dean, Dean, are you alright?" came a worried voice over the radio from the other pilot. He had intended to chase Mosika, to toy with the terrorist until he was exhausted, then kill him. But seeing his comrade's plane explode through the onboard cameras, he immediately abandoned his pursuit and circled back.

"I'm fine, Amos, take out that kid—" Dean's words were cut off by static and gunfire, his voice silenced.

"Hit—excellent!" Chen Cao held his submachine gun, watching clearly as, not far away, the parachuting pilot was struck in the left chest. He could even see the confusion on his face before dying.

Chen Cao stood up. The other plane swooped down, unleashing a barrage of bullets at him.

Seeing the rain of bullets, Chen Cao advanced instead of retreating. With superhuman agility, he dodged in the gaps between the plane's bursts.

"Damn it, you think you're protected by the gods? Idiot, I'll blow you up!" The pilot, enraged by his comrade's death, pressed the bomb release button.

It was during this brief bombing interval that Chen Cao saw his chance. He turned, drew his gun, aimed, fired in one fluid motion. At the instant he squeezed the trigger, the plane's bomb bay opened, and his bullet struck the last bomb as it left the bay, triggering an ear-splitting explosion.

Boom! Explosions tore through both ground and sky.

"Brother Matsumoto!" Mosika, who had been running, heard the blast, turned back, and saw sand erupting where Chen Cao had stood. He screamed and rushed back madly.

"Brother Matsumoto!" Mosika frantically searched and dug through the sand, now finally understanding Chen Cao's plan.

"Sob... Brother Matsumoto!" When Mosika, exhausted and unable to find Chen Cao, collapsed onto the sand amid wreckage, he wept.

Suddenly, a hand emerged from beside Mosika, followed by Chen Cao's head.

"Brother Matsumoto!" Seeing something rise from the ground, Mosika instinctively drew the Dog-Luger pistol, but upon realizing it was Chen Cao, cried out in joy.

"I'm fine!" Chen Cao said, then muttered to himself in his native tongue, "Guess my luck holds. Someone made a sand pit here—just the perfect cover!"

"Thank heavens you're alright!" Mosika exclaimed, tears streaming, hugging Chen Cao and jumping in excitement.

Chen Cao hugged Mosika back, patting his thin back gently. At that moment, Mosika suddenly released him, and Chen Cao noticed his face was flushed.

"Brother Matsumoto, you took such a risk. I... let's go," Mosika said shyly.

But before he could respond, Chen Cao suddenly spread his arms and pinned Mosika to the ground.

Mosika was still confused, when a gunshot rang out. He felt Chen Cao, who was holding him, tremble all over.