Chapter 74

Certainly, here's an improved version of the text:

"Old... boss!" Korolev exclaimed when he noticed Tang Dao's silence.

Their concern was palpable; they valued their job immensely. Not only was the salary good, but the working environment was also far better than in Ukraine. The only thing missing was women, but their ancestral skills couldn't be forgotten. However, without alcohol, their stomachs felt empty, as if something vital was lacking.

"From now on, no more drinking this stuff," Tang Dao said as he walked over and tossed the frozen liquid out the door. "I'll have some high-quality German wine imported for you Soviets. However, nobody can consume alcohol during missions. Otherwise, I'll have to send that gentleman back."

Korolev and the others were momentarily stunned, exchanging glances before raising their hands and cheering, "Ulla!"

Someone even lifted Tang Dao, tossing him into the air and catching him again. It was exhilarating, and Tang Dao's limbs tingled from the excitement. Their enthusiasm showed just how much they cherished their wine.

Tang Dao understood what it meant to be a mercenary: freedom, a generous salary, casualness, and formidable combat skills. You couldn't expect them to have the discipline of regular soldiers; as long as their combat effectiveness was assured, it was acceptable.

"Put me down, hey, buddy!" Tang Dao waved his hand and said.

Korolev and the others quickly complied, gently placing him on the ground to avoid damaging their precious wine.

Tang Dao straightened his rumpled clothes and looked at them. Their eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

"When conditions allow, I'll build a club on the base," Tang Dao suddenly announced.

It was a spontaneous idea, but Tang Dao recognized its potential. High-end clubs were already a part of the U.S. military infrastructure, offering activities like ballroom dancing on Saturdays. In Western countries, there were pilot clubs, naval clubs, and more.

One of the reasons Tang Dao wanted to establish this club was for financial returns. Employees received their salaries, but there wasn't much to spend on in Somalia. By creating a club and selling foreign wines worth hundreds of dollars, he could practically recoup their salaries in a single day!

It was akin to operating a cafeteria in a school—total monopoly, shameless but profitable.

Tang Dao knew that this plan would be well-received. As expected, the group of wine enthusiasts cheered immediately. Tang Dao's drunkards loved the idea, and this even prompted employees passing by to peer curiously into the room, wondering what had driven the Ukrainians to such excitement. Taking advantage of the commotion, Tang Dao walked to the door and quietly closed it, shielding them from prying eyes.

Basking in the silence outside, Tang Dao closed his eyes, squinting against the intense Somali sun. He muttered to himself, "The sun in Somalia is scorching, yet it can't dispel the darkness."

As he was lost in thought, an employee carrying a machine gun approached him. When he saw Tang Dao, his eyes lit up.

"Boss, there's an Italian gentleman waiting for you at the gate."

Italian?

Tang Dao furrowed his brow but remained motionless. "Go and get John."

The employee nodded and hurried toward the helicopter parking area. John Kansberg, always inquisitive, liked to engage with the doe. He called it "building rapport," even sleeping beside it at night. At times, it exasperated him, but he had no choice but to indulge it.

A few minutes later, John arrived, following the employee's lead, though he was still adjusting his belt—a meaningful gesture.

He didn't know what to expect with the doe.

John took a deep breath and loosened his clothes. "Boss, you needed me?"

"Outside the gate later, you'll pretend to be me, and I'll be standing nearby," Tang Dao instructed. John didn't fully grasp the situation, but he complied.

At the airport gate, Tang Dao saw the Italian waiting. The man wore a small suit, carried a cane, donned a black bowler hat, and sported a beard. At first glance, Tang Dao thought he'd stumbled upon a zoo showcasing monkeys—why on earth would someone dress like this in the sweltering Somali heat?

Behind him, an Audi sedan was parked, and two men held Heckler & Koch G3 automatic rifles. In Somalia, this kind of German weaponry was a rare sight, and Tang Dao couldn't help but take a second look. The Italian's outfit was tactical, resembling BDU military pants, and he wore a pistol holster on his leg. It was clear he wasn't someone to be trifled with.

In Africa, aside from AKs, those proficient with FNs were truly elite.

"Mr. Nicholas?" the Italian greeted.

Tang Dao and his companions exchanged bewildered glances. The Italian continued, taking off his glove and extending his hand toward John, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

John looked perplexed. "Sir, do I know you?"

"I'm afraid there's no one in Somalia who hasn't heard your name. The incident at General Aidid's birthday party is legendary," the Italian proclaimed with a cheeky smile. "But you don't know me well, Mr. Me. Allow me to introduce myself—Cecilio Baggio. You can also call me 'gentleman.'"

Gentleman? Did anyone actually have that name? Italy had been a strange place since World War II.

"Would you like to step inside?" Cecilio asked, still smiling.

John wanted to glance at Tang Dao for guidance but resisted the urge. "Of course, we welcome all friends."

The word "friend" held particular significance.

"You all stay outside. I want to enjoy a few drinks with my friends," Cecilio said to his bodyguards, then removed his bowler hat and placed it under his arm. "Sir, we're here to ensure your safety," one of the bearded men commented, furrowing his brows.

"In Somalia, there's no place safer than this. If there were, it would only be heaven," John said solemnly.

Cecilio clapped his hands together. "I appreciate your confidence, sir. I believe I've made the right choice." He turned to the bearded man, "Bell, my friend will keep me safe."

Oh, pretending to be a tough guy!

Tang Dao couldn't help but curse inwardly. He disliked people who pretended better than himself. But he had to admit that Cecilio effortlessly put people at ease.

If this guy were a businessman, he would stab someone in the back and then hug them while shedding crocodile tears. He lacked sincerity, unlike Tang Dao. Business relied on trust and maintaining a moral code.

Cecilio and John walked side by side, while Tang Dao trailed half a step behind.

The Italian looked around curiously. Many weapons were covered with dust-proof cloths, but their general shapes were visible—they were all artillery! And the helicopter lineup made his eyes sparkle. He suddenly stopped and gasped, "Is this... an Il-76?"

Cecilio craned his neck to observe the three massive aircraft lined up in perfect formation. He felt like he was standing in front of giants. Trembling with excitement, he turned and asked, "Is this yours too?"

"It's amazing." Cecilio nodded and turned around, "Mr. Nicholas, I think we should be able to do business."