Trench and the others all stood up, gazing intently at Chen Ge.
Rock launched an attack, charging at Chen Ge like a tank, full of intimidation.
Chen Ge also took the offensive, stepping forward, clamping his left hand around Rock's right wrist, and driving his right shoulder into him with an Iron Mountain Shoulder strike.
Rock felt as if he'd been hit by an armored vehicle; he grunted, was flung backward three meters, and slammed into the ground, nearly having the wind knocked out of him.
Trench, Hailstone, and the others watching changed color, their eyes wide as saucers!
Rock might not have used his full strength earlier. But now?
Still defeated in a single move!
And Chen Ge did it easily, seemingly without going all out!
Could eight months of training really make someone this strong?
No, we have to start training too from now on. We can't let that bastard Sledgehammer get so arrogant.
Hailstone, who had taken second place in hand-to-hand combat in a GRU-wide competition, stepped forward and said, "Let me try!"
Hardly had he spoken when Chen Ge whipped a leg out and smashed it into an oak tree as thick as a calf beside him.
Crack—the oak was snapped by the kick, leaves showering down. The trunk and crown flew toward Ice Man, and Chen Ge leaped half a meter into the air and kicked it away with one foot.
The air fell instantly silent. Everyone stood frozen in place, as if they'd seen a ghost, staring open-mouthed at Chen Ge.
"Anyone else want to fight?"
Hailstone's mouth twitched a few times, and he laughed and cursed, "You bastard, you really fight dirty—secretly practicing martial arts. Can you tell us what Chinese martial art you practice? Wing Chun? Jeet Kune Do? Or Tai Chi?"
Chen Ge was a bit embarrassed. He had no formal martial arts training; before transmigrating, he'd learned a combat system in military hand-to-hand training that incorporated large amounts of Baji Quan stance work, elbow strikes, and close-quarters short-range fighting techniques, and he'd watched some Baji Quan introduction videos online.
But he had to know something in order to explain why his strength had suddenly increased.
"Baji Quan! A short-range fighting style famous in Huaxia traditional martial arts for its fierce and violent power, with tremendous lethality. Many Huaxia military and police combat techniques incorporate Baji Quan moves."
"Ba...ji Quan? Sounds really powerful! I used to think that besides Bruce Lee's Jeet Kune Do, Chinese kung fu had no practical combat value. Now I see I was shallow and ignorant!"
Hailstone offered a word of praise, then turned his head to look at Trench.
"I support Sledgehammer's tactics; they're more feasible than our plan."
Trench nodded, let out a long sigh, and asked, "Sledgehammer, is it worth it?"
Everyone understood what Trench meant, and also felt Chen Ge didn't need to do this—it wasn't worth it.
He was Huaxia; he'd joined Wagner to make money and didn't need to go to such lengths.
But Chen Ge had actually volunteered for this almost certainly fatal task just to reduce casualties, showing how much he valued loyalty and righteousness.
Chen Ge saw they were moved almost to tears, knew what they were imagining, almost wanted to laugh, but forcibly held it back.
He raised a hand and plucked a fallen leaf from his helmet, his gaze sweeping over each face in turn, and said in a low, husky voice mixed with a touch of helplessness: "There's no question of whether it's worth it or not, only whether you want to do it. I don't want to see my brothers die. Even if my tactic succeeds, the Falcon Hunting Team will still suffer heavy casualties—but isn't that better than everyone dying?"
"This damned mission is too difficult. I can't even imagine how dense the artillery fire will be after we seize the target building. By the way, how much is the mission bonus?"
Trench's eyes were slightly red. He took two deep breaths and squeezed a stiff smile onto his poker face.
"Not less than 500,000 dollars!"
Chen Ge curled his lip. Prigozhin, that stingy cook, was really petty—such a dangerous, strategically important mission, and only 500,000.
"Hmm, not bad. What do we do?"
"We have to do it!"
...
Half an hour later, in a factory ravaged and battered by war, the Falcon Hunting Team picked a relatively intact workshop as a temporary camp and began cooking, resting, organizing equipment, replenishing ammunition, and making pre-battle preparations.
The operation was at 2 AM; it was only 2 PM now, so there was plenty of time.
Chen Ge leaned against the wall, took out a half-smoked sausage from his backpack, tore open the packaging, and took a big bite.
After being bitten by a wolf spider and mutating into a spider spirit, he found his appetite had increased. He had to eat at least 3 jin of meat a day, plus enough carbohydrates, to meet his energy needs.
The Russian military's logistics—don't even get me started. Garbage!
The supply logic was: fill the belly, not care about quality. Sausage and bread were the most basic rations at the front, usually not lacking, but don't expect quality or variety.
Wagner's food was somewhat better than the Russian regular army's.
Prigozhin himself started out in catering, and in Wagner's logistics supply chain, food was a relatively stable link.
Frontline soldiers could draw daily: black bread 500–800 grams, sausage 200–300 grams, 1–2 cans of tushonka, buckwheat porridge, rice, tea, and sugar.
If they weren't on the offensive, the cookhouse could still make hot soup—borscht or cabbage soup.
The Falcon Hunting Team was elite, with high logistics priority; food was readily available, and they never had to worry about going hungry.
"Brother Hammer, we're back."
Big Bear and Manhole Cover carried back a dark green wooden crate filled with canned food, sausage, white bread, and other provisions, plus half a case of bottled water.
Night Cat followed behind, carrying a long black plastic box!
"Ratibor gave you this gun."
Night Cat put the box in front of Chen Ge, grabbed canned food, sausage, and water, sat by the wall, and tore open the packaging to eat slowly.
Chen Ge put the sausage beside his backpack, reached for the box, laid it across his legs, and opened the latches. Inside was an SVCh rifle with MC camouflage coating, a brand-new Schmidt & Bender PMII scope, a brand-new FLIR thermal sight, plus maintenance tools, four 10-round magazines, four 15-round magazines, and four 20-round magazines.
They also gave 8 boxes of 7N14 sniper ammunition, 50 rounds per box.
Chen Ge took out the rifle and tried to disassemble it, then carefully and meticulously wiped it down twice with an oiled gun cloth. He reassembled the rifle, mounted the scope, raised it to look outside a few times, and began loading ammunition.
The bullet tips were green, used to distinguish the ammunition type!
Night Cat came over and said, "This gun isn't as expensive as the scope. A PMII scope sells for 4,500 dollars on the European market, and more on the black market or in a war zone—7,000 dollars to buy one. The FLIR thermal sight isn't cheap either."
"From now on I'll carry it for you. When you need it, I'll hand it over. How about that?"
Chen Ge gave him a sidelong glance but didn't refuse.
Before retiring, Night Cat had been a spotter in a sniper team, and his marksmanship was quite good—no worse than the three top snipers in the sniper squad.
"Fine, I'll let you carry it! But if you damage my rifle, I'll kill you."
Night Cat swallowed the bread in his mouth and guaranteed with a laugh, "Don't worry, I'll treat it like my wife!"
Chen Ge wore the expression of an old man looking at his phone on the subway. In his mind appeared the image of Night Cat hugging his rifle to sleep, and doing unspeakable things to it.
His face full of disgust, he scooted over and warned, "You're just carrying my rifle for me. You're not allowed to have any improper thoughts about my rifle. Understand?"
Everyone around looked over, regarding Night Cat with the eyes one would use to look at a pervert.
Night Cat flushed red and shouted at the top of his lungs, "What do you mean? What do you take me for? I have a wife. I'm not a pervert. You must apologize to me!"
"See, you're getting worked up again. I didn't say you were a pervert—that's your own guilty conscience."
Chapter 12