Chapter Seventy-Five: A Fierce Blow

The helicopter landed with a deep roar, stirring up a mighty whirlwind that stopped some dozens of meters away. The droplets flung by the spinning blades lashed rapidly against their faces, stinging sharply.

"Prepare for combat!" Even before the helicopter had fully landed, Chen Cao had raised his rifle and pressed himself flat against the sandy ground. The pain from the giant bear's punch had left his face numb, but his sole focus now was the safety of those still alive.

Awakened by Chen Cao’s shouted command, the others quickly grabbed their weapons, drawing and aiming as they lay poised for battle. Only the giant bear and Xiao Li stood protectively over Chen Diwen’s lifeless body.

The helicopter was an old model, its paint peeling in places. As it settled down in the sand, it made no aggressive moves; its rotors continued to idle, ready to take off at a moment’s notice.

A beam of light from the helicopter’s nose flashed, signaling three long and two short bursts.

Chen Cao, his face swollen on one side, gripped his weapon and held his breath, daring not to act rashly.

Inside the cockpit, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, Istrov smiled faintly. “Griffiths, it appears these youngsters aren’t grateful for your gesture. My helicopter was wasted on them.”

Griffiths, at the controls, flicked water off his face and kept pressing the signal buttons. “Come on, Colonel. If it weren’t for me, this rusty heap from the old base would have broken down ages ago. Still, that kid’s courage in dashing through the chaos to save his comrade—I truly admire it. Shame he’s not from Kokola.”

Istrov listened to his old comrade and smiled, “As long as one is a friend, what does nationality matter?” He gazed ahead with his deep blue eyes.

“Chen Cao, it seems this isn’t an allied or terrorist helicopter,” Bao Li said, watching the armed helicopter and addressing Chen Cao.

Chen Cao did not reply, only tightened his grip on the weapon and aimed at the helicopter. The Great Chen Republic would never send aircraft to the battlefield; though the strangers showed no hostility, he knew he must not act without certainty.

“As a soldier often tasked with unconventional missions, always trust your eyes!” Never trust your ears—this was what Duan Tianya often taught him years ago.

So, in tense silence, they held their ground for several more minutes.

Inside the control room, Griffiths glanced at Istrov.

Istrov sighed, understanding his old friend’s intent, set aside his headset, opened the cabin door, and jumped out.

As Istrov landed, a spotlight shone on him. Resigned, he raised both hands, letting the rain beat upon his face, and shouted loudly in Great Chen language, “Chen Cao, it’s me, Istrov—don’t shoot!”

Griffiths could light up Istrov for all to see, a childlike mischievous smile on his face. He thought: to make someone of Istrov’s caliber—the king of spies—raise his hands willingly, that was no easy feat.

Chen Cao had been watching the cabin’s movements. The moment Istrov jumped out, he recognized him. Though the wind and rain were fierce, Chen Cao’s hearing was extraordinary, and he’d already discerned Istrov’s shout—but still, he did not move.

Once again, silence prevailed.

Suddenly, a beeping sound came from Ian’s body. Maintaining his prone firing posture, Ian gently took out a waterproof handheld computer and glanced at it.

At that moment, as Ian prepared to send a signal, his device was smashed abruptly. A hissing sound arose from the shattered computer.

“You!” Immersed in the joy of the terrorist leader Alfred’s death, Ian was startled by the sudden blow. He glared at his ruined device—Xiao Li, still on alert, had noticed Ian's suspicious move and swiftly smashed the computer with his rifle butt, preventing any signal transmission.

Ian, seeing it was Xiao Li, swallowed his resentment. After all, these Great Chen soldiers were the real heroes who brought down Alfred, and now, with the mission accomplished, his resolve had faded. He knew antagonizing them would bode ill, so he relaxed his expression and said softly, “Let’s wrap things up quickly; our allied infantry division is on its way. The storm is too fierce—they can’t send aircraft!” Ian explained, helpless against this group, but Xiao Li kept his gun trained on him; to him, only his own comrades were trustworthy, never outsiders.

