Foster father

17

Ale looked in the rearview mirror at the seven vehicles trailing behind him and couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated.

If they hadn’t been in such a rush, they should have abandoned four vehicles by now. A convoy this size was just too conspicuous. If the police stopped them in broad daylight, it would be a real problem.

Fortunately, they weren’t far from the smuggling port. If they did get intercepted, they’d have to shoot their way through; otherwise, once the government sent in armed forces, it would be all over for them.

They sped along the coastline, encountering few other vehicles. Car ownership in Myanmar wasn’t widespread, and in such a backward country, the people’s reaction time was low. Ale gradually stopped worrying about someone calling the police because they looked suspicious. What he began to worry about, however, was the possibility that they were being followed by the Vietnamese special forces, as Carter Vaughn had said.

Vietnam had always been a place they tried to avoid. Four years ago, they had encountered a monster in Yunnan that killed both his and Carter Vaughn’s fathers, nearly destroying their mercenary group. This mysterious Eastern country not only had terrifying military power but also held things beyond imagination. After that, they had never set foot in Vietnam, no matter what kind of offer was made.

Who would have thought that this time, with a simple border mission, they’d be entangled with the Vietnamese again? Ale was uneasy, but the situation was still in their favor, so he wasn’t blindly pessimistic. The most important thing now was to leave this place, return to their base in Colombia, and then plan their next move.

Carter Vaughn’s voice came through the radio, “How much farther? We’re being followed.”

“Not far. These drug dealers sure are creative, building the smuggling port in a rich neighborhood. The government here has probably been almost fully corrupted by the drug cartels and smugglers.”

Carter Vaughn had been watching the rear. Hearing Ale’s comment, he looked around. Sure enough, at some point, rows of beautiful villas had appeared to their left, all facing the blue sea, the waves sparkling under the sun—a stunning, grand view.

“Are we just going to leave them be? Let them follow us?” he asked.

Ale kept his eyes on the GPS, “Let’s not worry about them for now. If they try something, we can let your little ‘pet’ fly a kite outside the car.”

Carter Vaughn sneered, “No, I’d prefer to blast them with a rocket launcher.”

“Is Kali in your car?”

Carter Vaughn glanced at the red-haired sniper holding Oliver while reading an adult comic and explaining it to him, “Kali, you son of a b***h. This is how you teach him English?”

Kali didn’t respond, turning the page as he rubbed the kid’s little belly, laughing, “Learned some new words, huh?”

The kid, half understanding, pointed at the comic and asked, “Is this lady going to die?”

Kali and Dino laughed so hard they almost cried.

Ale rolled his eyes, “Tell him to get the Molotov cocktails ready. Notify the other four cars to be ready to abandon theirs at any moment. Tell Kali to blow them up.”

Carter Vaughn passed the message. Soon, Ale’s cheerful voice came through the radio, “Hey, guess what I found?”

“What?”

“A ‘Mackerel’.”

Carter Vaughn whistled, laughing, “Our luck’s good. Do we have enough fuel?”

“I don’t know, can’t tell from this distance. Damn, where’s my binoculars?”

Carter Vaughn had Pell rummage through the trunk. After a while, they finally found the binoculars.

He rolled down the window, leaned out, and used the binoculars to look at the docked boats in the distance. Sure enough, there was a "Mackerel."

This thing was originally built by the British as a medium-sized interceptor for the sea, weighing five tons. Fully fueled, it could run for a full day and night, with a top speed of 160 knots. Later, the drug dealers modified it for smuggling. Once it set off, it was practically impossible to catch up with. Very handy. Carter Vaughn didn’t know which rich drug lord had left it here, but it was now right in front of them, almost as if it had been prepared for them.

He carefully examined the draft line and did some quick calculations in his head, then said to Ale, “The fuel will definitely be enough to get us to Indonesia.”

Ale grinned, his eyes flashing with sharp intensity, “That’s the one.”

The entire convoy headed straight for the smuggling boat, parking at its dock.

Ale’s orders came quickly. The last four vehicles stopped in the middle of the road, completely blocking the narrow lane.

The people in those cars quickly got out and, in perfect coordination, dispersed and hopped into the four vehicles ahead.

Their actions caught the attention of the dock workers, who stared at them but didn’t take any further action. After all, this was a small port, and while there were many luxury yachts docked, smuggling was still a covert operation. The workers, likely just ordinary laborers, were surprised but didn’t react further.

Ale spoke into the radio, “Drive straight in. Anyone who dares to block us gets shot. Snipers, get into position.”

