Chapter 87

"Father, this company appears to be quite formidable. Just look at this Soviet product, the 'Red Vanguard' manufactured by the Ulyanovsk Automobile Plant, the UAZ-469B with a UMZ-451M engine. It boasts a 2.45-liter inline 4-cylinder water-cooled gasoline engine that can smoothly start in the freezing Siberian cold, carry substantial supplies, and maintain a normal engine temperature even in the scorching heat of Central and South America. Moreover, it has a removable roof, allowing for the installation of heavy machine guns or rocket launchers. It's an incredibly practical off-road vehicle."

Leaning against the personnel carrier's side door, squatting halfway, the rough road in Mogadishu made the ride far from comfortable. After enduring a few bumps and jolts, I almost regretted eating the airplane meal.

The priest cast a glance at him, noting his dire financial situation, but the tall man remained contemplative for a moment.

"Do you think Pierce is right?" The man sitting on the other side, nicknamed "the Mosquito," suddenly spoke, being very direct and straightforward. He had come here for dollars, yet his conscience seemed to be wrestling with his practicality. It's a dilemma that can drive anyone mad, but that's the reality we face.

Reality can be quite maddening at times.

Canine and the priest exchanged glances. The former scratched his cropped hair and said, "Pierce wouldn't deceive us. You all know what kind of person he is. He even covered our expenses in San Francisco. Without him, many of us might still be struggling to find work after getting out of prison."

The priest nodded beside him, adding, "God never abandons anyone. Perhaps He gave you the first half of your life, filled with hardships, but He will surely bless you with the strength to face the even darker second half of your journey."

Canine nudged the priest with his elbow, signaling that he had ventured into some deep philosophical territory, causing the priest to fall silent. Sometimes, a little too much honesty can be uncomfortable.

"Alright, everyone off the vehicle!"

Thankfully, they had finally reached their destination. As the vehicle entered the "Fifty Kilometers" airport, Pierce, who had been directing the front group to disembark, clapped his hands and shouted enthusiastically. He was doing his best to maintain the demeanor of a priest despite the circumstances. I pulled myself up, shrugged, and remarked, "Sorry, I got carried away there. I used to say such things when dealing with people in the red-light district."

Canine-toothed Gerbachio rolled his eyes, hopped off the troop carrier, and followed suit. The group of men lined up instinctively, their curiosity undeniable. They knew they would be staying here for quite a while.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Fifty-Kilometer Airport. Daily necessities and personal items have already been prepared in the dormitories. Let's head to the cafeteria for a meal and some rest," Tang Dao stated briefly as he made an appearance. He then excused himself, informing John and Pierce that he had other matters to attend to.

John gestured politely for Pierce to speak first, and Pierce acknowledged him with a smile. He stood before the group, clutching the document provided by Tang Dao, and cleared his throat before conveying the information.

"So, just to clarify, we get $100 per day for our stay at the base, correct?" someone inquired loudly.

Pierce's expression darkened. He understood the underlying question. He nodded and responded, "Yes, but the company will conduct regular assessments. If you fail to meet the requirements, I'm sorry, but you'll be asked to leave. Your earned wages, however, will not be deducted. Additionally, daily training is mandatory. I don't want to send you to the battlefield unprepared, only for you to meet an unfortunate end."

This effectively dissuaded those who were considering taking advantage of the situation.

"The names I'm about to read are those of our regular employees. You will sign contracts with me later." Pierce continued, reading out 17 names. The group looked on with anticipation, but when the reading concluded, several disappointed faces emerged. Clearly, many felt slighted, as the benefits for regular employees were far more appealing. It all came down to self-interest. Who cared about comrades-in-arms after so many years?

"Pierce, this doesn't seem fair! Why can they be regular employees, but not me? I can do it too," objected a white man with a scar on his face, pointing at the priest. "What makes Bex so special?"

The priest narrowed his eyes, his temper still simmering beneath the surface. Although he had become religious, his fiery spirit hadn't diminished. When challenged like this, he couldn't help but push back. "Marbury, it seems you're in dire need of an exorcism."

"Get lost, idiot!" Marbury retorted arrogantly. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing his muscular arms and challenging, "If we're talking about capabilities, let's settle it in a fight. I'll make you kneel down and call me 'dad.'"

His words elicited laughter from those around him.

The priest pointed to his chest, tapping three times, then lowered his head, unable to find a suitable response. In the blink of an eye, he lunged at Marbury, delivering a kick to his side. It escalated quickly; before long, both were suspended in mid-air, and after a brief airborne tussle, they crashed heavily onto the ground. The priest continued to grapple with Marbury.

Some in the vicinity were inclined to intervene, while others simply enjoyed the spectacle.

Pierce's expression soured.

"It appears that the recruits you've assembled are quite spirited," John remarked, folding his arms, seemingly amused. After all, it was just a brawl, and he'd seen much worse during his time in the military. He turned to Pierce and gestured to one of the employees behind him, who handed him an RPK machine gun. John then aimed it at the combatants, firing several shots into the air just above their heads.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

The sudden gunfire shocked everyone into stillness. They stared in horror at John, but the priest seemed unfazed. When you have the upper hand, you don't just stop.

John wasn't joking.

While PMC companies were not legally permitted to train people to their deaths, the situation was different in Somalia. Here, there were no such legal restrictions. For instance, EO in South Africa once had an incident where a training camp instructor shot and killed South African trainees—an incident that contributed to their forced dissolution.

Gritting his teeth, the priest glanced at Pierce behind him. Pierce took a couple of steps forward, then thought better of it and retracted his steps. It was clear that John was deadly serious. With his head lowered, the priest remained silent.

"As for the rest of you, start crawling from here to the cafeteria with a low profile. The last three won't get any food, and you two," John pointed to Marbury, who was still shouting, "please shut up, you idiot!"

Hanging them up?

Under the scorching Somalia Sun?

Pierce made a frantic plea, "John, isn't this going too far? If we hang them up like this, I'm concerned..."

John's response was unwavering, "The Umbrella Company isn't a place for games or leisure. We're looking for warriors, not individuals who only seek pleasure. If they can't endure this, someone will send them packing. These are the boss's words."

Pierce fell silent when he heard the boss's directive.

Although these men were all in their forties, an age that might be considered embarrassing, they were mercenaries. In their line of work, it was crucial to maintain physical fitness and skills above and beyond that of ordinary individuals. After all, this wasn't a game.

Even if they weren't being trained as elite fighters, they had to possess the ability to protect themselves.

John was content with Pierce's understanding of the harsh realities. He signaled to the other employees who had come over to assist, ready to take action if anyone resisted. He bellowed loudly, "Idiot, is this how your former squad leader taught you to crawl? Get down!"

Despite John being considerably younger than them, the harsh truth of life remained: life had no sympathy for the weak, only for those who could demonstrate their strength, much like a dog.