Chapter 78: Battle in the Jungle (Part Two)

That evening, Chen Erpao instructed that aside from a few men assigned to night watch, no one was to leave camp, lest they alert the enemy or stir up trouble. After a thorough wash, Chen Erpao retired early, knowing tomorrow’s battle would not be easy; only by conserving his strength and raising his spirits to their peak could he hope to prevail.

At dawn, the sky was still shrouded in gray. Chen Erpao and his companions rose early, packed their belongings, distributed weapons, and set off towards the drug factory hidden deep within the forest. Chen Erpao carried an AK-47 and two grenades; each man advanced while chewing a piece of bread, their weapons slung across their backs, and a small pack containing two days’ worth of food and water in case of emergencies.

By the time the sun was blazing overhead, its rays filtering through the trees and illuminating the forest, the group had reached a spot less than a mile from the drug factory. “Everyone, stay alert. Don’t make a sound,” Chen Erpao instructed, then began to stealthily approach the factory. He stopped atop a mound covered with dense vegetation, a vantage point from which the entire drug factory lay less than a hundred meters away, clearly visible below.

“You two, take that building. The rest of you, go to the other one. Five minutes from now, strike together—eliminate the men in the side cabins, then immediately attack those in the central cabins.” After synchronizing their watches, the group slipped silently through thick grass and trees.

Chen Erpao crawled and rolled forward with the lithe ease of flowing water, swiftly closing in on two sentries standing near a cabin. “You—” One of the guards barely managed to utter a word before Chen Erpao lunged forward; a fierce scissor kick snapped his neck. The other reached for his pistol, but before he could fire, a tri-bladed military dagger flashed and plunged into his throat.

Stepping over the bodies, Chen Erpao edged toward the cabin, watching the time. As the five-minute mark arrived, he leapt inside. A man sat engrossed in a magazine, its cover featuring a seductive, nude woman. A gunshot rang out; the man fell with wide eyes, his mouth landing squarely on the woman’s ample bosom depicted on the cover. Chen Erpao chuckled and murmured, “What a lucky end—dying with grapes in your mouth.”

Soon, all enemies in the side cabins were dispatched. The group pressed toward the central cabins, but when they burst inside, they found them empty.

“Damn, it’s a trap—fall back!” Chen Erpao shouted, realizing the danger too late.

Gunfire erupted, bullets pouring from all directions, engulfing the two cabins. Chen Erpao ordered everyone to take cover, but two comrades, reacting too slowly, were riddled with bullets and collapsed in pools of blood.

“Tiger, Fatty!” Chen Erpao roared in grief, furious that his lapse had cost his brothers their lives. “Even in death, I won’t leave you alone on this side of the continent,” he vowed, his eyes bloodshot.

Peering through the cracks in the cabin, he saw not only men in black but also a squad of foreign soldiers in military uniforms, exuding a dangerous aura. Clearly, they were mercenaries hired by Hengtang, brought in specifically to deal with him.

Now, the team was trapped in the two cabins. If they did not break out soon, disaster was inevitable. With a cold smile, Chen Erpao pulled a grenade from his belt and hurled it outside.

A deafening explosion shook the air, scattering mangled corpses across the ground. The enemy, unprepared for such destructive weaponry, was momentarily stunned, and gunfire ceased.

“Go!” Chen Erpao shouted, firing his AK-47 through the rear of the cabin, blasting a hole through the wall. He was the first to leap out.

The moment his feet hit the ground, a hail of bullets rushed at him. Chen Erpao rolled aside, squeezed the trigger, and several enemies fell. He covered his comrades as they escaped, positioning himself by another cabin to help the remaining men inside. Even if it meant his death, Chen Erpao would not abandon his brothers for a chance at survival.

Twelve mercenaries and more than ten men in black—nearly thirty attackers—closed in from both flanks. The men in black posed little threat, but the mercenaries were formidable; within moments, another comrade fell.

Once all the men in the cabin had emerged, Chen Erpao unhesitatingly threw his last grenade, this time targeting the mercenaries. Yet their reactions were swift; seeing danger, they dove aside, and only a few men in black were killed.

In just over ten minutes since the ambush began, three out of ten men Chen Erpao had brought were down. Gritting his teeth, he led the survivors into the depths of the forest.

The mercenaries, determined to keep him there, left only the men in black to guard the factory, while the rest gave relentless chase. A desperate escape had begun.

“Mercenaries? I’ll show you the true king of the forest,” Chen Erpao declared, unafraid despite being hunted. The jungle was his favored battleground; every special forces soldier must master jungle warfare, and he was the king among kings.

Who knew how long they ran? Eventually, the mercenaries vanished from sight, and the group paused for a brief rest. Chen Erpao remained vigilant; unless the pursuers were dealt with, escape was impossible.

He ordered everyone to draw their knives and cut lengths of vine, sharpening sticks into stakes. He would use this time to set obstacles for the mercenaries, and if they could take out a few, all the better.

Chewing bread, hands never still, Chen Erpao and his men quickly set four small traps in the area. Hastily made, they would at most injure one person if triggered.

After laying the traps, Chen Erpao took out two bottles of mineral water, drank them dry, and placed them in a clearing. If the mercenaries followed their tracks and found the bottles, they would move in to investigate, triggering the surrounding traps.

Once preparations were complete, Chen Erpao led the survivors onward. Less than twenty minutes after they left, Mas and his team arrived.

“Captain, look—lots of footprints here, and two bottles over there. They must have rested here.”

Mas nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings like a hawk.

Suddenly, a scream rang out. A mercenary had fallen into a small pit, no more than a square meter across, lined with sharpened stakes. His right foot landed squarely on a spike, blood gushing.

Mas frowned, surveyed the area, and ordered, “Thor is injured—stay here and bandage him. The rest of you, avoid this spot and come with me. There’s bound to be more traps nearby.”

To be honest, as the author wrote about the jungle battle, a surge of excitement and passion made him slow his updates, determined to do justice to this chapter and ensure readers would savor every moment.