Sherman's Lament (above)

Bourbondo Corrimore was thirty-nine years old this year, with a bushy beard. Years of a life on the move had left his temples a bit grizzled, yet time had made his body even stronger. People who saw him along the way would respectfully lower their heads in deference. Most of them didn't know the man's true identity and simply understood that he was an honored guest among private armed forces and tribal chiefs of this generation.

However, this respectful attitude still couldn't stop them from casting hateful glances at the girl beside Bourbondo. Quite a number of people, after showing respect to Bourbondo, would turn around and make a throat-slitting gesture towards the girl. The girl had a serene face. Her flaxen hair hung down on both sides, and her blue eyes, as blue as the sea, were full of a spirit that refused to be outdone.

Bourbondo didn't stop this phenomenon but watched with interest. After the next pair of people left, he looked at the girl, "Helen Grigaus, they all hate you deeply. The tradition of the Asok tribe is that as long as someone kills one of their clansmen, it must be repaid with blood. I can guarantee that as soon as you leave the protection of me and my men, they will rush at you with all the weapons they can find."

"I know, Mr. Bourbondo," Helen looked around. Men and women, old and young, all stared at her with hatred. "Let them try if they dare."

"As stubborn as your father," Bourbondo sighed. "Remember what I told you?"

"Yes. Wait at the door until you hear me call you."

Bourbondo led Helen towards their destination. "That's good."

This was a three-story building, with two armed men guarding the entrance. They held AK-105 assault rifles that every anti-government army envied, standing straight as a ramrod, with the barrels at a 45-degree angle slanting towards the ground. They were wearing Kevlar bulletproof vests, and on their left arms was the emblem of a half-spread-winged eagle.

The "Desert Vulture" special operations unit was affiliated with the "Holy Hall" headquarters of the World Revolutionary Army in Akria. This special forces unit serving the terrorist organization "World Revolutionary Army" was trained independently by the World Revolutionary Army. Many retired special forces soldiers who had fought in Akria served as instructors. Every one of them was an expert in desert special operations. Even on the home ground of the desert, they could fight on equal terms with ace units like the Navy SEALs or the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment.

"Vice-commander!" The two saluted upon seeing Bourbondo.

"Desert Rat, is he still the same?" Bourbondo asked one of the "Desert Vulture" members standing at the door. The latter gave an affirmative answer, "Yes, sir. He has refused to eat since yesterday afternoon. We just gave him a glucose injection four hours ago."

Hearing this, Helen trembled slightly. Bourbondo nodded and was just about to step forward when a powerful shout came from behind:

"Bourbondo Corrimore, my brother!"

"Chief Takliu!" Bourbondo smiled and hugged the fat middle-aged man, with undisguised disgust in his eyes. Takliu didn't notice this and couldn't wait to ask his question, "My brother, when can we drive those despicable foreigners out of here? The land of Allah shall not be defiled by infidels!"

"Soon. How was the result of your last holy war?"

"Perfect, praise be to Allah! We even shot down the infidels' helicopter!" As soon as he mentioned this, Takliu was so excited that he danced with joy, his body like rolling fat. "I need more. Then we can drive the infidels out of here soon!"

"Alright, brother. I'll make it happen as you wish."

Bourbondo looked at Takliu's appearance and was full of sarcasm in his heart.

Half a year ago, when Bourbondo first approached Takliu, this so-called strongest chief was just a small tribal chief who had been thoroughly defeated by the local government army. Now, with their help, he had transformed. With just a little improvement in his battle record, he was already complacent. Now this middle-aged man who considered himself a big shot had no idea that he had already become the next disposable chess piece.

Not just him, the Asok tribe would also disappear after a while. He had to escape before the retaliation from Yitlan arrived.

"Brother, when will you come back after you leave this time? My holy war needs you."

"It depends on the situation. About a month, Takliu. You must do as I say."

"I swear in the name of Allah. But..." Takliu's eyes glanced at Helen, full of lust that he couldn't hide. "Bourbondo, this woman has hurt many of my clansmen. Do you think you could..."

"No!" Bourbondo's tone was stern as he stared fixedly into Takliu's eyes. "You mustn't touch her, or that man either!"

"Alright," the chief shuddered with fear. "I swear..."

After getting the chief's promise, Bourbondo stepped into the room. The man on the bed started struggling violently when he heard the noise, making painful whimpers. His hands, bound by plastic handcuffs, made the IV bottle hanging beside him sway.

"Don't get excited, Sherman," Bourbondo forced the man onto the bed with one hand and said slowly, "Vigorous movements will make your wounds split open."

"Don't pretend to be nice," Sherman roared. "You can't get any information from me, and I won't join your damn revolutionary army. Just shoot me."

"I'm sorry for the loss of your companions, kid, but in fact, my only action was to fight back in self-defense. We're not as bloody, dark, and violent as your government has publicized. Many people are optimistic, friendly, and love life. The rulers are afraid of us because we bring light into the darkness and give those oppressed people the right path. Look, we haven't hurt you or your companions either," Bourbondo said solemnly, like a priest.