Chapitre 4: Chapter 4 The Man Under the Door Panel
Song He finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He turned around to look at the doorway, where another body lay.
The body was clad in an Arabic robe with a floral headscarf, a beard partially greyed, a typical local attire. The dropped AK47 lay beside it, with shell casings scattered around.
This person hadn't intended to save him, he simply wanted to get rid of the intruders. Ever since the war started, Baghdad had become chaotic, with every household hiding a gun at home for self-defense. When the masked men and himself burst in, the homeowner clearly mistook them as intruders.
Regardless, he had been his unwitting savior, or else he wouldn't have escaped so easily.
"Ah—Ah—"
Sudden, harrowing cries echoed through the house.
A middle-aged woman burst through the door, her face stricken with grief as she threw herself onto the already deceased man, crying uncontrollably.
Song Heping felt that things were getting worse and wanted to explain that he didn't kill the man.
But he realized he couldn't explain.
Under the current circumstances, no one could clear things up.
It was like mud splattering on your trousers; it might not be shit, but it sure looked like it.
He wanted to flee.
Immediately, as fast as he could, to leave this place of trouble.
The day's events had been crazy enough, and now, all Song Heping wanted was to extricate himself.
Look what a damn mess he had gotten into!
Just as he was about to turn away, the middle-aged woman suddenly stood up like a madwoman, doing something utterly chilling—she picked up the assault rifle.
Song Heping screamed, "I didn't kill him!"
He didn't want to kill the woman in front of him.
That went against his values.
But he overlooked a fatal issue.
Not many people in Baghdad spoke English.
This woman probably had never left Baghdad in her life, and she couldn't understand a word he was saying.
There was no "good person" stamped on his forehead.
So, all he could do was watch helplessly as she picked up that damned gun.
Escape was already too late.
To turn and run now was like delivering his head on a platter.
In a moment of desperation, Song Heping chose to pull the trigger.
Bang—
The woman fell to the ground in response.
Song Heping's mind went blank again.
Today was truly fucking awful to the extreme!
He didn't want to stay here for another second!
Bang, bang, bang—
Just as he turned out of the courtyard, he heard dense gunfire again.
The site of the exchange of fire wasn't far from him.
Immediately, he chose to run in the opposite direction of the gunfire.
Now, there weren't many options left.
Thinking of heading towards the highway was futile; it was a chaotic mess, and there probably weren't many survivors left among the US Army soldiers in the Striker armored vehicles.
The only escape route was through the residential areas alongside the road.
If he could navigate through the entire residential area and over the hill, he would run as far as possible. Such a maneuver might offer a chance of survival.
All Song Heping could do now was pray he wouldn't encounter those armed militants again.
But his luck today was evidently very poor.
He had run no more than ten meters up the slope when he bumped into another armed fighter.
A shadow darted out from the end of the alley on the right, seeming to carry a weapon.
The two of them caught sight of each other at the same time.
The shadow raised his hand and gave him a burst of fire.
Song Heping didn't have time to retaliate; after all, handgun vs. assault rifle was an invitation to death.
When all else fails, running is the best option.
Run!
However, as he fled, he reflexively raised his Beretta pistol and pulled the trigger at the shadow.
Fast and relatively accurate.
He didn't aim to hit; the goal was to intimidate the other side, to give them a scare that might buy him some time to escape.
Bang, bang—
Dada, dada—
Both of their guns fired simultaneously.
Song Heping once again felt the Grim Reaper passing over his head—the opponent's bullets whizzed by his neck, the heat from the warhead palpably intense.
The shadow was also startled.
He hadn't expected Song Heping's reaction to be so swift; bullets from the Beretta sprayed onto the wall beside him, forcing him to duck behind the corner for cover.
In that fraction of a second, Song Heping had already vanished from his sight.
At this moment, the residential area on the hillside was filled with intermittent gunfire.
Seeing that he was less than a hundred meters away from the Scripture Tower, Song Heping heard gunfire coming from his left.
He had no choice but to change direction again and sprint into the alley to the right, trying to avoid the crossfire.
Then, bad luck struck again.
He hadn't run far before he ran head-on into an armed militant wearing a mask.
The two locked eyes, and in the glaring sunshine, they both saw the surprise in each other's eyes.
The masked gunman raised his weapon and fired.
Ratatat—
Bullets poured down like rain.
Song Heping drew back and turned to run in another direction, fleeing for his life.
He crossed an alley, and to his right appeared two militants clad in Arabic robes.
When they saw him, their weapons lifted at the same time.
Song Heping felt like tens of thousands of alpacas were stampeding through his heart.
The area had turned into a complete mess, armed militants were everywhere.
Luckily, the buildings here were haphazardly arranged, and while there wasn't much else, there were plenty of houses and alleys.
There was no time to think.
The only option was to flee.
He barged through a courtyard door without waiting for the militants to fire and ran inside.
The situation had completely gone beyond his expectations. Song Heping had intended to slip away unnoticed while the attackers and the US Army were engaged, but it was like stumbling upon a hornet's nest—the more he tried to escape, the more vigorously the hornets gave chase.
He was inwardly cursing his bad luck.
Was his life really going to end here today?
After crashing through the courtyard gate, Song Heping decided not to hide but dashed straight for the door.
Hiding here would only lead to a dead end; the place was crawling with militants.
Any delay would certainly lead to being surrounded and trapped.
Flee!
Just keep running!
He could only count on using the buildings for cover, racing against speed, racing to be faster than them.
To shake off his pursuers meant survival.
If he couldn't shake them, it was a dead end!
Bang—
The door flew off its hinges, and Song Heping tumbled into the room amid a cloud of dust.
Several women and children who had been hiding in the room screamed at the sight of him.
"Sorry!"
Song Heping ignored his pain, scrambled to his feet, and dashed toward the back door.
Every house had a front and a back door, and if not a door, then a window.
If there's a door, open it; no door, climb through the window.
There wasn't any time for Song Heping to think or plan his route; he could only crash forward.
Jumping out the window on the back side of the house, he rushed towards another building.
When he crashed through the back door of the fourth building, flinging aside the cumbersome wooden gate, a jaw-dropping scene unfolded!
This time, the door felt different from the others he had pushed through.
Straining with great effort, Song Heping shouldered through the pain, sensing that this door was especially heavy, as if something was blocking or propping it up from behind.
As he barged through, stars exploded in his vision.
Initially thinking the door was just sturdy, he realized after tumbling through and falling to the ground that a large man had been pinned under the door.
And this man, crushed beneath, was dressed in a robe and carried an assault rifle—one look told you he was a militant.
What was even more bizarre was that, about ten meters to the right of this doorway, next to the entrance of another building, three men were squatting.
He knew these three men.
They were none other than Hansen and Big Beard he had seen before, along with the civilian they were covering as they retreated.
The situation was sudden, and the atmosphere turned eerie in an instant.
The noise had startled the trio, who now cast surprised glances at Song Heping.
They looked at Song Heping, and Song Heping looked at them.
A civilian, three US soldiers, and an armed militant.
They stared at each other, dumbfounded, unable to grasp what had just happened.
What's going on?
Who are you?
Who is he?
And who the hell am I?!
Cadeaux
-- Cadeau
reçu État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone