Kaman was extremely satisfied with the compensation that Qiao Jia offered. In Damazin, working as a hunting guide, he could earn at most $200 a month. After accounting for food and drink, he would never save enough to change his son's life.
Kaman's son had a similarly cursed fate—not only had his child died, but his wife had also passed away, leaving him with nothing but a lonely, broken father. For someone in such a situation to still think about changing his environment and pursuing a better life was already a rare clarity of mind among African brothers.
To be honest, if you disregard Kaman's attitude toward human life, Qiao Jia genuinely admired the man. Kaman was surely long tired of taking risks and fighting, but for the sake of his son's dreams, he chose to start anew. This is the kind of story you'd see in a "return of the warrior" script, only now Qiao Jia was the one benefiting.
Having come this far, Kaman surely wouldn't be satisfied with just $20,000 a year. He'd definitely want to earn more money to give his tragically fated son a better life. Living costs in Ethiopia aren't cheap; running a farm isn't just about buying a piece of land. Without a year or two of continuous investment, relying solely on manual labor might cover basic needs, but turning a profit would be nothing short of a fantasy.
Qiao Jia had long thought of hiring a helper, but he hadn't expected his first helper to be so formidable. If he wanted to keep this guy around, he'd need to demonstrate sufficient capability and show Kaman a future where he could have a steady, long-term income.
Fortunately, Kaman had a good reputation in the past, which gave Qiao Jia enough time to prove his sincerity and ability. Of course, the test would go both ways. Kaman killing someone for Qiao Jia didn't mean much; the moment Kaman made Qiao Jia feel uneasy, it would be time for them to part ways.
Selim, who arrived late, was a fake Muslim through and through. With a small cap on his head and a mouth reeking of alcohol, he got out of the car and enthusiastically embraced Qiao Jia, laughing, "Jackal, my friend, my savior, you finally came to see me. You should've come sooner. Yesterday, a research team entered the savannah, and there were a few stunners among them. Unfortunately, I had already promised you; otherwise, I would've rented them the plane. Those guys are really generous."
Qiao Jia pushed the alcohol-scented Selim away, took out a wad of about $3,000 in cash, stuffed it into his pocket, and said irritably, "Don't cry poor with me. Everyone knows you're the big shot here in Damazin, sleeping with whoever you want. Hurry up, I need to take off immediately. If I miss my appointment, you'll be responsible for compensating my losses."
Selim glanced at Kaman, who was standing silently nearby, and whispered in Qiao Jia's ear, "If you hired him, then you've found yourself a good helper. Kaman is a loyal old dog."
Qiao Jia paused, then quickly realized that Kaman and Selim had some sort of relationship, and that Selim was indirectly vouching for Kaman, trying to reassure Qiao Jia. Nodding to express his thanks, Qiao Jia gave Selim a nudge to get him to start the plane, then walked over to the pickup truck's bed. He retrieved the weapons he'd prepared for Lu Jun and his own gun bag, then handed Kaman a brand-new set of camouflage fatigues and combat boots.
"Consider this your uniform. Put it on. The fit might not be perfect, but we'll sort it out after this job is done."
As he stowed the gun bag in the plane, Qiao Jia discreetly retrieved an AK-74 from the space within his all-purpose toolkit, along with a tactical vest and six fully loaded magazines, which he handed to Kaman.
The all-purpose toolkit's space wasn't large, only about four cubic meters, so it couldn't store anything too big. Qiao Jia used it mainly to store personal items, backup weapons, and ammunition.
Seeing Kaman's surprised expression as he inspected the brand-new weapon, Qiao Jia chuckled and asked, "What model of handgun are you used to? I have a spare Glock 17 you can use for now."
Having spent his whole life handling AK-47s, Kaman was astonished. "For me?"
Qiao Jia spread his hands and replied, "Of course. Why else would I hire you? To protect me with a hunting knife?"
Pointing at the AK-74, which Kaman was holding with great admiration, Qiao Jia continued with a smile, "You know how to use it, right? This thing isn't exactly cutting-edge, but it's definitely better than an AK-47. At the very least, it's a lot more accurate."
For the first time, the usually dour Kaman smiled. He expertly loaded the magazine, racked the slide, and held the rifle at his waist. Aiming at a distant tree, he squeezed the trigger.
"Rat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat..."
The old man didn't even bother aiming. A few quick bursts of three-round fire struck the tree trunk, forming three parallel lines of damage.
After the test shots, Kaman nodded in satisfaction and said, "I've used this type of gun before. The only issue is that the ammo is hard to find. But I like it. Thank you, boss!"
Qiao Jia didn't mind giving Kaman an AK-74, but Kaman's shooting style was truly remarkable.
The tree was about 100 meters away, and Qiao Jia believed he could achieve similar accuracy, maybe even better, but he definitely couldn't do it with Kaman's casual, almost instinctive approach. The old man clearly wasn't striving for extreme precision, but his past experiences had ingrained in him the habit of quickly neutralizing enemies.
Compared to the "pray and spray" style of shooting often seen among African fighters, Kaman was astonishingly skilled. If he could shoot this accurately from the hip, how precise would he be if he actually aimed?
In fact, Qiao Jia didn't realize that his understanding of shooting differed greatly from Kaman's.
Kaman prioritized killing efficiency. On the battlefield, it's kill or be killed. As long as you hit the enemy's body, there's no need to go for a headshot—dead is dead.
On the other hand, Qiao Jia, influenced by movies and various competition videos, was always focused on accuracy and speed. While he couldn't shoot as effortlessly as Kaman, once the distance exceeded 200 meters, he would definitely be more accurate and faster—something determined by shooting habits and superior equipment.
You couldn't expect an old hand who had always used an AK to be a sharpshooter. It's not that they weren't capable, but the AK wasn't built for that purpose.
The AK-74 had decent accuracy, but Qiao Jia wasn't sure if Kaman could hit targets at longer distances, so he curiously asked, "Can you hit a target 400 meters away?"
Kaman frowned and replied, "Single shots would mostly miss. If the visibility is good, I could try, but on the savannah, unless you're on high ground, you can't see much beyond 400 meters."
Upon hearing this, Qiao Jia glanced at the AK-74, which lacked a scope, and then nodded in realization, saying, "Got it..."