Joga looked at Kaman, whose expression was hard to read—whether it was disappointment or shock. Joga gave a bitter smile as he sat on the ground, clutching his shoulder. He said, "Are you a little disappointed that I'm not dead? There's enough gold here for you and your son to live well in Ethiopia."
Kaman was momentarily stunned before shaking his head and replying, "No, you're a good boss, so I should be a good employee."
As he spoke, Kaman handed the gold from his backpack to Joga, saying, "A third of this is already a lot for me, and from my years of experience, betraying a boss who is both a sharpshooter and generous rarely ends well for the traitor or his family."
Joga took the gold and put it into his own backpack. His left hand, which was reaching for his pistol, naturally supported him on the ground, and he let out a pained groan before saying, "I need to find some bandages or something; I feel like my shoulder is killing me."
Kaman leaned over to take a look at Joga's shoulder, then laughed as he stood up, saying, "You're very lucky—not only did you avoid getting hit in a vital spot, but our opponents were clearly well-equipped. I saw a medical kit on one of the bodies down below. Let's go down together, and I can give you a quick patch-up. Don't worry, it's just a scrape—you lost some skin, but not too much blood."
With Kaman's help, Joga stood up. As they walked, he asked, "Why were there nine of them? I already took one down, so shouldn't there have been eleven?"
Kaman nodded and replied, "Two of them got bitten by a black mamba; they must be waiting back there to die. These guys are White Ghost mercenaries. It's rare to see so many White Ghost mercenaries in southern Sudan at once."
As they talked, they reached the bodies of the fallen. Surprisingly, one of the assault troops was still alive. A burly man with a full beard, though missing an arm and with a gaping wound in his stomach, had somehow managed to survive.
Noticing the anomaly, Joga walked over, pulled the body off the burly man, and tossed his pistol aside. Then, he pulled out a large bandage and a bottle of iodine from the medical kit, handing them to Kaman. "Do me a favor—rinse the wound and stick this on."
As Kaman worked, Joga grimaced as he rummaged through the medical kit, pulling out two doses of morphine. He waved them in front of the burly man's face and said, "Who are you people? Tell me, and I'll make it quick for you."
The burly man's eyes fixed on Joga, and he struggled to speak through his labored breathing, "You… you're doomed. We are… we are…"
"We are what?" Joga urged, leaning in as the man's voice grew weaker.
Just as Joga was growing anxious, the burly man's eyes started to glaze over. But then, as if in a final burst of energy, he seemed to regain some clarity, and with a surprisingly clear voice, he said, "We are the 'Sea Hounds.' Someone will avenge us."
As the man finished speaking, he seemed to sense Joga's frustration. A faint smile appeared on his lips before he took his last breath.
Joga was infuriated by the man's "prank." He frowned and said, "Still no experience. We needed a live one—without that, we have no way to determine what happened, who the enemy is, or where they are."
Kaman wasn't as troubled as Joga. The battle-hardened old man calmly finished bandaging Joga before he began collecting the loot from the bodies. "If you want a live one, we can go back and check. Maybe those two who got bitten by the black mamba aren't dead yet."
Joga's eyes lit up at that. "Then let's move…"
Kaman strapped all the rifles onto his back, packed the pistols and magazines into his bag, and grabbed the radios and other useful-looking gadgets, cramming them into his backpack. Seeing Joga's impatient look, Kaman shook his head and said, "Don't worry. If those two were going to die, they'd be dead by now. If they're alive, it means they managed to treat themselves, but they still wouldn't have the ability to move. They're just waiting to die since all their comrades are dead."
Joga looked at Kaman, who was now laden with weapons, and said helplessly, "Why do you need all those guns?"
Kaman gave Joga a strange look and said, "Boss, this is southern Sudan. There are plenty of guns here, but I've never seen ones like these. They must be worth more than AKs. If we take them back, even if we can't sell them, we can't just let the Kadun people pick them up."
Joga glanced dismissively at the Beretta AR70 rifles, shaking his head as he walked in the direction they had come from. "These things don't have the accuracy of the AK74 I gave you. You know these guns aren't common in southern Sudan. We just took out so many people—if we carry these, it's as good as admitting we did it…"
Kaman clearly understood the logic, but as a thrifty old man, he couldn't bring himself to abandon what he had in hand. After rummaging through the bodies of the two dead machine gunners, he caught up with Joga with two Russian-made PKMs slung over his shoulders.
The old man watched Joga's hurried steps, hesitated, then said, "Boss, don't rush. You need to keep a clear head."
Joga responded reflexively, "I'm very clear-headed…"
"No, you're not. Your hand is shaking, and you're heading in the wrong direction."
Joga paused, then sheepishly slowed down, gesturing for Kaman to lead the way. He wasn't as clear-headed as he thought—after the adrenaline rush, he felt a wave of inexplicable fatigue.
After Kaman pointed out his mistake, images of the bodies he had shot flashed in Joga's mind. Strangely, he didn't feel the traditional nausea described in novels, but the sight of mangled flesh wouldn't leave his thoughts. Distracted, Joga stumbled several times…
Noticing something was wrong with Joga, Kaman glanced back and said, "Boss, that's just how war is—dead bodies are common. You're the best shooter I've ever seen. Don't let those guys bother you; think of it as hunting. When we hunt antelope on the plains, we gut them immediately, skin them, and break them down to take the best parts. War and hunting are the same, just with different prey."
Joga looked at Kaman, whose calm demeanor suggested nothing unusual had happened. He shook his head and said, "This was my first time killing someone, and I killed so many. I didn't feel like vomiting, but my mind is full of those images. Is something wrong with me?"
Kaman paused, then shook his head. "I don't know. I've seen people want to vomit after killing, but that's usually just nerves. I can't say about the stuff in your head—I never had that because, when I was young, hunger was scarier than corpses!"