First mission as a mercenary

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August put the binoculars to his eyes and peered at the small town of bandits. He counted thirty-seven men in total, armed with ordinary AKs, some with body armour. A couple of civilian jeeps with large-calibre American machine guns were parked near the largest building. These jeeps looked barbaric, and their hulls had been clad with additional layers of steel to increase their protection. To draw an analogy, these jihadmobiles were similar to Musk's Tesla cybertrucks, but made by Afghans in artisanal conditions.

(Afghan cybertrucks)

The bandit base itself consisted of three large houses and a dozen tents. In the houses lived high-ranking members of the gang, and in the tents all the others. In addition to the gang leader, August had an order for two other bandits. These two bandits were not the last important people in the gang and they lived in nice houses. The biggest house belonged to the gang boss and two other henchmen.

The man spent the whole day watching. His location was on a hill about seven hundred metres from the bandit town. He had made a good hiding place and covered it with native vegetation, making him very difficult to spot.

The time spent on observation paid off, August spotted a yellow gas pipe stretching across the bandit camp. Normally, gas pipes were equipped with special pressure regulators that would automatically shut off the gas supply if the pipe was damaged. But based on Defstroke's extensive experience, August didn't see a pressure regulator in this gas pipe, and it had been pulled using artisanal methods. Most likely the bandits had tapped into the regional gas pipe illegally and extended it into their camp.

A nasty smile spread across the man's disfigured face. This was an opportunity for him to sort out his order without any difficulty. After waiting for darkness to fall, Augustus left his lie-in and travelled to the nearest American mercenary station. He needed to buy a few things.

August returned almost at dawn. The lack of transport had affected his speed and the long journeys with his low stamina had exhausted him. The stinking body, covered with grass, lay in a hole and watched the bandits' camp. In the morning a dozen women piled into jihadmobiles and drove west, returning a couple of hours later with supplies. Perhaps they were travelling to collect "tribute" from nearby settlements. The "tribute" was not only money, but also water, food, and other household items.

Rested from his long journeys, the man watched the camp for a while and decided to act. Putting the binoculars aside, August pulled out a ragged AK from behind his back. The silencer, telescopic sight and an anemometer, a device for measuring wind speed, were pulled out of the backpack on his back. After collecting the gun, August measured the wind speed and adjusted the sight to the obtained values, adding the distance to the camp.

The maximum aiming range of a Kalashnikov assault rifle is one thousand metres, the real range is five hundred metres. The distance between August and the camp was seven hundred metres. Having once again checked the correctness of the settings on the telescopic sight with binoculars and anemometer, the man took aim at the gas pipe and fired.

The rumble of the Kalashnikov muffled the silencer, and the bandits did not hear the shot. The incoming bullet rattled the pipe and made a hole in it. The arrival of the bullet attracted the attention of a couple of women, they went to the place of sound, but found nothing there.

- Eh, good work, I can rest now. Defstroke's skills are amazing," the man smiled broadly and began to simply observe the camp. As he travelled to the nearest mercenary station, he checked to make sure the pipe was working properly and made sure it was supplying gas to the bandit town. Once the gas pipe was damaged, part of the bandit camp would gradually fill with gas mist and then August would make his next move, but for now he could relax.- If I had normal strength, I wouldn't have had to do all this tambourine dancing. Right now, I've got the stats of a half-wit. I'm not even close to the strength of a normal human, I'm a gimpy subhuman! - grumbled the man and ate chak-chak bought in the nearest settlement. In this way he was stalling for time.

As dusk began to fall, August smiled for the umpteenth time today and decided to move on to the final step. Afghanistan was overflowing with weapons, when buying a Kalash the man was simply cheated, in fact Kalash in Afghanistan cost from two hundred to three hundred dollars. For a thousand dollars you could easily buy a whole rpg with a couple of charges to it. That's exactly what August bought.

- It's going to be a real blaze! - The first incendiary grenade went to the house of the gang leader. The grenade noisily travelled through the sky and flew straight into the window of the ground floor, the explosion sounded and the thin walls of the house could not withstand it. The gang leader's house simply collapsed. A chain reaction occurred from the fire that spread across the camp, and a quarter of the camp was engulfed in flames. The gas that had fogged up the camp burst into flames. A second stone house was engulfed in flames. Gunshots and explosions were heard, and the fire reached the weapons stores.

- Reload! - the man shouted to himself as he loaded a new grenade. - Shot!

The second shell fired flew across the sky and hit the remaining third house. The walls of that one also failed, and the fire from the explosion made its way inside the building. Generally, in Afghanistan, local houses were built with thin walls and not particularly strong foundations - this was done to save money and resources.

- It burns good! I think I'll go there later, when things have calmed down. After the explosion in the camp, less than twenty of the forty bandits survived. They were all disorientated and scared. Using his telescopic sight, August aimed his fire at the survivors. Shots and explosions from the burning warehouse muffled the screams and cries of the bandits dying under the sniper's shots.

The fire subsided only by the next morning. All bandits were eliminated, August crawled out of his den and headed towards the camp. He had the hardest job of all, to find the bodies of the targets in this burned-out mess and cut off their heads.

While the man searched for the corpses he needed, he didn't bend on looting. All the bandits he found were thoroughly inspected, pockets emptied, and surviving body armour and weapons seized. Through binoculars, August spotted one jihadmobile that had survived the fire. He found the keys to it in the pockets of one of the dead. Everything of value had been dumped in the boot and interior of the truck.

After a couple of hours of searching, August found the bodies of the two ordered bandits and the head of the bandit. The woman looked to be about thirty years old, she had thick pumped thighs, a big arse and huge breasts. Her face was attractive too.

As August took the order confirmation from the head of the bandits, he remembered that all the women he had met in this world were some kind of nondescript beauties. Everywhere you looked, you'd end up with a top model. There were hardly any men here at all. In Afghan settlements, if there were men, they were all in the houses. Only women in open summer clothes walked the streets.

Only once August was lucky enough to come across a man walking in the street, accompanied by seven armed women, dressed head to toe in some sort of dress. His face and all parts of his body were covered.

Augustus did not stand out from the man he had met, except for the supposed stench of his unwashed body. His whole body was covered, too, and there was not a single exposed patch of skin.

He had seen himself once in the mirror and didn't want to see it again, so he hid his body under the cloth. Regeneration kept him alive, but it couldn't bring him back to his previous state. Now he looked like a natural Deadpool from modern films, only on top of the burst or formed blisters from burns. Though to tell the truth, Deadpool looked much better than he did now.

Finished collecting the trophies and the three heads, the man searched the ashes of the former camp once more. At the end of the investigation for profit, August was the happy owner of fifteen surviving AKs, three light armour waistcoats and one jihadmobile. He found nothing else, all of his most valuable possessions having gone up in flames.

Starting the engine, the man drove towards the mercenary camp. He would sell the unneeded AKs and body armour, buy the necessary equipment and take the next contract.

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