Chapter Eight: Tactical Gestures!

Qin Feng nodded and began to observe as well. He gripped his Type 88 automatic rifle, quietly extending it as he carefully scanned the surroundings. The area was deathly silent, leaves drifting gently to the ground; only the sound of wind rustling through the trees could be heard. Yet beneath this tranquility lurked a chilling sense of menace, a palpable danger that made survival possible only by eliminating the enemy.

Peering through his scope, Qin Feng meticulously surveyed the area. He knew the adversaries were close, he could feel the threat in the air—they were lying in wait, ready to strike. He exercised utmost caution; the enemy was formidable, and only the highest alertness could ensure survival.

In the very next instant, his scope captured a figure—a man with a vivid blood-red skull tattoo on his neck. The mark was lifelike, unmistakable. This was one of those blood-skull-tattooed foes. They must be destroyed. Qin Feng aimed swiftly, an aura of lethal intent radiating from him. His finger tightened on the trigger, but just as he was about to fire, the man suddenly dove, pouncing behind a nearby tree and vanishing from his line of sight.

Such keen danger sense—these enemies were indeed extraordinary. Their strength, paired with their instinct for peril, was remarkable. The enemy’s swift concealment had cost Qin Feng his perfect shot. He quickly shifted position, taking cover behind another large tree.

He thought it a pity, but not overly so. This was the battlefield; regrets were a luxury. The ever-changing theater of war offered no guarantees for the next moment. The most important thing was to preserve oneself in order to better annihilate the enemy.

“Whizz!” Just a second after Qin Feng moved, a bullet struck the spot where he had just been, sending dirt flying and leaving a crater the size of a watermelon. So close—cold sweat broke out on Qin Feng’s brow. Had he not shifted in time, he would have been a corpse.

This encounter heightened his understanding of the enemy’s strength. They were indeed powerful—only by remaining vigilant could he hope to fight them, survive, and avenge his fallen comrades.

“Whoosh!” At that moment, a gunshot rang out—a bullet screamed through the air, piercing it with a sharp sonic boom before it vanished.

“Thud!” Blood spattered, accompanied by a wretched scream. “My foot!” someone cried out in English, then quickly fell silent.

Qin Feng looked up hurriedly and saw the female soldier sprinting forward. She rolled to the ground, her back pressed to the earth. Before Qin Feng’s astonished eyes, she slapped the ground and sprang up like a released arrow, leaping three or four meters to take cover behind a tree. Her body curled tightly, minimizing her exposure, as she held perfectly still.

“Whoosh!” A bullet struck the ground where the female soldier had just rolled, leaving a small crater. Clearly, one enemy had been wounded by her shot, while another had tried to kill her but failed as she evaded the attack.

“That woman is formidable, too,” Qin Feng thought, surprised by the female soldier’s swift concealment. He hadn’t expected the enemy’s marksmanship to be so quick, nor the woman’s evasive skills to be so agile. Could she be one of those legendary, mysterious, and powerful special forces soldiers? She hadn’t fired at him—perhaps she recognized him as a comrade from her own country?

Qin Feng guessed that the woman might be a special forces operative from his own side. His blood stirred at the thought—he had always admired special forces, as had Old Qin, his squad leader, deputy, and all his brothers. His fear and anxiety faded, replaced by his usual calm and shrewdness. He knew that in a battle of this caliber, only full commitment could offer a chance of victory. No matter what, he had to destroy the enemy. He didn’t know how many opponents remained, but helping the female soldier was also helping himself. He would avenge his brothers.

He carefully surveyed the area and soon spotted a stone in front of him. After a moment’s thought, he picked it up cautiously and glanced at the female soldier. She looked back at him, also silently picking up a stone. She nodded at Qin Feng, and he smiled faintly, realizing she understood his intention: toss the stones to draw enemy fire, thus exposing their positions and enabling them to strike back.

Qin Feng nodded, judged the direction, and quickly threw his stone, then immediately shifted to a new position. Almost simultaneously, the female soldier tossed her stone and changed position as well.

“Bang.” A shot rang out. “Bang!” Another followed—a sign that the enemy had fired.

Qin Feng looked to the woman and saw her extend her right hand, silently indicating a “three” with her fingers, then a “nine,” followed by an “okay” gesture, her eyes questioning.

He understood—these were tactical hand signals, a silent form of communication and combat strategy. From her gestures, Qin Feng knew she was telling him there was one enemy at three o’clock and another at nine o’clock; the one at three was his, the one at nine hers. He nodded in acknowledgment, signaling “okay.” The woman nodded in return.

With that, Qin Feng carefully raised his Type 88 rifle, scanning the three o’clock direction through his scope. Sure enough, he spotted an enemy—expertly camouflaged, nearly indistinguishable from a bush, dressed in a ghillie suit.

Qin Feng aimed swiftly but did not fire immediately. He steadied himself, suppressing all traces of killing intent. He knew these enemies were highly sensitive; even the faintest sign of murderous intent could alert them, allowing them to dodge and retaliate.

He forced himself into a state of utter calm, steadily aiming, trying to become one with the forest. The world grew still; only the whisper of leaves in the wind filled his ears. He glanced at the side, factoring in the humidity and wind speed for his shot. Qin Feng’s finger slowly settled on the trigger.

In the next moment, his serene gaze sharpened with a steely resolve, his aura fierce as a drawn sword. He squeezed the trigger.

“Bang!” The gunshot roared, the bullet tearing forth with Qin Feng’s fury, stirring a wave of heat as if rending the air itself before vanishing.

“Thud!” With a sickening sound, the bullet struck the enemy’s forehead, spraying red and white matter from the back of his head as he collapsed, eyes filled with a reluctant yearning for life, mingled with confusion. He could not comprehend how his position had been exposed, nor how the bullet had found him. But he would never have the chance to learn; his consciousness faded as life ebbed from his body.

“Another enemy down.” Qin Feng felt no joy at the kill. He knew how formidable these foes were. Only by luck—thanks to the female soldier’s discovery and his own rapid, precise shot—had he succeeded. Otherwise, he might still be searching, oblivious to the danger.

The men with blood-skull tattoos were the ones who had killed his squad leader, deputy, and brothers. He would not rest until every one of them was destroyed. Between him and them, it was a fight to the death.

“Whoosh!” Another shot rang out. Qin Feng followed the bullet’s trajectory and saw another enemy fall—the shooter was the female soldier, who had dispatched her target.

Yet the woman showed no hint of celebration; her face remained cold and stern. She knew there could be more enemies lurking—only vigilance could ensure survival and the destruction of her foes.

Seeing her caution, Qin Feng remained carefully hidden as well. He knew the enemy was powerful; even with one down, danger still lurked. Only with constant vigilance could he hope to prevail on this shifting battlefield.