Istrov realized they couldn’t keep stalling. When they’d flown in, his military scouts had already signaled: the allies were battling terrorists in the desert. Even Alfred’s guards couldn’t withstand the well-trained, fully-equipped allied forces for long. Time was short. The allies would soon destroy the jihadists and come here—he had to act quickly.

With no other option, Istrov continued forward, hands raised.

“Chen Cao, hurry— the allies will arrive soon. Trust me, whatever my reasons, I only want to get you out of here!” Istrov shouted as he walked, hands up. He felt awkward—pleading to rescue others was indeed frustrating, but Chen Cao, this young soldier, had a magnetic force that made people willing to help.

Only a dozen meters remained. Even Istrov wasn’t sure if these Great Chen soldiers might shoot him.

Chen Cao straightened up as Istrov approached, his swollen face taut. “Mr. J, you’re hardly so altruistic—surely you have another motive.”

He was confident; all weapons were trained on Istrov, knowing the old fox wouldn’t come just to save them.

Istrov lowered his hands and flashed a sly smile. “I wouldn’t risk my life for you. It was Griffiths and Mosika who begged me to come. Without them, I’d never take such a risk to save you.” He wiped the rain from his face. “You know, the international bounty on me is equal to my weight in gold—much higher than Alfred’s!”

“Mosika!” At once, the image of the clever yet innocent Kokola girl, with her bright blue eyes, appeared in Chen Cao’s mind, along with Griffiths’ gruff old soldier’s visage.

“Fine!” Istrov stopped about ten meters from Chen Cao’s group, eyeing their positions. “I don’t have time to waste here. You owe me nothing. I’ll head to the helicopter now. If you want to come, board it—we’ll part ways when you reach your commander. If not, you’re free to make your own way back.”

Having stated his terms, Istrov turned and walked slowly toward the helicopter.

“Wait!” Chen Cao gestured to his comrades, remembering the commander Istrov mentioned—Instructor Guo Qianshuang, waiting some kilometers away, risking much for his impulsive decision. He couldn’t let her suffer disciplinary action because of him.

Everyone understood Chen Cao had decided to follow Istrov; they stood up, weapons ready. Xiao Li kept his gun trained on Ian and asked, “What about him?”

Ian still lay prone, feeling like a captive, uncertain of his fate. But thinking back, he realized he’d relied on these soldiers throughout, even in Alfred’s final defeat.

Chen Cao strode coldly over to Ian. “Get up!”

Ian, ever the resolute soldier, pushed himself up, still reluctantly holding Alfred’s severed head. After a moment’s thought, he handed it over. “This is your trophy—it belongs to you now.”

Chen Cao glanced at the head in Ian’s hand—Chen Diwen’s achievement—but he didn’t reach for it. He rubbed his aching face, still sore from the bear’s blow, but those were pains he accepted willingly.

“How about a deal? You keep that, but you must erase all records of our presence here. Alfred was killed by you; everything is the result of your and your comrades’ efforts!”

Chen Cao stated his terms.

Ian agreed without hesitation. “Chen, don’t worry—I’ve never seen this place. With satellite data control granted by the Mainz Federation, all traces here will be wiped clean.”

Chen Cao nodded, then said coldly, “You can go. But remember what Mosika told you at the start—if you fail, it will be your fate. I’ll ensure your life is forever shrouded in shadow.” At these words, his eyes flashed, bloodshot from continuous combat, appearing especially menacing in the slanting rain.

Mosika’s voice echoed in Ian’s mind as he looked at the man radiating murderous intent. He remembered Mosika’s words:

“I will be your eternal nightmare.”

Ian nodded mechanically.

Chen Cao turned away, ignoring Ian, and charged toward the giant bear carrying Chen Diwen’s body, delivering a fierce punch.

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