99: Chapter 99 Thunderous Rescue: The Ghost of the Night

East Shan State, a hidden valley camp.

The campfires lit in the camp squeezed out patches of dim, yellow light into the boundless darkness. The charred aroma of roasted meat mixed with the pungent scent of low-quality corn liquor and the rough, boisterous laughter of men, drifting together into the depths of the valley.

The pockmarked leader sat on a rock with his legs spread, his shirt open to reveal the messy black hair on his chest. He held a chipped enamel mug, the liquor inside reduced to just a dregs. Under his feet, he stepped on a precision instrument case snatched from the convoy; the English markings on the case were blurred by his trampling, serving as a ready-made footrest.

"Big Brother, we've really struck it rich this time!" A monkey-like subordinate approached, fawningly refilling the pockmarked leader's drink, his eyes flashing with greed. "Look at this convoy, it's all heavy trucks. The equipment they're carrying looks valuable; I heard a single unit is worth tens of thousands! And these dozens of people from China—one million in ransom each, that's tens of millions right there!"

"Hmph, tens of millions are nothing!" The pockmarked leader gulped down a mouthful of liquor and slammed the enamel mug onto the ground with a "clatter". "If we dismantle this batch of equipment to sell the parts, or sell it directly to the USA, the money we make will keep the brothers living in luxury for years! Does that brat Zhang Cheng dare not pay the ransom? If he dares, I'll chop off the fingers of these people from China one by one and mail them to Pangkham via express delivery!"

Several lackeys nearby chimed in, flattering him by saying the boss was wise. Someone handed over a freshly roasted lamb leg, which the pockmarked leader took and gnawed on, grease dripping down his chin and staining his clothes.

"What is there to fear!" He shouted indistinctly while chewing the lamb. "The USA has already spoken up. We are helping them deal with Zhang Cheng; this is a 'righteous act'! Even the President is backing us on Twitter! With the USA covering us, what is Zhang Cheng? If he dares to touch a hair on our heads, the USA's missiles will flatten his lair in Pangkham tomorrow!"

In the muddy corner of the camp, Old Zhang and more than a dozen other drivers and technicians had their hands tied behind their backs, the rough hemp ropes cutting bloody marks into their wrists. With dirty rags stuffed in their mouths, they could only emit muffled "woo-woo" sounds. Each of them was bruised and swollen, their faces still stained with dried blood. A piece of rag was wrapped around Old Zhang's thigh—the place where he was shot during the day. The blood had already soaked through the rag, and waves of piercing pain made cold sweat bead on his forehead, but he gritted his teeth tightly, his eyes filled with anger and unwillingness.

He looked at the arrogant thugs not far away, feeling anxious and hateful. This batch of equipment was the core components for the new power plant in Pangkham. Chairman Zhang was waiting to use it to solve the electricity needs of the people. If something went wrong, not only would he be unable to answer to the country, but it would also delay Chairman Zhang's important work. But now, trapped here, he could only pray in his heart, hoping Chairman Zhang would receive the news and hoping someone would come to save them.

Just as this group of thugs was drunk and carried away by their own arrogance, in the dark woods on the outskirts of the camp, the air seemed to be gently stirred. Several black shadows slid in silently, like ghosts merging into the night.

They were wearing full sets of black combat gear, their faces painted with camouflage oil, their footsteps as light as cats, each step landing in the shadows where the campfires could not reach. Leading them was Old K, his infrared prosthetic eyes flickering slightly in the darkness like two clusters of cold ghost fire, clearly seeing every corner of the camp.

"Puff!"

An extremely slight, muffled sound, like a bubble bursting in water. The thug on guard at the camp entrance had just yawned when his neck suddenly felt cold. His whole body froze instantly, his eyes widened, but he couldn't make a sound. A black crossbow bolt had precisely pierced his throat, the tail of the arrow trembling slightly in the moonlight. He collapsed softly to the ground, his body twitching twice before going still, not even his accomplices by the campfire noticing anything unusual.

Immediately after, more black shadows rushed out from the woods, moving as fast as lightning. They had clear divisions of labor; some headed straight for the sentry posts around the camp, some crept toward the campfire where the thugs were gathered, and others quickly occupied advantageous terrain, setting up suppressed submachine guns, aiming at the unsuspecting thugs.

"Enemy attack—!"

Finally, a thug noticed something wrong and screamed in terror. But as soon as his voice came out, it was drowned out by a low "da-da" sound.

The pockmarked leader had just swallowed the lamb in his mouth when he heard the shout and stood up abruptly, reaching for the AK rifle placed nearby. But before he could touch the stock, he felt a black shadow descend from the sky, carrying a fierce wind.

"Bang!"

Old K kicked the pockmarked leader hard in the chest, the "crack" of breaking bones clearly audible. The pockmarked leader flew out like a broken sack, smashing heavily into the campfire behind him. Sparks splattered all over him, causing him to let out a shrill scream. Just as he tried to crawl up, a cold military boot stepped on his face, pressing his face firmly into the scorching ash.

"Ah—! My face!" The pockmarked leader twitched in pain, black smoke rising from his mouth, emitting a wail like a slaughtered pig.

Old K looked down at him, his expression as indifferent as if looking at a dead rat, the glow of his infrared prosthetic eyes especially glaring in the darkness: "Zhang Cheng's people?"

The pockmarked leader was breathless from being stepped on, his mouth full of ash and blood foam, and he shouted indistinctly: "You... are you Zhang Cheng's people? The USA... the USA will help me! They said... they would send missiles..."

"The USA cannot save you." Old K's voice had no ripples, as if fished out of an ice cellar, "God cannot save you either."

