Mist whispered, "Don't look at him."
Song Heping kept his eyes forward and continued to drive the donkey, "I know."
"He seems to be following us..." Mist cursed under his breath, "FUCK!"
Indeed, before the words were even finished, they heard a gruff voice from behind, "The donkey cart up ahead, stop!"
"Do we stop?" Mist asked while his hand slipped into his robe, touching the grip of the P226 handgun and flipping off the safety.
Song Heping didn't say a word; he had to make a decision in the shortest time possible.
Stop.
Or not?
He even had to estimate the other party's endurance.
Under what circumstances, he would fire.
The distance between them was less than twenty meters.
At this distance, if they retaliated, there would be no problem in taking down the other party.
The question was whether there would be accomplices of armed militants around...
"Dammit!"
Song Heping cursed to himself, then lashed the left side of the donkey with the whip.
Pained by the hit, the donkey quickly turned to the right.
This turn brought them directly to the roadside and into an alley, the cart half-exposed.
Song Heping hurried off the cart and quickly looked around for a reconnaissance.
Surrounding buildings were battered and broken from bombings.
Looking through the window, no one was there.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
Luckily, there had been frequent firefights during the day recently, so no one wanted to stand by the windows.
There was still half an hour left today before the US Army usually commenced operations.
He reckoned that these militants were scouts positioned at the city's edge.
The further inside you went, the more militants there were, the more dangerous.
Song Heping raised his hands.
Mist also raised his hands.
Both turned around to face the armed militant approaching them with a gun.
His two cohorts followed seven or eight meters behind, skulking and occasionally looking up at the sky.
For these past few days, the US Army's drones had been flying in the sky, occasionally launching missiles at the ground when they spotted large gatherings of armed personnel.
There had been several incidents where the Grim Reaper drone wiped out a dozen militants gathered together.
Therefore, they were also very cautious.
"What are you two doing?"
Song Heping didn't dare to answer.
Neither did Mist.
Though both knew a bit of Arabic and could understand what the other was asking.
But once they opened their mouths, their accents would give them away.
Song Heping's mind raced, he pointed at the flatbed cart, showing a very frightened demeanor, and then said the word, "Bread!"
The fewer words, the better.
The less likely one's accent would be detected.
The Arabic word for "bread" is "نانغ", very short.
After speaking, Song Heping put on a smile, spread his hands, indicating he meant no harm.
In fact, by doing so, he was contemplating murder.
If he raised his hands, it would take a major motion and more time to draw his gun, making it easy for the other party to shoot first.
But with spread hands, aligned with the waist, drawing a gun was much faster.
Song Heping could draw his weapon and fire within one second.
Mist was also a top-notch former Special Soldier; he had seen Song Heping's intent and also lowered his hand to point at the flatbed and said, "Bread!"
Food?
The militant, who had initially been very wary, was coaxed when he heard it was bread. The city had been hard-pressed for food these days, with severe shortages.
So when he heard it was bread, his appetite was instantly aroused.