The four vehicles drove up the dock, planning to charge straight onto the smuggling boat and leave immediately.

But after driving for a short distance, Ale suddenly sensed something was wrong.

The smuggling boat, fully fueled, should have been preparing to set out, but there were no workers on board.

Ale called for the cars to stop, carefully examining the smuggling boat before turning back to check the special forces chasing them. “Kali, check the fuel tanks.”

Immediately, a gunshot rang out, and a Molotov cocktail accurately hit the gas tank of one of their abandoned cars. The car exploded in a massive fireball, like a bomb, setting off a chain reaction that blew up the other three vehicles parked nearby. Flames shot up into the sky, completely destroying the road and blocking the cars chasing them.

The dock workers, terrified, scattered in all directions. The scene turned chaotic.

The explosion rocked the dock, shaking the vehicles. Just after Kali fired, his body, sticking out of the car’s sunroof, was hit.

A bullet pierced his shoulder, exited through his scapula, and landed in the water. If the car hadn’t rocked, that bullet would have gone straight into his head.

Dino pulled him back, his crimson blood splattering onto the car seat.

Oliver screamed, “Pell! Pell!”

Carter Vaughn shouted into the intercom, “Ale, Kali’s been hit! There are people on the ‘Mackerel’!”

Pell grabbed her medical kit, tied off the artery to stop the bleeding, then handed scissors to Oliver. “Cut his clothes off,” she ordered, focusing on preparing for a quick surgery.

The kid, trembling, bit his lip as he cut open Kali’s blood-soaked clothes. The damp, hot sensation filled him with anxiety, sweat beading on his forehead.

The door to the second vehicle opened, and a giant named Rocky emerged, carrying a shoulder-fired rocket launcher. He stood behind the car door, with the others providing cover, and aimed the rocket launcher at the smuggling boat.

Only someone like Rocky, two meters tall and over 200 pounds, could withstand the recoil of the rocket launcher. But even with his strength, the rocket launcher’s limited power didn’t cause catastrophic damage to the boat, and it didn’t eject the people inside.

Ale shouted into the radio, “Drive in! Take the boat!” Then he charged forward.

The other cars followed, knowing that this boat was their only escape. Even if there were snipers on board, they had no choice but to go for it.

Once the cars boarded the boat, Carter Vaughn yanked Oliver by the collar and dragged him off the car, shouting at the seemingly empty ship, “You wanted the kid, he’s in my hands. Anyone who dares to shoot, I’ll shoot him first!”

The kid didn’t understand what was happening, but he could tell that if Carter Vaughn said he’d shoot him, it was something to fear. He struggled, twisting in Carter’s grip.

Carter threw him on the ground, coldly saying, “Don’t move.” He placed his foot on the kid’s back, the barrel of his MP5 pressed against the kid’s head, “Come out if you dare!”

Apart from Ale, the mercenaries didn’t understand Vietnamese. They looked at Carter Vaughn, unsure of what was happening.

Soon, steady footsteps were heard coming from the stairs.

Everyone pointed their guns at the staircase.

A pair of long legs appeared first, wearing dark green military fatigues and shiny boots, with the hem of a white lab coat fluttering as the person descended.

Coming down the stairs was a Vietnamese soldier, or more precisely, a military doctor. He was wearing neat military clothes with a white doctor’s coat over them, the open collar showing his slender, trim waist. He was very young, in his early twenties, with a pale, delicate face—beautiful enough to seem like a figure from an ancient Vietnamese painting, looking almost unreal.

The mercenaries were stunned, especially the battle-hardened ones who had never expected to face someone so exquisitely beautiful, like a porcelain doll.

Carter Vaughn frowned, a feeling of discomfort rising within him.

The man spoke directly to Carter Vaughn, “He’s only five years old now. Please, let him go.”

Carter Vaughn recognized the voice—the same cold, mechanical voice he had heard on the radio earlier today.

This person looked extraordinarily beautiful, but the way he spoke made Carter Vaughn feel repulsed, like he was talking to a corpse.

Job pushed Carter Vaughn’s elbow, “What the hell are you guys talking about? What’s going on?”

Ale, speaking in Vietnamese, asked, “What do you want?”

The man replied, “Give me the child, and we’ll leave this ship. You can take it out to sea.”

As he spoke, more than ten armed soldiers appeared behind him, spreading out to flank him, standing off against the mercenaries.

Upon seeing these men, Oliver’s eyes widened in fear, and he screamed, “They’re bad people! They’re bad people!”