He spat out a single word softly: "Kill."

"Da-da-da—" "Puff-puff-puff—"

The muzzles of the suppressed submachine guns wove a net of death throughout the camp. Those thugs who only knew how to bully civilians on weekdays were as fragile as paper in front of the well-trained special forces soldiers. Some were headshot before they could react, others were so scared their legs went weak and knelt to beg for mercy, only to be finished off by precise point shooting. Some tried to run into the woods, but after running just two steps, they were intercepted by the team members ambushed there, swept away by a hail of bullets, and turned into a hornet's nest on the spot.

A thug was firing wildly with an AK rifle, bullets striking the nearby stones and splashing a string of sparks. A special forces soldier rolled to hide behind a tree, and in the gap when the thug was reloading, he quickly stood up, raised his gun, and with a "puff", the thug was hit between the eyebrows and fell straight down.

The whole camp was in chaos, with screams, gunshots, and the sound of breaking liquor bottles mixed together, but this chaos lasted for only five short minutes.

When the last gunshot fell, the camp became completely quiet. Except for the pockmarked leader who was deliberately left alive, all hundred or so thugs were shot dead. Their bodies lay scattered on the ground, blood staining the soil underfoot, mixing with the campfire ash to become dark brown mud.

The special forces soldiers did not stop for a moment, immediately rushing over to untie the ropes of Old Zhang and the others, pulling the rags out of their mouths. A team member took a first aid kit out of his backpack and crouched down to treat the wound on Old Zhang's leg.

"Fellow countryman, don't be afraid, we are the Kokang National Army, here to save you under the orders of Chairman Zhang." The team member's voice, though low, carried a reassuring power, his Mandarin standard without a trace of an accent.

Old Zhang was finally able to speak. He clutched his bleeding thigh, trembling with excitement, tears gushing out instantly: "Comrades... thank you... thank you Chairman Zhang! I knew it... I knew Chairman Zhang would not ignore us!"

The other rescued people also started crying. There was grievance, there was lingering fear, but more was the joy of surviving a disaster. They surrounded the special forces soldiers, saying thank you incessantly; some even wanted to kneel and kowtow, but were quickly helped up by the team members.

"Fellow countryman, time is tight, it's not safe here, we will take you away immediately." Old K walked to Old Zhang's side, his tone still cold, but there was a hint of imperceptible gentleness in his eyes, "We have already sent people to look after your supplies, not a single piece will be missing."

Old Zhang nodded, and with the help of the team members, he slowly stood up: "Good... good... we will listen to you!"

Old K waved his hand, and the team members immediately divided the work. Some helped the injured, some cleared the path in front, and others escorted the half-dead pockmarked leader. The group walked out of the valley. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating their way home.

Two hours later, Bangkok Camp.

Zhang Cheng stood in front of the giant electronic screen, watching the rescue footage sent back by the special forces team. There was not much joy on his face, only a cold calm. The people had been rescued, and the supplies had been saved, but this was only the beginning. He knew there were trickier things waiting for him.

"Dominator, latest intelligence." An intelligence staff officer walked quickly into the command room, his face heavy as he projected an electronic map onto the screen, "Just as you expected, this hijacking was a premeditated probe. Just as we launched the rescue, the military junta's troops in the south began large-scale mobilization. Three divisions are pressing toward our border, and heavy artillery units have already deployed on the south bank of the Salween River, ready to open fire at any time."

He paused and continued: "In the northwest, the Kachin Independence Army is also gathering troops. They have cut off our trade route to Myitkyina and have also detained several of our trade caravans. Zhao Yaoshi in the east, although he lost a small team, his main force is still there. They are building fortifications around Mong La, looking like they want to blockade our eastern supply line for the long term. In addition, our intelligence personnel discovered that the USA's advisory group has moved into Zhao Yaoshi's command post and is helping them formulate combat plans."

Zhang Cheng looked at the three red arrows pointing to Pangkham on the screen, his eyes growing colder. This web, the USA had woven it quite quickly, trying to trap him in Northern Myanmar with a three-sided encirclement. Their abacus was calculated quite precisely.

"Just saving people is not enough." Zhang Cheng muttered to himself, his fingers tapping gently on the desktop, making a "tap-tap" sound, "If I don't beat these clowns thoroughly, they will keep coming up, thinking I, Zhang Cheng, am easy to bully."

At this moment, the TV nearby was broadcasting news, and the host's voice came through clearly: "...The USA White House has expressed serious concern about the situation in Northern Myanmar. The President condemned the attack on civilians by 'unknown armed forces' in his latest tweet, and hinted that if the situation continues to deteriorate, the USA does not rule out taking further sanctions..."

Zhang Cheng turned his head to glance at the exaggerated face of Jin Mao Pu on the TV, and suddenly sneered: "Sanctions? I want to see whether you sanction me or I slap your face."

He turned around abruptly, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the command room, his eyes burning with raging fighting spirit, his voice resonant and powerful: "Pass the order down, summon all military officers above the brigade level, as well as the heads of the Administration Department and the Logistics Department, to the Supreme Combat Command Room for a meeting in half an hour!"

Zhang Cheng straightened his collar, his eyes becoming incomparably determined: "Since they want to trap me, then I will change my way of living. They want to play a three-sided encirclement, and I will give them a flower blossoming in the center!"

"Old K, Li Lanzhi, come with me."

Zhang Cheng strode out of the office, heading toward the combat room that would determine the future destiny of Northern Myanmar. The heavy door closed slowly behind him. Inside the door, a storm capable of changing the landscape of Southeast Asia was brewing quietly.